JOHNSON. Right, maam. (He goes out.)
Lady Cicely sits down at the tiny table, and begins stitching at a sling bandage for Marzo's arm. Brassbound walks up and down on her right, muttering to himself so ominously that Sir Howard quietly gets out of his way by crossing to the other side and sitting down on the second saddle seat.
SIR HOWARD. Are you yet able to attend to me for a moment, Captain Brassbound?
BRASSBOUND (still walking about). What do you want?
SIR HOWARD. Well, I am afraid I want a little privacy, and, if you will allow me to say so, a little civility. I am greatly obliged to you for bringing us safely off to-day when we were attacked. So far, you have carried out your contract. But since we have been your guests here, your tone and that of the worst of your men has changed—intentionally changed, I think.
BRASSBOUND (stopping abruptly and flinging the announcement at him). You are not my guest: you are my prisoner.
SIR HOWARD. Prisoner!
Lady Cicely, after a single glance up, continues stitching, apparently quite unconcerned.
BRASSBOUND. I warned you. You should have taken my warning.
SIR HOWARD (immediately taking the tone of cold disgust for moral delinquency). Am I to understand, then, that you are a brigand? Is this a matter of ransom?