Cynthia. The tea's making. You'll have your glass of sherry?
Philip. [The strain of the day evidently having been severe.] Thanks! [Taking it from Thomas and sighing.] Ah!
Cynthia. I can see it's been a tiring day with you.
Philip. [His great tussle with the world leaving him unworsted but utterly spent.] H'm! [He gratefully sips his tea.
Cynthia. Were the lawyers very long-winded?
Philip. [Almost too tired for speech.] Prolix to the point of somnolence. It might be affirmed without inexactitude that the prolixity of counsel is the somnolence of the judiciary. I am fatigued, ah! [A little suddenly, awaking to the fact that his orders have not been carried out to the letter.] Thomas! My Post is not in its usual place!
Cynthia. It's here, Philip. [Thomas gets it.
Philip. Thanks, my dear. [Opening "The Post."] Ah! This hour with you—is—is really the—the— [Absently.] the one vivid moment of the day. [Reading.] H'm—shocking attack by the President on vested interests. H'm—too bad—but it's to be expected. The people insisted on electing a desperado to the presidential office—they must take the hold-up that follows. [After a pause, he reads.] H'm! His English is lacking in idiom, his spelling in conservatism, his mind in balance, and his character in repose.
Cynthia. [Amiable but not very sympathetic.] You seem more fatigued than usual. Another glass of sherry, Philip?
Philip. Oh, I ought not to—