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!