VIOLA. Dick! How wonderful!

MARGARET (mildly). I don't remember ever having had a morning quite
like this.

RICHARD (angrily). Is this a joke, Mr. Clifton?

CLIFTON. Oh, the money is there all right. My clerk, a man of the
utmost--

RICHARD. Then I refuse it. I'll have nothing to do with it. I won't
even argue about it. (Tearing the letter into bits) That's what I
think of your money. [He stalks indignantly from the room.]

VIOLA. Dick! Oh, but, mother, he mustn't. Oh, I must tell him--
[She hurries after him.]

MARGARET (with dignity). Really, Mr. Clifton, I'm surprised at you.
[She goes out too.]

CLIFTON (looking round the room). And now, Mr. Crawshaw, we are
alone.

CRAWSHAW. Yes. Well, I think, Mr. Clifton, you have a good deal to
explain--

CLIFTON. My dear sir, I'm longing to begin. I have been looking
forward to this day for weeks. I spent over an hour this morning
dressing for it. (He takes papers from his hat and moves to the
sofa.) Perhaps I had better begin from the beginning.