MRS. DOWEY. ‘Fine would I have liked to see her.’
MRS. TWYMLEY. ‘She is equally popular as maid, wife, and munition-worker. Her two children is inset. Lady Pops Babington was married in a tight tulle.’
MRS. MICKLEHAM. ‘What was her going-away dress?’
MRS. TWYMLEY. ‘A champagny cream velvet with dreamy corsage. She’s married to Colonel the Hon. Chingford—“Snubs,” they called him at Eton.’
THE HAGGERTY WOMAN, having disposed of the sugar, ‘Very likely he’ll be sent to Salonaiky.’
MRS. MICKLEHAM. ‘Wherever he is sent, she’ll have the same tremors as the rest of us. She’ll be as keen to get the letters wrote with pencils as you or me.’
MRS. TWYMLEY. ‘Them pencil letters!’
MRS. DOWEY, in her sweet Scotch voice, timidly, afraid she may be going too far, ‘And women in enemy lands gets those pencil letters and then stop getting them, the same as ourselves. Let’s occasionally think of that.’
She has gone too far. Chairs are pushed back.
THE HAGGERTY WOMAN. ‘I ask you!’