f.a.n.n.y. Don't let him mix you up in any of his "ventures." Dear old George, he's as honest as the day, but if he gets hold of an "idea"

there's always thousands in it for everybody.

VERNON. I'll be careful. [Ernest has left the door open. The harmonium breaks forth again, together with vocal accompaniment as before.] What's on downstairs, then--a party?

f.a.n.n.y. Bennet is holding a prayer meeting.

VERNON. A prayer meeting?

f.a.n.n.y. One of the younger members of the family has been detected "telling a deliberate lie." [Vernon is near the door listening, with his back towards her, or he would see that she is smiling.] Black sheep, I suppose, to be found in every flock. [Music ceases, Ernest having arrived with the news of his lordship's return.]

VERNON [returning to the table, having closed the door]. Good old man, you know, Bennet. All of them! So high-principled! Don't often get servants like that, nowadays.

f.a.n.n.y. Seems almost selfish, keeping the whole collection to ourselves.

VERNON [laughs]. 'Pon my word it does. But what can we do? They'll never leave us--not one of them.

f.a.n.n.y. No, I don't believe they ever will.

VERNON. Do you know, I sometimes think that you don't like them.

[f.a.n.n.y makes a movement.] Of course, they are a bit bossy, I admit.

But all that comes from their devotion, their -

f.a.n.n.y. The wonder to me is that, brought up among them, admiring them as you do, you never thought of marrying one of them.

VERNON [staggered.] Marrying them?

f.a.n.n.y. I didn't say "them." I said "ONE of them." There's Honoria.

She's pretty enough, anyhow. So's Alice, Charles Bennet's daughter, and Bertha and Grace--all of them beautiful. And what's even better still--good. [She says it viciously.] Didn't you ever think of them?

VERNON. Well [laughs]--well, one hardly marries into one's own kitchen.

f.a.n.n.y. Isn't that rather sn.o.bbish? You say they're more like friends than servants. They've lived with your people, side by side, for three generations, doing their duty, honourably. There's never been a slur upon their name. They're "high-principled." You know it. They've better manners than nine-tenths of your smart society, and they're healthy. What's wrong with them--even from a lord's point of view?

VERNON [recovering himself]. Well, don't pitch into me about it.

It's your fault if I didn't marry them--I mean one of them. [He laughs, puts his empty cup back on the table.] Maybe I'd have thought about it--if I hadn't met you.

f.a.n.n.y [takes his hand in hers]. I wish you hadn't asked Newte any questions about me. It would have been so nice to feel that you had married me--just because you couldn't help it--just because I was I and nothing else mattered.

VERNON. Let's forget I ever did. [He kneels beside her.] I didn't do it for my own sake, as you know. A MAN in my position has to think of other people. His wife has to take her place in society.

People insist upon knowing something about her. It's not enough for the stupid "County" that she's the cleverest, most bewilderingly beautiful, bewitching lady in the land.

f.a.n.n.y. And how long will you think all that?

VERNON. For ever, and ever, and ever.

f.a.n.n.y. Oh, you dear boy. [She kisses him.] You don't know how a woman loves the man she loves to love her. [Laughs.] Isn't that complicated?

VERNON. Not at all. We're just the same. We love to love the woman we love.

f.a.n.n.y. Provided the "County" will let us. And the County has said: A man may not marry his butler's niece.

VERNON [laughing]. You've got butlers on the brain. If ever I do run away with my own cook or under-housemaid, it will be your doing.

f.a.n.n.y. You haven't the pluck! The "County" would laugh at you. You men are so frightened of being laughed at.

VERNON [he rises]. Well, if it saves us from making a.s.ses of ourselves -

f.a.n.n.y. Wasn't there a niece of old Bennet's, a girl who had been brought up abroad, and who WASN'T a domestic servant--never had been- -who stayed with them here, at the gardener's cottage, for a short time, some few years ago?

VERNON. You mean poor Rose Bennet's daughter--the one who ran away and married an organ-grinder.

f.a.n.n.y. An organ-grinder?

VERNON. Something of that sort--yes. They had her over; did all they could. A crazy sort of girl; used to sing French ballads on the village green to all the farm labourers she could collect. Shortened poor Bennet's life by about ten years. [Laughs.] But why? Not going to bully me for not having fallen in love with her, are you?

Because that really WASN'T my fault. I never even saw her. 'Twas the winter we spent in Rome. She bolted before we got back. Never gave me a chance.

f.a.n.n.y. I accept the excuse. [Laughs.] No, I was merely wondering what the "County" would have done if by any chance you had married HER. Couldn't have said you were marrying into your own kitchen in her case, because she was never IN your kitchen--absolutely refused to enter it, I'm told.

VERNON [laughs]. It would have been a "nice point," as they say in legal circles. If people had liked her, they'd have tried to forget that her cousins had ever been scullery-maids. If not, they'd have taken good care that n.o.body did.

Bennet enters. He brings some cut flowers, with the "placing" of which he occupies himself.

BENNET. I did not know your lordship had returned.

VERNON. Found a telegram waiting for me in the village. What's become of that niece of yours, Bennet--your sister Rose's daughter, who was here for a short time and ran away again? Ever hear anything about her?

BENNET [very quietly he turns, lets his eyes for a moment meet f.a.n.n.y's. Then answers as he crosses to the windows]. The last I heard about her was that she was married.

VERNON. Satisfactorily?

BENNET. Looking at it from her point of view--most satisfactorily.

VERNON [laughs]. But looking at it from his--more doubtful?

BENNET. She was not without her attractions. Her chief faults, I am inclined to think, were those arising from want of discipline in youth. I have hopes that it is not even yet too late to root out from her nature the weeds of indiscretion.

VERNON. And you think he is the man to do it?

BENNET. Perhaps not. But fortunately there are those about her fully alive to the duty devolving upon them.

VERNON. Um. Sounds a little bit like penal servitude for the poor girl, the way you put it, Bennet.

BENNET. Even penal servitude may be a blessing, if it serves to correct a stubborn spirit.

VERNON. We'll have to make you a J.P., Bennet. Must be jolly careful I don't ever get tried before you. [Laughs.] Is that the cart?

BENNET [he looks out through the window]. Yes, your lordship.

VERNON [he takes up his cap]. I may be bringing someone back with me. [To f.a.n.n.y, who throughout has remained seated.] Why not put on your hat--come with me?