ISOBEL. Such a long time ago. I was young then, and pretty then, and the world was very full then of beautiful things. I used to laugh then—we laughed together—such a gay world it was all those years ago. And he asked me to marry him.... (_In a hard voice_) I didn’t. I sent him away. I said that I must stay with my father, Oliver Blayds, the great poet. Yes, I was helping the great poet. (_With a bitter laugh_) Helping!... And I sent my man away. SEPTIMA (_distressed_). Oh, don’t! ISOBEL. You thought I liked nursing. “A born nurse”—I can hear you saying it. (_Fiercely it bursts out after all these years_) I hated it! Do you know what it’s like nursing a sick old man—day after day, night after night? And then year after year. Always a little older, a little more difficult. Do you know what it is to live with an old man when you are young, as I was young once, to live always with old age and never with youth, and to watch your own youth gradually creeping up to join his old age? Ah, but I was doing it for Blayds, for the sake of his immortal poetry. (_She laughs—such a laugh_) And look at me now, all wasted. The wife I might have been, the mother I might have been. (_In a whisper_) How beautiful the world was, all those years ago! (_They say nothing, for there is nothing to say. ISOBEL looks in front of her, seeing nothing which they can see. Very gently they go out, leaving her there with her memories...._) ACT III _Afternoon, three days later. ROYCE is at the desk, at work on a statement for publication. He has various documents at hand, to which he refers from time to time. OLIVER comes in._ * * * * * OLIVER. Hallo! ROYCE (_without looking up_). Hallo! OLIVER (_after waiting hopefully_). Very busy! (_He sits down._) ROYCE. Yes. OLIVER. Where is everybody? ROYCE. About somewhere. OLIVER. Oh!... I’ve been away for a couple of days. My chief made a speech at Bradford. My God! Just for my benefit he dragged in a reference to Oliver Blayds. Also “My God.” ROYCE (_realising suddenly that somebody is talking_). Oh! (_He goes on with his work._) OLIVER. Yes, you seem quite excited about it. ROYCE. Sorry, but I’ve really got rather a lot to do, and not too much time to do it in. OLIVER. Oh!... You won’t mind my asking, but are you living in the house? ROYCE. Practically. For the last three days. OLIVER. Oh, I say, are you really? I was being sarcastic—as practised by the best politicians. ROYCE. Don’t mention it. OLIVER. What’s happened? ROYCE. Miss Blayds asked me to help her. As you know, she is executor to Blayds. Of course your father is helping too, but there’s a good deal to be done. OLIVER. I see. (_Awkwardly_) I say, I suppose you—I mean has she—I mean, what about—— ROYCE. Miss Blayds has told me. OLIVER. Oh! Nobody else yet? ROYCE. No. OLIVER. I’ve been rushing for the papers every morning expecting to see something about it.