"What we are talking about is--" "Yes, dear, I know quite well what we are talking about," said she.

"We are talking about Michael not studying music all September." Lord Ashbridge got up and began walking across the terrace opposite the tea-table with his elbows stuck out and his feet lifted rather high.
"Michael doesn't seem to realise that he is not Tom or Dick or Harry," said he.

"Music, indeed! I'm musical myself; all we Combers are musical.
But Michael is my only son, and it really distresses me to see how little sense he has of his responsibilities.

Amusements are all very well; it is not that I want to cut him off his amusements, but when it comes to a career--" Lady Ashbridge was surreptitiously engaged in pouring out a little more cream for Petsy, and her husband, turning rather sooner than she had expected, caught her in the act.
"Do not give Petsy any more cream," he said, with some asperity; "I absolutely forbid it." Lady Ashbridge quite composedly replaced the cream-jug.
"Poor Petsy!" she observed.
"I ask you to attend to me, Marion," he said.
"But I am attending to you very well, Robert," said she, "and I understand you perfectly.

You do not want Michael to be a musician in September and wear long hair and perhaps play at concerts.