Barthwick. [Frowning.] The representation of all parties is necessary for any proper reform, for any proper social policy.

Mrs. Barthwick.  I’ve no patience with your talk of reform—­all that nonsense about social policy.  We know perfectly well what it is they want; they want things for themselves.  Those Socialists and Labour men are an absolutely selfish set of people.  They have no sense of patriotism, like the upper classes; they simply want what we’ve got.

Barthwick.  Want what we’ve got! [He stares into space.] My dear, what are you talking about? [With a contortion.] I ’m no alarmist.

Mrs. Barthwick.  Cream?  Quite uneducated men!  Wait until they begin to tax our investments.  I ’m convinced that when they once get a chance they will tax everything—­they ’ve no feeling for the country.  You Liberals and Conservatives, you ’re all alike; you don’t see an inch before your noses.  You’ve no imagination, not a scrap of imagination between you.  You ought to join hands and nip it in the bud.

Barthwick.  You ’re talking nonsense!  How is it possible for Liberals and Conservatives to join hands, as you call it?  That shows how absurd it is for women——­Why, the very essence of a Liberal is to trust in the people!

Mrs. Barthwick.  Now, John, eat your breakfast.  As if there were any real difference between you and the Conservatives.  All the upper classes have the same interests to protect, and the same principles. [Calmly.] Oh! you’re sitting upon a volcano, John.

Barthwick.  What!

Mrs. Barthwick.  I read a letter in the paper yesterday.  I forget the man’s name, but it made the whole thing perfectly clear.  You don’t look things in the face.

Barthwick.  Indeed! [Heavily.] I am a Liberal!  Drop the subject, please!

Mrs. Barthwick.  Toast?  I quite agree with what this man says:  Education is simply ruining the lower classes.  It unsettles them, and that’s the worst thing for us all.  I see an enormous difference in the manner of servants.

Barthwick, [With suspicious emphasis.] I welcome any change that will lead to something better. [He opens a letter.] H’m!  This is that affair of Master Jack’s again.  “High Street, Oxford.  Sir, We have received Mr. John Barthwick, Senior’s, draft for forty pounds!” Oh! the letter’s to him!  “We now enclose the cheque you cashed with us, which, as we stated in our previous letter, was not met on presentation at your bank.  We are, Sir, yours obediently, Moss and Sons, Tailors.”  H ’m! [Staring at the cheque.] A pretty business altogether!  The boy might have been prosecuted.

Mrs. Barthwick.  Come, John, you know Jack did n’t mean anything; he only thought he was overdrawing.  I still think his bank ought to have cashed that cheque.  They must know your position.