lord john. My father advised me to this visit.
sarah. Your useful visit. More than kind of his Grace.
lord john. Yes . . . there's been a paragraph in the "Morning Chronicle," 'The Whigs woo Mr. Carnaby Leete.'
sarah. We saw to it.
lord john. My poor father seems anxious to discover whether the Leete episode will repeat itself entirely. He is chronically unhappy in opposition. Are your husband and his colleagues trembling in their seats?
sarah. I can't say.
lord john. Politics is a game for clever children, and women, and fools. Will you take a word of warning from a soldier? Your father is past his prime.
carnaby paces back towards them.
carnaby. I'm getting to be old for these all-night sittings. I must be writing to your busy brother.