LEONARD. Yes, Mary’s a mother. But what of you, poor thing? Look at us. Look at Edgar and me and Ada. Look at the finished product. What’s the good of it? What’s the good of being a mother when one’s children are grown up? I can understand Mary. I’ve watched her with the baby. There’s been something suppressed and killed in you.
MARY. Don’t say these things to her.
LEONARD. Failure is written on her face.
MARY. Don’t, don’t.
LEONARD. I’m at my best in saying such things.
MARY. But they hurt her. You only care for yourself.
LEONARD. She must be hurt. We’ve let her alone all these years. She ought to have revolted. She ought to be alive now.
MRS. TIMBRELL. I remember you all as babies, as children. I’ve got the past.
LEONARD. Was I always your favourite, mother?
MRS. TIMBRELL. I won’t say that. [She listens for a moment to a distant sound.] Perhaps you’d better go.