She goes into the dining-room. abud has selected his boots from the corner and now stands with them in his hand looking rather helpless. After a moment—
lord arthur. I congratulate you, Mr. Abud.
abud. My lord . . I can't speak of myself.
carnaby comes out of the dining-room. He is evidently by no means recovered from his illness. He stands for a moment with an ironical eye on john abud.
carnaby. Son-in-law.
abud. I'm told to get on my boots, sir.
carnaby. Allow me to assist you?
abud. I couldn't, sir.
carnaby. Désolé!