STATESMAN. Ah! That occurred to me. But has it, indeed, been a primrose way that I have trodden so long and so painfully? I think not. I cannot so accuse myself. But suppose the Day of Judgment which Fate reserves for us were fundamentally this: the appraisement of one's life and character—not by the all-seeing Eye of Heaven (before which I would bow), but by the vindictively unjust verdict of the people one has tried to serve—the judgment not of God, but of public opinion. That is a judgment of which all who strive for power must admit the relevancy!
DOCTOR. You distress yourself unnecessarily, dear lord. Your reputation is safe from detraction now.
STATESMAN. With urgency I set my mind to meet the charge. If I could understand the meaning of that yellow visitation, then I should no longer have to fear that I was going mad!
(At this point the door is discreetly opened, and the Housekeeper, mild, benign, but inflexible, ENTERS, carrying a cup and toast-rack upon a tray.)
HOUSEKEEPER. I beg pardon, my lord; but I think your lordship ought to have your beef-tea now.
STATESMAN. Yes, yes, Mrs. Manson; come in.
DOCTOR. You are right, Mrs. Manson; he ought.
HOUSEKEEPER (placing the tray on a small stand).
Where will you have it, my lord?
STATESMAN. In my inside, Mrs. Manson—presently—he, he!
DOCTOR. Now, let me take your pulse…Yes, yes. Pretty good, you know.