Ferrand.  Monsieur, I see perfectly your point of view.  It is very natural. [He bows and is silent.]

Mrs. Megan.  I don’t want’im hurt’cos o’ me.  Megan’ll get his mates to belt him—­bein’ foreign like he is.

Bertley.  Yes, never mind that.  It’s you I’m thinking of.

Mrs. Megan.  I’d sooner they’d hit me.

Wellwyn. [Suddenly.] Well said, my child!

Mrs. Megan.  ’Twasn’t his fault.

Ferrand. [Without irony—­to Wellwyn.] I cannot accept that
Monsieur.  The blame—­it is all mine.

Ann. [Entering suddenly from the house.] Daddy, they’re having an awful——!

     [The voices of professor Calway and sir Thomas Hoxton are
     distinctly heard.]

Calway.  The question is a much wider one, Sir Thomas.

Hoxton.  As wide as you like, you’ll never——­

     [Wellwyn pushes Ann back into the house and closes the door
     behind her.  The voices are still faintly heard arguing on the
     threshold.]

Bertley.  Let me go in here a minute, Wellyn.  I must finish speaking to her. [He motions Mrs. Megan towards the model’s room.] We can’t leave the matter thus.

Ferrand. [Suavely.] Do you desire my company, Monsieur?

     [Bertley, with a prohibitive gesture of his hand, shepherds the
     reluctant Mrs. Megan into the model’s room.]

Wellwyn. [Sorrowfully.] You shouldn’t have done this, Ferrand.  It wasn’t the square thing.

Ferrand. [With dignity.] Monsieur, I feel that I am in the wrong.  It was stronger than me.

[As he speaks, sir Thomas Hoxton and professor Calway enter from the house.  In the dim light, and the full cry of argument, they do not notice the figures at the fire.  Sir Thomas Hoxton leads towards the street door.]

Hoxton.  No, Sir, I repeat, if the country once commits itself to your views of reform, it’s as good as doomed.

Calway.  I seem to have heard that before, Sir Thomas.  And let me say at once that your hitty-missy cart-load of bricks regime——­

Hoxton.  Is a deuced sight better, sir, than your grand-motherly methods.  What the old fellow wants is a shock!  With all this socialistic molly-coddling, you’re losing sight of the individual.

Calway. [Swiftly.] You, sir, with your “devil take the hindmost,” have never even seen him.

     [Sir Thomas Hoxton, throwing back a gesture of disgust, steps
     out into the night, and falls heavily professor Calway,
     hastening to his rescue, falls more heavily still.]