ALICE, in the noblest spirit of self-abnegation, ‘Go, Robert. Perhaps she--will like you better.’ COLONEL. ‘She’s a contemptible child.’ But that nursery door does draw him strongly. He finds himself getting nearer and nearer to it. ‘I’ll show her,’ with a happy pretence that his object is merely to enforce discipline. The forgotten Cosmo pops up again; the Colonel introduces him with a gesture and darts off to his baby. ALICE, entranced, ‘My son!’ COSMO, forgetting all plans, ‘Mother!’ She envelops him in her arms, worshipping him, and he likes it. ALICE. ‘Oh, Cosmo--how splendid you are.’ COSMO, soothingly, ‘That’s all right, mother.’ ALICE. ‘Say it again.’ COSMO. ‘That’s all right.’ ALICE. ‘No, the other word.’ COSMO. ‘Mother.’ ALICE. ‘Again.’ COSMO. ‘Mother--mother--’ When she has come to: ‘Are you better now?’ ALICE. ‘He is my son, and he is in uniform.’ COSMO, aware that allowances must be made, ‘Yes, I know.’ ALICE. ‘Are you glad to see your mother, Cosmo?’ COSMO. ‘Rather! Will you have some tea?’ ALICE. ‘No, no, I feel I can do nothing for the rest of my life but hug my glorious boy.’ COSMO. ‘Of course, I have my work.’ ALICE. ‘His work! Do the officers love you, Cosmo?’ COSMO, degraded, ‘Love me! I should think not.’ ALICE. ‘I should like to ask them all to come and stay with us.’ COSMO, appalled, ‘Great Scott, mother, you can’t do things like that.’ ALICE. ‘Can’t I? Are you very studious, Cosmo?’ COSMO, neatly, ‘My favourite authors are William Shakespeare and William Milton. They are grand, don’t you think?’ ALICE. ‘I’m only a woman, you see; and I’m afraid they sometimes bore me, especially William Milton.’ COSMO, with relief, ‘Do they? Me, too.’ ALICE, on the verge of tears again, ‘But not half so much as I bore my baby.’ COSMO, anxious to help her, ‘What did you do to her?’ ALICE, appealingly, ‘I couldn’t help wanting to hold her in my arms, could I, Cosmo?’ COSMO, full of consideration, ‘No, of course you couldn’t.’ He reflects. ‘How did you take hold of her?’ ALICE. ‘I suppose in some clumsy way.’ COSMO. ‘Not like this, was it?’ ALICE, gloomily, ‘I dare say.’ COSMO. ‘You should have done it this way.’ He very kindly shows her how to carry a baby. ALICE, with becoming humility, ‘Thank you, Cosmo.’ He does not observe the gleam in her eye, and is in the high good humour that comes to any man when any woman asks him to show her how to do anything. COSMO. ‘If you like I’ll show you with a cushion. You see this’--scoops it up--‘is wrong; but this’--he does a little sleight of hand--‘is right. Another way is this, with their head hanging over your shoulder, and you holding on firmly to their legs. You wouldn’t think it was comfortable, but they like it.’ ALICE, adoring him. ‘I see, Cosmo.’ She practises diligently with the cushion. ‘First this way--then this.’ COSMO. ‘That’s first-class. It’s just a knack. You’ll soon pick it up.’