MAN.
(looking at it). I’m really very sorry. (Looking at her.) Was it fair to lead me on? (He looks at the portrait again.) Yes: that’s him: not a doubt of it. (He stifles a laugh.)
RAINA.
(quickly). Why do you laugh?
MAN.
(shamefacedly, but still greatly tickled). I didn’t laugh, I assure you. At least I didn’t mean to. But when I think of him charging the windmills and thinking he was doing the finest thing—(chokes with suppressed laughter).
RAINA.
(sternly). Give me back the portrait, sir.
MAN.
(with sincere remorse). Of course. Certainly. I’m really very sorry. (She deliberately kisses it, and looks him straight in the face, before returning to the chest of drawers to replace it. He follows her, apologizing.) Perhaps I’m quite wrong, you know: no doubt I am. Most likely he had got wind of the cartridge business somehow, and knew it was a safe job.
RAINA.
That is to say, he was a pretender and a coward! You did not dare say that before.
MAN.
(with a comic gesture of despair). It’s no use, dear lady: I can’t make you see it from the professional point of view. (As he turns away to get back to the ottoman, the firing begins again in the distance.)
RAINA.
(sternly, as she sees him listening to the shots). So much the better for you.
MAN.
(turning). How?
RAINA.
You are my enemy; and you are at my mercy. What would I do if I were a professional soldier?