PHILIP (impressively). William: he does not know that we are his family. He has not seen us for eighteen years. He won't know us. (To emphasize the communication he seats himself on the iron table with a spring, and looks at the waiter with his lips compressed and his legs swinging.)
DOLLY. We want you to break the news to him, William.
WAITER. But I should think he'd guess when he sees your mother, miss. (Philip's legs become motionless at this elucidation. He contemplates the waiter raptly.)
DOLLY (dazzled). I never thought of that.
PHILIP. Nor I. (Coming off the table and turning reproachfully on McComas.) Nor you.
DOLLY. And you a solicitor!
PHILIP. Finch: Your professional incompetence is appalling. William: your sagacity puts us all to shame.
DOLLY You really are like Shakespear, William.
WAITER. Not at all, sir. Don't mention it, miss. Most happy, I'm sure, sir. (Goes back modestly to the luncheon table and lays the two additional covers, one at the end next the steps, and the other so as to make a third on the side furthest from the balustrade.)
PHILIP (abruptly). Finch: come and wash your hands. (Seizes his arm and leads him toward the hotel.)