Celia. Then you'll be general, won't you?
Smith. Brigadier----
Celia. (Smiling at him admiringly) You can't know what it means to a woman who has lived always in a little out-of-the-way place like this, where only the same ordinary things happen day after day, to hear of wonderful deeds like these--from a man who's done them! (Speaks earnestly, without gushing.)
(Smith beams; moves his chair slightly towards her.)
Smith. Oh, yes. We are getting along together capitally, aren't we? And you can't know how all this--(Moves his hand to include the room)--appeals to a man who finds the skirmish and the camp a bit of an old story, and realizes that this--the quiet, well-ordered household--the home--and the home-maker--is after all what is really worth fighting for.
Celia. (Leans forward, listening) But--surely you have a home?
Smith. I have a house---- By Jove! Now I have two houses!
Celia. (Interested) You have just bought another place?
Smith. Inherited it. An old Abbey about the size of Trafalgar Square on a wet day--and not as cheerful.
Celia. But you mustn't let yourself be lonely. You ought to marry.