MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Shut up. I was going to say when my young cub of a brother-in-law-to-be interrupted me, that =Training=, for which we all have to be thankful to you, Sir, has much to do with it. [_suddenly he pulls his trousers against his legs._] I say, I'm scorching! D'you want another cigar, Denis? TREGONING. No, thank you. MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. I do. _And he glances round, but_ TREGONING _sees a box on the table and reaches it. The Vicar gets up._ MR. COLPUS. M-m-m-must be taking my departure. MR. VOYSEY. Already! MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_frowning upon the cigar box._] No, not those. Where are the Ramon Allones? What on earth has Honor done with them? MR. VOYSEY. Spare time for a chat with Mrs. Voysey before you go. She has ideas about a children's tea fight. MR. COLPUS. Certainly I will. MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_scowling helplessly around._] My goodness! . . one can never find anything in this house. MR. COLPUS. I won't say good-bye then. _He is sliding through the half opened door when_ ETHEL _meets him flinging it wide. She is the younger daughter, the baby of the family, but twenty-three now._ MR. VOYSEY. I say, it's cold again to-night! An ass of an architect who built this place . . such a draught between these two doors. _He gets up to draw the curtain. When he turns_ COLPUS _has disappeared, while_ ETHEL _has been followed into the room by_ ALICE MAITLAND, _who shuts the door after her_. MISS ALICE MAITLAND _is a young lady of any age to thirty. Nor need her appearance alter for the next fifteen years; since her nature is healthy and well-balanced. She possesses indeed the sort of athletic chastity which is a characteristic charm of Northern spinsterhood. It mayn't be a pretty face, but it has alertness and humour; and the resolute eyes and eyebrows are a more innocent edition of_ MR. VOYSEY'S, _who is her uncle_. ETHEL _goes straight to her father_ [_though her glance is on_ DENIS _and his on her_] _and chirps, birdlike, in her spoiled-child way_. ETHEL. We think you've stayed in here quite long enough. MR. VOYSEY. That's to say, Ethel thinks Denis has been kept out of her pocket much too long. ETHEL. Ethel wants billiards . . not proper billiards . . snooker or something. Oh, Papa, what a dessert you've eaten. Greedy pig! ALICE _is standing behind_ EDWARD, _considering his hair-parting apparently_. ALICE. Crack me a filbert, please, Edward . . I had none. EDWARD. [_jumping up, rather formally, well-mannered._] I beg your pardon, Alice. Won't you sit down? ALICE. No. MR. VOYSEY. [_taking_ ETHEL _on his knee_.] Come here, puss. Have you made up your mind yet what you want for a wedding present? ETHEL. [_rectifying a stray hair in his beard._] After mature consideration, I decide on a cheque. MR. VOYSEY. Do you!