WILLIAM (_pontifically_). I still think that it was very unwise of us to attempt to see anybody to-day. Naturally I made it clear to Mr. Royce what a very unexpected departure this is from our usual practice. I fancy that he realises the honour which we have paid to the younger school of writers. Those who are knocking at the door, so to speak. MARION. Oh, I’m sure he does. SEPTIMA (_to the ceiling_). Does anybody want me? WILLIAM. Wait a moment, please. (_He takes a key out of his pocket and considers._) Yes.... Yes.... (_He gives the key to SEPTIMA_) You may show Mr. Royce the autograph letter from Queen Victoria, on the occasion of your grandmother’s death. Be very careful, please. I think he might be allowed to take it in his hands—don’t you think so, Marion?—but lock it up immediately afterwards, and bring me back the key. SEPTIMA. Yes, Father. (_As she goes_) What fun he’s going to have! WILLIAM. Are those the letters? MARION. Yes, dear, I’ve nearly finished them. WILLIAM. They will do afterwards. (_Handing her a bunch of telegrams_) I want you to sort these telegrams. Isobel is seeing about the flowers? MARION. Oh, yes, sure to be, dear. How do you mean, sort them? WILLIAM. In three groups will be best. Those from societies or public bodies, those from distinguished people, including Royalty—you will find one from the Duchess there; her Royal Highness is very faithful to us—and those from unknown or anonymous admirers. MARION. Oh, yes, I see, dear. (_She gets to work._) WILLIAM. He will like to know who have remembered him. I fancy that we have done even better than we did on the eightieth birthday, and of course the day is not yet over. (_He walks about the room importantly, weighing great matters in his mind. This is his day._) MARION. Yes, dear. WILLIAM (_frowning anxiously_). What did we do last year about drinking the health? Was it in here, or did we go to his room? MARION. He was down to lunch last year. Don’t you remember, dear? WILLIAM. Ah, yes, of course. Stupid of me. Yes, this last year has made a great difference to him. He is breaking up, I fear. We cannot keep him with us for many more birthdays. MARION. Don’t say that, dear. WILLIAM. Well, we can but do our best. MARION. What would you like to do, dear, about the health? WILLIAM. H’m. Let me think. (_He thinks._) MARION (_busy with the telegrams_). Some of these are a little difficult. Do you think that Sir John and Lady Wilkins would look better among the distinguished people including Royalty, or with the unknown and anonymous ones? WILLIAM. Anybody doubtful is unknown. I only want a rough grouping. We shall have a general acknowledgment in the _Times_. And oh, that reminds me. I want an announcement for the late editions of the evening papers. Perhaps you had better just take this down. You can finish those afterwards. MARION. Yes, dear. (_She gets ready_) Yes, dear? WILLIAM (_after tremendous thought_). Oliver Blayds, ninety to-day.