ANABEL.  Oh, surely—–­

MR. BARLOW.  Yes, I know.  We have been a turbulent family, and we have had our share of sorrow, even more, perhaps, than of joys.  And sorrow makes one indifferent to the conventionalities of life.

GERALD.  Excuse me, father:  do you mind if I go and write a letter I have on my conscience?

MR. BARLOW.  No, my boy. (Exit GERALD.) We have had our share of sorrow and of conflict, Miss Wrath, as you may have gathered.

ANABEL.  Yes—­a little.

MR. BARLOW.  The mines were opened when my father was a boy—­the first—­and I was born late, when he was nearly fifty.  So that all my life has been involved with coal and colliers.  As a young man, I was gay and thoughtless.  But I married young, and we lost our first child through a terrible accident.  Two children we have lost through sudden and violent death. (WINIFRED goes out unnoticed.) It made me reflect.  And when I came to reflect, Anabel, I could not justify my position in life.  If I believed in the teachings of the New Testament—­which I did, and do—­how could I keep two or three thousand men employed and underground in the mines, at a wage, let us say, of two pounds a week, whilst I lived in this comfortable house, and took something like two thousand pounds a year—­let us name any figure—–­

ANABEL.  Yes, of course.  But is it money that really matters, Mr. Barlow?

MR. BARLOW.  My dear, if you are a working man, it matters.  When I went into the homes of my poor fellows, when they were ill or had had accidents—­then I knew it mattered.  I knew that the great disparity was wrong—­even as we are taught that it is wrong.

ANABEL.  Yes, I believe that the great disparity is a mistake.  But take their lives, Mr. Barlow.  Do you thing they would LIVE more, if they had more money?  Do you think the poor live less than the rich? —­is their life emptier?

MR. BARLOW.  Surely their lives would be better, Anabel.

OLIVER.  All our lives would be better, if we hadn’t to hang on in the perpetual tug-of-war, like two donkeys pulling at one carrot.  The ghastly tension of possessions, and struggling for possession, spoils life for everybody.

MR. BARLOW.  Yes, I know now, as I knew then, that it was wrong.  But how to avoid the wrong?  If I gave away the whole of my income, it would merely be an arbitrary dispensation of charity.  The money would still be mine to give, and those that received it would probably only be weakened instead of strengthened.  And then my wife was accustomed to a certain way of living, a certain establishment.  Had I any right to sacrifice her, without her consent?

ANABEL.  Why, no!

MR. BARLOW.  Again, if I withdrew from the Company, if I retired on a small income, I knew that another man would automatically take my place, and make it probably harder for the men.

ANABEL.  Of course—­while the system stands, if one makes self-sacrifice one only panders to the system, makes it fatter.