FREDA enters from the corridor.
SIR WILLIAM. I've asked you to be good enough to come, in order that—[pointing to chair]—You may sit down.
But though she advances two or three steps, she does not sit down.
SIR WILLIAM. This is a sad business.
FREDA. [Below her breath] Yes, Sir William.
SIR WILLIAM. [Becoming conscious of the depths of feeling before him] I—er—are you attached to my son?
FREDA. [In a whisper] Yes.
SIR WILLIAM. It's very painful to me to have to do this. [He turns away from her and speaks to the fire.] I sent for you—to—ask— [quickly] How old are you?
FREDA. Twenty-two.
SIR WILLIAM. [More resolutely] Do you expect me to sanction such a mad idea as a marriage?