ROYCE (smiling too). Pretty much. A little better than usual, I hope, because I wrote it.
(WILLIAM is now at the writing-table, waiting hopefully for crumbs.)
BLAYDS (holding out his hand). Give it to me. And sit down, please. Near me. I don’t hear too well. (He takes the book and glances at it.) Pretty. (He glances at some of the names and says, with a pleased smile) I didn’t think they took any interest in an old man. Isobel, you will read it to me afterwards, and tell me who they all are?
ISOBEL. Yes, dear.
BLAYDS. Will that do, Mr. Royce?
ROYCE. Of course, sir.... I should just like you to know, to have the privilege of telling you here, and on this day, that every one of us there has a very real admiration for your work and a very real reverence for yourself. And we feel that, in signing, we have done honour to ourselves, rather than honour to Blayds, whom no words of ours can honour as his own have done.
BLAYDS. Thank you.... You must read it to me, Isobel. (He gives her the book.) A very real admiration for all my work, Mr. Royce?
ROYCE. Yes, sir.
BLAYDS. Except the 1863 volume?
ROYCE. I have never regretted that, sir.