Three Plays by Granville-Barker Part 7

CARNABY. Tatton is honest.

LORD JOHN. I'm much to blame for having won that bet.

CARNABY. Say no more.

LORD JOHN. What can Miss Ann think of me?

SARAH. Don't ask her.

CARNABY. Innocency's opinions are invariably entertaining.

LORD JOHN. Am I the first . . . ? I really beg your pardon.

GEORGE _and_ ANN _come down the steps together_.

CARNABY. Ann, what do you think . . . that is to say--and answer me truthfully . . . what at this moment is your inclination of mind towards my lord here?

ANN. I suppose I love him.

LORD JOHN. I hope not.

ANN. I suppose I love you.

CARNABY. No . . no . . no . . no . . no . . no . . no.

SARAH. Hush, dear.

ANN. I'm afraid, papa, there's something very ill-bred in me.

_Down the steps and into the midst of them comes_ JOHN ABUD, _carrying his tools, among other things a twist of ba.s.s. A young gardener, honest, clean and common._

ABUD. [_To_ CARNABY.] I ask pardon, sir.

CARNABY. So early, Abud! . . . this is your territory. So late . . . Bed.

ANN _starts away up the steps_, SARAH _is following her_.

LORD JOHN. Good-bye, Lady Cottesham.

_At this_ ANN _stops for a moment, but then goes straight on_.

SARAH. A pleasant journey.

SARAH _departs too_.

GEORGE. [_Stretching himself._] I'm roused.

CARNABY. [_To_ ABUD.] Leave your tools here for a few moments.

ABUD. I will, sir.

ABUD _leaves them, going along the terrace and out of sight_.

CARNABY. My head is hot. Pardon me.

CARNABY _is sitting on the fountain rim; he dips his handkerchief in the water, and wrings it; then takes off his wig and binds the damp handkerchief round his head_.

CARNABY. Wigs are most comfortable and old fas.h.i.+oned . . . unless you choose to be a cropped republican like my son.

GEORGE. Nature!

CARNABY. Nature grows a beard, sir.

LORD JOHN. I've seen Turks.

CARNABY. Horrible . . . horrible! Sit down, Carp.

LORD JOHN _sits on the fountain rim_, GEORGE _begins to pace restlessly; he has been nursing the candlestick ever since_ TATTON _handed it to him_.

CARNABY. George, you look d.a.m.ned ridiculous strutting arm-in-arm with that candlestick.

GEORGE. I am ridiculous.

CARNABY. If you're cogitating over your wife and her expectations . . .

GEORGE _paces up the steps and away. There is a pause._

CARNABY. D'ye tell stories . . . good ones?

LORD JOHN. Sometimes.

CARNABY. There'll be this.

LORD JOHN. I shan't.

CARNABY. Say no more. If I may so express myself, Carp, you have been taking us for granted.

LORD JOHN. How wide awake you are! I'm not.

CARNABY. My head's cool. Shall I describe your conduct as an unpremeditated insult?

LORD JOHN. Don't think anything of the sort.

CARNABY. There speaks your kind heart.

LORD JOHN. Are you trying to pick a quarrel with me?

CARNABY. As may be.