(_Shrilly from above._) Don’t you dare to look up here, Baldwin—nor you, Mi—Mr. Cosway! If there’s something white to be seen it’s certainly not for you to look at! (_BALDWIN continues stolidly looking up._) D’you hear me, Baldwin? Oh! Tell him to turn his head somewhere else. MICHAEL. Baldwin! BALDWIN. Yessir? LADY PATRICIA. But, my dear child, what are you doing there? CLARE. Birds’-nesting. MICHAEL AND LADY PATRICIA. Birds’-nesting! CLARE. I don’t believe there’s a nest here at all. He was simply kidding us. BALDWIN. If it’s h’eggs you’re wantin’, miss, there’s a rare lot of ’em in the ivy up at the ’ouse. Sparrers—drat’em! LADY PATRICIA. (_To MICHAEL._) What an amazing young creature! (_To CLARE._) But you’ll ruin your frock, my child. CLARE. I can’t help that. I mean to find out whether there’s a nest here or not. Besides, I simply couldn’t hang around while you and Mr. Cosway were canoodleing. LADY PATRICIA. (_Puzzled._) Canoodleing? CLARE. Spooning. LADY PATRICIA. How very vulgar you can be! CLARE. Can’t I! LADY PATRICIA. (_Shrugs her shoulders and speaks to MICHAEL with a plaintive languor._) I think it would be very pleasant to dine here, Michael. I’ll go indoors and change into something warmer. MICHAEL. You’re not cold, my love? LADY PATRICIA. No, no, dear, no. But I might be later on. (_To BALDWIN, who has been staring fixedly into the branches._) What are you doing, Baldwin? BALDWIN. It’s main ’ard to keep a h’eye on the sun, m’lady, an’ mine ain’t no longer w’at they was. Might I arst, mum, if the sun’s ’bout right for loppin’ off they branches? MICHAEL. Lopping off the branches? CLARE. (_From above._) Oh! I’ve found a cup! MICHAEL. A cup! CLARE. And a glass! MICHAEL. A cup and a glass! LADY PATRICIA. (_Languidly._) Oh, I suppose Cousin Bill left them up there. You needn’t trouble to bring them down, Clare. Baldwin can fetch them. CLARE. He seems to have been doing himself uncommonly well. I daresay I shall find plates, knives and forks, napkins and finger-bowls. What ho! MICHAEL. (_To LADY PATRICIA._) Has that fellow gone quite off his head? LADY PATRICIA. (_Going out._) Bill? Oh, no, dear! Oh, no! It’s only youth—youth will out! Beautiful rose-white youth! (_She gives him her hand to kiss, and he looks after her with a fatuous smile so long as she is in sight. Then you hear her singing below_:) _When all the world is young, lad,_ _And all the trees are green,_ _And every goose a swan, lad,_ _And every lass a queen,_ _Then, hey! for boot and horse, lad,_ _And round the world away!_ _Young blood must have its course, lad,_ _And every dog its day!_