tly to see if she can see a
likeness). No--and yet--(shaking her head sadly) Poor boy! What an
unhappy life you must have had!

STRANGER. I didn't come here to be pitied. I came to get my rightful
allowance--same as any other son.

LADY PEMBURY (to herself). Poor boy! (She goes back to her seat and
then says) You don't mind my asking you questions _now_, do you?

STRANGER. Go on. There's no mistake about it. I can promise you that.

LADY PEMBURY. How did you find out? Did your Mother tell you?

STRANGER. Never a word. "Don't ask questions, sonny----" "Father's
dead"--all that sort of thing.

LADY PEMBURY. Does Sir John know? Did he ever know?

STRANGER (feeling in his pocket). _He_ knew right enough. (Bringing
out letters) Look here--here you are. This was how I found out.
(Selecting one) There--read that one.

LADY PEMBURY (taking it). Yes--that's John's writing. (She holds it
out to him.)

STRANGER. Aren't you going to read it?

LADY PEMBURY (shaking her head pathetically). He didn't write it to
_me_.

STRANGER. He didn't write it to _me_, if it comes to that.

LADY PEMBURY. You're her son--you have a right. I'm--nobody.

STRANGER (putting it back in his pocket). Oh well, please yourself.

LADY PEMBURY. Did Sir John provide for your mother?

STRANGER. Well, why shouldn't he? He was a rich man.

LADY PEMBURY. Not in those days. . . . But indeed--why shouldn't he? What
else could he do? I'm glad he did.

STRANGER. And now he's going to provide for his loving son. He's rich
enough for that in these days.

LADY PEMBURY. He's never seen you?

STRANGER. Never. The historic meeting of Father and Son will take
place this afternoon. (With a feeble attempt at what he thinks is the
aristocratic manner) Afraid the Governor will be in the deuce of a
rage. Been exceedin' my allowance--what? Make it a thousand, dear old
Gov.

LADY PEMBURY. Don't they call that blackmail?

STRANGER (violently). Now look here, I'd better tell you straight that
there's no blackmail about this at all. He's my father, isn't he?
Well, can't a son come to his father if he's hard up? Where are your
threatening letters? Where's the blackmail? Anyway, what's he going to
do about it? Put his son in prison?

LADY PEMBURY (following her own thoughts). You're thirty. Thank God
for that. We hadn't met then. . . . Ah, but he ought to have told me. He
ought to have told me.

STRANGER. P'raps he thought you wouldn't marry him, if he did.