LAMB. It’s going to be a closer affair than any of us thought. It’s the
joke of the thing that appears to have got hold of them. They want to
see what will happen.
GEOFFREY. Man’s fatal curiosity concerning the eternal feminine!
SIGSBY. Yes, and they won’t have to pay for it. That will be our
department.
ST. HERBERT. (_To_ SIGSBY.) What do you think they’ll do, supposing by
any chance Mrs. Chilvers should head the poll?
SIGSBY. How do you mean—“what’ll they do?”
ST. HERBERT. Do you think they’ll claim the seat?
SIGSBY. Claim the seat! What do you think they’re out for—their health?
Get another six months’ advertisement, if they don’t get anything else.
Meanwhile what’s our position—just at the beginning of our ministerial
career?
GEOFFREY. They will not claim the seat.
SIGSBY. How do you know?
GEOFFREY. I know my wife.
LAMB. (_After a moment’s silence_.) Quite sure you do?