(Thereafter, as the game proceeds, the dice are heard constantly.)

MORLEY.  Well, dear lady?

MRS. G. Well, Mr. Morley?  So Mr. Gladstone is at his game, and has sent you to talk to me.

MORLEY.  Precisely.  You have guessed right.

MRS. G. He always thinks of me.

MORLEY.  Yes.

MRS. G. Won’t you sit down, Mr. Morley?

MORLEY.  By you?  With pleasure.

MRS. G. And how is the world using you?

MORLEY.  Like Balaam’s ass.  The angel of the Lord stands before me with a drawn sword, and my knees quail under me.

MRS. G. I thought you didn’t believe in angels, Mr. Morley.

MORLEY.  In the scriptural sense, no.  In the political, they are rare; but one meets them—­sometimes.

MRS. G. And then they frighten you?

MORLEY.  They make a coward of me.  I want to temporise—­put off the inevitable.  But it’s no good.  Angels have to be faced.  That’s the demand they make on us.

MRS. G. You have something on your mind.

MORLEY.  Yes.  But we’ll not talk about it—­yet.

MRS. G. I have something on mine.

MORLEY.  Anything serious?

MRS. G. It concerns you, Mr. Morley.  Would you very much mind accepting a gift not originally intended for you?

MORLEY.  I have accepted office on those terms before now.

MRS. G. Ah!  Mr. Gladstone has always so trusted you.

MORLEY.  Yes.

MRS. G. More than he has most people.

MORLEY.  I have been finding that out.  It has become a habit, I’m afraid.  I can’t cure him.

MRS. G. What I had on my mind, Mr. Morley, was this:  I have knitted this comforter for you; at least, it’s for you if you would like it.

MORLEY.  Angel!

MRS. G. Does that mean that you don’t want it?

MORLEY.  Oh, no!  It will be very good discipline for me; made by you, I shall have to wear it.

MRS. G. But you know, it’s a very remarkable thing that I can offer it you.  Ever since we married I have been knitting comforters for Mr. Gladstone, which he has always either been losing or giving away.  This is the first time I have been able to get ahead of him.  He still has two.  Isn’t that a triumph?

MORLEY.  It is, indeed.

MRS. G. He’s more careful now, and doesn’t lose them.  He begins to feel, I suppose, that he’s getting old—­and needs them.

MORLEY.  You surprise me!  Why, he is not yet ninety!

MRS. G. Do you know, he still sleeps like a child!  Sometimes I lie awake to watch him.  It’s wonderful.

MORLEY.  It’s habit, madam; that, and force of will.

MRS. G. And really it is only then I can feel that he quite belongs to me. 
All the rest of the time it’s a struggle.

MORLEY.  In which you have won.

MRS. G. Have I?

MORLEY.  Every time.