CLIFTON. Oh, certainly. Oh, there's no doubt about my being a solicitor. My clerk, a man of the utmost integrity, not to say probity, would give me a reference. I am in the books; I belong to the Law Society. But my heart turns elsewhere. Officially I have embraced the profession of a solicitor--(Frankly, to MRS. CRAWSHAW) But you know what these official embraces are. MARGARET. I'm afraid--(She turns to her husband for assistance.) CLIFTON (to RICHARD). Unofficially, Mr. Meriton, I am wedded to the Muses. VIOLA. Dick, isn't he lovely? CRAWSHAW. Quite so. But just for the moment, Mr. Clifton, I take it that we are concerned with legal business. Should I ever wish to produce a play, the case would be different. CLIFTON. Admirably put. Pray regard me entirely as the solicitor for as long as you wish. (He puts his hat down on a chair with the papers in it, and taking off his gloves, goes on dreamily) Mr. 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. Antony Clifton you are a beneficiary to the extent of £50,000." VIOLA. Dick! RICHARD. "A trifling condition is attached--namely, that you should take the name of--Wurzel-Flummery." (CLIFTON, with his hand on his heart, bows gracefully from one to the other of them.) CRAWSHAW (annoyed). Impossible! Why should he leave any money to _you_? VIOLA. Dick! How wonderful! MARGARET (mildly). I don't remember ever having had a morning quite like this. RICHARD (angrily). Is this a joke, Mr. Clifton? CLIFTON. Oh, the money is there all right. My clerk, a man of the utmost--