so active. Hasn’t John come in yet? He said he was only going to the post.

Mrs. Wharton.

Perhaps he went in to see Sylvia on the way back.

Colonel Wharton.

I shouldn’t have thought she wanted to be bothered with him in the morning.

Mrs. Wharton.

George!

Colonel Wharton.

Yes, dear.

Mrs. Wharton.

It seems so extraordinary to hear you say: “Hasn’t John come in yet? He said he was only going to the post.” It makes me rather want to cry.

Colonel Wharton.

It’s been a long time, Evelyn. It’s been a bad time for both of us, my dear. But worse for you.

Mrs. Wharton.

I tried not to be troublesome, George.

Colonel Wharton.

Dear child, aren’t I there to share your troubles with you?

Mrs. Wharton.

It seems so natural that he should come in any minute, it seems as though he’d never been away—and yet somehow I can’t quite believe it. It seems incredible that he should really be back.

Colonel Wharton.

[Patting her hand.] My dear Evelyn!

Colonel Wharton.

Thank you. [While he puts on his spectacles.] It’s a blessing to be able to read the births, deaths, and marriages like a gentleman instead of turning before anything else to the casualties.

Mrs. Wharton.

I hope before long that we shall be composing a little announcement for that column.

Colonel Wharton.

Have they settled a day yet, those young people?

Mrs. Wharton.

I don’t know. John hasn’t said anything, and I didn’t see Sylvia yesterday except for a moment after church.

Colonel Wharton.

Evelyn dear, the gardener tells me he hasn’t got much in the way of pease ready for to-night, so I’ve told him to send in a few carrots for me; I think they’re probably better for my digestion.

Mrs. Wharton.

Nonsense, George. You know how much you like pease, and I’m not very fond of them. I was hoping there’d only be enough for two so that I shouldn’t have to eat any.

Colonel Wharton.

Evelyn, where do you expect to go when you die if you tell such stories?

Mrs. Wharton.

Now, George, don’t be obstinate. You might give in to me sometimes. They’re the first pease out of the garden and I should like you to eat them.

Colonel Wharton.

No, my dear, I’d like to see you eat them. I’m an invalid, and I must have my own way.

Mrs. Wharton.

You tyrant! You haven’t seen Dr. Macfarlane this morning? I’m so anxious.

Colonel Wharton.

You old fusser! No sooner have you stopped worrying over your boy than you start worrying over me.

Mrs. Wharton.

Even though you won’t let me call my soul my own, I don’t want to lose you just yet.

Colonel Wharton.

Don’t be