beatrice. [who sews on undisturbed.] We don't get on well together.
booth. [amazedly.] Is that all?
hugh. [snapping at him.] Yes, that's all. Can you find a better reason?
booth. [with brotherly contempt.] I have given up expecting common sense from you. But Beatrice—! [his tone implores her to be reasonable.]
beatrice. It doesn't seem to me any sort of sense that people should live together for purposes of mutual irritation.
booth. [protesting.] My dear girl! . . that sounds like a quotation from your last book.
beatrice. It isn't. I do think, Booth, you might read that book . . for the honour of the Family.
booth. [successfully side-tracked. . ] I have bought it, Beatrice, and—
beatrice. That's the principal thing, of course—
booth. [. . and discovering it.] But do let us keep to the subject.