Peter. Oh, taunts don't sting me now. I've reached the further side of agony.
Mar. (sitting at table, centre, leaning on it very close to Peter, and speaking without a trace of sympathy). Peter, don't you think you've made sufficient demonstration of your grief?
Peter. Demonstration?
Mar. We're all tremendously impressed. You've thoroughly alarmed us. That's what you wanted, wasn't it? (Peter meets her eye questioningly.) To prove to yourself that after all you're still of consequence to somebody. It's quite true, Peter. We're not content to watch you sulk to death. You've made your big effect. For a week you've had the joy of fostering your wound, keeping it open for all the world to see how hardly you've been hit, but it's time you healed it now.
Peter (hiding his head on the table). Misunderstood!
Mar. Misunderstood? (Rising and tapping the table.) Or found out, Peter? Which?
Peter (pitiably turning, still sitting, to Mrs. Garside). Mother, you let these people in. Are you going to sit there and let them bully a sick man?
Mar. (admiringly). That's a good pose, Peter. The great, strong, self-willed man brought down to crying to his mammie.
Peter (in an agonised shriek). Mother!
Mrs. G. (firmly). I'm not going to interfere. I promised Margaret her own way.