Part 33 (2/2)

[He pats him thoughtfully on the back three times, nods his own head twice, gives him a final grip of the hand, and returns to his chair.

George (more moved by this than he cares to show). Thank you, Henry.

(Hoa.r.s.ely.) You're a good fellow.

Henry (airily, with a typically British desire to conceal his emotion). Who is the lucky little lady?

George (taking out a picture postcard of the British Museum and kissing it pa.s.sionately). Isobel Barley!

[If Henry is not careful he will probably give a start of surprise here, with the idea of suggesting to the audience that he (1) knows something about the lady's past, or (2) is in love with her himself.

He is, however, thinking of a different play. We shall come to that one in a moment.

Henry (in a slightly das.h.i.+ng manner). Little Isobel? Lucky dog!

George. I wish I could think so. (Sighs.) But I have yet to approach her, and she may be another's. (Fiercely.) Heavens, Henry, if she should be another's!

Enter Isobel.

Isobel (brightly). So I've run you to earth at last. Now, what have you got to say for yourselves?

Henry (like a man). By Jove! (looking at his watch)--I had no idea--is it really--poor old Joe--waiting--

[Dashes out tactfully in a state of incoherence.

George (rising and leading Isobel to the front of the stage). Miss Barley, now that we are alone, I have something I want to say to you.

Isobel (looking at her watch). Well, you must be quick. Because I'm engaged--

[George drops her hand and staggers away from her.

Isobel. Why, what's the matter?

George (to the audience, in a voice expressing the very deeps of emotion). Engaged! She is engaged! I am too late!

[He sinks into a chair and covers his face with his hands.

Isobel (surprised). Mr Turnbull! What has happened?

George (waving her away with one hand). Go! Leave me! I can bear this best alone. (Exit Isobel.) Merciful heavens, she is plighted to another!

Enter Henry.

Henry (eagerly). Well, old man?

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