He'll be a stranger whom you'll hardly recognise. And you aren't the
girl _he_ married. You're a woman now, and you're just beginning to
learn what love is. Come with _me_.
KATE. It's true, it's true. But he _has_ been fighting for us. And to
come home again after those four years of exile, and find--
NORWOOD. Exile--that's making much too much of it. He's come through
the war safely, and he's probably had what he'd call a topping good
time. Like enough he's been in love half-a-dozen times himself
since--on leave in India and that sort of thing. India! Well, you
should read Kipling.
KATE. I wonder. Of course, as you say, I don't know him. But I feel
that we should be happier afterwards if we were quite straight about
it and told him just what had happened. If he had been doing what you
say, he would understand--and perhaps be glad of it.
NORWOOD (uneasily). Really, darling, it's hardly a thing you can talk
over calmly with a husband, even if he--We don't want any unpleasantness,
and--er--(Taking her hands again) Besides, I want you, Kate. It
may be weeks before he comes back. We can't go on like this . . . Kate!
KATE. Do you love me so very much?
NORWOOD. My darling!
KATE. Well, let us wait till the end of the week--in case he comes.
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