GILBEY. [yelling] I will fuss. Youve no feeling. You dont care what becomes of the lad. [He sits down savagely].
DORA. [soothingly] Youve been anxious about him. Of course. How thoughtless of me not to begin by telling you hes quite safe. Indeed hes in the safest place in the world, as one may say: safe under lock and key.
GILBEY. [horrified, pitiable] Oh my— [his breath fails him]. Do you mean that when he was in the police court he was in the dock? Oh, Maria! Oh, great Lord! What has he done? What has he got for it? [Desperate] Will you tell me or will you see me go mad on my own carpet?
DORA. [sweetly] Yes, old dear—
MRS GILBEY. [starting at the familiarity] Well!
DORA. [continuing] I'll tell you: but dont you worry: hes all right. I came out myself this morning: there was such a crowd! and a band! they thought I was a suffragette: only fancy! You see it was like this. Holy Joe got talking about how he'd been a champion sprinter at college.
MRS GILBEY. A what?
DORA. A sprinter. He said he was the fastest hundred yards runner in England. We were all in the old cowshed that night.
MRS GILBEY. What old cowshed?
GILBEY. [groaning] Oh, get on. Get on.