The seriousness of Page’s condition was not understood in London; consequently there were many attempts to do him honour in which he was unable to participate.  Custom demands that a retiring Ambassador shall go to Windsor Castle to dine and to sleep; but King George, who was very solicitous about Page’s health, offered to spare the Ambassador this trip and to come himself to London for this leave-taking.  However, Page insisted on carrying out the usual programme; but the visit greatly tired him and he found it impossible personally to take part in any further official farewells.  The last ceremony was a visit from the Lord Mayor and Council of Plymouth, who came to the Ambassador’s house in September to present the freedom of the city.  Ever since Page’s speech of August 4, 1917, Plymouth had been planning to do him this honour; when the Council heard that the Ambassador’s health would make it impossible for him to visit Plymouth, they asked if they might not come to London.  The proceeding was most impressive and touching and the Ambassador’s five-minute speech, the last one which he made in England, had all his old earnestness and mental power, though the physical weakness of the man saddened everybody present.  The Lord Mayor presented the freedom of the ancient borough in a temporary holder, explaining that a more permanent receptacle would follow the Ambassador to America.  When this arrived, it proved to be a beautiful silver model of the Mayflower.  Certainly there could have been no more appropriate farewell gift to Page from the English town whose name so closely links the old country with the United States.

The last scene took place at Waterloo Station.  Sir Arthur Walsh came representing the King, while Mr. Balfour, Lord Robert Cecil, and other ministers represented the cabinet.  The Government had provided a special railway carriage, and this was stationed at a convenient place as Page’s motor drew up.  So weak was the Ambassador that it was with difficulty that his companions, the ever devoted Mr. Laughlin, on one side, and Page’s secretary, Mr. Shoecraft, on the other, succeeded in supporting him to his chair.  Mr. Balfour, Lord Robert Cecil and the others then entered the carriage, and, with all that sympathetic dignity in which Englishmen of this type excel, said a few gracious and affectionate words of good-bye.  They all stood, with uncovered heads, as the train slowly pulled out of the station, and caught their final glimpse of Page as he smiled at them and faintly waved his hand.

* * * * *

Perhaps the man most affected by this leave-taking was Mr. Balfour.  He knew, as did the others, that that frail and emaciated figure had been one of the greatest friends that Britain had had at the most dreadful crisis in her history.  He has many times told of this parting scene at Waterloo Station and always with emotion.

“I loved that man,” he once said to an American friend, recalling this event.  “I almost wept when he left England.”