Tom. Now, that man’s commanded a regiment for years—he’s enjoyed the unlimited confidence of his sovereign (whoever that may be), and a thousand men have looked up to him with reverence and esteem. And it’s been left to me (who am not naturally sharp) to find out that he’s an atrocious scoundrel!
Enter Footman, followed by Mr. Effingham, Mrs. Effingham, Bulstrode Effingham, and Caroline. Cobb takes up newspaper and sits.
Foot. The Colonel will be here directly, ma’am.
[Exit Footman. The others pose themselves in a group, as if being photographed:—Mr. Effingham seated, Mrs. Effingham leaning on his left shoulder, Caroline seated in a picturesque attitude at her feet, and Bulstrode standing gloomily behind.
Mrs. Eff. Adolphus, what a sweet spot! A rural paradise, indeed. How balmy, and yet how cheap!
Eff. I am an old, old man, and I have learnt the hollowness of outward splendours. The house is, indeed, well enough, and (it may be) cheap—but, after all, what is the house?
Tom. (politely.) Seventy-five pounds a year, on a three years’ agreement, I believe.
Eff. (not heeding him.) After all, what is the house but the outer husk? Let us rather learn to value the fruit within. The shell, truly, is goodly; but where, oh, where is the kernel?
Tom (politely). He will be here in one minute. (All turn to look at him.) I beg your pardon. (They all turn slowly back again.)
Bul. (gloomily). To the soaring soul, fettered by stern destiny to the office stool of an obscure attorney, the contemplation of such a paradise opens a new vista of Life’s Possibilities.