.

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.

      BILL. I know all that, thanks.

      LADY CHESHIRE. Nobody does till they've been through it. Marriage is hard enough when people are of the same class. [With a sudden movement towards him] Oh! my dear-before it's too late!

      BILL. [After a struggle] It's no good.

      LADY CHESHIRE. It's not fair to her. It can only end in her misery.

      BILL. Leave that to me, please.

      LADY CHESHIRE. [With an almost angry vehemence] Only the very finest can do such things. And you don't even know what trouble's like.

      BILL. Drop it, please, mother.

      LADY CHESHIRE. Bill, on your word of honour, are you acting of your own free will?

      BILL. [Breaking away from her] I can't stand any more. [He goes out into the workroom.]

      LADY CHESHIRE. What in God's name shall I do?

      In her distress she walks up and doom the room, then goes to the workroom door, and opens it.

      LADY CHESHIRE. Come in here, please, Freda.

      After a seconds pause, FREDA, white and trembling, appears in the doorway, followed by BILL.

      LADY CHESHIRE. No, Bill. I want to speak to her alone.

      BILL, does not move.

      LADY CHESHIRE. [Icily] I must ask you to leave us.

      BILL hesitates; then shrugging his shoulders, he touches FREDA's arms, and goes back into the workroom, closing the door. There is silence.

      LADY CHESHIRE. How did it come about?

      FREDA. I don't know, my lady.

      LADY CHESHIRE. For heaven's sake, child, don't call me that again, whatever happens. [She walks to the window, and speaks from there] I know well enough how love comes. I don't blame you. Don't cry. But, you see, it's my eldest son. [FREDA puts her hand to her breast] Yes, I know. Women always get the worst of these things. That's natural. But it's not only you is it? Does any one guess?

      FREDA. No.

      LADY CHESHIRE. Not even your father? [FREDA shakes her head] There's nothing more dreadful than for a woman to hang like a stone round a man's neck. How far has it gone? Tell me!

      FREDA. I can't.

      LADY CHESHIRE. Come!

      FREDA. I—won't.

      LADY CHESHIRE. [Smiling painfully]. Won't give him away? Both of you the same. What's the use of that with me? Look at me! Wasn't he with you when you went for your holiday this summer?

      FREDA. He's—always—behaved—like—a—gentleman.

      LADY CHESHIRE. Like a man you mean!

      FREDA. It hasn't been his fault! I love him so.

      LADY CHESHIRE turns abruptly, and begins to walk up and down the room. Then stopping, she looks intently at FREDA.

      LADY CHESHIRE. I don't know what to say to you. It's simple madness! It can't, and shan't go on.

      FREDA. [Sullenly] I know I'm not his equal, but I am—somebody.

      LADY CHESHIRE. [Answering this first assertion of rights with a sudden steeliness] Does he love you now?

      FREDA. That's not fair—it's not fair.

      LADY CHESHIRE. If men are like gunpowder, Freda, women are not. If you've lost him it's been your own fault.

      FREDA. But he does love me, he must. It's only four months.

      LADY CHESHIRE. [Looking down, and speaking rapidly] Listen to me. I love my son, but I know him—I know all his kind of man. I've lived with one for thirty years. I know the way their senses work. When they want a thing they must have it, and then—they're sorry.

      FREDA. [Sullenly] He's not sorry.

      LADY CHESHIRE. Is his love big enough to carry you both over everything?… You know it isn't.

      FREDA. If I were a lady, you wouldn't talk like that.

      LADY CHESHIRE. If you were a lady there'd be no trouble before either of you. You'll make him hate you.

      FREDA. I won't believe it. I could make him happy—out there.

      LADY CHESHIRE. I don't want to be so odious as to say all the things you must know. I only ask you to try and put yourself in our position.

      FREDA. Ah, yes!

      LADY CHESHIRE. You ought to know me better than to think I'm purely selfish.

      FREDA. Would you like to put yourself in my position?

      LADY CHESHIRE. What!

      FREDA. Yes. Just like Rose.

      LADY CHESHIRE. [In a low, horror-stricken voice] Oh!

      There is a dead silence, then going swiftly up to her, she looks straight into FREDA's eyes.

      FREDA. [Meeting her gaze] Oh! Yes—it's the truth. [Then to Bill who has come in from the workroom, she gasps out] I never meant to tell.

      BILL. Well, are you satisfied?

      LADY CHESHIRE. [Below her breath] This is terrible!

      BILL. The Governor had better know.

      LADY CHESHIRE. Oh! no; not yet!

      BILL. Waiting won't cure it!

      The door from the corridor is thrown open; CHRISTINE and DOT run in with their copies of the play in their hands; seeing that something is wrong, they stand still. After a look at his mother, BILL turns abruptly, and