tly obvious from
the moment I passed the window. Now of course we have all the trouble of
getting you disengaged again. Really you are very tiresome. (_Below
table._)

FAITH. Mother, how can you be so horrid, you will _not_ understand!
Bobbie has ever so much better prospects than Oliver.

MRS. CROMBIE. Who said so? Bobbie?

FAITH. Yes, but it's true; his Uncle is going to leave him a huge
fortune in a year's time.

MRS. CROMBIE. Which Uncle? (_Takes out cigarette from case._)

FAITH. He's only got one--Daniel Davis. He landed in England yesterday,
and is coming down here to-day. Eighteen months ago the doctor said he
only had three years to live----

MRS. CROMBIE. I've been caught like that before. (_Crosses to
mantelpiece for matches._)

FAITH. Why, how do you mean?

MRS. CROMBIE. Experience has taught me one thing, and that is that in
this world people _never_ die when they're expected to. (_Sits on
Chesterfield._) The old man will probably live to a ripe old age, then
where would you be?

FAITH. Well, anyhow Bobbie makes quite a lot out of his songs. (_Sits in
armchair._)

MRS. CROMBIE. Don't be childish, Faith. You know perfectly well I should
never allow you to marry a man without a settled income--prospects never
kept anyone. Besides, if any of them get the uncle's money it will be
Oliver--he's the eldest. (_Lights cigarette._)

FAITH (_in chair_ L.C.). That's where you are wrong, mother. Just before
he sailed back to America, he took Bobbie aside and told him in
confidence that he was the one he meant to leave everything to. Of
course the others mustn't know because it would be favouritism--don't
you see?

MRS. CROMBIE. How much is he going to leave?

FAITH. I don't know, but it's sure to be a lot.

MRS. CROMBIE. Why?

FAITH. Well, he's a bachelor and--and he's been mining in South America.

MRS. CROMBIE. There are hundreds of bachelors in South America who are
absolutely penniless--whether they mine or not.

FAITH. You are horrid, mother. (_Sniffs._) I did feel so happy, and I
wanted you to be happy too.

MRS. CROMBIE (_with slight sarcasm_). It was sweet of you, dear. I
really can't work myself up to a high pitch of enthusiasm over an uncle
who though apparently in the last throes of a virulent disease is well
able to gallop backwards and forwards across the Atlantic gaily
arranging to leave an extremely problematic fortune to an extremely
scatter-brained young man.

FAITH. Bobbie is