CAPT. G. By Jove! I didn't know that. Ha-Hmmm! (_Pulls at his moustache and is silent for forty seconds_.) MISS T. (_Desperately, and wondering what will happen next._) It looks beautiful. I shouldn't touch it if I were you. (_Aside_.) It's all Mamma's fault for not coming before. I _will_ be rude! CAPT. G. (_Bronzing under the tan and bringing down his hand very quickly_.) Eh! Wha-at! Oh, yes! Ha! Ha! (_Laughs uneasily_.) (_Aside_.) Well, of _all_ the dashed cheek! I never had a woman say that to me yet. She must be a cool hand or else--Ah! that nursery-tea! VOICE FROM THE UNKNOWN. Tchk! Tchk! Tchk! CAPT. G. Good Gracious! What's that? MISS T. The dog, I think. (_Aside_.) Emma _has_ been listening, and I'll never forgive her! CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) They don't keep dogs here. (_Aloud_.) Didn't sound like a dog, did it? MISS T. Then it must have been the cat. Let's go into the veranda. What a lovely evening it is! _Steps into veranda and looks out across the hills into sunset. The Captain follows._ CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) Superb eyes! I wonder that I never noticed them before! (_Aloud_.) There's going to be a dance at Viceregal Lodge on Wednesday. Can you spare me one? MISS T. (_Shortly_.) No! I don't want any of your charity-dances. You only ask me because Mamma told you to. I hop and I bump. You _know_ I do! CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) That's true, but little girls shouldn't understand these things. (_Aloud_.) _No_, on my word, I don't. You dance beautifully. MISS T. Then why do you always stand out after half a dozen turns? I thought officers in the Army didn't tell fibs. CAPT. G. It wasn't a fib, believe me. I really _do_ want the pleasure of a dance with you. MISS T. (_Wickedly_.) Why? Won't Mamma dance with you any more? CAPT. G. (_More earnestly than the necessity demands_.) I wasn't thinking of your Mother. (_Aside_.) You little vixen! MISS T. (_Still looking out of the window_.) Eh? Oh, I beg your pardon. I was thinking of something else. CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) Well! I wonder what she'll say next. I've never known a woman treat _me_ like this before. I might be--Dash it, I might be an Infantry subaltern! (_Aloud_.) Oh, _please_ don't trouble. I'm not worth thinking about. Isn't your Mother ready yet? MISS T. I should think so; but promise me, Captain Gadsby, you won't take poor dear Mamma twice round Jakko any more. It tires her so. CAPT. G. She says that no exercise tires her. MISS T. Yes, but she suffers afterwards. _You_ don't know what rheumatism is, and you oughtn't to keep her out so late, when it gets chill in the evenings. CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) Rheumatism! I _thought_ she came off her horse rather in a bunch. Whew! One lives and learns. (_Aloud_.) I'm sorry to hear that. She hasn't mentioned it to me. MISS T. (_Flurried_.) Of course not! Poor dear Mamma never would. And you mustn't say that I told you either. Promise me that you won't. Oh, Captain Gadsby, _promise_ me you won't!