Scene:—SIR GEORGE CARLYON’S.

IN HONOUR BOUND.

Scene.—Room at Sir George Carlyon’s. Fire lit, R.; in front of it, a wide, luxurious lounge with high back; against it, C., a writing table, piled high with briefs, so as to help to obscure the view of the lounge from anybody sitting at the desk; in front of desk a writing chair; a piano, music seat and davenport, L.; doors, R. U. E. and L. 1 E.; window at back with curtains drawn. The room is lighted by a lamp which stands upon the desk, a box of cigars by the side of it.

Sir George discovered, seated at the desk, reading and under-scoring rapidly an open brief. He is in evening dress.

Sir G. (folding up brief) Ah, the old story! I need read no more. (lays down the brief and rises) What’s this? (picks up a letter lying on the edge of the desk) Oh—ah!—the letter that came by this morning’s post for Philip. A woman’s writing. How alike they write! The very double of my niece’s hand! (throws down the letter and looks at watch) Eleven o’clock. What has become of Philip?

Enter Philip Graham, L., evening dress.

Ah, there you are!

Philip. Are you at liberty?

Sir G. Yes, I have done work for to-night. Come in. I am afraid I have neglected you.

Philip. Not in the least. I stayed upstairs on purpose, knowing you were busy. I have been unpacking.

(Sir George draws forward chair, C.)

Sir G. Sit down. You must be tired after your journey.

(sits on the end of the lounge, facing audience)

Philip. (sits, C.) I was tired and hungry, but your cook has kindly seen to that.

Sir G. Lady Carlyon had quite given you up, or she would have stayed in to welcome you.

Philip. My train was very late.

Sir G. Oh, by-the-bye (rises) there is a letter waiting for you. (gives it him)

Philip. Thanks. (Sir George resumes his seat—aside) Rose’s hand. (pockets it)

Sir G. My wife is at the theatre.

Philip. Oh!

Sir G. We have had another visitor to-day—a niece of mine, who has come from abroad. I promised I would take her to the play, but just as I was leaving chambers some briefs tumbled in, and I thought it might be as well to glance them over; so my wife has taken her.

Philip. Lady Carlyon is quite well, I hope.

Sir G. Perfectly, thank you.

Philip. It is two years since I saw her.

Sir G. So it is. We have seen nothing of you lately—you, whom we used to see so much of. Where have you been?

Philip. Well, all over the world. The day I met you, when you were so kind as to invite me here, was the day of my arrival home.

Sir G. So kind as to invite you! My dear boy, you raised objections enough to my invitation.

Philip. I was afraid of trespassing on your hospitality.

Sir G. And so you have been round the world?

Philip. From Dan to Beersheba.

Sir G. And you found all barren?

Philip. On the contrary, I’ve had a very jolly time—especially upon the voyage home.

Sir G. You look the better for it.

Philip. I am a new man.

Sir G. You weren’t well when you went away.

Philip. I was depressed and out of sorts.

Sir G. So I observed.

Philip. You noticed it?

Sir G. And I remember thinking at the time there was a woman in the case.

Philip. That is all over now. I am as happy as the sandboy in the saying.

Sir G. Then, there’s another woman in the case.

Philip. My dear Sir George, according to your views, there is a woman in every case.

Sir G. (pointing to table) There are some twenty briefs. Open which one of them you please, and somewhere in the folds you’ll find a petticoat.

Philip. What, twenty women hidden in these briefs?

Sir G. At least.