Con. Why, where is all the zeal you showed of late? is’t thus that you the Roman Matron play?  Trick not a statute of your own devising.  Come, your official’s waiting—­let him in! (C’s.  M. shrinks back appalled.) So? you refuse!—­(throwing open door)—­then—­enter, Scissorman!

[Enter the Scissorman, masked and in red tights, with his hand upon the hilt of his shears.

The S. (in a passionless tone). Though sorry to create unpleasantness, I claim the thumbs of this young gentleman, which my own eyes have marked between his lips.

C’s.  M. (frantically). Thou minion of a meddling tyranny, go exercise thy loathsome trade elsewhere!

The S. (civilly). I’ve duties here that must be first performed.

C’s.  M. (wildly). Take my thumbs for his!

The S. ’Tis not the law—­which is a model of lucidity.

Con. (calmly). Sir, you speak well.  My thumbs are forfeited, and they alone must pay the penalty.

The S. (with approval). Right!  Step with me into the outer hall, and have the business done without delay.

C’s.  M. (throwing herself between them). Stay!  I’m a Councillor—­this law was mine! Hereby I do suspend the clause I drew.

The S. You should have drawn it milder.

Con. Must I teach a parent laws were meant to be obeyed? [To Sc.] Lead on, Sir. (To his Mother with cold courtesy.) Madam,—­may I trouble you?

[He thrusts her gently aside and passes out with the S.; the door is shut and fastened from without. C’s.  M. rushes to door which she attempts to force without success.

C’s.  M. In vain I batter at a senseless door, I’ll to the keyhole train my tortured ear. (Listening.) Dead silence!... is it over—­or, to come?  Hark! was not that the click of meeting shears?...  Again! and followed by the sullen thud of thumbs that drop upon linoleum!...

[The door is opened and CONRAD appears, pale but erect,—­N.B.  The whole of this scene has been compared to one in “La Tosca”—­which, however, it exceeds in horror and intensity.

C’s.  M. They send him back to me, bereft of both!  My CONRAD!  What?—­repulse a Mother’s Arms!

Con. (with chilling composure). Yes, Madam, for between us ever more, a barrier invisible is raised, and should I strive to reach those arms again, two spectral thumbs would press me coldly back—­the thumbs I sucked, in blissful ignorance, the thumbs that solaced me in solitude, the thumbs your County Council took from me, and your endearments scarcely will replace!  Where, Madam, lay the harm in sucking them?  The dog will lick his foot, the cat her claw, his paws sustain the hibernating bear—­and you decree no law to punish them!  Yet, in your rage for infantine reform, you rushed this most ridiculous enactment—­its earliest victim your neglected son!