(WILLIAM is too busy to answer.)
SEPTIMA. Father, don’t be so childish.
WILLIAM (outraged). Septima!
MARION. Septima dear, you oughtn’t to talk to your father like that.
WILLIAM (with dignity). I think you had better go to your room.
SEPTIMA (unmoved). But that’s the whole point. Is it my room? (WILLIAM looks bewildered.) Or is it Oliver’s, or Mother’s, or Aunt Isobel’s?
OLIVER. I believe he has left everything to Aunt Isobel.
MARION. Oh no, dear, he wouldn’t do that. He would never have favourites. Share and share alike.
SEPTIMA. Half for you and half for Aunt Isobel?
MARION. Of course, dear. And all to you and Oliver after our death. And something down to you now. I forget how much. (To WILLIAM) What was it, dear?