LEVER. [Blandly.] Really, I don't see any signs of it.
[Joy, crossing to the rug, flings herself down. And DICK sits
cross-legged, with his eyes fast fixed on her.]
MISS BEECH. [Eating.] People don't often see what they don't want to, do they?
[LEVER only lifts his brows.]
MRS. GWYN. [Quickly breaking ivy.] What are you talking about? The weather's perfect.
MISS BEECH. Isn't it?
MRS. HOPE. You'd better make a good tea, Peachey; nobody'll get anything till eight, and then only cold shoulder. You must just put up with no hot dinner, Mr. Lever.
LEVER. [Bowing.] Whatever is good enough for Miss Beech is good enough for me.
MISS BEECH. [Sardonically-taking another sandwich.] So you think!
MRS. GWYN. [With forced gaiety.] Don't be so absurd, Peachey.