(At this point, unobtrusively, a Nurse enters and stands waiting.)

JESSE COLLINGS.  I don’t think we shall live to see that!

CHAMBERLAIN.  I shall not; you may.

JESSE COLLINGS (impulsively).  Chamberlain, I don’t want to live after you!

CHAMBERLAIN (cajolingly).  Oh, yes, you do!  Anyway—­I want you to. 
You will send me a wreath that will be worth having.

(Whereat his quaint little companion leans forward, and, putting his two hands pleadingly on the swathed knees, wants to speak but cannot.  Slowly the sick man lets down his own and covers them.  And so, hand resting on hand, he continues speaking:)

Say what you like about the business man—­the man who failed:  he has known how to make friends—­good ones.  And you, Jesse Collings, have been one of the best:  I couldn’t have had a better.  There’s someone been waiting behind you to give you a hint that you are tiring me—­staying too long.  But you haven’t:  you never have.  Perhaps, in the future, I shan’t see enough of you; perhaps, from now on, my doctor will have to measure even my friends for me:  three a day before meals.  But I shall get life in bits still—­as long as you are allowed to come.  Yes, Nurse, you make take him away now!

(Jesse Collings rises, and stands by his friend with moist eyes.)

JESSE COLLINGS.  Good-bye, my dear Joe, and—­God bless you.

CHAMBERLAIN.  Yes ... good-bye!

(Hands press and part, and Jesse Callings tip-toes meekly out, apologising for the length of his stay by the softness of his going.  Chamberlain’s head drops, his face becomes more drawn, his hands more rigid and helpless.  Without a word, his Nurse arranges his pillows, preparing him for the sleep to which his unresisting body gradually succumbs.)

* * * * *

(Two hours later he is awake again, and the Nurse is removing a tray from which he has just taken some nourishment.  He lifts his head and looks at her.  At this sign that he is about to speak, she pauses.  Presently the words come.)

CHAMBERLAIN.  Is he in there, waiting to see me?

NURSE.  Yes, sir.

CHAMBERLAIN.  Ask him to come in.

NURSE.  You want to see him alone, sir? (There is a pause.)

CHAMBERLAIN.  I think only one at a time is enough—­better for me:  don’t you?

NURSE.  It would be less tiring for you, sir.

CHAMBERLAIN.  Yes.  Ask him to come in.

(So that being settled, she goes, and he sits waiting.  The afternoon sunlight is making the orchids look more resplendently themselves than ever.  So still, so vivid, so alive, they hang their snake-like heads in long pendulous clusters; and among them all there is not a single one which shows the slightest sign of falling-off or decay.  Presently the door is softly opened, and the Nurse, entering only to retire