sarah. Hush, dear.
ann. I'm afraid, papa, there's something very ill-bred in me.
Down the steps and into the midst of them comes john abud, carrying his tools, among other things a twist of bass. A young gardener, honest, clean and common.
abud. [To carnaby.] I ask pardon, sir.
carnaby. So early, Abud! . . . this is your territory. So late . . . Bed.
ann starts away up the steps, sarah is following her.
lord john. Good-bye, Lady Cottesham.
At this ann stops for a moment, but then goes straight on.
sarah. A pleasant journey.