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.
SIR PATRICK. Aye! that is how the wicked die.
For there are no bands in their death; But their strength is firm: They are not in trouble as other men.
No matter: its not for us to judge. Hes in another world now.
WALPOLE. Borrowing his first five-pound note there, probably.
RIDGEON. I said the other day that the most tragic thing in the world is a sick doctor. I was wrong. The most tragic thing in the world is a man of genius who is not also a man of honor.
Ridgeon and Walpole wheel the chair into the recess.
THE NEWSPAPER MAN [to Sir Ralph] I thought it shewed a very nice feeling, his being so particular about his wife going into proper mourning for him and making her promise never to marry again.
B. B. [impressively] Mrs Dubedat is not in a position to carry the interview any further. Neither are we.
THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Mrs. Dubedat said she was coming back.
THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Do you think she would give me a few words on How It Feels to be a Widow? Rather a good title for an article, isnt it?
B. B. Young man: if you wait until Mrs Dubedat comes back, you will be able to write an article on How It Feels to be Turned Out of the House.
THE NEWSPAPER MAN [unconvinced] You think she'd rather not--
B. B. [cutting him short] Good day to you. [Giving him a visiting-card] Mind you get my name correctly. Good day.
THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Good day. Thank you. [Vaguely trying to read the card] Mr--
B. B. No, not Mister. This is your hat, I think [giving it to him]. Gloves? No, of course: no gloves. Good day to you. [He edges him out at last; shuts the door on him; and returns to Sir Patrick as Ridgeon and Walpole come back from the recess, Walpole crossing the room to the hat-stand, and Ridgeon coming between Sir Ralph and Sir Patrick]. Poor fellow! Poor young fellow! How well he died! I feel a better man, really.
SIR PATRICK. When youre as old as I am, youll know that it matters very little how a man dies. What matters is, how he lives. Every fool that runs his nose against a bullet is a hero nowadays, because he dies for his country. Why dont he live for it to some purpose?