Tris made a back, and I stood on it, supported by a correct-card merchant on either side. "Dear friends," I said; "Brothers! I'm with you once again." You should have heard the shouts of honest welcome. Before I could obtain silence my field glasses had gone on their long journey. "Listen to me," I said. "A very dear relative of mine has been collared for playing the three-card trick on his way down from town." There was a groan of sympathy. "He'll be on the brow of the Hill with a bobby in half-an-hour," said I, "who's for the rescue?" A dead deep silence followed, broken only by the sweet voice of a young child, saying, "What'll we get for it?" "A pound a-piece," said I. There was a roar of assent, and my concluding words, "and possibly six months," were never heard. At that moment Tris' back could stand it no longer, and we came heavily to the ground together. Now you know whose hands have led you back to your own manger. And oh, brother, confess--isn't there something good and noble in true English sport after all?

Georgiana Monologue from Arthur Wing Pinero

Rehearse Georgiana's monologue