very
dreadful?

JOY. You're a--a--you 're a--coward!

MRS. GWYN. [With a sort of groan.] Joy!

LEVER. [Stepping up to JOY, and standing with his hands behind him--
in a low voice.] Now hit me in the face--hit me--hit me as hard as
you can. Go on, Joy, it'll do you good.

[Joy raises her clenched hand, but drops it, and hides her
face.]

Why don't you? I'm not pretending!

[Joy makes no sign.]

Come, joy; you'll make yourself ill, and that won't help, will it?

[But joy still makes no sign.]

[With determination.] What's the matter? now come--tell me!

JOY. [In a stifled, sullen voice.] Will you leave my mother alone?

MRS. GWYN. Oh! my dear Joy, don't be silly!

JOY. [Wincing; then with sudden passion.] I defy you--I defy you!
[She rushes from their sight.]

MRS. GWYN. [With a movement of distress.] Oh!

LEVER. [Turning to MRS. GWYN with a protecting gesture.] Never
mind, dear! It'll be--it'll be all right!

[But the expression of his face is not the expression of his
words.]

The curtain falls.

ACT III

It is evening; a full yellow moon is shining through the
branches of the hollow tree. The Chinese lanterns are alight.
There is dancing in the house; the music sounds now loud, now
soft. MISS BEECH is sitting on the rustic seat in a black
bunchy evening dress, whose inconspicuous opening is inlaid with
white. She slowly fans herself.

DICK comes from the house in evening dress. He does not see
Miss BEECH.

DICK. Curse! [A short silence.] Curse!

MISS BEECH. Poor young man!

DICK. [With a start.] Well, Peachey, I can't help it
[He fumbles off his gloves.]

MISS BEECH. Did you ever know any one that could?

DICK. [Earnestly.] It's such awfully hard lines on Joy. I can't get
her out of my head, lying there with that beastly headache while
everybody's jigging round.

MISS BEECH. Oh! you don't mind about yourself--noble young man!

DICK. I should be a brute if I did n't mind more for her.

MISS BEECH. So you think it's a headache, do you?

DICK. Did n't you hear what Mrs. Gwyn said at dinner about the sun?
[With inspiration.] I say, Peachey, could n't you--could n't you
just go up and give her a message from me, and find out if there 's
anything she wants, and say how brutal it is that she 's seedy; it
would be most awfully decent of you. And