Mr. F. Better let him alone—he knows what he's doing.
Mrs. F. I don't believe he does, or he wouldn't dawdle like this. If you won't speak to him, I must. (Lets down the glass and puts out her head.) PEACOCK!
A Blurred Shadow on the Box. Yes, M'm.
Mrs. F.. What are we stopping for like this?
The Shadow. Fog very thick just 'ere, M'm. Can't see what's in front of us, M'm.
Mrs. F. It's just as safe to keep moving as to stand still—go on at once.
The S. Very good, M'm. (To horse.) Pull urp! [Crash!
Voice from the Unseen. What the blanky blank, &c.
Peacock. There is suthin in front, M'm. A van, from 'is langwich, M'm.
Mrs. F. (sinking back). MARMADUKE, this is awful. I'd no idea the fog was like this—or I should never have—(With temper.) Really, people have no right to ask one out on such a night.