_He wags his head at_ HUGH, _who writhes with irritation_. HUGH. Why can't you leave them alone . . leave us alone? BEATRICE. I'd state my case against Hugh, if I thought he'd retaliate. HUGH. [_desperately rounding on his brother._] If I tell you, you won't understand. You understand nothing! Beatrice is angry with me because I won't prostitute my art to make money. BOOTH. [_glancing at his wife._] Please don't use metaphors of that sort. BEATRICE. [_reasonably._] Yes, I think Hugh ought to earn more money. BOOTH. [_quite pleased to be getting along at last._] Well, why doesn't he? HUGH. I don't want money. BOOTH. You can't say you don't want money any more than you can say you don't want bread. BEATRICE. [_as she breaks off her cotton._] It's when one has known what it is to be a little short of both . . _Now the Major spreads himself and begins to be very wise, while_ HUGH, _to whom this is more intolerable than all, can only clutch his hair_. BOOTH. You know I never considered Art a very good profession for you, Hugh. And you won't even stick to one department of it. It's a profession that gets people into very bad habits, I consider. Couldn't you take up something else? You could still do those wood-cuts in your spare time to amuse yourself. HUGH. [_commenting on this with two deliberate shouts of simulated mirth._] Ha! Ha! BOOTH. [_sublimely superior._] Well, it wouldn't much matter if you didn't do them at all! BEATRICE. [_subtly._] Booth, there speaks the true critic. BOOTH. [_deprecating any title to omniscience._] Well, I don't pretend to know much about Art but-- HUGH. It would matter to me. There speaks the artist. BEATRICE. The arrogance of the artist! HUGH. We have a right to be arrogant. BEATRICE. Good workmen are humble. HUGH. And look to their wages. BEATRICE. Well, I'm only a workman. _With that she breaks the contact of this quiet deadly hopeless little quarrel by turning her head away. The Major, who has given it most friendly attention, comments . ._ BOOTH. Of course! Quite so! I'm sure all that is a very interesting difference of opinion. MRS. VOYSEY _leaves her armchair for her favourite station at the dining table_. MRS. VOYSEY. Booth is the only one of you that I can hear at all distinctly. But if you two foolish young people think you want to separate . . try it. You'll soon come back to each other and be glad to. People can't fight against Nature for long. And marriage is a natural state . . once you're married. BOOTH. [_with intense approval._] Quite right, Mother. MRS. VOYSEY. I know. _She resumes the Nineteenth Century. The Major, to the despair of everybody, makes yet another start; trying oratory this time._