Corn. Not this morning—she’s in the nursery with the children. She’s very like her sister. There’s something weird about her, but the exact type of features. (crosses R. C.)
Inn. What do you intend to do? Have you made up your mind?
Corn. Yes! (crossing back to him) I’ve decided to get you to talk to her, Phil——
Inn. (sits up) Me?
Corn. You can give it her straight—show her clearly that I was cajoled into proposing to her sister, that it was really Ethel’s fault, and that she’s entirely to blame for the whole business, and there you are!
Inn. I couldn’t do it; it doesn’t seem nice to throw all the blame on to the girl.
Corn. It belongs to her, Phil—besides, my boy, you know that the least thing upsets me. I cannot stand worry; now you can; (Innings rises) you have one of those oxydised-zinc constitutions.
Inn. No, I haven’t! I’m just as susceptible to worry as you.
Corn. You mean to say you won’t do it?
Inn. No! I can’t!