Fle. I’ll send for him.
Con. Melfort stands upon his dignity. He’s a fettered lion. Send for him. You had better go for him yourself.
Fle. Where shall I find him?
Con. At the theatre until four.
Fle. (looking at his watch.) And it’s five minutes past.
Con. You have no time to lose.
Fle. It will not take five minutes to go to the theatre, and they allow ten for the variation of clocks.
Con. Do it, “nor leave the task to me.”
[He is running off, C., when he knocks against BELGRAVE, who seizes him by the collar.
Bel. A word, if you please.