MORRIS. [_Lowering his voice as if for his sister, but losing patience so completely that he talks much louder than he imagines._] See here, Patricia, I reckon this kind of thing is going to be the limit. I'm just not going to have you let in by some blamed tramp or fortune-teller because you choose to read minor poetry about the fairies. If this gipsy or whatever he is troubles you again.... DOCTOR. [_Putting his hand on_ MORRIS'S _shoulder._] Come, you must allow a little more for poetry. We can't all feed on nothing but petrol. DUKE. Quite right, quite right. And being Irish, don't you know, Celtic, as old Buffle used to say, charming songs, you know, about the Irish girl who has a plaid shawl--and a Banshee. [_Sighs profoundly._] Poor old Gladstone! [_Silence as usual._ SMITH. [_Speaking to_ DOCTOR.] I thought you yourself considered the family superstition bad for the health? DOCTOR. I consider a family superstition is better for the health than a family quarrel. [_He walks casually across to_ PATRICIA.] Well, it must be nice to be young and still see all those stars and sunsets. We old buffers won't be too strict with you if your view of things sometimes gets a bit--mixed up, shall we say? If the stars get loose about the grass by mistake; or if, once or twice, the sunset gets into the east. We should only say, "Dream as much as you like. Dream for all mankind. Dream for us who can dream no longer. But do not quite forget the difference." PATRICIA. What difference? DOCTOR. The difference between the things that are beautiful and the things that are there. That red lamp over my door isn't beautiful; but it's there. You might even come to be glad it is there, when the stars of gold and silver have faded. I am an old man now, but some men are still glad to find my red star. I do not say they are the wise men. PATRICIA. [_Somewhat affected._] Yes, I know you are good to everybody. But don't you think there may be floating and spiritual stars which will last longer than the red lamps? SMITH. [_With decision._] Yes. But they are fixed stars. DOCTOR. The red lamp will last my time. DUKE. Capital! Capital! Why, it's like Tennyson. [_Silence._] I remember when I was an undergrad.... [_The red light disappears; no one sees it at first except_ PATRICIA, _who points excitedly._ MORRIS. What's the matter? PATRICIA. The red star is gone. MORRIS. Nonsense! [_Rushes to the garden doors._] It's only somebody standing in front of it. Say, Duke, there's somebody standing in the garden. PATRICIA. [_Calmly._] I told you he walked about the garden. MORRIS. If it's that fortune-teller of yours.... [_Disappears into the garden, followed by the_ DOCTOR. DUKE. [_Staring._] Somebody in the garden! Really, this Land Campaign.... [_Silence._ [MORRIS _reappears rather breathless._ MORRIS. A spry fellow, your friend. He slipped through my hands like a shadow. PATRICIA. I told you he was a shadow.