_So_ MARY, _the young housemaid, comes in as well, and the two start to clear the table. All of which fidgets poor_ MR. BOOTH _considerably. He sits shrivelled up in the armchair by the fire; and now_ MR. VOYSEY _attends to him_. MR. VOYSEY. What d'you want with high interest at all . . you never spend half your income? MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I like to feel that my money is doing some good in the world. These mines are very useful things and forty two per cent is pleasing. MR. VOYSEY. You're an old gambler. MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_propitiatingly._] Ah, but then I've you to advise me. I always do as you tell me in the end, now you can't deny that. MR. VOYSEY. The man who don't know must trust in the man who does! [_He yawns again._] MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_modestly insisting._] There's five thousand in Alguazils--what else could we put it into? MR. VOYSEY. I can get you something at four and a half. MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Oh, Lord . . that's nothing. MR. VOYSEY. [_with a sudden serious friendliness._] I wish, my dear George, you'd invest more on your own account. You know--what with one thing and the other--I've got control of practically all you have in the world. I might be playing old Harry with it for all you know. MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_overflowing with confidence._] My dear feller . . if I'm satisfied! Ah, my friend, what'll happen to your firm when you depart this life! . . not before my time, I hope, though. MR. VOYSEY. [_with a little frown._] What d'ye mean? MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Edward's no use. MR. VOYSEY. I beg your pardon . . very sound in business. MR. GEORGE BOOTH. May be . . but I tell you he's no use. Too many principles, as I said just now. Men have confidence in a personality, not in principles. Where would you be without the confidence of your clients? MR. VOYSEY. [_candidly._] True! MR. GEORGE BOOTH. He'll never gain that. MR. VOYSEY. I fear you dislike Edward. MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_with pleasant frankness._] Yes, I do. MR. VOYSEY. That's a pity. MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_with a flattering smile._] Well, he's not his father and never will be. What's the time? MR. VOYSEY. [_with inappropriate thoughtfulness._] Twenty to ten. MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I must be trotting. MR. VOYSEY. It's very early. MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Oh, and I've not said a word to Mrs. Voysey . . _As he goes to the door he meets_ EDWARD, _who comes in apparently looking for his father; at any rate catches his eye immediately, while_ MR. BOOTH _obliviously continues_. MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Will you stroll round home with me? MR. VOYSEY. I can't. MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_mildly surprised at the short reply._] Well, good night. Good night, Edward. _He trots away._ MR. VOYSEY. Leave the rest of the table, Phoebe. PHOEBE. Yes, sir. MR. VOYSEY. You can come back in ten minutes. PHOEBE _and_ MARY _depart and the door is closed. Alone with his son_ MR. VOYSEY _does not move; his face grows a little keener, that's all_. MR. VOYSEY. Well, Edward?