GERALD. Mother, you improve our already pretty reputation. Already
they say you are mad.
MRS. BARLOW (ringing violently). Let me be mad then. I am mad--
driven mad. One day I shall kill you, Gerald.
GERALD. You won't, mother because I sha'n't let you.
MRS. BARLOW. Let me!--let me! As if I should wait for you to let me!
GERALD. I am a match for you even in violence, come to that.
MRS. BARLOW. A match! A damp match. A wet match.
(Enter BUTLER.)
WILLIAM. You rang, madam?
MRS. BARLOW. Clear up those bits.--Where are you going to see that
white-faced fellow? Here?
GERALD. I think so.
MRS. BARLOW. You will STILL have them coming to the house, will you?
You will still let them trample in our private rooms, will you? Bah!
I ought to leave you to your own devices. (Exit.)
GERALD. When you've done that, William, ask Mr. Freer to come down
here.
WILLIAM. Yes, sir. (A pause. Exit WILLIAM.)
GERALD. So-o-o. You've had another glimpse of the family life.
ANABEL. Yes. Rather--disturbing.
GERALD. Not at all, when you're used to it. Mother isn't as mad as
she pretends to be.
ANABEL. I don't think she's mad at all. I think she has most
desperate courage.
GERALD. "Courage" is good. That's a new term for it.
ANABEL. Yes, courage. When a man says "courage" he means the
courage to die. A woman means the courage to live.
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