G. Don't shout. I'm going to send in my papers.
M. You! Are you mad?
G. No—only married.
M. Look here! What's the meaning of it all? You never intend to leave us. You can't. Isn't the best squadron of the best regiment of the best cavalry in all the world good enough for you?
G. (Jerking his head over his shoulder.) She doesn't seem to thrive in this God-forsaken country, and there's The Butcha to be considered and all that, you know.
M. Does she say that she doesn't like India?
G. That's the worst of it. She won't for fear of leaving me.
M. What are the Hills made for?
G. Not for my wife at any rate.
M. You know too much, Gaddy, and—I don't like you any the better for it!