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him.
    F LORA
enters, winded
.
    F LORA . We’ve caught the wee beastie and tied him in the paddock.
[sees
V ICTOR ] Victor!
    D R R EID. I’ve given him a mild sedative.
    F LORA . Oh. Oh, thank God.
    Y OUNG F ARLEIGH
enters with a small silver tray. He takes a crumpled note from his pocket, places it on the tray, hands it to
P EARL .
    P EARL . Excellent. Mr Abbott will come tomorrow and bring Father’s will.
    F LORA
and
D R R EID
exchange a look
. Y OUNG F ARLEIGH
sinks into a chair
.
    D R R EID . Pearl, I wonder if you oughtn’t to put off the will for a few days. Until your brother’s quite recovered.
    P EARL . We could wind up putting it off indefinitely if your diagnosis is correct.
    F LORA . What diagnosis?
    P EARL . Victor is morbidly effeminate, Auntie, but that’s not news. He requires a brisk dose of responsibility. Don’t worry, Doctor, I’ll make a man of Victor MacIsaac yet. One that’s fit to inherit the stones of Belle Moral.
    D R R EID . Gently, Pearl.
    P EARL . I think not. Fresh air, exercise and hard work.
    D R R EID . You gave me a bit of a turn just now. P EARL . How so?
    D R R EID . For a moment you were your father. You were Ramsay all over.
    P EARL . Thank you, Doctor.
    P EARL
exits, pleased with the compliment, but
D R R EID
is slightly unsettled
.
    F LORA . Seamus, what were you thinking, giving the lass that evil jar?
    D R R EID . You know what Pearl is like once her interest is piqued. What would you have hadme do? Whisk it away with a portentous muttering?
    F LORA . Why keep such a thing on your shelf in the first place?
    D R R EID. Perhaps as a reminder. Of what might have been … had I continued my work.
[Holding out his hand, summoning strength for what he is about to face.]
Come, Flora. Take me to her.
    F LORA
takes his hand just as
P EARL
enters to retrieve her camera. They part hands immediately
. P EARL
notices. They remain silent until she exits with her equipment
.
    F LORA . Poor lassie. Her world will ne’er be the same after tomorrow.
    D R R EID. There is no good reason why Pearl should have to know the truth.
    F LORA . Her brother’s bound to tell her.
    D R R EID. Not if he’s half the man his father was.
    V ICTOR
[sprawled, comatose]
.
    F LORA . Poor Victor’s ne’er been able to keep a secret from anyone but himself.
    D R R EID. We must see that he does. We must also see that your unfortunate guest is returned to her rightful lodging as soon as possible. And Flora, get rid of that slavering cur.
    They exit
. P UPPY
barks in the distance. He stops
, V ICTOR
wakes with a jolt. Recovers, only to be startled at the sight of
Y OUNG F ARLEIGH .
    V ICTOR . Young Farleigh. Young Farleigh.
    He doesn’t wake
. V ICTOR
tosses him the flask, he catches it
.
    [enjoying himself]
Go ahead. Go on. I’m to be master of Belle Moral and as such I order you to stop respecting me. Let’s drink, comrade. Let us toast the inevitable decline of me and my bourgeois kind. Let us speak together as equals. And while you’re at it, fetch me slippers.
    Y OUNG F ARLEIGH
[toasting]. Aonaibh ri cheile. [pron. ehnev ree kaylee] [drinks]
    V ICTOR .
“Aonaibh ri cheile”
. What does that mean?
    Y OUNG F ARLEIGH . Tis Gaelic.
    V ICTOR . I know “tis Gaelic”, what in hell does it mean?
    Y OUNG F ARLEIGH . Call yourself a Scot.
[another drink]
    V ICTOR . When are we going to be rid of you? Snoolin’ about the house, muttering Gaelic incantations, scorching the toast. And you’re too decrepit to be out winkling in the night.
    Y OUNG F ARLEIGH . Speak for yourself.
[another drink]
    V ICTOR
[logical]
. I would but I haven’t a clue who that is. There was a time, not so long ago, when man asked the question, “What is the meaning of life?” Now we ask, “Is there a meaning?” Look at me. I’m useless. But perhaps uselessness will turn out to have some evolutionary value. I can’t know. Perhaps in a hundred years all the useful people will die of a plague that infects only those