LADY FARRINGDON. Didn't he even tell _you_, Gerald?
GERALD (awkwardly). Only just at the last. It was--it was too late to do anything then. It was the Saturday before he was--arrested. (To himself) "The Saturday before Bob was arrested"--what a way to remember anything by!
LADY FARRINGDON (to GERALD). Bob is coming round, dear?
GERALD. Yes. Wentworth's looking after him. Pamela will be here too.
SIR JAMES. We haven't seen much of Pamela lately. What does _she_ think about it?
GERALD (sharply). What do you mean?
SIR JAMES. The disgrace of it. I hope it's not going to affect your engagement.
GERALD. Disgrace? what disgrace?
SIR JAMES. Well, of course, he hasn't been found guilty yet.
GERALD. What's that got to do with it? What does it matter what a lot of rotten jurymen think of him? _We_ know that he has done nothing disgraceful.
LADY FARRINGDON. I'm sure Pamela wouldn't think anything like that of your brother, dear.
GERALD. Of course she wouldn't. She's been a perfect angel to Bob these last few weeks. What does it matter if he does go to prison?
SIR JAMES. I suppose you think I shall enjoy telling my neighbours, when they ask me what my elder boy is doing, that he's--ah--in prison.
GERALD. Of course you won't enjoy it, and I don't suppose Bob will enjoy it either, but that's no reason why we should make it worse for him by pretending that he's a disgrace to the family. (Half to himself) If anything we've done has helped to send him to prison then it's we who should be ashamed.
SIR JAMES. I don't profess to know anything about business, but I flatter myself that I understand my fellow men. If I had been in Bob's place, I should have pretty soon seen what that fellow Marcus was up to. I don't want to be unfair to Bob; I don't think that any son of mine would do a dishonourable action; but the Law is the Law, and if the Law sends Bob to prison I can't help feeling the disgrace of it.
GERALD. Yes, it's rough on you and mother.
LADY FARRINGDON. I don't mind about myself, dear. It's you I feel so sorry for--and Bob, of course.
GERALD. I don't see how it's going to affect _me_.
SIR JAMES. In the Foreign Office one has to be like Caesar's wife-- above suspicion.
GERALD. Yes, but in this case it's Caesar's brother-in-law's partner who's the wrong un. I don't suppose Caesar was so particular about _him_.
LADY FARRINGDON. I don't see how Caesar comes into it at all.
SIR JAMES (kindly). I spoke in metaphors, dear.
[The door opens and WENTWORTH appears.]
GERALD. Come in, Wentworth. Where's Bob?
WENTWORTH. I dropped him at his rooms--a letter or something he wanted to get. But he'll be here directly. (Nervously) How do you do, Lady Farringdon? How do you do, Sir James?
SIR JAMES. Ah, Wentworth.
(There is an awkward silence and nobody seems to know what to say.)
WENTWORTH. Very hot this morning.
SIR JAMES. Very hot. Very.
(There is another awkward silence.)
WENTWORTH. This is quite a good hotel. My mother always stays here when she's in London.
SIR JAMES. Ah, yes. We use it a good deal ourselves.
LADY FARRINGDON. How is Mrs. Wentworth?
WENTWORTH. She's been keeping very well this summer, thank you.
LADY FARRINGDON. I'm so glad.
(There is another awkward silence.)
GERALD (impatiently). Oh, what's the good of pretending this is a formal call, Wentworth? Tell us about Bob; how's he taking it?
WENTWORTH. He doesn't say much. He had lunch in my rooms--you got my message. He couldn't bear the thought of being recognized by anyone, so I had something sent up.
GERALD (realizing what it must feel like). Poor old Bob!
WENTWORTH. Lady Farringdon, I can't possibly tell you what I feel about this, but I should like to say that all of us who know Bob know that he couldn't do anything dishonourable. Whatever the result of the trial, we shall feel just the same towards him.
(LADY FARRINGDON is hardly able to acknowledge this, and SIR JAMES goes across to comfort her.)
SIR JAMES (helplessly). There, there, Mary.
GERALD (seizing his opportunity, to WENTWORTH). What'll he get?
WENTWORTH (quietly). Three months--six months. One can't be certain.
GERALD (cheering up). Thank the Lord! I imagined awful things.
SIR JAMES (his ministrations over). After all, he hasn't been found guilty yet; eh, Wentworth?
WENTWORTH. Certainly, Sir James. With a jury there's always hope.
SIR JAMES. What do you think yourself?
WENTWORTH. I think he has been very foolish; whether the Law will call it criminally foolish I should hardly like to say. I only wish I had known about it before. He must have suspected something-- didn't he say anything to anybody?
SIR JAMES. He told Gerald, apparently. For some reason he preferred to keep his father in the dark.
GERALD (eagerly). That was the day you came down to us, Wentworth; five days before he was arrested. I asked him to tell you, but he wouldn't.
WENTWORTH. Oh, it was too late then. Marcus had absconded by that time.
GERALD (earnestly). Nobody could have helped him then, could they?
WENTWORTH. Oh no.
GERALD (to himself). Thank God.
SIR JAMES (to LADY FARRINGDON as he looks at his watch). Well, dear, I really think you ought to try to eat something.
LADY FARRINGDON. I couldn't, James. (Getting up) But you must have _your_ lunch.
SIR JAMES. Well, one oughtn't to neglect one's health, of course. But I insist on your having a glass of claret anyhow, Mary. What about you, Gerald?
GERALD. I'm all right. I'll wait for Bob. I've had something.
LADY FARRINGDON. You won't let Bob go without seeing us?
GERALD. Of course not, dear.
(He goes with them to the door and sees them out.)
GERALD (coming back to WENTWORTH). Three months. By Jove! that's nothing.
WENTWORTH. It's long enough for a man with a grievance. It gives him plenty of time to brood about it.
GERALD (anxiously). Who has Bob got a