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ssss1(NANCY presses his hand and strokes it gently.)

JACK. I know it is, but that’s how I’ve felt sometimes. Of course I know that if it hadn’t been for Broxopp, I’d be sitting on a high stool and lucky to earn thirty bob a week. But you must see my side of it, Dad. I want to paint. How can any one called Broxopp be taken seriously as an artist? How can I make any sort of name with all those Beans and babies overshadowing me and keeping me out of the light? I don’t say I’m ever going to be a great painter, but how do I stand a chance as things are? “Have you seen the new Broxopp?” What’s that going to mean to anybody? Not that I’ve painted a picture, but that you’ve brought out a new-sized bottle, or a full strength for Invalids, or something.

BROXOPP. I think you exaggerate, Jack.

JACK. I know I do. But you can’t get over it that it’s going to be pretty rotten for me. It’s always been rotten for me—and now it’s going to be rotten for Iris.

BROXOPP. Is it, Iris? You’d tell me the truth, I know.