SYDNEY. It’s only Mother. MARGARET _comes dragging into the room, shutting the door behind her_. SYDNEY. [_The laughter dying out of her_] Oh, Mother, how white you look! MARGARET. Has Kit gone? SYDNEY. No, but I can get rid of him if you want me to. MARGARET. I want him to wait. I want him to take a letter for me to Gray. SYDNEY. Do you want Gray to come here? MARGARET. I want him not to come here. SYDNEY. Oh, I see, not till after Father’s gone. MARGARET. He’s not going. SYDNEY. Mother! MARGARET _looks at her with twitching lips_. SYDNEY. Mother, you haven’t-- MARGARET. I can’t talk to you now, Sydney. SYDNEY. But Mother-- MARGARET. Please. SYDNEY. But Mother-- MARGARET. Ask Kit to wait a few minutes. SYDNEY. But-- MARGARET _goes into the inner room and sits down to write at a little desk near the window. Her back is turned to them and she is soon absorbed in her letter._ SYDNEY _stands deep in thought_. KIT. [_At the foot of the stairs_] All serene? SYDNEY _makes no answer_. KIT _prances up behind her with the bunch of mistletoe_. KIT. [_Repeating his success_] “The mistletoe hung in the old oak hall!” SYDNEY. [_Violently_] Oh, for God’s sake, stop it! KIT. [_Quenched_] What’s the row? SYDNEY. You never know when to stop. KIT. Well, you needn’t snap out at a person-- SYDNEY. [_Impulsively_] Sorry! Oh, sorry, old man! I’m jumpy to-day. KIT. [_Chaffing her_] Nervy old thing! SYDNEY. [_Stricken_] I--I suppose I am. KIT. One minute you’re as nice as pie, and then you fizz up like a seidlitz powder, all about nothing. SYDNEY. All about nothing. Sorry, my old Kit, sorry! [_She flings herself down on the sofa. Then, with an effort_] Come and talk. What’s the news? KIT. I told you it all this morning. What’s yours? SYDNEY. I like yours better. How’s the pamphlet going? KIT. Nearly done. I put in all your stuff. SYDNEY. [_Absently_] Good. KIT. Though you know, I don’t agree with it. What I feel is--you’re not listening. SYDNEY. [_Slowly_] Kit, talking of that paper--I read somewhere--suppose now--is it true it can skip a generation? KIT. It? What? SYDNEY. Oh--any illness. Consumption or--well, say insanity. Suppose--_you_, for instance--suppose you were a queer family--a little, you know. Say your mother or your father was queer--and you weren’t. You were perfectly fit, you understand, perfectly fit-- KIT. Well? SYDNEY. What about the children? KIT. I wouldn’t risk it. Thank the Lord your father’s only shell-shock. SYDNEY. Why? KIT. You can’t pass on shell-shock. SYDNEY. Then you can pass on insanity--even if you’re fit yourself? KIT. Of course you can. SYDNEY. It would be very wicked, wouldn’t it--to children? Oh, it would be wicked. I suppose when people are in love they don’t think. KIT. Won’t think. SYDNEY. But isn’t there a school that says there’s no such thing as heredity? KIT. Well, all I know is I wouldn’t risk it. SYDNEY. It--it’s hard on people.