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 tell her the dancing's no
good without her. Do, Peachey, now do! Ah! and look here!
[He dives into the hollow of the tree, and brings from out of it
a pail of water in which are placed two bottles of champagne,
and some yellow irises--he takes the irises.
Pages:
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159