Lamb. (They greet one another.) How are things going?
Sigsby. They’re not going at all well.
Geoffrey. Sigsby was ever the child of despondency.
Sigsby. Yes, and so will you be when you find yourself at the bottom of the poll.
Geoffrey. (The notion takes him by surprise.)
Lamb. It’s going to be a closer affair than any of us thought. It’s the joke of the thing that appears to have got hold of them. They want to see what will happen.
Geoffrey. Man’s fatal curiosity concerning the eternal feminine!
Sigsby. Yes, and they won’t have to pay for it. That will be our department.
St. Herbert. (To Sigsby.) What do you think they’ll do, supposing by any chance Mrs. Chilvers should head the poll?
Sigsby. How do you mean—“what’ll they do?”