SEPTIMA. I want to say this. Oliver and I have been brought up in a certain way to expect certain things. Oliver wanted to be an engineer; he wasn’t allowed to, as Grandfather wanted him to go into politics. I wanted to share a studio with a friend and try and get on with my painting; I wasn’t allowed to, as Grandfather wanted me at home. Perhaps if Oliver had been an engineer, he would have been doing well by now. Perhaps if I had had my way, I might have been earning my living by now. As it is, we have been brought up as the children and grandchildren of rich people; I can’t earn my own living, and Oliver is in a profession in which money means success. Aunt Isobel has been telling us how a young man of Oliver’s age, seventy years ago, was cheated out of his rights. Apparently she thinks that the best way now of making up for that is to cheat Oliver and me out of our rights. I don’t agree with her. OLIVER. Yes, there’s a good deal in that. Well done, Tim. ISOBEL. It’s hard on you, I know. But you are young; you still have your lives in front of you, to make what you will of them. SEPTIMA. That’s what old people always say to people of our age, and they seem to think that it excuses any injustice. MARION. Poor Grandfather! SEPTIMA. Yes, but I don’t see why it should be “Poor Oliver” and “Poor Septima” too. Suppose any relation did turn up—(_to WILLIAM_)—suppose they do, Father. Well, what will they all be? Grand-nephews, or fifth cousins twice removed or something, who have never heard of Jenkins, who never did anything _for_ Jenkins, and on whose lives Jenkins has had no effect whatever. Is there any sort of justice which says that they ought to have the money? But Noll and I have given up a good deal for Oliver Blayds, and he owes us something. ISOBEL (_with ironic sadness_). Oh yes, you have given up a good deal for Oliver Blayds. It ought to be paid back to you. WILLIAM (_still trying to be fair_). There’s another thing we must remember. Even if this other man—— SEPTIMA. Jenkins. WILLIAM. Yes, even if he wrote all the books—always excepting the 1863 volume—even so, it was Oliver Blayds who arranged for their publication. He could fairly claim, therefore, an agent’s commission on all moneys received. Ten per cent. ISOBEL (_scornfully_). Oliver Blayds, the well-known commission agent! WILLIAM. Ten per cent of all moneys, therefore, is, in any case, rightfully ours. MARION. Only ten per cent, dear. That seems very little.