SARAH. Please put on the other.
LORD ARTHUR. Thank you . . I am in haste.
SARAH. To depart before the bride's departure.
LORD ARTHUR. Does the bride go with the bridegroom?
SARAH. She goes away.
LORD ARTHUR. I shall never see such a thing again.
SARAH. I think this entertainment is unique.
LORD ARTHUR. Any commissions in town?
SARAH. Why can't you stay to travel with us tomorrow and talk business
to Papa by the way?
DIMMUCK _carrying the pumps and after putting on his cloak goes out
through the front door. When it is closed, her voice changes._
SARAH. Why . . Arthur?
_He does not answer. Then_ MRS. OPIE _comes out of the dining-room to
fetch the cloak. The two, with an effort, reconstruct their casual
disjointed conversation._
SARAH. . . Before the bride's departure?
LORD ARTHUR. Does the bride go away with the bridegroom?
SARAH. She goes.
LORD ARTHUR. I shall never see such an entertainment again.
SARAH. We are quite unique.
LORD ARTHUR. Any commissions in town?
SARAH. Is she to go soon too, Mrs. Opie?
MRS. OPIE. It is arranged they are to walk . . in this weather . . ten
miles . . to the house.
SARAH. Cottage.
MRS. OPIE. Hut.
MRS. OPIE _takes the cloak into the dining-room. Then_ SARAH _comes a
little towards_ LORD ARTHUR, _but waits for him to speak_.
LORD ARTHUR. [_A little awkwardly._] You are not looking well.
SARAH. To our memory . . and beyond your little chat with my husband
about me . . I want to speak an epitaph.
LORD ARTHUR. Charlie Cottesham behaved most honourably.
SARAH. And I think you did. Why have you not let me tell you so in your
ear till now, to-day?
LORD ARTHUR. Sarah . . we had a narrow escape from. . .
SARAH. How's your wife?
LORD ARTHUR. Well . . thank you.
SARAH. Nervous, surely, at your travelling in winter?
LORD ARTHUR. I was so glad to receive a casual invitation from you and
to come . . casually.
SARAH. Fifty miles.
LORD ARTHUR. Your father has been ill?
SARAH. Very ill through the autumn.
LORD ARTHUR. Do you think he suspects us?
SARAH. I shouldn't care to peep into Papa's innermost mind. You are to
be very useful to him.
LORD ARTHUR. No.
SARAH. Then he'll go back to the government.
LORD ARTHUR. If he pleases . . if they please . . if you please.
SARAH. I am not going back to my husband. Arthur . . be useful to him.
LORD ARTHUR. No . . you are not coming to me. Always your father!
[_After a moment._] It was my little home in the country somehow said
aloud you didn't care for me.
SARAH. I fooled you to small purpose.
LORD ARTHUR. I wish you had once made friends with my wife.
SARAH. If we . . this house I'm speaking of . . had made friends where
we've only made tools and fools we shouldn't now be cursed as we are . .
all. George, who is a cork, trying to sink socially. Ann is mad . . and
a runaway.
LORD ARTHUR. Sarah, I've been devilish fond of you.
SARAH. Be useful to Papa. [_He shakes his head, obstinately._] Praise me
a little. Haven't I worked my best for my family?
LORD ARTHUR. Suppose I could be useful to him now, would you, in spite
of all, come to me . . no half measures?
SARAH. Arthur . . [_He makes a little passionate movement towards her,
but she is cold._] It's time for me to vanish from this world, because
I've nothing left to sell.
LORD ARTHUR. I can't help him. I don't want you.
_He turns away._
SARAH. I feel I've done my best.
LORD ARTHUR. Keep your father quiet.
SARAH. I mean to leave him.
LORD ARTHUR. What does he say to that?
SARAH. I've not yet told him.
LORD ARTHUR. What happens?
SARAH. To sell my jewels . . spoils of a ten years' war. Three thousand
pound . . how much a year?
LORD ARTHUR. I'll buy them.
SARAH. And return them? You have almost the right to make such a
suggestion.
LORD ARTHUR. Stick to your father. He'll care for you?
SARAH. No . . we all pride ourselves on our lack of sentiment.
LORD ARTHUR. You must take money from your husband.
SARAH. I have earned that and spent it.
LORD ARTHUR. [_Yielding once again to temptation._] I'm devilish fond of
you . . .
_At that moment_ ABUD _comes out of the dining-room. He is dressed in
his best._ SARAH _responds readily to the interruption_.
SARAH. And you must give my kindest compliments to Lady Arthur and my . .
affectionately . . to the children and I'll let Papa know that you're
going.
LORD ARTHUR. Letters under cover to your father?
SARAH. Papa will stay in town through the session of course . . but they
all tell me that seventy-five pounds a year is a comfortable income in . .
Timbuctoo.
_She goes into the dining-room._ ABUD _has selected his boots from the
corner and now stands with them in his hand looking rather helpless.
After a moment_--
LORD ARTHUR. I congratulate you, Mr. Abud.
ABUD. My lord . . I can't speak of myself.
CARNABY _comes out of the dining-room. He is evidently by no means
recovered from his illness. He stands for a moment with an ironical eye
on_ JOHN ABUD.
CARNABY. Son-in-law.
ABUD. I'm told to get on my boots, sir.
CARNABY. Allow me to assist you?
ABUD. I couldn't, sir.
CARNABY. Desole!
_Then he passes on._ ABUD _sits on the sofa, furtively puts on his boots
and afterwards puts his shoes in his pockets_.
LORD ARTHUR. You were so busy drinking health to the two fat farmers
that I wouldn't interrupt you.
CARNABY. Good-bye. Describe all this to your brother John.
LORD ARTHUR. So confirmed a bachelor!
CARNABY. Please say that we missed him.
LORD ARTHUR _hands him the newspaper_.
LORD ARTHUR. I've out-raced your _Chronicle_ from London by some hours.
There's a paragraph . . second column . . near the bottom.
CARNABY. [_Looking at it blindly._] They print villainously now-a-days.
LORD ARTHUR. Inspired.
CARNABY. I trust his grace is well?
LORD ARTHUR. Gouty.
CARNABY. Now doesn't the social aspect of this case interest you?
LORD ARTHUR. I object to feeding with the lower classes.
CARNABY. There's pride! How useful to note their simple manners! From
the meeting of extremes new ideas spring . . new life.
LORD ARTHUR. Take that for a new social-political creed, Mr. Leete.
CARNABY. Do I lack one?
LORD ARTHUR. Please make my adieux to the bride.
CARNABY. Appropriate . . . 'a Dieu' . . she enters Nature's cloister. My
epigram.
LORD ARTHUR. But . . good heavens . . are we to choose to be toiling
animals?
CARNABY. To be such is my daughter's ambition.
LORD ARTHUR. You have not read that.
CARNABY. [_Giving back the paper, vexedly._] I can't see.
LORD ARTHUR. "The Right Honourable Carnaby Leete is, we are glad to
hear, completely recovered and will return to town for the opening of
Session."
CARNABY. I mentioned it.
LORD ARTHUR. "We understand that although there has been no
reconciliation with the Government it is quite untrue that this
gentleman will in any way resume his connection with the Opposition."
CARNABY. Inspired?
LORD ARTHUR. I am here from my father to answer any questions.
CARNABY. [_With some dignity and the touch of a threat._] Not now, my
lord.
DIMMUCK _comes in at the front door_.
DIMMUCK. The chaise, my lord.
CARNABY. I will conduct you.
LORD ARTHUR. Please don't risk exposure.
CARNABY. Nay, I insist.
LORD ARTHUR. Health and happiness to you both, Mr. Abud.
LORD ARTHUR _goes out, followed by_ CARNABY, _followed by_ DIMMUCK. _At
that moment_ MR. SMALLPEICE _skips excitedly out of the dining-room. A
ferret-like little lawyer_.
MR. SMALLPEICE. Oh . . where is Mr. Leete?
_Not seeing him_ MR. SMALLPEICE _skips as excitedly back into the
dining-room_. DIMMUCK _returns and hangs up his cloak then goes towards_
ABUD, _whom he surveys_.
DIMMUCK. Sir!
_With which insult he starts for the dining-room reaching the door just
in time to hold it open for_ SIR GEORGE LEETE _who comes out. He
surveys_ ABUD _for a moment, then explodes_.
SIR GEORGE LEETE. Damn you . . stand in the presence of your
grandfather-in-law.
ABUD _stands up_. CARNABY _returns coughing, and_ SIR GEORGE _looks him
up and down_.
SIR GEORGE LEETE. I shall attend your funeral.
CARNABY. My daughter Sarah still needs me.
SIR GEORGE LEETE. I wonder at you, my son.
CARNABY. Have you any money to spare?
SIR GEORGE LEETE. No.
CARNABY. For Sarah, my housekeeper; I foresee a busy session.
ABUD _is now gingerly walking up the stairs_.
SIR GEORGE LEETE. Carnaby . . look at that.
CARNABY. Sound in wind and limb. Tread boldly, son-in-law.
ABUD _turns, stands awkwardly for a moment and then goes into the
dining-room_.
SIR GEORGE LEETE. [_Relapsing into a pinch of snuff._] I'm calm.
CARNABY. Regard this marriage with a wise eye . . as an amusing little
episode.
SIR GEORGE LEETE. Do you?
CARNABY. And forget its oddity. Now that the humiliation is irrevocable,
is it a personal grievance to you?
SIR GEORGE LEETE. Give me a dinner a day for the rest of my life and
I'll be content.
CARNABY. Lately, one by one, opinions and desires have been failing me . .
a flicker and then extinction. I shall shortly attain to being a most
able critic upon life.
SIR GEORGE LEETE. Shall I tell you again? You came into this world
without a conscience. That explains you and it's all that does. That
such a damnable coupling as this should be permitted by God Almighty . .
or that the law shouldn't interfere! I've said my say.
MR. SMALLPEICE _again comes out of the dining-room_.
MR. SMALLPEICE. Mr. Leete.
CARNABY. [_Ironically polite._] Mr. Smallpeice.
MR. SMALLPEICE. Mr. Crowe is proposing your health.