The general.  You take it devilishly coolly.  Reginald:  do you think the Barmecide’s quite sane?

Reginald.  No worse than ever he was.

The general [to the Bishop] Do you mean to say you believe such a thing will ever happen in England as that respectable people will give up being married?

The bishop.  In England especially they will.  In other countries the introduction of reasonable divorce laws will save the situation; but in England we always let an institution strain itself until it breaks.  Ive told our last four Prime Ministers that if they didnt make our marriage laws reasonable there would be a strike against marriage, and that it would begin among the propertied classes, where no Government would dare to interfere with it.

Reginald.  What did they say to that?

The bishop.  The usual thing.  Quite agreed with me, but were sure that they were the only sensible men in the world, and that the least hint of marriage reform would lose them the next election.  And then lost it all the same:  on cordite, on drink, on Chinese labor in South Africa, on all sorts of trumpery.

Reginald [lurching across the kitchen towards the hearth with his hands in his pockets] It’s no use:  they wont listen to our sort. [Turning on them] Of course they have to make you a Bishop and Boxer a General, because, after all, their blessed rabble of snobs and cads and half-starved shopkeepers cant do government work; and the bounders and week-enders are too lazy and vulgar.  Theyd simply rot without us; but what do they ever do for us? what attention do they ever pay to what we say and what we want?  I take it that we Bridgenorths are a pretty typical English family of the sort that has always set things straight and stuck up for the right to think and believe according to our conscience.  But nowadays we are expected to dress and eat as the week-end bounders do, and to think and believe as the converted cannibals of Central Africa do, and to lie down and let every snob and every cad and every halfpenny journalist walk over us.  Why, theres not a newspaper in England today that represents what I call solid Bridgenorth opinion and tradition.  Half of them read as if they were published at the nearest mother’s meeting, and the other half at the nearest motor garage.  Do you call these chaps gentlemen?  Do you call them Englishmen?  I dont.[He throws himself disgustedly into the nearest chair].

The general [excited by Reginald’s eloquence] Do you see my uniform?  What did Collins say?  It strikes the eye.  It was meant to.  I put it on expressly to give the modern army bounder a smack in the eye.  Somebody has to set a right example by beginning.  Well, let it be a Bridgenorth.  I believe in family blood and tradition, by George.