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-cla.s.s . . that is hopelessly out of date.

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

HUGH. . . Because it's the middle-cla.s.s ideal that you should respect your parents . . live with them . . think with them . . grow like them.

Natural affection and grat.i.tude! 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 grat.i.tude 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.