Athene.  Except wills of our own.

Builder.  What do you want with wills of your own till you’re married?

Athene.  You forget mother!

Builder.  What about her?

Athene.  She’s very married.  Has she a will of her own?

Builder. [Sullenly] She’s learnt to know when I’m in the right.

Athene.  I don’t ever mean to learn to know when Guy’s in the right. 
Mother’s forty-one, and twenty-three years of that she’s been your wife. 
It’s a long time, father.  Don’t you ever look at her face?

Builder. [Troubled in a remote way] Rubbish!

Athene.  I didn’t want my face to get like that.

Builder.  With such views about marriage, what business had you to go near a man?  Come, now!

Athene.  Because I fell in love.

Builder.  Love leads to marriage—­and to nothing else, but the streets. 
What an example to your sister!

Athene.  You don’t know Maud any more than you knew me.  She’s got a will of her own too, I can tell you.

Builder.  Now, look here, Athene.  It’s always been my way to face accomplished facts.  What’s done can’t be undone; but it can be remedied.  You must marry this young——­at once, before it gets out.  He’s behaved like a ruffian:  but, by your own confession, you’ve behaved worse.  You’ve been bitten by this modern disease, this—­this, utter lack of common decency.  There’s an eternal order in certain things, and marriage is one of them; in fact, it’s the chief.  Come, now.  Give me a promise, and I’ll try my utmost to forget the whole thing.

Athene.  When we quarrelled, father, you said you didn’t care what became of me.

Builder.  I was angry.

Athene.  So you are now.

Builder.  Come, Athene, don’t be childish!  Promise me!

Athene. [With a little shudder] No!  We were on the edge of it.  But now
I’ve seen you again—­Poor mother!

Builder. [Very angry] This is simply blasphemous.  What do you mean by harping on your mother?  If you think that—­that—­she doesn’t—­that she isn’t—­

Athene.  Now, father!

Builder.  I’m damned if I’ll sit down under this injustice.  Your mother is—­is pretty irritating, I can tell you.  She—­she—­Everything suppressed.  And—­and no—­blood in her!

Athene.  I knew it!

Builder. [Aware that he has confirmed some thought in her that he had no intention of confirming] What’s that?

Athene.  Don’t you ever look at your own face, father?  When you shave, for instance.

Builder.  Of course I do.

Athene.  It isn’t satisfied, is it?

Builder.  I don’t know what on earth you mean.