ANABEL. I am at Lilley Close every day—or most days—to work with your sister Winifred in the studio.
GERALD. What?—why, how's that?
ANABEL. Your father asked me. My father was already giving her some lessons.
GERALD. And you're at our house every day?
ANABEL. Most days.
GERALD. Well, I'm—well, I'll be—you managed it very sharp, didn't you? I've only been away a fort-night.
ANABEL. Your father asked me—he offered me twelve pounds a month—I wanted to do something.
GERALD. Oh yes, but you didn't hire yourself out at Lilley Close as a sort of upper servant just for twelve pounds a month.
ANABEL. You're wrong—you're wrong. I'm not a sort of upper servant at all—not at all.
GERALD. Oh, yes, you are, if you're paid twelve pounds a month—three pounds a week. That's about what father's sick-nurse gets, I believe. You don't do it for twelve pounds a month. You can make twelve pounds in a day, if you like to work at your little models: I know you can sell your statuette things as soon as you make them.