MRS. CULVER (_suddenly furious_). You are a brute. You always were. You never think of anybody but yourself. My life has been one long sacrifice, and you know it perfectly well. Perfectly well! You talk about _your_ work. What about my work? Why! You'd be utterly useless without me. You can't even look after your own collars. Could you go down to your ridiculous office without a collar? I've done everything for you, everything! And now! (_Weeping_). I can't even be called 'my lady.' I only wanted to hear the parlourmaid call me 'my lady.' It seems a simple enough thing-- CULVER (_persuasively and softly, trying to seize her_). You divine little snob! MRS. CULVER (_in a supreme, blazing outbreak escaping him_). Let me alone! I told you at the start I should never give way. And I never will. Never! If you send that letter of refusal, do you know what I shall do? I shall go and see the War Cabinet myself. I shall tell them you don't mean it. I'll make the most horrible scandal.... When I think of the Duke of Wellington-- CULVER (_surprised and alarmed_). The Duke of Wellington? MRS. CULVER (_drawing herself up at the door, L_). The Duke of Wellington didn't refuse a title! Hildegarde shall sleep in our room, and you can have hers! (_Exit violently, L_.) CULVER (_intimidated, as she goes_). Look here, hurricane! (_He rushes out after her_.) _Enter_ Hildegarde _and_ Tranto, _back_. HILDEGARDE (_seeing the room empty_). Well, I thought I heard them. TRANTO (_catching noise of high words from the boudoir_.) I fancy I _do_ hear them. HILDEGARDE. Perhaps we'd better go. TRANTO. But I want to speak to you--just for a moment. HILDEGARDE (_moving uneasily_). What about? TRANTO. I don't know. Anything. It doesn't matter what ... I don't hear them now. HILDEGARDE (_listening and hearing nothing; reassured_). I should have thought you wouldn't have wanted to come here any more for a long time. TRANTO. Why? HILDEGARDE. After the terrible experiences of last night, during dinner and after dinner. TRANTO. The general constraint? HILDEGARDE. The general constraint. TRANTO. The awkwardness? HILDEGARDE. The awkwardness. TRANTO. The frightful silences and the forced conversations? HILDEGARDE (_nods_). Why _did_ you come? TRANTO. Well-- HILDEGARDE. I suppose you're still confined to this house. TRANTO (_in a new confidential tone_). I wish you'd treat me as your father does. HILDEGARDE. But of course I will-- TRANTO. That's fine. He treats me as an intimate friend. HILDEGARDE. But you must treat me as you treat papa. TRANTO (_slightly dashed_). I'll try. I might tell you that I had two very straight talks with your father last night. HILDEGARDE. Two? TRANTO. Yes; one before dinner, and the other just before I left--when you'd gone to bed. He began them--both of them. HILDEGARDE. Oh! So that you may be said to know the whole situation. TRANTO. Yes. Up to last thing last night, that is.