JOY. [Passionately.] Why d' you look at me like that? Why can't you speak?
[She waits for him to speak, but he does not.]
I'm going to show what he is, so that Mother shan't speak to him again. I can—can't I—if I tell Uncle Tom?—can't I——?
DICK. But Joy—if your Mother knows a thing like—that——
JOY. She wanted to tell—she begged him—and he would n't.
DICK. But, joy, dear, it means——
JOY. I hate him, I want to make her hate him, and I will.
DICK. But, Joy, dear, don't you see—if your Mother knows a thing like that, and does n't speak of it, it means that she—it means that you can't make her hate him—it means——If it were anybody else— but, well, you can't give your own Mother away!
JOY. How dare you! How dare you! [Turning to the hollow tree.] It is n't true—Oh! it is n't true!
DICK. [In deep distress.] Joy, dear, I never meant, I didn't really!