MARION (giving it to him). I wasn’t quite sure how many “p’s” there were in appreciative.
WILLIAM. Two.
MARION. Yes, I thought two was safer.
WILLIAM (handing it back to her). Yes, that’s all right. (Bringing out his keys) I shall want to make a few notes while Mr. Royce is being received. It may be that Oliver Blayds will say something worth recording. One would like to get something if it were possible. (He has unlocked a drawer in the table and brought out his manuscript book.) And see that that goes off now. I should think about eight names. Say three Society, three Artistic and Literary, and two Naval, Military and Political. (Again you see his brain working.... He has come to another decision. He announces it.) Perhaps two Society would be enough.
MARION. Yes, dear. (Beginning to make for the door) Will there be anything else you’ll want? (Holding out the paper) After I’ve done this?
[200]WILLIAM (considering). No ... no.... I’m coming with you. (Taking out his keys) I must get the port. (He opens the door for her, and they go out together.)
(The room is empty for a moment, and then ISOBEL comes in. She is nearly forty. You can see how lovely she was at twenty, but she gave up being lovely eighteen years ago, said good-bye to ISOBEL, and became just Nurse. If BLAYDS wants cheerfulness, she is cheerful; if sympathy, sympathetic; if interest, interested. She is off duty now, and we see at once how tired she is. But she has some spiritual comfort, some secret pride to sustain her, and it is only occasionally that the tiredness, the deadness, shows through. She has flowers in her arms, and slowly, thoughtfully, she decks the room for the great man. We see now for a moment that she is much older than we thought; it is for her own ninetieth birthday that she is decorating the room.... Now she has finished, and she sits down, her hands in her lap, waiting, waiting patiently.... Some thought brings a wistful smile to her mouth. Yes, she must have been very lovely at twenty. Then ROYCE comes in.)
ROYCE. Oh, I beg your pardon. (He sees who it is.) Oh!
ISOBEL. It’s all right, I—— Are you waiting to see—— (She recognises him) Oh!
(They stand looking at each other, about six feet apart, not moving, saying nothing. Then very gently he begins to hum the refrain of a waltz. Slowly she remembers.)