The Benefit of the Doubt; a Comedy in Three Acts

by Arthur Wing Pinero

Twelve.

Olive.

[Between her teeth.] Twelve.

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

The reason I put the question is this: my dear brother-in-law, the bishop——

Mrs. Cloys.

[Under her breath.] Eh?

Sir Fletcher Portwood.

[Looking at Mrs. Cloys significantly.] The bishop often suffers from the effects of severe intellectual strain, and it has more than once struck me that for a few weeks in the year this peculiarly invigorating air—— [Going to the dining-room door.] The arrangements appear to be most convenient. May I?

John.