CRICHTON. Yes, my lady.
CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you
thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place?
CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it
for the house.
AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY
has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could
show our gratitude.
CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by
becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our
superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower
servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends.
(He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.)
AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day.
CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing.
(LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.)
LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter
cases.
AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep.
LADY MARY.
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