Capt. H. (Confused). But it's the right thing to do. Look at the Sunday papers. Missing relatives on top page—all proper. (Looks unhappy.)
Bessie (Tartly). Ah, well! I declare I don't know what you live on.
Capt. H. Are you getting impatient, my dear? Don't get impatient—like my poor wife. If she'd only been patient she'd be here. Waiting. Only one day more. (Pleadingly.) Don't be impatient, my dear.
Bessie. I've no patience with you sometimes.
Capt. H. (Flash of lucidity). Why? What's the matter? (Sympathetic.) You're tired out, my dear, that's what it is.
Bessie. Yes, I am. Day after day. (Stands listless, arms hanging down.)
Capt. H. (Timidly). House dull?
Bessie (Apathetic). Yes.
Capt. H. (As before). H'm. Wash, cook, scrub. Hey?
Bessie (As before). Yes.