MR. COLPUS. [_tactful at once._] Not that the work is not universally admired. I have heard Hugh's design praised by quite competent judges.

But certainly I feel now it might have been wiser to have delayed the unveiling until the money was forthcoming.

TREGONING. Never deliver goods to the Church on credit.

MR. COLPUS. Eh? [TREGONING _knows he is a little hard of hearing_.]

MR. VOYSEY. Well, as it was my wish that my son should do the design, I suppose in the end I shall have to send you a cheque.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Anonymously.

MR. COLPUS. Oh, that would be--

MR. VOYSEY. No, why should I? Here, George Booth, you shall halve it with me.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I'm d.a.m.ned if I do.

MR. COLPUS. [_proceeding, conveniently deaf._] You remember that at the meeting we had of the parents and friends to decide on the positions of the names of the poor fellows and the regiments and coats of arms and so on . . when Hugh said so violently that he disapproved of the war and made all those remarks about land-lords and Bibles and said he thought of putting in a figure of Britannia blushing for shame or something . .

I'm beginning to fear that may have created a bad impression.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Why should they mind . . what on earth does Hugh know about war? He couldn't tell a battery horse from a bandsman. I don't pretend to criticise art. I think the window'd be very pretty if it wasn't so broken up into bits.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_fortified by his "d.a.m.ned" and his last gla.s.s of port._] These young men are so ready with their disapproval. Criticism starts in the cradle nowadays. When I was young, people weren't always questioning this and questioning that.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Lack of discipline.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_hurrying on._] The way a man now even stops to think what he's eating and drinking. And in religious matters . . Vicar, I put it to you . . there's no uniformity at all.

MR. COLPUS. Ah . . I try to keep myself free from the disturbing influences of modern thought.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Young men must be forming their own opinions about this and their opinions about that. You know, Edward, you're worse even than Hugh is.

EDWARD. [_glancing up mildly at this sudden attack._] What have I done, Mr. Booth?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_not the readiest of men._] Well . . aren't you one of those young men who go about the world making difficulties?

EDWARD. What sort of difficulties?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_triumphantly._] Just so . . I never can make out.

Surely when you're young you can ask the advice of your elders and when you grow up you find Laws . . lots of laws divine and human laid down for our guidance. [_Well in possession of the conversation he spreads his little self._] I look back over a fairly long life and . . perhaps I should say by Heaven's help . . I find nothing that I can honestly reproach myself with. And yet I don't think I ever took more than five minutes to come to a decision upon any important point. One's private life is, I think, one's own affair . . I should allow no one to pry into that. But as to worldly things . . well, I have come into several sums of money and my capital is still intact . . ask your father. [MR. VOYSEY _nods gravely_.] I've never robbed any man. I've never lied over anything that mattered. As a citizen I pay my taxes without grumbling very much. Yes, and I sent conscience money too upon one occasion. I consider that any man who takes the trouble can live the life of a gentleman. [_and he finds that his cigar is out._]

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_not to be outdone by this display of virtue._]

Well, I'm not a conceited man, but--

TREGONING. Are you sure, Booth?

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Shut up. I was going to say when my young cub of a brother-in-law-to-be interrupted me, that =Training=, for which we all have to be thankful to you, Sir, has much to do with it. [_suddenly he pulls his trousers against his legs._] I say, I'm scorching! D'you want another cigar, Denis?

TREGONING. No, thank you.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. I do.

_And he glances round, but_ TREGONING _sees a box on the table and reaches it. The Vicar gets up._

MR. COLPUS. M-m-m-must be taking my departure.

MR. VOYSEY. Already!

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_frowning upon the cigar box._] No, not those.

Where are the Ramon Allones? What on earth has Honor done with them?

MR. VOYSEY. Spare time for a chat with Mrs. Voysey before you go. She has ideas about a children's tea fight.

MR. COLPUS. Certainly I will.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_scowling helplessly around._] My goodness! . . one can never find anything in this house.

MR. COLPUS. I won't say good-bye then.

_He is sliding through the half opened door when_ ETHEL _meets him flinging it wide. She is the younger daughter, the baby of the family, but twenty-three now._

MR. VOYSEY. I say, it's cold again to-night! An a.s.s of an architect who built this place . . such a draught between these two doors.

_He gets up to draw the curtain. When he turns_ COLPUS _has disappeared, while_ ETHEL _has been followed into the room by_ ALICE MAITLAND, _who shuts the door after her_. MISS ALICE MAITLAND _is a young lady of any age to thirty. Nor need her appearance alter for the next fifteen years; since her nature is healthy and well-balanced. She possesses indeed the sort of athletic chast.i.ty which is a characteristic charm of Northern spinsterhood. It mayn't be a pretty face, but it has alertness and humour; and the resolute eyes and eyebrows are a more innocent edition of_ MR. VOYSEY'S, _who is her uncle_. ETHEL _goes straight to her father_ [_though her glance is on_ DENIS _and his on her_] _and chirps, birdlike, in her spoiled-child way_.

ETHEL. We think you've stayed in here quite long enough.

MR. VOYSEY. That's to say, Ethel thinks Denis has been kept out of her pocket much too long.

ETHEL. Ethel wants billiards . . not proper billiards . . snooker or something. Oh, Papa, what a dessert you've eaten. Greedy pig!

ALICE _is standing behind_ EDWARD, _considering his hair-parting apparently_.

ALICE. Crack me a filbert, please, Edward . . I had none.

EDWARD. [_jumping up, rather formally, well-mannered._] I beg your pardon, Alice. Won't you sit down?

ALICE. No.

MR. VOYSEY. [_taking_ ETHEL _on his knee_.] Come here, puss. Have you made up your mind yet what you want for a wedding present?

ETHEL. [_rectifying a stray hair in his beard._] After mature consideration, I decide on a cheque.

MR. VOYSEY. Do you!

ETHEL. Yes, I think that a cheque will give most scope to your generosity. Of course, if you desire to add any tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs in the shape of a piano or a Turkey carpet you may . . and Denis and I will be very grateful. But I think I'd let yourself go over a cheque.

MR. VOYSEY. You're a minx.

ETHEL. What is the use of having money if you don't spend it on me?