Lesbia Grantham comes in through the tower. She is a tall, handsome, slender lady in her prime; that is, between 36 and 55. She has what is called a well-bred air, dressing very carefully to produce that effect without the least regard for the latest fashions, sure of herself, very terrifying to the young and shy, fastidious to the ends of her long finger-tips, and tolerant and amused rather than sympathetic. LESBIA. Good morning, dear big sister. MRS BRIDGENORTH. Good morning, dear little sister. [They kiss]. LESBIA. Good morning, Collins. How well you are looking! And how young! [She turns the middle chair away from the table and sits down]. COLLINS. Thats only my professional habit at a wedding, Miss. You should see me at a political dinner. I look nigh seventy. [Looking at his watch] Time's getting along, maam. May I send up word from you to Miss Edith to hurry a bit with her dressing? MRS BRIDGENORTH. Do, Collins. Collins goes out through the tower, taking the cake with him. LESBIA. Dear old Collins! Has he told you any stories this morning? MRS BRIDGENORTH. Yes. You were just late for a particularly thrilling invention of his. LESBIA. About Mrs George? MRS BRIDGENORTH. Yes. He says she's a clairvoyant. LESBIA. I wonder whether he really invented George, or stole her out of some book. MRS BRIDGENORTH. I wonder! LESBIA. Wheres the Barmecide? MRS BRIDGENORTH. In the study, working away at his new book. He thinks no more now of having a daughter married than of having an egg for breakfast. The General, soothed by smoking, comes in from the garden. THE GENERAL [with resolute bonhomie] Ah, Lesbia! MRS BRIDGENORTH. How do you do? [They shake hands; and he takes the chair on her right]. Mrs Bridgenorth goes out through the tower. LESBIA. How are you, Boxer? You look almost as gorgeous as the wedding cake. THE GENERAL. I make a point of appearing in uniform whenever I take part in any ceremony, as a lesson to the subalterns. It is not the custom in England; but it ought to be. LESBIA. You look very fine, Boxer. What a frightful lot of bravery all these medals must represent! THE GENERAL. No, Lesbia. They represent despair and cowardice. I won all the early ones by trying to get killed. You know why. LESBIA. But you had a charmed life? THE GENERAL. Yes, a charmed life. Bayonets bent on my buckles. Bullets passed through me and left no trace: thats the worst of modern bullets: Ive never been hit by a dum-dum. When I was only a company officer I had at least the right to expose myself to death in the field. Now I'm a General even that resource is cut off. [Persuasively drawing his chair nearer to her] Listen to me, Lesbia. For the tenth and last time-- LESBIA [interrupting] On Florence's wedding morning, two years ago, you said "For the ninth and last time."