There is a prevalence of plush. A fireplace on the
Left, a sofa, a small table; the curtained window is at the
back. On the table, in a common pot, stands a little plant of
maidenhair fern, fresh and green.
Enter from the door on the Right, a GIRL and a YOUNG OFFICER in
khaki. The GIRL wears a discreet dark dress, hat, and veil, and
stained yellow gloves. The YOUNG OFFICER is tall, with a fresh
open face, and kindly eager blue eyes; he is a little lame. The
GIRL, who is evidently at home, moves towards the gas jet to
turn it up, then changes her mind, and going to the curtains,
draws them apart and throws up the window. Bright moonlight
comes flooding in. Outside are seen the trees of a little
Square. She stands gazing out, suddenly turns inward with a
shiver.
YOUNG OFF. I say; what's the matter? You were crying when I spoke
to you.
GIRL. [With a movement of recovery] Oh! nothing. The beautiful
evening-that's all.
YOUNG OFF. [Looking at her] Cheer up!
GIRL. [Taking of hat and veil; her hair is yellowish and crinkly]
Cheer up! You are not lonelee, like me.
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