OLIVER. The Sage of Chelsea.
ROYCE. Oh, Carlyle. Surely——
SEPTIMA. Mother called them all “uncle” in her day.
ROYCE. Well, now, there you are. That’s one of the most charming things about Oliver Blayds. He has always had a genius for friendship. Read the lives [190]and letters of all the great Victorians, and you find it all the way. They loved him. They——
OLIVER (striking up). God save our gracious Queen!
ROYCE (with a good-humoured shrug). Oh, well!
SEPTIMA. Keep it for father and mother, Mr. Royce. We’re hopeless. Shall I tell you why?
ROYCE. Yes?
SEPTIMA. When you were a child, did you ever get the giggles in church?
ROYCE. Almost always—when the Vicar wasn’t looking.