Part 4

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.