Chapter II: Part 2

ANN. I'm taken by surprise and I know I'm ignorant and I think I'm learning things backwards.

GEORGE. You must cheer up and say: John's not a bad sort.

SARAH. A man of his age is a young man.

ANN. I wish you wouldn't recommend him to me.

SARAH. Let's think of Brighton. What about your gowns?

ANN. I've nothing to wear.

SARAH. We'll talk to Papa.

GEORGE. The war-purse is always a long one.

SARAH. George . . be one of us for a minute.

GEORGE. But I want to look on too, and laugh.

SARAH. [_Caustically._] Yes . . that's your privilege . . except occasionally. [_Then to her sister._] I wish you all the happiness of courtship days.

GEORGE. Arcadian expression!

ANN. I believe it means being kissed . . often.

SARAH. Have you not a touch of romance in you, little girl?

ANN. Am I not like Mr. Dan Tatton? He kisses dairy-maids and servants and all the farmer's daughters . . I beg your pardon, George.

GEORGE. [_Nettled._] I'll say to you, Ann, that--in all essentials--one woman is as good as another.

SARAH. That is not so in the polite world.

GEORGE. When you consider it no one lives in the polite world.

ANN. Do they come outside for air sooner or later?

SARAH. [_Briskly._] Three best dresses you must have and something very gay if you're to go near the Pavilion.

ANN. You're coming to Brighton, Sally?

SARAH. No.

ANN. Why not?

SARAH. I don't wish to meet my husband.

GEORGE. That man was his lawyer.

ANN. The political difference, Sally?

SARAH. Just that. [_Then with a deft turn of the subject._] I don't say that yours is a pretty face, but I should think you would have charm.

GEORGE. For fashion's sake cultivate sweetness.

SARAH. You dance as well as they know how in Reading.

ANN. Yes . . I can twiddle my feet.

SARAH. Do you like dancing?

ANN. I'd sooner walk.

GEORGE. What . . and get somewhere!

ANN. Here's George laughing.

SARAH. He's out of it.

ANN. Are you happy, George?

GEORGE. Alas . . Dolly's disgraceful ignorance of etiquette damns us both from the beautiful drawing-room.

SARAH. That laugh is forced. But how can you. . . look on?

_There is a slight pause in their talk. Then . . ._

ANN. He'll bully me with love.

SARAH. Your husband will give you just what you ask for.

ANN. I hate myself too. I want to take people mentally.

GEORGE. You want a new world . . you new woman.

ANN. And I'm a good bit frightened of myself.

SARAH. We have our places to fill in this. My dear child, leave futile questions alone.

GEORGE. Neither have I any good advice to give you.

ANN. I think happiness is a thing one talks too much about.

DIMMUCK _appears. And by now_ ABUD'S _work has brought him back to the terrace_.

DIMMUCK. The master would like to see your Ladyship now.

SARAH. I'll say we've had a visitor . . Guess.

GEORGE. And you've had a visitor, Sarah.

ANN. Papa will know.

SARAH. Is he in a questioning mood?

ANN. I always tell everything.

SARAH. It saves time.

_She departs towards the house._

DIMMUCK. Mr. George.

GEORGE. What is it?

DIMMUCK. He said No to a doctor when I haven't even mentioned the matter. Had I better send . . ?

GEORGE. Do . . if you care to waste the doctor's time.

DIMMUCK _gives an offended sniff and follows_ LADY COTTESHAM.

ANN. I could sit here for days. George, I don't think I quite believe in anything I've been told yet.

GEORGE. What's that man's name?

ANN. John--John is a common name--John Abud.

GEORGE. Abud!

ABUD. Sir?

GEORGE. Come here.

ABUD _obediently walks towards his young master and stands before him_.

GEORGE. Why did you ask after the health of Mrs. George Leete?

ABUD. We courted once.

GEORGE. [_After a moment._] Listen, Ann. Do you hate me, John Abud?

ABUD. No, sir.

GEORGE. You're a fine looking fellow. How old are you?

ABUD. Twenty-seven, sir.

GEORGE. Is Once long ago?

ABUD. Two years gone.

GEORGE. Did Mrs. Leete quarrel with you?

ABUD. No, sir.

GEORGE. Pray tell me more.

ABUD. I was beneath her.

GEORGE. But you're a fine-looking fellow.

ABUD. Farmer Crowe wouldn't risk his daughter being unhappy.

GEORGE. But she was beneath me.

ABUD. That was another matter, sir.

GEORGE. I don't think you intend to be sarcastic.

ABUD. And . . being near her time for the first time, sir . . I wanted to know if she is in danger of dying yet.

GEORGE. Every precaution has been taken. . a nurse. . there is a physician near. I need not tell you . . but I do tell you.

ABUD. Thank you, sir.

GEORGE. I take great interest in my wife.

ABUD. We all do, sir.

GEORGE. Was it ambition that you courted her?

ABUD. I thought to start housekeeping.

GEORGE. Did you aspire to rise socially?

ABUD. I wanted a wife to keep house, sir.

GEORGE. Are you content?

ABUD. I think so, sir.

GEORGE. With your humble position?

ABUD. I'm a gardener, and there'll always be gardens.

GEORGE. Frustrated affections . . I beg your pardon. . . To have been crossed in love should make you bitter and ambitious.

ABUD. My father was a gardener and my son will be a gardener if he's no worse a man than I and no better.

GEORGE. Are you married?

ABUD. No, sir.

GEORGE. Are you going to be married?

ABUD. Not especially, sir.

GEORGE. Yes . . you must marry . . some decent woman; we want gardeners.

ABUD. Do you want me any more now, sir?

GEORGE. You have interested me. You can go back to your work.

ABUD _obeys_.

GEORGE. [_Almost to himself._] I am hardly human.

_He slowly moves away and out of sight._

ANN. John Abud.

_He comes back and stands before her too._

ANN. I am very sorry for you.

ABUD. I am very much obligated to you, Miss.

ANN. Both those sayings are quite meaningless. Say something true about yourself.

ABUD. I'm not sorry for myself.

ANN. I won't tell. It's very clear you ought to be in a despairing state. Don't stand in the sun with your hat off.

ABUD. [_Putting on his hat._] Thank you, Miss.

ANN. Have you nearly finished the rose-trees?

ABUD. I must work till late this evening.

ANN. Weren't you ambitious for Dolly's sake?

ABUD. She thought me good enough.

ANN. I'd have married her.

ABUD. She was ambitious for me.

ANN. And are you frightened of the big world?

ABUD. Fine things dazzle me sometimes.

ANN. But gardening is all that you're fit for?

ABUD. I'm afraid so, Miss.

ANN. But it's great to be a gardener . . to sow seeds and to watch flowers grow and to cut away dead things.

ABUD. Yes, Miss.

ANN. And you're in the fresh air all day.

ABUD. That's very healthy.

ANN. Are you very poor?

ABUD. I get my meals in the house.

ANN. Rough clothes last a long time.

ABUD. I've saved money.

ANN. Where do you sleep?

ABUD. At Mrs. Hart's . . at a cottage . . it's a mile off.

ANN. And you want no more than food and clothes and a bed and you earn all that with your hands.

ABUD. The less a man wants, Miss, the better.

ANN. But you mean to marry?

ABUD. Yes . . I've saved money.

ANN. Whom will you marry? Would you rather not say? Perhaps you don't know yet?

ABUD. It's all luck what sort of a maid a man gets fond of. It won't be a widow.

ANN. Be careful, John Abud.

ABUD. No . . I shan't be careful.

ANN. You'll do very wrong to be made a fool of.

ABUD. I'm safe, Miss; I've no eye for a pretty face.

DIMMUCK _arrives asthmatically at the top of the steps_.

DIMMUCK. Where's Mr. George? Here's a messenger come post.

ANN. Find him, Abud.

ABUD. [_To_ DIMMUCK.] From Dolly?

DIMMUCK. Speak respectful.

ABUD. Is it from his wife?

DIMMUCK. Go find him.

ANN. [_As_ ABUD _is immovable_.] Dimmuck . . . tell me about Mrs. George.

DIMMUCK. She's doing well, Miss.

ABUD. [_Shouting joyfully now._] Mr. George! Mr. George!

ANN. A boy or a girl, Dimmuck?

DIMMUCK. Yes, Miss.

ABUD. Mr. George! Mr. George!

DIMMUCK. Ecod . . is he somewhere else?

DIMMUCK, _somewhat excited himself, returns to the house_.

ANN. George!

ABUD. Mr. George! Mr. George!

GEORGE _comes slowly along the terrace, in his hand an open book, which some people might suppose he was reading. He speaks with studied calm._

GEORGE. You are very excited, my good man.

ABUD. She's brought you a child, sir.

ANN. Your child!

GEORGE. Certainly.

ABUD. Thank God, Sir!

GEORGE. I will if I please.

ANN. And she's doing well.

ABUD. There's a messenger come post.

GEORGE. To be sure . . it might have been bad news.

_And slowly he crosses the garden towards the house._

ABUD. [_Suddenly, beyond all patience._] Run . . damn you!

GEORGE _makes one supreme effort to maintain his dignity, but fails utterly. He gasps out . . ._

GEORGE. Yes, I will. [_And runs off as hard as he can._]

ABUD. [_In an ecstasy._] This is good. Oh, Dolly and God . . this is good!

ANN. [_Round eyed._] I wonder that you can be pleased.

ABUD. [_Apologising . . without apology._] It's life.

ANN. [_Struck._] Yes, it is.

_And she goes towards the house, thinking this over._

THE THIRD ACT

_It is near to sunset. The garden is shadier than before._

ABUD _is still working_. CARNABY LEETE _comes from the house followed by_ DR. REMNANT. _He wears his right arm in a sling. His face is flushed, his speech rapid._

CARNABY. Parson, you didn't drink enough wine . . . damme, the wine was good.

DR. REMNANT. I am very grateful for an excellent dinner.

CARNABY. A good dinner, sir, is the crown to a good day's work.

DR. REMNANT. It may also be a comfort in affliction. Our philosophy does ill, Mr. Leete, when it despises the more simple means of contentment.

CARNABY. And which will be the better lover of a woman, a hungry or a well-fed man?

DR. REMNANT. A good meal digests love with it; for what is love but a food to live by . . but a hungry love will ofttimes devour its owner.

CARNABY. Admirable! Give me a man in love to deal with. Vous l'avez vu?

DR. REMNANT. Speak Latin, Greek or Hebrew to me, Mr. Leete.

CARNABY. French is the language of little things. My poor France! Ours is a little world, Parson . . . a man may hold it here. [_His open hand._] Lord John Carp's a fine fellow.

DR. REMNANT. Son of a Duke.

CARNABY. And I commend to you the originality of his return. At twelve we fight . . . at one-thirty he proposes marriage to my daughter. D'ye see him humbly on his knees? Will there be rain, I wonder?

DR. REMNANT. We need rain . . Abud?

ABUD. Badly, sir.

CARNABY. Do we want a wet journey tomorrow! Where's Sarah?

DR. REMNANT. Lady Cottesham's taking tea.

CARNABY. [_To_ ABUD _with a sudden start_.] And why the devil didn't you marry my daughter-in-law . . my own gardener?

GEORGE _appears dressed for riding_.

GEORGE. Good-bye, sir, for the present.

CARNABY. Boots and breeches!

GEORGE. You shouldn't be about in the evening air with a green wound in your arm. You drank wine at dinner. Be careful, sir.

CARNABY. Off to your wife and the expected?

GEORGE. Yes, sir.

CARNABY. Riding to Watford?

GEORGE. From there alongside the North Coach, if I'm in time.

CARNABY. Don't founder my horse. Will ye leave the glorious news with your grandfather at Wycombe?

GEORGE. I won't fail to. [_Then to_ ABUD.] We've been speaking of you.

ABUD. It was never any secret, sir.

GEORGE. Don't apologise.

_Soon after this_ ABUD _passes out of sight_.

CARNABY. Nature's an encumbrance to us, Parson.

DR. REMNANT. One disapproves of flesh uninspired.

CARNABY. She allows you no amusing hobbies . . always takes you seriously.

GEORGE. Good-bye, Parson.

DR. REMNANT. [_As he bows._] Your most obedient.

CARNABY. And you trifle with damnable democracy, with pretty theories of the respect due to womanhood and now the result . . . hark to it squalling.

DR. REMNANT. Being fifty miles off might not one say: The cry of the new-born?

CARNABY. Ill-bred babies squall. There's no poetic glamour in the world will beautify an undesired infant . . George says so.

GEORGE. I did say so.

CARNABY. I feel the whole matter deeply.

GEORGE _half laughs_.

CARNABY. George, after days of irritability, brought to bed of a smile. That's a home thrust of a metaphor.

GEORGE _laughs again_.

CARNABY. Twins!

GEORGE. Yes, a boy and a girl . . . I'm the father of a boy and a girl.

CARNABY. [_In dignified, indignant horror._] No one of you dared tell me that much!

SARAH _and_ ANN _come from the house_.

GEORGE. You could have asked me for news of your grandchildren.

CARNABY. Twins is an insult.

SARAH. But you look very cheerful, George.

GEORGE. I am content.

SARAH. I'm surprised.

GEORGE. I am surprised.

SARAH. Now what names for them?

CARNABY. No family names, please.

GEORGE. We'll wait for a dozen years or so and let them choose their own.

DR. REMNANT. But, sir, christening will demand--

CARNABY. Your son should have had my name, sir.

GEORGE. I know the rule . . as I have my grandfather's which I take no pride in.

SARAH. George!

GEORGE. Not to say that it sounds his, not mine.

CARNABY. Our hopes of you were high once.

GEORGE. Sarah, may I kiss you? [_He kisses her cheek._] Let me hear what you decide to do.

CARNABY. The begetting you, sir, was a waste of time.

GEORGE. [_Quite pleasantly._] Don't say that.

_At the top of the steps_ ANN _is waiting for him_.

ANN. I'll see you into the saddle.

GEORGE. Thank you, sister Ann.

ANN. Why didn't you leave us weeks ago?

GEORGE. Why!

_They pace away, arm-in-arm._

CARNABY. [_Bitterly._] Glad to go! Brighton, Sarah.

SARAH. No, I shall not come, Papa.

CARNABY. Coward. [_Then to_ REMNANT.] Good-night.

DR. REMNANT. [_Covering the insolent dismissal._] With your kind permission I will take my leave. [_Then he bows to_ SARAH.] Lady Cottesham.

SARAH. [_Curtseying._] Doctor Remnant, I am yours.

CARNABY. [_Sitting by the fountain, stamping his foot._] Oh, this cracked earth! Will it rain . . will it rain?

DR. REMNANT. I doubt now. That cloud has passed.

CARNABY. Soft, pellucid rain! There's a good word and I'm not at all sure what it means.

DR. REMNANT. Per . . lucere . . . letting light through.

REMNANT _leaves them_.

CARNABY. Soft, pellucid rain! . . thank you. Brighton, Sarah.

SARAH. Ann needs new clothes.

CARNABY. See to it.

SARAH. I shall not be there.

_She turns from him._

CARNABY. Pretty climax to a quarrel!

SARAH. Not a quarrel.

CARNABY. A political difference.

SARAH. Don't look so ferocious.

CARNABY. My arm is in great pain and the wine's in my head.

SARAH. Won't you go to bed?

CARNABY. I'm well enough . . to travel. This marriage makes us safe, Sarah . . an anchor in each camp . . There's a mixed metaphor.

SARAH. If you'll have my advice, Papa, you'll keep those plans clear from Ann's mind.

CARNABY. John Carp is so much clay . . a man of forty ignorant of himself.

SARAH. But if the Duke will not . .

CARNABY. The Duke hates a scandal.

SARAH. Does he detest scandal!

CARNABY. The girl is well-bred and harmless . . why publicly quarrel with John and incense her old brute of a father? There's the Duke in a score of words. He'll take a little time to think it out so.

SARAH. And I say: Do you get on the right side of the Duke once again,--that's what we've worked for--and leave these two alone.

CARNABY. Am I to lose my daughter?

SARAH. Papa . . your food's intrigue.

CARNABY. Scold at Society . . and what's the use?

SARAH. We're over-civilized.

ANN _rejoins them now. The twilight is gathering._

CARNABY. My mother's very old . . . your grandfather's younger and seventy-nine . . he swears I'll never come into the title. There's little else.

SARAH. You're feverish . . why are you saying this?

CARNABY. Ann . . George . . George via Wycombe . . Wycombe Court . . Sir George Leete baronet, Justice of the Peace, Deputy Lieutenant . . the thought's tumbled. Ann, I first saw your mother in this garden . . there.

ANN. Was she like me?

SARAH. My age when she married.

CARNABY. She was not beautiful . . then she died.

ANN. Mr. Tatton thinks it a romantic garden.

CARNABY. [_Pause._] D'ye hear the wind sighing through that tree?

ANN. The air's quite still.

CARNABY. I hear myself sighing . . when I first saw your mother in this garden . . . that's how it was done.

SARAH. For a woman must marry.

CARNABY. [_Rises._] You all take to it as ducks to water . . but apple sauce is quite correct . . I must not mix metaphors.

MRS. OPIE _comes from the house_.

SARAH. Your supper done, Mrs. Opie?

MRS. OPIE. I eat little in the evening.

SARAH. I believe that saves digestion.

MRS. OPIE. Ann, do you need me more to-night?

ANN. Not any more.

MRS. OPIE. Ann, there is gossip among the servants about a wager . . .

ANN. Mrs. Opie, that was . . . yesterday.

MRS. OPIE. Ann, I should be glad to be able to contradict a reported . . embrace.

ANN. I was kissed.

MRS. OPIE. I am shocked.

CARNABY. Mrs. Opie, is it possible that all these years I have been nourishing a prude in my . . back drawing-room?

MRS. OPIE. I presume I am discharged of Ann's education; but as the salaried mistress of your household, Mr. Leete, I am grieved not to be able to deny such a rumour to your servants.

_She sails back, righteously indignant._

CARNABY. Call out that you're marrying the wicked man . . comfort her.

SARAH. Mrs. Opie!

CARNABY. Consider that existence. An old maid . . so far as we know. Brevet rank . . missis. Not pleasant.

ANN. She wants nothing better . . at her age.

SARAH. How forgetful!

CARNABY. [_The force of the phrase growing._] Brighton, Sarah.

SARAH. Now you've both read the love-letter which Tetgeen brought me.

CARNABY. Come to Brighton.

ANN. Come to Brighton, Sally.

SARAH. No. I have been thinking. I think I will accept the income, the house, coals, butter and eggs.

CARNABY. I give you a fortnight to bring your husband to his knees . . to your feet.

SARAH. I'm not sure that I could. My marriage has come naturally to an end.

CARNABY. Sarah, don't annoy me.

SARAH. Papa, you joined my bridegroom's political party . . now you see fit to leave it.

_She glances at_ ANN, _who gives no sign, however_.

CARNABY. What have you been doing in ten years?

SARAH. Waiting for this to happen . . now I come to think.

CARNABY. Have ye the impudence to tell me that ye've never cared for your husband?

SARAH. I was caught by the first few kisses; but he . . .

CARNABY. Has he ever been unkind to you?

SARAH. Never. He's a gentleman through and through . . . quite charming to live with.

CARNABY. I see what more you expect. And he neither drinks nor . . nor . . no one even could suppose your leaving him.

SARAH. No. I'm disgraced.

CARNABY. Fight for your honour.

SARAH. You surprise me sometimes by breaking out into cant phrases.

CARNABY. What is more useful in the world than honour?

SARAH. I think we never had any . . we!

CARNABY. Give me more details. Tell me, who is this man?

SARAH. I'm innocent . . if that were all.

ANN. Sally, what do they say you've done?

SARAH. I cry out like any poor girl.

CARNABY. There must be no doubt that you're innocent. Why not go for to force Charles into court?

SARAH. My innocence is not of the sort which shows up well.

CARNABY. Hold publicity in reserve. No fear of the two men arranging to meet, is there?

SARAH. They've met . . and they chatted about me.

CARNABY. [_After a moment._] There's sound humour in that.

SARAH. I shall feel able to laugh at them both from Yorkshire.

CARNABY. God forbid! Come to Brighton . . we'll rally Charles no end.

SARAH. Papa, I know there's nothing to be done.

CARNABY. Coward!

SARAH. Besides I don't think I want to go back to my happiness.

_They are silent for a little._

CARNABY. How still! Look . . leaves falling already. Can that man hear what we're saying?

SARAH. [_To_ ANN.] Can Abud overhear?

ANN. I've never talked secrets in the garden before to-day. [_Raising her voice but a very little._] Can you hear me, Abud?

_No reply comes._

CARNABY. Evidently not. There's brains shown in a trifle.

SARAH. Does your arm pain you so much?

ANN. Sarah, this man that you're fond of and that's not your husband is not by any chance Lord John Carp?

SARAH. No.

ANN. Nothing would surprise me.

SARAH. You are witty . . but a little young to be so hard.

CARNABY. Keep to your innocent thoughts.

ANN. I must study politics.

SARAH. We'll stop talking of this.

ANN. No . . let me listen . . quite quietly.

CARNABY. Let her listen . . she's going to be married.

SARAH. Good luck, Ann.

CARNABY. I have great hopes of Ann.

SARAH. I hope she may be heartless. To be heartless is to be quite safe.

CARNABY. Now we detect a taste of sour grapes in your mouth.

SARAH. Butter and eggs.

CARNABY. We must all start early in the morning. Sarah will take you, Ann, round the Brighton shops . . fine shops. You shall have the money. . .

SARAH. I will not come with you.

CARNABY. [_Vexedly._] How absurd . . how ridiculous . . to persist in your silly sentiment.

SARAH. [_Her voice rising._] I'm tired of that world . . which goes on and on, and there's no dying . . . one grows into a ghost . . visible . . then invisible. I'm glad paint has gone out of fashion. . . the painted ghosts were very ill to see.

CARNABY. D'ye scoff at civilisation?

SARAH. Look ahead for me.

CARNABY. Banished to a hole in the damned provinces! But you're young yet, you're charming . . you're the wife . . and the honest wife of one of the country's best men. My head aches. D'ye despise good fortune's gifts? Keep as straight in your place in the world as you can. A monthly packet of books to Yorkshire . . no . . you never were fond of reading. Ye'd play patience . . cultivate chess problems . . kill yourself!

SARAH. When one world fails take another.

CARNABY. You have no more right to commit suicide than to desert the society you were born into. My head aches.

SARAH. George is happy.

CARNABY. D'ye dare to think so?

SARAH. No. . it's a horrible marriage.

CARNABY. He's losing refinement . . mark me . . he no longer polishes his nails.

SARAH. But there are the children now.

CARNABY. You never have wanted children.

SARAH. I don't want a little child.

CARNABY. She to be Lady Leete . . someday . . soon! What has he done for his family?

SARAH. I'll come with you. You are clever, Papa. And I know just what to say to Charles.

CARNABY. [_With a curious change of tone._] If you study anatomy you'll find that the brain, as it works, pressing forward the eyes . . thought is painful. Never be defeated. Chapter the latest . . the tickling of the Carp. And my throat is dry . . shall I drink that water?

SARAH. No, I wouldn't.

CARNABY. Not out of my hand?

ANN. [_Speaking in a strange quiet voice, after her long silence._] I will not come to Brighton with you.

CARNABY. Very dry!

ANN. You must go back, Sally.

CARNABY. [_As he looks at her, standing stiffly._] Now what is Ann's height . . five feet . . ?

ANN. Sally must go back, for she belongs to it . . but I'll stay here where I belong.

CARNABY. You've spoken three times and the words are jumbling in at my ears meaninglessly. I certainly took too much wine at dinner . . or else. . . Yes . . Sally goes back. . and you'll go forward. Who stays here? Don't burlesque your sister. What's in the air . . what disease is this?

ANN. I mean to disobey you . . to stay here . . never to be unhappy.

CARNABY. So pleased!

ANN. I want to be an ordinary woman . . not clever . . not fortunate.

CARNABY. I can't hear.

ANN. Not clever. I don't believe in you, Papa.

CARNABY. I exist . . I'm very sorry.

ANN. I won't be married to any man. I refuse to be tempted . . I won't see him again.

CARNABY. Yes. It's raining.

SARAH. Raining!

CARNABY. Don't you stop it raining.

ANN. [_In the same level tones, to her sister now, who otherwise would turn, alarmed, to their father._] And I curse you . . because, we being sisters, I suppose I am much what you were, about to be married; and I think, Sally, you'd have cursed your present self. I could become all that you are and more . . but I don't choose.

SARAH. Ann, what is to become of you?

CARNABY. Big drops . . big drops!

_At this moment_ ABUD _is passing towards the house, his work finished_.

ANN. John Abud . . you mean to marry. When you marry . . will you marry me?

_A blank silence, into which breaks_ CARNABY'S _sick voice_.

CARNABY. Take me indoors. I heard you ask the gardener to marry you.

ANN. I asked him.

CARNABY. I heard you say that you asked him. Take me in . . but not out of the rain.

ANN. Look . . he's straight-limbed and clear eyed . . and I'm a woman.

SARAH. Ann, are you mad?

ANN. If we two were alone here in this garden and everyone else in the world were dead . . what would you answer?

ABUD. [_Still amazed._] Why . . yes.

CARNABY. Then that's settled . . pellucid.

_He attempts to rise, but staggers backwards and forwards._ SARAH _goes to him alarmed_.

SARAH. Papa! . . there's no rain yet.

CARNABY. Hush, I'm dead.

ANN. [_Her nerves failing her._] Oh . . oh . . oh . . !

SARAH. Abud, don't ever speak of this.

ABUD. No, my lady.

ANN. [_With a final effort._] I mean it all. Wait three months.

CARNABY. Help me up steps . . son-in-law.

CARNABY _has started to grope his way indoors. But he reels and falls helpless._

ABUD. I'll carry him.

_Throwing down his tools_ ABUD _lifts the frail sick man and carries him towards the house_. SARAH _follows_.

ANN. [_Sobbing a little, and weary._] Such a long day it has been . . now ending.

_She follows too._

THE FOURTH ACT

_The hall at Markswayde is square; in decoration strictly eighteenth century. The floor polished. Then comes six feet of soberly painted wainscot and above the greenish blue and yellowish green wall painted into panels. At intervals are low relief pilasters; the capitals of these are gilded. The ceiling is white and in the centre of it there is a frosted glass dome through which a dull light struggles. Two sides only of the hall are seen._

_In the corner is a hat stand and on it are many cloaks and hats and beneath it several pairs of very muddy boots._

_In the middle of the left hand wall are the double doors of the dining-room led up to by three or four stairs with balusters, and on either side standing against the wall long, formal, straight backed sofas._

_In the middle of the right hand wall is the front door; glass double doors can be seen and there is evidently a porch beyond. On the left of the front door a small window. On the right a large fireplace, in which a large fire is roaring. Over the front door, a clock (the hands pointing to half-past one.) Over the fireplace a family portrait (temp. Queen Anne) below this a blunderbuss and several horse-pistols. Above the sofa full-length family portraits (temp. George I.) Before the front door a wooden screen, of lighter wood than the wainscot, and in the middle of it a small glass panel. Before this a heavy square table on which are whips and sticks, a hat or two and brushes; by the table a wooden chair. On either side the fire stand tall closed-in armchairs, and between the fireplace and the door a smaller red-baize screen._

_When the dining-room doors are thrown open another wooden screen is to be seen._

_There are a few rugs on the floor, formally arranged._

MRS. OPIE _stands in the middle of the hall, holding out a woman's brown cloak: she drops one side to fetch out her handkerchief and apply it to her eye_. DIMMUCK _comes in by the front door, which he carefully closes behind him. He is wrapped in a hooded cloak and carries a pair of boots and a newspaper. The boots he arranges to warm before the fire. Then he spreads the Chronicle newspaper upon the arm of a chair, then takes off his cloak and hangs it upon a peg close to the door._

DIMMUCK. Mrs. Opie . . will you look to its not scorching?

MRS. OPIE _still mops her eyes_. DIMMUCK _goes towards the dining-room door, but turns_.

DIMMUCK. Will you kindly see that the _Chronicle_ newspaper does not burn?

MRS. OPIE. I was crying.

DIMMUCK. I leave this tomorrow sennight . . thankful, ma'am, to have given notice in a dignified manner.

MRS. OPIE. I understand . . Those persons at table . .

DIMMUCK. You give notice.

MRS. OPIE. Mr. Dimmuck, this is my home.

LORD ARTHUR CARP _comes out of the dining-room. He is a thinner and more earnest-looking edition of his brother_. MRS. OPIE _turns a chair and hangs the cloak to warm before the fire, and then goes into the dining-room_.

LORD ARTHUR. My chaise round?

DIMMUCK. I've but just ordered it, my lord. Your lordship's man has give me your boots.

LORD ARTHUR. Does it snow?

DIMMUCK. Rather rain than snow.

LORD ARTHUR _takes up the newspaper_.

DIMMUCK. Yesterday's, my lord.

LORD ARTHUR. I've seen it. The mails don't hurry hereabouts. Can I be in London by the morning?

DIMMUCK. I should say you might be, my lord.

LORD ARTHUR _sits by the fire, while_ DIMMUCK _takes off his pumps and starts to put on his boots_.

LORD ARTHUR. Is this a horse called "Ronald?"

DIMMUCK. Which horse, my lord?

LORD ARTHUR. Which I'm to take back with me . . my brother left here. I brought the mare he borrowed.

DIMMUCK. I remember, my lord. I'll enquire.

LORD ARTHUR. Tell Parker . .

DIMMUCK. Your lordship's man?

LORD ARTHUR. . . he'd better ride the beast.

SARAH _comes out of the dining-room. He stands up; one boot, one shoe._

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.

MR. CROWE _comes out_. _A crop-headed beefy-looking farmer of sixty._

MR. CROWE. Was.

CARNABY. There's a good enemy!

MR. CROWE. Get out of my road . . lawyer Smallpeice.

CARNABY. Leave enough of him living to attend to my business.

MR. SMALLPEICE. [_wriggling a bow at_ CARNABY.] Oh . . dear sir!

SIR GEORGE LEETE. [_Disgustedly to_ MR. SMALLPEICE.] You!

MR. SMALLPEICE. Employed in a small matter . . as yet.

CARNABY. [_To_ CROWE.] I hope you spoke your mind of me.

MR. CROWE. Not behind your back, sir.

MRS. GEORGE LEETE _leads_ LADY LEETE _from the dining-room_. LADY LEETE _is a very old, blind and decrepit woman_. DOLLY _is a buxom young mother; whose attire borders on the gaudy_.

CARNABY. [_With some tenderness._] Well . . Mother . . dear?

MR. CROWE. [_Bumptiously to_ SIR GEORGE LEETE.] Did my speech offend you, my lord?

SIR GEORGE LEETE. [_Sulkily._] I'm a baronet.

LADY LEETE. Who's this here?

CARNABY. Carnaby.

DOLLY. Step down . . grandmother.

LADY LEETE. Who did ye say you were?

DOLLY. Mrs. George Leete.

LADY LEETE. Take me to the fire-side.

_So_ CARNABY _and_ DOLLY _lead her slowly to a chair by the fire where they carefully bestow her_.

MR. SMALLPEICE. [_To_ FARMER CROWE.] He's leaving Markswayde, you know . . and me agent.

LADY LEETE. [_Suddenly bethinking her._] Grace was not said. Fetch my chaplain . . at once.

MR. SMALLPEICE. I will run.

_He runs into the dining-room._

DOLLY. [_Calling after with her country accent._] Not parson Remnant . . t'other one.

LADY LEETE. [_Demanding._] Snuff.

CARNABY. [_To his father._] Sir . . my hand is a little unsteady.

SIR GEORGE _and_ CARNABY _between them give_ LADY LEETE _her snuff_.

MR. CROWE. Dolly . . ought those children to be left so long?

DOLLY. All right, father . . I have a maid.

LADY LEETE _sneezes_.

SIR GEORGE LEETE. She'll do that once too often altogether.

LADY LEETE. I'm cold.

DOLLY. I'm cold . . I lack my shawl.

CROWE. Call out to your man for it.

DOLLY. [_Going to the dining-room door._] Will a gentleman please ask Mr. George Leete for my Cache-y-mire shawl?

MR. CROWE. [_To_ CARNABY.] And I drank to the health of our grandson.

CARNABY. Now suppose George were to assume your name, Mr. Crowe?

MR. TOZER _comes out of the dining-room. Of the worst type of eighteenth century parson, for which one may see Hogarth's 'Harlot's Progress.' He is very drunk._

SIR GEORGE LEETE. [_In his wife's ear._] Tozer!

LADY LEETE. When . . why!

SIR GEORGE LEETE. To say grace.

LADY LEETE _folds her withered hands_.

MR. TOZER. [_through his hiccoughs._] Damn you all.

LADY LEETE. [_Reverently, thinking it is said._] Amen.

MR. TOZER. Only my joke.

CARNABY. [_Rising to the height of the occasion._] Mr. Tozer, I am indeed glad to see you, upon this occasion so delightfully drunk.

MR. TOZER. Always a gen'elman . . by nature.

SIR GEORGE LEETE. Lie down . . you dog.

GEORGE _comes out carrying the cashmere shawl_.

GEORGE. [_To his father._] Dolly wants her father to rent Markswayde, sir.

MR. CROWE. Not me, my son. You're to be a farmer-baronet.

SIR GEORGE. Curse your impudence!

CARNABY. My one regret in dying would be to miss seeing him so.

GEORGE _goes back into the dining-room_.

MR. CROWE. I am tickled to think that the man marrying your daughter wasn't good enough for mine.

CARNABY. And yet at fisticuffs, I'd back John Abud against our son George.

DR. REMNANT _has come out of the dining-room_. TOZER _has stumbled towards him and is wagging an argumentative finger_.

MR. TOZER. . . Marriage means enjoyment!

DR. REMNANT. [_Controlling his indignation._] I repeat that I have found in my own copy of the prayer book no insistence upon a romantic passion.

MR. TOZER. My 'terpretation of God's word is 'bove criticism.

MR. TOZER _reaches the door and falls into the dining-room_.

CARNABY. [_Weakly to_ DR. REMNANT.] Give me your arm for a moment.

DR. REMNANT. I think Lady Cottesham has Mrs. John Abud prepared to start, sir.

CARNABY. I trust Ann will take no chill walking through the mud.

DR. REMNANT. Won't you sit down, sir?

CARNABY. No.

_For some moments_ CROWE _has been staring indignantly at_ SIR GEORGE. _Now he breaks out._

MR. CROWE. The front door of this mansion is opened to a common gardener and only then to me and mine!

SIR GEORGE LEETE. [_Virulently._] Damn you and yours and damn them . . and damn you again for the worse disgrace.

MR. CROWE. Damn _you_, sir . . have you paid him to marry the girl?

_He turns away, purple faced and_ SIR GEORGE _chokes impotently_. ABUD _and_ MR. PRESTIGE _come out talking. He is younger and less assertive than_ FARMER CROWE.

MR. PRESTIGE. [_Pathetically._] All our family always has got drunk at weddings.

ABUD. [_In remonstrance._] Please, uncle.

CARNABY. Mr. Crowe . . I have been much to blame for not seeking you sooner.

MR. CROWE. [_Mollified._] Shake hands.

CARNABY. [_Offering his with some difficulty._] My arm is stiff . . from an accident. This is a maid's marriage, I assure you.

MR. PRESTIGE. [_Open mouthed to_ DR. REMNANT.] One =could= hang bacon here!

DOLLY. [_Very high and mighty._] The family don't.

CARNABY. [_To his father._] And won't you apologise for your remarks to Mr. Crowe, sir?

LADY LEETE. [_Demanding._] Snuff!

CARNABY. And your box to my mother, sir.

SIR GEORGE _attends to his wife_.

DOLLY. [_Anxiously to_ DR. REMNANT.] Can a gentleman change his name?

MR. CROWE. Parson . . once noble always noble, I take it.

DR. REMNANT. Certainly . . but I hope you have money to leave them, Mr. Crowe.

DOLLY. [_To_ ABUD.] John.

ABUD. Dorothy.

DOLLY. You've not seen my babies yet.

LADY LEETE _sneezes_.

SIR GEORGE LEETE. Carnaby . . d'ye intend to murder that Crowe fellow . . or must I?

MR. SMALLPEICE _skips from the dining-room_.

MR. SMALLPEICE. Mr. John Abud . .

MR. CROWE. [_To_ DR. REMNANT _as he nods towards_ CARNABY.] Don't tell me he's got over that fever yet.

MR. SMALLPEICE. . . The ladies say . . are you ready or are you not?

MR. PRESTIGE. I'll get thy cloak, John.

MR. PRESTIGE _goes for the cloak_. CARNABY _has taken a pistol from the mantel-piece and now points it at_ ABUD.

CARNABY. He's fit for heaven!

GEORGE LEETE _comes from the dining-room and noticing his father's action says sharply_ . .

GEORGE. I suppose you know that pistol's loaded.

_Which calls everyone's attention._ DOLLY _shrieks_.

CARNABY. What if there had been an accident!

_And he puts back the pistol._ ABUD _takes his cloak from_ PRESTIGE.

ABUD. Thank you, uncle.

MR. PRESTIGE. I'm a proud man. Mr. Crowe . .

CARNABY. Pride!

GEORGE. [_Has a sudden inspiration and strides up to_ ABUD.] Here ends the joke, my good fellow. Be off without your wife.

ABUD _stares, as do the others. Only_ CARNABY _suddenly catches_ REMNANT'S _arm_.

MR. PRESTIGE. [_Solemnly._] But it's illegal to separate them.

GEORGE. [_Giving up._] Mr. Prestige . . you are the backbone of England.

CARNABY. [_To_ REMNANT.] Where are your miracles?

MRS. PRESTIGE _comes out. A motherly farmer's wife, a mountain of a woman._

MRS. PRESTIGE. John . . kiss your aunt.

ABUD _goes to her, and she obliterates him in an embrace_.

GEORGE. [_To his father._] Sense of humour . . Sense of humour!

LADY LEETE. Snuff.

_But no one heeds her this time._

CARNABY. It doesn't matter.

GEORGE. Smile. Let's be helpless gracefully.

CARNABY. There are moments when I'm not sure.

GEORGE. It's her own life.

TOZER _staggers from the dining-room drunker than ever. He falls against the baluster and waves his arms._

MR. TOZER. Silence there for the corpse!

MR. CROWE. You beast!

MR. TOZER. Respect my cloth . . Mr. Prestige.

MR. CROWE. That's not my name.

MR. TOZER. I'll have you to know that I'm Sir George Leete's baronet's most boon companion and her la'ship never goes nowhere without me. [_He subsides into a chair._]

LADY LEETE. [_Tearfully._] Snuff.

_From the dining-room comes_ ANN; _her head bent. She is crossing the hall when_ SARAH _follows, calling her_.

SARAH. Ann!

ANN _turns back to kiss her. The rest of the company stand gazing._ SIR GEORGE _gives snuff to_ LADY LEETE.

ANN. Good-bye, Sally.

SARAH. [_In a whisper._] Forget us.

GEORGE. [_Relieving his feelings._] Good-bye, everybody . . good-bye, everything.

ABUD _goes to the front door and opening it stands waiting for her. She goes coldly, but timidly to her father, to whom she puts her face up to be kissed._

ANN. Good-bye, Papa.

CARNABY. [_Quietly, as he kisses her cheek._] I can do without you.

SIR GEORGE LEETE. [_Raging at the draught._] Shut that door.

ANN. I'm gone.

_She goes with her husband._ MRS. OPIE _comes hurriedly out of the dining-room, too late_.

MRS. OPIE. Oh!

DR. REMNANT. Run . . Mrs. Opie.

CARNABY. There has started the new century!

MRS. OPIE _opens the front door to look after them_.

SIR GEORGE LEETE. [_With double energy._] Shut that door.

LADY LEETE _sneezes and then chokes. There is much commotion in her neighbourhood._

SIR GEORGE. Now she's hurt again.

DOLLY. Water!

MR. CROWE. Brandy!

SARAH. [_Going._] I'll fetch both.

GEORGE. We must all die . . some day.

MR. TOZER. [_Who has struggled up to see what is the matter._] And go to--

DR. REMNANT. Hell. You do believe in that, Mr. Toper.

MRS. OPIE. [_Fanning the poor old lady._] She's better.

CARNABY. [_To his guests._] Gentlemen . . punch.

PRESTIGE _and_ SMALLPEICE; MRS. PRESTIGE, GEORGE _and_ DOLLY _move towards the dining-room_.

MR. PRESTIGE. [_To_ SMALLPEICE.] You owe all this to me.

MR. CROWE. Dolly . . I'm going.

MRS. PRESTIGE. [_To her husband as she nods towards_ CARNABY.] Nathaniel . . look at 'im.

GEORGE. [_To his father-in-law._] Must we come too?

MRS. PRESTIGE. [_As before._] I can't help it . . a sneerin' carpin' cavillin' devil!

MRS. OPIE. Markswayde is to let . . as I hear . . Mr. Leete?

CARNABY. Markswayde is to let.

_He goes on his way to the dining-room meeting_ SARAH _who comes out carrying a glass of water and a decanter of brandy_. SIR GEORGE LEETE _is comfortably warming himself at the fire_.

* * * * *

_The living room of_ JOHN ABUD'S _new cottage has bare plaster walls and its ceilings and floor are of red brick; all fresh looking but not new. In the middle of the middle wall there is a latticed window, dimity curtained; upon the plain shelf in front are several flower-pots._

_To the right of this, a door, cross beamed and with a large lock to it besides the latch._

_Against the right hand wall, is a dresser, furnished with dishes and plates: below it is a common looking grandfather clock; below this a small door which when opened shows winding stairs leading to the room above. In the left hand wall there is a door which is almost hidden by the fireplace which juts out below it. In the fireplace a wood fire is laid but not lit. At right angles to this stands a heavy oak settle opposite a plain deal table; just beyond which is a little bench. On either side of the window is a Windsor armchair. Between the window and the door hangs a framed sampler._

_In the darkness the sound of the unlocking of a door and of_ ABUD _entering is heard. He walks to the table, strikes a light upon a tinder-box and lights a candle which he finds there._ ANN _is standing in the doorway_. ABUD _is in stocking feet_.