McCOMAS (revolted). I have nothing more to say, sir. I shall return and tell Mr. Crampton that this family is no place for a father. (He makes for the door.) MRS. CLANDON (with quiet authority). Finch! (He halts.) If Mr. Valentine cannot be serious, you can. Sit down. (McComas, after a brief struggle between his dignity and his friendship, succumbs, seating himself this time midway between Dolly and Mrs. Clandon.) You know that all this is a made up case--that Fergus does not believe in it any more than you do. Now give me your real advice--your sincere, friendly advice: you know I have always trusted your judgment. I promise you the children will be quiet. McCOMAS (resigning himself). Well, well! What I want to say is this. In the old arrangement with your husband, Mrs. Clandon, you had him at a terrible disadvantage. MRS. CLANDON. How so, pray? McCOMAS. Well, you were an advanced woman, accustomed to defy public opinion, and with no regard for what the world might say of you. MRS. CLANDON (proud of it). Yes: that is true. (Gloria, behind the chair, stoops and kisses her mother's hair, a demonstration which disconcerts her extremely.) McCOMAS. On the other hand, Mrs. Clandon, your husband had a great horror of anything getting into the papers. There was his business to be considered, as well as the prejudices of an old-fashioned family. MRS. CLANDON. Not to mention his own prejudices. McCOMAS. Now no doubt he behaved badly, Mrs. Clandon-- MRS. CLANDON (scornfully). No doubt. McCOMAS. But was it altogether his fault? MRS. CLANDON. Was it mine? McCOMAS (hastily). No. Of course not. GLORIA (observing him attentively). You do not mean that, Mr. McComas. McCOMAS. My dear young lady, you pick me up very sharply. But let me just put this to you. When a man makes an unsuitable marriage (nobody's fault, you know, but purely accidental incompatibility of tastes); when he is deprived by that misfortune of the domestic sympathy which, I take it, is what a man marries for; when in short, his wife is rather worse than no wife at all (through no fault of his own, of course), is it to be wondered at if he makes matters worse at first by blaming her, and even, in his desperation, by occasionally drinking himself into a violent condition or seeking sympathy elsewhere? MRS. CLANDON. I did not blame him: I simply rescued myself and the children from him. McCOMAS. Yes: but you made hard terms, Mrs. Clandon. You had him at your mercy: you brought him to his knees when you threatened to make the matter public by applying to the Courts for a judicial separation. Suppose he had had that power over you, and used it to take your children away from you and bring them up in ignorance of your very name, how would you feel? what would you do? Well, won't you make some allowance for his feelings?--in common humanity. MRS. CLANDON. I never discovered his feelings. I discovered his temper, and his-- (she shivers) the rest of his common humanity.