Mitchener.  And the public thinks the lot of a commanding officer a happy one!  Oh, if they could only see the seamy side of it. (He returns to his table to resume work.)

Mrs. Farrell.  If they could only see the seamy side of General Sandstones uniform, where his flask rubs agen the buckle of his braces, theyll tell him he ought to get a new one.  Let alone the way he swears at me.

Mitchener.  When a man has risked his life on eight battlefields, Mrs. Farrell, he has given sufficient proof of his self-control to be excused a little strong language.

Mrs. Farrell.  Would you put up with bad language from me because Ive risked my life eight times in childbed?

Mitchener.  My dear Mrs. Farrell, you surely would not compare a risk of that harmless domestic kind to the fearful risks of the battlefield?

Mrs. Farrell.  I wouldnt compare risks run to bear living people into the world to risks run to blow them out of it.  A mother’s risk is jooty:  a soldier’s nothin but divilmint.

Mitchener (nettled).  Let me tell you, Mrs. Farrell, that if the men did not fight, the women would have to fight themselves.  We spare you that, at all events.

Mrs. Farrell.  You cant help yourselves.  If three-quarters of you was killed we could replace you with the help of the other quarter.  If three-quarters of us was killed, how many people would there be in England in another generation?  If it wasnt for that, the mand put the fightin on us just as they put all the other dhrudgery.  What would you do if we was all kilt?  Would you go to bed and have twins?

Mitchener.  Really, Mrs. Farrell, you must discuss these questions with a medical man.  You make me blush, positively.

Mrs. Farrell.  A good job too.  If I could have made Farrell blush I wouldnt have had to risk me life too often.  You n your risks n your bravery n your selfcontrol indeed!  “Why don’t you conthrol yourself?” I sez to Farrell.  “Its agen me religion,” he sez.

Mitchener (plaintively).  Mrs. Farrell, youre a woman of very powerful mind.  Im not qualified to argue these delicate matters with you.  I ask you to spare me, and to be good enough to take these clothes to Mr. Balsquith when the ladies leave.

The Orderly comes in.

The orderly.  Lady Corinthia Fanshawe and Mrs. Banger wish to see you, sir.  Mr. Balsquith told me to tell you.

Mrs. Farrell.  Theyve come about the vote.  I dont know whether its them that want it or them that doesnt want it:  anyhow, they’re all alike when they get into a state about it. (She goes out, having gathered Balsquith’s suffraget disguise from the desk.)

Mitchener.  Is Mr. Balsquith not with them?

The orderly.  No, Sir.  Couldnt stand Mrs. Banger, I expect.  Fair caution she is. (He chuckles.) Couldnt help larfin when I sor im op it.