ROYCE. You will say this in your life of Oliver Blayds?
WILLIAM. I shall—er—hint at the doubtful authorship of the 1863 volume; perhaps it would be better not to go into the matter too fully.
MARION (to ISOBEL). It would be much nicer, dear, if we didn’t refer to any of the unhappy thoughts which we have all had about Grandfather in the last few days. We know now that we never ought to have doubted. He was—Grandfather.
ISOBEL (after a pause, to ROYCE). Well? (He shrugs his shoulders.) Will you find the children? I think they ought to know this.
ROYCE. Right. Do you want me to come back?
ISOBEL. Please. (He goes out. When he has gone she turns to WILLIAM) I am going to publish the truth about Oliver Blayds.
MARION. But that’s what we all want to do, dear.
WILLIAM. What do you mean by the truth?
ISOBEL. What we all know to be the truth in our hearts.
WILLIAM. I deny it. I deny it utterly. I am convinced that the explanation which I have given is the true one.