PHILIP. Not he. (Bracing himself for a scene.) And now look here,
mamma. (He takes the stool from the bench; and seats himself
majestically in the middle of the room, taking a leaf out of Valentine's
book. Dolly, feeling that her position on the step of the operating
chair is unworthy of the dignity of the occasion, rises, looking
important and determined; crosses to the window; and stands with her
back to the end of the writing-table, her hands behind her and on the
table. Mrs. Clandon looks at them, wondering what is coming. Gloria
becomes attentive. Philip straightens his back; places his knuckles
symmetrically on his knees; and opens his case.) Dolly and I have been
talking over things a good deal lately; and I don't think, judging from
my knowledge of human nature--we don't think that you (speaking very
staccato, with the words detached) quite appreciate the fact ---

DOLLY (seating herself on the end of the table with a spring). That
we've grown up.

MRS. CLANDON. Indeed? In what way have I given you any reason to
complain?

PHILIP. Well, there are certain matters upon which we are beginning
to feel that you might take us a little more into your confidence.

MRS. CLANDON (rising, with all the placidity of her age suddenly
broken up; and a curious hard excitement, dignified but dogged, ladylike
but implacable--the manner of the Old Guard of the Women's Rights
movement--coming upon her). Phil: take care. Remember what I have
always taught you. There are two sorts of family life, Phil; and your
experience of human nature only extends, so far, to one of them.
(Rhetorically.) The sort you know is based on mutual respect, on