LEONARD. I didn’t say anything. EUSTASIA. No, but you were just going to. LATIMER (_severely_). Seeing that I refrained from making my speech when Leonard had the thermometer in his mouth, the least he can do now is to listen in silence. LEONARD. Well, I’m—— LATIMER. I resume.... By a fortunate concatenation of circumstances, ladies and gentlemen—or, as more illiterate men would say, by a bit of luck—two runaway couples have met under my roof. No need to mention names. You can all guess for yourselves. But I call now—this is the end of my speech, Leonard—I call now upon my noble friend on the right to tell us just why he left the devoted wife by his side in order to travel upon the Continent. LEONARD. Well, really—— LATIMER. Naturally Leonard does not wish to say anything against Eustasia. Very creditable to him. But can it be that the devoted wife by his side wishes to say anything against Leonard? EUSTASIA. You neglected me, Leonard, you know you did. And when I was so ill—— LEONARD. My dear, you were _always_ ill. That was the trouble. LATIMER. And you were never ill, Leonard. _That_ was the trouble.... You heartless ruffian! EUSTASIA (_to LEONARD_). Hush, dear. LATIMER. Why couldn’t you have had a cold sometimes? Why couldn’t you have come home with a broken leg, or lost your money, or made a rotten speech in the House of Lords? If she could never be sorry for _you_, for whom else could she be sorry, except herself? (_To EUSTASIA_) I don’t suppose he even lost his umbrella, did he? ANNE (_feeling that anything is possible to a man who mislays his trousers_). Oh, he must have lost that. LATIMER. Eustasia, ladies and gentlemen, is one of those dear women, those sweet women, those delightful women—(_aside to ANNE_)—stop me if I’m overdoing it—those adorable women who must always cosset or be cosseted. She couldn’t cosset Leonard; Leonard wouldn’t cosset her. Hence—the Dover Road. EUSTASIA. How well you understand, Mr. Latimer! LATIMER. Enter, then, my friend Nicholas. (_Shaking his head at him_) Oh, Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas! NICHOLAS (_uneasily_). What’s all that about? LATIMER. Anything you say will be used in evidence against you. Proceed, my young friend. NICHOLAS. Well—well—well—I mean, there she was. LATIMER. Lonely. NICHOLAS. Exactly. LATIMER. Neglected by her brute of a husband—(_As LEONARD opens his mouth_) fingers crossed, Leonard—who spent day and night rioting in the House of Lords while his poor little wife cried at home. NICHOLAS. Well—— LATIMER. Then out spake bold Sir Nicholas—(_Aside to ANNE_) This was also composed in my bath— Then out spake bold Sir Nicholas, An Oxford man was he; “Lo, I will write a note to-night And ask her out to tea.” NICHOLAS. Well, you see—— LATIMER. I see, Nicholas.... And so here we all are. ANNE. Except me. LATIMER. I guessed at you, Anne. Did I guess right? ANNE (_meekly_). Yes.