HE. Enough said! (The whistle is heard, close at hand.) Quick!
SHE. (Going off) You won't tell? (He shakes his head.) I'll remember you. (She runs into the woods.)
HE. (Sits on the log, laughs heartily. He produces another cigarette, and tries in vain to light it. Then, as an atrocious little cockney enters whistling gaily, he addresses him sharply) Peters!
PETERS. (Surprised) M'lord?
HE. Give me a light, Peters.
PETERS. Yes, m'lord. (Produces match, etc.)
HE. Thanks. (He blows a few whiffs into the air. Then stops, and surveys PETERS thoughtfully.) Peters, you're a brave man, aren't you?
PETERS. (Modestly) I am 'andy with me fists, m'lord.
HE. That's not quite what I mean, Peters. . . . (He pauses.) Peters, you have the making of a hero in you. Something tells me that you're going to have your chance.
(There is a loud splash from the same direction as before, followed by screams of "Help! Help!")