ACT III
The Scene is the same as before, and no time has elapsed.
Brandon. You're welcome, Rupert. (Goes to sideboard.)
Rupert (calmly producing cigarette case from his hip pocket and holding it up). I beg your pardon. Humbly.
Brandon (from sideboard). Why? (Sees.) Oh! You ass! (At soda syphon.) Just a splash, Rupert?
Rupert. Yes. A generous one. (Takes cigarette from case and lights it. Takes whisky from Brandon, who sits on chest in centre.) Ob, dear Heaven! What unmentionable fatigue.
Brandon. What?
Rupert. Living, living, living. I wonder if this is a way out. (Looking at his glass.) I shall try Omarism one day.
“The mighty Mahmud, the victorious lord,
Whom all the misbelieving and black horde
Of fears and horrors (rather stressed) that infest the soul,
Scatters and slays with his enchanted sword.”
Granno seems to agree with that.
Brandon. Yes. But he’s not going to get any more.
Rupert. You're in a horrible state to-night, Granillo. You're positively silent drunk.
Granillo (rising and going over to mantelpiece for cigarette). Oh—I’m all right. (Lights cigarette and comes back again. Is walking quite fairly steadily.)
Rupert. I say. Must we have all this light?
[ 71 ]
