Helen.  Ah!  He’ll soon be safe back.

Wreford.  I’ll owe ’em for this. [In a lacy voice to her] Don’t ’ee now!  Don’t ’ee!

Helen.  No!  Don’t cry, please!

     She stands struggling with her own lips, then goes out on to the
     terrace, Hubert following.  Wreford and his girl remain where
     they were, strange and awkward, she muffling her sobs.

Wreford.  Don’t ’ee go on like that, Nance; I’ll ’ave to take you ’ome.  That’s silly, now we’ve a-come.  I might be dead and buried by the fuss you’re makin’.  You’ve a-drove the lady away.  See!

She regains control of herself as the door is opened and Katherine appears, accompanied by Olive, who regards Wreford with awe and curiosity, and by Nurse, whose eyes are red, but whose manner is composed.

Katherine.  My brother told me; so glad you’ve brought her.

Wreford.  Ye—­as, M’.  She feels me goin’, a bit.

Katherine.  Yes, yes!  Still, it’s for the country, isn’t it?

The girl.  That’s what Wreford keeps tellin’ me.  He’ve got to go—­so it’s no use upsettin’ ‘im.  And of course I keep tellin’ him I shall be all right.

Nurse. [Whose eyes never leave her son’s face] And so you will.

The girl.  Wreford thought it’d comfort him to know you were interested in me.  ’E’s so ’ot-headed I’m sure somethin’ll come to ’im.

Katherine.  We’ve all got some one going.  Are you coming to the docks?  We must send them off in good spirits, you know.

Olive.  Perhaps he’ll get a medal.

Katherine.  Olive!

Nurse.  You wouldn’t like for him to be hanging back, one of them anti-patriot, stop-the-war ones.

Katherine. [Quickly] Let me see—­I have your address. [Holding out her hand to Wreford] We’ll look after her.

Olive. [In a loud whisper] Shall I lend him my toffee?

Katherine.  If you like, dear. [To Wreford] Now take care of my brother and yourself, and we’ll take care of her.

Wreford.  Ye—­as, M’.

     He then looks rather wretchedly at his girl, as if the interview
     had not done so much for him as he had hoped.  She drops a
     little curtsey.  Wreford salutes.

Olive. [Who has taken from the bureau a packet, places it in his hand] It’s very nourishing!

Wreford.  Thank you, miss.

     Then, nudging each other, and entangled in their feelings and
     the conventions, they pass out, shepherded by Nurse.

Katherine.  Poor things!

Olive.  What is an anti-patriot, stop-the-war one, Mummy?

Katherine. [Taking up a newspaper] Just a stupid name, dear—­don’t chatter!