LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away.
ERNEST. I thought—(he wipes his brow)—I shall go and dress. (He goes.)
CATHERINE. Father, it’s awful having Crichton here. It’s like living on tiptoe.
LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano.
AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to—to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once.
CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She’s the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can’t tell a lie.
LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It’s all Mary’s fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about—you know what.
(All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.)
AGATHA. Is she mad?
LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty.