KATE.  Yes.  I keep telling myself that.

NORWOOD.  The world may say that you’re his wife and he’s your husband, but—­what do you know of him?  He won’t even be the boy you married.  He’ll be a stranger whom you’ll hardly recognise.  And you aren’t the girl he married.  You’re a woman now, and you’re just beginning to learn what love is.  Come with me.

KATE.  It’s true, it’s true.  But he has been fighting for us.  And to come home again after those four years of exile, and find—­

NORWOOD.  Exile—­that’s making much too much of it.  He’s come through the war safely, and he’s probably had what he’d call a topping good time.  Like enough he’s been in love half-a-dozen times himself since—­on leave in India and that sort of thing.  India!  Well, you should read Kipling.

KATE.  I wonder.  Of course, as you say, I don’t know him.  But I feel that we should be happier afterwards if we were quite straight about it and told him just what had happened.  If he had been doing what you say, he would understand—­and perhaps be glad of it.

NORWOOD (uneasily).  Really, darling, it’s hardly a thing you can talk over calmly with a husband, even if he—­We don’t want any unpleasantness, and—­er—­(Taking her hands again) Besides, I want you, Kate.  It may be weeks before he comes back.  We can’t go on like this . . .  Kate!

KATE.  Do you love me so very much?

NORWOOD.  My darling!

KATE.  Well, let us wait till the end of the week—­in case he comes.  I don’t want to seem to be afraid of him.

NORWOOD (eagerly).  And then?

KATE.  Then I’ll come with you.

NORWOOD (taking her in his arms).  My darling! . . .  There!  And now what are you going to do?  Ask me to stay to dinner or what?

KATE.  Certainly not, sir.  I’m going out to dinner to-night.

NORWOOD (jealously).  Who with?

KATE.  You.

NORWOOD (eagerly).  At our little restaurant? (She nods) Good girl!  Then go and put on a hat, while I ring ’em up and see if they’ve got a table.

KATE.  What fun!  I won’t be a moment. (She goes to the door) Cyril, you will always love me?

NORWOOD.  Of course I will, darling. (She nods at him and goes out.  He is very well pleased with himself when he is left alone.  He goes to the telephone with a smile) Gerrard 11,001.  Yes . . .  I want a table for two.  To-night . . .  Mr. Cyril Norwood . . .  Oh, in about half an hour . . .  Yes, for two.  Is that all right? . . .  Thank you.

(He puts the receiver back and turns round to see DENNIS CAMBERLEY, who has just come in.  DENNIS is certainly a man now; very easily and pleasantly master of himself and of anybody else who gets in his way.)

NORWOOD (surprised).  Hallo!

DENNIS (nodding pleasantly).  Hallo!

NORWOOD (wondering who he is).  You—­er——?