Mrs. G.—I've a great mind to. . . . and I will! (Takes it, and is repaid with interest.)
Captain G.—Little Featherweight, it's my opinion that we are a couple of idiots.
Mrs. G.—We're the only two sensible people in the world! Ask the eagle. He's coming by.
Captain G.—Ah! I dare say he's seen a good many sensible people at Mahasu. They say that those birds live for ever so long.
Mrs. G.—How long?
Captain G.—A hundred and twenty years.
Mrs. G.—A hundred and twenty years! O-oh! And in a hundred and twenty years where will these two sensible people be?
Captain G.—What does it matter so long as we are together now?
Mrs. G. (looking round the horizon).—Yes. Only you and I—I and you—in the whole wide, wide world until the end. (Sees the line of the Snows.) How big and quiet the hills look! D'you think they care for us?
Captain G.—Can't say I've consulted 'em particularly. I care, and that's enough for me.
Mrs. G. (drawing nearer to him).—Yes, now. . . . but afterwards. What's that little black blur on the Snows?
Captain G.—A snowstorm, forty miles away. You'll see it move, as the wind carries it across the face of that spur, and then it will be all gone.
Mrs. G.—And then it will be all gone. (Shivers.)
Captain G. (anxiously). 'Not chilled, pet, are you? 'Better let me get your cloak.
Mrs. G.—No. Don't leave me, Phil. Stay here. I believe I'm afraid. Oh, why are the hills so horrid? Phil, promise me, promise me that you'll always, always love me,
Captain G.—What's the trouble, darling? I can't promise any more than I have; but I'll promise that again and again if you like.
Mrs. G. (her head on his shoulder).—Say it, then—say it!
