(_There is an awkward silence._) MARION. You’ll excuse me a moment, Mr.—er—er—— OLIVER. Royce, Mother, A. L. Royce. MARION. Septima—— This is naturally rather a busy day, Mr.—er—— We hardly expected—— (_She frowns at OLIVER, who ought to have known better by this time._) Septima, I want you just a moment—Oliver will look after his friend. I’m sure you’ll understand, Mr.—er—— ROYCE. Oh, quite. Of course. SEPTIMA. Mr. Royce has come to see Grandfather, Mother. MARION (_appalled_). To see Grandfather! ROYCE. I was hoping—Mr. Blayds-Conway was good enough to say—— MARION. I am afraid it is quite impossible. I am very sorry, but really quite impossible. My son shouldn’t have held out hopes. OLIVER. He didn’t. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Mother. It’s Father who invited him. ROYCE. I am here on behalf of certain of my contemporaries—— OLIVER. Homage from some of our younger writers—— ROYCE. Mr. Blayds was gracious enough to indicate that—— SEPTIMA (_in a violent whisper_). A. L. Royce, Mother! MARION. Oh! Oh, I beg your pardon. Why didn’t you tell me it was A. L. Royce, Oliver? Of course! We wrote to you. ROYCE. Yes. MARION (_all hospitality_). How silly of me! You must forgive me, Mr. Royce. Oliver ought to have told me. Grandfather—Mr. Blayds—will be ready at three-thirty. The doctor was very anxious that Grandfather shouldn’t see any one this year—outside the family, of course. I couldn’t tell you how many people wrote asking if they could come to-day. Presidents of Societies and that sort of thing. From all over the world. Father did tell us. Do you remember, Septima? SEPTIMA. I’m afraid I don’t, Mother. I know I didn’t believe it. MARION (_to ROYCE_). Septima—after the poem, you know. “Septima, seventh dark daughter——” (_And she would quote the whole of it, but that her children interrupt._) OLIVER (_solemnly_). Don’t say you’ve never heard of it, Royce. SEPTIMA (_distressed_). I don’t believe he has. OLIVER (_encouragingly_). You must read it. I think you’d like it. MARION. It’s one of his best known. _The Times_ quoted it only last week. We had the cutting. “Septima, seventh dark daughter——” It was a favourite of my husband’s even before he married me. ROYCE. It has been a favourite of mine for many years. MARION. And many other people’s, I’m sure. We often get letters—Oh, if you could see the letters we get! ROYCE. I wonder you don’t have a secretary. MARION (_with dignity_). My husband—Mr. Blayds-Conway—_is_ Grandfather’s secretary. He was appointed to the post soon after he married me. Twenty-five years ago. There is almost nothing he mightn’t have done, but he saw where his duty lay, and he has devoted himself to Grandfather—to Mr. Blayds—ever since. ROYCE. I am sure we are all grateful to him.