t!'e Mahasu dak-bungalow,
overlooking little wooded valley. On the left, glimpse of the Dead
Forest of Fagoo; on the right, Simla Hills. In background, line of the
Snows. CAPTAIN GADSBY, now three weeks a husband, is smoking the pipe of
peace on a rug in the sunshine. Banjo and tobacco-pouch on rug. Overhead
the Fagoo eagles. MRS. G. comes out of bungalow.

MRS. G. My husband! CAPT. G. (Lazily, with intense enjoyment.) Eb,
wha-at? Say that again.

MRS. G. I've written to Mamma and told her that we shall be back on the
17th.

CAPT. G. Did you give her my love?

MRS. G. No, I kept all that for myself. (Sitting down by his side.) I
thought you wouldn't mind.

CAPT. G. (With mock sternness.) I object awf'ly. How did you know that
it was yours to keep?

MRS. G. I guessed, Phil.

CAPT. G. (Rapturously.) Lit-tle Featherweight!

MRS. G. I won' t be called those sporting pet names, bad boy.

CAPT. G. You'll be called anything I choose. Has it ever occurred to
you, Madam, that you are my Wife?

MRS. G. It has. I haven't ceased wondering at it yet.

CAPT. G. Nor I. It seems so strange; and yet, somehow, it doesn't.
(Confidently.) You see, it could have been no one else.

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