carnaby. Abud is under your thumb, horticulturally speaking.
ann. Where's Sally?
She goes on to sarah, who is standing with george at the top of the steps. carnaby looks lord john up and down.
lord john. [Dusting his shoulder.] This cursed powder!
carnaby. Do we respect innocence enough . . . any of us?
george comes down the steps and joins them.
george. Respectable politics will henceforth be useless to me.
carnaby. My lord, was his grace satisfied with the young man's work abroad or was he not?
lord john. My father used to curse everyone.