Smith. Not to-night and not any night. (Celia viciously presses cigarette down on ashtray and puts it out. Reprovingly) We both know how strongly he disapproved of the modern latitude of women's manners. (She turns away.) You know I'd fancy the man who could make you care for him would be quite different from Smith. You haven't his little shut-in way of looking at life. You have such a splendid imagination.
Celia. (Nervously) Yes, and I'm beginning to think I need one.
Smith. Did you really love each other?
Celia. (Takes up her coffee cup) I can't answer for Colonel Smith--who was a man you know. But for myself, I can truthfully say that I have thought of him every day for eight months. Thought of him---- Yes! And written to him too.
Smith. (Startled) Written to him! By Jove, then! Where are those letters? You can't let things like that go astray. Letters from you--knocking loose about a camp! (He is upset and disturbed.)
Celia. (Smiling to herself) Why should you imagine--my letters never reached him?
Smith. (Smiling reminiscently) Because I was with him--when he got the first one.
Celia. (Very agitated. Puts her cup sharply on saucer) You--you--you don't mean to say a Colonel Smith ever received---- Oh--no gentleman could have shown my letter.
Smith. (Sincerely) Shown it? Oh, Miss Faraday, you can't know what that letter of yours meant to----
Celia. (Turning on him quickly) I beg your pardon.