LEONARD. From your point of view, sir, I’m afraid I’m a bad lot.
TIMBRELL. What good are you to anybody? Why were you born?
LEONARD. That’s your concern, sir.
TIMBRELL. Don’t bandy words with me. You should be down on your knees asking pardon of this poor girl, of your Mother, of your God. What are such things to you?
LEONARD. I’m extremely sorry. Of course I’ve no defence. I should have to go back to some kind of first principles and even then it’d be a bit shaky I daresay. Mother, it’s horrible for you. I see that.
TIMBRELL. But have you nothing to say? Do you think this is adequate? What are you going to do? What’s your way out?
LEONARD. You have a better head than I have, sir, for these practical matters.
TIMBRELL. You are a callous and impudent fellow. [To MARY.] What have you got to say?
MARY. I can’t make out how much he cares.
LEONARD. [To MARY.] I don’t know what to say to you. I can’t talk to you in public. This is a new aspect of the thing entirely. What’s the use of telling you I’m sorry?