HORSHAM has turned to FARRANT with a sweet smile and with the air
      of a man about to be relieved of all responsibility.

HORSHAM.  What does she say?

FARRANT. [As one speaks of a nice woman.] She was horrified.

HORSHAM.  Of course. [Once more he finds refuge and comfort on the hearthrug, to say, after a moment, with fine resignation.] I suppose I must let him go.

CANTELUPE. [On his feet again.] Cyril!

HORSHAM.  Yes, Charles?

      With this query he turns an accusing eye on CANTELUPE, who is
      silenced.

BLACKBOROUGH.  Have you made up your mind to that?

FARRANT. [In great distress.] You’re wrong, Horsham. [Then in greater.]
That is ...  I think you’re wrong.

HORSHAM.  I’d sooner not let him know to-night.

BLACKBOROUGH.  But he asked you to.

HORSHAM. [All show of resistance gone.] Did he?  Then I suppose I must. [He sighs deeply.]

BLACKBOROUGH.  Then I’ll get back to Aylesbury.

      He picks up his motor-cap from the table and settles it on his head
      with immense aplomb.

HORSHAM.  So late?

BLACKBOROUGH.  Really one can get along quicker at night if one knows the road.  You’re in town, aren’t you, Farrant?  Shall I drop you at Grosvenor Square?

FARRANT. [Ungraciously.] Thank you.

BLACKBOROUGH. [With a conqueror’s geniality.] I don’t mind telling you now, Horsham, that ever since we met at Shapters I’ve been wondering how you’d escape from this association with Trebell.  Thought he was being very clever when he crossed the House to us!  It’s needed a special providence.  You’d never have got a cabinet together to include him.

HORSHAM. [With much intention.] No.

FARRANT. [Miserably.] Yes, I suppose that intrigue was a mistake from the beginning.

BLACKBOROUGH.  Well, good-night. [As he turns to go he finds CANTELUPE upright, staring very sternly at him.] Good-night, Cantelupe.

CANTELUPE.  From what motives have we thrown Trebell over?

BLACKBOROUGH.  Never mind the motives if the move is the right one. [Then he nods at HORSHAM.] I shall be up again next week if you want me.

      And he flourishes out of the room; a man who has done a good hour’s
      work, FARRANT, who has been mooning depressedly around, now backs
      towards the door.

FARRANT.  In one way, of course, Trebell won’t care a damn.  I mean, he knows as well as we do that office isn’t worth having ... he has never been a place-hunter.  On the other hand ... what with one thing and the other ...  Blackborough is a sensible fellow.  I suppose it can’t be helped.

HORSHAM.  Blackborough will tell you so.  Good-night.