DAVID: Yes, it does. SOREL: You’re thinking of the Rue Boissy d’Anglas, Father. DAVID: I’m not thinking of anything of the sort. JUDITH: David darling, don’t be obstinate. DAVID (_hotly_): Do you think I don’t know Paris as well as you do? SIMON: Never mind. Father’s probably right. SOREL: He isn’t right—he’s wrong! DAVID: Go on with your food, Sorel. JUDITH: Don’t be testy, David: it’s a sign of age. DAVID (_firmly_): “Jane Sefton, in her scarlet Hispano, swept out of the Rue St. Honoré into the Place de la Concorde——” JUDITH: That sounds absolutely ridiculous. Why don’t you alter it? DAVID: It isn’t ridiculous; it’s perfectly right. JUDITH: Very well, then; get a map, and I’ll show you. SIMON: We haven’t got a map. DAVID (_putting his MS. down_): Now, look here, Judith—here’s the Rue Royale—(_He arranges the butter-dish and marmalade-pot._)—here’s the Crillon Hotel, and _here’s_ the Rue St. Honoré—— JUDITH: It isn’t—it’s the Boissy d’Anglas. DAVID: That runs parallel with the Rue de Rivoli. JUDITH: You’ve got it all muddled. DAVID (_loudly_): I have _not_ got it all muddled. JUDITH: Don’t shout. You have. SIMON: Why not let Father get on with it? JUDITH: It’s so silly to get cross at criticism—it indicates a small mind. DAVID: Small mind my foot! JUDITH: That was very rude. I shall go to my room in a minute. DAVID: I wish you would. JUDITH (_outraged_): David! SOREL: Look here, Father, Mother’s right—here’s the Place de la Concorde—— SIMON: Oh, shut up, Sorel. SOREL: Shut up yourself, you pompous little beast. SIMON: You think you know such a lot about everything, and you’re as ignorant as a frog. SOREL: Why a frog? JUDITH: I give you my solemn promise, David, that you’re wrong. DAVID: I don’t want your solemn promise, because I _know_ I’m right. SIMON: It’s no use arguing with Father, Mother. SOREL: Why isn’t it any use arguing with Father? SIMON: Because you’re both so pig-headed! DAVID: Are you content to sit here, Judith, and let your son insult me? JUDITH: He’s your son as well as mine. DAVID: I begin to doubt it. JUDITH (_bursting into tears of rage_): David! SIMON (_consoling her_): Father, how can you! DAVID (_rising_): I’ll never attempt to read any of you anything again as long as I live. You’re not a bit interested in my work, and you don’t give a damn whether I’m a success or a failure. JUDITH: You’re dead certain to be a failure if you cram your books with inaccuracies. DAVID (_hammering the table with his fist_): _I am not inaccurate!_ JUDITH: Yes, you are; and you’re foul-tempered and spoilt. DAVID: Spoilt! I like that! Nobody here spoils me—you’re the most insufferable family to live with—— JUDITH: Well, why in Heaven’s name don’t you go and live somewhere else? DAVID: There’s gratitude! JUDITH: Gratitude for what, I’d like to know? SOREL: Mother, keep calm. JUDITH: Calm! I’m furious.