JAMES: Can I go up?

MRS. CALLIFER: Please wait. The nurse has to let me know.

JAMES: There’s not much time, is there?

MRS. CALLIFER: He mustn’t have a shock—now. (Sara comes in with Anne.) Go upstairs quickly, dear. Both of you. (She steps aside for them and they go out.)

JAMES: I thought we had to wait for the nurse?

MRS. CALLIFER (slowly, bracing herself for the plain truth): James, I don’t want you to see him.

JAMES: But why? I’ve come for that.

MRS. CALLIFER: I didn’t send the telegram.

JAMES: I know. I’m going to see him, though.

He moves towards the open door, but Mrs. Callifer shuts it and stands with her fingers on the handle.

MRS. CALLIFER: I don’t want to be harsh. That’s why I wanted to let you know afterwards. But he’s got to die in peace.

JAMES: Why should I destroy his peace?

MRS. CALLIFER (pleadingly): I love him, James. I want so much to see the last of him. Promise me you won’t move from here.

JAMES: No! (He shakes his head.)

MRS. CALLIFER: Then I stay. (She leans wearily against the door.)

JAMES: Mother, if you love me—

MRS. CALLIFER: I love him more.

JAMES: Give me one reason. (She doesn’t answer, but she is crying.) All right. You’ve won, Mother. I promise not to come.

As she goes through the door, the curtain begins slowly to fall on him alone, facing the door. He raises his head a little as though trying to hear the sounds overhead.

CURTAIN

Act One
SCENE TWO

Late evening, two days later.

Baston, John, and James are drinking whisky in a group round a table on which a number of manuscripts and books are piled. John is going through them. Sara and Anne sit on the other side of the room, reading, but in Anne’s case the reading is an excuse for sitting up and listening.

JOHN: Look at this. Strange the things he kept—an invitation to a college dinner in 1910. (He drops it into a wastepaper basket.) Do you know what all these books are? Old visitors’ books.

JAMES (ironically): Perhaps he thought the signatures might become valuable.

JOHN (taking him seriously): I hadn’t thought of that. Wells came several times. And here is Bertrand Russell for lunch. Do you think I ought to keep them?

JAMES: No. (He takes one at random and opens it.) Ah, here is Dr. Baston’s autograph.

BASTON: You’ll find me on a lot of pages, I’m afraid.

JAMES: August third to eighth, 1919. Do you remember that visit?

BASTON: As a matter of fact, I do. The first summer after the war. It was beautiful weather. We played cricket in the Long Meadow. You children too.

JAMES: I don’t remember. (But he is trying hard.)