EDWARD. What will Colpus . . what will all the other Christian gentlemen demand? Pounds of flesh! Pounds of flesh! MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Don't be hysterical. I demand what is mine . . in such quantities as you can afford. EDWARD'S _laughter gives way to the deepest anger of which he is capable_. EDWARD. I'm giving my soul and body to restoring you and the rest of you to your precious money bags . . and you'll wring me dry. Won't you? Won't you? MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Now be reasonable. Argue the point quietly. EDWARD. Go to the devil, sir. _And with that he turns away from the flabbergasted old gentleman._ MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Don't be rude. EDWARD. [_his anger vanishing._] I beg your pardon. MR. GEORGE BOOTH. You're excited. Take time to think of it. I'm reasonable. EDWARD. [_his sense of humour returning._] Most! Most! [_There is a knock at the door._] Come in. Come in. HONOR _intrudes an apologetic head_. HONOR. Am I interrupting business? I'm so sorry. EDWARD. [_crowing in a mirthless enjoyment of his joke._] No! Business is over . . quite over. Come in, Honor. HONOR _puts on the table a market basket bulging with little paper parcels, and, oblivious to_ MR. BOOTH'S _distracted face, tries to fix his attention_. HONOR. I thought, dear Mr. Booth, perhaps you wouldn't mind carrying round this basket of things yourself. It's so very damp underfoot that I don't want to send one of the maids out to-night if I can possibly avoid it . . and if one doesn't get Christmas presents the very first thing on Christmas morning quite half the pleasure in them is lost, don't you think? MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Yes . . yes. HONOR. [_fishing out the parcels one by one._] This is a bell for Mrs. Williams . . something she said she wanted so that you can ring that for her which saves the maids. Cap and apron for Mary. Cap and apron for Ellen. Shawl for Davis when she goes out to the larder. All useful presents. And that's something for you but you're not to look at it till the morning. _Having shaken each of these at the old gentleman, she proceeds to re-pack them. He is now trembling with anxiety to escape before any more of the family find him there._ MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Thank you . . thank you! I hope my lot has arrived. I left instructions . . HONOR. Quite safely . . and I have hidden them. Presents are put on the breakfast table to-morrow. EDWARD. [_with an inconsequence that still further alarms_ MR. BOOTH.] When we were all children our Christmas breakfast was mostly made off chocolates. _Before the basket is packed_, MRS. VOYSEY _sails slowly into the room, as smiling and as deaf as ever_. MR. BOOTH _does his best not to scowl at her_. MRS. VOYSEY. Are you feeling better, George Booth? MR. GEORGE BOOTH. No. [_then he elevates his voice with a show of politeness._] No, thank you . . I can't say I am. MRS. VOYSEY. You don't look better. MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I still have my headache. [_with a distracted shout._] Headache.