JAWBONES. None of your insults agen a lady as I ’olds in ’igh respect. The rest of it is all right. Becos I’ve got yer ’ere alone. You wimmin, you think it’s going to pay you to chuck law and order. You’re out for a fight, are yer? GINGER. Yus, and we’re going to win. Brute force ’as ’ad its d’y. It’s brains wot are going to rule the world. And we’ve got ’em. (_She has become quite oratorical_.) JAWBONES. Glad to ’ear it. Take my tip: you’ll use ’em. Meanwhile I’ll ’ave another cup o’ tea. GINGER. (_She takes the cup—is making for the window_.) JAWBONES. (_Fierce again_.) I said tea. GINGER. All right, I was only going to throw the slops out of window. There ain’t no basin. JAWBONES. I’ll tell yer when I want yer to open the window and call for the p’lice. You can throw them into the waste-paper basket. GINGER. (_She obeys_.) JAWBONES. Thank you. Very much obliged. One of these d’ys, maybe, you’ll marry. GINGER. When I do, it will be a man, not a monkey. JAWBONES. I’m not proposing. I’m talking to you for your good. GINGER. (_Snorts_.) JAWBONES. You’ve been listening to a lot of toffs. Easy enough for them to talk about wimmen not being domestic drudges. They keep a cook to do it. They don’t pity ’e for being a down-trodden slive, spending sixteen hours a d’y in _their_ kitchen with an evening out once a week. When you marry it will be to a bloke like me, a working man . . . GINGER. Working! (_She follows it with a shrill laugh_.) JAWBONES. Yus. There’s always a class as laughs when you mention the word “work.” Them as knows wot it is, don’t. I’ve been at it since six o’clock this morning, carrying a ladder, a can of paste weighing twenty pounds, and two ’undred double royal posters. You try it! When ’e comes ’ome, ’e’ll want ’is victuals. If you’ve got ’em ready for ’im and are looking nice—no reason why you shouldn’t—and feeling amiable, you’ll get on very well together. If you are going to argue with ’im about woman’s sphere, you’ll get the worst of it. GINGER. You always was a bully. JAWBONES. Not always. Remember last Bank ’oliday? (_He winks_.) GINGER. (_She tries not to give in_.) JAWBONES. ’Ave a cup of tea. (_He pours it out for her_.) GINGER. (_The natural woman steals in—she sits_.) JAWBONES. ’Ow are they doing you, fairly well? GINGER. Oh! Well, nothing to grumble at. JAWBONES. You can do a bit o’ dressing on it. GINGER. (_She meets his admiring eye_. _The suffragette departs_.) Dressing don’t cost much—when you’ve got tyste. JAWBONES. Wot! Not that ’at? GINGER. Made it myself. JAWBONES. No! GINGER. Honour bright! Tell yer— (GEOFFREY _and_ ST. HERBERT _enter_. JAWBONES _and_ GINGER _make to rise_. GINGER _succeeds_.) GEOFFREY. All right, all right. Don’t let me disturb the party. Where’s Mr. Sigsby?