d at
this revelation.)

SIR HOWARD (taken aback). I must say, Cicely, I think you might have
chosen a more suitable moment to mention that fact.

BRASSBOUND (with disgust). Agh! Trickster! Lawyer! Even the price you
offer for your life is to be paid in false coin. (Calling) Hallo there!
Johnson! Redbrook! Some of you there! (To Sir Howard) You ask for a
little privacy: you shall have it. I will not endure the company of such
a fellow--

SIR HOWARD (very angry, and full of the crustiest pluck). You insult me,
sir. You are a rascal. You are a rascal.

Johnson, Redbrook, and a few others come in through the arch.

BRASSBOUND. Take this man away.

JOHNSON. Where are we to put him?

BRASSBOUND. Put him where you please so long as you can find him when he
is wanted.

SIR HOWARD. You will be laid by the heels yet, my friend.

REDBROOK (with cheerful tact). Tut tut, Sir Howard: what's the use of
talking back? Come along: we'll make you comfortable.

Sir Howard goes out through the arch between Johnson and Redbrook,
muttering wrathfully. The rest, except Brassbound and Lady Cicely,
follow.

Brassbound walks up and down the room, nursing his indignation. In doing
so he unconsciously enters upon an unequal contest with Lady Cicely, who
sits quietly stitching. It soon becomes clear that a tranquil woman
can go on sewing longer than an angry man can go on fuming. Further, it
begins to dawn on Brassbound's wrath-blurred perception that Lady Cicely
has at some unnoticed stage in the proceedings finished Marzo's bandage,
and is now stitching a coat. He stops; glances at his shirtsleeves;
finally realizes the situation.

BRASSBOUND. What are you doing there, madam?

LADY CICELY. Mending your coat, Captain Brassbound.

BRASSBOUND. I have no recollection of asking you to take that trouble.

LADY CICELY. No: I don't suppose you even knew it was torn. Some men
are BORN untidy. You cannot very well receive Sidi el--what's his
name?--with your sleeve half out.

BRASSBOUND (disconcerted). I--I don't know how it got torn.

LADY CICELY. You should not get virtuously indignant with people. It
bursts clothes more than anything else, Mr. Hallam.

BRASSBOUND (flushing, quickly). I beg you will not call me Mr. Hallam. I
hate the name.

LADY CICELY. Black Paquito is your pet name, isn't it?

BRASSBOUND (huffily). I am not usually called so to my face.

LADY CICELY (turning the coat a little). I'm so sorry. (She takes
anothe