My favourite flower.  He—­he!  My favourite flower.

(Lassitude overtakes him—­his head nods and droops as he speaks.)

  A primrose by the river’s brim
  A yellow primrose was to him,
  And it was nothing more.

Who was it wrote that?—­Byron or Dr. Watts?  My memory isn’t what it used to be.  No matter.  It all goes into the account.

My favourite flower!

  “For I’m to be Queen of the May, mother, I’m to be Queen of the May!”

(The Doctor takes up his hat, and tiptoes to the door.)

  Tell me, where is fancy bred,
  Or in the heart or in the head? 
  How begot, how nourished?

(He breaks, and lets the petals fall one by one.) (The Doctor goes out.)

  Let us all ring fancy’s knell;
  I’ll begin it—­Ding-dong bell,
  Ding-dong, bell.

(He goes to sleep.)

CURTAIN

The Comforter

Dramatis Personae

W.E.  GLADSTONE
MRS. GLADSTONE
MR. ARMITSTEAD
MR. JOHN MORLEY
A FOOTMAN

The Comforter

A Political Finale

The Scene is a sitting-room in Downing Street.  The date March, 1894.  The time 10.30 p.m.

Mrs. Gladstone sits before the fire, on a sofa comfortable for two, finishing off a piece of knitting.  Apparently she has just rung the bell, on the arrival from the dining-room of her husband and his two guests, for presently the door opens and the footman presents himself for orders.  Mr. Gladstone takes down from the bookshelf a backgammon board, which he opens upon a small table somewhat distant from the fireplace.

GLADSTONE.  Well, Armitstead, draughts, or backgammon?

ARMITSTEAD.  It was backgammon you promised me.

GLADSTONE.  A rubber?

ARMITSTEAD.  I shall be delighted.

(They seat themselves, and begin to set the board.  Mr. Morley stands detached looking on, grave, not quite at ease.)

MRS. G. (to the footman).  James, bring up the wine and some biscuits.

JAMES.  Whisky, madam?

MRS. G. No, no; biscuits.  Soft biscuits for the other gentlemen, and some hard ones for the master.

JAMES.  Yes, madam.

(He goes, and in a few minutes returns, sets wine and biscuits on the side-table, and retires?)

MORLEY (to GLADSTONE).  Now?

GLADSTONE.  If you will be so good, my dear Morley, I shall be much obliged.

(Slowly and thoughtfully Mr. Morley goes over to fireplace, where he stands looking at Mrs. Gladstone, who is now beginning to “cast-off” a completed piece of knitting.  The rattle of the dice is heard.)

GLADSTONE.  You play.