ACT III
Scene : The same.
Time : Early afternoon, a week later.
When the curtain rises, Chris is sitting on the Chesterfield, reading a bound volume of “Punch” and nursing a Pekinese dog.
Jenny : Hullo, Chris.
Chris : Hullo. I say, whose is this fellow? Yours?
Jenny : No, Kitty’s.
Chris : Kitty’s? Is she fond of dogs?
Jenny : No, I don’t think so . . . not really. She bought him about a year ago, when you first went out to France.
Chris : As a substitute for me?
Jenny : Just as a whim . . . petted him for a week and then forgot him. Never noticed him again; left him to the servants.
Chris : He’s a nice chap. What’s his name?
Jenny : Confucius.
Chris (fondling the dog) : Affectionate little beggar, too.
Jenny : Yes . . . he’s not much used to petting any more, I’m afraid.
Chris : Margaret was playing with him yesterday. She found him in the corridor, begging to be taken notice of. I hadn’t seen him before.
Jenny : What are you reading, Chris?
Chris : Punch. Back numbers . . . 1914. Trying to catch up with history. I spent all the morning
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