MARGARET. A thousand pounds? I can't even conceive having it.
DANCY. We probably shouldn't have found it out.
LADY A. No—but if we had.
DANCY. Come to you—as he did.
WINSOR. Yes; but there's a way of doing things.
CANYNGE. We shouldn't have wanted the police.
MARGARET. No. That's it. The hotel touch.
LADY A. Poor young man; I think we're rather hard on him.
WINSOR. He sold that weed you gave him, Dancy, to Kentman, the bookie, and these were the proceeds.
DANCY. Oh!