Soldiers Three

CAPT. G. (Furiously, seeing that the women are out of earshot.) Where the – is my Wife?

CAPT. M. Half-way to Mahasu by this time. You’ll have to ride like Young Lochinvar.

Horse comes round on his hind legs; refuses to let G. handle him.

CAPT. G. Oh you will, will you? Get round, you brute-you hog-you beast! Get round!

Wrenches horse’s head over, nearly breaking lower jaw; swings himself into saddle, and sends home both spurs in the midst of a spattering gale of Best Patna.

CAPT. M. For your life and your love – ride, Gaddy! – And God bless you!

Throws half a pound of rice at G., who disappears, bowed forward on the saddle, in a cloud of sunlit dust.

CAPT. M. I’ve lost old Gaddy. (Lights cigarette and strolls off, singing absently): —

‘You may carve it on his tombstone, you may cut it on his card,
That a young man married is a young man marred!’

MISS DEERCOURT. (From her horse.) Really, Captain Mafflin! You are more plain spoken than polite!

CAPT. M. (Aside.) They say marriage is like cholera. ‘Wonder who’ll be the next victim.

White satin slipper slides from his sleeve and falls at his feet. Left wondering.

THE GARDEN OF EDEN

And ye shall be as – Gods!

SCENE. —Thymy grass-plot at back of the Mahasu dak-bungalow, overlooking little wooded valley. On the left, glimpse of the Dead Forest of Fagoo; on the right, Simla Hills. In background, line of the Snows. CAPTAIN GADSBY, now three weeks a husband, is smoking the pipe of peace on a rug in the sunshine. Banjo and tobacco-pouch on rug. Overhead the Fagoo eagles. MRS. G. comes out of bungalow.

MRS. G. My husband!

CAPT. G. (Lazily, with intense enjoyment.) Eh, wha-at? Say that again.

MRS. G. I’ve written to Mamma and told her that we shall be back on the 17th.

CAPT. G. Did you give her my love?

MRS. G. No, I kept all that for myself. (Sitting down by his side.) I thought you wouldn’t mind.

CAPT. G. (With mock sternness.) I object awf’ly. How did you know that it was yours to keep?

MRS. G. I guessed, Phil.

CAPT. G. (Rapturously.) Lit-tle Featherweight!

MRS. G. I won’t be called those sporting pet names, bad boy.

CAPT. G. You’ll be called anything I choose. Has it ever occurred to you, Madam, that you are my Wife?

MRS. G. It has. I haven’t ceased wondering at it yet.

CAPT. G. Nor I. It seems so strange; and yet, somehow, it doesn’t. (Confidently.) You see, it could have been no one else.

MRS. G. (Softly.) No. No one else – for me or for you. It must have been all arranged from the beginning. Phil, tell me again what made you care for me.

CAPT. G. How could I help it? You were you, you know.

MRS. G. Did you ever want to help it? Speak the truth!

CAPT. G. (A twinkle in his eye.) I did, darling, just at the first. But only at the very first. (Chuckles.) I called you – stoop low and I’ll whisper – ‘a little beast.’ Ho! Ho! Ho!

MRS. G. (Taking him by the moustache and making him sit up.) ‘A – little – beast!’ Stop laughing over your crime! And yet you had the – the – awful cheek to propose to me!

CAPT. G. I’d changed my mind then. And you weren’t a little beast any more.

MRS. G. Thank you, Sir! And when was I ever?

CAPT. G. Never! But that first day, when you gave me tea in that peach-coloured muslin gown thing, you looked – you did indeed, dear – such an absurd little mite. And I didn’t know what to say to you.

MRS. G. (Twisting moustache.) So you said ‘little beast.’ Upon my word, Sir! I called you a ‘Crrrreature,’ but I wish now I had called you something worse.

CAPT. G. (Very meekly.) I apologise, but you’re hurting me awf’ly. (Interlude.) You’re welcome to torture me again on those terms.

MRS. G. Oh, why did you let me do it?

CAPT. G. (Looking across valley.) No reason in particular, but – if it amused you or did you any good – you might – wipe those dear little boots of yours on me.

MRS. G. (Stretching out her hands.) Don’t! Oh, don’t! Philip, my King, please don’t talk like that. It’s how I feel. You’re so much too good for me. So much too good!

CAPT. G. Me! I’m not fit to put my arm round you. (Puts it round.)

MRS. G. Yes, you are. But I – what have I ever done?

CAPT. G. Given me a wee bit of your heart, haven’t you, my Queen?

MRS. G. That’s nothing. Any one would do that. They cou – couldn’t help it.

CAPT. G. Pussy, you’ll make me horribly conceited. Just when I was beginning to feel so humble, too.

MRS. G. Humble! I don’t believe it’s in your character.

CAPT. G. What do you know of my character, Impertinence?

MRS. G. Ah, but I shall, shan’t I, Phil? I shall have time in all the years and years to come, to know everything about you; and there will be no secrets between us.

CAPT. G. Little witch! I believe you know me thoroughly already.