SYDNEY. [_Impatiently_] My dear boy, I’ve never even seen him. Oh, of course it’s very sad, but I can’t go about with my handkerchief to my eyes all the time, can I? KIT. Yes--but-- SYDNEY. I hate cant. KIT. [_Leaning over the back of the sofa, his hands playing with her chain_] You little brute--you’re as hard as nails, aren’t you? SYDNEY. [_Putting up her face to him_] Am I? [_They kiss._] MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Passing through_] Really Sydney! Before lunch! KIT. You know, old thing, sometimes I don’t feel as if I should ever really get on with your aunt. SYDNEY. [_Dimpling_] You’ll have to if-- KIT. Good Lord! You don’t want her in the house! SYDNEY. [_Calmly_] I must take her off Mother sometimes. That’s only fair. But she shan’t worry you. KIT. I say, you’re going to have things your own way, aren’t you? SYDNEY. But of course I am, darling. KIT. [_Heavily_] But look here--marriage is a sort of mutual show, isn’t it? We’ve got to pull together. SYDNEY. Of course. KIT. But suppose we come to a cross-roads, so to speak? SYDNEY. Well, somebody’ll have to give way, won’t they, darling? KIT. Hm! SYDNEY. My dear boy, if you want a door-mat you’d better look out for someone--someone like poor dear Mother, for instance. KIT. [_Wiser than he knows_] But you _are_ like her, Sydney! SYDNEY. Me? Do you think I’d let my daughter run me the way I run Mother? Not much! MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Re-entering_] I think I left my-- [_murmurs_]. SYDNEY. [_Aside_] It’s no good. She’s doing this on purpose because I cheeked her. You’d better go, old man. Besides, they must be well through the anthem. KIT. [_Disturbed_] Good Lord! I should think I had better go! SYDNEY. [_Going with him to the door_] I say, keep your father quiet till I’ve had time to talk to Gray. KIT. Right! [_He goes out._] SYDNEY. [_Calling_] Kit! KIT. [_Reappearing_] Yes? SYDNEY. Come round in the afternoon. KIT. Right! [_He goes out._] SYDNEY. [_Calling_] Kit! KIT. [_Reappearing_] Yes? SYDNEY. I don’t suppose there’ll ever be any cross-roads. KIT. Darling! [_A scuffle._ SYDNEY _reappears patting her hair_.] MISS FAIRFIELD. I’m afraid I disturbed a _tête-à-tête_. SYDNEY. [_Sweetly_] Oh, Auntie, whatever made you think that? MISS FAIRFIELD. But I really couldn’t sit in the drawing-room. There’s no fire. [_She sits down and opens her book_.] SYDNEY. [_In a soft little voice, hums_] “When we are married we’ll have sausages for tea.” MISS FAIRFIELD. Do you mind being quiet while I read the service? SYDNEY. Sorry! [_She takes up some knitting._] MISS FAIRFIELD. What are you doing? SYDNEY. Tie for Kit. MISS FAIRFIELD. Sydney! Needlework on Sunday! SYDNEY. Well, I can’t sit in the drawing-room either if there’s no fire. MISS FAIRFIELD. There’s no need to lose your temper. SYDNEY. [_Out of patience_] Here, I’m going. [_As she makes for the staircase the telephone gives a broken tinkle._] MISS FAIRFIELD. Sydney, I believe that telephone’s going off!