Capt. G. (Innocently.) Why not?
Mrs. G. (Raising her eyes to his.) Because—because I was afraid of losing you, my heart. But now—tell about it—please.
Capt. G. There's nothing to tell. I was awf'ly old then—nearly two and twenty—and she was quite that.
Mrs. G. That means she was older than you. I shouldn't like her to have been younger. Well?
Capt. G. Well, I fancied myself in love and raved about a bit, and—oh, yes, by Jove! I made up poetry. Ha! Ha!
Mrs. G. You never wrote any for me! What happened?
Capt. G. I came out here, and the whole thing went phut. She wrote to say that there had been a mistake, and then she married.
Mrs. G. Did she care for you much?
Capt. G. No. At least she didn't show it as far as I remember.
Mrs. G. As far as you remember! Do you remember her name? (Hears it and bows her head.) Thank you, my husband.