MARGARET (mildly). I don't remember ever having had a morning quite like this.
RICHARD (angrily). Is this a joke, Mr. Clifton?
CLIFTON. Oh, the money is there all right. My clerk, a man of the utmost—
RICHARD. Then I refuse it. I'll have nothing to do with it. I won't even argue about it. (Tearing the letter into bits) That's what I think of your money. [He stalks indignantly from the room.]
VIOLA. Dick! Oh, but, mother, he mustn't. Oh, I must tell him—[She hurries after him.]
MARGARET (with dignity). Really, Mr. Clifton, I'm surprised at you. [She goes out too.]
CLIFTON (looking round the room). And now, Mr. Crawshaw, we are alone.
CRAWSHAW. Yes. Well, I think, Mr. Clifton, you have a good deal to explain—
CLIFTON. My dear sir, I'm longing to begin. I have been looking forward to this day for weeks. I spent over an hour this morning dressing for it. (He takes papers from his hat and moves to the sofa.) Perhaps I had better begin from the beginning.
CRAWSHAW (interested, indicating the papers). The documents in the case?