Sir H. Not at all, Mr. Potter, not at all. I’m younger than I look. I have had trouble.
Tom. You, Sir Humphrey!
Sir H. My son gives me a great deal of anxiety. His heart’s in the right place, I know, but he’s young, reckless, and extravagant. He’s taken to writing lately. A bad sign, Mr. Potter, a bad sign. I never knew a young man who took to writing come to any good. I’ve paid his debts more than once, and he won’t settle down. I found a charming wife for him, and he wouldn’t look at her. He has views of his own—very bad things to have. Why can’t men be content with the views of their forefathers? The opinions which are good enough for me ought to be good enough for a stripling like him.
Tom. Our forefathers believed the sun went round the earth.
Sir H. And what better are we for believing the earth goes round the sun? I’ve no patience with these revolutionary ideas. They unsettle men’s minds. Of course you don’t agree with me. You are another man with views, and that’s the reason why you don’t get on.
Tom. (comes down C.) You don’t like me, Sir Humphrey. You are very kind and hospitable; but I know it’s only as a distant relative that you put up with me. I don’t wonder at it. You represent society; I represent Bohemia. This makes it difficult to say what I must say before I go.
Sir H. What is that, Mr. Potter?
Tom. I want to ask your ward, Miss Preston, if she’ll be my wife. You’re astonished at my presumption—naturally.
Sir H. Not quite that. What are Miss Preston’s feelings in the matter?
Tom. I don’t know. I didn’t feel justified in speaking to her first.