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. d.a.m.n 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 d.a.m.nable coupling as this should be permitted by G.o.d 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. [_b.u.mptiously 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.