Mary Broome: A Comedy, in Four Acts

by Allan Monkhouse

TIMBRELL. This time it’s before.

LEONARD. There’s a sort of grandeur about a man with a fixed idea.

EDGAR. I know you’re an obstinate—a determined man, sir, but I’ll ask you for once to consider—

TIMBRELL. Silence.

EDGAR. Mother—

MRS. TIMBRELL. It’s no use. I’ve never stood up against him. I’ve let him have his own way all these years. It didn’t seem to matter.

TIMBRELL. I am the head of this house.

[His implacability daunts them. There are whisperings between ADA, SHEILA and EDGAR. MRS. TIMBRELL is a little apart quiet and sad. In the grouping MARY has come to the front. LEONARD moves a step or two nearer to her and the others are in a rough ring about them.]

LEONARD. Mary.