carnaby. Do we want a wet journey tomorrow! Where's Sarah?
dr. remnant. Lady Cottesham's taking tea.
carnaby. [To abud with a sudden start.] And why the devil didn't you marry my daughter-in-law . . my own gardener?
george appears dressed for riding.
george. Good-bye, sir, for the present.
carnaby. Boots and breeches!
george. You shouldn't be about in the evening air with a green wound in your arm. You drank wine at dinner. Be careful, sir.
carnaby. Off to your wife and the expected?
george. Yes, sir.
carnaby. Riding to Watford?