Sydney. I am being good. I’m returning hint for hint.
Miss Fairfield. [Ruffling] Is this the way you let your daughter speak to me, Margaret?
Sydney. [Closing with her] You see, she doesn’t enjoy being hinted at either.
Margaret. [Between the upper and the nether mill-stone] I don’t know what you mean, Sydney, but don’t!
Sydney. I mean that I’m not going to let Aunt Hester interfere in my affairs like she does in yours. That’s what I mean.
Miss Fairfield. These are the manners they teach you at your fine school, I suppose!
Sydney. Never mind, Auntie, I’ve had my lessons in the holidays too. You needn’t think I haven’t watched the life you’ve led Mother over this divorce business.
Margaret. [Distressed at the discussion] Sydney! Sydney!
Sydney. [Remorselessly] Well, hasn’t she? What prevented you from marrying Gray ages ago? Father’s been out of his mind long enough, poor man! You knew you were free to be free. You knew you were making Gray miserable and yourself miserable—and yet, though that divorce law has been in force for years, it’s taken you all this time to fight your scruples. At least, you call them scruples! What you really mean is Aunt Hester and her prayer book. And now, when you have at last consented to give yourself a chance of being happy—when it’s Christmas Day and you’re going to be married at New Year—still you let Aunt Hester sit at your own breakfast table and insult you with talk about deadly sin. It’s no use pretending you didn’t Auntie, because Mother left my door open and I heard you.
Margaret. [With a certain dignity] Sydney, I can take care of myself.