Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but there be summin’ white movin’ about up the tree.
Lady Patricia.
Baldwin!
Baldwin.
It a’most looks to me as though a young lady ’ad climbed up the tree, sir.
Michael.
What on earth——!
Clare.
(Shrilly from above.) Don’t you dare to look up here, Baldwin—nor you, Mi—Mr. Cosway! If there’s something white to be seen it’s certainly not for you to look at! (Baldwin continues stolidly looking up.) D’you hear me, Baldwin? Oh! Tell him to turn his head somewhere else.
Michael.