THE LADY.[staring at him]. Then you think this list of gun emplacements doesn't matter!!
AUGUSTUS. By no means, madam. It matters very much indeed. If this spy were to obtain possession of the list, Blueloo would tell the story at every dinner-table in London; and—
THE LADY. And you might lose your post. Of course.
AUGUSTUS.[amazed and indignant]. I lose my post! What are you dreaming about, madam? How could I possibly be spared? There are hardly Highcastles enough at present to fill half the posts created by this war. No: Blueloo would not go that far. He is at least a gentleman. But I should be chaffed; and, frankly, I don't like being chaffed.
THE LADY. Of course not. Who does? It would never do. Oh never, never.
AUGUSTUS. I'm glad you see it in that light. And now, as a measure of security, I shall put that list in my pocket. [He begins searching vainly from drawer to drawer in the writing-table.] Where on earth—? What the dickens did I—? That's very odd: I—Where the deuce—? I thought I had put it in the—Oh, here it is! No: this is Lucy's last letter.
THE LADY.[elegiacally]. Lucy's Last Letter! What a title for a picture play!
AUGUSTUS.[delighted]. Yes: it is, isn't it? Lucy appeals to the imagination like no other woman. By the way [handing over the letter], I wonder could you read it for me? Lucy is a darling girl; but I really can't read her writing. In London I get the office typist to decipher it and make me a typed copy; but here there is nobody.
THE LADY.[puzzling over it]. It is really almost illegible. I think the beginning is meant for "Dearest Gus."
