MISS BEECH. [Sidling to him.] You're a good young man, and you 've got a good heart. [She takes his hand, and puts it to her cheek.] DICK. Peachey--I say, Peachey d' you think there 's--I mean d' you think there'll ever be any chance for me? MISS BEECH. I thought that was coming! I don't approve of your making love at your time of life; don't you think I 'm going to encourage you. DICK. But I shall be of age in a year; my money's my own, it's not as if I had to ask any one's leave; and I mean, I do know my own mind. MISS BEECH. Of course you do. Nobody else would at your age, but you do. DICK. I would n't ask her to promise, it would n't be fair when she 's so young, but I do want her to know that I shall never change. MISS BEECH. And suppose--only suppose--she's fond of you, and says she'll never change. DICK. Oh! Peachey! D' you think there's a chance of that--do you? MISS BEECH. A-h-h! DICK. I wouldn't let her bind herself, I swear I wouldn't. [Solemnly.] I'm not such a selfish brute as you seem to think. MISS BEECH. [Sidling close to him and in a violent whisper.] Well-- have a go! DICK. Really? You are a brick, Peachey! [He kisses her.] MISS BEACH. [Yielding pleasurably; then remembering her principles.] Don't you ever say I said so! You're too young, both of you. DICK. But it is exceptional--I mean in my case, is n't it? [The COLONEL and MRS. GWYN are coming down the lawn.] MISS BEECH. Oh! very! [She sits beneath the tree and fans herself.] COLONEL. The girls are all sitting out, Dick! I've been obliged to dance myself. Phew! [He mops his brow.] [DICK swinging round goes rushing off towards the house.] [Looking after him.] Hallo! What's the matter with him? Cooling your heels, Peachey? By George! it's hot. Fancy the poor devils in London on a night like this, what? [He sees the moon.] It's a full moon. You're lucky to be down here, Molly. MRS. GWYN. [In a low voice.] Very! MISS BEECH. Oh! so you think she's lucky, do you? COLONEL. [Expanding his nostrils.] Delicious scent to-night! Hay and roses--delicious. [He seats himself between them.] A shame that poor child has knocked up like this. Don't think it was the sun myself--more likely neuralgic--she 's subject to neuralgia, Molly. MRS. GWYN. [Motionless.] I know. COLONEL. Got too excited about your coming. I told Nell not to keep worrying her about her frock, and this is the result. But your Aunt --you know--she can't let a thing alone! MISS BEECH. Ah! 't isn't neuralgia. [MRS. GWYN looks at her quickly and averts her eyes.] COLONEL. Excitable little thing. You don't understand her, Peachey. MISS BEECH. Don't I? COLONEL. She's all affection. Eh, Molly? I remember what I was like at her age, a poor affectionate little rat, and now look at me! MISS BEECH. [Fanning herself.] I see you.