[He goes, followed by JAMES carrying the cooler.]

[As THE PRESS turns to look after them, LORD WILLIAM catches sight of his back.]

LORD W. I must apologise, sir. Can I brush you?

PRESS. [Dusting himself] Thanks; it's only behind. [He opens his note-book] Now, Lord William, if you'd kindly outline your views on the national situation; after such a narrow escape from death, I feel they might have a moral effect. My paper, as you know, is concerned with--the deeper aspect of things. By the way, what do you value your house and collection at?

LORD W. [Twisting his little mustache] Really: I can't! Really!

PRESS. Might I say a quarter of a million-lifted in two seconds and a half-hundred thousand to the second. It brings it home, you know.

LORD W. No, no; dash it! No!

PRESS. [Disappointed] I see--not draw attention to your property in the present excited state of public feeling? Well, suppose we approach it from the viewpoint of the Anti-Sweating dinner. I have the list of guests--very weighty!

LORD W. Taken some lifting-wouldn't they?

PRESS. [Seriously] May I say that you designed the dinner to soften the tension, at this crisis? You saw that case, I suppose, this morning, of the woman dying of starvation in Bethnal Green?

LORD W. [Desperately] Yes-yes! I've been horribly affected. I always knew this slump would come after the war, sooner or later.

PRESS. [Writing] ". . . had predicted slump."

LORD W. You see, I've been an Anti-Sweating man for years, and I thought if only we could come together now . . . .

PRESS. [Nodding] I see--I see! Get Society interested in the Sweated, through the dinner. I have the menu here. [He produces it.]

LORD W. Good G.o.d, man--more than that! I want to show the people that we stand side by side with them, as we did in the trenches. The whole thing's too jolly awful. I lie awake over it.

[He walks up and down.]

PRESS. [Scribbling] One moment, please. I'll just get that down-- "Too jolly awful--lies awake over it. Was wearing a white waistcoat with pearl b.u.t.tons." [At a sign of resentment from his victim.]

I want the human touch, Lord William--it's everything in my paper.

What do you say about this attempt to bomb you?

LORD W. Well, in a way I think it's d---d natural

PRESS. [Scribbling] "Lord William thought it d---d natural."

LORD W. [Overhearing] No, no; don't put that down. What I mean is, I should like to get hold of those fellows that are singing the Ma.r.s.eillaise about the streets--fellows that have been in the war-- real sports they are, you know--thorough good chaps at bottom--and say to them: "Have a feeling heart, boys; put yourself in my position." I don't believe a bit they'd want to bomb me then.

[He walks up and down.]

PRESS. [Scribbling and muttering] "The idea, of brotherhood--" D'you mind my saying that? Word brotherhood--always effective--always----

[He writes.]

LORD E. [Bewildered] "Brotherhood!" Well, it's pure accident that I'm here and they're there. All the same, I can't pretend to be starving. Can't go out into Hyde Park and stand on a tub, can I?

But if I could only show them what I feel--they're such good chaps-- poor devils.

PRESS. I quite appreciate! [He writes] "Camel and needle's eye."

You were at Eton and Oxford? Your const.i.tuency I know. Clubs? But I can get all that. Is it your view that Christianity is on the up-grade, Lord William?

LORD W. [Dubious] What d'you mean by Christianity--loving--kindness and that? Of course I think that dogma's got the knock.

[He walks.]

PRESS. [Writing] "Lord William thought dogma had got the knock."

I should like you just to develop your definition of Christianity.

"Loving--kindness" strikes rather a new note.

LORD W. New? What about the Sermon on the Mount?

PRESS. [Writing] "Refers to Sermon on Mount." I take it you don't belong to any Church, Lord William?

LORD W. [Exasperated] Well, really--I've been baptised and that sort of thing. But look here----

PRESS. Oh! you can trust me--I shan't say anything that you'll regret. Now, do you consider that a religious revival would help to quiet the country?

LORD W. Well, I think it would be a deuced, good thing if everybody were a bit more kind.

PRESS. Ah! [Musing] I feel that your views are strikingly original, Lord William. If you could just open out on them a little more? How far would you apply kindness in practice?

LORD W. Can you apply it in theory?

PRESS. I believe it is done. But would you allow yourself to be blown up with impunity?

LORD W. Well, that's a bit extreme. But I quite sympathise with this chap. Imagine yourself in his shoes. He sees a huge house, all these bottles; us swilling them down; perhaps he's got a starving wife, or consumptive kids.

PRESS. [Writing and murmuring] Um-m! "Kids."

LORD W. He thinks: "But for the grace of G.o.d, there swill I. Why should that blighter have everything and I nothing?" and all that.

PRESS. [Writing] "And all that." [Eagerly] Yes?

LORD W. And gradually--you see--this contrast--becomes an obsession with him. "There's got to be an example made," he thinks; and--er-- he makes it, don't you know?

PRESS. [Writing] Ye-es? And--when you're the example?

LORD W. Well, you feel a bit blue, of course. But my point is that you quite see it.

PRESS. From the other world. Do you believe in a future life, Lord William? The public took a lot of interest in the question, if you remember, at the time of the war. It might revive at any moment, if there's to be a revolution.

LORD W. The wish is always father to the thought, isn't it?

PRESS. Yes! But--er--doesn't the question of a future life rather bear on your point about kindness? If there isn't one--why be kind?

LORD W. Well, I should say one oughtn't to be kind for any motive-- that's self-interest; but just because one feels it, don't you know.