Mother. You don’t mean to say you’re going to start having secrets from your own mother?
Daughter. It’s about time.
Dresser. Shame on you, you young thing, being so cheeky to your own mother!
Mother. Come, let’s do something sensible instead of jangling like this. Why not come here, and read over your part with me?
Daughter. The manager said I wasn’t to go through it with anyone, because if I did, I should only learn something wrong.
Mother. I see, so that’s the thanks one gets for trying to help you. Of course, of course! Everything that I do is always silly, I suppose.
Daughter. Why do you do it then? And why do you put the blame on to me, whenever you do anything wrong?
Dresser. Of course you want to remind your mother that she ain’t educated? Ugh, ’ow common!
Daughter. You say I want to, aunt, but it’s not the case. If mother goes and teaches me anything wrong, I’ve got to learn the whole thing over again, if I don’t want to lose my engagement. We don’t want to find ourselves stranded.
Mother. I see. You’re now letting us know that we’re living on what you earn. But do you really know what you owe Aunt Augusta here? Do you know that she looked after us when your blackguard of a father left us in the lurch?—that she took care of us and that you therefore owe her a debt which you can never pay off—in all your born days? Do you know that? [DAUGHTER is silent.] Do you know that? Answer.