SYLVIA. It is breaking it in a way to show favouritism.

DANIEL. I only told you in the very strictest confidence because I had faith in you--trusted you....

SYLVIA. It was very sweet of you, uncle, but I don't think you should have.

DANIEL. Well, after all, I... it's my money and surely I----

SYLVIA. You see, it's so terribly unfair to the others--of course they don't know, and I shall never breathe a word, but, uncle, I do wish you'd leave everything to one of them and not me--I shouldn't feel happy for a moment with the money--not for a single moment if I'd known all the time that I was going to get it. Rule me out of the list, there's a dear--I'm earning an awful lot now, you know, on the films and I really don't need any more--promise you'll do what I ask you?

DANIEL. I don't think you're quite in your right mind, but, still--(_smiling_) I'll see.

SYLVIA. There, I knew you'd see what I meant and be a lamb. Now tell me some of your adventures and things, and how you made the money.

DANIEL (_uncomfortably_). Really, I don't think that....

SYLVIA. It must be so glorious out there--mining and prospecting and--by the way how does one prospect?

DANIEL. How does one prospect? When one prospects one scoops up water from rivers and finds nuggets in one's hands--if one's lucky, of course.

SYLVIA. You don't seem to know very much about it, uncle.

DANIEL (_nettled_). On the contrary I know _all_ about it--but you wouldn't understand if I went into technical details.

SYLVIA. I don't believe you would, either.

DANIEL (_rises and goes_ L.). I think, Sylvia, that this lack of trust in your fellow-creatures is a very sinister trait in your character--you must remember that I am a much older man than you are and----

SYLVIA. I'm not a man at all.

DANIEL (_turns_). Sometimes I wish you were, then I could tell you what I really think of you.

SYLVIA (_rises and goes to him--laughing_). There, uncle, I won't tease you any more, but still it must have been a wonderful moment when you discovered you had made a fortune out of your mine.

DANIEL. I didn't.

SYLVIA (_relentlessly_). But I thought----

DANIEL. That is--not exactly--you see it was like this....

(_Enter_ OLIVER _from garden._)

DANIEL (_under his breath_). Thank G.o.d! (_Sits chair below table._)

OLIVER (_above arm-chair_). Hallo Sylvia. Mother's been looking for you--she wants you to help her pick strawberries for tea. Joyce is with her now, but she isn't much use because she eats them as fast as she picks them.

SYLVIA. I'll go now. Stay and keep Uncle Dan company, Oliver. Get him to tell you some of his South American experiences. They're awfully interesting. Bye-bye for the present, uncle.

DANIEL. Cheerio!

(_Exit_ SYLVIA, R.)

I suppose you haven't such a thing as a whisky and soda about you, have you, Oliver?

OLIVER. Of course, I'll get you one.

DANIEL. I'm feeling rather exhausted.

(OLIVER _goes to side table, mixes a drink and gives it to him._)

(_Weakly_) Thank you very much.

OLIVER (C., _fingering arm-chair_). I say, uncle--can you--er--spare me a few minutes?

DANIEL (_apprehensively_). Yes--what is it?

OLIVER (_awkwardly_). Well, it's like this--I know it's rather bad form to talk about your will----

DANIEL. Yes, it is.

OLIVER. But I feel I must. I----

DANIEL (_hurriedly_). Wait until another time, don't you worry yourself about it now. You wait until I'm dead.

OLIVER (_firmly_). No, I must get it over--I want to ask you to leave your money to one of the others and not to me at all. It was awfully decent of you to single me out and it bucked me up a lot to feel that you thought well of me, but now--well, I'm earning steadily and I really don't need a lot, in fact, it might do me harm to feel that I needn't work--also it would seem frightfully caddish to the others for me to have known all along that I was going to get it. Don't you see what I'm driving at?

DANIEL. In a way, I do, yes....

OLIVER. Well, you'll do what I ask, won't you? It's a ripping feeling being independent (EVANGELINE _pa.s.ses the window_) and earning money, and I want to go on at it--(_He glances out of the window_). Here comes Vangy. Now leave it to her. Novel writing is a frightfully precarious show and she's a woman and--anyhow, will you?

DANIEL. I'll see.

(_Enter_ EVANGELINE.)

EVANGELINE. Ah, there you are, Uncle Daniel--I've been looking for you--I want to have a little talk with you. (_Above Chesterfield._)

DANIEL. My G.o.d!

EVANGELINE. What did you say?

DANIEL (_feverishly_). I said, My G.o.d!

EVANGELINE. Wasn't that a little unnecessary--but still, I expect you get used to swearing over trifles out in the backwoods.

DANIEL. I wasn't anywhere near the backwoods.

EVANGELINE. Well, wherever you were then. Do go away, Oliver, I want to talk to Uncle Daniel privately.

OLIVER. Righto--you'll remember what I said, won't you, Uncle? Cheerio.