covered with gravel, as in the best description of road-making.
[But the expression of his face is not the expression of his words.]
It is evening; a full yellow moon is shining through the branches of the hollow tree. The Chinese lanterns are alight. There is dancing in the house; the music sounds now loud, now soft. MISS BEECH is sitting on the rustic seat in a black bunchy evening dress, whose inconspicuous opening is inlaid with white. She slowly fans herself.
DICK comes from the house in evening dress. He does not see Miss BEECH.
DICK. Curse! [A short silence.] Curse!
DICK. [With a start.] Well, Peachey, I can't help it [He fumbles off his gloves.]
MISS BEECH. Did you ever know any one that could?
DICK. [Earnestly. It's such awfully hard lines on Joy. I can't get her out of my head, lying there with that beastly headache while everybody's jigging round.
MISS BEECH. Oh! you don't mind about yourself--noble young man!
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