LORD ARTHUR. I object to feeding with the lower classes. CARNABY. There's pride! How useful to note their simple manners! From the meeting of extremes new ideas spring . . new life. LORD ARTHUR. Take that for a new social-political creed, Mr. Leete. CARNABY. Do I lack one? LORD ARTHUR. Please make my adieux to the bride. CARNABY. Appropriate . . . 'à Dieu' . . she enters Nature's cloister. My epigram. LORD ARTHUR. But . . good heavens . . are we to choose to be toiling animals? CARNABY. To be such is my daughter's ambition. LORD ARTHUR. You have not read that. CARNABY. [_Giving back the paper, vexedly._] I can't see. LORD ARTHUR. "The Right Honourable Carnaby Leete is, we are glad to hear, completely recovered and will return to town for the opening of Session." CARNABY. I mentioned it. LORD ARTHUR. "We understand that although there has been no reconciliation with the Government it is quite untrue that this gentleman will in any way resume his connection with the Opposition." CARNABY. Inspired? LORD ARTHUR. I am here from my father to answer any questions. CARNABY. [_With some dignity and the touch of a threat._] Not now, my lord. DIMMUCK _comes in at the front door_. 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. Damn 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?