Glad. Yes. You seem to find the subject interesting. Peter. I'll talk about the weather if you prefer it. Glad. No. You can stick to your text. Peter. Thanks. But I wasn't talking about myself alone. Glad, (_reflectively_). I don't remember the exception. It was all yourself and the money you're going to make. Peter. The money. Yes. I'm making money, Miss Mottram, and I'm going to make more. Do you know why? Glad. Money's always useful, I suppose. Peter. Yes, even a little of it. But I shan't be satisfied with little. And I'm a fairly frugal man. Glad. You'll grow into a miser on the margin between your moderate wants and your colossal income. Peter. I might grow into a married man on that margin. It's to be a good margin, because I believe no man should ask his wife to accept a lower standard of living than she's been accustomed to. Glad. I didn't know Miss Shawcross lived so well. Peter (_rising, sternly_). It isn't a question of Miss Shaweross. Glad. I thought it was. Peter. So did I when I was a boy in Midlandton about a hundred years ago. I'm wiser now. Women of her class can't adapt themselves to changed circumstances. They're a drag on a man's career. You've seen Miss Shawcross? Glad. Yes. Peter. Well, you know the type. Good, plodding, conscientious, provincial girl, with about as much ambition as a potato. Marry her to a bank clerk and she'll be in her proper place. Picture her the wife of a Cabinet Minister, and--well, no, you can't. It's unthinkable. Glad. The wife of a what? Peter (_imperviously_). A Cabinet Minister. Glad. But you're not a Cabinet Minister. Peter (_quite seriously_). No, I'm young yet. What a man of my stamp wants is a wife who can help him to push his way, not one I'd be ashamed to show in society. Glad. I see. You're marrying into one of the big political families. Peter. No. I'm showing you how you can be done with Midlandton and get to London. You said you'd do anything for that. Glad. I meant anything in reason. Shall we change the subject? Peter. No. Gladys (_rising, curtly_). Then I must go back to the hotel. Peter. Your brother's coming for you. Meantime I ask you to remember the difference between the Peter Garside of six months ago and the Garside of to-day. I've bridged the gulf that lay between us. A man of genius can do things like that. I meant what I said, Miss Mottram. I didn't say it till you encouraged me. Glad. I have not encouraged you. Peter. You're here, you know. You let your brother go without you. You let my mother leave us alone. Isn't that encouragement? Glad. (_as cruelly as she can_). I stayed because I find you amusing. Peter. Yes. I dare say I am amusing. People in deadly earnest usually are. Glad, (_gently_). We'll forget what you said, Mr. Garside.