Bobbie. Best be damned!
Sylvia. If you can't curb your language I should think you'd better go outside.
Bobbie (rising, knife in hand). I shall do exactly as I like. I'm fed up with you, Sylvia, you're as bad as he is. (Throws knife on table.) And if you think you can get round us by making excuses for him you're jolly well mistaken. I suppose all this is a put-up job! (Moves to L.C.)
Sylvia (R.C.). How dare you, Bobbie! It's nothing of the sort. Only luckily I have a little discrimination, I can see the difference between good and bad, and Uncle Dan's good, good all through. He wouldn't do harm to any one or anything in the world. He did all this out of genuine kindness. He couldn't help us in any other way, so he made us work, hoping it would improve us. And I should think he'd go back to America sick and wretched inside with disappointment having discovered that we, his only relatives, have only liked him and been nice to him because of his money—waiting for him to die like beastly treacherous ghouls.
(Evangeline attempts to speak.)
That's what you are, ghouls! (Turning on Evangeline.) And selfish pigs, and if you don't apologise to him I shall never speak to any of you again.
Oliver. Hah! (Throws down serviette and exits R.)
Sylvia. Oh, you're very dignified walking out like that without saying anything. I hate you! I hate you all! Poor Uncle Daniel—it's rotten. (She bursts out crying, and subsides on Chesterfield.)
(Towards the end of her speech, the rest have risen and walked out with their heads in the air, R. Bobbie kicks violently at paper on floor and goes upstairs. There is a moment's pause, then enter Daniel from garden.)
Daniel (coming C.). I left the car down the drive, hoping to make a sweet lovable entrance with perhaps a few rose leaves on my coat. Where is everybody?