Then he passes on. abud sits on the sofa, furtively puts on his boots and afterwards puts his shoes in his pockets.
lord arthur. You were so busy drinking health to the two fat farmers that I wouldn't interrupt you.
carnaby. Good-bye. Describe all this to your brother John.
lord arthur. So confirmed a bachelor!
carnaby. Please say that we missed him.
lord arthur hands him the newspaper.
lord arthur. I've out-raced your Chronicle from London by some hours. There's a paragraph . . second column . . near the bottom.
carnaby. [Looking at it blindly.] They print villainously now-a-days.
lord arthur. Inspired.
carnaby. I trust his grace is well?