_He turns to her, in wonder._

EDWARD. You?

ALICE. I'll risk your becoming a bad man. That's a big risk for me.

_He understands, and is calmed and made happy._

EDWARD. Then there is no more to be said, is there?

ALICE. Not now. [_as she drops this gentle hint she hears something--the hall door opening._] Here's Booth back again.

EDWARD. [_with a really mischievous grin._] He'll be so glad he's convinced me.

ALICE. I must go back to Honor, poor girl. I wonder she has a tear left.

_She leaves him, briskly, brightly; leaves her cousin with his mouth set and a light in his eyes._

THE FOURTH ACT

MR. VOYSEY'S _room at the office is_ EDWARD'S _now. It has somehow lost that brilliancy which the old man's occupation seemed to give it.

Perhaps it is only because this December morning is dull and depressing, but the fire isn't bright and the panels and windows don't shine as they did. There are no roses on the table either._ EDWARD, _walking in as his father did, hanging his hat and coat where his father's used to hang, is certainly the palest shadow of that other masterful presence. A depressed, drooping shadow too. This may be what_ PEACEY _feels, if no more, for he looks very surly as he obeys the old routine of following his chief to this room on his arrival. Nor has_ EDWARD _so much as a glance for his clerk. They exchange the formalest of greetings._ EDWARD _sits joylessly to his desk, on which the morning's pile of letters lies, unopened now_.

PEACEY. Good morning, sir.

EDWARD. Good morning, Peacey. Have you any notes for me?

PEACEY. Well, I've hardly been through the letters yet, sir.

EDWARD. [_his eyebrows meeting._] Oh . . and I'm half an hour late myself this morning.

PEACEY. I'm very sorry, sir.

EDWARD. If Mr. Bullen calls you had better show him all those papers I gave you. Write to Metcalfe as soon as possible; say I interviewed Mr.

Vickery myself this morning and the houses will not be proceeded with.

Better let me see the letter.

PEACEY. Very good, sir.

EDWARD. That's all, thank you.

PEACEY _gets to the door, where he stops, looking not only surly but nervous now_.

PEACEY. May I speak to you a moment, sir?

EDWARD. Certainly.

PEACEY, _after a moment, makes an effort, purses his mouth and begins_.

PEACEY. Bills are beginning to come in upon me as is usual at this season, sir. My son's allowance at Cambridge is now rather a heavy item of my expenditure. I hope that the custom of the firm isn't to be neglected now that you are the head of it, Mr. Edward. Two hundred your father always made it at Christmas . . in notes if you please.

_Towards the end of this_ EDWARD _begins to pay great attention. When he answers his voice is harsh._

EDWARD. Oh, to be sure . . your hush money.

PEACEY. [_bridling._] That's not a very pleasant word.

EDWARD. This is a very unpleasant subject.

PEACEY. I'm sure it isn't my wish to bring out in cold conversation what I know of the firm's position. Your father always gave me the notes in an envelope when he shook hands with me at Christmas.

EDWARD. [_blandly._] And I've been waiting for you to ask me.

PEACEY. Well, we'll say no more about it. There's always a bit of friction in coming to an understanding about anything, isn't there, sir?

_He is going when_ EDWARD'S _question stops him_.

EDWARD. Why didn't you speak to me about this last Christmas?

PEACEY. I knew you were upset at your father's death.

EDWARD. No, no, my father died the August before that.

PEACEY. Well . . truthfully, Mr. Edward?

EDWARD. As truthfully as you think suitable.

_The irony of this is wasted on_ PEACEY, _who becomes pleasantly candid_.

PEACEY. Well, I couldn't make you out last Christmas. I'd always thought there must be a smash when your father died . . but it didn't come. But then again at Christmas you seemed all on edge and I didn't know what might happen. So I thought I'd better keep quiet and say nothing.

EDWARD. I see. This little pull of yours over the firm is an inheritance from your father, isn't it?

PEACEY. [_discreetly._] When he retired, sir, he said to me . . I've told the Governor you know what I know. And Mr. Voysey said to me . . I treat you as I did your father, Peacey. I never had another word on the subject with him.

EDWARD. A very decent arrangement. Your son's at Cambridge you say, Peacey?

PEACEY. Yes.

EDWARD. I wonder you didn't bring him into the firm.

PEACEY. [_taking this very kind._] Thank you, sir . . I thought of it.

But then I thought that two generations going in for this sort of thing was enough.

EDWARD. That's a matter of taste.