edward. When he comes of age.
mr. voysey. Well, that gives us, say four years and six months in which to think about it.
edward waits, hopelessly, for his father to speak again; then says . .
edward. Thank you for showing me these, sir. Shall I put them back in your safe now?
mr. voysey. Yes, you'd better. There's the key. [edward reaches for the bunch, his face hidden.] Put them down. Your hand shakes . . why, you might have been drinking . . I'll put them away later. It's no use having hysterics, Edward. Look the trouble in the face.
edward's only answer is to go to the fire, as far from his father as the room allows. And there he leans on the mantelpiece, his shoulders heaving.
mr. voysey. I'm sorry, my dear boy. I wouldn't tell you if I could help it.
edward. I can't believe it. And that you should be telling it me.
mr. voysey. Let your feelings go and get that part of the business over. It isn't pleasant, I know. It isn't pleasant to inflict it on you.
edward. How I got through that outer office this morning, I don't know. I came early but some of them were here. Peacey came into my room, he must have seen there was something up.