RICHARD. And Robert doesn't really. VIOLA. Then why does he say it? RICHARD. Ah, now you're opening up very grave questions. The whole structure of the British Constitution rests upon Robert's right to say things like that at Basingstoke.... But really, darling, we're very good friends. He's always asking my advice about things--he doesn't take it, of course, but still he asks it; and it awfully good of him to insist on my staying here while my flat was being done up. (Seriously) I bless him for that. If it hadn't been for the last week I should never have known you. You were just "Viola"--the girl I'd seen at odd times since she was a child; now--oh, why won't you let me tell your father? I hate it like this. VIOLA, Because I love you, Dick, and because I know father. He would, as they say in novels, show you the door. (Smiling) And I want you this side of the door for a little bit longer. RICHARD (firmly). I shall tell him before I go. VIOLA (pleadingly). But not till then; that gives us two more days. You see, darling, it's going to take me all I know to get round him. You see, apart from politics you're so poor--and father hates poor people. RICHARD (viciously). Damn money! VIOLA (thoughtfully). I think that's what father means by spiritual instability. RICHARD. Viola! (He stands up and holds out his arms to her. She goes to him and--) Oh, Lord, look out! VIOLA (reaching across to the mantelpiece). Matches? RICHARD. Thanks very much. (He lights his pipe as ROBERT CRAWSHAW comes in.) (CRAWSHAW is forty-five, but his closely-trimmed moustache and whiskers, his inclination to stoutness, and the loud old-gentlemanly style in trousers which he affects with his morning-coat, make him look older, and, what is more important, the Pillar of the State which he undoubtedly is.) CRAWSHAW. Good-morning, Richard. Down at last? RICHARD. Good morning. I did warn you, didn't I, that I was bad at breakfasts? CRAWSHAW. Viola, where's your mother? VIOLA (making for the door). I don't know, father; do you want her? CRAWSHAW. I wish to speak to her. VIOLA. All right, I'll tell her. [She goes out.] (RICHARD Picks up "The Times" and sits down again.) CRAWSHAW (sitting down in a business-like way at his desk). Richard, why don't you get something to do? RICHARD. My dear fellow, I've only just finished breakfast. CRAWSHAW. I mean generally. And apart, of course, from your--ah--work in the House. RICHARD (a trifle cool). I have something to do. CRAWSHAW. Oh, reviewing. I mean something serious. You should get a directorship or something in the City. RICHARD. I hate the City. CRAWSHAW. Ah! there, my dear Richard, is that intellectual arrogance to which I had to call attention the other day at Basingstoke. RICHARD (drily). Yes, so Viola was telling me.