STRANGER. What d'you mean?
LADY PEMBURY (almost to herself). The son whom I wanted so. Five girls—never a boy. Let me look at you. (She goes up to him.)
STRANGER (edging away). Here, none of that.
LADY PEMBURY (looking at him earnestly to see if she can see a likeness). No—and yet—(shaking her head sadly) Poor boy! What an unhappy life you must have had!
STRANGER. I didn't come here to be pitied. I came to get my rightful allowance—same as any other son.
LADY PEMBURY (to herself). Poor boy! (She goes back to her seat and then says) You don't mind my asking you questions now, do you?
STRANGER. Go on. There's no mistake about it. I can promise you that.
LADY PEMBURY. How did you find out? Did your Mother tell you?
STRANGER. Never a word. "Don't ask questions, sonny——" "Father's dead"—all that sort of thing.
LADY PEMBURY. Does Sir John know? Did he ever know?