KATE.  Game?

NORWOOD.  Yes.  What’s he up to?

KATE.  Is he up to anything?

NORWOOD.  I don’t like it.  Why the devil did he choose to-day to come back?  If he’d waited another week, we’d have been safely away together.  What’s his game, I wonder?

(He walks up and down, worrying it out.)

KATE.  I don’t think he’s playing a game.  He’s just giving me my chance.

NORWOOD.  What chance?

KATE.  A chance to decide between you.

NORWOOD.  You’ve decided that, Kate.  You’ve had a year to think about it in, and you’ve decided.  We love each other; you’re coming away with me; that’s all settled.  Only . . . what the deuce is he up to?

KATE (sitting down and talking to herself).  You’re quite right about my not knowing him. . . .  How one rushed into marriage in those early days of the war—­knowing nothing about each other.  And then they come back, and even the little one thought one did know is different. . . .  I suppose he feels the same about me.

NORWOOD (to himself).  Damn him!

KATE (after a pause).  Well, Cyril?

NORWOOD (looking sharply round at her).  Well?

KATE.  We haven’t got very long.

NORWOOD (looking at his watch).  He really means to come back—­in five minutes?

KATE.  You heard him say so.

NORWOOD (going up to her and speaking eagerly).  What’s the matter with slipping out now?  You’ve got a hat here.  We can slip out quietly.  He won’t hear us.  He’ll come back and find us gone—­well, what can he do?  Probably he’ll hang about for a bit and then go to his club.  We’ll have a bit of dinner; ring up your maid; get her to meet you with some things, and go off by the night mail.  Scotland—­anywhere you like.  Let the whole business simmer down a bit.  We don’t want any melodramatic eighteenth-century nonsense.

KATE.  Go out now, and not wait for him to have his five minutes?

NORWOOD (impatiently).  What does he want with five minutes?  What’s the good of it to him?  Just to take a pathetic farewell of you, and pretend that you’ve ruined his life, when all the time he’s chuckling in his sleeve at having got rid of you so easily. I know these young fellows.  Some Major’s wife in India is what he’s got his eye on. . . .  Or else he’ll try fooling around with the hands-up business.  You don’t want to be mixed up with any scandal of that sort.  No, the best thing we can do—­I’m speaking for your sake, Kate—­is to slip off quietly, while we’ve got the chance.  We can write and explain all that we want to explain.

KATE (looking wonderingly at him—­another man whom she doesn’t know). 
Is that playing quite fair to Dennis?

NORWOOD.  Good Lord, this isn’t a game!  Camberley may think so with his tossing-up and all the rest of it, but you and I aren’t children.  Everything’s fair in a case like this.  Put your hat on—­quickly—­(he gets it for her)—­here you are—­