ELLIE [very clearly and steadily]. Papa. When Mrs. Hushabye takes it on herself to explain to you what I think or don't think, shut your ears tight; and shut your eyes too. Hesione knows nothing about me: she hasn't the least notion of the sort of person I am, and never will. I promise you I won't do anything I don't want to do and mean to do for my own sake. MAZZINI. You are quite, quite sure? ELLIE. Quite, quite sure. Now you must go away and leave me to talk to Mrs Hushabye. MAZZINI. But I should like to hear. Shall I be in the way? ELLIE [inexorable]. I had rather talk to her alone. MAZZINI [affectionately]. Oh, well, I know what a nuisance parents are, dear. I will be good and go. [He goes to the garden door]. By the way, do you remember the address of that professional who woke me up? Don't you think I had better telegraph to him? MRS HUSHABYE [moving towards the sofa]. It's too late to telegraph tonight. MAZZINI. I suppose so. I do hope he'll wake up in the course of the night. [He goes out into the garden]. ELLIE [turning vigorously on Hesione the moment her father is out of the room]. Hesione, what the devil do you mean by making mischief with my father about Mangan? MRS HUSHABYE [promptly losing her temper]. Don't you dare speak to me like that, you little minx. Remember that you are in my house. ELLIE. Stuff! Why don't you mind your own business? What is it to you whether I choose to marry Mangan or not? MRS HUSHABYE. Do you suppose you can bully me, you miserable little matrimonial adventurer? ELLIE. Every woman who hasn't any money is a matrimonial adventurer. It's easy for you to talk: you have never known what it is to want money; and you can pick up men as if they were daisies. I am poor and respectable-- MRS HUSHABYE [interrupting]. Ho! respectable! How did you pick up Mangan? How did you pick up my husband? You have the audacity to tell me that I am a--a--a-- ELLIE. A siren. So you are. You were born to lead men by the nose: if you weren't, Marcus would have waited for me, perhaps. MRS HUSHABYE [suddenly melting and half laughing]. Oh, my poor Ellie, my pettikins, my unhappy darling! I am so sorry about Hector. But what can I do? It's not my fault: I'd give him to you if I could. ELLIE. I don't blame you for that. MRS HUSHABYE. What a brute I was to quarrel with you and call you names! Do kiss me and say you're not angry with me. ELLIE [fiercely]. Oh, don't slop and gush and be sentimental. Don't you see that unless I can be hard--as hard as nails--I shall go mad? I don't care a damn about your calling me names: do you think a woman in my situation can feel a few hard words? MRS HUSHABYE. Poor little woman! Poor little situation!