EMILY. Well, I daresay you wanted your sleep out. I was so afraid that a really cosy bed would keep you awake after all those years in the trenches.
PHILIP. Well, one isn't in the trenches all the time. And one gets leave—if one's an officer.
EMILY.(reproachfully). You didn't spend much of it with us, Philip.
PHILIP (taking her hands). I know; but you did understand, didn't you, dear?
EMILY. We're not very gay, and I know you must have wanted gaiety for the little time you had. But I think your Uncle James felt it. After all, dear, you've lived with us for some years, and he is your guardian.
PHILIP. I know. You've been a darling to me always, Aunt Emily. But (awkwardly) Uncle James and I—
EMILY. Of course, he is a little difficult to get on with. I'm more used to him. But I'm sure he really is very fond of you, Philip.
PHILIP. H'm! I always used to be frightened of him.... I suppose he's just the same. He seemed just the same last night—and he still has breakfast at eight o'clock. Been making pots of money, I suppose?
EMILY. He never tells me exactly, but he did speak once about the absurdity of the excess-profits tax. You see, jam is a thing the Army wants.
PHILIP. It certainly gets it.