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. FANNY. 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 nobody 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 Fanny’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 Fanny_, _who throughout has remained seated_.] Why not put on your hat—come with me? FANNY [_she jumps up_, _delighted_]. Shall I? BENNET. Your ladyship is not forgetting that to-day is Wednesday? FANNY. What’s the odds. There’s nobody to call. Everybody is still in town.