into the river, I regard as inexpedient, being a dangerous

DICK. Don't think about it! No, no, no! I know exactly what it's like. [He strokes her arm.]

JOY. [Shrinking, in a whisper.] You mustn't.

[The music of a waltz is heard again.]

DICK. Look here, joy! It's no good, we must talk it over calmly.

JOY. You don't see! It's the--it 's the disgrace----

DICK. Oh! as to disgrace--she's your Mother, whatever she does; I'd like to see anybody say anything about her--[viciously]--I'd punch his head.

JOY. [Gulping her tears.] That does n't help.

DICK. But if she doesn't love your Father----