Mrs. Hope.  There, you see, you call him Maurice!  Now supposing your uncle went in for some of them——­

Colonel. [Taking off his hat-in a high, hot voice] I’m not going in for anything of the sort.

Mrs. Hope.  Don’t swing your hat by the brim!  Go and look if you can see him coming!

     [The colonel goes.]

[In a lower voice.] Your uncle’s getting very bald.  I ’ve only shoulder of lamb for lunch, and a salad.  It’s lucky it’s too hot to eat.

     [Miss beech has appeared while she is speaking.]

Here she is, Peachey!

Miss beech.  I see her. [She kisses Mrs. Gwyn, and looks at her intently.]

Mrs. Gwyn. [Shrugging her shoulders.] Well, Peachey!  What d ’you make of me?

Colonel. [Returning from his search.] There’s a white hat crossing the second stile.  Is that your friend, Molly?

     [Mrs. Gwyn nods.]

Mrs. Hope.  Oh! before I forget, Peachey—­Letty and Ernest can move their things back again.  I’m going to put Mr. Lever in your room. [Catching sight o f the paint pot on the ground.] There’s that disgusting paint pot!  Take it up at once, Tom, and put it in the tree.

     [The colonel picks up the pot and bears it to the hollow tree
     followed by Mrs. Hope; he enters.]

Mrs. Hope. [Speaking into the tree.] Not there!

Colonel. [From within.] Well, where then?

Mrs. Hope.  Why—­up—­oh! gracious!

[Mrs. Gwyn, standing alone, is smiling.  Lever approaches from the towing-path.  He is a man like a fencer’s wrist, supple and steely.  A man whose age is difficult to tell, with a quick, good-looking face, and a line between his brows; his darkish hair is flecked with grey.  He gives the feeling that he has always had to spurt to keep pace with his own life.]

Mrs. Hope. [Also entering the hollow tree.] No-oh!

Colonel. [From the depths, in a high voice.] Well, dash it then! 
What do you want?

Mrs. Gwyn.  Peachey, may I introduce Mr. Lever to you?  Miss Beech, my old governess.

     [They shake each other by the hand.]

Lever.  How do you do? [His voice is pleasant, his manner easy.]

Miss beech.  Pleased to meet you.

     [Her manner is that of one who is not pleased.  She watches.]

Mrs. Gwyn. [Pointing to the tree-maliciously.] This is my uncle and my aunt.  They’re taking exercise, I think.

     [The colonel and Mrs. Hope emerge convulsively.  They are very
     hot.  Lever and Mrs. Gwyn are very cool.]