Mar. (rising and looking down on him). Peter, Peter, how young you are!
Peter (rising excitedly). Young! I'm not young.
Mar. I thought you were going to be silent.
Peter (walking up and down). Young! As if youth had anything to do with arithmetic and the number of one's years. I'm old in suffering and experience. I'm an old, old man.
Mar. (standing c. against table, watching). When you sow wild oats that old feeling is usually part of the crop.
Peter (hotly). I haven't sown wild oats. I'm not that sort of man. (Hesitating.) Unless you mean——
Mar. I didn't, but I might have done.
Peter (sitting, sullenly). I wish there were no such things as women in the world!
Mar. The bi-sexual system has its disadvantages. But we'll forget Miss Mottram, Peter. That was a private indiscretion. You sowed your wild oats publicly in the fierce light that beats upon a politician. That was the arrogance of youth.
Peter. I'm not so young as you.