MABEL. [Coldly] What has happened, exactly?
DANCY. Sir Frederic chucked up the case. I've seen Twisden; they want me to run for it to Morocco.
MABEL. To the war there?
DANCY. Yes. There's to be a warrant out.
MABEL. A prosecution? Prison? Oh, go! Don't wait a minute! Go!
DANCY. Blast them!
MABEL. Oh, Ronny! Please! Please! Think what you'll want. I'll pack. Quick! No! Don't wait to take things. Have you got money?
DANCY. [Nodding] This'll be good-bye, then!
MABEL. [After a moment's struggle] Oh! No! No, no! I'll follow—I'll come out to you there.
DANCY. D'you mean you'll stick to me?