HAROLD. [Forcing his voice] Did you get a run, Ronny? [As KEITH nods] What point?
KEITH. Eight mile.
FOOTMAN. Will you take tea, sir?
KEITH. No, thanks, Charles!
In dead silence again the FOOTMAN goes out, and they all look after him.
HAROLD. [Below his breath] Good Gad! That's a squeeze of it!
KEITH. What's our line of country to be?
CHRISTINE. All depends on father.
KEITH. Sir William's between the devil and the deep sea, as it strikes me.
CHRISTINE. He'll simply forbid it utterly, of course.