HUGH. I'm sick of waiting. [_then as_ EDWARD _says nothing_.] You say this is the cry just of the weak man in despair! I wouldn't be anything but a weak man in this world. I wouldn't be a king, I wouldn't be rich . . I wouldn't be a Borough Councillor . . I should be so ashamed. I've walked here this morning from Hampstead. I started to curse because the streets were dirty. You'd think that an Empire could keep its streets clean! But then I saw that the children were dirty too. EDWARD. That's because of the streets. HUGH. Yes, it's holiday time. Those that can cross a road safely are doing some work now . . earning some money. You'd think a governing race, grabbing responsibilities, might care for its children. EDWARD. Come, we educate them now. And I don't think many work in holiday time. HUGH. [_encouraged by contradiction._] We teach them all that we're not ashamed of . . and much that we ought to be . . and the rest they find out for themselves. Oh, every man and woman I met was muddy eyed! They'd joined the great conspiracy which we call our civilization. They've been educated! They believe in the Laws and the Money-market and Respectability. Well, at least they suffer for their beliefs. But I'm glad I don't make the laws . . and that I haven't any money . . and that I hate respectability . . or I should be so ashamed. By the bye, that's what I've come for. EDWARD. [_pleasantly._] What? I thought you'd only come to talk. HUGH. You must take that money of mine for your clients. Of course you ought to have had it when you asked for it. It has never belonged to me. Well . . it has never done me any good. I have never made any use of it and so it has been just a clog to my life. EDWARD. [_surprised._] My dear Hugh . . this is very generous of you. HUGH. Not a bit. I only want to start fresh and free. EDWARD. [_sitting back from his work._] Hugh, do you really think that money has carried a curse with it? HUGH. [_with great violence._] Think! I'm the proof of it and look at me. When I said I'd be an artist the governor gave me a hundred and fifty a year . . the rent of a studio and the price of a velvet coat he thought it; that was all he knew about art. Then my respectable training got me engaged and married. Marriage in a studio puzzled the governor, so he guessed it at _two_ hundred and fifty a year . . and looked for lay figure-babies, I suppose. What had I to do with Art? Nothing I've done yet but reflects our drawing-room at Chislehurst. EDWARD. [_considering._] Yes . . What do you earn in a year? I doubt if you can afford to give this up. HUGH. Oh, Edward . . you clank the chain with the best of them. That word Afford! I want to be free from my advantages. Don't you see I must find out what I'm worth in myself . . whether I even exist or not? Perhaps I'm only a pretence of a man animated by an income. EDWARD. But you can't return to nature on the London pavements.