LADY CHESHIRE. Don't talk like that, dear!
BILL. I would, for two straws!
LADY CHESHIRE. It's only because your father thinks such a lot of
the place, and the name, and your career. The Cheshires are all like
that. They've been here so long; they're all--root.
BILL. Deuced funny business my career will be, I expect!
LADY CHESHIRE. [Fluttering, but restraining herself lest he should
see] But, Bill, why must you spend more than your allowance?
BILL. Why--anything? I didn't make myself.
LADY CHESHIRE. I'm afraid we did that. It was inconsiderate,
perhaps.
BILL. Yes, you'd better have left me out.
LADY CHESHIRE. But why are you so--Only a little fuss about money!
BILL. Ye-es.
LADY CHESHIRE. You're not keeping anything from me, are you?
BILL. [Facing her] No. [He then turns very deliberately to the
writing things, and takes up a pen] I must write these letters,
please.
LADY CHESHIRE. Bill, if there's any real trouble, you will tell me,
won't you?
BILL. There's nothing whatever.
He suddenly gets up and walks about. LADY CHESHIRE, too, moves
over to the fireplace, and after an uneasy look at him, turns to
the fire. Then, as if trying to switch of his mood, she changes
the subject abruptly.
LADY CHESHIRE. Isn't it a pity about young Dunning? I'm so sorry
for Rose Taylor.
There is a silence.
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