Chapter III: Act III

SCENE.--_The scene is the same as the preceding acts. Alterations
in the furniture are noted at the end of the play. It is
seven-thirty on the morning following the events of_ ACT II. _When
the_ CURTAIN _rises, the sun is streaming in through the open
window_ L.C. BOBBIE _can be seen standing just outside looking up
apparently at an upper window._

BOBBIE (_calling softly_). Faith! Faith!

FAITH (_heard off_). What is it?

BOBBIE. Come down and talk to me.

FAITH. Don't be silly--

BOBBIE. Please do--I've got lots to tell you.

FAITH. Oh, all right--wait a minute.

(BOBBIE _comes mooching into the hall through the window._ _Enter_
FAITH _downstairs._)

FAITH. Good morning, Mr. Dermott. (_Offers hand coldly._)

BOBBIE (L.C.). I say--you have been quick.

FAITH (C., _coldly_). I've been up for hours--what is it you want?

BOBBIE. I've had a perfectly miserable night--I couldn't sleep a wink. I want to know if you really meant what you said last night.

FAITH. Of course I really meant it, how silly you are.

BOBBIE. I'm not silly--I thought maybe it was only the heat of the moment that made you so utterly beastly.

FAITH. If you're going to be rude I shall go away. (_She sits down in chair by Chesterfield._)

BOBBIE. Do you really care for me so little that you can give me up at a moment's notice like that?

FAITH. You will not understand Bobbie--I had to.

BOBBIE. Why?

FAITH. Because mother made me promise.

BOBBIE (_up to her_). _What_ did she make you promise?

FAITH. She made me promise that--that----

BOBBIE. Well?

FAITH. Well, you see I'm an only child, and mother wants me to be happy above all things and----

BOBBIE. I could make you happy--wonderfully happy.

FAITH. Mother doesn't think so. You see I've always been used to having money and comforts and things.

BOBBIE. Do you imagine that I shouldn't have been able to give you all the comforts you wanted whether I had uncle's money or not? Why, in a year or so I shall be making hundreds and hundreds. I mean to be successful--nothing will stop me.

FAITH. Well, Bobbie, if you come to me again then, perhaps mother would----

BOBBIE. You mean that I'm to go on working for my happiness on the off chance of your being free to accept me? Neither you nor your mother have enough trust in me to believe that I shall make a big name for myself. Good God, it was a pretty thought of your parents to call you "Faith." I suppose if you had a couple of sisters you'd call them Hope and Charity.

FAITH. It's no use being angry and beastly about it. One must use a little common sense.

BOBBIE. It isn't a question of common sense, but common decency.

FAITH. How dare you say that. (_She pulls him round by the leg of his trousers. He brushes her hand away. She repeats this business._) Why can't we just be friends?

BOBBIE. You know I'm much too fond of you to be just friends. Men can't switch their feelings on and off like bath-taps. If they mean a thing they mean it, and there's an end of it.

FAITH. I wish I'd never come down at all if all you mean to do is grumble at me.

BOBBIE. It's more than grumbling--it's genuine unhappiness. (_Sits on form below table._) I quite realize now that you never really cared for me a bit, in spite of what you said; but still I want to find out why--_why_ you've changed so suddenly, _why_ need you have hurt me so much. If you'd written breaking it off, it would have been different, but you've been so--so unnecessarily brutal.

FAITH. It was mother's fault.

BOBBIE. Is everything you do your mother's affair? Does she count every breath you take? Why, your life simply can't be worth living!

FAITH. I wish I could make you see....

BOBBIE (_in a lower register_). I'm afraid you've made me see too much. I didn't know people could be so callous and cruel....

FAITH (_quickly_). I'm not callous and cruel.

BOBBIE. Oh yes, you are, and you've made me determine one thing, and that is that henceforth I honestly mean to cut women out of my life for ever. (_A move from_ FAITH.) I know it's a hackneyed thing to say, but I mean it. I ought to have taken a lesson from other fellows' experiences, but of course I didn't.

FAITH. I think you're very silly and childish to be so bitter.

BOBBIE. Bitter! (_Laughs satirically._) What else could I be? The one girl whom I cared for and trusted has gaily thrown me over the first moment she hears that I am not going to have as much money as she thought. I'm losing my temper now, and I'm glad of it. I shall probably repent every word I say afterwards, but that won't stop me telling you exactly what I think of you. I don't suppose you've ever been in love at all--except to the extent of having signed photographs of Owen Nares and Henry Ainley stuck all over your bedroom, but when you do, I hope you get it really badly, you deserve to be absolutely utterly wretched, as wretched as you've made me, and I hope when you do marry that you get a rotten old Scotch marmalade maker who says "Hoots!" and spills haggis all down his waistcoat.

FAITH (_bursting into tears_). Oh, Bobbie, how dare you....

(_goes to her and goes down on his knees_)

BOBBIE. Oh, Faith darling, forgive me, I didn't mean a word of it--I swear I didn't....

FAITH (_they both rise_). Whether you meant it or not I hate you. (_Pushes him away._) You're blatant and beastly, and I never wish to see you again. (_She walks upstairs and pauses._) I shall have breakfast in my room. (_Exit._)

(BOBBIE _stamps out and collides with_ SYLVIA, _who is coming in with a bunch of freshly picked flowers._)

BOBBIE. Why can't you look where you're going?

(_He stamps out of sight._)

SYLVIA. Nice sweet-tempered little fellow. (_Moves to above table; puts roses in bowl. Takes "Daily Mirror" from window-seat, goes down to Chesterfield and reads it._)

(_Enter_ DANIEL _downstairs with bag. He comes very quietly and doesn't see_ SYLVIA. _He stumbles and_ SYLVIA _watches him._)

SYLVIA (_suddenly_). Excuse me! Have you been stealing any thing.

DANIEL (_putting down bag_). Damn! I didn't want any one to see me.

SYLVIA. Where were you going?

DANIEL(_coming_ R.C.). To the _Green Hart_. I couldn't face another meal like dinner last night.

SYLVIA. I know it was pretty awful, but you can't go out of the house like this. Mother'd be furious.

DANIEL. One more wouldn't matter--everybody else is. (_Coming_ L.C.)

SYLVIA. I'm not a bit.

DANIEL. I know, I was just going to except you; you've been charming, but really it was terrible. I can't stay. Oliver has such a lowering expression, and if Joyce gives me one more "dumb animal in pain" look, I shall scream.

SYLVIA. I can't understand why they're all being so silly--I gave them credit for more sense of humour.

DANIEL. And Bobbie--Bobbie was the worst of the lot.

SYLVIA. Well, one can forgive him a little more because of Faith.

DANIEL. Why? What about Faith?

SYLVIA (_rising, going to him_). Oh, the little beast chucked him last night, the moment she heard you weren't going to leave him a fortune.

DANIEL. Did she, by Jove!

SYLVIA (_returning_ R.C.). Personally I'm delighted. I always distrusted her, and this proves what I've said all along. But that doesn't make Bobbie any better tempered about it.

DANIEL (L.C.). Poor old Bobbie, I bet he hates me.

SYLVIA. If he does he's a fool.

DANIEL. After all you can't blame him, it's only natural.

SYLVIA. He ought to be jolly grateful to you for being the means of showing her up.

DANIEL. Perhaps--but he won't be. I know what it feels like; we all go through it sometime or another. I'd love to wring that girl's neck though.

SYLVIA. You like Bobbie best of us all, don't you?

DANIEL. With the exception of you--yes. I think it's because he's the most like me. He is, you know. If he'd lived my life he'd have done exactly the same things.

SYLVIA. I wonder. (_Sits_ L. _of Chesterfield._)

DANIEL (_smiling_). I know. (_He sits on chair, head of table._) He's got just the same regard for the truth, the same sublime contempt of the world, and the same amount of bombast and good opinion of himself that I started with, I only hope he'll make better use of his chances, and carve out a better career for himself.

SYLVIA. If he does, he'll owe it all to you--first for rousing him up and making him work, and secondly for getting rid of Faith for him. Had he married her, she'd have been a millstone round his neck. He doesn't realize it now, but yesterday was one of the luckiest days of his life.

DANIEL. D'you really think so?

SYLVIA. I'm sure of it.

DANIEL. That's simply splendid. You've bucked me up tremendously. I shan't mind the _Green Hart_ nearly so much now. (_Rising._)

SYLVIA (_putting him back on seat_). Uncle, you're not to go to the _Green Hart_ at all, I won't have it.

DANIEL. I must. When they all sit round looking reproachfully at me, it makes me feel as if I could sink under the table.

SYLVIA (_patting him and kneeling by him_). But they won't--they'll have got over it.

DANIEL. They're all much too young to get over being made fools of as quickly as that.

SYLVIA. But, uncle----

DANIEL. It's no use--I'm firm. I won't come back until they want me. As a matter of fact I realise I've been very foolish. I shouldn't have let things go so far. Naturally they were terribly disappointed at my wanting to live till eighty-two or eighty-three, and not having any money to leave them.

SYLVIA. They're not really disappointed so much as outraged. They feel you've been laughing up your sleeve at them, as of course you have.

DANIEL. No, I haven't--you're wrong there--I haven't. I couldn't help you financially. I'd borrowed the money to come over and the cheque I'd sent before. I'd just won, so I thought that the only way to assist at all was to use mental persuasion on all of you. There's always something fascinating in the idea of having money left one. It seems such an easy way of getting it. Of course it answered better than I could have imagined in my wildest dreams.

SYLVIA. It was a little unnecessary to take each of us aside like you did and stuff us up with hope.

DANIEL. That and a bunch of keys was all I had. It was such a wonderful situation. I--never having had a penny in the wide, (_gaily_), arranging to leave you my entire fortune. (_He starts to laugh._) You must confess it was very, very funny.

SYLVIA (_also laughing_). Yes, it was.... (_They both laugh heartily_).

DANIEL (_still laughing_). And when I said I had sleeping sickness!...

SYLVIA (_weak with laughter_). Oh, uncle, how _could you_.

DANIEL (_wiping his eyes_). Oh dear, oh dear!

SYLVIA. Poor mother getting more mystified every minute, and bothered poor Tibbets till he doesn't know if he is on his head or his heels.

DANIEL (_rising suddenly_). But look here, they'll all be down in a minute. (SYLVIA _stands up._) They mustn't find me here, poised for flight. I must go at once. (_Going behind Chesterfield and picking up bag._)

SYLVIA (L. _of him_). Yes, but will you promise on your word of honour to come back the moment I send for you?

DANIEL. If you give me _your_ word of honour not to send for me until everything's quite all right and everyone is perfectly amiable towards me. I couldn't bear any more rebuffs. I should burst into tears if anybody even gave me a look!

SYLVIA. Yes, I'll promise.

DANIEL. I trust you because, after all, you spotted from the first.

SYLVIA. That wasn't very difficult. I've always had a good eye for hypocrites. (DANIEL _slaps her._) Mind you don't go any further afield than the _Green Hart_!

DANIEL. You bet I shan't!

(_Exit_ DANIEL _through window._)

SYLVIA (_looking out of window after him_). Bye-bye! (_Coming down stage._) Bless his heart!

(_Enter_ GRIGGS _from_ R. _with breakfast dishes which
he places on sideboard._)

GRIGGS. Will you do the coffee as usual, miss?

SYLVIA. Yes, Griggs. By the way, get me a bigger bowl for those roses when you have time.

GRIGGS. Yes, miss.

(_He bangs loudly on a big gong, and exits_ R. _Enter_ MRS. DERMOTT _downstairs._)

SYLVIA. Hello, mother. (_Kiss across_ L. _banisters._)

MRS. DERMOTT. Good morning, darling. Are there any letters?

SYLVIA. Only one for you, I think.

MRS. DERMOTT (_taking letter from table_). From Tibbets, I expect. (_Sniffs at it._) No! From Isobel Harris. (_Sits at the head of the table._) I do hope she doesn't want to come and stay--I couldn't bear that. (_Opens it._) Oh no, it's only to say that Fanny's engaged to an officer in the Coldstream Guards. How splendid for her.

SYLVIA. Poor Fanny--I'm glad. (_Sits in chair on her mother's left._)

MRS. DERMOTT. Why do you say poor Fanny, dear? I'm sure she's very fortunate. Now-a-days when nice men are so scarce. I was only saying----

SYLVIA. She didn't say he was a nice man--only that he was in the Coldstream Guards. I said poor because I can just imagine all her awful relations as bridesmaids, and her father and mother shoving her up the altar steps in their efforts to get her safely married.

MRS. DERMOTT. Isobel means well, although she's a little trying. But I've never liked Charlie--no man with such a long, droopy moustache could ever be really trusted. Besides, they're so insanitary. Sound the gong again, dear. I do wish they'd all learn to be a little more punctual.

(SYLVIA _does so, and returns to sideboard. Enter_ JOYCE _downstairs followed by_ OLIVER; _they are both obviously suffering from temper. They both kiss mother._)

JOYCE (_disagreeably, as she comes downstairs_). All right! All right!--we're coming. What's the fuss? (_Sits on form._)

(OLIVER _crosses to Chesterfield, picks up_ SYLVIA'S _paper and reads, pacing up and down._)

MRS. DERMOTT. There's no fuss, darling, but it's stupid to let the breakfast get cold. I've got mushrooms this morning, specially because Uncle Daniel likes them.

(_Enter_ BOBBIE _from garden profoundly gloomy. Kisses mother._)

BOBBIE. You could hear that beastly gong a mile off.

(SYLVIA _crosses to table with coffee and milk._)

MRS. DERMOTT. I'm so glad, dear. It shows it's a good gong. Ring the bell, will you, Oliver? (OLIVER _does so._) Where's Evangeline? She's generally quite an early bird.

(_Enter_ EVANGELINE _downstairs. She is distinctly depressed._)

EVANGELINE (_on the stairs_). Here I am, mother (_kisses_ MRS. DERMOTT). (_With sarcasm._) What a pity it is that the bath water isn't a _little_ hotter. I hate tepidity in anything. (_Sits on_ SYLVIA'S _left._)

(BOBBIE _serves bacon, sitting at the foot of the table, facing_ MRS. DERMOTT.)

OLIVER. If Joyce didn't bounce in and take it all it _would_ be hotter.

JOYCE. I didn't have a bath at all this morning, so there.

OLIVER. Well, you're a dirty little pig then.

MRS. DERMOTT. There's probably something wrong with the boiler. I'll see about it after breakfast.

(_Enter_ GRIGGS, _comes below_ MRS. DERMOTT.)

Oh, Griggs, just tap on Miss Crombie's door, will you, and tell her that breakfast is ready.

GRIGGS. Miss Crombie wished me to say that she is taking breakfast in her bedroom, madam. I'm sending up a tray.

MRS. DERMOTT. Quite right, Griggs. I wonder if she's feeling ill or anything. I'll go up presently. Oh, and will you find out if Mr. Davis is coming down soon?

GRIGGS. Mr. Davis is not in his room, madam.

MRS. DERMOTT. Not? How very strange--he's probably in the garden somewhere. That'll do, Griggs?

(_Exit_ GRIGGS, R.)

Perhaps you'd better sound the gong again, Bobbie, he might not have heard it.

(BOBBIE _crossing in front of table goes to the gong and bangs savagely on it. Every one stops up their ears._)

MRS. DERMOTT. You seem to have taken a dislike to that gong, darling. We must start without him, that's all. Do sit down, Oliver, you're much too big to pace backwards and forwards like that. Pour out the coffee, Sylvia dear, if it's ready.

(OLIVER _sits on_ EVANGELINE'S _left._ BOBBIE _sits again at the foot of the table._ JOYCE _drops her fork with a loud clatter--every one jumps._ SYLVIA _pours out coffee._)

EVANGELINE. If you'd endeavour to cultivate a little more repose, Joyce dear, it would be an advantage.

JOYCE (_truculently_). I couldn't help it.

MRS. DERMOTT (_brightly_). Fancy--Fanny Harris is engaged.

BOBBIE (_gloomily_). What fun.

MRS. DERMOTT. It may not be fun to you, but it will be most amusing to Mrs. Harris. I do wish Daniel would come in. Where can he be?

BOBBIE. No one cares, anyhow.

MRS. DERMOTT. How can you be so horrid, Bobbie--I did think you'd have recovered from your silly temper before this. Fancy not being able to take a joke.

OLIVER. It wasn't a joke, it was true.

MRS. DERMOTT. You really are utterly absurd. Pass me the toast. I wouldn't have believed you could all have been so silly. I expect Uncle Daniel is just laughing at you.

OLIVER. Yes, that's just what he _is_ doing.

MRS. DERMOTT. I really think, Oliver, that you, as the eldest, ought to set a little better example. And the marmalade--thank you. After all, considering how good he's been to us, we might allow him to have a little joke without becoming disagreeable--even if it doesn't amuse us very much. Why, I----

JOYCE. But, mother, I tell you it isn't a joke--it's the gospel truth.

MRS. DERMOTT. I've never known such a set of maddening children. Pass me the paper, will you, Sylvia? I wish to read it.

(SYLVIA _hands her newspaper from window seat and she opens it out and reads it, ignoring the family altogether. Telegraph--with extra pages inserted._)

OLIVER (_breaking the silence_). Has any one seen my tennis racquet?

JOYCE. Bobbie had it yesterday.

BOBBIE. No, I didn't.

JOYCE. Yes, you did, you and Faith--I saw you.

OLIVER. Well, where is it now?

SYLVIA (_ruminatively_). I did see a racquet behind the summer house this morning. Would that be it?

OLIVER (_furiously_). Look here, Bobbie, if you go leaving my racquet out all night again I'll punch your head....

BOBBIE (_rising, flaring up_). I tell you I never touched your damned racquet--I've got one of my own. (_Knocks his chair over._)

JOYCE. A jolly rotten one, though.

BOBBIE. Shut up, Joyce, and mind your own business.

EVANGELINE. Don't speak to Joyce like that, Bobbie. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

BOBBIE. I'll speak how I like.

OLIVER (_rising_). Not while I'm here, you won't.

BOBBIE (_jeeringly_). Come on, oh strong and silent elder brother, let's be manly and knock one another about.

OLIVER. A little more of that would do you a lot of good.

BOBBIE. Well, you'd better not try it.

(OLIVER _knocks a plate on to the floor, breaking it._)

There, that's what happens when you let elephants loose in the house. (_Picks up his chair._)

(_During this_, MRS. DERMOTT _does comic business with newspaper, repeatedly dropping sheets and attempting to fold the paper._)

MRS. DERMOTT. Oliver, if you and Bobbie can't stop quarrelling you'd better both leave the table. I can't think what's the matter with you all. Just because Uncle Daniel chose to have a little fun with you, you all behave like bears with sore heads.

(BOBBIE _and_ OLIVER _re-sit and continue eating._)

EVANGELINE. Uncle Daniel meant every word he said, mother. He hasn't got a penny in the world.

MRS. DERMOTT. Nonsense, Evangeline. How do you suppose he could get backwards and forwards to America and send me large cheques and things?

JOYCE. He wins a little from time to time by horse-racing.

MRS. DERMOTT. Rubbish. No one can ever win at horse-racing. I never did. The bookies and jockeys and people don't let you.

EVANGELINE. Mother dear, how _can_ you be so obstinate. I tell you he told us all about it in here yesterday afternoon--gave us his solemn word----

MRS. DERMOTT. But only in fun, darling, only in fun--he's obviously a very rich man.

OLIVER. Hah!

MRS. DERMOTT. By the by, I wish one of you would just go into the garden and find him. The mushrooms will be ruined.

SYLVIA. He isn't in the garden at all, mother, he's gone to the _Green Hart_.

(_All look surprised._)

MRS. DERMOTT. What do you mean, Sylvia? Why has he gone to the _Green Hart_?

SYLVIA. Because every one here had been so beastly to him.

(_They all continue breakfast hurriedly._)

MRS. DERMOTT. You mean that he----! Oh, Sylvia! (_She bursts into tears._)

SYLVIA. Mother darling, don't cry.... (_Rises and kisses her._)

MRS. DERMOTT (_weeping bitterly_). Darling Danny. My only brother. And you've driven him away--after all his kindness and everything. Oh, how could you? How could you? He must be sent for at once. (_She rises and rings the bell, dropping bits of newspaper en route._) You're wicked, wicked children, and you don't deserve any one to be kind to you ever again.

(_Enter_ GRIGGS, R.)

Oh, Griggs, send the car down to the _Green Hart_ at once to fetch Mr. Davis.

GRIGGS. Yes, madam.

(_Exit_ GRIGGS, R.)

MRS. DERMOTT (C.). How dare you behave like you have done. I shall never, never forgive you--you're cruel and horrid and----

OLIVER. It's all very fine, mother, but he made fools of us.

MRS. DERMOTT. He didn't do anything of the sort--he only meant it kindly--going to all that trouble, too (_she weeps again_), with one foot in the grave.

BOBBIE. And the other in the _Green Hart_.

JOYCE. He's not going to die. He said he meant to live to eighty-two.

MRS. DERMOTT. Eighty-three, I think, was the age, dear, but that's just another instance of his dear unselfishness--so that you wouldn't worry over him. I know! I'm going up to my room--you've upset me for the rest of the day. Call me the very moment he comes. Oh, how could you? How could you be so unkind? Oh, just look at my nose, it's all red and shiny.

(_Exit upstairs._ SYLVIA _follows, standing at the foot of the stairs, looking after her. There is silence for a moment._)

BOBBIE. That's torn it.

JOYCE. Now what are we to do?

SYLVIA (_moving down_). I know. (_At head of table._)

OLIVER. What, then?

SYLVIA. Apologise to Uncle Dan, every one of you, for being such utter beasts.

OLIVER. Well, I'm hanged!

(_During the following speech, the others continue their breakfasts._)

SYLVIA. So you jolly well ought to be. Who do you owe your position in the motor works to, Oliver? Uncle Dan. Who do you owe your song successes to, Bobbie? Uncle Dan. And you, Joyce, d'you think you'd have won a single thing if it hadn't been for him? Do you imagine Evangeline would have had the vim to have stuck to her novel if it hadn't been for Uncle Dan's faith in her? I know I should never have done a thing, either. And all we did it for apparently, was that he could die off conveniently and leave us his money--the moment he'd done that I suppose we should have stopped working. What charming characters! Waiting for a man to die, and then getting disagreeable because he says he doesn't want to. Do you think any one of you would stop work now for anything? Of course you wouldn't. I know _that_. Don't you see that Uncle Dan chose the one and only way of really helping us? He's worked wonders and we ought to be thankful to him until our dying day....

BOBBIE (_marmalade on toast in hand_). It's all very fine for you--he hasn't come between you and the only person you've ever loved....

SYLVIA. And that's one of the best things of all--he's been the means of showing Faith up in her true colours. Bobbie, you must realise now in your heart of hearts what a rotter she is?

BOBBIE. She wouldn't have been if it wasn't for her beastly mother. Just because you found him out before us, by a fluke, you think you can preach to us about being rude to him. Well, you'd have been just as bad under the same circumstances, if not worse. The fact of you having spotted his game doesn't make it any the less disgusting. He's behaved atrociously and you know it, making fools of us all. What do you think my friends will say? Joyce's school girls? Vangy's literary nuts?

SYLVIA (_coming down_ R. _to below Chesterfield_). It's your own silly faults. You shouldn't have told them.

EVANGELINE (_rising_). Don't be so superior. Of course we only did in confidence. (_Going up_ R., _followed by_ JOYCE.)

SYLVIA. Well, that's not Uncle Dan's fault, he only did it for the best....

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?

SYLVIA (_sniffing on Chesterfield_). It's no use, they're still being beastly. Mother sent for you. She's frightfully upset at your going to the _Green Hart_.

DANIEL. If they're keeping it up, I think I'd better go back. (_Moving towards entrance._)

SYLVIA (_rising_). No, you're not to do anything of the sort, you're to stay here. (_Firmly._) They can be as disagreeable as they like, we'll go about together; you can come to the studio with me to-morrow morning.

DANIEL (_up to her_). You, Sylvia, are what is described as a sympathetic character. You've been very nice to me all along. Can I leave you anything?

SYLVIA. Don't joke about it, uncle, it's all so horrid.

DANIEL. If I don't joke I shall burst into storms of passionate sobbing. (_Moves down_ C.)

SYLVIA. That would be rather awful. Here comes mother....

(_Enter_ MRS. DERMOTT _downstairs._)

MRS. DERMOTT. Danny darling, why were you so silly as to take any notice of the children? They're unkind and heartless, and I ordered the mushrooms specially for you this morning. Sit down and have them now. They'll be quite hot still. (_She pushes him into chair._) Sylvia, get them, if you please. I can't think why they're all behaving like this, I shall never forgive them, Danny dear. You won't let them upset you, will you?

(_She kisses him._ MRS. DERMOTT _sits in_ SYLVIA'S _chair_, DANIEL _in_ MRS. DERMOTT'S.)

DANIEL. Well, they seem to have upset everything else.

(_Enter_ GRIGGS, R.)

MRS. DERMOTT. Bring some more toast and coffee, Griggs. Or would you rather have tea?

DANIEL. Tea, please.

MRS. DERMOTT. Tea then, Griggs.

GRIGGS. Very good, madam. (_Picks up remains of paper above Chesterfield and exit_ R.)

SYLVIA (_handing him plate of mushrooms and bacon_). Here you are, uncle dear--I'm going upstairs. Call me if you want anything.

(_Exit_ SYLVIA _upstairs._)

DANIEL. I will.

MRS. DERMOTT. I'm sure he won't.

DANIEL. Now look here, Anne, you're not to include Sylvia in your fury against the family. She has been perfectly sweet.

MRS. DERMOTT. So she ought to be--and the others as well. Such nonsense, I never heard of such a thing. Not being able to take a joke better than that. I don't know what's happened to them, they were such dear good-natured children. They used to make booby traps and apple-pie beds for one another and not mind a bit.

(MRS. DERMOTT _keeps buttering toast for him, arranging it round his plate._)

DANIEL. But you see, Anne, this perhaps has irritated them more than an apple-pie bed.

MRS. DERMOTT. I don't see why, it's just as harmless, and much less trouble.

DANIEL. If I had known they were going to take it so badly I should have thought of something else. I have lots of ideas. But even now, when I come to look back over everything, I don't see what else I could have done.

MRS. DERMOTT. You're just the kindest old darling in the world and everything, every single thing you have done for us, has been perfect.

DANIEL. Dear Anne, don't be absurd. It was nothing, worse than nothing, but I'd given it a lot of thought, and after all it has bucked them up and made them work. They're looking much better in health, too.

MRS. DERMOTT. Oh, Danny, I only wish you were better in health. The shadow of your illness just hangs over me like a nightmare. I can't pass a flower shop without thinking of you.

DANIEL (_puts down knife and fork_). But I'm not ill at all. I've no intention of dying until I'm eighty-three or even eighty-four.

MRS. DERMOTT. Dear old boy, you're only saying that so that I shan't worry. (_She dabs her eyes._) But it's no use, you can't deceive me, you know.

DANIEL. But, Anne, I swear.--

MRS. DERMOTT. There, there, we'll say no more about it. It only upsets me and here's your tea.

(_She takes tea from_ GRIGGS, _who has entered with tea and toast. He goes off again._)

Have you seen your doctor lately?

DANIEL (_resignedly_). Yes, I saw him the other day.

MRS. DERMOTT (_pouring out tea_). And what did he say?

DANIEL (_confused_). Well--er--I don't know--he sounded me.

MRS. DERMOTT. Yes, they always do that. I wonder why. Your illness has nothing to do with your heart has it?

DANIEL (_firmly_). My dear Anne, I haven't got an illness.

MRS. DERMOTT. I'm sure I hope not, dear, but if he said that, I should really get another more expert opinion if I were you. A man like that can't be really reliable. I don't believe in doctors ever since poor Millicent Jenkins died.

DANIEL. Look here, Anne, I really do want to make you understand that what I told the children is perfectly true. I haven't any money.

MRS. DERMOTT. Nonsense, dear, you can't pull my leg as easily as that. How were you able to send that cheque when I most needed it, and those lovely Christmas presents, and the fares backwards and forwards to America--I believe you've got some big surprise for us all later on and you're afraid that we'll guess it.

DANIEL. Yes, I have.

MRS. DERMOTT (_rising_). Now look here, dear, I must leave you for a little while. Saturday is the busiest morning in the whole week. Finish off your breakfast and smoke a pipe--or a cigar or something; if any of the children come near you, just ignore them or pretend to be frightfully angry with them. That will bring them round.

(_Enter_ GRIGGS _hurriedly_, R.)

GRIGGS. If you please, madam, the boiler is making the most peculiar noises. Shall I send for Brown to come and look at it?

MRS. DERMOTT. I don't think that will do it any good, but still perhaps you'd better. I'll come myself in a minute.

(_Exit_ GRIGGS, R.)

MRS. DERMOTT (C.). Really, everything is going wrong this morning, first you, Danny, then the boiler; sometimes life isn't worth living--I do hope it won't burst.

(_Exit_ MRS. DERMOTT, R. DANIEL _sits thoughtful for a moment and_ _then resumes his breakfast. Enter_ JOYCE _from garden. She sees_ UNCLE DANIEL _and comes rather sheepishly up to him._)

JOYCE. Uncle, I----

DANIEL (_gruffly_). Good morning.

JOYCE (_feebly_). Good morning. (_There is a long pause._) Uncle Daniel--we've--er--we've all been talking----

DANIEL. That's quite a natural and healthy occupation.

JOYCE. We--we were talking about you.

DANIEL. That makes it none the less natural or healthy.

JOYCE. Of course it didn't. You see--I mean to say--we--well, they sent me in to tell you that----

DANIEL. Perhaps you'd better tell me another time when you are more in the mood. Have you seen the papers anywhere?

JOYCE. They ought to be over there. (_She points to window seat_ R., _and goes down to_ BOBBIE'S _chair._)

DANIEL (_rising and moving quickly to_ R.). Thanks. Don't you bother--I can get my own paper. (_Gets newspaper and returns to his seat at the head of the table._)

(_There is a long silence_, DANIEL _reads the paper._ JOYCE _shakes her head as_ OLIVER _strolls in from the garden and looks at_ JOYCE _for news._)

OLIVER. Have you had your breakfast, uncle?

DANIEL. Yes, thank you, and I slept beautifully.

OLIVER. It's a jolly nice morning.

DANIEL. That remark makes up in truth for what it lacks in originality.

OLIVER. Oh. (_Moves to window_, L.C., _turns, catches_ DANIEL'S _eye and turns quickly back._)

(JOYCE _continues to fidget at the foot of the table. Enter_ BOBBIE _downstairs and_ EVANGELINE, R. _They look meaningly at_ JOYCE, _who shakes her head vigorously._)

DANIEL. Have you a headache, Joyce, you keep wagging it about.

JOYCE (_very politely_). No, thank you, uncle, I----

DANIEL. Splendid, then I shan't have to offer you an aspirin.

EVANGELINE and BOBBIE (_together, coming forward hand-in-hand down_ R.C.). Uncle, we've all been----SPACELEFT(_They stop._)

DANIEL. Yes?

(_There is business of each of them wishing the other to speak to_ DANIEL.)

Tell me one thing, if any of you are capable of uttering a word, is this a game? Have I got to guess whether something's a vegetable or a mineral or something?

EVANGELINE. No, uncle, it's a much harder game than that--for us, anyhow. We've come to apologise.

DANIEL (_lowering the paper_). Oh, have you? (_Turns to them._)

EVANGELINE. Oh, won't you please be nice and make it easier for us?

DANIEL. You none of you made things in the least easy for me.

EVANGELINE. I know we didn't, but we're all sorry--frightfully sorry--we've talked it all over. Sylvia said we were beasts and ghouls and we wouldn't admit it then, but we do now. We are terribly ashamed of the way we've behaved. Please, please say you forgive us. (_Kneels to him._)

BOBBIE (_placing chair behind Chesterfield_). And it doesn't matter about Faith, uncle, I'm glad you were the means of showing her up. I don't love her a bit now. I hate her, and we all want you to understand that we'd rather have you alive and with us than all the beastly money in the world.

JOYCE (_leaning forward over table_). And we'll do anything you like to atone for it. We'll abase ourselves like they used to in the olden days to show they repented.

OLIVER. Will you let it go at that, uncle? (_He comes forward to_ L. _of_ DANIEL.)

DANIEL (_softly_). I should just think I will. (_Kisses_ EVANGELINE.)

(JOYCE _comes round and kisses him._ OLIVER _moves down_ L. EVANGELINE _moves behind table._)

JOYCE (_running to_ R.). Sylvia! Sylvia! Mother, come here! It's all right!

(_Enter_ MRS. DERMOTT _from_ R.)

MRS. DERMOTT. I've just come out of the boiler. What on earth is all this noise?

JOYCE. We've all made it up with Uncle Daniel and he's forgiven us.

MRS. DERMOTT. I'm sure I'm very glad, darlings, and I hope you're none of you too old to take a lesson from it. (_Comes to_ DANIEL'S R.)

(_Enter_ SYLVIA _downstairs._)

SYLVIA. Is everything forgiven and forgotten?

DANIEL. Everything. (_Rising._)

(_Enter_ GRIGGS, R., _with cablegram._)

GRIGGS (_handing it to_ UNCLE DANIEL). For you, sir.

DANIEL. Excuse me. (_Takes it, opens it in silence and reads it._) My God!

MRS. DERMOTT. What is it, dear, what is it?

DANIEL. It's not true! After all these years, I can't believe it!

SYLVIA. What is it, Uncle, tell us, tell us, quick.

DANIEL. It's from my agent. Listen! (_Reads._) "Struck big vein, Santa Lyta mine--come at once!" I'm worth thousands, thousands. (_Going down_ R. _gives_ MRS. DERMOTT _telegram as he passes her. The others, except_ SYLVIA, _crowd round her_ C., _excited at the news._)

MRS. DERMOTT. There now.... I told you so.

SYLVIA (_coming_ L. _of him_). Uncle! Did you send that telegram to yourself?

UNCLE. Yes!!!

CURTAIN.

Words by ESME WYNNE.

Music by NOEL COWARD.

_Andante grazioso._

1. The sweetest name that ever I heard is

Faith,... Oh! fair-er than the voice of Spring it seems;.... I

think all day on its de-light, And when my eyes are dim with night A single star shines

ever thro' my dreams.... The star of Faith.

2. The dearest name that ever I heard is

Faith,... Though all the gifts of God were mine to choose.... And

I were Lord of night and day, At Love's dear shrine I still would pray "For Thee this pow'r and

treasure I would lose.".... Just give me Faith.]