Margaret. I don’t know why you should be unkind to me on Christmas morning.
Miss Fairfield. [With a sort of grudging affection] I suppose it’s because I’ve only got another week to be unkind to you in.
Margaret. [Restlessly] Oh, I wish you didn’t hate it so.
Miss Fairfield. My dear, when you see a person you care for, and she your own nephew’s wife, on the brink of deadly sin—
Margaret. Must we begin it again?
Miss Fairfield. I do my duty. If you’d done yours your daughter wouldn’t be late for breakfast, and I shouldn’t be given the opportunity.
Margaret. Perhaps I had better call her.
Miss Fairfield. Everything getting cold—and so disrespectful! She ought to be taught.
Margaret. [Rising with a sigh] You’re quite right. [Calling at the foot of the stairs] Sydney, darling, shall I bring you up your coffee?
Sydney’s Voice. [Answering] It’s all right, Mother! I’m coming.