CAPT. M. (Brandishing scab larded sword.) Woman, produce those shoes Some one lend me a bread-knife. We mustn't crack Gaddy's head more than it is. (Slices heel off white satin slipper and puts slipper up his sleeve.) Where is the Bride? (To the company at large.) Be tender with that rice. It's a heathen custom. Give me the big bag. * * * * * * Bride slips out quietly into 'rickshaw and departs toward the sunset. CAPT. M. (In the open.) Stole away, by Jove! So much the worse for Gaddy! Here he is. Now Gaddy, this'll be livelier than Amdberan! Where's your horse? CAPT. G. (Furiously, seeing that the women are out of an earshot.) Where the--is my Wife? CAPT. M. Half-way to Mahasu by this time. You'll have to ride like Young Lochinvar. Horse comes round on his hind legs; refuses to let G. handle him. CAPT. G. Oh you will, will you? Get 'round, you brute--you hog--you beast! Get round! Wrenches horse's head over, nearly breaking lower jaw: swings himself into saddle, and sends home both spurs in the midst of a spattering gale of Best Patna. CAPT. M. For your life and your love-ride, Gaddy--And God bless you! Throws half a pound of rice at G. who disappears, bowed forward on the saddle, in a cloud of sunlit dust. CAPT. M. I've lost old Gaddy. (Lights cigarette and strolls off, singing absently):-- “You may carve it on his tombstone, you may cut it on his card, That a young man married is a young man marred!” Miss DEERCOURT. (From her horse.) Really, Captain Mafflin! You are more plain spoken than polite! CAPT. M. (Aside.) They say marriage is like cholera. 'Wonder who'll be the next victim. White satin slipper slides from his sleeve and falls at his feet. Left wondering. THE GARDEN OF EDEN And ye shall be as--Gods! SCENE.--Thymy grass-plot at back of the Mahasu dak-bungalow, overlooking little wooded valley. On the left, glimpse of the Dead Forest of Fagoo; on the right, Simla Hills. In background, line of the Snows. CAPTAIN GADSBY, now three weeks a husband, is smoking the pipe of peace on a rug in the sunshine. Banjo and tobacco-pouch on rug. Overhead the Fagoo eagles. MRS. G. comes out of bungalow. MRS. G. My husband! CAPT. G. (Lazily, with intense enjoyment.) Eb, wha-at? Say that again. MRS. G. I've written to Mamma and told her that we shall be back on the 17th. CAPT. G. Did you give her my love? MRS. G. No, I kept all that for myself. (Sitting down by his side.) I thought you wouldn't mind. CAPT. G. (With mock sternness.) I object awf'ly. How did you know that it was yours to keep? MRS. G. I guessed, Phil. CAPT. G. (Rapturously.) Lit-tle Featherweight! MRS. G. I won' t be called those sporting pet names, bad boy. CAPT. G. You'll be called anything I choose. Has it ever occurred to you, Madam, that you are my Wife? MRS. G. It has. I haven't ceased wondering at it yet. CAPT. G. Nor I. It seems so strange; and yet, somehow, it doesn't. (Confidently.) You see, it could have been no one else.