edward. I am in prison . . a less pleasant one than Wormwood Scrubbs. But we're all prisoners, Mr. Booth.
mr. booth. [wagging his head.] Yes, this is what comes of your philosophy. Why aren't you on your knees?
edward. To you?
This was not what mr. booth meant, but as he gets up from his chair he feels all but mighty.
mr. booth. And why should you expect me to shrink from vindicating the law?
edward. [shortly.] I don't. I've explained you'll be doing me a kindness. When I'm wanted you'll find me here at my desk. [then as an afterthought.] If you take long to decide . . don't alter your behaviour to my family in the meantime. They know the main points of the business and—
mr. booth. [knocked right off his balance.] Do they! Good God! . . I'm invited to dinner the day after to-morrow . . that's Christmas Eve. The hypocrites!
edward. [unmoved.] I shall be there . . that will have given you two days. Will you tell me then?
mr. booth. [protesting violently.] I can't go to dinner . . I can't eat with them. I must be ill.
edward. [with a half smile.] I remember I went to dinner at Chislehurst to tell my father of my decision.