again, ushers in the Distinguished Visitor, whose brow, venerable with intellect, and grey with the approach of age, crowns a figure still almost youthful in its elasticity and grace, and perfect in the deliberate ease and deportment of its entry into a situation which many would find difficult.  As he approaches the wheeled chair, the kindness, modesty, and distinction of his bearing prepare the way before him, and his silence has already said the nicest of nice things, in the nicest possible way, before he actually speaks.  This he does not do till he has already taken and held the hand which the other has tried to offer.)

DISTINGUISHED VISITOR.  My dear Chamberlain, how very good of you to let me come?

CHAMBERLAIN.  Not too much out of your way, I hope?

DIST. V. On the contrary, I could wish it were more, if that might help to express my pleasure in seeing you again.

CHAMBERLAIN.  Well, what there is of me, you see.  You are looking well.

DIST. V. And you—­much better than I expected.

CHAMBERLAIN.  Did you expect anything?

DIST. V. I was told that you had bad days occasionally, and were unable to see anybody.  I hope I am fortunate, and that this is one of your good ones?

CHAMBERLAIN.  Well, as they’ve let you see me, I suppose so.  I don’t find much difference between my good and bad days. (Won’t you sit down?) I’m still in the possession of my faculties; I sleep well, and I don’t have pain.

DIST. V. (seating himself).  And my staying with you for a little is not going to tire you?

CHAMBERLAIN.  It’s far more likely to tire you, I’m afraid.

DIST. V. No, indeed not!  Apart from anything else it is a welcome respite on the journey.  Motoring bores me terribly.

CHAMBERLAIN.  Then you had really meant coming this way, in any case?

DIST. V. I had been long intending to; and when, last week, Hewell proposed itself, all fitted together perfectly.

CHAMBERLAIN.  Are they having a house-party?

DIST. v.  I think not:  I trust not.  No, I believe a hint was dropped to them that it wasn’t to be—­that I was feeling far too stale for any such mental relaxation.

CHAMBERLAIN.  Are you?  You don’t look like it.

DIST. V. In politics one tries not to look like anything; but how at the end of the session can one be otherwise?

CHAMBERLAIN.  Is all going on there—­as usual?

DIST. V. Yes...yes.  I don’t find being in opposition makes as much difference as I expected, as regards work.  One misses the permanent official who always did it for one.  Wonderful creatures—­who first invented them?  Pitt, or was it Pepys?  Oh, no, he was one of them.  A product, perhaps, of the seventeenth century.

CHAMBERLAIN.  In Tudor times Prime Ministers were permanent, weren’t they?

DIST. V. Their heads weren’t.  Executions took the place of elections in those days.  And there’s something to be said for it.