Sydney. Well, somebody’ll have to give way, won’t they, darling?
Kit. Hm!
Sydney. My dear boy, if you want a door-mat you’d better look out for someone—someone like poor dear Mother, for instance.
Kit. [Wiser than he knows] But you are like her, Sydney!
Sydney. Me? Do you think I’d let my daughter run me the way I run Mother? Not much!
Miss Fairfield. [Re-entering] I think I left my— [murmurs].
Sydney. [Aside] It’s no good. She’s doing this on purpose because I cheeked her. You’d better go, old man. Besides, they must be well through the anthem.
Kit. [Disturbed] Good Lord! I should think I had better go!
Sydney. [Going with him to the door] I say, keep your father quiet till I’ve had time to talk to Gray.
Kit. Right! [He goes out.]