LADY CICELY (with the utmost goodhumor). My dear Howard, not a
bit. Of course you're right: you know how these things ought to be
done. I'll do exactly what you tell me, and confirm everything you
say.
SIR HOWARD (alarmed by the completeness of his victory). Oh, my
dear, you mustn't act in MY interest. You must give your evidence
with absolute impartiality. (She nods, as if thoroughly impressed
and reproved, and gazes at him with the steadfast candor peculiar
to liars who read novels. His eyes turn to the ground; and his
brow clouds perplexedly. He rises; rubs his chin nervously with
his forefinger; and adds) I think, perhaps, on reflection, that
there is something to be said for your proposal to relieve me of
the very painful duty of telling what has occurred.
LADI CICELY (holding off). But you'd do it so very much better.
SIR HOWARD. For that very reason, perhaps, it had better come from
you.
LADY CICELY (reluctantly). Well, if you'd rather.
SIR HOWARD. But mind, Cicely, the exact truth.
LADY CICELY (with conviction). The exact truth. (They shake hands
on it.)
SIR HOWARD (holding her hand). Fiat justitia: ruat coelum!
LADY CICELY. Let Justice be done, though the ceiling fall.
An American bluejacket appears at the door.
BLUEJACKET. Captain Kearney's cawmpliments to Lady Waynflete; and
may he come in?
LADY CICELY. Yes. By all means. Where are the prisoners?
BLUEJACKET.
Pages:
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96