British -- India -- Fiction; India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction
MRS. G. (Softly.) No. No one else--for me or for you. It must have been
all arranged from the beginning. Phil, tell me again what made you care
for me.
CAPT. G. How could I help it? You were you, you know.
MRS. G. Did you ever want to help it? Speak the truth!
CAPT. G. (A twinkle in his eye.) I did, darling, just at the first. Rut
only at the very first. (Chuckles.) I called you--stoop low and I'll
whisper--“a little beast.” Ho! Ho! Ho!
MRS. G. (Taking him by the moustache and making him sit up.)
“A--little--beast!” Stop laughing over your crime! And yet you had
the--the--awful cheek to propose to me!
CAPT. C. I'd changed my mind then. And you weren't a little beast any
more.
MRS. G. Thank you, sir! And when was I ever?
CAPT. G. Never! But that first day, when you gave me tea in that
peach-colored muslin gown thing, you looked--you did indeed, dear--such
an absurd little mite. And I didn't know what to say to you.
MRS. G. (Twisting moustache.) So you said “little beast.” Upon my word,
Sir! I called you a “Crrrreature,” but I wish now I had called you
something worse.
CAPT. G. (Very meekly.) I apologize, but you're hurting me awf'ly.
(Interlude.) You're welcome to torture me again on those terms.
MRS. G. Oh, why did you let me do it?
CAPT. G. (Looking across valley.) No reason in particular, but--if it
amused you or did you any good--you might--wipe those dear little boots
of yours on me.
MRS. G. (Stretching out her hands.) Don't! Oh, don't! Philip, my King,
please don't talk like that. It's how I feel. You're so much too good
for me. So much too good!
CAPT. G. Me! I'm not fit to put my arm around you. (Puts it round.)
MRS. C. Yes, you are. But I--what have I ever done?
CAPT. G. Given me a wee bit of your heart, haven't you, my Queen!
MRS. G. That's nothing. Any one would do that. They cou-couldn't help
it.
CAPT. G. Pussy, you'll make me horribly conceited. Just when I was
beginning to feel so humble, too.
MRS. G. Humble! I don't believe it's in your character.
CAPT. G. What do you know of my character, Impertinence?
MRS. G. Ah, but I shall, shan't I, Phil? I shall have time in all the
years and years to come, to know everything about you; and there will be
no secrets between us.
CAPT. G. Little witch! I believe you know me thoroughly already.
MRS. G. I think I can guess. You're selfish?
CAPT. G. Yes.
MRS. G. Foolish?
CAPT. G. Very.
MRS. G. And a dear?
CAPT. G. That is as my lady pleases.
MRS. G. Then your lady is pleased. (A pause.) D'you know that we're two
solemn, serious, grown-up people--CAPT. G. (Tilting her straw hat over
her eyes.) You grown-up! Pooh! You're a baby.
MRS. G. And we're talking nonsense.
CAPT. G. Then let's go on talking nonsense. I rather like it. Pussy,
I'll tell you a secret. Promise not to repeat?
MRS. G. Ye-es. Only to you.
CAPT. G. I love you.
MRS. G. Re-ally! For how long?
CAPT. G. Forever and ever.
MRS. G. That's a long time.
CAPT. G. 'Think so? It's the shortest I can do with.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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