mr. voysey. D'you know what she brought me? . . five hundred pounds.
edward. That's damnable.
mr. voysey. Indeed. I give her seventy five pounds a year for it. Would you like to take charge of that account, Edward? I'll give you five hundred to invest to-morrow.
edward, hopelessly beaten, falls into an almost comic state of despair.
edward. My dear Father, putting every moral question aside . . it's all very well your playing Robin Hood in this magnificent manner; but have you given a moment's thought to the sort of inheritance you'll be leaving me?
mr. voysey. [pleased for the first time.] Ah! That is a question you have every right to ask.
edward. If you died to-morrow could we pay eight shillings in the pound . . or seventeen . . or five? Do you know?
mr. voysey. And my answer is, that by your help I have every intention, when I die, of leaving a will behind me of property to you all running into six figures. D'you think I've given my life and my talents to this money making for a less result than that? I'm fond of you all . . and I want you to be proud of me . . and I mean that the name of Voysey shall be carried high in the world by my children and grandchildren. Don't you be afraid, Edward. Ah, you lack experience, my boy . . you're not full grown yet . . your impulses are a bit chaotic. You emotionalise over your work, and you reason about your emotions. You must sort yourself. You must realise that money making is one thing, and religion another, and family-life a third . . and that if we apply our energies whole-heartedly to each of these in turn, and realise that different laws govern each, that there is a different end to be served, a different ideal to be striven for in each,—
His coherence is saved by the sudden appearance of his wife, who comes round the door smiling benignly. Not in the least put out, in fact a little relieved, he greets her with an affectionate shout, for she is very deaf.