beatrice. [with flattering sincerity.] Certainly, Booth. And there is hardly any subject that I wouldn't ask your advice about. But upon this . . do let me know better. Hugh and I will be happier apart.
booth. [obstinately.] Why?
beatrice. [with resolute patience, having vented a little sigh.] Hugh finds that my opinions distress him. And I have at last lost patience with Hugh.
mrs. voysey. [who has been trying to follow this through her spectacles.] What does Beatrice say?
booth. [translating into a loud sing-song.] That she wishes to leave her husband because she has lost patience!
mrs. voysey. [with considerable acrimony.] Then you must be a very ill-tempered woman. Hugh has a sweet nature.
hugh. [shouting self-consciously.] Nonsense, mother.
beatrice. [shouting good-humouredly.] I quite agree with you, mother. [she continues to her husband in an even just tone.] You have a sweet nature, Hugh, and it is most difficult to get angry with you. I have been seven years working up to it. But now that I am angry, I shall never get pleased again.
The Major returns to his subject, refreshed by a moment's repose.
booth. How has he failed in his duty? Tell us. I'm not bigoted in his favour. I know your faults, Hugh.