STRANGER. Never. The historic meeting of Father and Son will take place this afternoon. (With a feeble attempt at what he thinks is the aristocratic manner) Afraid the Governor will be in the deuce of a rage. Been exceedin' my allowance--what? Make it a thousand, dear old Gov. LADY PEMBURY. Don't they call that blackmail? STRANGER (violently). Now look here, I'd better tell you straight that there's no blackmail about this at all. He's my father, isn't he? Well, can't a son come to his father if he's hard up? Where are your threatening letters? Where's the blackmail? Anyway, what's he going to do about it? Put his son in prison? LADY PEMBURY (following her own thoughts). You're thirty. Thank God for that. We hadn't met then. . . . Ah, but he ought to have told me. He ought to have told me. STRANGER. P'raps he thought you wouldn't marry him, if he did. LADY PEMBURY. Do you think that was it? (Earnestly to him, as if he were an old friend) You know men--young men. I never had a son; I never had any brothers. Do they tell? They ought to, oughtn't they? STRANGER. Well--well, if you ask _me_--I say, look here, this isn't the sort of thing one discusses with a lady. LADY PEMBURY. Isn't it? But one can talk to a friend. STRANGER (scornfully). You and me look like friends, don't we? LADY PEMBURY (smiling). Well, we do, rather. (He gets up hastily and moves further away from her.) STRANGER. I know what _your_ game is. Don't think I don't see it. LADY PEMBURY. What is it? STRANGER. Falling on your knees, and saying with tears in your eyes: "Oh, kind friend, spare me poor husband!" _I_ know the sort of thing. And trying to work me up friendly before you begin. LADY PEMBURY (shaking her head). No, if I went on my knees to you, I shouldn't say that. How can you hurt my husband now? STRANGER. Well, I don't suppose the scandal will do him much good. Not an important Member of Parliament like _him_. LADY PEMBURY. Ah, but it isn't the outside things that really hurt you, the things which are done to you, but the things which you do to yourself. And so if I went on my knees to you, it would not be for my husband's sake. For I should go on my knees, and I should say: "Oh, my son that might have been, think before you give up everything that a man should have. Ambition, hope, pride, self-respect--are not these worth keeping? Is your life to end now? Have you done all that you came into the world to do, so that now you can look back and say, 'It is finished; I have given all that I had to give; henceforward I will spend'?" (Very gently) Oh, my son that might have been! STRANGER (very uncomfortable). Here, I say, that isn't fair. LADY PEMBURY (gently). When did your mother die? STRANGER. Look here, I wish you wouldn't keep on about mothers. LADY PEMBURY. When did she die, proud mother? STRANGER (sulkily). Well, why shouldn't she be proud? (After a pause) Two years ago, if you want to know.