FullReads

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. I don’t want to seem to be afraid of him.

NORWOOD
(eagerly). And then?

KATE
. Then I’ll come with you.

NORWOOD
(taking her in his arms). My darling! . . . There! And now what are you going to do? Ask me to stay to dinner or what?

KATE
. Certainly not, sir. I’m going out to dinner to-night.

NORWOOD
(jealously). Who with?

KATE
. You.

NORWOOD
(eagerly). At our little restaurant? (She nods) Good girl! Then go and put on a hat, while I ring ’em up and see if they’ve got a table.

KATE
. What fun! I won’t be a moment. (She goes to the door) Cyril, you will always love me?

NORWOOD
. Of course I will, darling. (She nods at him and goes out. He is very well pleased with himself when he is left alone. He goes to the telephone with a smile) Gerrard 11,001. Yes . . . I want a table for two. To-night . . . Mr. Cyril Norwood . . . Oh, in about half an hour . . . Yes, for two. Is that all right? . . . Thank you.

(He puts the receiver back and turns round to see DENNIS CAMBERLEY, who has just come in. DENNIS is certainly a man now; very easily and pleasantly master of himself and of anybody else who gets in his way.)

NORWOOD
(surprised). Hallo!

DENNIS
(nodding pleasantly). Hallo!

NORWOOD
(wondering who he is). You–er—-?

DENNIS
. I just came in, Mr. Norwood.

NORWOOD
. You know my name?

DENNIS
. Oh yes, I’ve heard a good deal about you, Mr. Cyril Norwood.

NORWOOD
(stiffly). I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of–er—-

DENNIS
(winningly). Oh, but I’m sure you must have heard a good deal about me.

NORWOOD
. Good God, you don’t mean—-

DENNIS
. I do, indeed. (With a bow) Dennis Camberley, the missing husband. (Pleadingly) You have heard about me, haven’t you?

NORWOOD
. I–er–Mr. Camberley, yes, of course. So you’re back?

DENNIS
. Yes, I’m back. Sometimes they don’t come back, Mr. Norwood, and sometimes–they do. . . . Even after four years. . . . But you did talk about me sometimes?

NORWOOD
. How did you know my name?

DENNIS
. A little bird told me about you.

NORWOOD
(turning away in anger). Pooh!

DENNIS
. One of those little Eastern birds, which sit on the backs of crocodiles, searching for–well, let us say, breakfast. He said to me one morning: “Talking of parasites,” he said, “do you know Mr. Cyril Norwood?” he said, “because I could tell you an interesting story about him,” he said, “if you care to–“

NORWOOD
(wheeling round furiously). Look here, sir, we’d better have it out quite plainly. I don’t want any veiled insults and sneers from you. I admit that an unfortunate situation has arisen, but we must look facts in the face. You may be Mrs. Camberley’s husband, but she has not seen you for four years, and–well, she and I love each other. There you have it. What are you going to do?