trenchard. I'll spend a few minutes with Mother. [he says, at the door, very respectfully.] You'll count on my professional assistance, please, Edward.
edward. [simply.] Thank you, Trenchard.
So trenchard goes. And the Major, who has been endeavouring to fathom his final attitude, then comments—
booth. No heart, y'know! Great brain! If it hadn't been for that distressing quarrel he might have saved our poor father. Don't you think so, Edward?
edward. Perhaps.
hugh. [giving vent to his thoughts at last with something of a relish.] The more I think this out, the more devilishly humorous it gets. Old Booth breaking down by the grave . . Colpus reading the service . .
edward. Yes, the Vicar's badly hit.
hugh. Oh, the Pater had managed his business for years.
booth. Good God . . how shall we ever look old Booth in the face again?