“Captain Butler, you forget yourself.”
“Not for a minute.
How could I, with you in my arms?...
What is that tune?
Isn’t it new?”
“Yes.
Isn’t it divine?
It’s something we captured from the Yankees.”
“What’s the name of it?”
“'When This Cruel War Is Over.”
“What are the words?
Sing them to me.”
“Dearest one, do you remember
When we last did meet?
When you told me how you loved me,
Kneeling at my feet?
Oh, how proud you stood before me
In your suit of gray, When you vowed from me and country
Ne'er to go astray.
Weeping sad and lonely,
Sighs and tears how vain!
When this cruel war is over
Pray that we meet again!”
“Of course, it was ’suit of blue’ but we changed it to ‘gray.’...
Oh, you waltz so well, Captain Butler.
Most big men don’t, you know.
And to think it will be years and years before I’ll dance again.”
“It will only be a few minutes.
I’m going to bid you in for the next reel—and the next and the next.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t!
You mustn’t!
My reputation will be ruined.”
“It’s in shreds already, so what does another dance matter?
Maybe I’ll give the other boys a chance after I’ve had five or six, but I must have the last one.”
“Oh, all right.
I know I’m crazy but I don’t care.
I don’t care a bit what anybody says.
I’m so tired of sitting at home.
I’m going to dance and dance—”
“And not wear black?
I loathe funeral crepe.”
“Oh, I couldn’t take off mourning—Captain Butler, you must not hold me so tightly.
I’ll be mad at you if you do.”
“And you look gorgeous when you are mad.
I’ll squeeze you again-there—just to see if you will really get mad.
You have no idea how charming you were that day at Twelve Oaks when you were mad and throwing things.”
“Oh, please—won’t you forget that?”
“No, it is one of my most priceless memories—a delicately nurtured Southern belle with her Irish up-You are very Irish, you know.”
“Oh, dear, there’s the end of the music and there’s Aunt Pittypat coming out of the back room.
I know Mrs. Merriwether must have told her.