Captain Thicknesse (after a mental effort). Suppose we all go and have another look round at the gees—eh, what?
Bertie Pilliner. I beg to oppose. Do let's show some respect for the privacy of the British hunter. Why should I go and smack them on their fat backs, and feel every one of their horrid legs twice in one morning? I shouldn't like a horse coming into my bedroom at all hours to smack me on the back. I should hate it!
Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris. I love them—dear things! But still, it's so wet, and it would mean going up and changing our shoes too—perhaps Lady Rhoda——
[Lady Rhoda flatly declines to stir before lunch.
Captain Thicknesse (resentfully). Only thought it was better than loafin' about, that's all. (To himself.) I do bar a woman who's afraid of a little mud. (He saunters up to Miss Spelwane and absently pulls the ear of a Japanese spaniel on her knee.) Poo' little fellow, then!
Miss Spelwane. Poor little fellow? On my lap!
Captain Thicknesse. Oh, it—ah—didn't occur to me that he was on your lap. He don't seem to mind that.
Miss Spelwane. No? How forbearing of him! Would you mind not standing quite so much in my light? I can't see my work.
Captain Thicknesse (to himself, retreating). That girl's always fishin' for compliments. I didn't rise that time, though. It's precious slow here. I've a good mind to say I must get back to Aldershot this afternoon.
[He wanders aimlessly about the room; Archie Bearpark looks out of window with undisguised boredom.