WILLIAM. Yes, sir.
BLAYDS (looking wistfully at ISOBEL). May I?
ISOBEL. Yes, dear, if you like. William——
WILLIAM (anxiously). Do you think——? (She nods, and he pours out a glass.) Here you are, sir.
BLAYDS (taking it in rather a shaky hand). Mr. Royce, I will drink to you; and, through you, to all that eager youth which is seeking, each in his own way, for beauty. (He raises his glass.) May they find it at the last! (He drinks.)
ROYCE. Thank you very much, sir. I shall remember.
WILLIAM. Allow me, sir. (He recovers BLAYDS’ glass.) Marion, you have business to attend to? Oliver——? Septima——?
MARION. Yes, dear. (Cheerfully to BLAYDS) We’re going now, Grandfather.
BLAYDS (nodding). I shall talk a little to Mr. Royce.
MARION. That’s right, dear; don’t tire yourself. Come along, children.