HOBSON. No. Nor like French Madams, neither. It's un-English, I
say.

ALICE. We shall continue to dress fashionably, father.

HOBSON. Then I've a choice for you two. Vickey, you I'm talking
to, and Alice. You'll become sane if you're going on living here.
You'll control this uppishness that's growing on you. And if you
don't, you'll get out of this, and exercise your gifts on some
one else than me. You don't know when you're well off. But you'll
learn it when I'm done with you. I'll choose a pair of husbands
for you, my girls. That's what I'll do.

ALICE. Can't we choose husbands for ourselves?

HOBSON. I've been telling you for the last five minutes you're
not even fit to choose dresses for yourselves.

MAGGIE. You're talking a lot to Vickey and Alice, father. Where
do I come in?

HOBSON. You? (_Turning on her, astonished_.)

MAGGIE. If you're dealing husbands round, don't I get one?

HOBSON. Well, that's a good one! (_Laughs_.) You with a
husband! (_Down in front of desk_.)

MAGGIE. Why not?