UNDERSHAFT [disconcerted] It won't stay unless it's pinned [he fumbles at it with childish grimaces]—
Stephen comes in.
STEPHEN [at the door] I beg your pardon [about to retire].
LADY BRITOMART. No: come in, Stephen. [Stephen comes forward to his mother's writing table.
UNDERSHAFT [not very cordially] Good afternoon.
STEPHEN [coldly] Good afternoon.
UNDERSHAFT [to Lady Britomart] He knows all about the tradition, I suppose?
LADY BRITOMART. Yes. [To Stephen] It is what I told you last night, Stephen.
UNDERSHAFT [sulkily] I understand you want to come into the cannon business.
STEPHEN. I go into trade! Certainly not.
UNDERSHAFT [opening his eyes, greatly eased in mind and manner] Oh! in that case—!
LADY BRITOMART. Cannons are not trade, Stephen. They are enterprise.
STEPHEN. I ha
