Sigsby. If you want to be his Majesty’s Under-Secretary for Home Affairs, you take my tip, guv’nor, you’ll win this election.
Geoffrey. What more can I do than I’m doing? How can I countenance this sort of thing? (He indicates the posters.) Declare myself dead against the whole movement?
Lamb. You’ll do it later. May as well do it soon.
Geoffrey. Why must I do it?
Lamb. Because you’re beginning to find out what it means.
(A pause. The door is open. Annys is standing there.)
Annys. Dare we venture into the enemy’s camp?
(She enters, laughing, followed by Elizabeth and Phoebe. Annys is somewhat changed from the grave, dreamy Annys of a short week ago. She is brimming over with vitality—excitement. There is a decisiveness, an egoism, about her that seems new to her. The women’s skirts make a flutter. A breeze seems to have entered. Annys runs to her husband. For the moment the election fades away. They are all smiles, tenderness for one another.)
Annys. Don’t tell, will you? Mamma would be so shocked. Do you know you haven’t been near me for three days?
Geoffrey. Umph! I like that. Where were you last night?