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.

Richard.  Yours, sir. (With the glass half way to his lips, he checks himself, giving a dubious glance at the wine, and adds, with quaint intensity.) Will anyone oblige me with a glass of water?

Essie, who has been hanging on his every word and movement, rises stealthily and slips out behind Mrs. Dudgeon through the bedroom door, returning presently with a jug and going out of the house as quietly as possible.

Hawkins.  The will is not exactly in proper legal phraseology.

Richard.  No:  my father died without the consolations of the law.