IRIS. Because, you see, he cannot paint.
JACK. He cannot paint.
JACK and IRIS (together). He cannot, cannot paint.
BROXOPP. Well, what are you going to do, then?
IRIS (surprised). Give you back your money, of course.
BROXOPP. Don’t be silly. I didn’t mean that. What work are you going to do?
JACK (wandering round the room). Well, that’s rather the question. Iris thought—(He stops suddenly at the sight of his mother’s drawing) Oh, Lord, here’s this again. What on earth——?
BROXOPP (off-handedly). Just a rough sketch for an advertisement—a little idea of mine—Ajax defying the lightning—your mother was—— Well, then, Jack, you——
JACK (looking up at his mother reproachfully). Mother, darling!
NANCY. Oh, Jack, Ajaxes are so hard.