G. Eh! Wha-at? M. Don't you know? The men have called Mrs. Gadsby the Pride of the Pink Hussars ever since she came to us. G. 'Tisn't _her_ fault. Don't think that. It's all mine. M. What does she say? G. I haven't exactly put it before her. She's the best little woman in the world, Jack, and all that--but she wouldn't counsel a man to stick to his calling if it came between him and her. At least, I think-- M. Never mind. Don't tell her what you told me. Go on the Peerage and Landed-Gentry tack. G. She'd see through it. She's five times cleverer than I am. M. (_Aside._) Then she'll accept the sacrifice and think a little bit worse of him for the rest of her days. G. (_Absently._) I say, do you despise me? M. 'Queer way of putting it. Have you ever been asked that question? Think a minute. What answer used you to give? G. So bad as _that?_ I'm not entitled to expect anything more, but it's a bit hard when one's best friend turns round and-- M. So _I_ have found. But you will have consolations--Bailiffs and Drains and Liquid Manure and the Primrose League, and, perhaps, if you're lucky, the Colonelcy of a Yeomanry Cav-al-ry Regiment--all uniform and no riding, I believe. How old are you? G. Thirty-three. I know it's-- M. At forty you'll be a fool of a J.P. landlord. At fifty you'll own a bath-chair, and The Brigadier, if he takes after you, will be fluttering the dovecotes of--what's the particular dunghill you're going to? Also, Mrs. Gadsby will be fat. G. (_Limply._) This is rather more than a joke. M. D'you think so? Isn't cutting the Service a joke? It generally takes a man fifty years to arrive at it. You're quite right, though. It is more than a joke. You've managed it in thirty-three. G. Don't make me feel worse than I do. Will it satisfy you if I own that I am a shirker, a skrim-shanker, and a coward? M. It will _not_, because I'm the only man in the world who can talk to you like this without being knocked down. You mustn't take all that I've said to heart in this way. I only spoke--a lot of it at least--out of pure selfishness, because, because--Oh, damn it all, old man,--I don't know _what_ I shall do without you. Of course, you've got the money and the place and all that--and there are two very good reasons why you should take care of yourself. G. 'Doesn't make it any the sweeter. I'm backing out--I know I am. I always had a soft drop in me somewhere--and I daren't risk any danger to _them._ M. Why in the world should you? You're bound to think of your family--bound to think. Er-hmm. If I wasn't a younger son I'd go too--be shot if I wouldn't! G. Thank you, Jack. It's a kind lie, but it's the blackest you've told for some time. I know what I'm doing, and I'm going into it with my eyes open. Old man, I _can't_ help it. What would you do if you were in my place?