LORD JOHN. Politics is a game for clever children, and women, and fools. Will you take a word of warning from a soldier? Your father is past his prime. CARNABY _paces back towards them_. CARNABY. I'm getting to be old for these all-night sittings. I must be writing to your busy brother. LORD JOHN. Arthur? . . . is at his home. SARAH. Pleasantly sounding phrase. CARNABY. His grace deserted? SARAH. Quite secretaryless! LORD JOHN. Lady Arthur lately has been brought to bed. I heard yesterday. SARAH. The seventh, is it not? Children require living up to. My congratulations. LORD JOHN. Won't you write them? SARAH. We are not intimate. LORD JOHN. A good woman. SARAH. Evidently. Where's Ann? We'll go in. LORD JOHN. You're a mother to your sister. SARAH. Not I. CARNABY. My wife went her ways into the next world; Sarah hers into this; and our little Ann was left with a most admirable governess. One must never reproach circumstances. Man educates woman in his own good time. LORD JOHN. I suppose she, or any young girl, is all heart. CARNABY. What is it that you call heart . . . sentimentally speaking? SARAH. Any bud in the morning. LORD JOHN. That man Tatton's jokes are in shocking taste. 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 bass. 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 fashioned . . . unless you choose to be a cropped republican like my son. GEORGE. Nature! CARNABY. Nature grows a beard, sir.