APER MAN. But theyll want to be paid. If you wouldnt mind
[fingering the camera]--?

WALPOLE. I would. Put it up, I tell you. Sit down there and be quiet.

The Newspaper Man quickly sits down on the piano stool as Dubedat, in an
invalid's chair, is wheeled in by Mrs Dubedat and Sir Ralph. They place
the chair between the dais and the sofa, where the easel stood before.
Louis is not changed as a robust man would be; and he is not scared. His
eyes look larger; and he is so weak physically that he can hardly move,
lying on his cushions, with complete languor; but his mind is active; it
is making the most of his condition, finding voluptuousness in languor
and drama in death. They are all impressed, in spite of themselves,
except Ridgeon, who is implacable. B.B. is entirely sympathetic and
forgiving. Ridgeon follows the chair with a tray of milk and stimulants.
Sir Patrick, who accompanies him, takes the tea-table from the corner
and places it behind the chair for the tray. B. B. takes the easel chair
and places it for Jennifer at Dubedat's side, next the dais, from which
the lay figure ogles the dying artist. B. B. then returns to Dubedat's
left. Jennifer sits. Walpole sits down on the edge of the dais. Ridgeon
stands near him.

LOUIS [blissfully] Thats happiness! To be in a studio! Happiness!

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, dear. Sir Patrick says you may stay here as long as
you like.

LOUIS. Jennifer.

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, my darling.

LOUIS. Is the newspaper man here?

THE NEWSPAPER MAN [glibly] Yes, Mr Dubedat: I'm here, at your service. I
represent the press. I thought you might like to let us have a few words
about--about--er--well, a few words on your illness, and your plans for
the season.

LOUIS. My plans for the season are very simple. I'm going to die.

MRS DUBEDAT [tortured] Louis--dearest--

LOUIS. My darling: I'm very weak and tired. Dont put on me the horrible
strain of pretending that I dont know. Ive been lying there listening to
the doctors--laughing to myself. They know. Dearest: dont cry. It makes
you ugly; and I cant bear that. [She dries her eyes and recovers herself
with a proud effort]. I want you to promise me something.

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, yes: you know I will. [Imploringly] Only, my love, my
love, dont talk: it will waste your strength.

LOUIS. No: it will only use it up. Ridgeon: give me something to keep me
going for a few minutes--one of your confounded anti-toxins, if you dont
mind. I have som