Sydney. Oh, I do think it’s morbid to have a conscience. If Father had been dead fifteen years, would you say, “I hope I’m doing right”? And he is dead. His mind’s dead. You know you’ve done all you can. And you’re frightfully in love with Gray—
Margaret. [Flushing] Don’t, Sydney!
Sydney. Well, you are, and so he is with you. So what’s the worry about? Aunt Hester! What people like Aunt Hester choose to think! I call it morbid.
Margaret. [Whimsically] I suppose I haven’t brought you up properly. Your aunt’s quite right!
Sydney. Yes. That’s what it always comes back to. “Your aunt’s quite right!” I can argue with you by the hour—
Margaret. [Hastily] Oh, not this morning, darling, will you?
Sydney.—and Gray can argue with you by the hour—
Margaret. [Smiling] Ah, but he never does.
Sydney.—and you pretend to agree with us; but underneath your common sense, your mind’s really thinking—“Your aunt’s quite right!”
Margaret. She stands for the old ways, Sydney.