WILLIAM. I am working on a minimum basis. Isobel says, “Throw all the money into the sea; it doesn’t belong to us.” I say no, that is going too far. We have one volume which is certainly ours. We have the ten per cent commission which is certainly ours. There may be other sums due to us, such as the profits of certain of the investments. We can look into the matter carefully at our leisure. The great point, I take it, is that we want to be fair to the relatives of this man Jenkins, but also fair to the relatives of Oliver Blayds, who, as Septima points out, have at least done something to earn any money that comes to them. MARION (_to ISOBEL_). We want to be fair to everybody, dear. SEPTIMA. Well, I think you are going to give the Jenkinses much too much. What right have the Jenkinses got to _any_ of the money which Grandfather made by investing? OLIVER. Well, it was Jenkins’ money which was invested. MARION. We shouldn’t like to think of them starving because we weren’t quite fair. SEPTIMA. They let Jenkins starve. They didn’t worry about _him_. OLIVER. Of course they didn’t, they weren’t even born. WILLIAM. The whole question is extremely difficult. We may require an arbitrator, or, at any rate, a qualified chartered accountant. MARION. Yes, that would be better, dear. To let somebody else decide what is fair and what isn’t. ISOBEL (_in a low voice_). Oh, it’s horrible ... horrible. MARION. What, dear? ISOBEL. The way you talk—about the money. As if all that we had lost was so much money. As if you could estimate the wrong that Oliver Blayds did to his friend in the terms of money. I said the money was tainted. It is. How can you bear to touch it? How can you bear to profit by such a betrayal? SEPTIMA. That’s pure sentiment, Aunt Isobel. Quite apart from not being reasonable, it isn’t even practical. Where are you going to draw the line? If you’re going to throw the money away, then you’ve got to throw the house away and everything in the house away—all our clothes to begin with. Because everything—everything that belongs to us owes itself to that betrayal of seventy years ago.... We should look very funny, the five of us, walking out of the house to-morrow, with nothing on, and starting life all over again. MARION. Septima, dear, I don’t think that’s quite—— (_SEPTIMA begins to laugh to herself at the picture of them._)