against the country.
They'll make you their figurehead. [MORE smiles] They will. Your
chance of the Cabinet will go--you may even have to resign your seat.

MORE. Dogs will bark. These things soon blow over.

KATHERINE. No, no! If you once begin a thing, you always go on; and
what earthly good?

MORE. History won't say: "And this they did without a single protest
from their public men!"

KATHERINE. There are plenty who----

MORE. Poets?

KATHERINE. Do you remember that day on our honeymoon, going up Ben
Lawers? You were lying on your face in the heather; you said it was
like kissing a loved woman. There was a lark singing--you said that
was the voice of one's worship. The hills were very blue; that's why
we had blue here, because it was the best dress of our country. You
do love her.

MORE. Love her!

KATHERINE. You'd have done this for me--then.

MORE. Would you have asked me--then, Kit?

KATHERINE. Yes. The country's our country! Oh! Stephen, think
what it'll be like for me--with Hubert and the other boys out there.
And poor Helen, and Father! I beg you not to make this speech.

MORE. Kit! This isn't fair. Do you want me to feel myself a cur?

KATHERINE. [Breathless] I--I--almost feel you'll be a cur to do it
[She looks at him, frightened by her own words. Then, as the footman
HENRY has come in to clear the table--very low] I ask you not!

[He does not answer, and she goes out.]

MORE [To the servant] Later, please, Henry, later!

The servant retires. MORE still stands looking down at the
dining-table; then putting his hand to his throat, as if to free
it from the grip of his collar, he pours out a glass of water,
and drinks it of. In the street, outside the bay window, two
street musicians, a harp and a violin, have taken up their
stand, and after some twangs and scrapes, break into music.
MORE goes towards the sound, and draws aside one curtain. After
a moment, he returns to the table, and takes up the notes of the
speech. He is in an agony of indecision.

MORE. A cur!

He seems about to tear his notes across. Then, changing his
mind, turns them over and over, muttering. His voice gradually
grows louder, till he is declaiming to the empty room the
peroration of his speech.

MORE. . . . We have arrogated to our land the title Champion of
Freedom, Foe of Oppression. Is that indeed a b