Colonel.  Of course, if you wish it, my dear.

Mrs. Gwyn.  Unfortunately, I do.

Colonel. [Nervously.] Ah! yes, I know; but look here, Molly, your aunt thinks you’re in a very delicate position-in fact, she thinks you see too much of young Lever.

Mrs. Gwyn. [Stretching herself like an angry cat.] Does she?  And what do you think?

Colonel.  I?  I make a point of not thinking.  I only know that here he is, and I don’t want you to go burning your fingers, eh?

     [Mrs. Gwyn sits with a vindictive smile.]

A gold mine’s a gold mine.  I don’t mean he deliberately—­but they take in women and parsons, and—­and all sorts of fools. [Looking down.] And then, you know, I can’t tell your feelings, my dear, and I don’t want to; but a man about town ’ll compromise a woman as soon as he’ll look at her, and [softly shaking his head] I don’t like that, Molly!  It ’s not the thing!

     [Mrs. Gwyn sits unmoved, smiling the same smile, and the Colonel
     gives her a nervous look.]

If—­if you were any other woman I should n’t care—­and if—­if you were a plain woman, damme, you might do what you liked!  I know you and Geoff don’t get on; but here’s this child of yours, devoted to you, and—­and don’t you see, old girl?  Eh?

Mrs. Gwyn. [With a little hard laugh.] Thanks!  Perfectly!  I suppose as you don’t think, Uncle Tom, it never occurred to you that I have rather a lonely time of it.

Colonel. [With compunction.] Oh! my dear, yes, of course I know it must be beastly.

Mrs. Gwyn. [Stonily.] It is.

Colonel.  Yes, yes! [Speaking in a surprised voice.] I don’t know what I ’m talking like this for!  It’s your aunt!  She goes on at me till she gets on my nerves.  What d’ you think she wants me to do now?  Put money into this gold mine!  Did you ever hear such folly?

Mrs. Gwyn. [Breaking into laughter.] Oh!  Uncle Tom!

Colonel.  All very well for you to laugh, Molly!

Mrs. Gwyn. [Calmly.] And how much are you going to put in?

Colonel.  Not a farthing!  Why, I’ve got nothing but my pension and three thousand India stock!

Mrs. Gwyn.  Only ninety pounds a year, besides your pension!  D’ you mean to say that’s all you’ve got, Uncle Tom?  I never knew that before.  What a shame!

Colonel. [Feelingly.] It is a, d—­d shame!  I don’t suppose there’s another case in the army of a man being treated as I’ve been.

Mrs. Gwyn.  But how on earth do you manage here on so little?