Your own are set forth in that book, I believe.
TANNER. [eagerly going to the table] What!
You've got my book!
What do you think of it?
RAMSDEN.
Do you suppose I would read such a book, sir?
TANNER.
Then why did you buy it?
RAMSDEN.
I did not buy it, sir.
It has been sent me by some foolish lady who seems to admire your views.
I was about to dispose of it when Octavius interrupted me.
I shall do so now, with your permission. [He throws the book into the waste paper basket with such vehemence that Tanner recoils under the impression that it is being thrown at his head].
TANNER.
You have no more manners than I have myself.
However, that saves ceremony between us. [He sits down again]. What do you intend to do about this will?
OCTAVIUS.
May I make a suggestion?
RAMSDEN.
Certainly, Octavius.
OCTAVIUS.
Aren't we forgetting that Ann herself may have some wishes in this matter?
RAMSDEN.
I quite intend that Annie's wishes shall be consulted in every reasonable way.
But she is only a woman, and a young and inexperienced woman at that.
TANNER.
Ramsden: I begin to pity you.
RAMSDEN. [hotly] I don't want to know how you feel towards me, Mr Tanner.
TANNER.
Ann will do just exactly what she likes.
And what's more, she'll force us to advise her to do it; and she'll put the blame on us if it turns out badly.
So, as Tavy is longing to see her—
OCTAVIUS. [shyly] I am not, Jack.
TANNER.
You lie, Tavy: you are.
So let's have her down from the drawing-room and ask her what she intends us to do.
Off with you, Tavy, and fetch her. [Tavy turns to go].
And don't be long for the strained relations between myself and Ramsden will make the interval rather painful [Ramsden compresses his lips, but says nothing—].
OCTAVIUS.
Never mind him, Mr Ramsden.
He's not serious. [He goes out].
RAMSDEN [very deliberately] Mr Tanner: you are the most impudent person I have ever met.
TANNER. [seriously] I know it, Ramsden.
Yet even I cannot wholly conquer shame.
We live in an atmosphere of shame.
We are ashamed of everything that is real about us; ashamed of ourselves, of our relatives, of our incomes, of our accents, of our opinions, of our experience, just as we are ashamed of our naked skins.
Good Lord, my dear Ramsden, we are ashamed to walk, ashamed to ride in an omnibus, ashamed to hire a hansom instead of keeping a carriage, ashamed of keeping one horse instead of two and a groom-gardener instead of a coachman and footman.
The more things a man is ashamed of, the more respectable he is.
Why, you're ashamed to buy my book, ashamed to read it: the only thing you're not ashamed of is to judge me for it without having read it; and even that only means that you're ashamed to have heterodox opinions.
Look at the effect I produce because my fairy godmother withheld from me this gift of shame.