I sail to-morrow. If you do see my
sister I trust you to give her my love and say I begged she would see
my father.
MALISE. If I have the chance--yes.
He makes a gesture of salute, to which HUNTINGDON responds.
Then the latter turns and goes out.
MALISE. Poor fugitive! Where are you running now?
He stands at the window, through which the evening sunlight is
powdering the room with smoky gold. The stolid Boy has again
come in. MALISE stares at him, then goes back to the table,
takes up the MS., and booms it at him; he receives the charge,
breathing hard.
MALISE. "Man of the world--product of a material age; incapable of
perceiving reality in motions of the spirit; having 'no use,' as you
would say, for 'sentimental nonsense'; accustomed to believe yourself
the national spine--your position is unassailable. You will remain
the idol of the country--arbiter of law, parson in mufti, darling of
the playwright and the novelist--God bless you!--while waters lap
these shores."
He places the sheets of MS. in an envelope, and hands them to
the Boy.
MALISE. You're going straight back to "The Watchfire"?
BOY. [Stolidly] Yes, sir.
MALISE. [Staring at him] You're a masterpiece. D'you know that?
BOY. No, sir.
MALISE. Get out, then.
He lifts the portfolio from the table, and takes it into the
inner room. The Boy, putting his thumb stolidly to his nose,
turns to go.
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