WETHERELL
More of your ingenious charities, Clay, by all means. Those faithless ducks of yours are seceding to the children, and Rhoda and I are out for a walk. Come, let us sink to the occasion. We might pace up and down awhile, under the trees beyond, at the edge of the old tilt-yard. Then let us all go together to the Abbey. We have promised to meet two American relatives of Rhoda's, at half after three. They wrote us that they arrived only yesterday; but your homing pigeon of a Yankee always must make straight for the Abbey. Meanwhile, can't you give us a sort of rehearsal of that lecture?
MRS. WETHERELL
He will, he will!
CLAY
I haven't all my notes with me. You are sure it won't tire you?
WETHERELL
Never. I love the æsthetic point of view. If any man remind me now that my father was a Whig, I will bray at him.
CLAY
Well, well, nice of you, I'm sure. You know my idea is just to present a special plea. How will you have me begin? I can't go on automatically, as if you were the Public Eye.