Part 2

LORD JOHN. Don't think anything of the sort.

CARNABY. There speaks your kind heart.

LORD JOHN. Are you trying to pick a quarrel with me?

CARNABY. As may be.

LORD JOHN. Why?

CARNABY. For the sake of appearances.

LORD JOHN. Damn all appearances.

CARNABY. Now I'll lose my temper. Sir, you have compromised my daughter.

LORD JOHN. Nonsense!

CARNABY. Villain! What's your next move?

_For a moment_ LORD JOHN _sits with knit brows_.

LORD JOHN. [_Brutally._] Mr. Leete, your name stinks.

CARNABY. My point of dis-ad-vantage!

LORD JOHN. [_Apologising._] Please say what you like. I might have put my remark better.

CARNABY. I think not; the homely Saxon phrase is our literary dagger. Princelike, you ride away from Markswayde. Can I trust you not to stab a socially sick man? Why it's a duty you owe to society . . . to weed out . . . us.

LORD JOHN. I'm not a coward. How?

CARNABY. A little laughter . . . in your exuberance of health.

LORD JOHN. You may trust me not to tell tales.

CARNABY. Of what . . . of whom?

LORD JOHN. Of here.

CARNABY. And what is there to tell of here?

LORD JOHN. Nothing.

CARNABY. But how your promise betrays a capacity for good-natured invention!

LORD JOHN. If I lie call me out.

CARNABY. I don't deal in sentiment. I can't afford to be talked about otherwise than as I choose to be. Already the Aunt Sally of the hour; having under pressure of circumstances resigned my office; dating my letters from the borders of the Chiltern Hundreds . . . I am a poor politician, sir, and I must live.

LORD JOHN. I can't see that your family's infected . . . affected.

CARNABY. With a penniless girl you really should have been more circumspect.

LORD JOHN. I might ask to marry her.

CARNABY. My lord!

_In the pause that ensues he takes up the twist of bass to play with._

LORD JOHN. What should you say to that?

CARNABY. The silly child supposed she loved you.

LORD JOHN. Yes.

CARNABY. Is it a match?

LORD JOHN. [_Full in the other's face._] What about the appearances of black-mail?

CARNABY. [_Compressing his thin lips._] Do you care for my daughter?

LORD JOHN. I could . . . at a pinch.

CARNABY. Now, my lord, you are insolent.

LORD JOHN. Is this when we quarrel?

CARNABY. I think I'll challenge you.

LORD JOHN. That will look well.

CARNABY. You'll value that kiss when you've paid for it. Kindly choose Tatton as your second. I want his tongue to wag both ways.

LORD JOHN. I was forgetting how it all began.

CARNABY. George will serve me . . . protesting. His principles are vile, but he has the education of a gentleman. Swords or . . . ? Swords. And at noon shall we say? There's shade behind a certain barn, midway between this and Tatton's.

LORD JOHN. [_Not taking him seriously yet._] What if we both die horridly?

CARNABY. You are at liberty to make me a written apology.

LORD JOHN. A joke's a joke.

CARNABY _deliberately strikes him in the face with the twist of bass_.

LORD JOHN. That's enough.

CARNABY. [_In explanatory apology._] My friend, you are so obtuse. Abud!

LORD JOHN. Mr. Leete, are you serious?

CARNABY. Perfectly serious. Let's go to bed. Abud, you can get to your work.

_Wig in hand_, MR. LEETE _courteously conducts his guest towards the house_. ABUD _returns to his tools and his morning's work_.

THE SECOND ACT

_Shortly after mid-day, while the sun beats strongly upon the terrace_, ABUD _is working dexterously at the rose trees_. DR. REMNANT _comes down the steps, hatted, and carrying a stick and a book. He is an elderly man with a kind manner; type of the eighteenth century casuistical parson. On his way he stops to say a word to the gardener._

DR. REMNANT. Will it rain before nightfall?

ABUD. About then, sir, I should say.

_Down the other steps comes_ MRS. OPIE, _a prim, decorous, but well bred and unobjectionable woman. She is followed by_ ANN.

MRS. OPIE. A good morning to you, Parson.

DR. REMNANT. And to you, Mrs. Opie, and to Miss Ann.

ANN. Good morning, Dr. Remnant. [_To_ ABUD.] Have you been here ever since . . . ?

ABUD. I've had dinner, Miss.

ABUD'S _work takes him gradually out of sight_.

MRS. OPIE. We are but just breakfasted.

DR. REMNANT. I surmise dissipation.

ANN. [_To_ MRS. OPIE.] Thank you for waiting five hours.

MRS. OPIE. It is my rule to breakfast with you.

DR. REMNANT. [_Exhibiting the book._] I am come to return, and to borrow.

ANN. Show me.

DR. REMNANT. Ballads by Robert Burns.

ANN. [_Taking it._] I'll put it back.

MRS. OPIE. [_Taking it from her._] I've never heard of him.

DR. REMNANT. Oh, ma'am, a very vulgar poet!

GEORGE LEETE _comes quickly down the steps_.

GEORGE. [_To_ REMNANT.] How are you?

DR. REMNANT. Yours, sir.

GEORGE. Ann.

ANN. Good morning, George.

GEORGE. Did you sleep well?

ANN. I always do . . . but I dreamt.

GEORGE. I must sit down for a minute. [_Nodding._] Mrs. Opie.

MRS. OPIE. I wish you a good morning, sir.

GEORGE. [_To_ ANN.] Don't look so solemn.

LADY COTTESHAM _comes quickly to the top of the steps_.

SARAH. Is Papa badly hurt?

ANN. [_Jumping up._] Oh, what has happened?

GEORGE. Not badly.

SARAH. He won't see me.

_His three children look at each other._

DR. REMNANT. [_Tactfully._] May I go my ways to the library?

SARAH. Please do, Doctor Remnant.

DR. REMNANT. I flatly contradicted all that was being said in the village.

SARAH. Thoughtful of you.

DR. REMNANT. But tell me nothing.

DR. REMNANT _bows formally and goes_. GEORGE _is about to speak when_ SARAH _with a look at_ MRS. OPIE _says_. . .

SARAH. George, hold your tongue.

MRS. OPIE. [_With much hauteur._] I am in the way.

_At this moment_ DIMMUCK, _an old but unbenevolent-looking butler, comes to the top of the steps_.

DIMMUCK. The master wants Mrs. Opie.

MRS. OPIE. Thank you.

GEORGE. Your triumph!

MRS. OPIE _is departing radiant_.

DIMMUCK. How was I to know you was in the garden?

MRS. OPIE. I am sorry to have put you to the trouble of a search, Mr. Dimmuck.

DIMMUCK. He's in his room.

_And he follows her towards the house._

GEORGE. Carp fought with him at twelve o'clock.

_The other two cannot speak from amazement._

SARAH. No!

GEORGE. Why, they didn't tell me and I didn't ask. Carp was laughing. Tatton chuckled . . . afterwards.

SARAH. What had he to do?

GEORGE. Carp's second.

SARAH. Unaccountable children!

GEORGE. Feather parade . . . throw in . . . parry quarte: over the arm . . . put by: feint . . . flanconade and through his arm . . . damned easy. The father didn't wince or say a word. I bound it up . . . the sight of blood makes me sick.

_After a moment_, SARAH _turns to_ ANN.

SARAH. Yes, and you've been a silly child.

GEORGE. Ah, give me a woman's guess and the most unlikely reason to account for anything!

ANN. I hate that man. I'm glad Papa's not hurt. What about a surgeon?

GEORGE. No, you shall kiss the place well, and there'll be poetic justice done.

SARAH. How did you all part?

GEORGE. With bows and without a word.

SARAH. Coming home with him?

GEORGE. Not a word.

SARAH. Papa's very clever; but I'm puzzled.

GEORGE. Something will happen next, no doubt.

ANN. Isn't this done with?

SARAH. So it seems.

ANN. I should like to be told just what the game has been.

GEORGE. Bravo, Ann.

ANN. Tell me the rules . . . for next time.

SARAH. It would have been most advantageous for us to have formed an alliance with Lord John Carp, who stood here for his father and his father's party . . . now in opposition.

GEORGE. Look upon yourself--not too seriously--Ann, as the instrument of political destiny.

ANN. I'm afraid I take in fresh ideas very slowly. Why has Papa given up the Stamp Office?

SARAH. His colleagues wouldn't support him.

ANN. Why was that?

SARAH. They disapproved of what he did.

ANN. Did he do right . . . giving it up?

SARAH. Yes.

GEORGE. We hope so. Time will tell. An irreverent quipster once named him Carnaby Leech.

SARAH. I know.

GEORGE. I wonder if his true enemies think him wise to have dropped off the Stamp Office?

ANN. Has he quarrelled with Sir Charles?

SARAH. Politically.

ANN. Isn't that awkward for you?

SARAH. Not a bit.

GEORGE. Hear a statement that includes our lives. Markswayde goes at his death . . . see reversionary mortgage. The income's an annuity now. The cash in the house will be ours. The debts are paid . . . at last.

ANN. And there remains me.

GEORGE. Bad grammar. Meanwhile our father is a tongue, which is worth buying; but I don't think he ought to go over to the enemy . . . for the second time.

SARAH. One party is as good as another; each works for the same end, I should hope.

GEORGE. I won't argue about it.

ANN. I suppose that a woman's profession is marriage.

GEORGE. My lord has departed.

ANN. There'll be others to come. I'm not afraid of being married.

SARAH. What did Papa want Mrs. Opie for?

ANN. There'll be a great many things I shall want to know about men now.

GEORGE. Wisdom cometh with sorrow . . . oh, my sister.

SARAH. I believe you two are both about as selfish as you can be.

GEORGE. I am an egotist . . . with attachments.

ANN. Make use of me.

GEORGE. Ann, you marry--when you marry--to please yourself.

ANN. There's much in life that I don't like, Sally.

SARAH. There's much more that you will.

GEORGE. I think we three have never talked together before.

ABUD, _who has been in sight on the terrace for a few moments, now comes down the steps_.

ABUD. May I make so bold, sir, as to ask how is Mrs. George Leete?

GEORGE. She was well when I last heard.

ABUD. Thank you, sir.

_And he returns to his work._

ANN. I wonder will it be a boy or a girl.

GEORGE. Poor weak woman.

SARAH. Be grateful to her.

ANN. A baby is a wonderful thing.

SARAH. Babyhood in the abstract . . . beautiful.

ANN. Even kittens . . .

_She stops, and then in rather childish embarrassment, moves away from them._

SARAH. Don't shudder, George.

GEORGE. I have no wish to be a father. Why?

SARAH. It's a vulgar responsibility.

GEORGE. My wayside flower!

SARAH. Why pick it?

GEORGE. Sarah, I love my wife.

SARAH. That's easily said.

GEORGE. She should be here.

SARAH. George, you married to please yourself.

GEORGE. By custom her rank is my own.

SARAH. Does she still drop her aitches?

GEORGE. Dolly . . .

SARAH. Pretty name.

GEORGE. Dolly aspires to be one of us.

SARAH. Child-bearing makes these women blowzy.

GEORGE. Oh heaven!

ANN. [_Calling to_ ABUD _on the terrace_.] Finish to-day, Abud. If it rains . . .

_She stops, seeing_ MR. TETGEEN _standing at the top of the steps leading from the house. This is an intensely respectable, selfcontained-looking lawyer, but a man of the world too._

MR. TETGEEN. Lady Cottesham.

SARAH. Sir?

MR. TETGEEN. My name is Tetgeen.

SARAH. Mr. Tetgeen. How do you do?

MR. TETGEEN. The household appeared to be in some confusion and I took the liberty to be my own messenger. I am anxious to speak with you.

SARAH. Ann, dear, ask if Papa will see you now.

DIMMUCK _appears_.

DIMMUCK. The master wants you, Miss Ann.

SARAH. Ask papa if he'll see me soon.

ANN _goes towards the house_.

SARAH. Dimmuck, Mr. Tetgeen has been left to find his own way here.

DIMMUCK. I couldn't help it, my lady.

_And he follows_ ANN.

SARAH. Our father is confined to his room.

GEORGE. By your leave.

_Then_ GEORGE _takes himself off up the steps, and out of sight. The old lawyer bows to_ LADY COTTESHAM, _who regards him steadily_.

MR. TETGEEN. From Sir Charles . . . a talking machine.

SARAH. Please sit.

_He sits carefully upon the rim of the fountain, she upon the seat opposite._

SARAH. [_Glancing over her shoulder._] Will you talk nonsense until the gardener is out of hearing? He is on his way away. You have had a tiring journey?

MR. TETGEEN. Thank you, no . . . by the night coach to Reading and thence I have walked.

SARAH. The country is pretty, is it not?

MR. TETGEEN. It compares favourably with other parts.

SARAH. Do you travel much, Mr. Tetgeen? He has gone.

MR. TETGEEN. [_Deliberately and sharpening his tone ever so little._] Sir Charles does not wish to petition for a divorce.

SARAH. [_Controlling even her sense of humour._] I have no desire to jump over the moon.

MR. TETGEEN. His scruples are religious. The case would be weak upon some important points, and there has been no public scandal . . . at the worst, very little.

SARAH. My good manners are, I trust, irreproachable, and you may tell Sir Charles that my conscience is my own.

MR. TETGEEN. Your husband's in the matter of . . .

SARAH. Please say the word.

MR. TETGEEN. Pardon me . . . not upon mere suspicion.

SARAH. Now, is it good policy to suspect what is incapable of proof?

MR. TETGEEN. I advise Sir Charles, that, should you come to an open fight, he can afford to lose.

SARAH. And have I no right to suspicions?

MR. TETGEEN. Certainly. Are they of use to you?

SARAH. I have been a tolerant wife, expecting toleration.

MR. TETGEEN. Sir Charles is anxious to take into consideration any complaints you may have to make against him.

SARAH. I complain if he complains of me.

MR. TETGEEN. For the first time, I think . . . formally.

SARAH. Why not have come to me?

MR. TETGEEN. Sir Charles is busy.

SARAH. [_Disguising a little spasm of pain._] Shall we get to business?

MR. TETGEEN _now takes a moment to find his phrase_.

MR. TETGEEN. I don't know the man's name.

SARAH. This, surely, is how you might address a seduced housemaid.

MR. TETGEEN. But Sir Charles and he, I understand, have talked the matter over.

_The shock of this brings_ SARAH _to her feet, white with anger_.

SARAH. Divorce me.

MR. TETGEEN. [_Sharply._] Is there ground for it?

SARAH. [_With a magnificent recovery of self control._] I won't tell you that.

MR. TETGEEN. I have said we have no case . . . that is to say, we don't want one; but any information is a weapon in store.

SARAH. You did quite right to insult me.

MR. TETGEEN. As a rule I despise such methods.

SARAH. It's a lie that they met . . . those two men?

MR. TETGEEN. It may be.

SARAH. It must be.

MR. TETGEEN. I have Sir Charles's word.

_Now he takes from his pocket some notes, putting on his spectacles to read them._

SARAH. What's this . . . a written lecture?

MR. TETGEEN. We propose . . . first: that the present complete severance of conjugal relations shall continue. Secondly: that Lady Cottesham shall be at liberty to remove from South Audley Street and Ringham Castle all personal and private effects, excepting those family jewels which have merely been considered her property. Thirdly: Lady Cottesham shall undertake, formally and in writing not to molest--a legal term--Sir Charles Cottesham. [_Her handkerchief has dropped, here he picks it up and restores it to her._] Allow me, my lady.

SARAH. I thank you.

MR. TETGEEN. [_Continuing._] Fourthly: Lady Cottesham shall undertake . . . etc. . . . not to inhabit or frequent the city and towns of London, Brighthelmstone, Bath, The Tunbridge Wells, and York. Fifthly: Sir Charles Cottesham will, in acknowledgement of the maintenance of this agreement, allow Lady C. the sum of two hundred and fifty pounds per annum, which sum he considers sufficient for the upkeep of a small genteel establishment; use of the house known as Pater House, situate some seventeen miles from the Manor of Barton-le-Street, Yorkshire; coals from the mine adjoining; and from the home farm, milk, butter and eggs. [_Then he finds a further note._] Lady Cottesham is not to play cards.

SARAH. I am a little fond of play.

MR. TETGEEN. There is no question of jointure.

SARAH. None. Mr. Tetgeen . . . I love my husband.

MR. TETGEEN. My lady . . . I will mention it.

SARAH. Such a humorous answer to this. No . . . don't. What is important? Bread and butter . . . and eggs. Do I take this?

MR. TETGEEN. [_Handing her the paper._] Please.

SARAH. [_With the ghost of a smile._] I take it badly.

MR. TETGEEN. [_Courteously capping her jest._] I take my leave.

SARAH. This doesn't call for serious notice? I've done nothing legal by accepting it?

MR. TETGEEN. There's no law in the matter; it's one of policy.

SARAH. I might bargain for a bigger income. [MR. TETGEEN _bows_.] On the whole I'd rather be divorced.

MR. TETGEEN. Sir Charles detests scandal.

SARAH. Besides there's no case . . . is there?

MR. TETGEEN. Sir Charles congratulates himself.

SARAH. Sir Charles had best not bully me so politely . . . tell him.

MR. TETGEEN. My lady!

SARAH. I will not discuss this impertinence. Did those two men meet and talk . . . chat together? What d'you think of that?

MR. TETGEEN. 'Twas very practical. I know that the woman is somehow the outcast.

SARAH. A bad woman . . . an idle woman! But I've tried to do so much that lay to my hands without ever questioning . . . ! Thank you, I don't want this retailed to my husband. You'll take a glass of wine before you go?

MR. TETGEEN. Port is grateful.

_She takes from her dress two sealed letters._

SARAH. Will you give that to Sir Charles . . . a letter he wrote me which I did not open. This, my answer, which I did not send.

_He takes the one letter courteously, the other she puts back._

SARAH. I'm such a coward, Mr. Tetgeen.

MR. TETGEEN. May I say how sorry . . . ?

SARAH. Thank you.

MR. TETGEEN. And let me apologise for having expressed one opinion of my own.

SARAH. He wants to get rid of me. He's a bit afraid of me, you know, because I fight . . . and my weapons are all my own. This'll blow over.

MR. TETGEEN. [_With a shake of the head._] You are to take this offer as final.

SARAH. Beyond this?

MR. TETGEEN. As I hinted, I am prepared to advise legal measures.

SARAH. I could blow it over . . . but I won't perhaps. I must smile at my husband's consideration in suppressing even to you . . . the man's name. Butter and eggs . . . and milk. I should grow fat.

ANN _appears suddenly_.

ANN. We go to Brighton to-morrow! [_And she comes excitedly to her sister._]

SARAH. Was that duel a stroke of genius?

ANN. All sorts of things are to happen.

SARAH. [_Turning from her to_ MR. TETGEEN.] And you'll walk as far as Reading?

MR. TETGEEN. Dear me, yes.

SARAH. [_To_ ANN.] I'll come back.

SARAH _takes_ MR. TETGEEN _towards the house_. ANN _seats herself. After a moment_ LORD JOHN CARP, _his clothes dusty with some riding appears from the other quarter. She looks up to find him gazing at her._

LORD JOHN. Ann, I've ridden back to see you.

ANN. [_After a moment._] We're coming to Brighton tomorrow.

LORD JOHN. Good.

ANN. Papa's not dead.

LORD JOHN. [_With equal cheerfulness._] That's good.

ANN. And he said we should be seeing more of you.

LORD JOHN. Here I am. I love you, Ann. [_He goes on his knees._]

ANN. D'you want to marry me?

LORD JOHN. Yes.

ANN. Thank you very much; it'll be very convenient for us all. Won't you get up?

LORD JOHN. At your feet.

ANN. I like it.

LORD JOHN. Give me your hand.

ANN. No.

LORD JOHN. You're beautiful.

ANN. I don't think so. You don't think so.

LORD JOHN. I do think so.

ANN. I should like to say I don't love you.

LORD JOHN. Last night you kissed me.

ANN. Do get up, please.

LORD JOHN. As you wish.

_Now he sits by her._

ANN. Last night you were nobody in particular . . . to me.

LORD JOHN. I love you.

ANN. Please don't; I can't think clearly.

LORD JOHN. Look at me.

ANN. I'm sure I don't love you because you're making me feel very uncomfortable and that wouldn't be so.

LORD JOHN. Then we'll think.

ANN. Papa . . . perhaps you'd rather not talk about Papa.

LORD JOHN. Give yourself to me.

ANN. [_Drawing away from him._] Four words! There ought to be more in such a sentence . . . it's ridiculous. I want a year to think about its meaning. Don't speak.

LORD JOHN. Papa joins our party.

ANN. That's what we're after . . . thank you.

LORD JOHN. I loathe politics.

ANN. Tell me something against them.

LORD JOHN. In my opinion your father's not a much bigger blackguard--I beg your pardon--than the rest of us.

ANN. . . . Miserable sinners.

LORD JOHN. Your father turns his coat. Well . . . ?

ANN. I see nothing at all in that.

LORD JOHN. What's right and what's wrong?

ANN. Papa's right . . . for the present. When shall we be married?

LORD JOHN. Tomorrow?

ANN. [_Startled._] If you knew that it isn't easy for me to be practical you wouldn't make fun.

LORD JOHN. Why not tomorrow?

ANN. Papa--

LORD JOHN. Papa says yes . . suppose.

ANN. I'm very young . . not to speak of clothes. I must have lots of new dresses.

LORD JOHN. Ask me for them.

ANN. Why do you want to marry me?

LORD JOHN. I love you.

ANN. It suddenly occurs to me that sounds unpleasant.

LORD JOHN. I love you.

ANN. Out of place.

LORD JOHN. I love you.

ANN. What if Papa were to die?

LORD JOHN. I want you.

ANN. I'm nothing . . I'm nobody . . I'm part of my family.

LORD JOHN. I want you.

ANN. Won't you please forget last night?

LORD JOHN. I want you. Look straight at me.

_She looks, and stays fascinated._

LORD JOHN. If I say now that I love you--

ANN. I know it.

LORD JOHN. And love me?

ANN. I suppose so.

LORD JOHN. Make sure.

ANN. But I hate you too . . I know that.

LORD JOHN. Shall I kiss you?

ANN. [_Helplessly._] Yes.

_He kisses her full on the lips._

ANN. I can't hate you enough.

LORD JOHN. [_Triumphantly._] Speak the truth now.

ANN. I feel very degraded.

LORD JOHN. Nonsense.

ANN. [_Wretchedly._] This is one of the things which don't matter.

LORD JOHN. Ain't you to be mine?

ANN. You want the right to behave like that as well as the power.

LORD JOHN. You shall command me.

ANN. [_With a poor laugh._] I rather like this in a way.

LORD JOHN. Little coquette!

ANN. It does tickle my vanity.

_For a moment he sits looking at her, then shakes himself to his feet._

LORD JOHN. Now I must go.

ANN. Yes . . I want to think.

LORD JOHN. For Heaven's sake . . no!

ANN. I came this morning straight to where we were last night.

LORD JOHN. As I hung about the garden my heart was beating.

ANN. I shall like you better when you're not here.

LORD JOHN. We're to meet in Brighton?

ANN. I'm afraid so.

LORD JOHN. Good-bye.

ANN. There's just a silly sort of attraction between certain people, I believe.

LORD JOHN. Can you look me in the eyes and say you don't love me?

ANN. If I looked you in the eyes you'd frighten me again. I can say anything.

LORD JOHN. You're a deep child.

GEORGE LEETE _appears on the terrace_.

GEORGE. My lord!

LORD JOHN. [_Cordially._] My dear Leete.

GEORGE. No . . I am not surprised to see you.

ANN. George, things are happening.

LORD JOHN. Shake hands.

GEORGE. I will not.

ANN. Lord John asks me to be married to him. Shake hands.

GEORGE. Why did you fight?

ANN. Why did you fight?

LORD JOHN. [_Shrugging._] Your father struck me.

ANN. Now you've hurt him . . that's fair.

_Then the two men do shake hands, not heartily._

GEORGE. We've trapped you, my lord.

LORD JOHN. I know what I want. I love your sister.

ANN. I don't like you . . but if you're good and I'm good we shall get on.

GEORGE. Why shouldn't one marry politically?

LORD JOHN. [_In_ ANN'S _ear_.] I love you.

ANN. No . . no . . no . . no . . no . . [_Discovering in this an echo of her father, she stops short._]

GEORGE. We're a cold-blooded family.

LORD JOHN. I don't think so.

GEORGE. I married for love.

LORD JOHN. Who doesn't? But, of course there should be other reasons.

GEORGE. You won't receive my wife.

LORD JOHN. Here's your sister.

LADY COTTESHAM _comes from the direction of the house_.

SARAH. Back again?

LORD JOHN. You see.

_From the other side appears_ MR. TATTON.

MR. TATTON. As you all seem to be here I don't mind interrupting.

GEORGE. [_Hailing him._] Well . . neighbour?

MR. TATTON. Come . . come . . what's a little fighting more or less!

GEORGE. Bravo, English sentiment . . relieves a deal of awkwardness.

_The two shake hands._

SARAH. [_Who by this has reached_ LORD JOHN.] . . And back so soon?

ANN. Lord John asks to marry me.

LORD JOHN. Yes.