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 a.s.sume 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._] d.a.m.n 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 pa.s.sion.

MR. TOZER. My 'terpretation of G.o.d'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.