Dont hope for that, father. Mind: I'll tell everybody.
It ought to be told. It must be told.
KNOX. Hold your tongue, you young hussy; or go out of my house this
instant.
MARGARET. I'm quite ready. [She takes her hat and turns to the
door].
KNOX. [throwing himself in front of it] Here! where are you going?
MRS KNOX. [rising] You mustnt turn her out, Jo! I'll go with her
if she goes.
KNOX. Who wants to turn her out? But is she going to ruin us? To
let everybody know of her disgrace and shame? To tear me down from
the position Ive made for myself and you by forty years hard
struggling?
MARGARET. Yes: I'm going to tear it all down. It stands between us
and everything. I'll tell everybody.
KNOX. Magsy, my child: dont bring down your father's hairs with
sorrow to the grave. Theres only one thing I care about in the world:
to keep this dark. I'm your father. I ask you here on my knees--in
the dust, so to speak--not to let it out.
MARGARET. I'll tell everybody.
_Knox collapses in despair. Mrs Knox tries to pray and cannot.
Margaret stands inflexible._
ACT III
_Again in the Gilbeys' dining-room. Afternoon. The table is not
laid: it is draped in its ordinary cloth, with pen and ink, an
exercise-book, and school-books on it. Bobby Gilbey is in the
arm-chair, crouching over the fire, reading an illustrated paper. He
is a pretty youth, of very suburban gentility, strong and manly enough
by nature, but untrained and unsatisfactory, his parents having
imagined that domestic restriction is what they call "bringing up.
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