ACT II
You’re married to her . . . you’ve had ten years of her life . . . the best years. I’m sure she’s been a good wife to you, Chris. All this isn’t fair to her. It was kind and brave of her to let me come, but she trusts us, Chris. You’re hers, you see. And we must be good and think of her, too. She’s your wife, Chris.
Chris : Yes . . . yes. You’re right. If only I could know it, really. Things are so strange. This suit that I’ve got on. I found it in the cupboard upstairs when I went up to change. It’s an old suit. I must have worn it hundreds of times, and yet I don’t remember it. (He pats the suit.) Here’s something in the pocket. Something I put there, I suppose. (He takes it out.) A pocket-book. And that’s mine, too, I suppose. It’s got my initials on it. Funny that I don’t know it. I wonder what’s inside. (He opens it.) A snapshot. (He takes it out.) Oh, look . . . that’s us, down at Monkey . . . do you remember . . . your father took it?
[He looks at it greedily.
Margaret : Yes, I remember. I’ve got one like it.
Chris : That afternoon. Do you remember the funny people who came in for tea, and how I waited on them for a lark? A big fat woman in a pink blouse and an old chap who’d been rowing in a tweed waistcoat?
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