MRS. BARLOW. Well, it's your own affair.
GERALD. What a lame summing up, mother!—quite unworthy of you.
ANABEL. What did you wish to say to me, Mrs. Barlow? Please say it.
MRS. BARLOW. What did I wish to say! Ay, what did I wish to say! What is the use of my saying anything? What am I but a buffoon and a slovenly caricature in the family?
GERALD. No, mother dear, don't climb down—please don't. Tell Anabel what you wanted to say.
MRS. BARLOW. Yes—yes—yes. I came to say—don't be good to my son—don't be too good to him.
GERALD. Sounds weak, dear—mere contrariness.
MRS. BARLOW. Don't presume to be good to my son, young woman. I won't have it, even if he will. You hear me?
ANABEL. Yes. I won't presume, then.
GERALD. May she presume to be bad to me, mother?