ISOBEL (_in a whisper to ROYCE_). You can find your way out, can’t you? I don’t like to leave him. ROYCE. Of course. I may see you again? ISOBEL (_her tragedy_). I am always here. ROYCE. Good-bye. [_He goes._ BLAYDS. Isobel, where are you? ISOBEL (_at his side again_). Here I am, dear. BLAYDS. How old did you say I was? ISOBEL. Ninety. BLAYDS. Ninety.... I’m tired. ISOBEL. It has been too much for you, dear. I oughtn’t to have let him stay so long. You’d like to go to bed now, wouldn’t you? (_She walks away to ring the bell._) BLAYDS (_a frightened child_). Where are you going? Don’t leave me. ISOBEL (_stopping_). Only to ring the bell, dear. BLAYDS. Don’t leave me. I want you to hold my hand. ISOBEL. Yes, dear. (_She holds it._) BLAYDS. Did you say I was ninety? There’s no going back at ninety. Only forward—into the grave that’s waiting for you. So cold and lonely there, Isobel. ISOBEL. I am always with you, dear. BLAYDS. Hold me tight. I’m frightened.... Did I tell you about the boy—who carried it off? ISOBEL. Yes, dear, you told us. BLAYDS. No, not that boy—the other one. Are we alone, Isobel? ISOBEL. Yes, dear. BLAYDS. Listen, Isobel. I want to tell you—— ISOBEL. Tell me to-morrow, dear. BLAYDS (_in weak anger, because he is frightened_). There are no to-morrows when you are ninety ... when you are ninety ... and they have all left you ... alone. ISOBEL. Very well, dear. Tell me now. BLAYDS (_eagerly_). Yes, yes, come closer.... Listen, Isobel. (_He draws her still closer and begins._) Isobel.... (_But we do not hear it until afterwards._) ACT II SCENE: _The same room a few days later._ _OLIVER comes in dressed in the deepest black, having just returned from the funeral of OLIVER BLAYDS. He looks round the room, and then up at the old gentleman who has now left it for ever, and draws his first deep breath of freedom. Then, sitting at his ease on the sofa, he takes out a cigarette and lights it._ * * * * * OLIVER (_blowing out smoke_). Ah! _SEPTIMA comes in._ SEPTIMA (_seeing the cigarette_). Hallo! OLIVER (_a little on the defensive_). Hallo! SEPTIMA. I think I’ll join you. Got one? OLIVER. I expect so. (_He offers her one._) SEPTIMA. Thanks. (_He lights it for her._) Thanks. (_She also takes her first deep breath._) Well, that’s that. OLIVER. What did you think of it? SEPTIMA. It’s rather awful, isn’t it? I mean awe-inspiring. OLIVER. Yes. I don’t know why it should be. Did you cry? You looked like it once or twice. SEPTIMA. Yes. Not because it was Grandfather. Not because it was Oliver Blayds. But—just because. OLIVER. Because it was the last time. SEPTIMA. Yes.... I suppose that’s why one cries at weddings. Or at—no, I’ve never been to a christening. OLIVER. You have. And I bet you cried. SEPTIMA. Oh, my own, yes.... OLIVER. Wonderful crowd of people. I don’t think I ever realised before what a great man he was.