LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I—I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father.
LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this?
LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan’t tell him of this. About something else.
LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary?
LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I—I am sure the boat was very late, George.
LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was.
LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won’t we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear.
LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige.
LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George.
(Perhaps she adds to herself, ‘Except just this once.’ A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.)