MARION (_outraged_). Septima! SEPTIMA. “We’ll see what Grandfather says”—that has always been the answer to everything in this house. MARION (_as sarcastically as she can, but she is not very good at it_). You can hardly have forgotten who Grandfather is. SEPTIMA. I haven’t. MARION (_awed_). What was it the _Telegraph_ called him only this morning? “The Supreme Songster of an Earlier Epoch.” (_Her own father!_) SEPTIMA. I said that I hadn’t forgotten what Grandfather _is_. You’re telling me what he _was_. He _is_ an old man of ninety. I’m twenty. Anything that I do will affect him for at most five years. It will affect me for fifty years. That’s why I say this has nothing to do with Grandfather. MARION (_distressed_). Septima, sometimes you almost seem as if you were irreligious. When you think who Grandfather is—and his birthday too. (_Weakly_) You must talk to your father. SEPTIMA. That’s better. Father’s only sixty. MARION. You must talk to your father. He will see what Grandfather says. SEPTIMA. And there we are—back again to ninety! It’s always the way. MARION (_plaintively_). I really don’t understand you children. You ought to be proud of living in the house of such a great man. I don’t know what Grandfather will say when he hears about it. (_Tearfully_) The Reverend William Styles ... Hockley Vicarage ... Bishop Stortford. (_And from every line she extracts some slight religious comfort._) SEPTIMA (_thoughtfully_). I suppose father would cut off my allowance if I just went. MARION. Went? SEPTIMA. Yes. Would he? It would be beastly unfair, of course, but I suppose he would. MARION (_at the end of her resources_). Septima, you’re _not_ to talk like that. SEPTIMA. I think I’ll get Aunt Isobel to tackle Grandfather. She’s only forty. Perhaps _she_ could persuade him. MARION. I won’t hear another word. And you had better tidy yourself up. I will finish these letters myself. SEPTIMA (_going to the door_). Yes, I must go and tidy up. (_At the door_) But I warn you, Mother, I mean to have it out this time. And if Grandfather—— (_She breaks off as her father comes in_) Oh, Lord! (_She comes back into the room, making way for him._) (_WILLIAM BLAYDS-CONWAY was obviously meant for the Civil Service. His prim neatness, his gold pince-nez, his fussiness would be invaluable in almost any Department. However, running BLAYDS is the next best thing to running the Empire._) WILLIAM. What is this, Septima? Where are you going? SEPTIMA. Tidy myself up. WILLIAM. That’s right. And then you might help your mother to entertain Mr. Royce until we send for him. Perhaps we might—wait a moment—— MARION. Oh, have you seen Mr. Royce, William? He seems a nice young man, doesn’t he? I’m sure Grandfather will like him.