rmly]. It is true that
Napoleon said that woman is the occupation of the idle man. But he added
that she is the relaxation of the warrior. Well, I am the warrior. So
take care.

LADY UTTERWORD [not in the least put out, and rather pleased by his
violence]. My dear Hector, I have only done what you asked me to do.

HECTOR. How do you make that out, pray?

LADY UTTERWORD. You called me in to manage Randall, didn't you? You said
you couldn't manage him yourself.

HECTOR. Well, what if I did? I did not ask you to drive the man mad.

LADY UTTERWORD. He isn't mad. That's the way to manage him. If you were
a mother, you'd understand.

HECTOR. Mother! What are you up to now?

LADY UTTERWORD. It's quite simple. When the children got nerves and
were naughty, I smacked them just enough to give them a good cry and
a healthy nervous shock. They went to sleep and were quite good
afterwards. Well, I can't smack Randall: he is too big; so when he gets
nerves and is naughty, I just rag him till he cries. He will be all
right now. Look: he is half asleep already [which is quite true].

RANDALL [waking up indignantly]. I'm not. You are most cruel, Ariadne.
[Sentimentally]. But I suppose I must forgive you, as usual [he checks
himself in the act of yawning].

LADY UTTERWORD [to Hector]. Is the explanation satisfactory, dread
warrior?

HECTOR. Some day I shall kill you, if you go too far. I thought you were
a fool.

LADY UTTERWORD [laughing]. Everybody does, at first. But I am not such
a fool as I look. [She rises complacently]. Now, Randall, go to bed. You
will be a good boy in the morning.

RANDALL [only very faintly rebellious]. I'll go to bed when I like. It
isn't ten yet.

LADY UTTERWORD. It is long past ten. See that he goes to bed at once,
Hector. [She goes into the garden].

HECTOR. Is there any slavery on earth viler than this slavery of men to
women?

RANDALL [rising resolutely]. I'll not speak to her tomorrow. I'll not
speak to her for another week. I'll give her such a lesson. I'll go
straight to bed without bidding her good-night. [He makes for the door
leading to the hall].

HECTOR. You are under a spell, man. Old Shotover sold himself to the
devil in Zanzibar. The devil gave him a black witch for a wife; and
these two demon daughters are their mystical progeny. I am tied to
Hesione's apron-string; but I'm her husband; and if I did go stark
staring mad about her, at least we became man and wife. But why s