The Honeymoon

Cedric. I wish we hadn't happened to get married this morning. (She looks at him.) I mean, I wish we'd happened to get married a week ago. Frantic nuisance! However, there you are! It simply means we shall be fixed up a bit sooner in the flat —

Flora. But the flat won't be anything like ready by next week.

Cedric. Never mind, we'll sleep at the Grand Babylon, or in the backyard. (A little pause.) Of course as a nuisance it completely baffles description… To-day of all days… However, Fluff, as I said before with profound truth – there you are! It would never do in this world to give the German lot even a chance. The thing's too spectacular – altogether too spectacular. If it was a question of beating us quietly and for ever in technics or manufacture, the B.P. wouldn't think twice about it; but Snowdon is Snowdon, and a black eagle is a black eagle, and (comically) in short, madam, England will turn to your husband in its hour of peril. In other words, Fluff, it's up to me.

Flora. (Lightly.) I say, Cedric.

Cedric. Well?

Flora. I thought we were agreed about a full calendar month.

Cedric. (After a pause; as lightly as possible.) Do you mean you think I ought to let Snowdon slide? Do you really —

Flora. Yes, of course. Don't you?

Cedric. You aren't serious?

Flora. (Persuasively.) My dearest boy, is there any reason why I shouldn't differ from you and yet be serious?

Cedric. No, of course not. But in a case like this – if there was anybody else to take my place, I wouldn't mind. Of course Smith-James could do it if only he would use our machine – but he won't. Nothing would induce him to. So as I keep on saying – there you are!

Flora. But what does it matter? Is it because the other man's machine has been called the Black Eagle in a telegram that you —

Cedric. Yes, partly.

Flora. Oh! So that if this canvas-backed duck flies first over a lump of mud called Snowdon —

Cedric. But don't I tell you Snowdon is the highest mountain in England?

Flora. No, it isn't.

Cedric. Pardon me. Three thousand five hundred and seventy feet. The next highest is —

Flora. Well, you go and tell Lloyd George that Snowdon is the highest mountain in England, and see what you'll get.

Cedric. Wales, then. It's all the same.

Flora. (With great charm.) If you're thinking of the ten thousand pounds, I don't mind informing you, as a great secret, that I wouldn't sell a single day of my honeymoon with you for ten times ten thousand pounds. But I told you I wanted an expensive honeymoon, didn't I?

Cedric. (Shaking his head and with calm certainty.) The money doesn't influence me that much! (Snaps his fingers.) I don't wish to flatter myself, but I think I could light your cigarette with a bank note as gracefully as anybody. No —

Flora. You're pulling away at that cigar of yours, but I suppose you know it isn't lighted.

Cedric. Isn't it? (As he lights the cigar.) No! This Snowdon business. Well, it's a symbol (half to himself). I wonder how I can make you understand that.

Flora. (Fascinatingly.) Oh! Force is unnecessary, I understand that. But who was it said just now that the honeymoon was a symbol? It stands for all our married life. It's the most exciting and interesting time we shall ever have. And you can't put a honeymoon off, you know. It isn't like a box of cigars that you can keep in a cupboard and enjoy one of them every now and then when you've got a few minutes to spare. It must happen now or never. You can't postpone it. You can only kill it. (Smiles lightly.)

Cedric. (Taking hold of her, in a caressing tone.) She's tragic!

Flora. (Disengaging herself.) Oh, no!

Cedric. Now just listen to me, Fluff. I'm really thinking at least as much of you as of myself. This affair is bound to have an influence on my career.

Flora. And what about its influence on mine?

Cedric. Same thing. I suppose our interests are identical.

Flora. My poor simple boy, do you really believe that?

Cedric. Well, dash it, aren't you my wife?

Flora. So far as I'm concerned, it would be more correct to say that you're my husband. In fact, you've got a career as my husband.

Cedric. (Anxious to be fair.) Certainly. And you as my wife. But —

Flora. One second, dearest. You're unique as an aviator, aren't you?

Cedric. (Conventionally modest.) Oh – well —

Flora. Now. Man to man. Give your modesty a rest. Really, don't you consider you've proved yourself unique in your line?

Cedric. (Hesitatingly, chivalrously.) I suppose I'm just about as unique in my line as you are in yours, my dear.

Flora. Now that's very nice of you.

Cedric. Not at all.

Flora. Yes, it is, because it's exactly what I wanted you to say. You've often said that I'm unique, and I just wanted you to say it again at this identical particular instant. Of course I could have reminded you of it, but that wouldn't have been quite so effective. That's why it's very nice of you.

Cedric. So you are unique – I'll say it as often as you like.

Flora. I warn you, you're giving yourself away.

Cedric. Delighted!

Flora. I wouldn't care to repeat all the lovely adjectives you've used about me. If you weren't such a determined enemy of gush and superlatives – people might suspect that sometimes you exaggerated the tiniest bit when you talked about me, to me. But of course I know you never do exaggerate, at any rate consciously, and you know you're a very good judge.