Walpole [vindictively] I wish I had:  I’d make a better man of you.  Now attend. [Shewing him the book] These are the names of the three doctors.  This is the patient.  This is the address.  This is the name of the disease. [He shuts the book with a snap which makes the journalist blink, and returns it to him].  Mr Dubedat will be brought in here presently.  He wants to see you because he doesnt know how bad he is.  We’ll allow you to wait a few minutes to humor him; but if you talk to him, out you go.  He may die at any moment.

The newspaper man [interested] Is he as bad as that?  I say:  I am in luck to-day.  Would you mind letting me photograph you? [He produces a camera].  Could you have a lancet or something in your hand?

Walpole.  Put it up.  If you want my photograph you can get it in Baker Street in any of the series of celebrities.

The newspaper man.  But theyll want to be paid.  If you wouldnt mind [fingering the camera]—?

Walpole.  I would.  Put it up, I tell you.  Sit down there and be quiet.

The Newspaper Man quickly sits down on the piano stool as Dubedat, in an invalid’s chair, is wheeled in by Mrs Dubedat and Sir Ralph.  They place the chair between the dais and the sofa, where the easel stood before.  Louis is not changed as a robust man would be; and he is not scared.  His eyes look larger; and he is so weak physically that he can hardly move, lying on his cushions, with complete languor; but his mind is active; it is making the most of his condition, finding voluptuousness in languor and drama in death.  They are all impressed, in spite of themselves, except Ridgeon, who is implacable.  B.B. is entirely sympathetic and forgiving.  Ridgeon follows the chair with a tray of milk and stimulants.  Sir Patrick, who accompanies him, takes the tea-table from the corner and places it behind the chair for the tray.  B. B. takes the easel chair and places it for Jennifer at Dubedat’s side, next the dais, from which the lay figure ogles the dying artist.  B. B. then returns to Dubedat’s left.  Jennifer sits.  Walpole sits down on the edge of the dais.  Ridgeon stands near him.

Louis [blissfully] Thats happiness!  To be in a studio!  Happiness!

Mrs Dubedat.  Yes, dear.  Sir Patrick says you may stay here as long as you like.

Louis.  Jennifer.

Mrs Dubedat.  Yes, my darling.

Louis.  Is the newspaper man here?

The newspaper man [glibly] Yes, Mr Dubedat:  I’m here, at your service.  I represent the press.  I thought you might like to let us have a few words about—­about—­er—­well, a few words on your illness, and your plans for the season.

Louis.  My plans for the season are very simple.  I’m going to die.

Mrs Dubedat [tortured] Louis—­dearest—­