The Doctor’s Dilemma

don’t mind his disregarding the usual arrangements. Confound the usual arrangements! To a man of science they’re beneath contempt both as to money and women. What I mind is his disregarding everything except his own pocket and his own fancy. He didn’t disregard the usual arrangements when they paid him. Did he give us his pictures for nothing? Do you suppose he’d have hesitated to blackmail me if I’d compromised myself with his wife? Not he. Sir Patrick Don’t waste your time wrangling over him. A blackguard’s a blackguard; an honest man’s an honest man; and neither of them will ever be at a loss for a religion or a morality to prove that their ways are the right ways. It’s the same with nations, the same with professions, the same all the world over and always will be. B.B.

Ah, well, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Still, de mortuis nil nisi bonum. He died extremely well, remarkably well. He has set us an example: let us endeavor to follow it rather than harp on the weaknesses that have perished with him. I think it is Shakespeare who says that the good that most men do lives after them: the evil lies interred with their bones. Yes: interred with their bones. Believe me, Paddy, we are all mortal. It is the common lot, Ridgeon. Say what you will, Walpole, Nature’s debt must be paid. If ’tis not today, twill be tomorrow.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
After life’s fitful fever they sleep well
And like this insubstantial bourne from which
No traveller returns
Leave not a wrack behind.

Walpole is about to speak, but B.B., suddenly and vehemently proceeding, extinguishes him.

Out, out, brief candle:
For nothing canst thou to damnation add
The readiness is all.

Walpole Gently; for B.B.’s feeling, absurdly expressed as it is, is too sincere and humane to be ridiculed. Yes, B.B. Death makes people go on like that. I don’t know why it should; but it does. By the way, what are we going to do? Ought we to clear out; or had we better wait and see whether Mrs. Dubedat will come back? Sir Patrick I think we’d better go. We can tell the charwoman what to do. They take their hats and go to the door. Mrs. Dubedat Coming from the inner door wonderfully and beautifully dressed, and radiant, carrying a great piece of purple silk, handsomely embroidered, over her arm. I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. Amazed, all together in a confused murmur: Sir Patrick Don’t mention it, madam. B.B. Not at all, not at all. Ridgeon By no means. Walpole It doesn’t matter in the least. Mrs. Dubedat Coming to them. I felt that I must shake hands with his friends once before we part today. We have shared together a great privilege and a great happiness. I don’t think we can ever think of ourselves ordinary people again. We have had a wonderful experience; and that gives us a common faith, a common ideal, that nobody else can quite have. Life will always be beautiful to us: death will always be beautiful to us. May we shake hands on that? Sir Patrick Shaking hands. Remember: all letters had better be left to your solicitor. Let him open everything and settle everything. That’s the law, you know. Mrs. Dubedat Oh, thank you: I didn’t know. Sir Patrick goes. Walpole Goodbye. I blame myself: I should have insisted on operating. He goes. B.B. I will send the proper people: they will know what to do: you shall have no trouble. Goodbye, my dear lady. He goes. Ridgeon Goodbye. He offers his hand. Mrs. Dubedat Drawing back with gentle majesty. I said his friends, Sir Colenso. He bows and goes. She unfolds the great piece of silk, and goes into the recess to cover her dead.

Act V

One of the smaller Bond Street Picture Galleries. The entrance is from a picture shop. Nearly in the middle of the gallery there is a writing-table, at which the Secretary, fashionably dressed, sits with his back to the entrance, correcting catalogue proofs. Some copies of a new book are on the desk, also the Secretary’s shining hat and a couple of magnifying glasses. At the side, on his left, a little behind him, is a small door marked “Private.” Near the same side is a cushioned bench parallel to the walls, which are covered with Dubedat’s works. Two screens, also covered with drawings, stand near the corners right and left of the entrance.

	Jennifer, beautifully dressed and apparently very happy and prosperous, comes into the gallery through the private door.
Jennifer	Have the catalogues come yet, Mr. Danby?
The Secretary	Not yet.
Jennifer	What a shame! It’s a quarter past: the private view will begin in less than half an hour.
The Secretary	I think I’d better run over to the printers to hurry them up.
Jennifer	Oh, if you would be so good, Mr. Danby. I’ll take your place while you’re away.
The Secretary	If anyone should come before the time don’t take any notice. The commissionaire won’t let anyone through unless he knows him. We have a few people who like to come before the crowd⁠—people who really buy; and of course we’re glad to see them. Have you seen the notices in Brush and Crayon and in The Easel?
Jennifer	Indignantly. Yes: most disgraceful. They write quite patronizingly, as if they were Mr. Dubedat’s superiors. After all the cigars and sandwiches they had from us on the press day, and all they drank, I really think it is infamous that they should write like that. I hope you have not sent them tickets for today.
The Secretary	Oh, they won’t come again: theres no lunch today. The advance copies of your book have come. He indicates the new books.
Jennifer	Pouncing on a copy, wildly excited. Give it to me. Oh! excuse me a