, my own
grandfather----!

LADY CHESHIRE. Does he help?

SIR WILLIAM. [Stares before him in silence-suddenly] You must go to
the girl. She's soft. She'll never hold out against you.

LADY CHESHIRE. I did before I knew what was in front of her--I said
all I could. I can't go again now. I can't do it, Bill.

SIR WILLIAM. What are you going to do, then--fold your hands? [Then
as LADY CHESHIRE makes a move of distress.] If he marries her, I've
done with him. As far as I'm concerned he'll cease to exist. The
title--I can't help. My God! Does that meet your wishes?

LADY CHESHIRE. [With sudden fire] You've no right to put such an
alternative to me. I'd give ten years of my life to prevent this
marriage. I'll go to Bill. I'll beg him on my knees.

SIR WILLIAM. Then why can't you go to the girl? She deserves no
consideration. It's not a question of morality: Morality be d---d!

LADY CHESHIRE. But not self-respect....

SIR WILLIAM. What! You're his mother!

LADY CHESHIRE. I've tried; I [putting her hand to her throat] can't
get it out.

SIR WILLIAM. [Staring at her] You won't go to her? It's the only
chance. [LADY CHESHIRE turns away.]

SIR WILLIAM. In the whole course of our married life, Dorothy, I've
never known you set yourself up against me. I resent this, I warn
you--I resent it. Send the girl to me. I'll do it myself.

With a look back at him LADY CHESHIRE goes out into the
corridor.

SIR WILLIAM. This is a nice end to my day!

He takes a small china cup from of the mantel-piece; it breaks
with the pressure of his hand, and falls into the fireplace.
While he stands looking at it blankly, there is a knock.

SIR WILLIAM. Come in!

FREDA enters from the corridor.

SIR WILLIAM. I've asked you to be good enough to come, in order
that--[pointing to chair]--You may sit down.

But though she advances two or three steps, she does not sit
down.

SIR WILLIAM. This is a sad business.

FREDA. [Below her breath] Yes, Sir William.

SIR WILLIAM. [Becoming conscious of the depths of feeling before
him] I--er--are you attached to my son?

FREDA. [In a whisper] Yes.

SIR WILLIAM. It's very painful to me to have to do this. [He turns
away from her and speaks to the fire.] I sent for you--to--ask--
[quickly] How old are you?

FREDA. Twenty-two.

SIR WILLIAM. [More resolutely] Do you expect me to sanction such a
mad idea as a marriage