HELEN. Is it true--what they're shouting?
HUBERT. Yes. Worse than we thought. They got our men all crumpled
up in the Pass--guns helpless. Ghastly beginning.
HELEN. Oh, Hubert!
HUBERT. My dearest girl!
HELEN puts her face up to his. He kisses her. Then she turns
quickly into the bay window. The door from the hall has been
opened, and the footman, HENRY, comes in, preceding WREFORD and
his sweetheart.
HENRY. Just wait here, will you, while I let Mrs. More know.
[Catching sight of HUBERT] Beg pardon, sir!
HUBERT. All right, Henry. [Off-hand] Ah! Wreford! [The FOOTMAN
withdraws] So you've brought her round. That's good! My sister'll
look after her--don't you worry! Got everything packed? Three
o'clock sharp.
WREFORD. [A broad faced soldier, dressed in khaki with a certain
look of dry humour, now dimmed-speaking with a West Country burr]
That's right, zurr; all's ready.
HELEN has come out of the window, and is quietly looking at
WREFORD and the girl standing there so awkwardly.
HELEN. [Quietly] Take care of him, Wreford.
HUBERT. We'll take care of each other, won't we, Wreford?
HELEN. How long have you been engaged?
THE GIRL. [A pretty, indeterminate young woman] Six months. [She
sobs suddenly.]
HELEN. Ah! He'll soon be safe back.
WREFORD. I'll owe 'em for this. [In a lacy voice to her] Don't 'ee
now! Don't 'ee!
HELEN. No! Don't cry, please!
She stands struggling with her own lips, then goes out on to the
terrace, HUBERT following.
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