Gods, and their makers! What a strange
world!
MRS. G. Spending one's life feeding a god on beef-tea, that's been my
work. (_The dear lady sighs_.)
MORLEY. And making comforters for him.
MRS. G. It's terrible when he won't take it!
MORLEY. The beef-tea?
MRS. G. No, the advice. For I'm generally right, you know.
MORLEY. I can well believe it. Strange to think how the welfare and
destiny of the nation have sometimes lain here--in this gentle hand.
MRS. G. We do jump in the dark so, don't we? Who can say what is really
best for anyone?
MORLEY. And prescribing for a god is more difficult.
MRS. G. Much more.
MORLEY. So when he comes to ask a mere mortal for advice--well, now you
must judge how difficult it has been for _me._
MRS. G. Have you been giving him advice?
MORLEY. In a way; yes.
MRS. G. And has he taken it?
MORLEY. A few days ago he told me of a resolution he had come to. I could
not disapprove. But now I wonder how it is going to strike _you_?
MRS. G. Has anything special happened? He has not told me.
MORLEY (_gravely_). To-morrow, or the day after, he will be going
down to Windsor.
MRS. G. Oh, I'm sorry! That always depresses him. He and the Queen don't
get on very well together.
MORLEY. They will get on well enough this time, I imagine.
MRS. G. (_a little bit alarmect_). Does that mean--any change of
policy?
MORLEY. Of policy--I hope not. Of person--yes.
MRS.
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