MAUD. Yes?
FITZSIMMONS. Rotten. You can do better yourself, and that’s not saying much. She’s a nice girl, really she is, but she is the black sheep of the family. Funny, isn’t it?
MAUD. [Weak voice.] Yes, funny.
FITZSIMMONS. Her brother Jack is all right. But he can’t do anything with her. She’s a—a—
MAUD. [Grimly.] Yes. Go on.
FITZSIMMONS. A holy terror. She ought to be in a reform school.
MAUD. [Springing to her feet and slamming newspapers in his face.] Oh! Oh! Oh! You liar! She isn’t anything of the sort!
FITZSIMMONS. [Recovering from the onslaught and making believe he is angry, advancing threateningly on her.] Now I’m going to put a head on you. You young hoodlum.
MAUD. [All alarm and contrition, backing away from him.] Don’t! Please don’t! I’m sorry! I apologise. I—I beg your pardon, Bob. Only I don’t like to hear girls talked about that way, even—even if it is true. And you ought to know.
FITZSIMMONS. [Subsiding and resuming seat.] You’ve changed a lot, I must say.