ALICE. It'll be very good and very new. They neither of them know what they want. [_Then suddenly throwing up her chin and exclaiming._] When it's a question of money I can understand it . . but if one can provide for oneself or is independent why get married! Especially having been brought up on the sheltered life principle . . one may as well make the most of its advantages . . one doesn't go falling in love all over the place as men seem to . . most of them. Of course with Ethel and Denis it's different. They've both been caught young. They're two little birds building their nests and it's all ideal. They'll soon forget they've ever been apart. _Now_ HONOR _flutters into the room, patient but wild eyed_. HONOR. Mother wants last week's Notes and Queries. Have you seen it? BEATRICE. [_exasperated at the interruption._] No. HONOR. It ought not to be in here. [_so she proceeds to look for it._] She's having a long argument with Mr. Colpus over Oliver Cromwell's relations. ALICE. [_her eyes twinkling._] I thought Auntie didn't approve of Oliver Cromwell. HONOR. She doesn't and she's trying to prove that he was a brewer or something. I suppose someone has taken it away. _So she gives up the search and flutters out again._ ALICE. This is a most unrestful house. BEATRICE. I once thought of putting the Voyseys into a book of mine. Then I concluded they'd be as dull there as they are anywhere else. ALICE. They're not duller than most other people. BEATRICE. But how very dull that is! ALICE. They're a little noisier and perhaps not quite so well mannered. But I love them. BEATRICE. I don't. I should have thought Love was just what they couldn't inspire. ALICE. Of course, Hugh is unlike any of the others. BEATRICE. He has most of their bad points. I don't love Hugh. ALICE. [_her eyebrows up, though she smiles._] Beatrice, you shouldn't say so. BEATRICE. It sounds affected, doesn't it? Never mind; when he dies I'll wear mourning . . but not weeds; I bargained against that when we were engaged. ALICE. [_her face growing a little thoughtful._] Beatrice, I'm going to ask questions. You were in love with Hugh when you married him? BEATRICE. Well . . I married him for his money. ALICE. He hadn't much. BEATRICE. I had none . . and I wanted to write books. Yes, I loved him. ALICE. And you thought you'd be happy? BEATRICE. [_considering carefully._] No, I didn't. I hoped he'd be happy. ALICE. [_a little ironical._] Did you think your writing books would make him so? BEATRICE. My dear Alice, wouldn't you feel it a very degrading thing to have your happiness depend upon somebody else? ALICE. [_after pausing to find her phrase._] There's a joy of service. BEATRICE. [_ironical herself now._] I forgot . . you've four hundred a year? ALICE. What has that to do with it?