STRANGER. A thousand a year. You said so yourself. Yes, I think it's worth a thousand a year. LADY PEMBURY. Who is your father? What's your name? STRANGER. Didn't I tell you I hadn't got a name? (Bitterly) And if you want to know why, ask Sir John Pembury, K.B.E. LADY PEMBURY (in a whisper). He's your father. STRANGER. Yes. And I'm his loving son--come to see him at last, after all these years. LADY PEMBURY (hardly able to ask it). How--how old are you? STRANGER. Thirty. LADY PEMBURY (sitting down on the sofa). Oh, thank God! Thank God! STRANGER (upset by her emotion). Look here, I didn't want all this. I ask you--did I begin it? It was you who kept asking questions. I just came for a quiet talk with Sir John--Father and Son talking together quietly--talking about Son's allowance. A thousand a year. What did you want to come into it for? (LADY PEMBURY is quiet again now. She wipes away a tear or two, and sits up, looking at him thoughtfully.) LADY PEMBURY. So _you_ are the son that I never had. STRANGER. What d'you mean? LADY PEMBURY (almost to herself). The son whom I wanted so. Five girls--never a boy. Let me look at you. (She goes up to him.) STRANGER (edging away). Here, none of that. LADY PEMBURY (looking at him earnestly to see if she can see a likeness). No--and yet--(shaking her head sadly) Poor boy! What an unhappy life you must have had! STRANGER. I didn't come here to be pitied. I came to get my rightful allowance--same as any other son. LADY PEMBURY (to herself). Poor boy! (She goes back to her seat and then says) You don't mind my asking you questions _now_, do you? STRANGER. Go on. There's no mistake about it. I can promise you that. LADY PEMBURY. How did you find out? Did your Mother tell you? STRANGER. Never a word. "Don't ask questions, sonny----" "Father's dead"--all that sort of thing. LADY PEMBURY. Does Sir John know? Did he ever know? STRANGER (feeling in his pocket). _He_ knew right enough. (Bringing out letters) Look here--here you are. This was how I found out. (Selecting one) There--read that one. LADY PEMBURY (taking it). Yes--that's John's writing. (She holds it out to him.) STRANGER. Aren't you going to read it? LADY PEMBURY (shaking her head pathetically). He didn't write it to _me_. STRANGER. He didn't write it to _me_, if it comes to that. LADY PEMBURY. You're her son--you have a right. I'm--nobody. STRANGER (putting it back in his pocket). Oh well, please yourself. LADY PEMBURY. Did Sir John provide for your mother? STRANGER. Well, why shouldn't he? He was a rich man. LADY PEMBURY. Not in those days. . . . But indeed--why shouldn't he? What else could he do? I'm glad he did. STRANGER. And now he's going to provide for his loving son. He's rich enough for that in these days. LADY PEMBURY. He's never seen you?