WALTER KENT.  Professor Maconochie lured me on to golf yesterday.  He doesn’t suffer from theories about that.

BLACKBOROUGH. [With approval.] Started life as a caddie.

WALTER KENT. [Pulling a wry face.] So he told me after the first hole.

BLACKBOROUGH.  What’s this, Kent, about Trebell’s making you his secretary?

WALTER KENT.  He thinks he’ll have me.

BLACKBOROUGH. [Almost reprovingly.] No question of politics?

FARRANT.  More intrigue, Blackborough.

WALTER KENT. [With disarming candour.] The truth is, you see, I haven’t any as yet.  I was Socialist at Oxford ... but of course that doesn’t count.  I think I’d better learn my job under the best man I can find ... and who’ll have me.

BLACKBOROUGH. [Gravely.] What does your father say?

WALTER KENT.  Oh, as long as Jack will inherit the property in a Tory spirit! 
My father thinks it my wild oats.

      A Footman has come in.

THE FOOTMAN.  Your car is round, sir.

BLACKBOROUGH.  Ah!  Good-night, Miss Davenport.  Good-bye again, Mrs. Farrant ... a charming week-end.

      He makes a business-like departure, FARRANT follows him.

THE FOOTMAN.  A telephone message from Dr. Wedgecroft, ma’am.  His thanks; they stopped the express for him at Hitchin and he has reached London quite safely.

MRS. FARRANT.  Thank you.

      [The Footman goes out. MRS. FARRANT exhales delicately as if the
      air were a little refined by BLACKBOROUGH’S removal.]

MRS. FARRANT.  Mr. Blackborough and his patent turbines and his gas engines and what not are the motive power of our party nowadays, Fanny.

FRANCES TREBELL.  Yes, you claim to be steering plutocracy.  Do you never wonder if it isn’t steering you?

      MRS. O’CONNELL, growing restless, has wandered round the room picking
      at the books in their cases.

AMY O’CONNELL.  I always like your books, Julia.  It’s an intellectual distinction to know someone who has read them.

MRS. FARRANT.  That’s the Communion I choose.

FRANCES TREBELL.  Aristocrat ... fastidious aristocrat.

MRS. FARRANT.  No, now.  Learning’s a great leveller.

FRANCES TREBELL.  But Julia ... books are quite unreal.  D’you think life is a bit like them?

MRS. FARRANT.  They bring me into touch with ...  Oh, there’s nothing more deadening than to be boxed into a set in Society!  Speak to a woman outside it ... she doesn’t understand your language.

FRANCES TREBELL.  And do you think by prattling Hegel with Gilbert Wedgecroft when he comes to physic you—­

MRS. FARRANT. [Joyously.] Excellent physic that is.  He never leaves a prescription.

LADY DAVENPORT.  Don’t you think an aristocracy of brains is the best aristocracy, Miss Trebell?