(A man’s voice says “Christ! It’s Daisy; it’s little Daisy ‘erself!” The Girl stands rigid. The figure of a soldier appears on the other side of the stile. His cap is tucked into his belt, his hair is bright in the sunshine; he is lean, wasted, brown, and laughing.)

Soldier: Daisy! Daisy! Hallo, old pretty girl!

(The Girl does not move, barring the way, as it were.)

The Girl: Hallo, Jack! (Softly) I got things to tell you!

Soldier: What sort o’ things, this lovely day? Why, I got things that’d take me years to tell. Have you missed me, Daisy?

The Girl: You been so long.

Soldier: So I ‘ave. My Gawd! It’s a way they ‘ave in the Army. I said when I got out of it I’d laugh. Like as the sun itself I used to think of you, Daisy, when the trumps was comin’ over, and the wind was up. D’you