OLIVER. Well, I mean, there you are. Probably the truth lies somewhere in between—— ROYCE (_with a smile, speaking almost unconsciously_). No, no, you mustn’t waste yourself on engineering. (_Recovering himself with a start_) I beg your pardon. OLIVER. Anyway, I’m with Father. I don’t think we ought to take the risk of doing Oliver Blayds an injustice by saying anything about this—this hallucination. WILLIAM. There is no question of risk. It’s a certainty. Come, Marion. (_He leads the way to the door._) We have much to do. (_Challengingly_) We have much work yet to do upon the life of this great poet, this great and chivalrous gentleman, Oliver Blayds! MARION (_meekly_). Yes, dear. [_They go out._ OLIVER. Oh, Lord, a family row! I’m not sure that that isn’t worse.... “Interviewed by our representative, Mr. Oliver Blayds-Conway said that he preferred not to express an opinion.” I think that’s my line. SEPTIMA. Yes, it would be. OLIVER. Well, I must go. (_Grandly_) We have much work yet to do.... Coming, Tim? SEPTIMA (_getting up_). Yes. (_She goes slowly after him, hesitates, and then comes back to ISOBEL. Awkwardly she touches her shoulder and says_) Good luck! [_Then she goes out._ (_ROYCE and ISOBEL stand looking at each other. First he begins to smile; then she. Suddenly they are both laughing._) ISOBEL. How absurd! ROYCE. I was afraid you wouldn’t appreciate it. Well, what are you going to do? ISOBEL. What can I do but tell the world the truth? ROYCE. H’m! I wonder if the world will be grateful. ISOBEL. Does that matter? ROYCE. Yes, I think it does. I think you ought to feel that you are benefiting somebody—other than yourself. ISOBEL (_with a smile_). I am hardly benefiting myself. ROYCE. Not materially, of course—but spiritually? Aren’t you just easing your conscience? ISOBEL. I don’t see why the poor thing shouldn’t be eased. ROYCE. At the other people’s expense? ISOBEL. Oh, but no, Austin, no. I’m sure that’s wrong. Surely the truth means more than that. Surely it’s an end in itself. The only end. Call it Truth or call it Beauty, it’s all we’re here for. ROYCE. You know, the trouble is that the Truth about Blayds won’t seem very beautiful. There’s your truth, and then there’s William’s truth, too. To the public it will seem not so much like Beauty as like an undignified family squabble. And William will win. His story can be made to sound so much more likely than yours. No, it’s no good. You can’t start another miserable Shakespeare-Bacon controversy. Because that is what it would be in a few years. There would be no established truth, but just a Jenkins’ theory. Hadn’t we better just leave him with the poetry? ISOBEL. It seems so unfair that this poor dead boy should be robbed of the immortality which he wanted.