Then he takes from the breast pocket of his jacket a
leather case, from which he extracts a scrappy packet of dirty
letters and newspaper cuttings. These he throws on the table. Next
comes a photograph in a cheap frame. He throws it down untenderly
beside the papers; then folds his arms, and is looking at it with
grim distaste when Lady Cicely enters. His back is towards her;
and he does not hear her. Perceiving this, she shuts the door
loudly enough to attract his attention. He starts up.
LADY CICELY (coming to the opposite end of the table). So you've
taken off all my beautiful clothes!
BRASSBOUND. Your brother's, you mean. A man should wear his own
clothes; and a man should tell his own lies. I'm sorry you had to
tell mine for me to-day.
LADY CICELY. Oh, women spend half their lives telling little lies
for men, and sometimes big ones. We're used to it. But mind! I
don't admit that I told any to-day.
BRASSBOUND. How did you square my uncle?
LADY CICELY. I don't understand the expression.
BRASSBOUND. I mean--
LADY CICELY. I'm afraid we haven't time to go into what you mean
before lunch. I want to speak to you about your future. May I?
BRASSBOUND (darkening a little, but politely). Sit down. (She sits
down. So does he.)
LADY CICELY. What are your plans?
BRASSBOUND. I have no plans. You will hear a gun fired in the
harbor presently. That will mean that the Thanksgiving's anchor's
weighed and that she is waiting for her captain to put out to sea.
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