Captain Thicknesse. Perhaps—only, you see, I don't want to.
Pilliner. Well, tastes differ. I shouldn't call a cross-country journey in a slow train, with unlimited opportunities of studying the company's bye-laws and traffic arrangements at several admirably ventilated junctions, the ideal method of spending a cheery Sunday, myself, that's all.
Captain Thicknesse (gloomily). Dare say it will be about as cheery as stoppin' on here, if it comes to that.
Pilliner. I admit we were most of us a wee bit chippy at breakfast. The bard conversed—I will say that for him—but he seemed to diffuse a gloom somehow. Shut you up once or twice in a manner that might almost be described as damned offensive.
Captain Thicknesse. Don't know what you all saw in what he said that was so amusin'. Confounded rude I thought it!
Pilliner. Don't think anyone was amused—unless it was Lady Maisie. By the way, he might perhaps have selected a happier topic to hold forth to Sir Rupert on than the scandalous indifference of large landowners to the condition of the rural labourer. Poor dear old boy, he stood it wonderfully, considering. Pity Lady Cantire breakfasted upstairs; she'd have enjoyed herself. However, he had a very good audience in little Lady Maisie.
Captain Thicknesse. I do hate a chap that jaws at breakfast.... Where did you say she was?
Lady Maisie's voice (outside, in conservatory). Yes, you really ought to see the orangery and the Elizabethan garden, Mr. Blair. If you will be on the terrace in about five minutes, I could take you round myself. I must go and see if I can get the keys first.
Pilliner. If you want to say good-bye, old fellow, now's your chance!
Captain Thicknesse. It—it don't matter. She's engaged. And, look here, you needn't mention that I was askin' for her.