SLADDER: I don't want to make it hard for you. Only just say you believe in eternal punishment, and then give up talking about it. You may say it to me if you like. We'll have one other person present so that there's no going back on it, my daughter if you like. I'll let the bishop know, and he won't stand in your way any longer, but at present you force his hand. It's you or the rules of the firm. HIPPANTHIGH: I cannot. SLADDER: You can't just say to me and my daughter that you believe in eternal punishment, and leave me to go over to Axminster and put it right with the bishop? HIPPANTHIGH: I cannot say what I do not believe. SLADDER: Think. The bishop probably doesn't believe it himself. But you've been forcing his hand,--going out of your way to. HIPPANTHIGH: I cannot say it. SLADDER (_rising_): Mr. Hippanthigh, there's two kinds of men, those that succeed, those that don't. I know no other kind. You ... HIPPANTHIGH: I cannot go against my conscience. SLADDER: I don't care what your reason is. You are the second kind. I am sorry my daughter ever loved a man of that sort. I am sorry a man of that sort ever entered my house. I was a little, dirty, ragged boy. You make me see what I would be to-day if I had been a man of your kind. I would be dirty and ragged still. (_His voice has been rising during this speech._) [_Enter_ ERMYNTRUDE. ERMYNTRUDE: Father! What are you saying, father? I heard such loud voices. [HIPPANTHIGH _stands silent and mournful._ SLADDER: My child, I had foolish ideas for you once, but now I say that you are to marry a man, not a wretched, miserable little curate, who will be a wretched, miserable little curate all his life. ERMYNTRUDE: Father, I will not hear such words. SLADDER: I've given him every chance. I've given him more than every chance, but he prefers the bottom rung of the ladder; there we will leave him. ERMYNTRUDE: O, father! How can you be so cruel? SLADDER: It's not my fault, and it's not the bishop's fault. It's his own silly pig-headedness. [_He goes back to his chair._ ERMYNTRUDE (_going up to_ HIPPANTHIGH): O, Charlie, couldn't you do what father wants? HIPPANTHIGH: No, no, I cannot. He wants me to go back on things I've said. [_Enter_ MRS. SLADDER _carrying a wire cage, with two dead white mice in it. Also_ SPLURGE. MRS. SLADDER[3]: O, the mice have died, John. The mice have died. O, Ermyntrude's poor mice! And father's great idea! Whatever shall we do? SLADDER: Er? (_Almost a groan_) Eh? Died have they? [SLADDER _ages in his chair. You would say he was beaten. Suddenly he tautens up his muscles and stands up straight with shoulders back and clenched hands._