dear? He makes jokes about serious things--like bishops and hunting
just as if they weren't at all serious.

CRAWSHAW. I wish to talk to him just to obtain a new--ah--point of
view. I do not hold myself in the least bound to act on anything he
says. I regard him as a constituent, Margaret.

MARGARET. Then I will send him to you.

CRAWSHAW (putting his hands on her shoulders). Margaret, what do
you really feel about it?

MARGARET. Just whatever you feel, Robert.

CRAWSHAW (kissing her). Thank you, Margaret; you are a good wife
to me. [She goes out]

(CRAWSHAW goes to his desk and selects a "Who's Who" from a little
pile of reference-books on it. He walks round to his chair, sits
down in it and begins to turn the pages, murmuring names beginning
with "C" to himself as he gets near the place. When he finds it, he
murmurs "Clifton--that's funny," and closes the book. Evidently the
publishers have failed him.)

[Enter RICHARD.]

RICHARD. Well, what's the news? (He goes to his old seat on the
fender.) Been left a fortune?

CRAWSHAW (simply). Yes. ... By a Mr. Antony Clifton. I never met