SEPTIMA. Can’t you see Oliver Blayds in Heaven enjoying it all? What poetry he would make of it!
OLIVER. “A Child’s Thoughts on Waking”—eh? I’ve laughed at it, and loathed it, but it was the real stuff, you know. What’s the text—“Except ye be born again as a little child, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of Heaven”—is that right? His thoughts—on waking in Heaven.
SEPTIMA (thoughtfully). Septima Blayds-Conway. It’s rather a thing to be, you know.
OLIVER. I used to think once that, when the old boy [220]died, I’d chuck the Blayds and just be plain Oliver Conway. I’m beginning to think I was wrong.... Oliver Blayds-Conway.
SEPTIMA. The well-known statesman. Sorry—I mean engineer.
OLIVER. Well, I wonder about that.
SEPTIMA. What sort of wondering?
OLIVER. Things will be a bit different now. I’m the only genuine Blayds left——
SEPTIMA. Oh, indeed!
OLIVER. You know what I mean—male Blayds. And it’s rather up to me not to let the old man down. Oliver Blayds-Conway, M.P. There’s something in it, you know. I was thinking about it in the church. Or should I drop the Conway and just be Blayds? Or Conway Blayds and drop the Oliver? It’s a bit of a problem.