Bill. [With a sort of sullen exasperation.] A year ago.

Lady Cheshire.  The girls like her, so does your father; personally I must say I think she’s rather nice and Irish.

Bill.  She’s all right, I daresay.

     He looks round as if to show his mother that he wishes to be
     left alone.  But lady Cheshire, having seen that he is about to
     look at her, is not looking at him.

Lady Cheshire.  I’m afraid your father’s been talking to you, Bill.

Bill.  He has.

Lady Cheshire.  Debts?  Do try and make allowances. [With a faint smile] Of course he is a little——­

Bill.  He is.

Lady Cheshire.  I wish I could——­

Bill.  Oh, Lord!  Don’t you get mixed up in it!

Lady Cheshire.  It seems almost a pity that you told him.

Bill.  He wrote and asked me point blank what I owed.

Lady Cheshire.  Oh! [Forcing herself to speak in a casual voice] I happen to have a little money, Bill—­I think it would be simpler if——­

Bill.  Now look here, mother, you’ve tried that before.  I can’t help spending money, I never shall be able, unless I go to the Colonies, or something of the kind.

Lady Cheshire.  Don’t talk like that, dear!

Bill.  I would, for two straws!

Lady Cheshire.  It’s only because your father thinks such a lot of the place, and the name, and your career.  The Cheshires are all like that.  They’ve been here so long; they’re all—­root.

Bill.  Deuced funny business my career will be, I expect!

Lady Cheshire. [Fluttering, but restraining herself lest he should see] But, Bill, why must you spend more than your allowance?

Bill.  Why—­anything?  I didn’t make myself.

Lady Cheshire.  I’m afraid we did that.  It was inconsiderate, perhaps.

Bill.  Yes, you’d better have left me out.

Lady Cheshire.  But why are you so—­Only a little fuss about money!

Bill.  Ye-es.

Lady Cheshire.  You’re not keeping anything from me, are you?

Bill. [Facing her] No. [He then turns very deliberately to the writing things, and takes up a pen] I must write these letters, please.

Lady Cheshire.  Bill, if there’s any real trouble, you will tell me, won’t you?

Bill.  There’s nothing whatever.

He suddenly gets up and walks about.  Lady Cheshire, too, moves over to the fireplace, and after an uneasy look at him, turns to the fire.  Then, as if trying to switch of his mood, she changes the subject abruptly.

Lady Cheshire.  Isn’t it a pity about young Dunning?  I’m so sorry for Rose Taylor.