SMITH. Let us compare our pictures--mental, of course--of the man. (_With solicitude_.) CELIA. Oh, no--not at all. Not at all. SMITH. Then you describe Smith as you saw him, and I'll tell you if I agree with you. CELIA. Of course, you know our descriptions won't be alike. No two people's description of anyone ever would be. SMITH. Of course not--except in the definite facts.--His eyes, for instance---- CELIA. His eyes--his eyes were not definite. SMITH. Not definite? CELIA. Their color. I mean it varied. Emotion kindled them--apathy dulled them. Sometimes they were light and again they were very, very dark. SMITH. That's funny. I never saw them dark. To me they always were light, like bottle glass. CELIA. Really? Possibly you were not very observing. SMITH. (_Acknowledges the point with a touch of impatience_) Possibly not. But his hair? Surely we can't differ as to that? CELIA. His hair--you mean did it curl or was it straight? SMITH. Yes--and its color. CELIA. His hair--I hardly know how to describe his hair, because his hair was---- It was like no hair that I ever saw. SMITH. (_Laughs_) That's a splendid description of a bald man. That always was a great grief to Smith, his baldness; his head was so very bald and bumpy. CELIA. Oh, yes. SMITH. (_Puts his hand to his head_) What! (_Recovering himself_) Oh, yes, yes. (_Growing more and more determined to trip her and more and more interested in and appreciative of her attractiveness_) Now his mouth---- CELIA. Well. His mouth was peculiar---- SMITH. Peculiar? CELIA. Yes, you see it broadened when he smiled. SMITH. (_Laughing_) Oh--did he smile for you? CELIA. Oh, often, very often. SMITH. Yes, we all do--don't we? What would you say of his voice? CELIA. It was kind, always kind. SMITH. (_Shakes head_) Gruff and commanding. CELIA. (_Insinuatingly_) Naturally--_not to me_. (_Her hand rests on the table_.) SMITH. (_Slowly covering her hand with his_) No, no-how could it be? CELIA. (_Looking over their hands to the spot that_ SMITH _had indicated earlier_) Do you feel he's sitting there still? SMITH. (_Leaning toward her_) You're surely not afraid of--Wobbles? CELIA. (_Pushes chair back, sliding with it as far up stage as possible. Faintly_) Did you say--_Wobbles?_ SMITH. (_Briskly_) You surely knew his nickname? CELIA. (_Openly perplexed_) But I--I called him--_Wobbles_. (_Stares at_ SMITH.) SMITH. Why! All the Army called him--Wobbles. CELIA. (_In dry, queer voice_) I didn't know that. (_READY Third Border_.) SMITH. He was the most popular fellow--! You won't go to a dance or a garden party for the rest of your life--there won't be a town in the United Kingdom, Miss Faraday, where you won't meet somebody, some old school-fellow, some brother-officer, who knew him:--who will understand your loss and tell you new details of Wobbles. (_Rises_.)