STRANGER (feeling in his pocket). He knew right enough. (Bringing out letters) Look here—here you are. This was how I found out. (Selecting one) There—read that one.
LADY PEMBURY (taking it). Yes—that's John's writing. (She holds it out to him.)
STRANGER. Aren't you going to read it?
LADY PEMBURY (shaking her head pathetically). He didn't write it to me.
STRANGER. He didn't write it to me, if it comes to that.
LADY PEMBURY. You're her son—you have a right. I'm—nobody.
STRANGER (putting it back in his pocket). Oh well, please yourself.
LADY PEMBURY. Did Sir John provide for your mother?
STRANGER. Well, why shouldn't he? He was a rich man.
LADY PEMBURY. Not in those days. . . . But indeed—why shouldn't he? What else could he do? I'm glad he did.