JACK. Once, finally and for all—— IRIS. That Jack Chillingham—— JACK. _Né_ Broxopp—— IRIS. Cannot paint. JACK. He cannot paint. JACK and IRIS (_together_). He cannot, cannot paint. NANCY (_knowing what it feels like_). Oh, Jack, what a disappointment for you! BROXOPP. How did you discover it, boy? JACK. By regarding my latest masterpiece in a dispassionate light. You ought to have seen it, Dad. It was called “The First Meeting of Henry V. with Katherine of France.” IRIS. I sat for Katherine. JACK. She also stood for Henry V. I wish you had seen her as Henry V.; it would have been a surprise for you. IRIS. I was jolly good. JACK. It was going to be my Academy picture. That was why I chose that subject. It was the dullest I could think of. Unfortunately, when I had finished it, I regarded it in a dispassionate light, and—(_frankly_) it was rotten. IRIS. Very rotten. JACK. Very, very rotten. NANCY. Oh, poor Jack! I understand how you must have felt. JACK. Well, then, we put our heads together. IRIS (_leaning her head against his_). Like this. JACK. And decided that we were taking your money under false pretences. IRIS. Because, you see, he cannot paint. JACK. He cannot paint. JACK and IRIS (_together_). He cannot, cannot paint. BROXOPP. Well, what are you going to do, then? IRIS (_surprised_). Give you back your money, of course. BROXOPP. Don’t be silly. I didn’t mean that. What work are you going to do? JACK (_wandering round the room_). Well, that’s rather the question. Iris thought—(_He stops suddenly at the sight of his mother’s drawing_) Oh, Lord, here’s this again. What on earth——? BROXOPP (_off-handedly_). Just a rough sketch for an advertisement—a little idea of mine—Ajax defying the lightning—your mother was—— Well, then, Jack, you—— JACK (_looking up at his mother reproachfully_). Mother, darling! NANCY. Oh, Jack, Ajaxes are so hard. JACK (_sitting down and picking up the pencil_). Oh, but—Iris, you’ll have to stand for Ajax. Imagine Dad’s the lightning and defy him like the dickens. (_Beginning to draw_) Right foot out a bit more. Hands behind the back, I think. Keep the head well up—as though you thought nothing of him. IRIS. Daddy Broxopp, I defy you. (_She gives a glance at JACK to make sure he is not looking, blows a hasty kiss to BROXOPP, and hastily resumes her defiant attitude._) JACK (_drawing_). You’d find yourself much safer with a model, Mother, even for a rough sketch. You get so much more life into it. NANCY. Oh, Jack, I wish I could draw like that. IRIS. He isn’t bad, is he? JACK (_still at it_). Keep your head up.... I can’t draw—but when I say I can’t draw, I don’t mean the same as when I say I can’t paint. You see—Listen! (_A loud knocking is heard at the outer door._) IRIS (_nodding her head at BROXOPP_). That’s you, Daddy Broxopp. You did the lightning so well that you’ve brought on the thunder. NANCY. Oh, I’d better go. The maid’s out.