Next day after lunch Lady Britomart is writing in the library in Milton Crescent. Sarah is reading in the armchair near the window. Barbara, in ordinary dress, pale and brooding, is on the settee. Charles Lomax enters. Coming forward between the settee and the writing table, he starts on seeing Barbara fashionably attired and in lone spirits.
LOMAX. Youve left off your uniform!
Barbara says nothing; but an expression of pain passes over her face.
LADY BRITOMART (warning him in low tones to be careful).. Charles!
LOMAX (much concerned, sitting down sympathetically on the settee beside Barbara). I'm awfully sorry, Barbara. You know I helped you all I could with the concertina and so forth. (Momentously.) Still, I have never shut my eyes to the fact that there is a certain amount of tosh about the Salvation Army. Now the claims of the Church of England
LADY BRITOMART. Thats enough, Charles. Speak of something suited to your mental capacity.
LOMAX. But surely the Church of England is suited to all our capacities.
BARBARA (pressing his hand). Thank you for your sympathy, Cholly. Now go and spoon with Sarah.
LOMAX (rising and going to Sarah). How is my ownest today?
SARAH. I wish you wouldnt tell Cholly to do things, Barbara. He always comes straight and does them. Cholly: we're going to the works at Perivale St. Andrews this afternoon.
LOMAX. What works?
SARAH. The cannon works.
LOMAX. What! Your governor's shop!
LOMAX. Oh I say! Cusins enters in poor condition. He also starts visibly when he sees Barbara without her uniform.
BARBARA. I expected you this morning, Dolly. Didnt you guess that?
CUSINS. (sitting down beside her). I'm sorry. I have only just breakfasted.
SARAH. But weve just finished lunch.
BARBARA. Have you had one of your bad nights?
CUSINS. No: I had rather a good night: in fact, one of the most remarkable nights I have ever passed.
BARBARA. The meeting?
CUSINS. No: after the meeting.
LADY BRITOMART. You should have gone to bed the meeting. What were you doing?
LADY BRITOMART. Adolphus!
LOMAX. Oh I say!
LADY BRITOMART. What were you drinking, may I ask?
CUSINS. A most devilish kind of Spanish burgundy, warranted free from added alcohol: a Temperance burgundy in fact. Its richness in natural alcohol made any addition superfluous.
BARBARA. Are you joking, Dolly?
CUSINS. (patiently). No. I have been making a night of it with the nominal head of this household: that is all.
LADY BRITOMART. Andrew made you drunk!
CUSINS. No: he only provided the wine. I think it was Dionysos who made me drunk. (To Barbara.) I told you I was possessed.
LADY BRITOMART. Youre not sober yet. Go home to bed at once.
CUSINS. I have never before ventured to reproach you, Lady Brit; but how could you marry the Prince of Darkness?
LADY BRITOMART. It was much more excusable to marry him than to get drunk with him. That is a new accomplishment of Andrew's, by the way. He usent to drink.
CUSINS. He doesnt now. He only sat there and completed the wreck of my moral basis, the rout of my convictions, the purchase of my soul. He cares for you, Barbara. That is what makes him so dangerous to me.
BARBARA. That has nothing to do with it, Dolly. There are larger loves and diviner dreams than the fireside ones. You know that, dont you?
CUSINS. Yes: that is our understanding. I know it. I hold to it. Unless he can win me on that holier ground he may amuse me for a while; but he can get no deeper hold, strong as he is.
BARBARA. Keep to that; and the end will be right. Now tell me what happened at the meeting?
CUSINS. It was an amazing meeting. Mrs. Baines almost died of emotion. Jenny Hill went stark mad with hysteria. The Prince of Darkness played his trombone like a madman: its brazen roarings were like the laughter of the damned. 117 conversions took place then and there. They prayed with the most touching sincerity and gratitude for Bodger, and for the anonymous donor of the £5000. Your father would not let his name be given.
LOMAX. That was rather fine of the old man, you know. Most chaps would have wanted the advertisement.
CUSINS. He said all the charitable institutions would be down on him like kites on a battle field if he gave his name.
LADY BRITOMART. Thats Andrew all over, He never does a proper thing without giving an improper reason for it.
CUSINS. He convinced me that I have all my life been doing improper things for proper reasons.
LADY BRITOMART. Adolphus: now that Barbara has left the Salvation Army, you had better leave it too. I will not have you playing that drum in the streets.
CUSINS. Your orders are already obeyed, Lady Brit.
BARBARA. Dolly: were you ever really in earnest about it? Would you have joined if you had never seen me?
CUSINS (disingenuously). Well -- er -- well, possibly, as a collector of religions --
LOMAX (cunningly). Not as a drummer, though, you know. You are a very clearheaded brainy chap, Cholly; and it must have been apparent to you that there is a certain amount of tosh about--
LADY BRITOMART. Charles: if you must drivel, drivel like a grown-up man and not like a schoolboy.
LOMAX (out of countenance). Well, drivel is drivel, dont you know, whatever a man's age.
LADY BRITOMART. In good society in England, Charles, men drivel at all ages by repeating silly formulas with an air of wisdom. Schoolboys make their own formulas out of slang, like you. When they reach your age, and get political private secretaryships and things of that sort, they drop slang and get their formulas out of The Spectator or The Times. Y o u had better confine yourself to The Times. You will find that there is a certain amount of tosh about The Times; but at least its language is reputable.
LOMAX (overwhelmed). You are so awfully strongminded, Lady Brit
LADY BRITOMART. Rubbish! (Morrison comes in.) What is it?
MORRISON. If you please, my lady, Mr. Undershaft has just drove up to the door.
LADY BRITOMART. Well, let him in. (Morrison hesitates.) Whats the matter with you?
MORRISON. Shall I announce him, my lady; or is he at home here, so to speak, my lady?
LADY BRITOMART. Annoumce him.
MORRISON. Thank you, my lady. You wont mind my asking, I hope. The occasion is in a manner of speaking new to me.
LADY BRITOMART. Quite right. Go and let him in.
MORRISON. Thank you, my lady. (He withdraws.)
LADY BRITOMART. Children: go and get ready. (Sarah and Barbara go upstairs for their out-of-door wraps. ) Charles: go and tell Stephen to come down here in five minutes: you will find him in the drawing room. (Charles goes.) Adolphus: tell them to send round the carriage in about fifteen minutes. (Adolphus goes.)
MORRISON (at the door). Mr. Undershaft.
Undershaft comes in. Morrison goes out.
UNDERSHAFT. Alone! How fortunate!
LADY BRITOMART (rising). Dont be sentimental, Andrew. Sit down. (She sits on the settee: he sits beside her, on her left. She comes to the point before he has time to breathe.) Sarah must have £800 a year until Charles Lomax comes into his property. Barbara will need more, and need it permanently, because Adolphus hasnt any property.
UNDERSHAFT (resignedly). Yes, my dear: I will see to it. Anything else? for yourself, for instance?
LADY BRITOMART. I want to talk to you about Stephen.
UNDERSHAFT (rather wearily). Dont, my dear. Stephen doesnt interest me.
LADY BRITOMART. He does interest me. He is our son.
UNDERSHAFT. Do you really think so? He has induced us to bring him into the world; but he chose his parents very incongruously, I think. I see nothing of myself in him, and less of you.
LADY BRITOMART. Andrew: Stephen is an excellent son, and a most steady, capable, highminded young man. You are simply trying to find an excuse for disinheriting him.
UNDERSHAFT. My dear Biddy: the Undershaft tradition disinherits him. It would be dishonest of me to leave the cannon foundry to my son.
LADY BRITOMART. It would be most unnatural and improper of you to leave it anyone else, Andrew. Do you suppose this wicked and immoral tradition can be kept up for ever? Do you pretend that Stephen could not carry on the foundry just as well as all the other sons of the big business houses?
UNDERSHAFT. Yes: he could learn the office routine without understanding the business, like all the other sons; and the firm would go on by its own momentum until the real Undershaft -- probably an Italian or a German -- would invent a new method and cut him out.
LADY BRITOMART. There is nothing that any Italian or German could do that Stephen could not do. And Stephen at least has breeding.
UNDERSHAFT. The son of a foundling! nonsense!
LADY BRITOMART. My son, Andrew! And even you may have good blood in your veins for all you know.
UNDERSHAFT. True. Probably I have. That is another argument in favor of a foundling.