Three Plays by Granville-Barker - BestLightNovel.com
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CARNABY. Your son should have had my name, sir.
GEORGE. I know the rule . . as I have my grandfather's which I take no pride in.
SARAH. George!
GEORGE. Not to say that it sounds his, not mine.
CARNABY. Our hopes of you were high once.
GEORGE. Sarah, may I kiss you? [_He kisses her cheek._] Let me hear what you decide to do.
CARNABY. The begetting you, sir, was a waste of time.
GEORGE. [_Quite pleasantly._] Don't say that.
_At the top of the steps_ ANN _is waiting for him_.
ANN. I'll see you into the saddle.
GEORGE. Thank you, sister Ann.
ANN. Why didn't you leave us weeks ago?
GEORGE. Why!
_They pace away, arm-in-arm._
CARNABY. [_Bitterly._] Glad to go! Brighton, Sarah.
SARAH. No, I shall not come, Papa.
CARNABY. Coward. [_Then to_ REMNANT.] Good-night.
DR. REMNANT. [_Covering the insolent dismissal._] With your kind permission I will take my leave. [_Then he bows to_ SARAH.] Lady Cottesham.
SARAH. [_Curtseying._] Doctor Remnant, I am yours.
CARNABY. [_Sitting by the fountain, stamping his foot._] Oh, this cracked earth! Will it rain . . will it rain?
DR. REMNANT. I doubt now. That cloud has pa.s.sed.
CARNABY. Soft, pellucid rain! There's a good word and I'm not at all sure what it means.
DR. REMNANT. Per . . lucere . . . letting light through.
REMNANT _leaves them_.
CARNABY. Soft, pellucid rain! . . thank you. Brighton, Sarah.
SARAH. Ann needs new clothes.
CARNABY. See to it.
SARAH. I shall not be there.
_She turns from him._
CARNABY. Pretty climax to a quarrel!
SARAH. Not a quarrel.
CARNABY. A political difference.
SARAH. Don't look so ferocious.
CARNABY. My arm is in great pain and the wine's in my head.
SARAH. Won't you go to bed?
CARNABY. I'm well enough . . to travel. This marriage makes us safe, Sarah . . an anchor in each camp . . There's a mixed metaphor.
SARAH. If you'll have my advice, Papa, you'll keep those plans clear from Ann's mind.
CARNABY. John Carp is so much clay . . a man of forty ignorant of himself.
SARAH. But if the Duke will not . .
CARNABY. The Duke hates a scandal.
SARAH. Does he detest scandal!
CARNABY. The girl is well-bred and harmless . . why publicly quarrel with John and incense her old brute of a father? There's the Duke in a score of words. He'll take a little time to think it out so.
SARAH. And I say: Do you get on the right side of the Duke once again,--that's what we've worked for--and leave these two alone.
CARNABY. Am I to lose my daughter?
SARAH. Papa . . your food's intrigue.
CARNABY. Scold at Society . . and what's the use?
SARAH. We're over-civilized.
ANN _rejoins them now. The twilight is gathering._
CARNABY. My mother's very old . . . your grandfather's younger and seventy-nine . . he swears I'll never come into the t.i.tle. There's little else.
SARAH. You're feverish . . why are you saying this?
