[ENID puts her work on the little table, and faces him.]
Filling a sieve with sand!
ENID. Don't!
ANTHONY. You think with your gloved hands you can cure the trouble of the century.
[He passes on. ]
ENID. Father!
[ANTHONY Stops at the double doors.]
I'm only thinking of you!
ANTHONY. [More softly.] I can take care of myself, my dear.
ENID. Have you thought what'll happen if you're beaten— [she points]—in there?