Thor. I understand.
Lucy. (crosses round and sits on tree seat R.) It was a queer way of showing his gratitude, seeing that I was then a particularly unattractive child, all elbows and knees.
Thor. Lucy!
Lucy. It's all right, don't be nervous; time has softened them down. (beckons him nearer) I have a notion that Jack has always funked the thing, but his colonel had given his orders, (he sits on table) don't you see? And that was enough for him. I don't regard discipline—military or parental—with the same amount of respect. British freedom means the right to make a fool of one's self in one's own way. You're my way, and that's enough for you. (he tries to take her hand, she draws it away) Back windows!
Thor. I suppose no one guesses that we——?
Lucy. Mean business! No, with the exception possibly of Cook.
Thor. Cook! (he looks at her in surprise)
Lucy. Somehow I've a notion she's tumbled to it.
Thor. Would it matter? Would she——?
Lucy. Prattle about it? No, I think she rather likes me—tolerates would be a better word.