Scantlebury.  Very reasonable—­you must see that, Chairman.

Anthony.  We owe it to other employers to stand firm.

Wanklin.  There’s a limit to that.

Anthony.  You were all full of fight at the start.

Scantlebury. [With a sort of groan.] We thought the men would give in, but they-have n’t!

Anthony.  They will!

Wilder. [Rising and pacing up and down.] I can’t have my reputation as a man of business destroyed for the satisfaction of starving the men out. [Almost in tears.] I can’t have it!  How can we meet the shareholders with things in the state they are?

Scantlebury.  Hear, hear—­hear, hear!

Wilder. [Lashing himself.] If any one expects me to say to them I’ve lost you fifty thousand pounds and sooner than put my pride in my pocket I’ll lose you another. [Glancing at Anthony.] It’s—­it’s unnatural!  I don’t want to go against you, sir.

Wanklin. [Persuasively.] Come Chairman, we ’re not free agents.  We’re part of a machine.  Our only business is to see the Company earns as much profit as it safely can.  If you blame me for want of principle:  I say that we’re Trustees.  Reason tells us we shall never get back in the saving of wages what we shall lose if we continue this struggle—­really, Chairman, we must bring it to an end, on the best terms we can make.

Anthony.  No.

     [There is a pause of general dismay.]

Wilder.  It’s a deadlock then. [Letting his hands drop with a sort of despair.] Now I shall never get off to Spain!

Wanklin. [Retaining a trace of irony.] You hear the consequences of your victory, Chairman?

Wilder. [With a burst of feeling.] My wife’s ill!

Scantlebury.  Dear, dear!  You don’t say so.

Wilder.  If I don’t get her out of this cold, I won’t answer for the consequences.

     [Through the double-doors Edgar comes in looking very grave.]

Edgar. [To his Father.] Have you heard this, sir?  Mrs. Roberts is dead!

     [Every one stages at him, as if trying to gauge the importance
     of this news.]

Enid saw her this afternoon, she had no coals, or food, or anything.  It’s enough!

     [There is a silence, every one avoiding the other’s eyes, except
     Anthony, who stares hard at his son.]

Scantlebury.  You don’t suggest that we could have helped the poor thing?

Wilder. [Flustered.] The woman was in bad health.  Nobody can say there’s any responsibility on us.  At least—­not on me.

Edgar. [Hotly.] I say that we are responsible.

Anthony.  War is war!

Edgar.  Not on women!

Wanklin.  It not infrequently happens that women are the greatest sufferers.