Peter. I don't say it's been done up to now. I'm going to do it, though. Fred. What's the recipe? Peter. Oh, you begin by journalism and lecture engagements. Fred. And that's the royal road to wealth? Mother, why wasn't I brought up to be a Labour member! This solves the problem of what shall we do with our sons. Only it's too like work for me. Glad. Freddie, don't chaff Mr. Garside. He isn't one of your frivolous Club companions. Peter. Oh, I haven't been through the half of an election campaign without toughening my epidermis, Miss Mottram. I'm not afraid of ridicule. Fred. You'll go far, Mr. Garside. The secret of success is to have no sense of humour. Glad. A lot you know about success. Fred. I know everything. I'm not successful and outsiders watch the game. Lady M. Children! Children! Peter. Oh, don't apologise, Lady Mottram. I know what family life is in upper-class households. I've read my Shaw. [_To their relief Timson enters._ Lady M. What is it, Timson? Timson. Sir Jasper is asking for you on the telephone. Lady M. Excuse me, Mr. Garside. (_Rising._) Timson. And there's a man called for you, sir. (_To Peter._) Peter. For me? Glad. You go, Freddie. Tell him Mr. Garside wants to be left alone. Fred, (_nodding with understanding to Gladys_). All right. I'll deal with him. Don't disturb yourself, Mr. Garside. [_Lady Mottram goes out first, Fred, follows quickly to give Peter no chance to reply. Exit Timson._ Peter. I ought to go, Miss Mottram. I've meetings to address. Glad. Oh, but you mustn't disappoint Sir Jasper. He'll be in soon. Peter. My time's precious. Glad. So are you--(_hastily_)--to your party, I mean. You'll break down if you overdo things. Peter (_consulting watch_). My conscience isn't easy. Glad, (_coldly_). Oh, don't let me detain you against your will. Peter. It's not against my will, only---- Glad. Then won't you sit down? Peter (_deciding to stay, and sitting on Chesterfield_). Thank you. (_Stiffly._) Some day I hope to have the pleasure of asking you to sit in a room of mine like this one. Glad. You aim high, Mr. Garside. Peter. I mean to succeed. I feel I'm one of the men who do succeed. (_He doesn't boast, he states a conviction._) Glad. (_insincerely_). I'm sure you are. Peter (_ardently_). If you're sure, there's no doubt about it. I'm going to rise, Miss Mottram. I shall win fame, fortune---- Everything the heart of woman can desire will be mine to fling at the feet of my... my inspiration of the Midlandton election. Glad. Ah. Your mysterious vision! Peter (_leaning forward_). Is she a mystery to you? I thought you knew. Glad. Knew what? Peter. You see that inspiration every morning in your looking-glass. Glad, (_rising_). Mr. Garside! Peter. I thought you understood. (_He rises._) Glad. I understand you're being impertinent.