SEPTIMA (wickedly). Wait a moment. (She blows her nose) Right.
WILLIAM. All ready? (He rings the bell with an air.)
(There is a solemn silence of expectation. Then OLIVER shifts a leg and catches his ankle against SEPTIMA’S chair.)
OLIVER. Damn! Oo! (He rubs his ankle.)
WILLIAM (in church). S’sh!
(There is another solemn silence, and then the Maid opens the door. BLAYDS, in an invalid chair, is wheeled in by ISOBEL. They all stand up. With his long white beard, his still plentiful white hair curling over his ears, OLIVER BLAYDS does indeed “look like somebody.” Only his eyes, under their shaggy brows, are still young. Indomitable spirit and humour gleam in them. With all the dignity, majesty even, which he brings to the part, you feel that he realises what great fun it is being OLIVER BLAYDS.)
BLAYDS. Good-day to you all.
MARION (going forward and kissing his forehead). Many happy returns of the day, Father.
BLAYDS. Thank you, Marion. Happy, I hope; many, I neither expect nor want.
(WILLIAM, who is just going forward, stops for [208]a moment to jot this down on his shirt cuff. Then, beckoning to ROYCE to follow him, he approaches.)