G.J. Mary!
M.B. (intervening jauntily). Well, my man?
G.J. (his vocabulary strengthened by Army life). You dash blank blighter! You ruddy plague-spot!
Mary (gazing at him with horror). Oh, George, those—clothes—don't—fit! [Sobs heartbrokenly.
M.B. (striking while the iron is hot). Mary, you shall choose between us, here and now.
G.J. (yearningly). Mary, with you to cheer me on I will win the V.C. I swear it. My beloved, come with me; there will be a separation allowance.
Mary (shuddering). Not in those trousers. I—can't. [She swoons in Marmaduke's arms. George raises his fist to strike Marmaduke. Enter Sergeant Tompkins.
Sergt. T. 'Ere, none o' that. Private Jeffreys, 'SHUN! Right—TURN! About—TURN! Left—TURN! Quick—MARCH! [Exit George to win V.C.
CURTAIN.