Mrs. R. Haslam. But why not? Surely that is unreasonable.
Flora. Because in an argument I always begin rather well, but in the end I'm apt to get beaten. So I just stop, especially when I know I'm right. I'm a short distance woman. All I say is—can you imagine me—me, running off to Ostend with a man who had sacrificed his career, and Snowdon, and all England, unwillingly, in order to go ... what gay little suppers we should have together!
Mrs. R. Haslam. One day, perhaps when it's too late, you'll realise that a wife's first duty, and therefore her greatest joy, is to help her husband. I know I realised it, at once. When I was married, Reach was only earning three hundred a year; he was a solicitor's managing clerk—weren't you, father? I said to myself that I ought to try to help him, and so I began to write. And as a wife, I've been doing my best to help him ever since. After ten years I thought it advisable for him to give up the law. How much did I pay income-tax on last year, dear?
Mr. R. Haslam. Nineteen thousand four hundred pounds.
Mrs. R. Haslam. I don't boast, but you see what comes of trying to do one's wifely duty!
Flora. Some women can do nothing but earn money. (Cedric begins playing mechanically with an object on the table.) I can only spend it. Two different talents! If I had a hundred pounds to throw away at this moment, I know what I should spend it on—— (A pause. She looks round; exerting all her wayward charm.) Come, why doesn't some one ask me what I should spend it on?
Mrs. R. Haslam. (Gloomily perfunctory.) What should you spend it on?
Flora. I should erect a statue to Mr. Frampington. It would be a good thing if there were a few more Frampingtons about, just to give people who've got as far as the vestry a chance of reconsidering their position.
Mrs. R. Haslam. Upon my word, Flora (cuttingly), one would say, from your sparkling wit, that you were quite in high spirits over the situation.