Stonor (faintly amused). You don't understand, my young friend. Moves of this kind are not rushed at by responsible politicians. I must have time for consideration.
Farn. (disappointed). Oh, well, I only hope someone else won't jump into the breach before you—(Watch in hand) I tell you. (To Jean.) I'll find out what time the newspapers go to press on Sunday. Goodbye. (To Stonor.) I'll be at the Club just in case I can be of any use.
Stonor (firmly). No, don't do that. If I should have anything new to say——
Farn. (feverishly). B-b-but with our party, as your brother said—"heading straight for a vast electoral disaster——"
Stonor. If I decide on a counterblast I shall simply telegraph to headquarters. Goodbye.
Farn. Oh—a—g-goodbye. (A gesture of "The country's going to the dogs.")
(Jean rings the bell. Exit Farnborough.)
Stonor (studying the carpet). "Political dynamite," eh? (Pause.) After all ... women are much more conservative than men—aren't they?
(Jean looks straight in front of her, making no attempt to reply.)