MISS BEECH. [Sidling behind the swing and plucking off Joy's sunbonnet. With devilry.] Ah-h-h! You've done your hair up; so that's why you wouldn't come down! JOY. [Springing up, anal pouting.] I didn't want any one to see before Mother. You are a pig, Peachey! MISS BEECH. I thought there was something! JOY. [Twisting round.] How does it look? MISS BEECH. I've seen better. JOY. You tell any one before Mother comes, and see what I do! MISS BEECH. Well, don't you tell about my worms, then! JOY. Give me my hat! [Backing hastily towards the tree, and putting her finger to her lips.] Look out! Dick! MISS BEECH. Oh! dear! [She sits down on the swing, concealing the paint pot with her feet and skirts.] JOY. [On the rustic seat, and in a violent whisper.] I hope the worms will crawl up your legs! [DICK, in flannels and a hard straw hat comes in. He is a quiet and cheerful boy of twenty. His eyes are always fixed on joy.] DICK. [Grimacing.] The Colonel's getting licked. Hallo! Peachey, in the swing? JOY. [Chuckling.] Swing her, Dick! MISS BEECH. [Quivering with emotion.] Little creature! JOY. Swing her! [DICK takes the ropes.] MISS BEECH. [Quietly.] It makes me sick, young man. DICK. [Patting her gently on the back.] All right, Peachey. MISS BEECH. [Maliciously.] Could you get me my sewing from the seat? Just behind Joy. JOY. [Leaning her head against the tree.] If you do, I won't dance with you to-night. [DICK stands paralysed. Miss BEECH gets off the swing, picks up the paint pot, and stands concealing it behind her.] JOY. Look what she's got behind her, sly old thing! MISS BEECH. Oh! dear! JOY. Dance with her, Dick! MISS BEECH. If he dare! JOY. Dance with her, or I won't dance with you to-night. [She whistles a waltz.] DICK. [Desperately.] Come on then, Peachey. We must. JOY. Dance, dance! [DICK seizes Miss BEECH by the waist. She drops the paint pot. They revolve.] [Convulsed.] Oh, Peachey, Oh! [Miss BEECH is dropped upon the rustic seat. DICK seizes joy's hands and drags her up.] No, no! I won't! MISS BEECH. [Panting.] Dance, dance with the poor young man! [She moves her hands.] La la-la-la la-la la la! [DICK and JOY dance.] DICK. By Jove, Joy! You've done your hair up. I say, how jolly! You do look---- JOY. [Throwing her hands up to her hair.] I did n't mean you to see! DICK. [In a hurt voice.] Oh! didn't you? I'm awfully sorry! JOY. [Flashing round.] Oh, you old Peachey! [She looks at the ground, and then again at DICK.] MISS BEECH. [Sidling round the tree.] Oh! dear! JOY. [Whispering.] She's been letting out your worms. [Miss BEECH disappears from view.] Look! DICK. [Quickly.] Hang the worms! Joy, promise me the second and fourth and sixth and eighth and tenth and supper, to-night. Promise! Do! [Joy shakes her head.] It's not much to ask.