It's such a horrid position for us. If you were the wife of the manager, and lived down here, and saw it all. You can't realise, Dad!

 

ANTHONY. Indeed?

 

ENID. We see all the distress. You remember my maid Annie, who married Roberts? [ANTHONY nods.] It's so wretched, her heart's weak; since the strike began, she hasn't even been getting proper food. I know it for a fact, Father.

 

ANTHONY. Give her what she wants, poor woman!

 

ENID. Roberts won't let her take anything from us.

 

ANTHONY. [Staring before him.] I can't be answerable for the men's obstinacy.

 

ENID. They're all suffering. Father! Do stop it, for my sake!

 

ANTHONY. [With a keen look at her.] You don't understand, my dear.

 

ENID. If I were on the Board, I'd do something.

 

ANTHONY. What would you do?

 

ENID. It's because you can't bear to give way. It's so—

 

ANTHONY. Well?

 

ENID. So unnecessary.

 

ANTHONY. What do you know about necessity? Read your novels, play your music, talk your talk, but don't try and tell me what's at the bottom of a struggle like this.

 

ENID. I live down here, and see it.

 

ANTHONY. What d' you imagine stands between you and your class and these men that you're so sorry for?

 

ENID. [Coldly.] I don't know what you mean, Father.

 

ANTHONY. In a few years you and your children would be down in the condition they're in, but for those who have the eyes to see things as they are and the backbone to stand up for themselves.

 

ENID. You don't know the state the men are in.

 

ANTHONY. I know it well enough.

 

ENID. You don't, Father; if you did, you wouldn't

 

ANTHONY. It's you who don't know the simple facts of the position. What sort of mercy do you suppose you'd get if no one stood between you and the continual demands of labour? This sort of mercy— [He puts his hand up to his throat and squeezes it.] First would go your sentiments, my dear; then your culture, and your comforts would be going all the time!

 

ENID. I don't believe in barriers between classes.

 

ANTHONY.