KEARNEY. The Arabs?
LADY CICELY. No: Arabs are never frightened. The escort, of course: escorts are always frightened. I wanted to speak to the Arab chief; but Captain Brassbound cruelly shot his horse; and the chief shot the Count; and then—
KEARNEY. The Count! What Count?
LADY CICELY. Marzo. That's Marzo (pointing to Marzo, who grins and touches his forehead).
KEARNEY (slightly overwhelmed by the unexpected profusion of incident and character in her story). Well, what happened then?
LADY CICELY. Then the escort ran away—all escorts do—and dragged me into the castle, which you really ought to make them clean and whitewash thoroughly, Captain Kearney. Then Captain Brassbound and Sir Howard turned out to be related to one another (sensation); and then of course, there was a quarrel. The Hallams always quarrel.
SIR HOWARD (rising to protest). Cicely! Captain Kearney: this man told me—
LADY CICELY (swiftly interrupting him). You mustn't say what people told you: it's not evidence. (Sir Howard chokes with indignation.)
KEARNEY (calmly). Allow the lady to proceed, Sir Howard Hallam.
SIR HOWARD (recovering his self-control with a gulp, and resuming his seat). I beg your pardon, Captain Kearney.