DAVID. No. (_Angrily, in a gust_) An'there never will be! (_Then more calmly_) An' yet there's an' awful lot o' philosophy about women, John. JOHN. Aye? DAVID. Och, aye. They're that unreasonable, an' yet ye canna reason them down; an' they're that weak, an' yet ye canna make them gie in tae ye. Of course, ye'll say ye canna reason doon a stane, or make a clod o' earth gie in tae ye. JOHN. Will I? DAVID. Aye. An' ye'll be richt. But then I'll tell ye a stane will na answer ye back, an' a clod of earth will na try to withstand ye, so how can ye argue them down? JOHN (_convinced_). Ye canna. DAVID. Richt! Ye canna! But a wumman _will_ answer ye back, an' she _will_ stand against ye, an' _yet_ ye canna argue her down though ye have strength an' reason on your side an' she's talkin' naething but blether about richt's richt an' wrang's wrang, an' sendin' a poor bairn off t' his bed i' the yin room an' leavin' her auld feyther all alone by the fire in anither an'--ye ken--Philosophy-- (_He ceases to speak and wipes his glasses again. JOHN, intensely troubled, tiptoes up to the door and opens it a foot. The wails of ALEXANDER can be heard muffled by a farther door. JOHN calls off._) JOHN. Lizzie. (_Lizzie immediately comes into sight outside the door with a "Shsh."_) JOHN. Yer feyther's greetin'. LIZZIE (_with a touch of exasperation_). Och, I'm no heedin'! There's another wean in there greetin' too, an' I'm no heedin' him neither, an' he's greetin' twicet as loud as the auld yin. JOHN (_shocked_). Ye're heartless, wumman. LIZZIE (_with patience_). No, I'm no' heartless, John; but there's too much heart in this family, an' someone's got to use their heid. (DAVID _cranes round the side of his chair to catch what they are saying. She stops and comes to him kindly but with womanly firmness._) LIZZIE. I'm vexed ye should be disappointed, feyther, but ye see, don't ye-- (_A singularly piercing wail from ALEXANDER goes up. LIZZIE rushes to silence him._) LIZZIE. Mercy! The neighbors will think we're murderin' him. (_The door closes behind her._) DAVID (_nodding for a space as he revolves the woman's attitude_). Ye hear that, John? JOHN. Whit? DAVID (_with quiet irony_). She's vexed I should be disappointed. The wumman thinks she's richt! Women always think they're richt--mebbe it's that that makes them that obstinate. (_With the ghost of a twinkle_) She's feart o' the neighbors, though. JOHN (_stolidly_). A' women are feart o' the neighbors. DAVID (_reverting_). Puir wee man. I telt ye he was greetin', John. He's disappointed fine. (_Pondering_) D' ye ken whit I'm thinkin', John? JOHN. Whit? DAVID. I'm thinkin' he's too young to get his ain way, an' I'm too auld, an' it's a fine thocht! JOHN. Aye? DAVID. Aye. I never thocht of it before, but that's what it is. He's no' come to it yet, an' I'm past it. (_Suddenly_) What's the most important thing in life, John? (JOHN _opens his mouth--and shuts it again unused._)