Lady Cheshire.  It’s simple misery.

Bill. [Pointing to the workroom] Go and wait in there, Freda.

Lady Cheshire. [Quickly] And are you still in love with her?

     Freda, moving towards the workroom, smothers a sob.

Bill.  Of course I am.

     Freda has gone, and as she goes, lady Cheshire rises suddenly,
     forced by the intense feeling she has been keeping in hand.

Lady Cheshire.  Bill!  Oh, Bill!  What does it all mean? [Bill, looking from side to aide, only shrugs his shoulders] You are not in love with her now.  It’s no good telling me you are.

Bill.  I am.

Lady Cheshire.  That’s not exactly how you would speak if you were.

Bill.  She’s in love with me.

Lady Cheshire. [Bitterly] I suppose so.

Bill.  I mean to see that nobody runs her down.

Lady Cheshire. [With difficulty] Bill!  Am I a hard, or mean woman?

Bill.  Mother!

Lady Cheshire.  It’s all your life—­and—­your father’s—­and—­all of us.  I want to understand—­I must understand.  Have you realised what an awful thins this would be for us all?  It’s quite impossible that it should go on.

Bill.  I’m always in hot water with the Governor, as it is.  She and
I’ll take good care not to be in the way.

Lady Cheshire.  Tell me everything!

Bill.  I have.

Lady Cheshire.  I’m your mother, Bill.

Bill.  What’s the good of these questions?

Lady Cheshire.  You won’t give her away—­I see!

Bill.  I’ve told you all there is to tell.  We’re engaged, we shall be married quietly, and—­and—­go to Canada.

Lady Cheshire.  If there weren’t more than that to tell you’d be in love with her now.

Bill.  I’ve told you that I am.

Lady Cheshire.  You are not. [Almost fiercely] I know—­I know there’s more behind.

Bill.  There—­is—­nothing.

Lady Cheshire. [Baffled, but unconvinced] Do you mean that your love for her has been just what it might have been for a lady?

Bill. [Bitterly] Why not?

Lady Cheshire. [With painful irony] It is not so as a rule.

Bill.  Up to now I’ve never heard you or the girls say a word against
Freda.  This isn’t the moment to begin, please.

Lady Cheshire. [Solemnly] All such marriages end in wretchedness.  You haven’t a taste or tradition in common.  You don’t know what marriage is.  Day after day, year after year.  It’s no use being sentimental—­for people brought up as we are to have different manners is worse than to have different souls.  Besides, it’s poverty.  Your father will never forgive you, and I’ve practically nothing.  What can you do?  You have no profession.  How are you going to stand it; with a woman who—?  It’s the little things.