Denis Clifton was superb as a solicitor. In spite of an indifferent
make-up, his manner of taking off his gloves and dropping them into
his hat--(He does so.)
MARGARET (to CRAWSHAW). I think, perhaps, Viola and I--
RICHARD (making a move too). We'll leave you to your business, Robert.
CLIFTON (holding up his hand). Just one moment if I may. I have a
letter for you, Mr. Meriton.
RICHARD (surprised). For me?
CLIFTON. Yes. My clerk, a man of the utmost integrity--oh, but I
said that before--he took it round to your rooms this morning, but
found only painters and decorators there. (He is feeling in his
pockets and now brings the letter out.) I brought it along, hoping
that Mr. Crawshaw--but of course I never expected anything so
delightful as this. (He hands over the letter with a bow.)
RICHARD. Thanks. (He puts it in his pocket.)
CLIFTON. Oh, but do read it now, won't you? (To MR. CRAWSHAW) One
so rarely has an opportunity of being present when one's own
letters are read. I think the habit they have on the stage of
reading letters aloud to other is such a very delightful one.
(RICHARD, with a smile and a shrug, has opened his letter while
CLIFTON is talking.)
RICHARD. Good Lord!
VIOLA. Dick, what is it?
RICHARD (reading). "199, Lincoln's Inn Fields. Dear Sir, I have
the pleasure to inform you that under the will of the late Mr.
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