Part 21

GEOFFREY. But they do. Ever since man emerged from the jungle he has been shedding his instincts—shaping them to new desires. Where do you find this all-prevailing instinct towards maternity? Among the women of society, who sacrifice it without a moment’s hesitation to their vanity—to their mere pleasures? The middle-class woman—she, too, is demanding “freedom.” Children, servants, the home!—they are too much for her “nerves.” And now there comes this new development, appealing to the intellectual woman. Is there not danger of her preferring political ambition, the excitement of public life, to what has come to be regarded as the “drudgery” of turning four walls into a home, of peopling the silence with the voices of the children? (He crosses to the table—lays his hand again upon the open letter.) How do you know that this may not be her answer—“I have no children. I never mean to have children”?

(SIGSBY enters in company with BEN LAMB, M.P. LAMB is a short, thick-set, good-tempered man.)

Ah, Lamb, how are you?

LAMB. (They greet one another.) How are things going?

SIGSBY. They’re not going at all well.

GEOFFREY. Sigsby was ever the child of despondency.

SIGSBY. Yes, and so will you be when you find yourself at the bottom of the poll.

GEOFFREY. (The notion takes him by surprise.)

LAMB. It’s going to be a closer affair than any of us thought. It’s the joke of the thing that appears to have got hold of them. They want to see what will happen.

GEOFFREY. Man’s fatal curiosity concerning the eternal feminine!

SIGSBY. Yes, and they won’t have to pay for it. That will be our department.

ST. HERBERT. (To SIGSBY.) What do you think they’ll do, supposing by any chance Mrs. Chilvers should head the poll?

SIGSBY. How do you mean—“what’ll they do?”

ST. HERBERT. Do you think they’ll claim the seat?

SIGSBY. Claim the seat! What do you think they’re out for—their health? Get another six months’ advertisement, if they don’t get anything else. Meanwhile what’s our position—just at the beginning of our ministerial career?

GEOFFREY. They will not claim the seat.

SIGSBY. How do you know?

GEOFFREY. I know my wife.

LAMB. (After a moment’s silence.) Quite sure you do?

GEOFFREY. (Turns.)

LAMB. Ever seen a sheep fighting mad? I have. Damned sight worse than the old ram.

GEOFFREY. She doesn’t fight the ram.

LAMB. (He makes a sweeping movement that takes in the room, the election—all things.) What’s all this? We thought woman hadn’t got the fighting instinct—that we “knew her.” My boy, we’re in the infants’ class.

SIGSBY. If you want to be his Majesty’s Under-Secretary for Home Affairs, you take my tip, guv’nor, you’ll win this election.

GEOFFREY. What more can I do than I’m doing? How can I countenance this sort of thing? (He indicates the posters.) Declare myself dead against the whole movement?

LAMB. You’ll do it later. May as well do it soon.

GEOFFREY. Why must I do it?

LAMB. Because you’re beginning to find out what it means.