That’s not true.
George Winter.
You don’t think your father is worth the money I give him. He’s as incompetent as all the rest of these damned fools who come from the West-End and think they can make money in the City. The nincompoop thinks himself a financial authority. The charwoman of a bucket-shop could give him points.
Catherine.
He has his name and his position.
George Winter.
Nowadays even a country curate will fight shy of a title on a prospectus. The salaries he gets are merely payments for you.
Catherine.
Oh, you’ve said all this so often. For years you’ve bullied me with your money. I was such a fool, because you said it was dishonest of me to go, rather than that even you should have the smallest cause to blame me, I bore everything. I clenched my hands and suffered.
George Winter.