[He drinks the cup of tea standing by the tea-table.
Philip. [To make conversation.] You're selling your country place?
John. If I was long of hair—I'd sell that.
Cynthia. [Excited. Taken out of herself by the news.] You're not really selling your stable?
John. [Finishes his tea, places the empty cup on the tea-table, and reseats himself.] Every gelding I've got—seven foals and a donkey! I don't mean the owner.
Cynthia. [Still interested and forgetting the discomfort of the situation.] How did you ever manage to come such a cropper?
John. Streak of blue luck!
Cynthia. [Quickly.] I don't see how it's possible—
John. You would if you'd been there. You remember the head man? [Sitting down.] Bloke?
Cynthia. Of course!