Peter. I'm not on exhibition. What have you come for? To gloat over me, to see for yourself how well you prophesied when you told me I should fail. (_He turns his back on her, only to face O'Callagan._) O'Cal. I'm telling you you're not a failure. It's just a temporary check in your career you've had. Peter (_sullenly_). My career's ended. [_Mrs. Garside sits in the rocking-chair, aloof, watching._ Mar. At twenty-six, Peter? Peter (_turning_). That's my tragedy. Waste. At twenty-six I'm looking backward on a closed account. The future's blank--all the brilliant fruitful years I might have lived. Mar. That you _will_ live, Peter. Peter (_sitting left of table, elbows on table and head in hands_). Oh, what's the use of that? I'm finished. Out, middle stump. And there's no second innings in life. O'Cal. Isn't there? Don't the people need you just as much as ever? Peter (_without turning to him_). The people have no use for broken idols, Denis. Mar. But _we_ need you, Peter. Peter (_looking up_). Who are we? Mar. Your own people. Peter. You! You never believed in me. Mar. I always thought you'd the wrong temperament for Parliament. Peter. You knew me for the rotten failure that I am. I congratulate you on your perspicacity. Mar. (_shaking her head_). I'm not proud of it. What do you propose to do? Peter. I don't propose to do anything. (_Resuming the hopeless attitude_). I've shot my bolt. I'm a man with a past, an ex-M.P., ex-Everything. O'Cal. (_with conviction_). You're a blazing idiot. Peter. I quite agree. O'Cal. You're not. You know you're not. I'm only saying it to rouse you. Peter. You'll say nothing that I won't agree with. O'Cal. All right. You've a big future before you. Peter. I can't agree to that. O'Cal. You have. You're going to---- Peter. I'm going to take it lying down, Denis, and that's all there is to it. Mar. That's a pretty mean thing to say, Peter. Peter. Oh, taunts don't sting me now. I've reached the further side of agony. Mar. (_sitting at table, centre, leaning on it very close to Peter, and speaking without a trace of sympathy_). Peter, don't you think you've made sufficient demonstration of your grief? Peter. Demonstration? Mar. We're all tremendously impressed. You've thoroughly alarmed us. That's what you wanted, wasn't it? (_Peter meets her eye questioningly._) To prove to yourself that after all you're still of consequence to somebody. It's quite true, Peter. We're not content to watch you sulk to death. You've made your big effect. For a week you've had the joy of fostering your wound, keeping it open for all the world to see how hardly you've been hit, but it's time you healed it now. Peter (_hiding his head on the table_). Misunderstood! Mar. Misunderstood? (_Rising and tapping the table._) Or found out, Peter? Which? Peter (_pitiably turning, still sitting, to Mrs. Garside_). Mother, you let these people in. Are you going to sit there and let them bully a sick man?