Charles. I'm nobody. I'm pitched about everywhere.
Flora. You don't mean—my trunks?
Charles. Not a bit. Of course I don't. I mean the way they treat me. Here Cedric's a perfect duke, in his own line. But will he have me on the works? Not much. Says I must strike out for myself, and all sorts of tommyrot. And in the end I'm set to night-work like a blooming nigger. People might think we were hard up for five quid a week, instead of simply rolling in coin—rolling in it! Why shouldn't I go round the world or something! I'm only twenty-two.
Flora. That all?
Charles. I go out and work all night. Then I come home and discover Cedric couldn't find anything better to do than eat my supper. Five servants in this house. But do you suppose there'd have been the least chance of me getting anything to eat before eight o'clock, at the earliest, if you hadn't invented these sandwiches? Not much! Thanks! (Takes two more.) But that's not what I meant. What I really meant was—who introduced my people to you? I did. I knew you at the Baths Club six months before his lordship Cedric and the mater kindly invited themselves to have tea with me there, and then I didn't count any more! Cedric simply shovelled me up and chucked me into a corner. In less than twenty-four hours he was in love with you. But did he ask my permission? Did he think about me for one instant? Not much! The fact is, they simply make use of me ... and so—I rather like Frampington. Understand?
Flora. Yes.
Charles. Of course, I'm sorry about what's happened—as far as you are concerned. But as far as Cedric's concerned, I can't help thinking it serves him jolly well right. Cedric's too cocksure—in everything.
Flora. That's quite true.
Charles. (Hesitating.) Yes.
Flora. What else have you got on your mind?