Mr. Skeffington

After all, you're really the host.
- It's your money.
- No, thank you.

I'm dining with the district attorney.
Just a social call.

I'm sorry you can't stay.
- Good night, Mr. Skeffington.
- Good night, Miss Trellis.

Don't bother seeing me to the door.
You have your guests.

- Good night, sir.
- Good night.

Good night, Mr. Skeffington.
Good night.
- I could wring Trippy's neck.
- It wouldn't do any good, Georgie.

When he was a boy,
we'd put him to bed regularly...

...without supper, and he'd still gain weight.
- But what are we gonna do?

- There's nothing to worry about.
- No?

No. There will be three dozen roses
in the morning.

What a beautiful basket
of flowers, Manby.

- Whose were the first to arrive?
- Mr. Morrison's.

Which are Mr. Skeffington's?
No flowers came from Mr. Skeffington.
These are Mr. Thatcher's,
and these are Mr. Conderley's.

Manby, were there any calls
for me this morning?

I mean, calls other than Mr. Morrison's
and Mr. Thatcher's and Mr. Conderley's?

The Reverend Dr. Parker called.
He said to tell you dinner
last night was heavenly.

- Did he ask if I'd sold any bazaar tickets?
- Yes.

I thought so.
Well, I haven't, Manby. Not a one.

You may take them back downstairs.
- Good morning, Fanny.
- Good morning, Trippy.

- What day is today?
- Friday.

Oh, I miscalculated.
I didn't intend getting up until Monday.

Hey, I can't find my pulse.