CRAWSHAW. And what did you want to get married on? RICHARD (with a smile). Not very much, I'm afraid. VIOLA. We're all right now, father, because we shall have fifty thousand pounds. RICHARD (sadly). Oh, Viola, Viola! CRAWSHAW. But naturally this puts a very different complexion on matters. VIOLA. So of course he must take it, mustn't he, father? CRAWSHAW. I can hardly suppose, Richard, that you expect me to entrust my daughter to a man who is so little provident for himself that he throws away fifty thousand pounds because of some fanciful objection to the name which goes with it. RICHARD (in despair). You don't understand, Robert. CRAWSHAW. I understand this, Richard. That if the name is good enough for me, it should be good enough for you. You don't mind asking Viola to take _your_ name, but you consider it an insult if you are asked to take _my_ name. RICHARD (miserably to VIOLA). Do you want to be Mrs. Wurzel-Flummery? VIOLA. Well, I'm going to be Miss Wurzel-Flummery anyhow, darling. RICHARD (beaten). Heaven help me! you'll make me take it. But you'll never understand. CRAWSHAW (stopping to administer comfort to him on his way out). Come, come, Richard. (Patting him on the shoulder) I understand perfectly. All that you were saying about money a little while ago--it's all perfectly true, it's all just what I feel myself. But in practice we have to make allowances sometimes. We have to sacrifice our ideals for--ah--others. I shall be very proud to have you for a son-in-law, and to feel that there will be the two of us in Parliament together upholding the honour of the--ah--name. And perhaps now that we are to be so closely related, you may come to feel some day that your views could be--ah--more adequately put forward from _my_ side of the House. RICHARD. Go on, Robert; I deserve it. CRAWSHAW. Well, well! Margaret will be interested in our news. And you must send that solicitor a line--or perhaps a telephone message would be better. (He goes to the door and turns round just as he is going out.) Yes, I think the telephone, Richard; it would be safer. [Exit.] RICHARD (holding out his hands to VIOLA). Come here, Mrs. Wurzel-Flummery. VIOLA. Not Mrs. Wurzel-Flummery; Mrs. Dick. And soon, please, darling. (She comes to him.) RICHARD (shaking his head sadly at her). I don't know what I've done, Viola. (Suddenly) But you're worth it. (He kisses her, and then says in a low voice) And God help me if I ever stop thinking so! [Enter MR. DENIS CLIFTON. He sees them, and walks about very tactfully with his back towards them, humming to himself.] RICHARD. Hullo! CLIFTON (to himself). Now where did I put those papers? (He hums to himself again.) Now where--oh, I beg your pardon! I left some papers behind. VIOLA. Dick, you'll tell him. (As she goes out, she says to CLIFTON) Good-bye, Mr. Clifton, and thank you for writing such nice letters. CLIFTON. Good-bye, Miss Crawshaw. VIOLA. Just say it to see how it sounds.