_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.
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