ISOBEL (_smiling reluctantly_). It’s very unkind. BLAYDS. You never knew Whistler, Mr. Royce? ROYCE. No, sir; he was a bit before my time. BLAYDS. Ah, he was the one to say unkind things. But you forgave him because he had a way with him. And there was always the hope that when he had finished with _you_, he would say something still worse about one of your friends. (_He chuckles to himself again._) I sent him a book of mine once—which one was it, Isobel? ISOBEL. _Helen._ BLAYDS. _Helen_, yes. I got a postcard from him a few days later: “Dear Oliver, rub it out and do it again.” Well, I happened to meet him the next day, and I said that I was sorry I couldn’t take his advice, as it was too late now to do anything about it. “Yes,” said Jimmie, “as God said when he’d made Swinburne.” ISOBEL. You’ve heard that, Mr. Royce? ROYCE. No. Ought I to have? ISOBEL. It has been published. BLAYDS (_wickedly_). I told my son-in-law. Anything which I tell my son-in-law is published. ISOBEL. I always say that father made it up. BLAYDS. You didn’t know Jimmie, my dear. There was nothing he couldn’t have said. But a most stimulating companion. ROYCE. Yes, he must have been. BLAYDS. So was Alfred. He had a great sense of humour. All of us who knew him well knew that. ROYCE. It is curious how many people nowadays regard Tennyson as something of a prig, with no sense of humour. I always feel that his association with Queen Victoria had something to do with it. A Court poet is so very un-stimulating. BLAYDS. I think you’re right. It was a pity. (_He chuckles to himself. ROYCE waits expectantly._) I went to Court once. ROYCE (_surprised_). You? BLAYDS (_nodding_). Yes, I went to Osborne to see the Queen. Alfred’s doing I always suspected, but he wouldn’t own to it. (_He chuckles._) ISOBEL. Tell him about it, dear. BLAYDS. I had a new pair of boots. They squeaked. They squeaked all the way from London to the Isle of Wight. The Queen was waiting for me at the end of a long room. I squeaked in. I bowed. I squeaked my way up to her. We talked. I was not allowed to sit down, of course; I just stood shifting from one foot to the other—and squeaking. She said: “Don’t you think Lord Tennyson’s poetry is very beautiful?” and I squeaked and said, “Damn these boots!” A gentleman-in-waiting told me afterwards that it was contrary to etiquette to start a new topic of conversation with Royalty—so I suppose that that is why I have never been asked to Court again. ISOBEL. It was your joke, Father, not the gentleman-in-waiting’s. (_BLAYDS chuckles._) ROYCE. Yes, I’m sure of that. BLAYDS. Isobel knows all my stories.... When you’re ninety, they know all your stories. ISOBEL. I like hearing them again, dear, and Mr. Royce hasn’t heard them. BLAYDS. I’ll tell you one you _don’t_ know, Isobel. ISOBEL. Not you. BLAYDS. Will you bet? ISOBEL. It’s taking your money. BLAYDS. Mr. Royce will hold the stakes. A shilling.