GEOFFREY. (_He rises_, _crosses to the desk_, _throws into a waste-paper-basket a piece of crumpled paper that was in his hand_; _then turns_. _The personal note has entered into the discussion_.) The women who _want_ to be childless—what about them? ST. HERBERT. (_He shrugs his shoulders_.) Are there any such? GEOFFREY. There are women who talk openly of woman’s share in the general scheme being a “burden” on her—an “incubus.” ST. HERBERT. A handful of cranks. To the normal woman motherhood has always been the one supreme desire. GEOFFREY. Because children crowned her with honour. The barren woman was despised. All that is changing. This movement is adding impulse to it. ST. HERBERT. Movements do not alter instincts. GEOFFREY. But they do. Ever since man emerged from the jungle he has been shedding his instincts—shaping them to new desires. Where do you find this all-prevailing instinct towards maternity? Among the women of society, who sacrifice it without a moment’s hesitation to their vanity—to their mere pleasures? The middle-class woman—she, too, is demanding “freedom.” Children, servants, the home!—they are too much for her “nerves.” And now there comes this new development, appealing to the intellectual woman. Is there not danger of her preferring political ambition, the excitement of public life, to what has come to be regarded as the “drudgery” of turning four walls into a home, of peopling the silence with the voices of the children? (_He crosses to the table—lays his hand again upon the open letter_.) How do you know that this may not be her answer—“I have no children. I never mean to have children”? (SIGSBY _enters in company with_ BEN LAMB, M.P. LAMB _is a short_, _thick-set_, _good-tempered man_.) Ah, Lamb, how are you? LAMB. (_They greet one another_.) How are things going? SIGSBY. They’re not going at all well. GEOFFREY. Sigsby was ever the child of despondency. SIGSBY. Yes, and so will you be when you find yourself at the bottom of the poll. GEOFFREY. (_The notion takes him by surprise_.) LAMB. It’s going to be a closer affair than any of us thought. It’s the joke of the thing that appears to have got hold of them. They want to see what will happen. GEOFFREY. Man’s fatal curiosity concerning the eternal feminine! SIGSBY. Yes, and they won’t have to pay for it. That will be our department. ST. HERBERT. (_To_ SIGSBY.) What do you think they’ll do, supposing by any chance Mrs. Chilvers should head the poll? SIGSBY. How do you mean—“what’ll they do?” ST. HERBERT. Do you think they’ll claim the seat? SIGSBY. Claim the seat! What do you think they’re out for—their health? Get another six months’ advertisement, if they don’t get anything else. Meanwhile what’s our position—just at the beginning of our ministerial career? GEOFFREY. They will not claim the seat. SIGSBY. How do you know? GEOFFREY. I know my wife.