)
MORLEY. Well, dear lady?
MRS. G. Well, Mr. Morley? So Mr. Gladstone is at his game, and has sent
you to talk to me.
MORLEY. Precisely. You have guessed right.
MRS. G. He always thinks of me.
MORLEY. Yes.
MRS. G. Won't you sit down, Mr. Morley?
MORLEY. By you? With pleasure.
MRS. G. And how is the world using you?
MORLEY. Like Balaam's ass. The angel of the Lord stands before me with a
drawn sword, and my knees quail under me.
MRS. G. I thought you didn't believe in angels, Mr. Morley.
MORLEY. In the scriptural sense, no. In the political, they are rare; but
one meets them--sometimes.
MRS. G. And then they frighten you?
MORLEY. They make a coward of me. I want to temporise--put off the
inevitable. But it's no good. Angels have to be faced. That's the demand
they make on us.
MRS. G. You have something on your mind.
MORLEY. Yes. But we'll not talk about it--yet.
MRS. G. I have something on mine.
MORLEY. Anything serious?
MRS. G. It concerns you, Mr. Morley. Would you very much mind accepting a
gift not originally intended for you?
MORLEY. I have accepted office on those terms before now.
MRS. G. Ah! Mr. Gladstone has always so trusted you.
MORLEY. Yes.
MRS. G. More than he has most people.
MORLEY. I have been finding that out. It has become a habit, I'm afraid. I
can't cure him.
MRS. G. What I had on my mind, Mr. Morley, was this: I have knitted this
comforter for you; at least, it's for you if you would like it.
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