GEOFFREY. (_To_ GINGER.) Do you know the contents of this letter?
GINGER. The matter has been discussed among us—informally.
GEOFFREY. Tell Lady Mogton I’ll—talk to her myself on the subject.
GINGER. Thank you. (_She collects her etceteras_.) Good afternoon.
GEOFFREY. (_Shortly_.) Good afternoon.
GINGER. (_She bows graciously to_ ST. HERBERT, _who responds_. _Goes
out_.)
GEOFFREY. The devil of it is that it’s the truth.
ST. HERBERT. Somebody was bound to say it, sooner or later!
GEOFFREY. Yes, but one’s own wife! This is a confoundedly awkward
situation.
ST. HERBERT. (_He comes to him_, _stands looking down at him_.) Did it
never occur to you, when you were advocating equal political rights for
women, that awkward situations might arise?
GEOFFREY. (_He leans back in his chair_.) Do you remember Tommy the
Terrier, as they used to call him in the House—was always preaching
Socialism?
ST. HERBERT. Quite the most amusing man I ever met!
GEOFFREY. And not afraid of being honest. Do you remember his answer
when somebody asked him what he would do if Socialism, by any chance,
really became established in England? He had just married an American
heiress. He said he should emigrate. I am still convinced that woman is
entitled to equal political rights with man. I didn’t think it was
coming in my time. There are points in the problem remaining to be
settled before we can arrive at a working solution. This is one of them.
(_He takes up the letter and reads_.) “Are you prepared to have as your
representative a person who for six months out of every year may be
incapacitated from serving you?” It’s easy enough to say I oughtn’t to
allow my supporters to drag in the personal element. I like it even less
myself. But what’s the answer?
(JAWBONES _enters with a tray_.)
JAWBONES. (_Places tray on table_.) Tea’s coming in a minute, sir.
(_He is clearing away_.)
GEOFFREY. Never mind all that. (_He hands him a slip_.) Take this to
the printers. Tell them I must have a proof to-night.
JAWBONES. Yes, sir.
(_Finds his cap and goes out_.)
ST. HERBERT. The answer, I should say, would be that the majority of
women will continue to find something better to do. The women who will
throw themselves into politics will be the unattached women, the
childless women. (_In an instant he sees his mistake_, _but it is too
late_.)
GEOFFREY. (_He rises_, _crosses to the desk_, _throws into a
waste-paper-basket a piece of crumpled paper that was in his hand_; _then
turns_. _The personal note has entered into the discussion_.) The women
who _want_ to be childless—what about them?
ST. HERBERT. (_He shrugs his shoulders_.) Are there any such?
GEOFFREY. There are women who talk openly of woman’s share in the
general scheme being a “burden” on her—an “incubus.”
ST. HERBERT. A handful of cranks. To the normal woman motherhood has
always been the one supreme desire.
GEOFFREY. Because children crowned her with honour. The barren woman
was despised. All that is changing. This movement is adding impulse to
it.
ST. HERBERT. Movements do not alter instincts.
GEOFFREY. But they do. Ever since man emerged from the jungle he has
been shedding his instincts—shaping them to new desires. Where do you
find this all-prevailing instinct towards maternity? Among the women of
society, who sacrifice it without a moment’s hesitation to their
vanity—to their mere pleasures? The middle-class woman—she, too, is
demanding “freedom.” Children, servants, the home!—they are too much for
her “nerves.” And now there comes this new development, appealing to the
intellectual woman. Is there not danger of her preferring political
ambition, the excitement of public life, to what has come to be regarded
as the “drudgery” of turning four walls into a home, of peopling the
silence with the voices of the children? (_He crosses to the table—lays
his hand again upon the open letter_.) How do you know that this may not
be her answer—“I have no children. I never mean to have children”?
(SIGSBY _enters in company with_ BEN LAMB, M.P. LAMB _is a short_,
_thick-set_, _good-tempered man_.)
Ah, Lamb, how are you?
LAMB. (_They greet one another_.) How are things going?
SIGSBY. They’re not going at all well.
GEOFFREY. Sigsby was ever the child of despondency.
SIGSBY. Yes, and so will you be when you find yourself at the bottom of
the poll.