N-no—don't! The—the—eagles would laugh. (Recovering.) My husband, you've married a little goose.
Captain G. (very tenderly).—Have I? I am content whatever she is, so long as she is mine.
Mrs. G. (quickly).—Because she is yours, or because she is me mineself?
Captain G.—Because she is both. (Piteously.) I'm not clever, dear, and I don't think I can make myself understood properly.
Mrs. G.—I understand. Pip, will you tell me something?
Captain G.—Anything you like. (Aside.) I wonder what's coming now.
Mrs. G. (haltingly, her eyes lowered).—You told me once in the old days—centuries and centuries ago—that you had been engaged before. I didn't say anything—then.
Captain G. (innocently).—Why not?
Mrs. G. (raising her eyes to his).—Because—because I was afraid of losing you, my heart. But now—tell about it—please.
Captain G.—There's nothing to tell. I was awf'ly old then—nearly two and twenty—and she was quite that.
Mrs. G.—That means she was older than you. I shouldn't like her to have been younger. Well?
Captain G.—Well, I fancied myself in love and raved about a bit, and—Oh, yes, by Jove! I made up poetry. Ha! ha!
Mrs. G.—You never wrote any for me! What happened?
Captain G.—I came out here, and the whole thing went to pieces. She wrote to say that there had been a mistake, and then she married.
Mrs. G.—Did she care for you much?
Captain G.—No. At least she didn't show it as far as I remember.
Mrs. G.—As far as you remember! Do you remember her name? (Hears it, and bows her head.) Thank you, my husband.
