Come in, Wentworth. Where's Bob?
WENTWORTH. I dropped him at his rooms--a letter or something he wanted to get. But he'll be here directly. (Nervously) How do you do, Lady Farringdon? How do you do, Sir James?
SIR JAMES. Ah, Wentworth.
(There is an awkward silence and nobody seems to know what to say.)
WENTWORTH. Very hot this morning.
SIR JAMES. Very hot. Very.
(There is another awkward silence.)
WENTWORTH. This is quite a good hotel. My mother always stays here when she's in London.
SIR JAMES. Ah, yes. We use it a good deal ourselves.
LADY FARRINGDON. How is Mrs. Wentworth?
WENTWORTH. She's been keeping very well this summer, thank you.
LADY FARRINGDON. I'm so glad.
(There is another awkward silence.)
GERALD (impatiently). Oh, what's the good of pretending this is a formal call, Wentworth? Tell us about Bob; how's he taking it?
WENTWORTH. He doesn't say much. He had lunch in my rooms--you got my message. He couldn't bear the thought of being recognized by anyone, so I had something sent up.
GERALD (realizing what it must feel like). Poor old Bob!
WENTWORTH. Lady Farringdon, I can't possibly tell you what I feel about this, but I should like to say that all of us who know Bob know that he couldn't do anything dishonourable. Whatever the result of the trial, we shall feel just the same towards him.
(LADY FARRINGDON is hardly able to acknowledge this, and SIR JAMES goes across to comfort her.)
SIR JAMES (helplessly). There, there, Mary.
GERALD (seizing his opportunity, to WENTWORTH). What'll he get?
WENTWORTH (quietly). Three months--six months. One can't be certain.
GERALD (cheering up). Thank the Lord! I imagined awful things.
SIR JAMES (his ministrations over). After all, he hasn't been found guilty yet; eh, Wentworth?
WENTWORTH. Certainly, Sir James. With a jury there's always hope.
SIR JAMES. What do you think yourself?
WENTWORTH. I think he has been very foolish; whether the Law will call it criminally foolish I should hardly like to say. I only wish I had known about it before. He must have suspected something-- didn't he say anything to anybody?
SIR JAMES. He told Gerald, apparently. For some reason he preferred to keep his father in the dark.
GERALD (eagerly). That was the day you came down to us, Wentworth; five days before he was arrested. I asked him to tell you, but he wouldn't.
WENTWORTH. Oh, it was too late then. Marcus had absconded by that time.
GERALD (earnestly). Nobody could have helped him then, could they?
WENTWORTH. Oh no.
GERALD (to himself). Thank God.
SIR JAMES (to LADY FARRINGDON as he looks at his watch). Well, dear, I really think you ought to try to eat something.
LADY FARRINGDON. I couldn't, James. (Getting up) But you must have _your_ lunch.
SIR JAMES. Well, one oughtn't to neglect one's health, of course. But I insist on your having a glass of claret anyhow, Mary. What about you, Gerald?
GERALD. I'm all right. I'll wait for Bob. I've had something.
LADY FARRINGDON. You won't let Bob go without seeing us?
GERALD. Of course not, dear.
(He goes with them to the door and sees them out.)
GERALD (coming back to WENTWORTH). Three months. By Jove! that's nothing.
WENTWORTH. It's long enough for a man with a grievance. It gives him plenty of time to brood about it.
GERALD (anxiously). Who has Bob got a grievance against particularly?
WENTWORTH. The world.
GERALD (relieved). Ah! Still, three months, Wentworth. I could do it on my head.
WENTWORTH. You're not Bob. Bob will do it on his heart.
GERALD. We must buck him up, Wentworth. If he takes it the right way, it's nothing. I had awful thoughts of five years.
WENTWORTH. I'm not the judge, you know. It may be six months.
GERALD. Of course. How does he decide? Tosses up for it? Three months or six months or six years, it's all the same to him, and there's the poor devil in the dock praying his soul out that he'll hit on the shortest one. Good Lord! I'm glad I'm not a judge.
WENTWORTH (drily). Yes; that isn't quite the way the Law works.
GERALD. Oh, I'm not blaming the Law. (Smiling) Stick to it, Wentworth, by all means. But I should make a bad judge. I should believe everything the prisoner said, and just tell him not to do it again.
[BOB comes in awkwardly and stops at the door.]
WENTWORTH (getting up). Come along, Bob. (Taking out his case) Have a cigarette.
BOB (gruffly). No, thanks. (He takes out his pipe.)
GERALD (brightly but awkwardly). Hullo, Bob, old boy.
BOB. Where's Pamela? She said she'd be here. (He sits down in the large armchair.)
GERALD. If she said she'd be here, she will be here.
BOB (with a grunt). 'M! (There is an awkward silence.)
BOB (angrily to GERALD). Why don't you say something? You came here to say good-bye to me, I suppose--why don't you say it?
WENTWORTH. Steady, Bob.
GERALD
