Mrs Dubedat [breathless] Louis: are you—
Walpole rises and comes quickly to see whether he is dead.
Louis. Not yet, dear. Very nearly, but not yet. I should like to rest my head on your bosom; only it would tire you.
Mrs Dubedat. No, no, no, darling: how could you tire me? [She lifts him so that he lies on her bosom].
Louis. Thats good. Thats real.
Mrs Dubedat. Dont spare me, dear. Indeed, indeed you will not tire me. Lean on me with all your weight.
Louis [with a sudden half return of his normal strength and comfort] Jinny Gwinny: I think I shall recover after all. [Sir Patrick looks significantly at Ridgeon, mutely warning him that this is the end].
Mrs Dubedat [hopefully] Yes, yes: you shall.
Louis. Because I suddenly want to sleep. Just an ordinary sleep.
Mrs Dubedat [rocking him] Yes, dear. Sleep. [He seems to go to sleep. Walpole makes another movement. She protests]. Sh—sh: please dont disturb him. [His lips move]. What did you say, dear? [In great distress] I cant listen without moving him. [His lips move again; Walpole bends down and listens].
Walpole. He wants to know is the newspaper man here.
The newspaper man [excited; for he has been enjoying himself enormously] Yes, Mr Dubedat. Here I am.
Walpole raises his hand warningly to silence him. Sir Ralph sits down quietly on the sofa and frankly buries his face in his handkerchief.
Mrs Dubedat [with great relief] Oh thats right, dear: dont spare me: lean with all your weight on me. Now you are really resting.
Sir Patrick quickly comes forward and feels Louis’s pulse; then takes him by the shoulders.
Sir Patrick. Let me put him back on the pillow, maam. He will be better so.
Mrs Dubedat [piteously] Oh no, please, please, doctor. He is not tiring me; and he will be so hurt when he wakes if he finds I have put him away.
Sir Patrick. He will never wake again. [He takes the body from her and replaces it in the chair. Ridgeon, unmoved, lets down the back and makes a bier of it].
Mrs Dubedat [who has unexpectedly sprung to her feet, and stands dry-eyed and stately] Was that death?
Walpole. Yes.
Mrs Dubedat [with complete dignity] Will you wait for me a moment? I will come back. [She goes out].
Walpole. Ought we to follow her? Is she in her right senses?
Sir Patrick [with quiet conviction]. Yes. Shes all right. Leave her alone. She’ll come back.
Ridgeon [callously] Let us get this thing out of the way before she comes.
B. B. [rising, shocked] My dear Colly! The poor lad! He died splendidly.