ve different
manners is worse than to have different souls. Besides, it's
poverty. Your father will never forgive you, and I've practically
nothing. What can you do? You have no profession. How are you
going to stand it; with a woman who--? It's the little things.

BILL. I know all that, thanks.

LADY CHESHIRE. Nobody does till they've been through it. Marriage
is hard enough when people are of the same class. [With a sudden
movement towards him] Oh! my dear-before it's too late!

BILL. [After a struggle] It's no good.

LADY CHESHIRE. It's not fair to her. It can only end in her misery.

BILL. Leave that to me, please.

LADY CHESHIRE. [With an almost angry vehemence] Only the very
finest can do such things. And you don't even know what trouble's
like.

BILL. Drop it, please, mother.

LADY CHESHIRE. Bill, on your word of honour, are you acting of your
own free will?

BILL. [Breaking away from her] I can't stand any more.
[He goes out into the workroom.]

LADY CHESHIRE. What in God's name shall I do?

In her distress she walks up and doom the room, then goes to the
workroom door, and opens it.

LADY CHESHIRE. Come in here, please, Freda.

After a seconds pause, FREDA, white and trembling, appears in
the doorway, followed by BILL.

LADY CHESHIRE. No, Bill. I want to speak to her alone.

BILL, does not move.

LADY CHESHIRE. [Icily] I must ask you to leave us.

BILL hesitates; then shrugging his shoulders, he touches FREDA's
arms, and goes back into the workroom, closing the door. There
is silence.

LADY CHESHIRE. How did it come about?

FREDA. I don't know, my lady.

LADY CHESHIRE. For heaven's sake, child, don't call me that again,
whatever happens. [She walks to the window, and speaks from there]
I know well enough how love comes. I don't blame you. Don't cry.
But, you see, it's my eldest son. [FREDA puts her hand to her
breast] Yes, I know. Women always get the worst of these things.
That's natural. But it's not only you is it? Does any one guess?

FREDA. No.

LADY CHESHIRE. Not even your father? [FREDA shakes her head] There's
nothing more dreadful than for a woman to hang like a stone round a
man's neck. How far has it gone? Tell me!

FREDA. I can't.

LADY CHESHIRE. Come!

FREDA. I--won't.

LADY CHESHIRE. [Smiling painfully]. Won't give him away? Both of
you the same. What's the use of that w