LATIMER. Yes, you want to get that off pat. You’ll have to say that a good deal, I expect. Well, to resume. I am sorry to see in the paper this morning that Beelzebub, upon whom I laid my shirt for the 2.30 race at Newmarket yesterday—and incidentally your shirt too, darling—came in last, some five minutes after the others had finished the course.... Tut, tut, how annoying!
ANNE. Oh, my poor darling!
LATIMER. The word “poor” is well chosen. We are ruined. I shall have to work.
ANNE. You know what I want you to do, Leonard?
LATIMER. No, I have forgotten.
ANNE (seriously). I should like to see you in the House of Lords, taking your rightful place as a leader of men, making great speeches.
LATIMER. My dear Anne! I may be a peer, but I am not a dashed politician.
ANNE (wistfully). I wish you were, Leonard.
LATIMER. I will be anything you like, Anne. (He leans towards her, half-serious, half-mocking.)
ANNE (with a little laugh). How absurd you are! Some more coffee?