CAPT. G. A cut—if you want to know.
MRS. G. Want to know! Of course I do! I can't have my husband cut to pieces in this way. How did it come? Was it an accident? Tell me, Pip.
CAPT. G. (Grimly.) No. 'Twasn't an accident. I got it—from a man—in Afghanistan.
MRS. G. In action? Oh, Pip, and you never told me!
CAPT. G. I'd forgotten all about it.
MRS. G. Hold up your arm! What a horrid, ugly scar! Are you sure it doesn't hurt now! How did the man give it you?
CAPT. G. (Desperately looking at his watch.) With a knife. I came down—old Van Loo did, that's to say—and fell on my leg, so I couldn't run. And then this man came up and began chopping at me as I sprawled.
MRS. G. Oh, don't, don't! That's enough!—Well, what happened?
CAPT. G. I couldn't get to my holster, and Mafflin came round the corner and stopped the performance.
MRS. G. How? He's such a lazy man, I don't believe he did.