Joy. [Brokenly.] No-no!  Oh!  Dick-to-morrow ’ll be so awful.

Dick.  To-morrow shan’t hurt you, Joy; nothing shall ever hurt you again.

     [She looks at him, and her face changes; suddenly she buries it
     against his shoulder.]

[They stand so just a moment in the moon light; then turning to the river move slowly out of sight.  Again the hollow tree is left alone.  The music of the waltz has stopped.  The voices of miss beech and the Colonel are heard approaching from the house.  They appear in the opening of the wall.  The Colonel carries a pair of field glasses with which to look at the Moon.]

Colonel.  Charming to see Molly dance with Lever, their steps go so well together!  I can always tell when a woman’s enjoying herself, Peachey.

Miss beech. [Sharply.] Can you?  You’re very clever.

Colonel.  Wonderful, that moon!  I’m going to have a look at her!  Splendid glasses these, Peachy [he screws them out], not a better pair in England.  I remember in Burmah with these glasses I used to be able to tell a man from a woman at two miles and a quarter.  And that’s no joke, I can tell you. [But on his way to the moon, he has taken a survey of the earth to the right along the river.  In a low but excited voice] I say, I say—­is it one of the maids—­the baggage!  Why!  It’s Dick!  By George, she’s got her hair down, Peachey!  It’s Joy!

     [Miss beech goes to look.  He makes as though to hand the
     glasses to her, but puts them to his own eyes instead—­
     excitedly.]

It is!  What about her headache?  By George, they’re kissing.  I say, Peachey!  I shall have to tell Nell!

Miss beech.  Are you sure they’re kissing?  Well, that’s some comfort.

Colonel.  They’re at the stile now.  Oughtn’t I to stop them, eh? [He stands on tiptoe.] We must n’t spy on them, dash it all. [He drops the glasses.] They’re out of sight now.

Miss beech. [To herself.] He said he wouldn’t let her.

Colonel.  What! have you been encouraging them!

Miss beech.  Don’t be in such a hurry!

     [She moves towards the hollow tree.]

Colonel. [Abstractedly.] By George, Peachey, to think that Nell and
I were once—­Poor Nell!  I remember just such a night as this

     [He stops, and stares before him, sighing.]

Miss beech, [Impressively.] It’s a comfort she’s got that good young man.  She’s found out that her mother and this Mr. Lever are—­you know.

Colonel. [Losing all traces of his fussiness, and drawing himself up as though he were on parade.] You tell me that my niece?

Miss beech.  Out of her own mouth!