MRS. CULVER. Well, I'm the ancient girl. And I can tell you this—you're very like me, and we're both very like somebody else.
HILDEGARDE. Who's that.
MRS. CULVER. Eve.
JOHN. Come, mater. Eve would never have learnt typewriting. She'd have gone on the land.
MRS. CULVER. John, your sister and I are not jesting.
HILDEGARDE. I'm so glad you admit I'm serious, mamma. Because I am—very. I don't want to threaten—
MRS. CULVER. Threaten, darling?
HILDEGARDE ( firmly, but quite lightly and sweetly ). No, darling. Not to threaten. The mere idea of threatening is absurd. But it would be extremely unfair to you not to tell you that unless you agree to father refusing the title, I shall have to leave the house and live by myself. I really shall. Of course I can easily earn my own living. I quite see that you have principles. But I also have principles. If they clash—naturally it's my place to retire. And I shall, mamma dearest.
MRS. CULVER. Is that final?
HILDEGARDE. Final, mummy darling.