WENTWORTH. She's been keeping very well this summer, thank you.
LADY FARRINGDON. I'm so glad.
(There is another awkward silence.)
GERALD (impatiently). Oh, what's the good of pretending this is a formal call, Wentworth? Tell us about Bob; how's he taking it?
WENTWORTH. He doesn't say much. He had lunch in my rooms—you got my message. He couldn't bear the thought of being recognized by anyone, so I had something sent up.
GERALD (realizing what it must feel like). Poor old Bob!
WENTWORTH. Lady Farringdon, I can't possibly tell you what I feel about this, but I should like to say that all of us who know Bob know that he couldn't do anything dishonourable. Whatever the result of the trial, we shall feel just the same towards him.
(LADY FARRINGDON is hardly able to acknowledge this, and SIR JAMES goes across to comfort her.)
SIR JAMES (helplessly). There, there, Mary.
GERALD (seizing his opportunity, to WENTWORTH). What'll he get?