Ralph. [In a low voice] The enemy stands within the gate, old chap.

Builder.  What’s that?

Ralph.  Let’s boss our own natures before we boss those of other people. 
Have a sleep on it, John, before you do anything.

Builder.  Sleep?  I hadn’t a wink last night.  If you’d passed the night
I had—­

Ralph.  I hadn’t many myself.

     Topping enters.

Builder.  Take this note to the Mayor with my compliments, and don’t bring back an answer.  Topping.  Very good, sir.  There’s a gentleman from the “Comet” in the hall, sir.  Would you see him for a minute, he says.

Builder.  Tell him to go to—­

     A voice says, “Mr Builder!” Builder turns to see the figure of the
     journalist in the hall doorway.  Topping goes out.

Journalist. [Advancing with his card] Mr Builder, it’s very good of you to see me.  I had the pleasure this morning—­I mean—­I tried to reach you when you left the Mayor’s.  I thought you would probably have your own side of this unfortunate matter.  We shall be glad to give it every prominence.

     Topping has withdrawn, and Ralph builder, at the window, stands
     listening.

Builder. [Drily, regarding the journalist, who has spoken in a pleasant and polite voice] Very good of you!

Journalist. Not at all, sir.  We felt that you would almost certainly have good reasons of your own which would put the matter in quite a different light.

Builder.  Good reasons?  I should think so!  I tell you—­a very little more of this liberty—­licence I call it—­and there isn’t a man who’ll be able to call himself head of a family.

Journalist. [Encouragingly] Quite!

Builder.  If the law thinks it can back up revolt, it’s damned well mistaken.  I struck my daughter—­I was in a passion, as you would have been.

Journalist. [Encouraging] I’m sure—­

Builder. [Glaring at him] Well, I don’t know that you would; you look a soft sort; but any man with any blood in him.

Journalist. Can one ask what she was doing, sir?  We couldn’t get that point quite clear.

Builder.  Doing?  I just had my arm round my wife, trying to induce her to come home with me after a little family tiff, and this girl came at me.  I lost my temper, and tapped her with my cane.  And—­that policeman brought by my own daughter—­a policeman!  If the law is going to enter private houses and abrogate domestic authority, where the hell shall we be?

Journalist. [Encouraging] No, I’m sure—­I’m sure!

Builder.  The maudlin sentimentality in these days is absolutely rotting this country.  A man can’t be master in his own house, can’t require his wife to fulfil her duties, can’t attempt to control the conduct of his daughters, without coming up against it and incurring odium.  A man can’t control his employees; he can’t put his foot down on rebellion anywhere, without a lot of humanitarians and licence-lovers howling at him.