Scene XXXI.—The Morning Room. Time—Sunday morning; just after breakfast.
Captain Thicknesse (outside, to Tredwell). Dogcart round, eh? everything in? All right—shan't be a minute. (Entering.) Hallo, Pilliner, you all alone here? (He looks round disconcertedly.) Don't happen to have seen Lady Maisie about?
Pilliner. Let me see—she was here a little while ago, I fancy.... Why? Do you want her?
Capt. Thick. No—only to say good-bye and that. I'm just off.
Pill. Off? To-day! You don't mean to tell me your chief is such an inconsiderate old ruffian as to expect you to travel back to your Tommies on the Sabbath! You could wait till to-morrow if you wanted to. Come now!
Capt. Thick. Perhaps—only, you see, I don't want to.
Pill. Well, tastes differ. A cross-country journey in a slow train, with unlimited opportunities of studying the Company's bye-laws and traffic arrangements at several admirably ventilated junctions, is not my own idea of the best way to spend a cheery Sunday, that's all.
Capt. Thick. (gloomily). Daresay it will be about as cheery as stoppin' on here, if it comes to that.
Pill. I admit we were most of us a wee bit chippy at breakfast. The Bard conversed—but he seemed to diffuse a gloom somehow. Shut you up once or twice in a manner that might almost be described as d—d offensive.
Capt. Thick. Don't know what you all saw in what he said that was so amusin'. Confounded rude I thought it!