RICHARD. [_Approaching, touches her lightly on the shoulder, and points to the crayon drawing on the wall._] Do you see him there, smiling and handsome? His last thoughts! I remember the night he died. [_He pauses for an instant and then goes on calmly._] I was a boy of fourteen. He called me to his bedside. He knew I wanted to go to the theatre to hear _Carmen_. He told my mother to give me a shilling. I kissed him and went. When I came home he was dead. Those were his last thoughts as far as I know. BEATRICE. The hardness of heart you prayed for... [_She breaks off._] RICHARD. [_Unheeding._] That is my last memory of him. Is there not something sweet and noble in it? BEATRICE. Mr Rowan, something is on your mind to make you speak like this. Something has changed you since you came back three months ago. RICHARD. [_Gazing again at the drawing, calmly, almost gaily._] He will help me, perhaps, my smiling handsome father. [_A knock is heard at the hall door on the left._] RICHARD. [_Suddenly._] No, no. Not the smiler, Miss Justice. The old mother. It is her spirit I need. I am going. BEATRICE. Someone knocked. They have come back. RICHARD. No, Bertha has a key. It is he. At least, I am going, whoever it is. [_He goes out quickly on the left and comes back at once with his straw hat in his hand._] BEATRICE. He? Who? RICHARD. O, probably Robert. I am going out through the garden. I cannot see him now. Say I have gone to the post. Goodbye. BEATRICE. [_With growing alarm._] It is Robert you do not wish to see? RICHARD. [_Quietly._] For the moment, yes. This talk has upset me. Ask him to wait. BEATRICE. You will come back? RICHARD. Please God. [_He goes out quickly through the garden. Beatrice makes as if to follow him and then stops after a few paces. Brigid enters by the folding doors on the right and goes out on the left. The hall door is heard opening. A few seconds after Brigid enters with Robert Hand. Robert Hand is a middlesized, rather stout man between thirty and forty. He is cleanshaven, with mobile features. His hair and eyes are dark and his complexion sallow. His gait and speech are rather slow. He wears a dark blue morning suit and carries in his hand a large bunch of red roses wrapped in tissue paper._] ROBERT. [_Coming towards her with outstretched hand which she takes._] My dearest coz! Brigid told me you were here. I had no notion. Did you send mother a telegram? BEATRICE. [_Gazing at the roses._] No. ROBERT. [_Following her gaze._] You are admiring my roses. I brought them to the mistress of the house. [_Critically._] I am afraid they are not nice. BRIGID. O, they are lovely, sir. The mistress will be delighted with them. ROBERT. [_Lays the roses carelessly on a chair out of sight._] Is nobody in? BRIGID. Yes, sir. Sit down, sir. They’ll be here now any moment. The master was here. [_She looks about her and with a half curtsey goes out on the right._]