Cecil. Yes, I am. A sort of May-fly.
Evelyn [with suspicion of tears in her voice]. You aren't. How can you be? Besides, you said you were a cuckoo just now.
Cecil. I suppose I'm a cuckoo-May-fly. For I hate wet days. And if you're going to cry again, it might just as well be wet, mightn't it? So do dry your eyes like a good girl. Let me do it for you. [Does it with her handkerchief.]
[She laughs ruefully.]
There, that's better. And now we're going to be good children again, aren't we?
Cecil [holding out hand]. And you'll kiss and be friends?
Evelyn. I'll be friends, of course. [Sadly.] But you must never kiss me again.
Cecil. What a shame! Why not?
Evelyn. Because you mustn't.
Cecil [cheerfully]. Well, you'll sit down again anyhow, won't you? just to show we've made it up. [Moves towards tree.]