It is after dinner on a January night, in the library inLady Britomart Undershaft's house in Wilton Crescent. A large andcomfortable settee is in the middle of the room, upholstered indark leather. A person sitting on it [it is vacant at present]would have, on his right, Lady Britomart's writing table, withthe lady herself busy at it; a smaller writing table behind himon his left; the door behind him on Lady Britomart's side; and awindow with a window seat directly on his left. Near the windowis an armchair.
Lady Britomart is a woman of fifty or thereabouts, well dressedand yet careless of her dress, well bred and quite reckless ofher breeding, well mannered and yet appallingly outspoken andindifferent to the opinion of her interlocutory, amiable and yetperemptory, arbitrary, and high-tempered to the last bearabledegree, and withal a very typical managing matron of the upperclass, treated as a naughty child until she grew into a scoldingmother, and finally settling down with plenty of practicalability and worldly experience, limited in the oddest way withdomestic and class limitations, conceiving the universe exactlyas if it were a large house in Wilton Crescent, though handlingher corner of it very effectively on that assumption, and beingquite enlightened and liberal as to the books in the library, thepictures on the walls, the music in the portfolios, and thearticles in the papers.
Her son, Stephen, comes in. He is a gravely correct young manunder 25, taking himself very seriously, but still in some awe ofhis mother, from childish habit and bachelor shyness rather thanfrom any weakness of character.
STEPHEN. What's the matter?
LADY BRITOMART. Presently, Stephen.
Stephen submissively walks to the settee and sits down. He takesup The Speaker.
LADY BRITOMART. Don't begin to read, Stephen. I shall require allyour attention.
STEPHEN. It was only while I was waiting—
LADY BRITOMART. Don't make excuses, Stephen. [He puts down TheSpeaker]. Now! [She finishes her writing; rises; and comes to thesettee]. I have not kept you waiting very long, I think.
STEPHEN. Not at all, mother.
LADY BRITOMART. Bring me my cushion. [He takes the cushion fromthe chair at the desk and arranges it for her as she sits down onthe settee]. Sit down. [He sits down and fingers his tienervously]. Don't fiddle with your tie, Stephen: there is nothingthe matter with it.
STEPHEN. I beg your pardon. [He fiddles with his watch chaininstead].
LADY BRITOMART. Now are you attending to me, Stephen?
STEPHEN. Of course, mother.
LADY BRITOMART. No: it's not of course. I want something muchmore than your everyday matter-of-course attention. I am going tospeak to you very seriously, Stephen. I wish you would let thatchain alone.
STEPHEN [hastily relinquishing the chain] Have I done anything toannoy you, mother? If so, it was quite unintentional.
LADY BRITOMART [astonished] Nonsense! [With some remorse] My poorboy, did you think I was angry with you?
STEPHEN. What is it, then, mother? You are making me very uneasy.
LADY BRITOMART [squaring herself at him rather