[BOB comes in awkwardly and stops at the door.]
WENTWORTH (getting up). Come along, Bob. (Taking out his case) Have a cigarette.
BOB (gruffly). No, thanks. (He takes out his pipe.)
GERALD (brightly but awkwardly). Hullo, Bob, old boy.
BOB. Where's Pamela? She said she'd be here. (He sits down in the large armchair.)
GERALD. If she said she'd be here, she will be here.
BOB (with a grunt). 'M! (There is an awkward silence.)
BOB (angrily to GERALD). Why don't you say something? You came here to say good-bye to me, I suppose—why don't you say it?
WENTWORTH. Steady, Bob.
GERALD (eagerly). Look here, Bob, old son, you mustn't take it too hardly. Wentworth thinks it will only be three months—don't you, Wentworth? You know, we none of us think any the worse of you for it.