ROYCE. Miss Blayds-Conway, I appeal to you.
SEPTIMA. Anything I can do in return for your shilling——
ROYCE. I have come here on behalf of some of my contemporaries, in order to acquaint that very great man Oliver Blayds with the feelings of admiration which we younger writers entertain for him. It appears now that not only is Blayds a great poet and a great philosopher, but also a——
OLIVER. Great-grandfather.
ROYCE. But also a grandfather. Do you think you can persuade your brother that Blayds’ public reputation as a poet is in no way affected by his private reputation as a grandfather, and beg him to spare me any further revelations?
SEPTIMA. Certainly; I could do all that for ninepence, and you’d still be threepence in hand. (Sternly to OLIVER) Blayds-Conway, young fellow, have you been making r-revelations about your ger-rand-father?
OLIVER. My dear girl, I’ve made no r-revelations whatever. What’s upset him probably is that I refused to recite to him “A Child’s Thoughts on Waking.”
SEPTIMA. Did he pat your head and ask you to?
[189]ROYCE. No, he didn’t.
SEPTIMA. Well, you needn’t be huffy about it, Mr. Royce. You would have been in very good company. Meredith and Hardy have, and lots of others.