And
sorrow makes one indifferent to the conventionalities of life.
GERALD. Excuse me, father: do you mind if I go and write a letter I
have on my conscience?
MR. BARLOW. No, my boy. (Exit GERALD.) We have had our share of
sorrow and of conflict, Miss Wrath, as you may have gathered.
ANABEL. Yes--a little.
MR. BARLOW. The mines were opened when my father was a boy--the
first--and I was born late, when he was nearly fifty. So that all
my life has been involved with coal and colliers. As a young man, I
was gay and thoughtless. But I married young, and we lost our first
child through a terrible accident. Two children we have lost through
sudden and violent death. (WINIFRED goes out unnoticed.) It made me
reflect. And when I came to reflect, Anabel, I could not justify my
position in life. If I believed in the teachings of the New
Testament--which I did, and do--how could I keep two or three
thousand men employed and underground in the mines, at a wage, let us
say, of two pounds a week, whilst I lived in this comfortable house,
and took something like two thousand pounds a year--let us name any
figure---
ANABEL. Yes, of course. But is it money that really matters, Mr.
Barlow?
MR. BARLOW. My dear, if you are a working man, it matters. When I
went into the homes of my poor fellows, when they were ill or had had
accidents--then I knew it mattered.
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