Chapter VI: Part 6

_He launches this enquiry at_ MR. BOOTH _with great suddenness just as he leaves the room. The old gentleman jumps; then jumps again at the slam of the door. And then he frowns at_ EDWARD _in a frightened sort of way_.

EDWARD. Will you come here . . or will you sit by the fire?

MR. BOOTH. This'll do. I shan't detain you long.

_He takes the chair by the table and occupies the next minute or two, carefully disposing of his hat and gloves._

EDWARD. Are you feeling all right again?

MR. BOOTH. A bit dyspeptic. How are you?

EDWARD. Quite well, thanks.

MR. BOOTH. I'm glad . . I'm glad. [_he now proceeds to cough a little, hesitating painfully._] I'm afraid this isn't very pleasant business I've come upon.

EDWARD. D'you want to go to Law with anyone?

MR. BOOTH. No . . oh, no. I'm getting too old to quarrel.

EDWARD. A pleasant symptom.

MR. BOOTH. [_with a final effort._] I mean to withdraw my securities from the custody of your firm . . [_and he adds apologetically_] with the usual notice, of course.

_It would be difficult to describe what_ EDWARD _feels at this moment. Perhaps something of the shock that the relief of death may be as an end to pain so long endured that it has been half forgotten. He answers very quietly, without a sign of emotion._

EDWARD. Thank you . . May one ask why?

MR. BOOTH. [_relieved that the worst is over._] Certainly . . certainly. My reason is straightforward and simple and well considered. I think you must know, Edward, I have never been able to feel that implicit confidence in your ability which I had in your father's. Well, it is hardly to be expected, is it?

EDWARD. [_with a grim smile._] No.

MR. BOOTH. I can say that without unduly depreciating you. Men like your father are few and far between. As far as I know things proceed at this office as they have always done but . . since his death I have not been happy about my affairs.

EDWARD. [_speaking as it is his duty to._] I think you need be under no apprehension . .

MR. BOOTH. I daresay not. But that isn't the point. Now, for the first time in my long life I am worried about money affairs; and I don't like the feeling. The possession of money has always been a pleasure to me . . and for what are perhaps my last years I don't wish that to be otherwise. You must remember you have practically my entire property unreservedly in your control.

EDWARD. Perhaps we can arrange to hand you over the reins to an extent which will ease your mind, and at the same time not . .

MR. BOOTH. I thought of that. Believe me, I have every wish not to slight unduly your father's son. I have not moved in the matter for eighteen months. I have not been able to make up my mind to. Really, one feels a little helpless . . and the transaction of business requires more energy than . . But I saw my doctor yesterday, Edward, and he told me . . well, it was a warning. And so I felt it my duty at once to . . especially as I made up my mind to it some time ago. [_he comes to the end of this havering at last and adds._] In point of fact, Edward, more than a year before your father died I had quite decided that my affairs could never be with you as they were with him.

EDWARD _starts almost out of his chair; his face pale, his eyes black_.

EDWARD. Did he know that?

MR. BOOTH. [_resenting this new attitude._] I think I never said it in so many words. But he may easily have guessed.

EDWARD. [_as he relaxes and turns, almost shuddering, from the possibility of dreadful knowledge._] No . . no . . he never guessed. [_Then, with a sudden fresh impulse._] I hope you won't do this, Mr. Booth.

MR. BOOTH. I have quite made up my mind.

EDWARD. You must let me persuade you--

MR. BOOTH. [_conciliatory._] I shall make a point of informing your family that you are in no way to blame in the matter. And in the event of any personal legal difficulties I shall always be delighted to come to you. My idea is for the future to employ merely a financial agent--

EDWARD. [_still quite unstrung really, and his nerves betraying him._] If you had made up your mind before my father died to do this, you ought to have told =him=.

MR. BOOTH. Please allow me to know my own business best. I did not choose to distress him by--

EDWARD. [_pulling himself together: speaking half to himself._] Well . . well . . this is one way out. And it's not my fault.

MR. BOOTH. You're making a fearful fuss about a very simple matter, Edward. The loss of one client, however important he may be . . Why, this is one of the best family practices in London. I am surprised at your lack of dignity.

EDWARD _yields smilingly to this assertiveness_.

EDWARD. True . . I have no dignity. Will you walk off with your papers now?

MR. BOOTH. What notice is usual?

EDWARD. To a good solicitor, five minutes. Ten to a poor one.

MR. BOOTH. You'll have to explain matters a bit to me.

_Now_ EDWARD _settles to his desk again; really with a certain grim enjoyment of the prospect_.

EDWARD. Yes, I had better. Well, Mr. Booth, how much do you think you're worth?

MR. BOOTH. [_easily._] I couldn't say off hand.

EDWARD. But you've a rough idea?

MR. BOOTH. To be sure.

EDWARD. You'll get not quite half that out of us.

MR. BOOTH. [_precisely._] I think I said I had made up my mind to withdraw the whole amount.

EDWARD. You should have made up your mind sooner.

MR. BOOTH. I don't in the least understand you, Edward.

EDWARD. A great part of your capital doesn't exist.

MR. BOOTH. [_with some irritation._] Nonsense, it must exist. [_He scans_ EDWARD'S _set face in vain_.] You mean that it won't be prudent to realise? You can hand over the securities. I don't want to reinvest simply because--

EDWARD. I can't hand over what I haven't got.

_This sentence falls on the old man's ears like a knell._

MR. BOOTH. Is anything . . =wrong=?

EDWARD. [_grim and patient._] How many more times am I to say that we have robbed you of nearly half your property?

MR. BOOTH. [_his senses failing him._] Say that again.

EDWARD. It's quite true.

MR. BOOTH. My money . . =gone=?

EDWARD. Yes.

MR. BOOTH. [_clutching at a straw of anger._] You've been the thief . . you . . you . . ?

EDWARD. I wouldn't tell you if I could help it . . my father.

_That actually calls the old man back to something like dignity and self-possession. He thumps on_ EDWARD'S _table furiously_.

MR. BOOTH. I'll make you prove that.

_And now_ EDWARD _buries his face in his arms and just goes off into hysterics_.

EDWARD. Oh, you've fired a mine!

MR. BOOTH. [_scolding him well._] Slandering your dead father . . and lying to me, revenging yourself by frightening me . . because I detest you.

EDWARD. Why . . haven't I thanked you for putting an end to all my troubles? I do . . I promise you I do.

MR. BOOTH. [_shouting, and his sudden courage failing as he shouts._] Prove this . . prove it to me! I'm not to be frightened so easily. One can't lose half of all one has and then be told of it in two minutes . . sitting at a table. [_his voice tails off to a piteous whimper._]

EDWARD. [_quietly now and kindly._] If my father had told you this in plain words you'd have believed him.

MR. BOOTH. [_bowing his head._] Yes.

EDWARD _looks at the poor old thing with great pity_.

EDWARD. What on earth did you want to withdraw your account for? You need never have known . . you could have died happy. Settling with all those charities in your will would certainly have smashed us up. But proving your will is many years off yet we'll hope.

MR. BOOTH. [_pathetic and bewildered._] I don't understand. No, I don't understand . . because your father . . But I =must= understand, Edward.

EDWARD. Don't shock yourself trying to understand my father, for you never will. Pull yourself together, Mr. Booth. After all, this isn't a vital matter to you. It's not even as if you had a family to consider . . like some of the others.

MR. BOOTH. [_vaguely._] What others?

EDWARD. Don't imagine your money has been specially selected for pilfering.

MR. BOOTH. [_with solemn incredulity._] One has read of this sort of thing but . . I thought people always got found out.

EDWARD. [_brutally humorous._] Well . . we are found out. You've found us out.

MR. BOOTH. [_rising to the full appreciation of his wrongs._] Oh . . I've been foully cheated!

EDWARD. [_patiently._] I've told you so.

MR. BOOTH. [_his voice breaks, he appeals pitifully._] But by you, Edward . . say it's by you.

EDWARD. [_unable to resist his quiet revenge._] I've not the ability or the personality for such work, Mr. Booth . . nothing but principles, which forbid me even to lie to you.

_The old gentleman draws a long breath and then speaks with great awe, blending into grief._

MR. BOOTH. I think your father is in Hell . . I'd have gone there myself to save him from it. I loved him very truly. How he could have had the heart! We were friends for nearly fifty years. Am I to think now he only cared for me to cheat me?

EDWARD. [_venturing the comfort of an explanation._] No . . he didn't value money as you do.

MR. BOOTH. [_with sudden shrill logic._] But he took it. What d'you mean by that?

EDWARD _leans back in his chair and changes the tenor of their talk_.

EDWARD. Well, you're master of the situation now. What are you going to do?

MR. BOOTH. To get my money back?

EDWARD. No, that's gone.

MR. BOOTH. Then give me what's left and--

EDWARD. Are you going to prosecute?

MR. BOOTH. [_shifting uneasily in his chair._] Oh, dear . . is that necessary? Can't somebody else do that? I thought the Law--

EDWARD. You need not prosecute, you know.

MR. BOOTH. What'll happen if I don't.

EDWARD. What do you suppose I'm doing here now?

MR. BOOTH. [_as if he were being asked a riddle._] I don't know.

EDWARD. [_earnestly._] I'm trying to straighten things a little. I'm trying to undo what my father did . . to do again what he undid. It's a poor dull sort of work now . . throwing penny after penny hardly earned into the pit of our deficit. But I've been doing that for what it's worth in the time that was left to me . . till this should happen. I never thought you'd bring it to pass. I can continue to do that if you choose . . until the next smash comes. I'm pleased to call this my duty. [_He searches_ MR. BOOTH'S _face and finds there only disbelief and fear. He bursts out._] Oh, why won't you believe me? It can't hurt you to believe it.

MR. BOOTH. You must admit, Edward, it isn't easy to believe anything in this office . . just for the moment.

EDWARD. [_bowing to the extreme reasonableness of this._] I suppose not. I can prove it to you. I'll take you through the books . . you won't understand them . . but I could prove it.

MR. BOOTH. I think I'd rather not. D'you think I ought to hold any further communication with you at all? [_and at this he takes his hat._]

EDWARD. [_with a little explosion of contemptuous anger._] Certainly not. Prosecute . . prosecute!

MR. BOOTH. [_with dignity._] Don't lose your temper. You know it's my place to be angry with you.

EDWARD. I beg your pardon. [_then he is elaborately explanatory._] I shall be =grateful= if you'll prosecute.

MR. BOOTH. [_more puzzled than ever._] There's something in this which I don't understand.

EDWARD. [_with deliberate unconcern._] Think it over.

MR. BOOTH. [_hesitating, fidgetting._] But surely I oughtn't to have to make up my mind! There must be a right or a wrong thing to do. Edward, can't =you= tell me?

EDWARD. I'm prejudiced.

MR. BOOTH. [_angrily._] What do you mean by placing me in a dilemma? I believe you're simply trying to practise upon my goodness of heart. Certainly I ought to prosecute at once . . Oughtn't I? [_then at the nadir of helplessness._] Can't I consult another solicitor?

EDWARD. [_his chin in the air._] Write to the Times about it!

MR. BOOTH. [_shocked and grieved at his attitude._] Edward, how can you be so cool and heartless?

EDWARD. [_changing his tone._] D'you think I shan't be glad to sleep at nights?

MR. BOOTH. Perhaps you'll be put in prison?

EDWARD. I =am= in prison . . a less pleasant one than Wormwood Scrubbs. But we're all prisoners, Mr. Booth.

MR. BOOTH. [_wagging his head._] Yes, this is what comes of your philosophy. Why aren't you on your knees?

EDWARD. To you?

_This was not what_ MR. BOOTH _meant, but as he gets up from his chair he feels all but mighty_.

MR. BOOTH. And why should you expect me to shrink from vindicating the law?

EDWARD. [_shortly._] I don't. I've explained you'll be doing me a kindness. When I'm wanted you'll find me here at my desk. [_then as an afterthought._] If you take long to decide . . don't alter your behaviour to my family in the meantime. They know the main points of the business and--

MR. BOOTH. [_knocked right off his balance._] Do they! Good God! . . I'm invited to dinner the day after to-morrow . . that's Christmas Eve. The hypocrites!

EDWARD. [_unmoved._] I shall be there . . that will have given you two days. Will you tell me then?

MR. BOOTH. [_protesting violently._] I can't go to dinner . . I can't eat with them. I must be ill.

EDWARD. [_with a half smile._] I remember I went to dinner at Chislehurst to tell my father of my decision.

MR. BOOTH. [_testily._] What decision?

EDWARD. To remain in the firm when I first knew of the difficulties.

MR. BOOTH. [_interested._] Was I present?

EDWARD. I daresay.

MR. BOOTH _stands there, hat, stick and gloves in hand, shaken by this experience, helpless, at his wits' end. He falls into a sort of fretful reverie, speaking half to himself but yet as if he hoped that_ EDWARD, _who is wrapped in his own thoughts, would have the decency to answer, or at least listen, to what he is saying_.

MR. BOOTH. Yes, how often I dined with him. Oh, it was monstrous! [_his eyes fall on the clock._] It's nearly lunch time now. Do you know I still can hardly believe all this? I wish I hadn't found it out. If he hadn't died I should never have found it out. I hate to have to be vindictive . . it's not my nature. Indeed I'm sure I'm more grieved than angry. But it isn't as if it were a small sum. And I don't see that one is called upon to forgive crimes . . or why does the Law exist? I feel that this will go near to killing me. I'm too old to have such troubles . . it isn't right. And now if I have to prosecute--

EDWARD. [_at last throwing in a word._] You need not.

MR. BOOTH. [_thankful for the provocation._] Don't you attempt to influence me, sir.

_He turns to go._

EDWARD. With the money you have left. . .

EDWARD _follows him politely_. MR. BOOTH _flings the door open_.

MR. BOOTH. Make out a cheque for that at once and send it me.

EDWARD. You could . . .

MR. BOOTH. [_clapping his hat on, stamping his stick._] I shall do the right thing, sir, never fear.

_So he marches off in fine style, having, he thinks, had the last word and all. But_ EDWARD _closing the door after him, mutters_ . .

EDWARD. . . Save your soul! . . I'm afraid I was going to say.

THE FIFTH ACT

_Naturally it is the dining room--consecrated as it is to the distinguishing orgie of the season--which bears the brunt of what an English household knows as Christmas decorations. They consist chiefly of the branches of holly (that unyielding tree), stuck cock-eyed behind the top edges of the pictures. The one picture conspicuously not decorated is that which now hangs over the fireplace, a portrait of_ MR. VOYSEY, _with its new gilt frame and its brassplate marking it also as a presentation_. HONOR, _hastily and at some bodily peril, pulled down the large bunch of mistletoe, which a callous housemaid had suspended above it, in time to obviate the shock to family feelings which such impropriety would cause. Otherwise the only difference between the dining room's appearance at half past nine on Christmas eve and on any other evening in the year is that little piles of queer shaped envelopes seem to be lying about, while there is quite a lot of tissue paper and string to be seen peeping from odd corners. The electric light is reduced to one bulb, but when the maid opens the door showing in_ MR. GEORGE BOOTH _she switches on the rest_.

PHOEBE. This room is empty, sir. I'll tell Mr. Edward.

_She leaves him to fidget towards the fireplace and back, not removing his comforter or his coat, scarcely turning down the collar, screwing his cap in his hands. In a very short time_ EDWARD _comes in, shutting the door and taking stock of the visitor before he speaks_.

EDWARD. Well?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_feebly._] I hope my excuse for not coming to dinner was acceptable. I did have . . I have a very bad headache.

EDWARD. I daresay they believed it.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I have come immediately to tell you of my decision . . perhaps this trouble will then be a little more off my mind.

EDWARD. What is it?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I couldn't think the matter out alone. I went this afternoon to talk it all over with my old friend Colpus. [_at this news_ EDWARD'S _eyebrows contract and then rise_.] What a terrible shock to him!

EDWARD. Oh, nearly three of his four thousand pounds are quite safe.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. That you and your father . . you, whom he baptised . . should have robbed him! I never saw a man so utterly prostrate with grief. That it should have been your father! And his poor wife! . . though she never got on with your father.

EDWARD. [_with cheerful irony._] Oh, Mrs. Colpus knows too, does she?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Of course he told Mrs. Colpus. This is an unfortunate time for the storm to break on him. What with Christmas Day and Sunday following so close they're as busy as can be. He has resolved that during this season of peace and goodwill he must put the matter from him if he can. But once Christmas is over . . ! [_he envisages the Christian old vicar giving_ EDWARD _a hell of a time then_.]

EDWARD. [_coolly._] So I conclude you mean to prosecute. For if you don't, you've given the Colpuses a lot of unnecessary pain . . and inflicted a certain amount of loss by telling them.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_naively._] I never thought of that. No, Edward, I have decided not to prosecute.

EDWARD _hides his face for a moment_.

EDWARD. And I've been hoping to escape! Well . . it can't be helped [_and he sets his teeth_.]

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_with touching solemnity._] I think I could not bear to see the family I have loved brought to such disgrace.

EDWARD. So you'll compound my felony?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_a little nervous._] That's only your joke!

EDWARD. You'll come to no harm.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. On the contrary. And I want to ask your pardon, Edward, for some of the hard thoughts I have had of you. I consider this effort of yours to restore to the firm the credit which your father lost a very striking one. What improvements have you effected so far?

EDWARD. [_wondering what is coming now._] I took the money that my father left . .

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. And I suppose you take the ordinary profits of the firm?

EDWARD. Yes. It costs me very little to live.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Do you restore to the clients all round in proportion to the amount they have lost?

EDWARD. [_cautiously._] That's the law.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. D'you think that's quite fair?

EDWARD. No, I don't.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. No, I consider the treachery to have been blacker in some cases than in others.

EDWARD. [_his face brightening a little._] Are you going to help me in this work of mine?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Surely by consenting not to prosecute I am doing so.

EDWARD. Will you do no more?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Well, as far as my own money is concerned, this is my proposal. [_he coughs and proceeds very formally._] Considering how absolutely I trusted your father and believed in him, I think you should at once return me the balance of my capital that there is left.

EDWARD. [_cold again._] That is being done.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Good. That you should continue to pay me a fair interest upon the rest of that capital, which ought to exist and does not. And that you should, year by year, pay me back by degrees out of the earnings of the firm as much of that capital as you can afford. We will agree upon the sum . . say a thousand a year. I doubt if you can ever restore me all that I have lost, but do your best and I shan't complain. There . . I think that is fair dealing!

EDWARD _does not take his eyes off_ MR. BOOTH _until the whole meaning of this proposition has settled in his brain. Then, without warning, he goes off into peals of laughter, much to the alarm of_ MR. BOOTH, _who has never thought him over-sane_.

EDWARD. How funny! How very funny!

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Edward, don't laugh.

EDWARD. I never heard anything quite so funny!

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Edward, stop laughing.

EDWARD. What will Colpus . . what will all the other Christian gentlemen demand? Pounds of flesh! Pounds of flesh!

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Don't be hysterical. I demand what is mine . . in such quantities as you can afford.

EDWARD'S _laughter gives way to the deepest anger of which he is capable_.

EDWARD. I'm giving my soul and body to restoring you and the rest of you to your precious money bags . . and you'll wring me dry. Won't you? Won't you?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Now be reasonable. Argue the point quietly.

EDWARD. Go to the devil, sir.

_And with that he turns away from the flabbergasted old gentleman._

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Don't be rude.

EDWARD. [_his anger vanishing._] I beg your pardon.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. You're excited. Take time to think of it. I'm reasonable.

EDWARD. [_his sense of humour returning._] Most! Most! [_There is a knock at the door._] Come in. Come in.

HONOR _intrudes an apologetic head_.

HONOR. Am I interrupting business? I'm so sorry.

EDWARD. [_crowing in a mirthless enjoyment of his joke._] No! Business is over . . quite over. Come in, Honor.

HONOR _puts on the table a market basket bulging with little paper parcels, and, oblivious to_ MR. BOOTH'S _distracted face, tries to fix his attention_.

HONOR. I thought, dear Mr. Booth, perhaps you wouldn't mind carrying round this basket of things yourself. It's so very damp underfoot that I don't want to send one of the maids out to-night if I can possibly avoid it . . and if one doesn't get Christmas presents the very first thing on Christmas morning quite half the pleasure in them is lost, don't you think?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Yes . . yes.

HONOR. [_fishing out the parcels one by one._] This is a bell for Mrs. Williams . . something she said she wanted so that you can ring that for her which saves the maids. Cap and apron for Mary. Cap and apron for Ellen. Shawl for Davis when she goes out to the larder. All useful presents. And that's something for you but you're not to look at it till the morning.

_Having shaken each of these at the old gentleman, she proceeds to re-pack them. He is now trembling with anxiety to escape before any more of the family find him there._

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Thank you . . thank you! I hope my lot has arrived. I left instructions . .

HONOR. Quite safely . . and I have hidden them. Presents are put on the breakfast table to-morrow.

EDWARD. [_with an inconsequence that still further alarms_ MR. BOOTH.] When we were all children our Christmas breakfast was mostly made off chocolates.

_Before the basket is packed_, MRS. VOYSEY _sails slowly into the room, as smiling and as deaf as ever_. MR. BOOTH _does his best not to scowl at her_.

MRS. VOYSEY. Are you feeling better, George Booth?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. No. [_then he elevates his voice with a show of politeness._] No, thank you . . I can't say I am.

MRS. VOYSEY. You don't look better.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I still have my headache. [_with a distracted shout._] Headache.

MRS. VOYSEY. Bilious, perhaps! I quite understood you didn't care to dine. But why not have taken your coat off? How foolish in this warm room!

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Thank you. I'm just going.

_He seizes the market basket. At that moment_ MRS. HUGH _appears_.

BEATRICE. Your shawl, mother. [_and she clasps it round_ MRS. VOYSEY'S _shoulders_.]

MRS. VOYSEY. Thank you, Beatrice. I thought I had it on. [_then to_ MR. BOOTH _who is now entangled in his comforter_.] A merry Christmas to you.

BEATRICE. Good evening, Mr. Booth.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I beg your pardon. Good evening, Mrs. Hugh.

HONOR. [_with sudden inspiration, to the company in general._] Why shouldn't I write in here . . now the table's cleared!

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_sternly, now he is safe by the door._] Will you see me out, Edward?

EDWARD. Yes.

_He follows the old man and his basket, leaving the others to distribute themselves about the room. It is a custom of the female members of the_ VOYSEY _family, especially about Christmas time, to return to the dining room, when the table has been cleared and occupy themselves in various ways which require space and untidiness. Sometimes as the evening wears on they partake of cocoa, sometimes they abstain._ BEATRICE _has a little work-basket, containing a buttonless glove and such things, which she is rectifying_. HONOR'S _writing is done with the aid of an enormous blotting book, which bulges with apparently a year's correspondence. She sheds its contents upon the end of the dining table and spreads them abroad._ MRS. VOYSEY _settles to the fire, opens the Nineteenth Century and is instantly absorbed in it_.

BEATRICE. Where's Emily?

HONOR. [_mysteriously._] Well, Beatrice, she's in the library talking to Booth.

BEATRICE. Talking to her husband; good Heavens! I know she has taken my scissors.

HONOR. I think she's telling him about you.

BEATRICE. What about me?

HONOR. You and Hugh.

BEATRICE. [_with a little movement of annoyance._] I suppose this is Hugh's fault. It was carefully arranged no one was to be told till after Christmas.

HONOR. Emily told me . . and Edward knows . . and Mother knows . .

BEATRICE. I warned Mother a year ago.

HONOR. Everyone seems to know but Booth . . so I thought he'd better be told. I suggested one night so that he might have time to think over it . . but Emily said that'd wake Alfred. Besides she's nearly always asleep herself when he comes to bed.

BEATRICE. Why do they still have that baby in their room?

HONOR. Emily considers it her duty.

_At this moment_ EMILY _comes in, looking rather trodden upon_. HONOR _concludes in the most audible of whispers_ . .

HONOR. Don't say anything . . it's my fault.

BEATRICE. [_fixing her with a severe forefinger._] Emily . . have you taken my best scissors?

EMILY. [_timidly._] No, Beatrice.

HONOR. [_who is diving into the recesses of the blotting book._] Oh, here they are! I must have taken them. I do apologise!

EMILY. [_more timidly still._] I'm afraid Booth's rather cross . . he's gone to look for Hugh.

BEATRICE. [_with a shake of her head._] Honor . . I've a good mind to make you sew on these buttons for me.

_In comes the Major, strepitant. He takes, so to speak, just time enough to train himself on_ BEATRICE _and then fires_.

BOOTH. Beatrice, what on earth is this Emily has been telling me?

BEATRICE. [_with elaborate calm._] Emily, what have you been telling Booth?

BOOTH. Please . . please do not prevaricate. Where is Hugh?

MRS. VOYSEY. [_looking over her spectacles._] What did you say, Booth?

BOOTH. I want Hugh, Mother.

MRS. VOYSEY. I thought you were playing billiards together.

EDWARD _strolls back from despatching_ MR. BOOTH, _his face thoughtful_.

BOOTH. [_insistently._] Edward, where is Hugh?

EDWARD. [_with complete indifference._] I don't know.

BOOTH. [_in trumpet tones._] Honor, will you oblige me by finding Hugh and saying I wish to speak to him, here, immediately?

HONOR, _who has leapt at the sound of her name, flies from the room without a word_.

BEATRICE. I know quite well what you want to talk about, Booth. Discuss the matter by all means if it amuses you . . but don't shout.

BOOTH. I use the voice Nature has gifted me with, Beatrice.

BEATRICE. [_as she searches for a glove button._] Certainly Nature did let herself go over your lungs.

BOOTH. [_glaring round with indignation._] This is a family matter, otherwise I should not feel it my duty to interfere . . as I do. Any member of the family has a right to express an opinion. I want Mother's. Mother, what do you think?

MRS. VOYSEY. [_amicably._] What about?

BOOTH. Hugh and Beatrice separating.

MRS. VOYSEY. They haven't separated.

BOOTH. But they mean to.

MRS. VOYSEY. Fiddle-de-dee!

BOOTH. I quite agree with you.

BEATRICE. [_with a charming smile._] This reasoning would convert a stone.

BOOTH. Why have I not been told?

BEATRICE. You have just been told.

BOOTH. [_thunderously._] Before.

BEATRICE. The truth is, dear Booth, we're all so afraid of you.

BOOTH. [_a little mollified._] Ha . . I should be glad to think that.

BEATRICE. [_sweetly._] Don't you?

BOOTH. [_intensely serious._] Beatrice, your callousness shocks me! That you can dream of deserting Hugh . . a man of all others who requires constant care and attention.

BEATRICE. May I remark that the separation is as much Hugh's wish as mine?

BOOTH. I don't believe that.

BEATRICE. [_her eyebrows up._] Really!

BOOTH. I don't imply that you're lying. But you must know that it's Hugh's nature to wish to do anything that he thinks anybody wishes him to do. All my life I've had to stand up for him . . and by Jove, I'll continue to do so.

EDWARD. [_from the depths of his armchair._] If you'd taught him to stand up for himself--

_The door is flung almost off its hinges by_ HUGH _who then stands stamping and pale green with rage_.

HUGH. Look here, Booth . . I will not have you interfering with my private affairs. Is one never to be free from your bullying?

BOOTH. You ought to be grateful.

HUGH. Well, I'm not.

BOOTH. This is a family affair.

HUGH. It is not!

BOOTH. [_at the top of his voice._] If all you can do is to contradict me, you'd better listen to what I've got to say . . quietly.

HUGH, _quite shouted down, flings himself petulantly into a chair. A hush falls._

EMILY. [_in a still small voice._] Would you like me to go, Booth?

BOOTH. [_severely._] No, Emily. Unless anything has been going on which cannot be discussed before you . . [_then more severely still._] and I hope that is not so.

HUGH. [_muttering rebelliously._] Oh, you have the mind of a . . cheap schoolmaster!

BOOTH. Why do you wish to separate?

HUGH. What's the use of telling you? You won't understand.

BEATRICE. [_who sews on undisturbed._] We don't get on well together.

BOOTH. [_amazedly._] Is that all?

HUGH. [_snapping at him._] Yes, that's all. Can you find a better reason?

BOOTH. [_with brotherly contempt._] I have given up expecting common sense from you. But Beatrice--! [_his tone implores her to be reasonable._]

BEATRICE. It doesn't seem to me any sort of sense that people should live together for purposes of mutual irritation.

BOOTH. [_protesting._] My dear girl! . . that sounds like a quotation from your last book.

BEATRICE. It isn't. I do think, Booth, you might read that book . . for the honour of the Family.

BOOTH. [_successfully side-tracked. ._ ] I have bought it, Beatrice, and--

BEATRICE. That's the principal thing, of course--

BOOTH. [_. . and discovering it._] But do let us keep to the subject.

BEATRICE. [_with flattering sincerity._] Certainly, Booth. And there is hardly any subject that I wouldn't ask your advice about. But upon this . . do let me know better. Hugh and I will be happier apart.

BOOTH. [_obstinately._] Why?

BEATRICE. [_with resolute patience, having vented a little sigh._] Hugh finds that my opinions distress him. And I have at last lost patience with Hugh.

MRS. VOYSEY. [_who has been trying to follow this through her spectacles._] What does Beatrice say?

BOOTH. [_translating into a loud sing-song._] That she wishes to leave her husband because she has lost patience!

MRS. VOYSEY. [_with considerable acrimony._] Then you must be a very ill-tempered woman. Hugh has a sweet nature.

HUGH. [_shouting self-consciously._] Nonsense, mother.

BEATRICE. [_shouting good-humouredly._] I quite agree with you, mother. [_she continues to her husband in an even just tone._] You have a sweet nature, Hugh, and it is most difficult to get angry with you. I have been seven years working up to it. But now that I am angry, I shall never get pleased again.

_The Major returns to his subject, refreshed by a moment's repose._

BOOTH. How has he failed in his duty? Tell us. I'm not bigoted in his favour. I know your faults, Hugh.

_He wags his head at_ HUGH, _who writhes with irritation_.

HUGH. Why can't you leave them alone . . leave us alone?

BEATRICE. I'd state my case against Hugh, if I thought he'd retaliate.

HUGH. [_desperately rounding on his brother._] If I tell you, you won't understand. You understand nothing! Beatrice is angry with me because I won't prostitute my art to make money.

BOOTH. [_glancing at his wife._] Please don't use metaphors of that sort.

BEATRICE. [_reasonably._] Yes, I think Hugh ought to earn more money.

BOOTH. [_quite pleased to be getting along at last._] Well, why doesn't he?

HUGH. I don't want money.

BOOTH. You can't say you don't want money any more than you can say you don't want bread.

BEATRICE. [_as she breaks off her cotton._] It's when one has known what it is to be a little short of both . .

_Now the Major spreads himself and begins to be very wise, while_ HUGH, _to whom this is more intolerable than all, can only clutch his hair_.

BOOTH. You know I never considered Art a very good profession for you, Hugh. And you won't even stick to one department of it. It's a profession that gets people into very bad habits, I consider. Couldn't you take up something else? You could still do those wood-cuts in your spare time to amuse yourself.

HUGH. [_commenting on this with two deliberate shouts of simulated mirth._] Ha! Ha!

BOOTH. [_sublimely superior._] Well, it wouldn't much matter if you didn't do them at all!

BEATRICE. [_subtly._] Booth, there speaks the true critic.

BOOTH. [_deprecating any title to omniscience._] Well, I don't pretend to know much about Art but--

HUGH. It would matter to me. There speaks the artist.

BEATRICE. The arrogance of the artist!

HUGH. We have a right to be arrogant.

BEATRICE. Good workmen are humble.

HUGH. And look to their wages.

BEATRICE. Well, I'm only a workman.

_With that she breaks the contact of this quiet deadly hopeless little quarrel by turning her head away. The Major, who has given it most friendly attention, comments . ._

BOOTH. Of course! Quite so! I'm sure all that is a very interesting difference of opinion.

MRS. VOYSEY _leaves her armchair for her favourite station at the dining table_.

MRS. VOYSEY. Booth is the only one of you that I can hear at all distinctly. But if you two foolish young people think you want to separate . . try it. You'll soon come back to each other and be glad to. People can't fight against Nature for long. And marriage is a natural state . . once you're married.

BOOTH. [_with intense approval._] Quite right, Mother.

MRS. VOYSEY. I know.

_She resumes the Nineteenth Century. The Major, to the despair of everybody, makes yet another start; trying oratory this time._

BOOTH. My own opinion is, Beatrice and Hugh, that you don't realise the meaning of the word marriage. I don't call myself a religious man . . but dash it all, you were married in church! . . And you then entered upon an awful compact! . . Surely . . as a woman, Beatrice . . the religious point of it ought to appeal to you. Good Lord, suppose everybody were to carry on like this! And have you considered, Beatrice, that . . whether you're right or whether you're wrong . . if you desert Hugh, you cut yourself off from the Family.

BEATRICE. [_with the sweetest of smiles._] That will distress me terribly.

BOOTH. [_not doubting her for a moment._] Of course.

HUGH _flings up his head and finds relief at last in many words_.

HUGH. I wish to Heaven I'd ever been able to cut myself off from the family! Look at Trenchard.

BOOTH. [_gobbling a little at this unexpected attack._] I do not forgive Trenchard for quarreling with and deserting our father.

HUGH. Trenchard quarreled because that was his only way of escape.

BOOTH. Escape from what?

HUGH. From tyranny! . . from hypocrisy! . . from boredom! . . from his Happy English Home!

BEATRICE. [_kindly._] Hugh . . Hugh . . it's no use.

BOOTH. [_attempting sarcasm._] Speak so that Mother can hear you!

_But_ HUGH _isn't to be stopped now_.

HUGH. Why are we all dull, cubbish, uneducated, hopelessly middle-class . . that is hopelessly out of date.

BOOTH. [_taking this as very personal._] Cubbish!

HUGH. . . Because it's the middle-class ideal that you should respect your parents . . live with them . . think with them . . grow like them. Natural affection and gratitude! That's what's expected, isn't it?

BOOTH. [_not to be obliterated._] Certainly.

HUGH. Keep your children ignorant of all that you don't know, penniless except for your good pleasure, dependent on you for permission to breathe freely . . and be sure that their gratitude will be most disinterested, and affection very natural. If your father's a drunkard or poor; then perhaps you get free and can form an opinion or two of your own . . and can love him or hate him as he deserves. But our father and mother were models. They did their duty by us . . and taught us ours. Trenchard escaped, as I say. You took to the Army . . so of course you've never discovered how behind the times you are. [_the Major is stupent._] I tried to express myself in art . . and found there was nothing to express . . I'd been so well brought up. D'you blame me if I wander about in search of a soul of some sort? And Honor--

BOOTH. [_disputing savagely._] Honor is very happy at home. Everyone loves her.

HUGH. [_with fierce sarcasm._] Yes . . what do we call her? Mother's right hand! I wonder they bothered to give her a name. By the time little Ethel came they were tired of training children . . [_his voice loses its sting; he doesn't complete this sentence._]

BEATRICE. Poor little Ethel . .

BOOTH. Poor Ethel!

_They speak as one speaks of the dead, and so the wrangling stops. Then_ EDWARD _interposes quietly_.

EDWARD. Yes, Hugh, if we'd been poor . .

HUGH. I haven't spoken of your fate, Edward. That's too shameful.

EDWARD. . . We should at least have learnt how to spend money.

BOOTH. [_pathetically._] Really, Edward, need you attack me?

HUGH. Well . . you're so proud of representing the family!

BOOTH. And may I ask what we're discussing now?

BEATRICE. Yes, Edward. I knew how to get the greatest possible happiness out of a five pound note years before I had one.

EDWARD. The first man who saved a sovereign has made a prisoner of me.

BOOTH. [_determined to capture the conversation again._] Has made a . . ?

EDWARD. Will make . . if you understand that better, Booth.

BOOTH. I don't understand it at all. [_they leave him the field._] And why for no earthly reason we must suddenly open up a--a street, which is very painful . . I really cannot see. One never knows who may be listening. [_he glances most uneasily towards the door and drops his voice._] In that unhappy business, Edward, you very wisely did what we all felt to be your duty. I'm sure we all hope you have succeeded in your endeavours. But the least we can do now in respect to our poor father's memory is to bury the matter in--in decent oblivion. And please . . please don't talk of prison. I thought you'd given up that idea long ago. [_having dismissed that subject unopposed, he takes a long breath._] Now we will return to the original subject of discussion. Hugh, this question of a separation--

_Past all patience_, HUGH _jumps up and flings his chair back to its place_.

HUGH. Beatrice and I mean to separate. And nothing you may say will prevent us. The only difficulty in the way is money. Can we command enough to live apart comfortably?

BOOTH. Well?

HUGH. Well . . we can't.

BOOTH. Well?

HUGH. So we can't separate.

BOOTH. [_speaking with bewilderment._] Then what in Heaven's name have we been discussing it for?

HUGH. I haven't discussed it! I don't want to discuss it! Why can't you mind your own business? Now I'll go back to the billiard room and my book.

_He is gone before the poor Major can recover his lost breath._

BOOTH. [_as he does recover it._] I am not an impatient man . . but really . . [_and then words fail him._]

BEATRICE. [_commenting calmly._] Of course Hugh was a spoilt child. They grow to hate their parents sooner than others. He still cries for what he wants. That makes him a wearisome companion.

BOOTH. [_very sulky now._] You married him with your eyes open, I suppose?

BEATRICE. How few women marry with their eyes open!

BOOTH. You have never made the best of Hugh.

BEATRICE. I have spared him that indignity.

BOOTH. [_vindictively._] I am very glad that you can't separate.

BEATRICE. As soon as I'm reasonably sure of earning an income I shall walk off from him.

_The Major revives._

BOOTH. You will do nothing of the sort, Beatrice.

BEATRICE. [_unruffled._] How will you stop me, Booth?

BOOTH. I shall tell Hugh he must command you to stay.

BEATRICE. [_with a little smile._] Now that might make a difference. It was one of the illusions of my girlhood that I should love a man who would master me.

BOOTH. Hugh must assert himself.

_He begins to walk about, giving some indication of how it should be done._ BEATRICE'S _smile has vanished_.

BEATRICE. Don't think I've enjoyed taking the lead in everything throughout my married life. But someone had to plan and scheme and be foreseeing . . we weren't sparrows or lilies of the field . . someone had to get up and do something. [_she becomes conscious of his strutting and smiles rather mischievously._] Ah . . if I'd married you, Booth!

BOOTH'S _face grows beatific_.

BOOTH. Well, I must own to thinking that I am a masterful man . . that is the duty of every man to be so. [_he adds forgivingly._] Poor old Hugh!

BEATRICE. [_unable to resist temptation._] If I'd tried to leave you, Booth, you'd have whipped me . . wouldn't you?

BOOTH. [_ecstatically complacent._] Ha . . well . . !

BEATRICE. Do say yes. Think how it'll frighten Emily.

_The Major strokes his moustache and is most friendly._

BOOTH. Hugh's been a worry to me all my life. And now as Head of the Family . . Well, I suppose I'd better go and give the dear old chap another talking to. I quite see your point of view, Beatrice.

BEATRICE. Why disturb him at his book?

MAJOR BOOTH _leaves them, squaring his shoulders as becomes a lord of creation. The two sisters-in-law go on with their work silently for a moment; then_ BEATRICE _adds_ . .

BEATRICE. Do you find Booth difficult to manage, Emily?

EMILY. [_putting down her knitting to consider the matter._] No. It's best to allow him to talk himself out. When he's done that he'll often come to me for advice. I let him get his own way as much as possible . . or think he's getting it. Otherwise he becomes so depressed.

BEATRICE. [_quietly amused._] Edward shouldn't hear this. What has he to do with women's secrets?

EDWARD. I won't tell . . and I'm a bachelor.

EMILY. [_solemnly as she takes up her knitting again._] Do you really mean to leave Hugh?

BEATRICE. [_slightly impatient._] Emily, I've said so.

_They are joined by_ ALICE MAITLAND, _who comes in gaily_.

ALICE. What's Booth shouting about in the billiard room?

EMILY. [_pained._] On Christmas Eve, too!

BEATRICE. Don't you take any interest in my matrimonial affairs?

MRS. VOYSEY _shuts up the Nineteenth Century and removes her spectacles_.

MRS. VOYSEY. That's a very interesting article. The Chinese Empire must be in a shocking state! Is it ten o'clock yet?

EDWARD. Past.

MRS. VOYSEY. [_as_ EDWARD _is behind her_.] Can anyone see the clock?

ALICE. It's past ten, Auntie.

MRS. VOYSEY. Then I think I'll go to my room.

EMILY. Shall I come and look after you, Mother?

MRS. VOYSEY. If you'd find Honor for me, Emily.

EMILY _goes in search of the harmless necessary_ HONOR _and_ MRS. VOYSEY _begins her nightly chant of departure_.

MRS. VOYSEY. Good night, Alice. Good night, Edward.

EDWARD. Good night, Mother.

MRS. VOYSEY. [_with sudden severity._] I'm not pleased with you, Beatrice.

BEATRICE. I'm sorry, Mother.

_But without waiting to be answered the old lady has sailed out of the room._ BEATRICE, EDWARD, _and_ ALICE _are attuned to each other enough to be able to talk with ease_.

BEATRICE. Hugh is right about his family. It'll never make any new life for itself.

EDWARD. There are Booth's children.

BEATRICE. Poor little devils!

ALICE. [_judicially._] Emily is an excellent mother.

BEATRICE. Yes . . they'll grow up good men and women. And one will go into the Army and one into the Navy and one into the Church . . and perhaps one to the Devil and the Colonies. They'll serve their country and govern it and help to keep it like themselves . . dull and respectable . . hopelessly middle-class. [_she puts down her work now and elevates an oratorical fist._] Genius and Poverty may exist in England, if they'll hide their heads. For show days we've our aristocracy. But never let us forget, gentlemen, that it is the plain solid middle-class man who has made us . . what we are.

EDWARD. [_in sympathetic derision._] Hear hear . . ! and cries of bravo!

BEATRICE. Now, that is out of my book . . the next one. [_she takes up her work again._] You know, Edward . . without wishing to open up Painful Streets . . however scandalous it has been, your father left you a man's work to do.

EDWARD. [_his face cloudy._] An outlaw's!

BEATRICE. [_whimsical, after a moment._] I meant that. At all events you've not had to be your father's right arm . . or the instrument of justice . . or a representative of the people . . or anything second hand of that sort, have you?

EDWARD. [_with sudden excitement._] Do you know what I discovered the other day about [_he nods at the portrait._] . . him?

BEATRICE. [_enquiring calmly._] Innocence or guilt?

EDWARD. He saved his firm once . . that was true. A most capable piece of heroism. Then, fifteen years afterwards . . he started again.

BEATRICE. [_greatly interested._] Did he now?

EDWARD. One can't believe it was merely through weakness . .

BEATRICE. [_with artistic enthusiasm._] Of course not. He was a great financier . . a man of imagination. He had to find scope for his abilities or die. He despised these fat little clients living so snugly on their unearned incomes . . and put them and their money to the best use he could.

EDWARD. [_shaking his head solemnly._] That's all a fine phrase for robbery.

BEATRICE _turns her clever face to him and begins to follow up her subject keenly_.

BEATRICE. My dear Edward . . I understand you've been robbing your rich clients for the benefit of the poor ones?

ALICE. [_who hasn't missed a word._] That's true.

EDWARD. [_gently._] Well . . we're all a bit in debt to the poor, aren't we?

BEATRICE. Quite so. And you don't possess and your father didn't possess that innate sense of the sacredness of property . . . [_she enjoys that phrase._] which alone can make a truly honest man. Nor did the man possess it who picked my pocket last Friday week . . nor does the tax-gatherer . . . nor do I. Your father's freedom from prejudice was tempered by a taste for Power and Display. Yours is by Charity. But that's all the difference I'll admit between you. Robbery! . . it's a beautiful word.

EDWARD. [_a little pained by as much of this as he takes to be serious._] I think he might have told me the truth.

BEATRICE. Perhaps he didn't know it! Would you have believed him?

EDWARD. Perhaps not. But I loved him.

BEATRICE _looks again at the gentle, earnest face_.

BEATRICE. After as well as before?

EDWARD. Yes. And not from mere force of habit either.

BEATRICE. [_with reverence in her voice now._] That should silence a bench of judges. Well . . well . .

_Her sewing finished, she stuffs the things into her basket, gets up in her abrupt unconventional way and goes without another word. Her brain is busy with the Voysey Inheritance._ EDWARD _and_ ALICE _are left in chairs by the fire, facing each other like an old domestic couple_.

EDWARD. Stay and speak to me.

ALICE. I want to. Something more serious has happened since dinner.

EDWARD. I'm glad you can see that.

ALICE. What is it?

EDWARD. [_with sudden exultation._] The smash has come . . and not by my fault. Old George Booth--

ALICE. Has he been here?

EDWARD. Can you imagine it? That old man forced me into telling him the truth. I told him to take what money of his there was, and prosecute. He won't prosecute, but he bargains to take the money . . and further to bleed us, sovereign by sovereign, as I earn sovereign by sovereign with the sweat of my soul. I'll see him in his Christian Heaven first . . the Jew!

ALICE. [_keeping her head._] You can't reason with him?

EDWARD. He thinks he has the whip hand and he means to use it. Also the Vicar has been told . . who has told his wife. She knows how not to keep a secret. The smash has come at last.

ALICE. So you're glad?

EDWARD. Thankful. My conscience is clear. I've done my best. [_then as usual with him, his fervour collapses._] And oh, Alice . . has it been worth doing?

ALICE. [_encouragingly._] Half a dozen people pulled out of the fire.

EDWARD. If only that isn't found out! I've bungled this job, Alice. I feared all along I should. It was work for a strong man . . not for me.

ALICE. Work for a patient man.

EDWARD. You use kind words. But I've never shirked the truth about myself. My father said mine was a weak nature. He knew.

ALICE. You have a religious nature.