RICHARD. [_Drawing her passionately into his arms._] Oh, my darling! But we _must_ come back! It is what we _live_ for! It---- LYDIA. [_Gravely._] Just so, Richard! I know you always agree when you--remember----! RICHARD. [_Regarding her with sudden anxiety._] Do you think you can manage it? The lady isn’t here--this time. LYDIA. But he’s here! And do you know, Richard, in spite of what Mamma has always taught me, I hardly think men are a bit braver than women! RICHARD. Oh, Lydia, you really think not! LYDIA. [_Teasing him._] Really, really, dear Richard! But, oh, look at that moon! Isn’t it a shame to worry about anything with that over our heads? Oh, Richard, I want to dance. If there were only music! RICHARD. [_Falling into her mood._] Why not make it yourself? The spinnet is there--[_Pointing within._] your papa’s wedding present--he thought you would like it the first night! Look, Lydia, how clear it stands in the moonlight! LYDIA. [_Running into the house._] I could play the minuet! [_Seating herself at the spinnet, she plays a few bars of a minuet with delicate, old-fashioned precision_, RICHARD, _who has followed her, leaning over her. Presently, she stops, and wheels abruptly about._] But, oh, that isn’t enough! [_Jumping up, she drags him after her to the garden._] Come, Richard! Back to the garden! I want to dance! RICHARD. [_As they pass outdoors._] But the music, dearest Lydia! I can never do the steps without the music! Don’t you remember how you laughed at me that time last week? [_Without answering_, LYDIA _places both herself and him in position for the minuet. Then, with low conviction._ LYDIA. There will be music, dear Richard! Don’t you remember--it used to go---- [_Humming the minuet under her breath._] this way----? [_And presently, as if encouraged by her voice, the garden becomes full of throbbing fiddles and horns, as, with stately courtesy, she and_ RICHARD _dance in and out among the flower-beds. A few moments pass; then, at a sound within the cottage, they stop dancing, and as_ GEORGE SANFORD, _this time in dressing-gown and slippers, slowly descends the staircase, the music quivers away, though still heard now and again, as at greater distance._ LYDIA _softly draws_ RICHARD _aside_.] Sh--this must be he! RICHARD. [_In a slightly nervous whisper._] After all, Lydia, this is my house! Had I not better call him out and have done with it? LYDIA. [_Watching Sanford._] Sh----!