ifle! I blush for you, Uncle
Titus.

ANDERSON. Mr. Dudgeon you are in the presence of your mother and her
grief.

RICHARD. It touches me profoundly, Pastor. By the way, what has become
of the irregular child?

ANDERSON (pointing to Essie). There, sir, listening to you.

RICHARD (shocked into sincerity). What! Why the devil didn't you tell
me that before? Children suffer enough in this house without-- (He
hurries remorsefully to Essie.) Come, little cousin! never mind me: it
was not meant to hurt you. (She looks up gratefully at him. Her
tearstained face affects him violently, and he bursts out, in a
transport of wrath) Who has been making her cry? Who has been
ill-treating her? By God--

MRS. DUDGEON (rising and confronting him). Silence your blasphemous
tongue. I will hear no more of this. Leave my house.

RICHARD. How do you know it's your house until the will is read? (They
look at one another for a moment with intense hatred; and then she
sinks, checkmated, into her chair. Richard goes boldly up past Anderson
to the window, where he takes the railed chair in his hand.) Ladies and
gentlemen: as the eldest son of my late father, and the unworthy head
of this household, I bid you welcome. By your leave, Minister Anderson:
by your leave, Lawyer Hawkins. The head of the table for the head of
the family. (He places the chair at the table between the minister and
the attorney; sits down between them; and addresses the assembly with a
presidential air.) We meet on a melancholy occasion: a father dead! an
uncle actually hanged, and probably damned. (He shakes his head
deploringly. The relatives freeze with horror.) That's right: pull your
longest faces (his voice suddenly sweetens gravely as his glance lights
on Essie) provided only there is hope in the eyes of the child.
(Briskly.) Now then, Lawyer Hawkins: business, business. Get on with
the will, man.

TITUS. Do not let yourself be ordered or hurried, Mr. Hawkins.

HAWKINS (very politely and willingly). Mr. Dudgeon means no offence, I
feel sure. I will not keep you one second, Mr. Dudgeon. Just while I
get my glasses-- (he fumbles for them. The Dudgeons look at one another
with misgiving).

RICHARD. Aha! They notice your civility, Mr. Hawkins. They are prepared
for the worst. A glass of wine to clear your voice before you begin.
(He pours out one for him and hands it; then pours one for himself.)

HAWKINS. Thank you, Mr. Dudgeon. Your good health, sir.

RIC