MRS DUBEDAT [piteously] Oh no, please, please, doctor. He is not tiring me; and he will be so hurt when he wakes if he finds I have put him away. SIR PATRICK. He will never wake again. [He takes the body from her and replaces it in the chair. Ridgeon, unmoved, lets down the back and makes a bier of it]. MRS DUBEDAT [who has unexpectedly sprung to her feet, and stands dry-eyed and stately] Was that death? WALPOLE. Yes. MRS DUBEDAT [with complete dignity] Will you wait for me a moment? I will come back. [She goes out]. WALPOLE. Ought we to follow her? Is she in her right senses? SIR PATRICK [with quiet conviction]. Yes. Shes all right. Leave her alone. She'll come back. RIDGEON [callously] Let us get this thing out of the way before she comes. B. B. [rising, shocked] My dear Colly! The poor lad! He died splendidly. SIR PATRICK. Aye! that is how the wicked die. For there are no bands in their death; But their strength is firm: They are not in trouble as other men. No matter: its not for us to judge. Hes in another world now. WALPOLE. Borrowing his first five-pound note there, probably. RIDGEON. I said the other day that the most tragic thing in the world is a sick doctor. I was wrong. The most tragic thing in the world is a man of genius who is not also a man of honor. Ridgeon and Walpole wheel the chair into the recess. THE NEWSPAPER MAN [to Sir Ralph] I thought it shewed a very nice feeling, his being so particular about his wife going into proper mourning for him and making her promise never to marry again. B. B. [impressively] Mrs Dubedat is not in a position to carry the interview any further. Neither are we. SIR PATRICK. Good afternoon to you. THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Mrs. Dubedat said she was coming back. B. B. After you have gone. THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Do you think she would give me a few words on How It Feels to be a Widow? Rather a good title for an article, isnt it? B. B. Young man: if you wait until Mrs Dubedat comes back, you will be able to write an article on How It Feels to be Turned Out of the House. THE NEWSPAPER MAN [unconvinced] You think she'd rather not-- B. B. [cutting him short] Good day to you. [Giving him a visiting-card] Mind you get my name correctly. Good day. THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Good day. Thank you. [Vaguely trying to read the card] Mr-- B. B. No, not Mister. This is your hat, I think [giving it to him]. Gloves? No, of course: no gloves. Good day to you. [He edges him out at last; shuts the door on him; and returns to Sir Patrick as Ridgeon and Walpole come back from the recess, Walpole crossing the room to the hat-stand, and Ridgeon coming between Sir Ralph and Sir Patrick]. Poor fellow! Poor young fellow! How well he died! I feel a better man, really.