It is five o’clock.  In the Underwoods’ drawing-room, which is artistically furnished, Enid is sitting on the sofa working at a baby’s frock.  Edgar, by a little spindle-legged table in the centre of the room, is fingering a china-box.  His eyes are fixed on the double-doors that lead into the dining-room.

Edgar. [Putting down the china-box, and glancing at his watch.] Just on five, they’re all in there waiting, except Frank.  Where’s he?

Enid.  He’s had to go down to Gasgoyne’s about a contract.  Will you want him?

Edgar.  He can’t help us.  This is a director’s job. [Motioning towards a single door half hidden by a curtain.] Father in his room?

Enid.  Yes.

Edgar.  I wish he’d stay there, Enid.

     [Enid looks up at him.  This is a beastly business, old girl?]

     [He takes up the little box again and turns it over and over.]

Enid.  I went to the Roberts’s this afternoon, Ted.

Edgar.  That was n’t very wise.

Enid.  He’s simply killing his wife.

Edgar.  We are you mean.

Enid. [Suddenly.] Roberts ought to give way!

Edgar.  There’s a lot to be said on the men’s side.

Enid.  I don’t feel half so sympathetic with them as I did before I went.  They just set up class feeling against you.  Poor Annie was looking dread fully bad—­fire going out, and nothing fit for her to eat.

     [Edgar walks to and fro.]

But she would stand up for Roberts.  When you see all this wretchedness going on and feel you can do nothing, you have to shut your eyes to the whole thing.

Edgar.  If you can.

Enid.  When I went I was all on their side, but as soon as I got there I began to feel quite different at once.  People talk about sympathy with the working classes, they don’t know what it means to try and put it into practice.  It seems hopeless.

Edgar.  Ah! well.

Enid.  It’s dreadful going on with the men in this state.  I do hope the Dad will make concessions.

Edgar.  He won’t. [Gloomily.] It’s a sort of religion with him.  Curse it!  I know what’s coming!  He’ll be voted down.

Enid.  They would n’t dare!

Edgar.  They will—­they’re in a funk.

Enid. [Indignantly.] He’d never stand it!

Edgar. [With a shrug.] My dear girl, if you’re beaten in a vote, you’ve got to stand it.

Enid.  Oh! [She gets up in alarm.] But would he resign?

Edgar.  Of course!  It goes to the roots of his beliefs.

Enid.  But he’s so wrapped up in this company, Ted!  There’d be nothing left for him!  It’d be dreadful!