Well, dear me, just look at you, going out into the street in
that state! You ARE a poet, certainly. Look at him, James! (She
takes him by the coat, and brings him forward to show him to
Morell.) Look at his collar! look at his tie! look at his hair!
One would think somebody had been throttling you. (The two men
guard themselves against betraying their consciousness.) Here!
Stand still. (She buttons his collar; ties his neckerchief in a
bow; and arranges his hair.) There! Now you look so nice that I
think you'd better stay to lunch after all, though I told you you
mustn't. It will be ready in half an hour. (She puts a final
touch to the bow. He kisses her hand.) Don't be silly.

MARCHBANKS. I want to stay, of course--unless the reverend
gentleman, your husband, has anything to advance to the contrary.

CANDIDA. Shall he stay, James, if he promises to be a good boy
and to help me to lay the table? (Marchbanks turns his head and
looks steadfastly at Morell over his shoulder, challenging his
answer.)

MORELL (shortly). Oh, yes, certainly: he had better. (He goes to
the table and pretends to busy himself with his papers there.)

MARCHBANKS (offering his arm to Candida). Come and lay the
table.(She takes it and they go to the door together. As they go
out he adds) I am the happiest of men.

MORELL. So was I--an hour ago.