Peter. Oh, no. I'm safe if anyone is safe. No one is, of course, but I'm as safe as man can be. I'm a first-elass workman.
Mar. I know that, dear.
Peter. So do they. They'll not sack me. I might sack them some day.
Mar. But—how shall we live?
Peter (impatiently). Oh, not yet. I'm speaking of the future. Don't you see? I'm not content to be a workman all my life. I ought to make a living easily by writing and—and speaking if you'll let me. Then I could be with you all day long.
Mar. (looking straight in front of her). Have I set fire to this train?
Peter. You don't suppose a B.A. means to stick to manual labour all his life, do you?
Mar. Oh, dear! This wasn't my idea at all. I wanted you to win your degree for the honour of the thing, to show them what a working engineer could do. Cease to be a workman and you confess another, worse motive. It's as though you only passed to make a profit for yourself.
Peter. I can't help being ambitious. I wasn't till you set me on.
Mar. If you listened to me then, listen to me now.