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 G.o.d, 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 . . d.a.m.n 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 G.o.d . . 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?