Lady Davenport. Is that Tory cynicism or feminine?
At this moment George Farrant comes through the window; a good natured man of forty-five. He would tell you that he was educated at Eton and Oxford. But the knowledge which saves his life comes from the thrusting upon him of authority and experience; ranging from the management of an estate which he inherited at twenty-four, through the chairmanship of a newspaper syndicate, through a successful marriage, to a minor post in the last Tory cabinet and the prospect of one in the near-coming next. Thanks to his agents, editors, permanent officials, and his own common sense, he always acquits himself creditably. He comes to his wife's side and waits for a pause in the conversation.
Lady Davenport. I remember Mr. Disraeli once said to me ... Clever women are as dangerous to the State as dynamite.
Frances Trebell. [Not to be impressed by Disraeli.] Well, Lady Davenport, if men will leave our intellects lying loose about....
Farrant. Blackborough's going, Julia.
Mrs. Farrant. Yes, George.
Lady Davenport. [Concluding her little apologue to Miss Trebell.] Yes, my dear, but power without responsibility isn't good for the character that wields it either.
[There follows Farrant through the window a man of fifty. He has about him that unmistakeable air of acquired wealth and power which distinguishes many Jews and has therefore come to be regarded as a solely Jewish characteristic. He speaks always with that swift decision which betokens a narrowed view. This is Russell Blackborough; manufacturer, politician ... statesman, his own side calls him.]
Blackborough. [To his hostess.] If I start now, they tell me, I shall get home before the moon goes down. I'm sorry I must get back to-night. It's been a most delightful week-end.
Mrs. Farrant. [Gracefully giving him a good-bye hand.] And a successful one, I hope.