THE FATHER. Infamous! infamous! (_Then excitedly to Manager explaining_). After she (_indicating Mother_) went away, my house seemed suddenly empty. She was my incubus, but she filled my house. I was like a dazed fly alone in the empty rooms. This boy here (_indicating the Son_) was educated away from home, and when he came back, he seemed to me to be no more mine. With no mother to stand between him and me, he grew up entirely for himself, on his own, apart, with no tie of intellect or affection binding him to me. And then--strange but true--I was driven, by curiosity at first and then by some tender sentiment, towards her family, which had come into being through my will. The thought of her began gradually to fill up the emptiness I felt all around me. I wanted to know if she were happy in living out the simple daily duties of life. I wanted to think of her as fortunate and happy because far away from the complicated torments of my spirit. And so, to have proof of this, I used to watch that child coming out of school. THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Yes, yes. True. He used to follow me in the street and smiled at me, waved his hand, like this. I would look at him with interest, wondering who he might be. I told my mother, who guessed at once (_the Mother agrees with a nod_). Then she didn't want to send me to school for some days; and when I finally went back, there he was again--looking so ridiculous--with a paper parcel in his hands. He came close to me, caressed me, and drew out a fine straw hat from the parcel, with a bouquet of flowers--all for me! THE MANAGER. A bit discursive this, you know! THE SON (_contemptuously_). Literature! Literature! THE FATHER. Literature indeed! This is life, this is passion! THE MANAGER. It may be, but it won't act. THE FATHER. I agree. This is only the part leading up. I don't suggest this should be staged. She (_pointing to the Step-Daughter_), as you see, is no longer the flapper with plaits down her back--. THE STEP-DAUGHTER. --and the knickers showing below the skirt! THE FATHER. The drama is coming now, sir; something new, complex, most interesting. THE STEP-DAUGHTER. As soon as my father died.... THE FATHER. --there was absolute misery for them. They came back here, unknown to me. Through her stupidity (_pointing to the Mother_)! It is true she can barely write her own name; but she could anyhow have got her daughter to write to me that they were in need.... THE MOTHER. And how was I to divine all this sentiment in him? THE FATHER. That is exactly your mistake, never to have guessed any of my sentiments. THE MOTHER. After so many years apart, and all that had happened....