MRS. CULVER.  What?  What ought I to do?

HILDEGARDE.  Go upstairs and tell dad you’ve changed your mind about the title, and advise him to write off instantly and refuse it.  You know you always twist him round your little finger.

MRS. CULVER (looking at her little finger).  I shouldn’t dream of trying to influence your father once he had decided.  And he has decided.

HILDEGARDE (sweetly).  Mamma, you’re most tremendously clever—­far cleverer than any of us—­but I’m not sure if you understand the attitude of the modern girl towards things that affect her convictions.

MRS. CULVER (sweetly).  Are you the modern girl.

HILDEGARDE.  Yes.

MRS. CULVER.  Well, I’m the ancient girl.  And I can tell you this—­you’re very like me, and we’re both very like somebody else.

HILDEGARDE.  Who’s that.

MRS. CULVER.  Eve.

JOHN.  Come, mater.  Eve would never have learnt typewriting.  She’d have gone on the land.

MRS. CULVER.  John, your sister and I are not jesting.

HILDEGARDE.  I’m so glad you admit I’m serious, mamma.  Because I am—­very.  I don’t want to threaten—­

MRS. CULVER.  Threaten, darling?

HILDEGARDE (firmly, but quite lightly and sweetly).  No, darling. Not to threaten.  The mere idea of threatening is absurd.  But it would be extremely unfair to you not to tell you that unless you agree to father refusing the title, I shall have to leave the house and live by myself.  I really shall.  Of course I can easily earn my own living.  I quite see that you have principles.  But I also have principles.  If they clash—­naturally it’s my place to retire.  And I shall, mamma dearest.

MRS. CULVER.  Is that final?

HILDEGARDE.  Final, mummy darling.

MRS. CULVER.  Then, my dearest child, you must go.

HILDEGARDE (still sweetly).  Is that final?

MRS. CULVER (still sweetly).  Final, my poor pet.

JOHN (firmly).  Now let me say a word.

MRS. CULVER (benignly).  And what have you got to say in the matter?  You’ve already been very naughty about that letter.  Do try not to be ridiculous.  Give me the letter.  This affair has nothing to do with you.  JOHN (putting the letter in his pocket).  Nothing whatever to do with me!  Mater, you really are a bit too thick.  If it was a knighthood, I wouldn’t care.  You could have your blooming knighthood.  Knighthoods do come to an end.  Baronetcies go on for ever.  I’ve told the dad, and I’ll tell you, that I will not have my political career ruined by any baronetcy.  And if you insist—­may I respectfully inform you what I shall do?  May I respectfully inform you—­may I?

MRS. CULVER.  John!

JOHN.  I shall chuck Siege and go into the Flying Corps.  And that’s flat.  If you really want to shorten my life, all you have to do is to stick to that bally baronetcy.