CELIA. Of course, you know our descriptions won't be alike. No two people's description of anyone ever would be.

SMITH. Of course not--except in the definite facts.--His eyes, for instance----

CELIA. His eyes--his eyes were not definite.

SMITH. Not definite?

CELIA. Their color. I mean it varied. Emotion kindled them--apathy dulled them. Sometimes they were light and again they were very, very dark.

SMITH. That's funny. I never saw them dark. To me they always were light, like bottle gla.s.s.

CELIA. Really? Possibly you were not very observing.

SMITH. (_Acknowledges the point with a touch of impatience_) Possibly not. But his hair? Surely we can't differ as to that?

CELIA. His hair--you mean did it curl or was it straight?

SMITH. Yes--and its color.

CELIA. His hair--I hardly know how to describe his hair, because his hair was---- It was like no hair that I ever saw.

SMITH. (_Laughs_) That's a splendid description of a bald man. That always was a great grief to Smith, his baldness; his head was so very bald and b.u.mpy.

CELIA. Oh, yes.

SMITH. (_Puts his hand to his head_) What! (_Recovering himself_) Oh, yes, yes. (_Growing more and more determined to trip her and more and more interested in and appreciative of her attractiveness_) Now his mouth----

CELIA. Well. His mouth was peculiar----

SMITH. Peculiar?

CELIA. Yes, you see it broadened when he smiled.

SMITH. (_Laughing_) Oh--did he smile for you?

CELIA. Oh, often, very often.

SMITH. Yes, we all do--don't we? What would you say of his voice?

CELIA. It was kind, always kind.

SMITH. (_Shakes head_) Gruff and commanding.

CELIA. (_Insinuatingly_) Naturally--_not to me_. (_Her hand rests on the table_.)

SMITH. (_Slowly covering her hand with his_) No, no-how could it be?

CELIA. (_Looking over their hands to the spot that_ SMITH _had indicated earlier_) Do you feel he's sitting there still?

SMITH. (_Leaning toward her_) You're surely not afraid of--Wobbles?

CELIA. (_Pushes chair back, sliding with it as far up stage as possible. Faintly_) Did you say--_Wobbles?_

SMITH. (_Briskly_) You surely knew his nickname?

CELIA. (_Openly perplexed_) But I--I called him--_Wobbles_. (_Stares at_ SMITH.)

SMITH. Why! All the Army called him--Wobbles.

CELIA. (_In dry, queer voice_) I didn't know that.

(_READY Third Border_.)

SMITH. He was the most popular fellow--! You won't go to a dance or a garden party for the rest of your life--there won't be a town in the United Kingdom, Miss Faraday, where you won't meet somebody, some old school-fellow, some brother-officer, who knew him:--who will understand your loss and tell you new details of Wobbles. (_Rises_.)

CELIA. (_Rises and comes down stage_) Not if I know it! (SMITH _stares at her. Returning, getting her chair and replacing it at table_) Colonel Vavasour--I mean it will be quite impossible for me--to indulge myself in any such fashion. Because just as soon as possible, I'm sailing for America.

SMITH. (_Dropping below table_) America? Why, Smith has--four brothers _ranching_ there. And five--I mean _three_--sisters-in-law. I congratulate you, Miss Faraday. (_Offers_ CELIA _his hand_. CELIA _takes it limply and he shakes it_.) You are going to the very heart of poor Wobbles' family. Shan't I cable them to meet you at the dock?

(_They are both now in front of table_.)

CELIA. (_Withdrawing her hand_) No--no--no--no, please don't do anything like that.

SMITH. Why not?

CELIA. Well, I don't know, but I--I might get off the ship _before it reaches_ New York. At all events I am going where _no one_ can _ever_ find me.

SMITH. (_Quickly, but quite seriously_) Then--by Jove--I'm going there too. (_Takes her left hand tenderly and leans forward. They look straight into each other's eyes for a moment_.)

CELIA. (_Draws herself up_) Aren't you forgetting yourself, Colonel Vavasour? (_With an irresistible impulse of mischief_) Or are you only forgetting Wobbles? (_Crosses_ C. _to table. Looking back at spot on table_.)

(_THIRD Border Full Up_.)

(_A gay chatter is heard off_ L. _of party returning from concert_.)

SMITH. (_Not hearing it_) Oh, d.a.m.n Wobbles. (_Crosses_ L.) I'm going because---- (_The center doors open quickly_. GRICE, STEELE, FARADAY, TARVER _and_ PHYLLIS, EVELYN, RALEIGH _and_ AUNT IDA _are in the doorway, having come from the left. Conscious of the presence of returning party_, SMITH _reverts to his tone of solemnity and_ CELIA _bows her head with grief_. FARADAY, _in doorway, hearing_ SMITH, _turns and raises his hands to quiet the party_. GRICE _and_ AUNT IDA _have drifted down_ L. _ahead of the others_. AUNT IDA _sinks wearily into chair by desk_.) Hour by hour, he lay on his sick bed, looking out across the--thatched roofs of Berbera to the Arab---- (GRICE _sneezes loudly. Turning_) Good Lord, what's that! (_The others come down in the following order_: STEELE, RALEIGH _and_ EVELYN _come down_ R.; PHYLLIS _and_ TARVER _up_ C.; FARADAY _to_ R. _of_ CELIA; MADGE _by_ AUNT IDA'S _chair_. GRICE _has gone down_ L.C. _Some of the party are carrying programs. The doors are left open_.) In the midst of our sad communings, how strangely out of place are these revelers.

OMNES. Revelers?

SMITH. They come flushed with new wine.

GRICE. New wine? They dined with me, sir.

CELIA. (_Turning to_ FARADAY) Was the concert a success?

FARADAY. Of course it was. _We_ were there. (_Goes up stage_.)