THE RETURN OF THE SOLDIER
Jenny : Wait. Let me do it for you.
[She powders Margaret’s face.
There!
Margaret (with a timid smile) : Isn’t it dreadful . . . me using powder! But I wouldn’t like Chris to see. . . . Thank you. You’re so kind. You love him, too, don’t you?
[Jenny turns away. The door L. opens, and Chris comes in. He stands on the threshold and gazes at Margaret. She rises and looks at him, long and hungrily.
Chris . . . oh, Chris!
Chris : Margaret . . . my darling . . . Margaret!
[Margaret’s arms go out to him in a piteous gesture. Jenny has her head averted, so as not to see. Chris moves to Margaret, slowly, as though sleep-walking; her arms enfold him, and he breaks into a flood of tears on her shoulder.
(Sobbing) Margaret . . . oh, Margaret!
Margaret (stroking his hair) Hush . . . hush . . . don’t cry . . . it’s all right. It’s quite all right. Chris, darling . . . Chrissie boy . . . my Chris.
[She stands, holding him closely to her, while he cries.
Jenny steals to the door R., looks back at them, and then goes out with a little smothered sob.
(After a pause) Come and sit down, Chris.
Chris (raising his head) : Margaret . . . it’s such
66
