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Angela: It’s Mr. Perdins, isn’t it?

Perdins: Yes. Yes. My dear, we haven’t met for forty years.

Angela: Longer than that.

Perdins: Yes, so it is. So, I suppose, it is. I wonder why we let so long go by, without....

She shrugs, hands turned out, and smiles.

Yes I suppose they go by like that.

Angela: You telephoned for me. I have come up from Hern Hill.

Perdins: Yes. Yes. Well, do you remember when I was young, and writing verses, and thinking all the while of Fame?

Angela: Yes. You never thought of anything else.

Perdins: No, I suppose not. And I went on writing verses all these years, and thinking of Fame. And Fame never came.

Angela: No.

Perdins: You remember how I thought of her? Nobody knew but you. That’s why I telephoned to you and asked you to come. And you have come, Angela.

Angela: Yes. What is it?

Perdins: You remember how I pictured her as a Greek goddess; the white robe, the gold trumpet, the sandals and the wreath. No-one but you ever knew that I pictured Fame like that, and believed in her, thinking her real as motors are to a motorist, and believed she would one day come. They would have thought me crazy. But I told you all about it.

Angela: Yes. I remember.

Perdins: You never believed that she would appear to me, appear in bodily form.

Angela: Oh, I don’t know.

Perdins: You never believed that.

Angela: I remember telling you once that I believed every word of it.

Perdins: Yes. I know.

Angela: Well. What more do you want?

Perdins: It was enough. More than enough. Those words comforted me for years. And at any rate you didn’t think me crazy.

Angela: You know I didn’t.

Perdins: And so you had that strange secret; the knowledge that Fame was to me a real real person, and would soon come to see me; very soon, I used to think in those days. I couldn’t have imagined waiting for forty years. And what have you been doing all those years, Angela, since we took those separate ways of ours?

Angela: Hadn’t you better tell me why you sent for me, Robert?

Perdins: Yes, yes, Angela, I will. I sent for you because there was no-one else in the world who could have understood what I have to tell you. And, and, of course for the pleasure of seeing you.

Angela: Yes, Robert, I know. But why is my understanding so much sharper than others?

Perdins: Because you knew how I thought about Fame. I told you what she looked like. You knew how she dressed. I often used to tell you.

Angela: Well?

Perdins: Well, she has come.

Angela: She has come?

Perdins: At last.

Angela: To you?

Perdins: To me, at last.

Angela: But where?

Perdins: Here, to me.

Angela: Here?

Perdins: She walked through this room.

Angela: When?

Perdins: To-day. An hour ago.

Angela: And, and, she wore the white Greek robe you used to tell me of?

Perdins: Yes.

Angela: With a wreath of bays?

Perdins: Yes.

Angela: On her forehead?

Perdins: Yes.

Angela: And the long gold trumpet?

Perdins: Yes.

Angela: And you saw her?

Perdins: Yes.

Angela: Here, in the room?

Perdins: Yes, she walked through the room.

Angela: Oh. Robert, are you sure?

Perdins: Yes.

Angela: Then aren’t you glad?

Perdins: Oh, er, yes.

Angela: Oh, Robert, you aren’t.

Perdins: Why do you say I’m not?

Angela: There’s something wrong, Robert. What is it?

Perdins: Oh, nothing. Only, perhaps she wasn’t looking quite as she used to look.

Angela: But you’d never seen her before.

Perdins: Quite as I expected, I meant.

Angela: And how did you expect her to be.

Perdins: I often told you. Young, beautiful, glorious and fiery.

Angela: But you only saw her for a moment, just while she walked through the room. You may have been mistaken. I shouldn’t worry too much.

Perdins: No, I was not mistaken.

Angela: Oh, you might have been. Well, she’s gone now.

Perdins: Well, no, you see.

Angela: What do you mean?

Perdins: She hasn’t.

Angela: She hasn’t gone?

Perdins: No. She’s still here, you see.

Angela (looking round): But, Robert! You don’t mean you can see her!

Perdins: Oh, no.

Angela: Then where is she?

Perdins: In the next room.

Angela: In the next room?

Perdins: Yes. In there.

Angela: But; what’s she doing?

Perdins: Well, you see; when we were young she was (I know, I know she was) just as I told you, a glorious radiant figure, vital even to fierceness. She was just as I often described her to you in that old garden, in those days, in the evenings. And a voice as lovely as the voices of birds. You remember me reading my verses by that medlar tree in the corner and telling you how she looked.

Angela: Yes, yes.

Perdins: Well, that’s how she was then.

Angela: And now?

Perdins: Well, she’s in the next room now.

Angela: But why?

Perdins: She had to go in and lie down.

Angela: Lie down?

Perdins: Well, yes, you see, she had walked.

Angela: Walked?

Perdins: Yes and the road’s a bit damp to-day.

Angela: Damp?

Perdins: Well, yes, Angela. And the fact is she has to be careful.

Angela: Careful of what?

Perdins: Her health, Angela. You see, her sandals got wet.

Angela: Her sandals?

Perdins: Yes, and I’m drying them while she rests.

There they are in the fender, white sandals with golden straps.

Angela: Robert! I can’t believe it. I can’t believe she’s there.

Perdins: You always used to believe me, Angela.

Angela: Yes, when you told of that glorious figure, the goddess with the golden trumpet, and the wreath of bays in her hair, and the flash in her eye. You made me believe you whenever you spoke of her; but an old woman with wet sandals, I can’t believe that, not even for you, Robert. I believe the old Robert of forty years ago; not this one.

Perdins: You don’t believe she’s there?

Angela: No, Robert. I can’t.

Perdins: Very well, very well. Just as you like. (He goes to the door and opens it.) Just as you like. (To interior of the next room.) Would you kindly step this way, madam, if you are rested yet.

Fame (off): Yes, yes. I’ll come.

Slow steps, then enter Fame leaning on an ordinary walking-stick.

Perdins (to Angela): I had to lend her a stick.

Fame (to Perdins): My sandals, are they dried? (To Angela.) You see, I have to be rather careful now.

Perdins: Yes, madam; they must be quite dry now.

Fame (to Angela): It’s very tiresome, but if I keep them on when they’re in the least wet I only get all tired and cold.

Angela: Yes. Yes, of course.

Fame: So I asked Mr. Perdins to dry them for me.

Angela: Yes, of course; that’s much best.

Fame: And now if you’ll let me just rest on this sofa I’ll put them on and get quite rested.

Perdins: Certainly madam. (To Angela.) So, you see, she has come.

Angela: Yes.

Perdins: There she is.

Angela: I know what a disappointment this must be to you.

Perdins: Oh no.

Angela: I know that it must be, Robert. We all get such disappointments.

Perdins: No, really. You know, all things age. And Fame cannot be now what she was when we both were young. Nothing is, and we can’t expect it to be. (Anxiously.) She’s, she’s all right, you think?

Angela: Oh, yes. She’s only resting.

Perdins: Well, you see, we can’t expect it. I mean we can’t expect her to be always what I know she was then. I know that nothing would ever have tired her then.

Angela: I know. But I’m sorry.

Perdins: You’re sure she’s all right? She’s looking very pale.

Angela: I think she’s only tired.

Perdins: Well, if she’s been looking for me all these years she must have had a long way to come.

Angela: It’s a great disappointment, Robert; but I know you’ll face it.

Perdins: Oh, yes, of course I’ll face it. It’s only the disappointment coming on top of the excitement of seeing her, the two things all in one day; it makes a bit of a strain on one’s resources.

Angela: Yes, I know.

Perdins: So I’ll rest a little too.

Angela: Yes, that’s right. And I’ll look after her. You lie down there.

Perdins: Yes. Yes, I will for a bit.

Angela: That’s right. And don’t get up till you’re better. I must go over to her.

Perdins: Thanks, yes.... I, I, it’s been a good deal of a strain. Too much, perhaps.

But she hardly hears, for she is suddenly alarmed by the pallor of Fame, and goes to her.

Perdins breathes heavily and grows worse.

I think, you know Angela, I think, you know, I thought too much of Fame. Forgive me, Angela. (He dies.)

Angela: Never mind Robert. Never mind now.

Then she bends anxiously over Fame. But Fame is rapidly regaining health and youth. In fact she covertly removes a mask. Angela turns and sees Perdins dead. She runs over to him.

(To Fame.) Oh come and help. Come and help. You aren’t too old to help.

Fame: Old? I have many moods. (She comes over and takes her wreath from her head.) That was only one of my moods. (She puts it on Perdins’ head. She is young and beautiful.) I am not old. I am immortal.

She lifts her trumpet and sounds peals from it, while Angela looks up in almost happy wonder.

Curtain