WELLWYN. My dear, I don't want to. It isn't them especially--why, I
feel it even with old Calway sometimes. It's only Providence that he
doesn't want anything of me--except to make me like himself--confound
him!

ANN. [Moving towards the door into the house--impressively.] What
you don't see is that other people aren't a bit like you.

WELLWYN. Well, thank God!

ANN. It's so old-fashioned too! I'm going to bed--I just leave you
to your conscience.

WELLWYN. Oh!

ANN. [Opening the door-severely.] Good-night--[with a certain
weakening] you old--Daddy!

[She jumps at him, gives him a hug, and goes out.]

[WELLWYN stands perfectly still. He first gazes up at the
skylight, then down at the floor. Slowly he begins to shake his
head, and mutter, as he moves towards the fire.]

WELLWYN. Bad lot. . . . Low type--no backbone, no stability!

[There comes a fluttering knock on the outer door. As the sound
slowly enters his consciousness, he begins to wince, as though
he knew, but would not admit its significance. Then he sits
down, covering his ears. The knocking does not cease. WELLWYN