EMILY _goes in search of the harmless necessary_ HONOR _and_ MRS. VOYSEY _begins her nightly chant of departure_. MRS. VOYSEY. Good night, Alice. Good night, Edward. EDWARD. Good night, Mother. MRS. VOYSEY. [_with sudden severity._] I'm not pleased with you, Beatrice. BEATRICE. I'm sorry, Mother. _But without waiting to be answered the old lady has sailed out of the room._ BEATRICE, EDWARD, _and_ ALICE _are attuned to each other enough to be able to talk with ease_. BEATRICE. Hugh is right about his family. It'll never make any new life for itself. EDWARD. There are Booth's children. BEATRICE. Poor little devils! ALICE. [_judicially._] Emily is an excellent mother. BEATRICE. Yes . . they'll grow up good men and women. And one will go into the Army and one into the Navy and one into the Church . . and perhaps one to the Devil and the Colonies. They'll serve their country and govern it and help to keep it like themselves . . dull and respectable . . hopelessly middle-class. [_she puts down her work now and elevates an oratorical fist._] Genius and Poverty may exist in England, if they'll hide their heads. For show days we've our aristocracy. But never let us forget, gentlemen, that it is the plain solid middle-class man who has made us . . what we are. EDWARD. [_in sympathetic derision._] Hear hear . . ! and cries of bravo! BEATRICE. Now, that is out of my book . . the next one. [_she takes up her work again._] You know, Edward . . without wishing to open up Painful Streets . . however scandalous it has been, your father left you a man's work to do. EDWARD. [_his face cloudy._] An outlaw's! BEATRICE. [_whimsical, after a moment._] I meant that. At all events you've not had to be your father's right arm . . or the instrument of justice . . or a representative of the people . . or anything second hand of that sort, have you? EDWARD. [_with sudden excitement._] Do you know what I discovered the other day about [_he nods at the portrait._] . . him? BEATRICE. [_enquiring calmly._] Innocence or guilt? EDWARD. He saved his firm once . . that was true. A most capable piece of heroism. Then, fifteen years afterwards . . he started again. BEATRICE. [_greatly interested._] Did he now? EDWARD. One can't believe it was merely through weakness . . BEATRICE. [_with artistic enthusiasm._] Of course not. He was a great financier . . a man of imagination. He had to find scope for his abilities or die. He despised these fat little clients living so snugly on their unearned incomes . . and put them and their money to the best use he could. EDWARD. [_shaking his head solemnly._] That's all a fine phrase for robbery. BEATRICE _turns her clever face to him and begins to follow up her subject keenly_. BEATRICE. My dear Edward . . I understand you've been robbing your rich clients for the benefit of the poor ones? ALICE. [_who hasn't missed a word._] That's true. EDWARD. [_gently._] Well . . we're all a bit in debt to the poor, aren't we?