CANDIDA

BERNARD SHAW

1898

ACT I

A fine October morning in the north east suburbs of London, a vastdistrict many miles away from the London of Mayfair and St. James's, much less known there than the Paris of the Rue de Rivoli and theChamps Elysees, and much less narrow, squalid, fetid and airless in itsslums; strong in comfortable, prosperous middle class life;wide-streeted, myriad-populated; well-served with ugly iron urinals, Radical clubs, tram lines, and a perpetual stream of yellow cars;enjoying in its main thoroughfares the luxury of grass-grown "frontgardens, " untrodden by the foot of man save as to the path from thegate to the hall door; but blighted by an intolerable monotony of milesand miles of graceless, characterless brick houses, black ironrailings, stony pavements, slaty roofs, and respectably ill dressed ordisreputably poorly dressed people, quite accustomed to the place, andmostly plodding about somebody else's work, which they would not do ifthey themselves could help it. The little energy and eagerness thatcrop up show themselves in cockney cupidity and business "push. " Eventhe policemen and the chapels are not infrequent enough to break themonotony. The sun is shining cheerfully; there is no fog; and thoughthe smoke effectually prevents anything, whether faces and hands orbricks and mortar, from looking fresh and clean, it is not hangingheavily enough to trouble a Londoner. 

This desert of unattractiveness has its oasis. Near the outer end ofthe Hackney Road is a park of 217 acres, fenced in, not by railings, but by a wooden paling, and containing plenty of greensward, trees, alake for bathers, flower beds with the flowers arranged carefully inpatterns by the admired cockney art of carpet gardening and a sandpit, imported from the seaside for the delight of the children, but speedilydeserted on its becoming a natural vermin preserve for all the pettyfauna of Kingsland, Hackney and Hoxton. A bandstand, an unfinishedforum for religious, anti-religious and political orators, cricketpitches, a gymnasium, and an old fashioned stone kiosk are among itsattractions. Wherever the prospect is bounded by trees or rising greengrounds, it is a pleasant place. Where the ground stretches far to thegrey palings, with bricks and mortar, sky signs, crowded chimneys andsmoke beyond, the prospect makes it desolate and sordid. 

The best view of Victoria Park is from the front window of St. Dominic's Parsonage, from which not a single chimney is visible. Theparsonage is a semi-detached villa with a front garden and a porch. Visitors go up the flight of steps to the porch: tradespeople andmembers of the family go down by a door under the steps to thebasement, with a breakfast room, used for all meals, in front, and thekitchen at the back. Upstairs, on the level of the hall door, is thedrawing-room, with its large plate glass window looking on the park. Inthis room, the only sitting-room that can be spared from the childrenand the family meals, the parson, the Reverend James Mavor Morell doeshis work. He is sitting in a strong round backed revolving chair at theright hand end of a long table, which stands across the window, so thathe can cheer himself with the view of the park at his elbow. At theopposite end of the table, adjoining it, is a little table; only halfthe width of the other, with a typewriter on it. His typist is sittingat this machine, with her back to the window. The large table islittered with pamphlets, journals, letters, nests of drawers, an officediary, postage scales and the like. A spare chair for visitors havingbusiness with the parson is in the middle, turned to his end. Withinreach of his hand is a stationery case, and a cabinet photograph in aframe. Behind him the right hand wall, recessed above the fireplace, isfitted with bookshelves, on which an adept eye can measure the parson'sdivinity and casuistry by a complete set of Browning's poems andMaurice's Theological Essays, and guess at his politics from a yellowbacked Progress and Poverty, Fabian Essays, a Dream of John Ball, Marx's Capital, and half a dozen other literary landmarks in Socialism. Opposite him on the left, near the typewriter, is the door. Furtherdown the room, opposite the fireplace, a bookcase stands on a cellaret, with a sofa near it. There is a generous fire burning; and the hearth, with a comfortable armchair and a japanned flower painted coal scuttleat one side, a miniature chair for a boy or girl on the other, a nicelyvarnished wooden mantelpiece, with neatly moulded shelves, tiny bits ofmirror let into the panels, and a travelling clock in a leather case(the inevitable wedding present), and on the wall above a largeautotype of the chief figure in Titian's Virgin of the Assumption, isvery inviting. Altogether the room is the room of a good housekeeper, vanquished, as far as the table is concerned, by an untidy man, butelsewhere mistress of the situation. The furniture, in its ornamentalaspect, betrays the style of the advertised "drawing-room suite" of thepushing suburban furniture dealer; but there is nothing useless orpretentious in the room. The paper and panelling are dark, throwing thebig cheery window and the park outside into strong relief. 

The Reverend James Mavor Morell is a Christian Socialist clergyman ofthe Church of England, and an active member of the Guild of St. Matthewand the Christian Social Union. A vigorous, genial, popular man offorty, robust and goodlooking, full of energy, with pleasant, hearty, considerate manners, and a sound, unaffected voice, which he uses withthe clean, athletic articulation of a practised orator, and with a widerange and perfect command of expression. He is a first rate clergyman, able to say what he likes to whom he likes, to lecture people withoutsetting himself up against them, to impose his authority on themwithout humiliating them, and to interfere in their business withoutimpertinence. His well-spring of spiritual enthusiasm and sympatheticemotion has never run dry for a moment: he still eats and sleepsheartily enough to win the daily battle between exhaustion andrecuperation triumphantly. Withal, a great baby, pardonably vain of hispowers and unconsciously pleased with himself. He has a healthycomplexion, a good forehead, with the brows somewhat blunt, and theeyes bright and eager, a mouth resolute, but not particularly well cut, and a substantial nose, with the mobile, spreading nostrils of thedramatic orator, but, like all his features, void of subtlety. 

The typist, Miss Proserpine Garnett, is a brisk little woman of about30, of the lower middle class, neatly but cheaply dressed in a blackmerino skirt and a blouse, rather pert and quick of speech, and notvery civil in her manner, but sensitive and affectionate. She isclattering away busily at her machine whilst Morell opens the last ofhis morning's letters. He realizes its contents with a comic groan ofdespair. 

PROSERPINE. Another lecture?

MORELL. Yes. The Hoxton Freedom Group want me to address them on Sundaymorning (great emphasis on "Sunday, " this being the unreasonable partof the business). What are they?

PROSERPINE. Communist Anarchists, I think. 

MORELL. Just like Anarchists not to know that they can't have a parsonon Sunday! Tell them to come to church if they want to hear me: it willdo them good. Say I can only come on Mondays and Thursdays. Have youthe diary there?

PROSERPINE (taking up the diary). Yes. 

MORELL. Have I any lecture on for next Monday?

PROSERPINE (referring to diary). Tower Hamlets Radical Club. 

MORELL. Well, Thursday then?

PROSERPINE. English Land Restoration League. 

MORELL. What next?

PROSERPINE. Guild of St. Matthew on Monday. Independent Labor Party, Greenwich Branch, on Thursday. Monday, Social-Democratic Federation, Mile End Branch. Thursday, first Confirmation class-- (Impatiently). Oh, I'd better tell them you can't come. They're only half a dozenignorant and conceited costermongers without five shillings betweenthem. 

MORELL (amused). Ah; but you see they're near relatives of mine, MissGarnett. 

PROSERPINE (staring at him). Relatives of YOURS!

MORELL. Yes: we have the same father--in Heaven. 

PROSERPINE (relieved). Oh, is that all?

MORELL (with a sadness which is a luxury to a man whose voice expressesit so finely). Ah, you don't believe it. Everybody says it: nobodybelieves it--nobody. (Briskly, getting back to business. ) Well, well!Come, Miss Proserpine, can't you find a date for the costers? Whatabout the 25th?: that was vacant the day before yesterday. 

PROSERPINE (referring to diary). Engaged--the Fabian Society. 

MORELL. Bother the Fabian Society! Is the 28th gone too?

PROSERPINE. City dinner. You're invited to dine with the Founder'sCompany. 

MORELL. That'll do; I'll go to the Hoxton Group of Freedom instead. (She enters the engagement in silence, with implacable disparagement ofthe Hoxton Anarchists in every line of her face. Morell bursts open thecover of a copy of The Church Reformer, which has come by post, andglances through Mr. Stewart Hendlam's leader and the Guild of St. Matthew news. These proceedings are presently enlivened by theappearance of Morell's curate, the Reverend Alexander Mill, a younggentleman gathered by Morell from the nearest University settlement, whither he had come from Oxford to give the east end of London thebenefit of his university training. He is a conceitedly wellintentioned, enthusiastic, immature person, with nothing positivelyunbearable about him except a habit of speaking with his lips carefullyclosed for half an inch from each corner, a finicking arthulation, anda set of horribly corrupt vowels, notably ow for o, this being hischief means of bringing Oxford refinement to bear on Hackney vulgarity. Morell, whom he has won over by a doglike devotion, looks upindulgently from The Church Reformer as he enters, and remarks) Well, Lexy! Late again, as usual. 

LEXY. I'm afraid so. I wish I could get up in the morning. 

MORELL (exulting in his own energy). Ha! ha! (Whimsically. ) Watch andpray, Lexy: watch and pray. 

LEXY. I know. (Rising wittily to the occasion. ) But how can I watch andpray when I am asleep? Isn't that so, Miss Prossy?

PROSERPINE (sharply). Miss Garnett, if you please. 

LEXY. I beg your pardon--Miss Garnett. 

PROSERPINE. You've got to do all the work to-day. 

LEXY. Why?

PROSERPINE. Never mind why. It will do you good to earn your supperbefore you eat it, for once in a way, as I do. Come: don't dawdle. Youshould have been off on your rounds half an hour ago. 

LEXY (perplexed). Is she in earnest, Morell?

MORELL (in the highest spirits--his eyes dancing). Yes. _I_ am going todawdle to-day. 

LEXY. You! You don't know how. 

MORELL (heartily). Ha! ha! Don't I? I'm going to have this day all tomyself--or at least the forenoon. My wife's coming back: she's due hereat 11. 45. 

LEXY (surprised). Coming back already--with the children? I thoughtthey were to stay to the end of the month. 

MORELL. So they are: she's only coming up for two days, to get someflannel things for Jimmy, and to see how we're getting on without her. 

LEXY (anxiously). But, my dear Morell, if what Jimmy and Fluffy had wasscarlatina, do you think it wise--

MORELL. Scarlatina!--rubbish, German measles. I brought it into thehouse myself from the Pycroft Street School. A parson is like a doctor, my boy: he must face infection as a soldier must face bullets. (Herises and claps Lexy on the shoulder. ) Catch the measles if you can, Lexy: she'll nurse you; and what a piece of luck that will be foryou!--eh?

LEXY (smiling uneasily). It's so hard to understand you about Mrs. Morell--

MORELL (tenderly). Ah, my boy, get married--get married to a goodwoman; and then you'll understand. That's a foretaste of what will bebest in the Kingdom of Heaven we are trying to establish on earth. Thatwill cure you of dawdling. An honest man feels that he must pay Heavenfor every hour of happiness with a good spell of hard, unselfish workto make others happy. We have no more right to consume happinesswithout producing it than to consume wealth without producing it. Get awife like my Candida; and you'll always be in arrear with yourrepayment. (He pats Lexy affectionately on the back, and is leaving theroom when Lexy calls to him. )

LEXY. Oh, wait a bit: I forgot. (Morell halts and turns with the doorknob in his hand. ) Your father-in-law is coming round to see you. (Morell shuts the door again, with a complete change of manner. )

MORELL (surprised and not pleased). Mr. Burgess?

LEXY. Yes. I passed him in the park, arguing with somebody. He gave megood day and asked me to let you know that he was coming. 

MORELL (half incredulous). But he hasn't called here for--I may almostsay for years. Are you sure, Lexy? You're not joking, are you?

LEXY (earnestly). No, sir, really. 

MORELL (thoughtfully). Hm! Time for him to take another look at Candidabefore she grows out of his knowledge. (He resigns himself to theinevitable, and goes out. Lexy looks after him with beaming, foolishworship. )

LEXY. What a good man! What a thorough, loving soul he is! (He takesMorell's place at the table, making himself very comfortable as hetakes out a cigaret. )

PROSERPINE (impatiently, pulling the letter she has been working at offthe typewriter and folding it. ) Oh, a man ought to be able to be fondof his wife without making a fool of himself about her. 

LEXY (shocked). Oh, Miss Prossy!

PROSERPINE (rising busily and coming to the stationery case to get anenvelope, in which she encloses the letter as she speaks). Candidahere, and Candida there, and Candida everywhere! (She licks theenvelope. ) It's enough to drive anyone out of their SENSES (thumpingthe envelope to make it stick) to hear a perfectly commonplace womanraved about in that absurd manner merely because she's got good hair, and a tolerable figure. 

LEXY (with reproachful gravity). I think her extremely beautiful, MissGarnett. (He takes the photograph up; looks at it; and adds, with evengreater impressiveness) EXTREMELY beautiful. How fine her eyes are!

PROSERPINE. Her eyes are not a bit better than mine--now! (He puts downthe photograph and stares austerely at her. ) And you know very wellthat you think me dowdy and second rate enough. 

LEXY (rising majestically). Heaven forbid that I should think of any ofGod's creatures in such a way! (He moves stiffly away from her acrossthe room to the neighbourhood of the bookcase. )

PROSERPINE. Thank you. That's very nice and comforting. 

LEXY (saddened by her depravity). I had no idea you had any feelingagainst Mrs. Morell. 

PROSERPINE (indignantly). I have no feeling against her. She's verynice, very good-hearted: I'm very fond of her and can appreciate herreal qualities far better than any man can. (He shakes his head sadlyand turns to the bookcase, looking along the shelves for a volume. Shefollows him with intense pepperiness. ) You don't believe me? (He turnsand faces her. She pounces at him with spitfire energy. ) You think I'mjealous. Oh, what a profound knowledge of the human heart you have, Mr. Lexy Mill! How well you know the weaknesses of Woman, don't you? Itmust be so nice to be a man and have a fine penetrating intellectinstead of mere emotions like us, and to know that the reason we don'tshare your amorous delusions is that we're all jealous of one another!(She abandons him with a toss of her shoulders, and crosses to the fireto warm her hands. )

LEXY. Ah, if you women only had the same clue to Man's strength thatyou have to his weakness, Miss Prossy, there would be no Woman Question. 

PROSERPINE (over her shoulder, as she stoops, holding her hands to theblaze). Where did you hear Morell say that? You didn't invent ityourself: you're not clever enough. 

LEXY. That's quite true. I am not ashamed of owing him that, as I owehim so many other spiritual truths. He said it at the annual conferenceof the Women's Liberal Federation. Allow me to add that though theydidn't appreciate it, I, a mere man, did. (He turns to the bookcaseagain, hoping that this may leave her crushed. )

PROSERPINE (putting her hair straight at the little panel of mirror inthe mantelpiece). Well, when you talk to me, give me your own ideas, such as they are, and not his. You never cut a poorer figure than whenyou are trying to imitate him. 

LEXY (stung). I try to follow his example, not to imitate him. 

PROSERPINE (coming at him again on her way back to her work). Yes, youdo: you IMITATE him. Why do you tuck your umbrella under your left arminstead of carrying it in your hand like anyone else? Why do you walkwith your chin stuck out before you, hurrying along with that eagerlook in your eyes--you, who never get up before half past nine in themorning? Why do you say "knoaledge" in church, though you always say"knolledge" in private conversation! Bah! do you think I don't know?(She goes back to the typewriter. ) Here, come and set about your work:we've wasted enough time for one morning. Here's a copy of the diaryfor to-day. (She hands him a memorandum. )

LEXY (deeply offended). Thank you. (He takes it and stands at the tablewith his back to her, reading it. She begins to transcribe hershorthand notes on the typewriter without troubling herself about hisfeelings. Mr. Burgess enters unannounced. He is a man of sixty, madecoarse and sordid by the compulsory selfishness of petty commerce, andlater on softened into sluggish bumptiousness by overfeeding andcommercial success. A vulgar, ignorant, guzzling man, offensive andcontemptuous to people whose labor is cheap, respectful to wealth andrank, and quite sincere and without rancour or envy in both attitudes. Finding him without talent, the world has offered him no decently paidwork except ignoble work, and he has become in consequence, somewhathoggish. But he has no suspicion of this himself, and honestly regardshis commercial prosperity as the inevitable and socially wholesometriumph of the ability, industry, shrewdness and experience in businessof a man who in private is easygoing, affectionate and humorouslyconvivial to a fault. Corporeally, he is a podgy man, with a square, clean shaven face and a square beard under his chin; dust colored, witha patch of grey in the centre, and small watery blue eyes with aplaintively sentimental expression, which he transfers easily to hisvoice by his habit of pompously intoning his sentences. )

BURGESS (stopping on the threshold, and looking round). They told meMr. Morell was here. 

PROSERPINE (rising). He's upstairs. I'll fetch him for you. 

BURGESS (staring boorishly at her). You're not the same young lady asused to typewrite for him?

PROSERPINE. No. 

BURGESS (assenting). No: she was younger. (Miss Garnett stolidly staresat him; then goes out with great dignity. He receives this quiteobtusely, and crosses to the hearth-rug, where he turns and spreadshimself with his back to the fire. ) Startin' on your rounds, Mr. Mill?

LEXY (folding his paper and pocketing it). Yes: I must be off presently. 

BURGESS (momentously). Don't let me detain you, Mr. Mill. What I comeabout is private between me and Mr. Morell. 

LEXY (huffily). I have no intention of intruding, I am sure, Mr. Burgess. Good morning. 

BURGESS (patronizingly). Oh, good morning to you. (Morell returns asLexy is making for the door. )

MORELL (to Lexy). Off to work?

LEXY. Yes, sir. 

MORELL (patting him affectionately on the shoulder). Take my silkhandkerchief and wrap your throat up. There's a cold wind. Away withyou. 

(Lexy brightens up, and goes out. )

BURGESS. Spoilin' your curates, as usu'l, James. Good mornin'. When Ipay a man, an' 'is livin' depen's on me, I keep him in his place. 

MORELL (rather shortly). I always keep my curates in their places as myhelpers and comrades. If you get as much work out of your clerks andwarehousemen as I do out of my curates, you must be getting rich prettyfast. Will you take your old chair?

(He points with curt authority to the arm chair beside the fireplace;then takes the spare chair from the table and sits down in front ofBurgess. )

BURGESS (without moving). Just the same as hever, James!

MORELL. When you last called--it was about three years ago, Ithink--you said the same thing a little more frankly. Your exact wordsthen were: "Just as big a fool as ever, James?"

BURGESS (soothingly). Well, perhaps I did; but (with conciliatorycheerfulness) I meant no offence by it. A clergyman is privileged to bea bit of a fool, you know: it's on'y becomin' in his profession that heshould. Anyhow, I come here, not to rake up hold differences, but tolet bygones be bygones. (Suddenly becoming very solemn, and approachingMorell. ) James: three year ago, you done me a hill turn. You done mehout of a contrac'; an' when I gev you 'arsh words in my nat'raldisappointment, you turned my daughrter again me. Well, I've come toact the part of a Cherischin. (Offering his hand. ) I forgive you, James. 

MORELL (starting up). Confound your impudence!

BURGESS (retreating, with almost lachrymose deprecation of thistreatment). Is that becomin' language for a clergyman, James?--and youso partic'lar, too?

MORELL (hotly). No, sir, it is not becoming language for a clergyman. Iused the wrong word. I should have said damn your impudence: that'swhat St. Paul, or any honest priest would have said to you. Do youthink I have forgotten that tender of yours for the contract to supplyclothing to the workhouse?

BURGESS (in a paroxysm of public spirit). I acted in the interest ofthe ratepayers, James. It was the lowest tender: you can't deny that. 

MORELL. Yes, the lowest, because you paid worse wages than any otheremployer--starvation wages--aye, worse than starvation wages--to thewomen who made the clothing. Your wages would have driven them to thestreets to keep body and soul together. (Getting angrier and angrier. )Those women were my parishioners. I shamed the Guardians out ofaccepting your tender: I shamed the ratepayers out of letting them doit: I shamed everybody but you. (Boiling over. ) How dare you, sir, comehere and offer to forgive me, and talk about your daughter, and--

BURGESS. Easy, James, easy, easy. Don't git hinto a fluster aboutnothink. I've howned I was wrong. 

MORELL (fuming about). Have you? I didn't hear you. 

BURGESS. Of course I did. I hown it now. Come: I harsk your pardon forthe letter I wrote you. Is that enough?

MORELL (snapping his fingers). That's nothing. Have you raised thewages?

BURGESS (triumphantly). Yes. 

MORELL (stopping dead). What!

BURGESS (unctuously). I've turned a moddle hemployer. I don't hemployno women now: they're all sacked; and the work is done by machinery. Not a man 'as less than sixpence a hour; and the skilled 'ands gits theTrade Union rate. (Proudly. ) What 'ave you to say to me now?

MORELL (overwhelmed). Is it possible! Well, there's more joy in heavenover one sinner that repenteth-- (Going to Burgess with an explosion ofapologetic cordiality. ) My dear Burgess, I most heartily beg yourpardon for my hard thoughts of you. (Grasps his hand. ) And now, don'tyou feel the better for the change? Come, confess, you're happier. Youlook happier. 

BURGESS (ruefully). Well, p'raps I do. I s'pose I must, since younotice it. At all events, I git my contrax asseppit (accepted) by theCounty Council. (Savagely. ) They dussent'ave nothink to do with meunless I paid fair wages--curse 'em for a parcel o' meddlin' fools!

MORELL (dropping his hand, utterly discouraged). So that was why youraised the wages! (He sits down moodily. )

BURGESS (severely, in spreading, mounting tones). Why else should I doit? What does it lead to but drink and huppishness in workin' men? (Heseats himself magisterially in the easy chair. ) It's hall very well foryou, James: it gits you hinto the papers and makes a great man of you;but you never think of the 'arm you do, puttin' money into the pocketsof workin' men that they don't know 'ow to spend, and takin' it frompeople that might be makin' a good huse on it. 

MORELL (with a heavy sigh, speaking with cold politeness). What is yourbusiness with me this morning? I shall not pretend to believe that youare here merely out of family sentiment. 

BURGESS (obstinately). Yes, I ham--just family sentiment and nothinkelse. 

MORELL (with weary calm). I don't believe you!

BURGESS (rising threateningly). Don't say that to me again, James MavorMorell. 

MORELL (unmoved). I'll say it just as often as may be necessary toconvince you that it's true. I don't believe you. 

BURGESS (collapsing into an abyss of wounded feeling). Oh, well, ifyou're determined to be unfriendly, I s'pose I'd better go. (He movesreluctantly towards the door. Morell makes no sign. He lingers. ) Ididn't hexpect to find a hunforgivin' spirit in you, James. (Morellstill not responding, he takes a few more reluctant steps doorwards. Then he comes back whining. ) We huseter git on well enough, spite ofour different opinions. Why are you so changed to me? I give you myword I come here in pyorr (pure) frenliness, not wishin' to be on badterms with my hown daughrter's 'usban'. Come, James: be a Cherishin andshake 'ands. (He puts his hand sentimentally on Morell's shoulder. )

MORELL (looking up at him thoughtfully). Look here, Burgess. Do youwant to be as welcome here as you were before you lost that contract?

BURGESS. I do, James. I do--honest. 

MORELL. Then why don't you behave as you did then?

BURGESS (cautiously removing his hand). 'Ow d'y'mean?

MORELL. I'll tell you. You thought me a young fool then. 

BURGESS (coaxingly). No, I didn't, James. I--

MORELL (cutting him short). Yes, you did. And I thought you an oldscoundrel. 

BURGESS (most vehemently deprecating this gross self-accusation onMorell's part). No, you didn't, James. Now you do yourself a hinjustice. 

MORELL. Yes, I did. Well, that did not prevent our getting on very welltogether. God made you what I call a scoundrel as he made me what youcall a fool. (The effect of this observation on Burgess is to removethe keystone of his moral arch. He becomes bodily weak, and, with hiseyes fixed on Morell in a helpless stare, puts out his handapprehensively to balance himself, as if the floor had suddenly slopedunder him. Morell proceeds in the same tone of quiet conviction. ) Itwas not for me to quarrel with his handiwork in the one case more thanin the other. So long as you come here honestly as a self-respecting, thorough, convinced scoundrel, justifying your scoundrelism, and proudof it, you are welcome. But (and now Morell's tone becomes formidable;and he rises and strikes the back of the chair for greater emphasis) Iwon't have you here snivelling about being a model employer and aconverted man when you're only an apostate with your coat turned forthe sake of a County Council contract. (He nods at him to enforce thepoint; then goes to the hearth-rug, where he takes up a comfortablycommanding position with his back to the fire, and continues) No: Ilike a man to be true to himself, even in wickedness. Come now: eithertake your hat and go; or else sit down and give me a good scoundrellyreason for wanting to be friends with me. (Burgess, whose emotions havesubsided sufficiently to be expressed by a dazed grin, is relieved bythis concrete proposition. He ponders it for a moment, and then, slowlyand very modestly, sits down in the chair Morell has just left. ) That'sright. Now, out with it. 

BURGESS (chuckling in spite of himself. ) Well, you ARE a queer bird, James, and no mistake. But (almost enthusiastically) one carnt 'elplikin' you; besides, as I said afore, of course one don't take all aclorgyman says seriously, or the world couldn't go on. Could it now?(He composes himself for graver discourse, and turning his eyes onMorell proceeds with dull seriousness. ) Well, I don't mind tellin' you, since it's your wish we should be free with one another, that I didthink you a bit of a fool once; but I'm beginnin' to think that p'r'apsI was be'ind the times a bit. 

MORELL (delighted ). Aha! You're finding that out at last, are you?

BURGESS (portentously). Yes, times 'as changed mor'n I could abelieved. Five yorr (year) ago, no sensible man would a thought o'takin' up with your ideas. I hused to wonder you was let preach at all. Why, I know a clorgyman that 'as bin kep' hout of his job for yorrs bythe Bishop of London, although the pore feller's not a bit morereligious than you are. But to-day, if henyone was to offer to bet me athousan' poun' that you'll end by bein' a bishop yourself, I shouldn'tventure to take the bet. You and yore crew are gettin' hinfluential: Ican see that. They'll 'ave to give you something someday, if it's onlyto stop yore mouth. You 'ad the right instinc' arter all, James: theline you took is the payin' line in the long run fur a man o' your sort. 

MORELL (decisively--offering his hand). Shake hands, Burgess. Nowyou're talking honestly. I don't think they'll make me a bishop; but ifthey do, I'll introduce you to the biggest jobbers I can get to come tomy dinner parties. 

BURGESS (who has risen with a sheepish grin and accepted the hand offriendship). You will 'ave your joke, James. Our quarrel's made up now, isn't it?

A WOMAN'S VOICE. Say yes, James. 

Startled, they turn quickly and find that Candida has just come in, andis looking at them with an amused maternal indulgence which is hercharacteristic expression. She is a woman of 33, well built, wellnourished, likely, one guesses, to become matronly later on, but nowquite at her best, with the double charm of youth and motherhood. Herways are those of a woman who has found that she can always managepeople by engaging their affection, and who does so frankly andinstinctively without the smallest scruple. So far, she is like anyother pretty woman who is just clever enough to make the most of hersexual attractions for trivially selfish ends; but Candida's serenebrow, courageous eyes, and well set mouth and chin signify largeness ofmind and dignity of character to ennoble her cunning in the affections. A wisehearted observer, looking at her, would at once guess thatwhoever had placed the Virgin of the Assumption over her hearth did sobecause he fancied some spiritual resemblance between them, and yetwould not suspect either her husband or herself of any such idea, orindeed of any concern with the art of Titian. 

Just now she is in bonnet and mantle, laden with a strapped rug withher umbrella stuck through it, a handbag, and a supply of illustratedpapers. 

MORELL (shocked at his remissness). Candida! Why--(looks at his watch, and is horrified to find it so late. ) My darling! (Hurrying to her andseizing the rug strap, pouring forth his remorseful regrets all thetime. ) I intended to meet you at the train. I let the time slip. (Flinging the rug on the sofa. ) I was so engrossed by--(returning toher)--I forgot--oh! (He embraces her with penitent emotion. )

BURGESS (a little shamefaced and doubtful of his reception). How orsyou, Candy? (She, still in Morell's arms, offers him her cheek, whichhe kisses. ) James and me is come to a unnerstandin'--a honourableunnerstandin'. Ain' we, James?

MORELL (impetuously). Oh, bother your understanding! You've kept melate for Candida. (With compassionate fervor. ) My poor love: how didyou manage about the luggage?--how--

CANDIDA (stopping him and disengaging herself ). There, there, there. Iwasn't alone. Eugene came down yesterday; and we traveled up together. 

MORELL (pleased). Eugene!

CANDIDA. Yes: he's struggling with my luggage, poor boy. Go out, dear, at once; or he will pay for the cab; and I don't want that. (Morellhurries out. Candida puts down her handbag; then takes off her mantleand bonnet and puts them on the sofa with the rug, chatting meanwhile. )Well, papa, how are you getting on at home?

BURGESS. The 'ouse ain't worth livin' in since you left it, Candy. Iwish you'd come round and give the gurl a talkin' to. Who's this Eugenethat's come with you?

CANDIDA. Oh, Eugene's one of James's discoveries. He found him sleepingon the Embankment last June. Haven't you noticed our new picture(pointing to the Virgin)? He gave us that. 

BURGESS (incredulously). Garn! D'you mean to tell me--your hownfather!--that cab touts or such like, orf the Embankment, buys pictur'slike that? (Severely. ) Don't deceive me, Candy: it's a 'Igh Churchpictur; and James chose it hisself. 

CANDIDA. Guess again. Eugene isn't a cab tout. 

BURGESS. Then wot is he? (Sarcastically. ) A nobleman, I 'spose. 

CANDIDA (delighted--nodding). Yes. His uncle's a peer--a real live earl. 

BURGESS (not daring to believe such good news). No!

CANDIDA. Yes. He had a seven day bill for 55 pounds in his pocket whenJames found him on the Embankment. He thought he couldn't get any moneyfor it until the seven days were up; and he was too shy to ask forcredit. Oh, he's a dear boy! We are very fond of him. 

BURGESS (pretending to belittle the aristocracy, but with his eyesgleaming). Hm, I thort you wouldn't git a piorr's (peer's) nevvyvisitin' in Victoria Park unless he were a bit of a flat. (Lookingagain at the picture. ) Of course I don't 'old with that pictur, Candy;but still it's a 'igh class, fust rate work of art: I can see that. Besure you hintroduce me to him, Candy. (He looks at his watchanxiously. ) I can only stay about two minutes. 

Morell comes back with Eugene, whom Burgess contemplates moist-eyedwith enthusiasm. He is a strange, shy youth of eighteen, slight, effeminate, with a delicate childish voice, and a hunted, tormentedexpression and shrinking manner that show the painful sensitivenessthat very swift and acute apprehensiveness produces in youth, beforethe character has grown to its full strength. Yet everything that histimidity and frailty suggests is contradicted by his face. He ismiserably irresolute, does not know where to stand or what to do withhis hands and feet, is afraid of Burgess, and would run away intosolitude if he dared; but the very intensity with which he feels aperfectly commonplace position shows great nervous force, and hisnostrils and mouth show a fiercely petulant wilfulness, as to thequality of which his great imaginative eyes and fine brow arereassuring. He is so entirely uncommon as to be almost unearthly; andto prosaic people there is something noxious in this unearthliness, just as to poetic people there is something angelic in it. His dress isanarchic. He wears an old blue serge jacket, unbuttoned over a woollenlawn tennis shirt, with a silk handkerchief for a cravat, trousersmatching the jacket, and brown canvas shoes. In these garments he hasapparently lain in the heather and waded through the waters; but thereis no evidence of his having ever brushed them. 

As he catches sight of a stranger on entering, he stops, and edgesalong the wall on the opposite side of the room. 

MORELL (as he enters). Come along: you can spare us quarter of an hour, at all events. This is my father-in-law, Mr. Burgess--Mr. Marchbanks. 

MARCHBANKS (nervously backing against the bookcase). Glad to meet you, sir. 

BURGESS (crossing to him with great heartiness, whilst Morell joinsCandida at the fire). Glad to meet YOU, I'm shore, Mr. Morchbanks. (Forcing him to shake hands. ) 'Ow do you find yoreself this weather?'Ope you ain't lettin' James put no foolish ideas into your 'ed?

MARCHBANKS. Foolish ideas! Oh, you mean Socialism. No. 

BURGESS. That's right. (Again looking at his watch. ) Well, I must gonow: there's no 'elp for it. Yo're not comin' my way, are you, Mr. Morchbanks?

MARCHBANKS. Which way is that?

BURGESS. Victawriar Pork station. There's a city train at 12. 25. 

MORELL. Nonsense. Eugene will stay to lunch with us, I expect. 

MARCHBANKS (anxiously excusing himself). No--I--I--

BURGESS. Well, well, I shan't press you: I bet you'd rather lunch withCandy. Some night, I 'ope, you'll come and dine with me at my club, theFreeman Founders in Nortn Folgit. Come, say you will. 

MARCHBANKS. Thank you, Mr. Burgess. Where is Norton Folgate--down inSurrey, isn't it? (Burgess, inexpressibly tickled, begins to splutterwith laughter. )

CANDIDA (coming to the rescue). You'll lose your train, papa, if youdon't go at once. Come back in the afternoon and tell Mr. Marchbankswhere to find the club. 

BURGESS (roaring with glee). Down in Surrey--har, har! that's not a badone. Well, I never met a man as didn't know Nortn Folgitbefore. (Abashed at his own noisiness. ) Good-bye, Mr. Morchbanks: I knowyo're too 'ighbred to take my pleasantry in bad part. (He again offershis hand. )

MARCHBANKS (taking it with a nervous jerk). Not at all. 

BURGESS. Bye, bye, Candy. I'll look in again later on. So long, James. 

MORELL. Must you go?

BURGESS. Don't stir. (He goes out with unabated heartiness. )

MORELL. Oh, I'll see you out. (He follows him out. Eugene stares afterthem apprehensively, holding his breath until Burgess disappears. )

CANDIDA (laughing). Well, Eugene. (He turns with a start and comeseagerly towards her, but stops irresolutely as he meets her amusedlook. ) What do you think of my father?

MARCHBANKS. I--I hardly know him yet. He seems to be a very nice oldgentleman. 

CANDIDA (with gentle irony). And you'll go to the Freeman Founders todine with him, won't you?

MARCHBANKS (miserably, taking it quite seriously). Yes, if it willplease you. 

CANDIDA (touched). Do you know, you are a very nice boy, Eugene, withall your queerness. If you had laughed at my father I shouldn't haveminded; but I like you ever so much better for being nice to him. 

MARCHBANKS. Ought I to have laughed? I noticed that he said somethingfunny; but I am so ill at ease with strangers; and I never can see ajoke! I'm very sorry. (He sits down on the sofa, his elbows on hisknees and his temples between his fists, with an expression of hopelesssuffering. )

CANDIDA (bustling him goodnaturedly). Oh, come! You great baby, you!You are worse than usual this morning. Why were you so melancholy as wecame along in the cab?

MARCHBANKS. Oh, that was nothing. I was wondering how much I ought togive the cabman. I know it's utterly silly; but you don't know howdreadful such things are to me--how I shrink from having to deal withstrange people. (Quickly and reassuringly. ) But it's all right. Hebeamed all over and touched his hat when Morell gave him two shillings. I was on the point of offering him ten. (Candida laughs heartily. Morell comes back with a few letters and newspapers which have come bythe midday post. )

CANDIDA. Oh, James, dear, he was going to give the cabman tenshillings--ten shillings for a three minutes' drive--oh, dear!

MORELL (at the table, glancing through the letters). Never mind her, Marchbanks. The overpaying instinct is a generous one: better than theunderpaying instinct, and not so common. 

MARCHBANKS (relapsing into dejection). No: cowardice, incompetence. Mrs. Morell's quite right. 

CANDIDA. Of course she is. (She takes up her handbag. ) And now I mustleave you to James for the present. I suppose you are too much of apoet to know the state a woman finds her house in when she's been awayfor three weeks. Give me my rug. (Eugene takes the strapped rug fromthe couch, and gives it to her. She takes it in her left hand, havingthe bag in her right. ) Now hang my cloak across my arm. (He obeys. ) Nowmy hat. (He puts it into the hand which has the bag. ) Now open the doorfor me. (He hurries up before her and opens the door. ) Thanks. (Shegoes out; and Marchbanks shuts the door. )

MORELL (still busy at the table). You'll stay to lunch, Marchbanks, ofcourse. 

MARCHBANKS (scared). I mustn't. (He glances quickly at Morell, but atonce avoids his frank look, and adds, with obvious disingenuousness) Ican't. 

MORELL (over his shoulder). You mean you won't. 

MARCHBANKS (earnestly). No: I should like to, indeed. Thank you verymuch. But--but--

MORELL (breezily, finishing with the letters and coming close to him). But--but--but--but--bosh! If you'd like to stay, stay. You don't meanto persuade me you have anything else to do. If you're shy, go and takea turn in the park and write poetry until half past one; and then comein and have a good feed. 

MARCHBANKS. Thank you, I should like that very much. But I reallymustn't. The truth is, Mrs. Morell told me not to. She said she didn'tthink you'd ask me to stay to lunch, but that I was to remember, if youdid, that you didn't really want me to. (Plaintively. ) She said I'dunderstand; but I don't. Please don't tell her I told you. 

MORELL (drolly). Oh, is that all? Won't my suggestion that you shouldtake a turn in the park meet the difficulty?

MARCHBANKS. How?

MORELL (exploding good-humoredly). Why, you duffer--(But thisboisterousness jars himself as well as Eugene. He checks himself, andresumes, with affectionate seriousness) No: I won't put it in that way. My dear lad: in a happy marriage like ours, there is something verysacred in the return of the wife to her home. (Marchbanks looks quicklyat him, half anticipating his meaning. ) An old friend or a truly nobleand sympathetic soul is not in the way on such occasions; but a chancevisitor is. (The hunted, horror-stricken expression comes out withsudden vividness in Eugene's face as he understands. Morell, occupiedwith his own thought, goes on without noticing it. ) Candida thought Iwould rather not have you here; but she was wrong. I'm very fond ofyou, my boy, and I should like you to see for yourself what a happything it is to be married as I am. 

MARCHBANKS, Happy!--YOUR marriage! You think that! You believe that!

MORELL (buoyantly). I know it, my lad. La Rochefoucauld said that thereare convenient marriages, but no delightful ones. You don't know thecomfort of seeing through and through a thundering liar and rottencynic like that fellow. Ha, ha! Now off with you to the park, and writeyour poem. Half past one, sharp, mind: we never wait for anybody. 

MARCHBANKS (wildly). No: stop: you shan't. I'll force it into the light. 

MORELL (puzzled). Eh? Force what?

MARCHBANKS. I must speak to you. There is something that must besettled between us. 

MORELL (with a whimsical glance at the clock). Now?

MARCHBANKS (passionately). Now. Before you leave this room. (Heretreats a few steps, and stands as if to bar Morell's way to the door. )

MORELL (without moving, and gravely, perceiving now that there issomething serious the matter). I'm not going to leave it, my dear boy:I thought YOU were. (Eugene, baffled by his firm tone, turns his backon him, writhing with anger. Morell goes to him and puts his hand onhis shoulder strongly and kindly, disregarding his attempt to shake itoff) Come: sit down quietly; and tell me what it is. And remember; weare friends, and need not fear that either of us will be anything butpatient and kind to the other, whatever we may have to say. 

MARCHBANKS (twisting himself round on him). Oh, I am not forgettingmyself: I am only (covering his face desperately with his hands) fullof horror. (Then, dropping his hands, and thrusting his face forwardfiercely at Morell, he goes on threateningly. ) You shall see whetherthis is a time for patience and kindness. (Morell, firm as a rock, looks indulgently at him. ) Don't look at me in that self-complacentway. You think yourself stronger than I am; but I shall stagger you ifyou have a heart in your breast. 

MORELL (powerfully confident). Stagger me, my boy. Out with it. 

MARCHBANKS. First--

MORELL. First?

MARCHBANKS. I love your wife. 

(Morell recoils, and, after staring at him for a moment in utteramazement, bursts into uncontrollable laughter. Eugene is taken aback, but not disconcerted; and he soon becomes indignant and contemptuous. )

MORELL (sitting down to have his laugh out). Why, my dear child, ofcourse you do. Everybody loves her: they can't help it. I like it. But(looking up whimsically at him) I say, Eugene: do you think yours is acase to be talked about? You're under twenty: she's over thirty. Doesn't it look rather too like a case of calf love?

MARCHBANKS (vehemently). YOU dare say that of her! You think that wayof the love she inspires! It is an insult to her!

MORELL (rising; quickly, in an altered tone). To her! Eugene: takecare. I have been patient. I hope to remain patient. But there are somethings I won't allow. Don't force me to show you the indulgence Ishould show to a child. Be a man. 

MARCHBANKS (with a gesture as if sweeping something behind him). Oh, let us put aside all that cant. It horrifies me when I think of thedoses of it she has had to endure in all the weary years during whichyou have selfishly and blindly sacrificed her to minister to yourself-sufficiency--YOU (turning on him) who have not one thought--onesense--in common with her. 

MORELL (philosophically). She seems to bear it pretty well. (Lookinghim straight in the face. ) Eugene, my boy: you are making a fool ofyourself--a very great fool of yourself. There's a piece of wholesomeplain speaking for you. 

MARCHBANKS. Oh, do you think I don't know all that? Do you think thatthe things people make fools of themselves about are any less real andtrue than the things they behave sensibly about? (Morell's gaze waversfor the first time. He instinctively averts his face and standslistening, startled and thoughtful. ) They are more true: they are theonly things that are true. You are very calm and sensible and moderatewith me because you can see that I am a fool about your wife; just asno doubt that old man who was here just now is very wise over yoursocialism, because he sees that YOU are a fool about it. (Morell'sperplexity deepens markedly. Eugene follows up his advantage, plyinghim fiercely with questions. ) Does that prove you wrong? Does yourcomplacent superiority to me prove that I am wrong?

MORELL (turning on Eugene, who stands his ground). Marchbanks: somedevil is putting these words into your mouth. It is easy--terriblyeasy--to shake a man's faith in himself. To take advantage of that tobreak a man's spirit is devil's work. Take care of what you are doing. Take care. 

MARCHBANKS (ruthlessly). I know. I'm doing it on purpose. I told you Ishould stagger you. 

(They confront one another threateningly for a moment. Then Morellrecovers his dignity. )

MORELL (with noble tenderness). Eugene: listen to me. Some day, I hopeand trust, you will be a happy man like me. (Eugene chafesintolerantly, repudiating the worth of his happiness. Morell, deeplyinsulted, controls himself with fine forbearance, and continuessteadily, with great artistic beauty of delivery) You will be married;and you will be working with all your might and valor to make everyspot on earth as happy as your own home. You will be one of the makersof the Kingdom of Heaven on earth; and--who knows?--you may be apioneer and master builder where I am only a humble journeyman; fordon't think, my boy, that I cannot see in you, young as you are, promise of higher powers than I can ever pretend to. I well know thatit is in the poet that the holy spirit of man--the god within him--ismost godlike. It should make you tremble to think of that--to thinkthat the heavy burthen and great gift of a poet may be laid upon you. 

MARCHBANKS (unimpressed and remorseless, his boyish crudity ofassertion telling sharply against Morell's oratory). It does not makeme tremble. It is the want of it in others that makes me tremble. 

MORELL (redoubling his force of style under the stimulus of his genuinefeeling and Eugene's obduracy). Then help to kindle it in them--inME---not to extinguish it. In the future--when you are as happy as Iam--I will be your true brother in the faith. I will help you tobelieve that God has given us a world that nothing but our own follykeeps from being a paradise. I will help you to believe that everystroke of your work is sowing happiness for the great harvest thatall--even the humblest--shall one day reap. And last, but trust me, notleast, I will help you to believe that your wife loves you and is happyin her home. We need such help, Marchbanks: we need it greatly andalways. There are so many things to make us doubt, if once we let ourunderstanding be troubled. Even at home, we sit as if in camp, encompassed by a hostile army of doubts. Will you play the traitor andlet them in on me?

MARCHBANKS (looking round him). Is it like this for her here always? Awoman, with a great soul, craving for reality, truth, freedom, andbeing fed on metaphors, sermons, stale perorations, mere rhetoric. Doyou think a woman's soul can live on your talent for preaching?

MORELL (Stung). Marchbanks: you make it hard for me to control myself. My talent is like yours insofar as it has any real worth at all. It isthe gift of finding words for divine truth. 

MARCHBANKS (impetuously). It's the gift of the gab, nothing more andnothing less. What has your knack of fine talking to do with the truth, any more than playing the organ has? I've never been in your church;but I've been to your political meetings; and I've seen you do what'scalled rousing the meeting to enthusiasm: that is, you excited themuntil they behaved exactly as if they were drunk. And their wiveslooked on and saw clearly enough what fools they were. Oh, it's an oldstory: you'll find it in the Bible. I imagine King David, in his fitsof enthusiasm, was very like you. (Stabbing him with the words. ) "Buthis wife despised him in her heart. "

MORELL (wrathfully). Leave my house. Do you hear? (He advances on himthreateningly. )

MARCHBANKS (shrinking back against the couch). Let me alone. Don'ttouch me. (Morell grasps him powerfully by the lapel of his coat: hecowers down on the sofa and screams passionately. ) Stop, Morell, if youstrike me, I'll kill myself. I won't bear it. (Almost in hysterics. )Let me go. Take your hand away. 

MORELL (with slow, emphatic scorn. ) You little snivelling, cowardlywhelp. (Releasing him. ) Go, before you frighten yourself into a fit. 

MARCHBANKS (on the sofa, gasping, but relieved by the withdrawal ofMorell's hand). I'm not afraid of you: it's you who are afraid of me. 

MORELL (quietly, as he stands over him). It looks like it, doesn't it?

MARCHBANKS (with petulant vehemence). Yes, it does. (Morell turns awaycontemptuously. Eugene scrambles to his feet and follows him. ) Youthink because I shrink from being brutally handled--because (with tearsin his voice) I can do nothing but cry with rage when I am met withviolence--because I can't lift a heavy trunk down from the top of a cablike you--because I can't fight you for your wife as a navvy would: allthat makes you think that I'm afraid of you. But you're wrong. If Ihaven't got what you call British pluck, I haven't British cowardiceeither: I'm not afraid of a clergyman's ideas. I'll fight your ideas. I'll rescue her from her slavery to them: I'll pit my own ideas againstthem. You are driving me out of the house because you daren't let herchoose between your ideas and mine. You are afraid to let me see heragain. (Morell, angered, turns suddenly on him. He flies to the door ininvoluntary dread. ) Let me alone, I say. I'm going. 

MORELL (with cold scorn). Wait a moment: I am not going to touch you:don't be afraid. When my wife comes back she will want to know why youhave gone. And when she finds that you are never going to cross ourthreshold again, she will want to have that explained, too. Now I don'twish to distress her by telling her that you have behaved like ablackguard. 

MARCHBANKS (Coming back with renewed vehemence). You shall--you must. If you give any explanation but the true one, you are a liar and acoward. Tell her what I said; and how you were strong and manly, andshook me as a terrier shakes a rat; and how I shrank and was terrified;and how you called me a snivelling little whelp and put me out of thehouse. If you don't tell her, I will: I'll write to her. 

MORELL (taken aback. ) Why do you want her to know this?

MARCHBANKS (with lyric rapture. ) Because she will understand me, andknow that I understand her. If you keep back one word of it fromher--if you are not ready to lay the truth at her feet as I am--thenyou will know to the end of your days that she really belongs to me andnot to you. Good-bye. (Going. )

MORELL (terribly disquieted). Stop: I will not tell her. 

MARCHBANKS (turning near the door). Either the truth or a lie you MUSTtell her, if I go. 

MORELL (temporizing). Marchbanks: it is sometimes justifiable. 

MARCHBANKS (cutting him short). I know--to lie. It will be useless. Good-bye, Mr. Clergyman. 

(As he turns finally to the door, it opens and Candida enters inhousekeeping attire. )

CANDIDA. Are you going, Eugene?(Looking more observantly at him. ) Well, dear me, just look at you, going out into the street in that state! YouARE a poet, certainly. Look at him, James! (She takes him by the coat, and brings him forward to show him to Morell. ) Look at his collar! lookat his tie! look at his hair! One would think somebody had beenthrottling you. (The two men guard themselves against betraying theirconsciousness. ) Here! Stand still. (She buttons his collar; ties hisneckerchief in a bow; and arranges his hair. ) There! Now you look sonice that I think you'd better stay to lunch after all, though I toldyou you mustn't. It will be ready in half an hour. (She puts a finaltouch to the bow. He kisses her hand. ) Don't be silly. 

MARCHBANKS. I want to stay, of course--unless the reverend gentleman, your husband, has anything to advance to the contrary. 

CANDIDA. Shall he stay, James, if he promises to be a good boy and tohelp me to lay the table? (Marchbanks turns his head and lookssteadfastly at Morell over his shoulder, challenging his answer. )

MORELL (shortly). Oh, yes, certainly: he had better. (He goes to thetable and pretends to busy himself with his papers there. )

MARCHBANKS (offering his arm to Candida). Come and lay the table. (Shetakes it and they go to the door together. As they go out he adds) I amthe happiest of men. 

MORELL. So was I--an hour ago. 

ACT II

The same day. The same room. Late in the afternoon. The spare chair forvisitors has been replaced at the table, which is, if possible, moreuntidy than before. Marchbanks, alone and idle, is trying to find outhow the typewriter works. Hearing someone at the door, he stealsguiltily away to the window and pretends to be absorbed in the view. Miss Garnett, carrying the notebook in which she takes down Morell'sletters in shorthand from his dictation, sits down at the typewriterand sets to work transcribing them, much too busy to notice Eugene. Unfortunately the first key she strikes sticks. 

PROSERPINE. Bother! You've been meddling with my typewriter, Mr. Marchbanks; and there's not the least use in your trying to look as ifyou hadn't. 

MARCHBANKS (timidly). I'm very sorry, Miss Garnett. I only tried tomake it write. 

PROSERPINE. Well, you've made this key stick. 

MARCHBANKS (earnestly). I assure you I didn't touch the keys. I didn't, indeed. I only turned a little wheel. (He points irresolutely at thetension wheel. )

PROSERPINE. Oh, now I understand. (She sets the machine to rights, talking volubly all the time. ) I suppose you thought it was a sort ofbarrel-organ. Nothing to do but turn the handle, and it would write abeautiful love letter for you straight off, eh?

MARCHBANKS (seriously). I suppose a machine could be made to writelove-letters. They're all the same, aren't they!

PROSERPINE (somewhat indignantly: any such discussion, except by way ofpleasantry, being outside her code of manners). How do I know? Why doyou ask me?

MARCHBANKS. I beg your pardon. I thought clever people--people who cando business and write letters, and that sort of thing--always had loveaffairs. 

PROSERPINE (rising, outraged). Mr. Marchbanks! (She looks severely athim, and marches with much dignity to the bookcase. )

MARCHBANKS (approaching her humbly). I hope I haven't offended you. Perhaps I shouldn't have alluded to your love affairs. 

PROSERPINE (plucking a blue book from the shelf and turning sharply onhim). I haven't any love affairs. How dare you say such a thing?

MARCHBANKS (simply). Really! Oh, then you are shy, like me. Isn't thatso?

PROSERPINE. Certainly I am not shy. What do you mean?

MARCHBANKS (secretly). You must be: that is the reason there are so fewlove affairs in the world. We all go about longing for love: it is thefirst need of our natures, the loudest cry Of our hearts; but we darenot utter our longing: we are too shy. (Very earnestly. ) Oh, MissGarnett, what would you not give to be without fear, without shame--

PROSERPINE (scandalized), Well, upon my word!

MARCHBANKS (with petulant impatience). Ah, don't say those stupidthings to me: they don't deceive me: what use are they? Why are youafraid to be your real self with me? I am just like you. 

PROSERPINE. Like me! Pray, are you flattering me or flatteringyourself? I don't feel quite sure which. (She turns to go back to thetypewriter. )

MARCHBANKS (stopping her mysteriously). Hush! I go about in search oflove; and I find it in unmeasured stores in the bosoms of others. Butwhen I try to ask for it, this horrible shyness strangles me; and Istand dumb, or worse than dumb, saying meaningless things--foolishlies. And I see the affection I am longing for given to dogs and catsand pet birds, because they come and ask for it. (Almost whispering. )It must be asked for: it is like a ghost: it cannot speak unless it isfirst spoken to. (At his normal pitch, but with deep melancholy. ) Allthe love in the world is longing to speak; only it dare not, because itis shy, shy, shy. That is the world's tragedy. (With a deep sigh hesits in the spare chair and buries his face in his hands. )

PROSERPINE (amazed, but keeping her wits about her--her point of honorin encounters with strange young men). Wicked people get over thatshyness occasionally, don't they?

MARCHBANKS (scrambling up almost fiercely). Wicked people means peoplewho have no love: therefore they have no shame. They have the power toask love because they don't need it: they have the power to offer itbecause they have none to give. (He collapses into his seat, and adds, mournfully) But we, who have love, and long to mingle it with the loveof others: we cannot utter a word. (Timidly. ) You find that, don't you?

PROSERPINE. Look here: if you don't stop talking like this, I'll leavethe room, Mr. Marchbanks: I really will. It's not proper. (She resumesher seat at the typewriter, opening the blue book and preparing to copya passage from it. )

MARCHBANKS (hopelessly). Nothing that's worth saying IS proper. (Herises, and wanders about the room in his lost way, saying) I can'tunderstand you, Miss Garnett. What am I to talk about?

PROSERPINE (snubbing him). Talk about indifferent things, talk aboutthe weather. 

MARCHBANKS. Would you stand and talk about indifferent things if achild were by, crying bitterly with hunger?

PROSERPINE. I suppose not. 

MARCHBANKS. Well: I can't talk about indifferent things with my heartcrying out bitterly in ITS hunger. 

PROSERPINE. Then hold your tongue. 

MARCHBANKS. Yes: that is what it always comes to. We hold our tongues. Does that stop the cry of your heart?--for it does cry: doesn't it? Itmust, if you have a heart. 

PROSERPINE (suddenly rising with her hand pressed on her heart). Oh, it's no use trying to work while you talk like that. (She leaves herlittle table and sits on the sofa. Her feelings are evidently stronglyworked on. ) It's no business of yours, whether my heart cries or not;but I have a mind to tell you, for all that. 

MARCHBANKS. You needn't. I know already that it must. 

PROSERPINE. But mind: if you ever say I said so, I'll deny it. 

MARCHBANKS (compassionately). Yes, I know. And so you haven't thecourage to tell him?

PROSERPINE (bouncing up). HIM! Who?

MARCHBANKS. Whoever he is. The man you love. It might be anybody. Thecurate, Mr. Mill, perhaps. 

PROSERPINE (with disdain). Mr. Mill!!! A fine man to break my heartabout, indeed! I'd rather have you than Mr. Mill. 

MARCHBANKS (recoiling). No, really--I'm very sorry; but you mustn'tthink of that. I--

PROSERPINE. (testily, crossing to the fire and standing at it with herback to him). Oh, don't be frightened: it's not you. It's not any oneparticular person. 

MARCHBANKS. I know. You feel that you could love anybody that offered--

PROSERPINE (exasperated). Anybody that offered! No, I do not. What doyou take me for?

MARCHBANKS (discouraged). No use. You won't make me REAL answers--onlythose things that everybody says. (He strays to the sofa and sits downdisconsolately. )

PROSERPINE (nettled at what she takes to be a disparagement of hermanners by an aristocrat). Oh, well, if you want original conversation, you'd better go and talk to yourself. 

MARCHBANKS. That is what all poets do: they talk to themselves outloud; and the world overhears them. But it's horribly lonely not tohear someone else talk sometimes. 

PROSERPINE. Wait until Mr. Morell comes. HE'LL talk to you. (Marchbanksshudders. ) Oh, you needn't make wry faces over him: he can talk betterthan you. (With temper. ) He'd talk your little head off. (She is goingback angrily to her place, when, suddenly enlightened, he springs upand stops her. )

MARCHBANKS. Ah, I understand now!

PROSERPINE (reddening). What do you understand?

MARCHBANKS. Your secret. Tell me: is it really and truly possible for awoman to love him?

PROSERPINE (as if this were beyond all bounds). Well!!

MARCHBANKS (passionately). No, answer me. I want to know: I MUST know. I can't understand it. I can see nothing in him but words, piousresolutions, what people call goodness. You can't love that. 

PROSERPINE (attempting to snub him by an air of cool propriety). Isimply don't know what you're talking about. I don't understand you. 

MARCHBANKS (vehemently). You do. You lie--

PROSERPINE. Oh!

MARCHBANKS. You DO understand; and you KNOW. (Determined to have ananswer. ) Is it possible for a woman to love him?

PROSERPINE (looking him straight in the face. ) Yes. (He covers his facewith his hands. ) Whatever is the matter with you! (He takes down hishands and looks at her. Frightened at the tragic mask presented to her, she hurries past him at the utmost possible distance, keeping her eyeson his face until he turns from her and goes to the child's chairbeside the hearth, where he sits in the deepest dejection. As sheapproaches the door, it opens and Burgess enters. On seeing him, sheejaculates) Praise heaven, here's somebody! (and sits down, reassured, at her table. She puts a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter asBurgess crosses to Eugene. )

BURGESS (bent on taking care of the distinguished visitor). Well: sothis is the way they leave you to yourself, Mr. Morchbanks. I've cometo keep you company. (Marchbanks looks up at him in consternation, which is quite lost on him. ) James is receivin' a deppitation in thedinin' room; and Candy is hupstairs educatin' of a young stitcher gurlshe's hinterusted in. She's settin' there learnin' her to read out ofthe "'Ev'nly Twins. " (Condolingly. ) You must find it lonesome here withno one but the typist to talk to. (He pulls round the easy chair abovefire, and sits down. )

PROSERPINE (highly incensed). He'll be all right now that he has theadvantage of YOUR polished conversation: that's one comfort, anyhow. (She begins to typewrite with clattering asperity. )

BURGESS (amazed at her audacity). Hi was not addressin' myself to you, young woman, that I'm awerr of. 

PROSERPINE (tartly, to Marchbanks). Did you ever see worse manners, Mr. Marchbanks?

BURGESS (with pompous severity). Mr. Morchbanks is a gentleman andknows his place, which is more than some people do. 

PROSERPINE (fretfully). It's well you and I are not ladies andgentlemen: I'd talk to you pretty straight if Mr. Marchbanks wasn'there. (She pulls the letter out of the machine so crossly that ittears. ) There, now I've spoiled this letter--have to be done all overagain. Oh, I can't contain myself--silly old fathead!

BURGESS (rising, breathless with indignation). Ho! I'm a silly olefathead, am I? Ho, indeed (gasping). Hall right, my gurl! Hall right. You just wait till I tell that to your employer. You'll see. I'll teachyou: see if I don't. 

PROSERPINE. I--

BURGESS (cutting her short). No, you've done it now. No huse a-talkin'to me. I'll let you know who I am. (Proserpine shifts her papercarriage with a defiant bang, and disdainfully goes on with her work. )Don't you take no notice of her, Mr. Morchbanks. She's beneath it. (Hesits down again loftily. )

MARCHBANKS (miserably nervous and disconcerted). Hadn't we betterchange the subject. I--I don't think Miss Garnett meant anything. 

PROSERPINE (with intense conviction). Oh, didn't I though, just!

BURGESS. I wouldn't demean myself to take notice on her. 

(An electric bell rings twice. )

PROSERPINE (gathering up her note-book and papers). That's for me. (She hurries out. )

BURGESS (calling after her). Oh, we can spare you. (Somewhat relievedby the triumph of having the last word, and yet half inclined to try toimprove on it, he looks after her for a moment; then subsides into hisseat by Eugene, and addresses him very confidentially. ) Now we'realone, Mr. Morchbanks, let me give you a friendly 'int that I wouldn'tgive to everybody. 'Ow long 'ave you known my son-in-law James here?

MARCHBANKS. I don't know. I never can remember dates. A few months, perhaps. 

BURGESS. Ever notice anything queer about him?

MARCHBANKS. I don't think so. 

BURGESS (impressively). No more you wouldn't. That's the danger in it. Well, he's mad. 

MARCHBANKS. Mad!

BURGESS. Mad as a Morch 'are. You take notice on him and you'll see. 

MARCHBANKS (beginning). But surely that is only because his opinions--

BURGESS (touching him with his forefinger on his knee, and pressing itas if to hold his attention with it). That's wot I used tee think, Mr. Morchbanks. Hi thought long enough that it was honly 'is hopinions;though, mind you, hopinions becomes vurry serious things when peopletakes to hactin on 'em as 'e does. But that's not wot I go on. (Helooks round to make sure that they are alone, and bends over toEugene's ear. ) Wot do you think he says to me this mornin' in this veryroom?

MARCHBANKS. What?

BURGESS. He sez to me--this is as sure as we're settin' here now--hesez: "I'm a fool, " he sez;--"and yore a scounderl"--as cool aspossible. Me a scounderl, mind you! And then shook 'ands with me on it, as if it was to my credit! Do you mean to tell me that that man's sane?

MORELL. (outside, calling to Proserpine, holding the door open). Getall their names and addresses, Miss Garnett. 

PROSERPINE (in the distance). Yes, Mr. Morell. 

(Morell comes in, with the deputation's documents in his hands. )

BURGESS (aside to Marchbanks). Yorr he is. Just you keep your heye onhim and see. (Rising momentously. ) I'm sorry, James, to 'ave to make acomplaint to you. I don't want to do it; but I feel I oughter, as amatter o' right and duty. 

MORELL. What's the matter?

BURGESS. Mr. Morchbanks will bear me out: he was a witness. (Verysolemnly. ) Your young woman so far forgot herself as to call me a sillyole fat 'ead. 

MORELL (delighted--with tremendous heartiness). Oh, now, isn't thatEXACTLY like Prossy? She's so frank: she can't contain herself! PoorProssy! Ha! Ha!

BURGESS (trembling with rage). And do you hexpec me to put up with itfrom the like of 'ER?

MORELL. Pooh, nonsense! you can't take any notice of it. Never mind. (He goes to the cellaret and puts the papers into one of the drawers. )

BURGESS. Oh, I don't mind. I'm above it. But is it RIGHT?--that's whatI want to know. Is it right?

MORELL. That's a question for the Church, not for the laity. Has itdone you any harm, that's the question for you, eh? Of course, ithasn't. Think no more of it. (He dismisses the subject by going to hisplace at the table and setting to work at his correspondence. )

BURGESS (aside to Marchbanks). What did I tell you? Mad as a 'atter. (He goes to the table and asks, with the sickly civility of a hungryman) When's dinner, James?

MORELL. Not for half an hour yet. 

BURGESS (with plaintive resignation). Gimme a nice book to read overthe fire, will you, James: thur's a good chap. 

MORELL. What sort of book? A good one?

BURGESS (with almost a yell of remonstrance). Nah-oo! Summat pleasant, just to pass the time. (Morell takes an illustrated paper from thetable and offers it. He accepts it humbly. ) Thank yer, James. (He goesback to his easy chair at the fire, and sits there at his ease, reading. )

MORELL (as he writes). Candida will come to entertain you presently. She has got rid of her pupil. She is filling the lamps. 

MARCHBANKS (starting up in the wildest consternation). But that willsoil her hands. I can't bear that, Morell: it's a shame. I'll go andfill them. (He makes for the door. )

MORELL. You'd better not. (Marchbanks stops irresolutely. ) She'd onlyset you to clean my boots, to save me the trouble of doing it myself inthe morning. 

BURGESS (with grave disapproval). Don't you keep a servant now, James?

MORELL. Yes; but she isn't a slave; and the house looks as if I keptthree. That means that everyone has to lend a hand. It's not a badplan: Prossy and I can talk business after breakfast whilst we'rewashing up. Washing up's no trouble when there are two people to do it. 

MARCHBANKS (tormentedly). Do you think every woman is as coarse-grainedas Miss Garnett?

BURGESS (emphatically). That's quite right, Mr. Morchbanks. That'squite right. She IS corse-grained. 

MORELL (quietly and significantly). Marchbanks!

MARCHBANKS. Yes. 

MORELL. How many servants does your father keep?

MARCHBANKS. Oh, I don't know. (He comes back uneasily to the sofa, asif to get as far as possible from Morell's questioning, and sits downin great agony of mind, thinking of the paraffin. )

MORELL. (very gravely). So many that you don't know. (Moreaggressively. ) Anyhow, when there's anything coarse-grained to be done, you ring the bell and throw it on to somebody else, eh? That's one ofthe great facts in YOUR existence, isn't it?

MARCHBANKS. Oh, don't torture me. The one great fact now is that yourwife's beautiful fingers are dabbling in paraffin oil, and that you aresitting here comfortably preaching about it--everlasting preaching, preaching, words, words, words. 

BURGESS (intensely appreciating this retort). Ha, ha! Devil a better. (Radiantly. ) 'Ad you there, James, straight. 

(Candida comes in, well aproned, with a reading lamp trimmed, filled, and ready for lighting. She places it on the table near Morell, readyfor use. )

CANDIDA (brushing her finger tips together with a slight twitch of hernose). If you stay with us, Eugene, I think I will hand over the lampsto you. 

MARCHBANKS. I will stay on condition that you hand over all the roughwork to me. 

CANDIDA. That's very gallant; but I think I should like to see how youdo it first. (Turning to Morell. ) James: you've not been looking afterthe house properly. 

MORELL. What have I done--or not done--my love?

CANDIDA (with serious vexation). My own particular pet scrubbing brushhas been used for blackleading. (A heart-breaking wail bursts fromMarchbanks. Burgess looks round, amazed. Candida hurries to the sofa. )What's the matter? Are you ill, Eugene?

MARCHBANKS. No, not ill. Only horror, horror, horror! (He bows his headon his hands. )

BURGESS (shocked). What! Got the 'orrors, Mr. Morchbanks! Oh, that'sbad, at your age. You must leave it off grajally. 

CANDIDA (reassured). Nonsense, papa. It's only poetic horror, isn't it, Eugene? (Petting him. )

BURGESS (abashed). Oh, poetic 'orror, is it? I beg your pordon, I'mshore. (He turns to the fire again, deprecating his hasty conclusion. )

CANDIDA. What is it, Eugene--the scrubbing brush? (He shudders. ) Well, there! never mind. (She sits down beside him. ) Wouldn't you like topresent me with a nice new one, with an ivory back inlaid withmother-of-pearl?

MARCHBANKS (softly and musically, but sadly and longingly). No, not ascrubbing brush, but a boat--a tiny shallop to sail away in, far fromthe world, where the marble floors are washed by the rain and dried bythe sun, where the south wind dusts the beautiful green and purplecarpets. Or a chariot--to carry us up into the sky, where the lamps arestars, and don't need to be filled with paraffin oil every day. 

MORELL (harshly). And where there is nothing to do but to be idle, selfish and useless. 

CANDIDA (jarred). Oh, James, how could you spoil it all!

MARCHBANKS (firing up). Yes, to be idle, selfish and useless: that isto be beautiful and free and happy: hasn't every man desired that withall his soul for the woman he loves? That's my ideal: what's yours, andthat of all the dreadful people who live in these hideous rows ofhouses? Sermons and scrubbing brushes! With you to preach the sermonand your wife to scrub. 

CANDIDA (quaintly). He cleans the boots, Eugene. You will have to cleanthem to-morrow for saying that about him. 

MARCHBANKS. Oh! don't talk about boots. Your feet should be beautifulon the mountains. 

CANDIDA. My feet would not be beautiful on the Hackney Road withoutboots. 

BURGESS (scandalized). Come, Candy, don't be vulgar. Mr. Morchbanksain't accustomed to it. You're givin' him the 'orrors again. I mean thepoetic ones. 

(Morell is silent. Apparently he is busy with his letters: really he ispuzzling with misgiving over his new and alarming experience that thesurer he is of his moral thrusts, the more swiftly and effectivelyEugene parries them. To find himself beginning to fear a man whom hedoes not respect affects him bitterly. )

(Miss Garnett comes in with a telegram. )

PROSERPINE (handing the telegram to Morell). Reply paid. The boy'swaiting. (To Candida, coming back to her machine and sitting down. )Maria is ready for you now in the kitchen, Mrs. Morell. (Candidarises. ) The onions have come. 

MARCHBANKS (convulsively). Onions!

CANDIDA. Yes, onions. Not even Spanish ones--nasty little red onions. You shall help me to slice them. Come along. 

(She catches him by the wrist and runs out, pulling him after her. Burgess rises in consternation, and stands aghast on the hearth-rug, staring after them. )

BURGESS. Candy didn't oughter 'andle a peer's nevvy like that. It'sgoin' too fur with it. Lookee 'ere, James: do 'e often git taken queerlike that?

MORELL (shortly, writing a telegram). I don't know. 

BURGESS (sentimentally). He talks very pretty. I allus had a turn for abit of potery. Candy takes arter me that-a-way: huse ter make me tellher fairy stories when she was on'y a little kiddy not that 'igh(indicating a stature of two feet or thereabouts). 

MORELL (preoccupied). Ah, indeed. (He blots the telegram, and goes out. )

PROSERPINE. Used you to make the fairy stories up out of your own head?

(Burgess, not deigning to reply, strikes an attitude of the haughtiestdisdain on the hearth-rug. )

PROSERPINE (calmly). I should never have supposed you had it in you. Bythe way, I'd better warn you, since you've taken such a fancy to Mr. Marchbanks. He's mad. 

BURGESS. Mad! Wot! 'Im too!!

PROSERPINE. Mad as a March hare. He did frighten me, I can tell youjust before you came in that time. Haven't you noticed the queer thingshe says?

BURGESS. So that's wot the poetic 'orrors means. Blame me if it didn'tcome into my head once or twyst that he must be off his chump! (Hecrosses the room to the door, lifting up his voice as he goes. ) Well, this is a pretty sort of asylum for a man to be in, with no one but youto take care of him!

PROSERPINE (as he passes her). Yes, what a dreadful thing it would beif anything happened to YOU!

BURGESS (loftily). Don't you address no remarks to me. Tell yourhemployer that I've gone into the garden for a smoke. 

PROSERPINE (mocking). Oh!

(Before Burgess can retort, Morell comes back. )

BURGESS (sentimentally). Goin' for a turn in the garden to smoke, James. 

MORELL (brusquely). Oh, all right, all right. (Burgess goes outpathetically in the character of the weary old man. Morell stands atthe table, turning over his papers, and adding, across to Proserpine, half humorously, half absently) Well, Miss Prossy, why have you beencalling my father-in-law names?

PROSERPINE (blushing fiery red, and looking quickly up at him, halfscared, half reproachful). I-- (She bursts into tears. )

MORELL (with tender gaiety, leaning across the table towards her, andconsoling her). Oh, come, come, come! Never mind, Pross: he IS a sillyold fathead, isn't he?

(With an explosive sob, she makes a dash at the door, and vanishes, banging it. Morell, shaking his head resignedly, sighs, and goeswearily to his chair, where he sits down and sets to work, looking oldand careworn. )

(Candida comes in. She has finished her household work and taken of theapron. She at once notices his dejected appearance, and posts herselfquietly at the spare chair, looking down at him attentively; but shesays nothing. )

MORELL (looking up, but with his pen raised ready to resume his work). Well? Where is Eugene?

CANDIDA. Washing his hands in the scullery--under the tap. He will makean excellent cook if he can only get over his dread of Maria. 

MORELL (shortly). Ha! No doubt. (He begins writing again. )

CANDIDA (going nearer, and putting her hand down softly on his to stophim, as she says). Come here, dear. Let me look at you. (He drops hispen and yields himself at her disposal. She makes him rise and bringshim a little away from the table, looking at him critically all thetime. ) Turn your face to the light. (She places him facing the window. )My boy is not looking well. Has he been overworking?

MORELL. Nothing more than usual. 

CANDIDA. He looks very pale, and grey, and wrinkled, and old. (Hismelancholy deepens; and she attacks it with wilful gaiety. ) Here(pulling him towards the easy chair) you've done enough writing forto-day. Leave Prossy to finish it and come and talk to me. 

MORELL. But--

CANDIDA. Yes, I MUST be talked to sometimes. (She makes him sit down, and seats herself on the carpet beside his knee. ) Now (patting hishand) you're beginning to look better already. Why don't you give upall this tiresome overworking--going out every night lecturing andtalking? Of course what you say is all very true and very right; but itdoes no good: they don't mind what you say to them one little bit. Ofcourse they agree with you; but what's the use of people agreeing withyou if they go and do just the opposite of what you tell them themoment your back is turned? Look at our congregation at St. Dominic's!Why do they come to hear you talking about Christianity every Sunday?Why, just because they've been so full of business and money-making forsix days that they want to forget all about it and have a rest on theseventh, so that they can go back fresh and make money harder thanever! You positively help them at it instead of hindering them. 

MORELL (with energetic seriousness). You know very well, Candida, thatI often blow them up soundly for that. But if there is nothing in theirchurch-going but rest and diversion, why don't they try something moreamusing--more self-indulgent? There must be some good in the fact thatthey prefer St. Dominic's to worse places on Sundays. 

CANDIDA. Oh, the worst places aren't open; and even if they were, theydaren't be seen going to them. Besides, James, dear, you preach sosplendidly that it's as good as a play for them. Why do you think thewomen are so enthusiastic?

MORELL (shocked). Candida!

CANDIDA. Oh, _I_ know. You silly boy: you think it's your Socialism andyour religion; but if it was that, they'd do what you tell them insteadof only coming to look at you. They all have Prossy's complaint. 

MORELL. Prossy's complaint! What do you mean, Candida?

CANDIDA. Yes, Prossy, and all the other secretaries you ever had. Whydoes Prossy condescend to wash up the things, and to peel potatoes andabase herself in all manner of ways for six shillings a week less thanshe used to get in a city office? She's in love with you, James: that'sthe reason. They're all in love with you. And you are in love withpreaching because you do it so beautifully. And you think it's allenthusiasm for the kingdom of Heaven on earth; and so do they. You dearsilly!

MORELL. Candida: what dreadful, what soul-destroying cynicism! Are youjesting? Or--can it be?--are you jealous?

CANDIDA (with curious thoughtfulness). Yes, I feel a little jealoussometimes. 

MORELL (incredulously). What! Of Prossy?

CANDIDA (laughing). No, no, no, no. Not jealous of anybody. Jealous forsomebody else, who is not loved as he ought to be. 

MORELL. Me!

CANDIDA. You! Why, you're spoiled with love and worship: you get farmore than is good for you. No: I mean Eugene. 

MORELL (startled). Eugene!

CANDIDA. It seems unfair that all the love should go to you, and noneto him, although he needs it so much more than you do. (A convulsivemovement shakes him in spite of himself. ) What's the matter? Am Iworrying you?

MORELL (hastily). Not at all. (Looking at her with troubled intensity. )You know that I have perfect confidence in you, Candida. 

CANDIDA. You vain thing! Are you so sure of your irresistibleattractions?

MORELL. Candida: you are shocking me. I never thought of myattractions. I thought of your goodness--your purity. That is what Iconfide in. 

CANDIDA. What a nasty, uncomfortable thing to say to me! Oh, you ARE aclergyman, James--a thorough clergyman. 

MORELL (turning away from her, heart-stricken). So Eugene says. 

CANDIDA (with lively interest, leaning over to him with her arms on hisknee). Eugene's always right. He's a wonderful boy: I have grown fonderand fonder of him all the time I was away. Do you know, James, thatthough he has not the least suspicion of it himself, he is ready tofall madly in love with me?

MORELL (grimly). Oh, he has no suspicion of it himself, hasn't he?

CANDIDA. Not a bit. (She takes her arms from his knee, and turnsthoughtfully, sinking into a more restful attitude with her hands inher lap. ) Some day he will know when he is grown up and experienced, like you. And he will know that I must have known. I wonder what hewill think of me then. 

MORELL. No evil, Candida. I hope and trust, no evil. 

CANDIDA (dubiously). That will depend. 

MORELL (bewildered). Depend!

CANDIDA (looking at him). Yes: it will depend on what happens to him. (He look vacantly at her. ) Don't you see? It will depend on how hecomes to learn what love really is. I mean on the sort of woman whowill teach it to him. 

MORELL (quite at a loss). Yes. No. I don't know what you mean. 

CANDIDA (explaining). If he learns it from a good woman, then it willbe all right: he will forgive me. 

MORELL. Forgive!

CANDIDA. But suppose he learns it from a bad woman, as so many men do, especially poetic men, who imagine all women are angels! Suppose heonly discovers the value of love when he has thrown it away anddegraded himself in his ignorance. Will he forgive me then, do youthink?

MORELL. Forgive you for what?

CANDIDA (realizing how stupid he is, and a little disappointed, thoughquite tenderly so). Don't you understand? (He shakes his head. Sheturns to him again, so as to explain with the fondest intimacy. ) Imean, will he forgive me for not teaching him myself? For abandoninghim to the bad women for the sake of my goodness--my purity, as youcall it? Ah, James, how little you understand me, to talk of yourconfidence in my goodness and purity! I would give them both to poorEugene as willingly as I would give my shawl to a beggar dying of cold, if there were nothing else to restrain me. Put your trust in my lovefor you, James, for if that went, I should care very little for yoursermons--mere phrases that you cheat yourself and others with everyday. (She is about to rise. )

MORELL. HIS words!

CANDIDA (checking herself quickly in the act of getting up, so that sheis on her knees, but upright). Whose words?

MORELL. Eugene's. 

CANDIDA (delighted). He is always right. He understands you; heunderstands me; he understands Prossy; and you, James--you understandnothing. (She laughs, and kisses him to console him. He recoils as ifstung, and springs up. )

MORELL. How can you bear to do that when--oh, Candida (with anguish inhis voice) I had rather you had plunged a grappling iron into my heartthan given me that kiss. 

CANDIDA (rising, alarmed). My dear: what's the matter?

MORELL (frantically waving her off). Don't touch me. 

CANDIDA (amazed). James!

(They are interrupted by the entrance of Marchbanks, with Burgess, whostops near the door, staring, whilst Eugene hurries forward betweenthem. )

MARCHBANKS. Is anything the matter?

MORELL (deadly white, putting an iron constraint on himself). Nothingbut this: that either you were right this morning, or Candida is mad. 

BURGESS (in loudest protest). Wot! Candy mad too! Oh, come, come, come!(He crosses the room to the fireplace, protesting as he goes, andknocks the ashes out of his pipe on the bars. Morell sits downdesperately, leaning forward to hide his face, and interlacing hisfingers rigidly to keep them steady. )

CANDIDA (to Morell, relieved and laughing). Oh, you're only shocked! Isthat all? How conventional all you unconventional people are!

BURGESS. Come: be'ave yourself, Candy. What'll Mr. Morchbanks think ofyou?

CANDIDA. This comes of James teaching me to think for myself, and neverto hold back out of fear of what other people may think of me. It worksbeautifully as long as I think the same things as he does. But now, because I have just thought something different!--look at him--justlook!

(She points to Morell, greatly amused. Eugene looks, and instantlypresses his band on his heart, as if some deadly pain had shot throughit, and sits down on the sofa like a man witnessing a tragedy. )

BURGESS (on the hearth-rug). Well, James, you certainly ain't ashimpressive lookin' as usu'l. 

MORELL (with a laugh which is half a sob). I suppose not. I beg allyour pardons: I was not conscious of making a fuss. (Pulling himselftogether. ) Well, well, well, well, well! (He goes back to his place atthe table, setting to work at his papers again with resolutecheerfulness. )

CANDIDA (going to the sofa and sitting beside Marchbanks, still in abantering humor). Well, Eugene, why are you so sad? Did the onions makeyou cry?

(Morell cannot prevent himself from watching them. )

MARCHBANKS (aside to her). It is your cruelty. I hate cruelty. It is ahorrible thing to see one person make another suffer. 

CANDIDA (petting him ironically). Poor boy, have I been cruel? Did Imake it slice nasty little red onions?

MARCHBANKS (earnestly). Oh, stop, stop: I don't mean myself. You havemade him suffer frightfully. I feel his pain in my own heart. I knowthat it is not your fault--it is something that must happen; but don'tmake light of it. I shudder when you torture him and laugh. 

CANDIDA (incredulously). I torture James! Nonsense, Eugene: how youexaggerate! Silly! (She looks round at Morell, who hastily resumes hiswriting. She goes to him and stands behind his chair, bending overhim. ) Don't work any more, dear. Come and talk to us. 

MORELL (affectionately but bitterly). Ah no: I can't talk. I can onlypreach. 

CANDIDA (caressing him). Well, come and preach. 

BURGESS (strongly remonstrating). Aw, no, Candy. 'Ang it all! (LexyMill comes in, looking anxious and important. )

LEXY (hastening to shake hands with Candida). How do you do, Mrs. Morell? So glad to see you back again. 

CANDIDA. Thank you, Lexy. You know Eugene, don't you?

LEXY. Oh, yes. How do you do, Marchbanks?

MARCHBANKS. Quite well, thanks. 

LEXY (to Morell). I've just come from the Guild of St. Matthew. Theyare in the greatest consternation about your telegram. There's nothingwrong, is there?

CANDIDA. What did you telegraph about, James?

LEXY (to Candida). He was to have spoken for them tonight. They'vetaken the large hall in Mare Street and spent a lot of money onposters. Morell's telegram was to say he couldn't come. It came on themlike a thunderbolt. 

CANDIDA (surprized, and beginning to suspect something wrong). Given upan engagement to speak!

BURGESS. First time in his life, I'll bet. Ain' it, Candy?

LEXY (to Morell). They decided to send an urgent telegram to you askingwhether you could not change your mind. Have you received it?

MORELL (with restrained impatience). Yes, yes: I got it. 

LEXY. It was reply paid. 

MORELL. Yes, I know. I answered it. I can't go. 

CANDIDA. But why, James?

MORELL (almost fiercely). Because I don't choose. These people forgetthat I am a man: they think I am a talking machine to be turned on fortheir pleasure every evening of my life. May I not have ONE night athome, with my wife, and my friends?

(They are all amazed at this outburst, except Eugene. His expressionremains unchanged. )

CANDIDA. Oh, James, you know you'll have an attack of bad conscienceto-morrow; and _I_ shall have to suffer for that. 

LEXY (intimidated, but urgent). I know, of course, that they make themost unreasonable demands on you. But they have been telegraphing allover the place for another speaker: and they can get nobody but thePresident of the Agnostic League. 

MORELL (promptly). Well, an excellent man. What better do they want?

LEXY. But he always insists so powerfully on the divorce of Socialismfrom Christianity. He will undo all the good we have been doing. Ofcourse you know best; but--(He hesitates. )

CANDIDA (coaxingly). Oh, DO go, James. We'll all go. 

BURGESS (grumbling). Look 'ere, Candy! I say! Let's stay at home by thefire, comfortable. He won't need to be more'n a couple-o'-hour away. 

CANDIDA. You'll be just as comfortable at the meeting. We'll all sit onthe platform and be great people. 

EUGENE (terrified). Oh, please don't let us go on the platform. No--everyone will stare at us--I couldn't. I'll sit at the back of theroom. 

CANDIDA. Don't be afraid. They'll be too busy looking at James tonotice you. 

MORELL (turning his head and looking meaningly at her over hisshoulder). Prossy's complaint, Candida! Eh?

CANDIDA (gaily). Yes. 

BURGESS (mystified). Prossy's complaint. Wot are you talking about, James?

MORELL (not heeding him, rises; goes to the door; and holds it open, shouting in a commanding voice). Miss Garnett. 

PROSERPINE (in the distance). Yes, Mr. Morell. Coming. (They all wait, except Burgess, who goes stealthily to Lexy and draws him aside. )

BURGESS. Listen here, Mr. Mill. Wot's Prossy's complaint? Wot's wrongwith 'er?

LEXY (confidentially). Well, I don't exactly know; but she spoke verystrangely to me this morning. I'm afraid she's a little out of her mindsometimes. 

BURGESS (overwhelmed). Why, it must be catchin'! Four in the same'ouse! (He goes back to the hearth, quite lost before the instabilityof the human intellect in a clergyman's house. )

PROSERPINE (appearing on the threshold). What is it, Mr. Morell?

MORELL. Telegraph to the Guild of St. Matthew that I am coming. 

PROSERPINE (surprised). Don't they expect you?

MORELL (peremptorily). Do as I tell you. 

(Proserpine frightened, sits down at her typewriter, and obeys. Morellgoes across to Burgess, Candida watching his movements all the timewith growing wonder and misgiving. )

MORELL. Burgess: you don't want to come?

BURGESS (in deprecation). Oh, don't put it like that, James. It's onlythat it ain't Sunday, you know. 

MORELL. I'm sorry. I thought you might like to be introduced to thechairman. He's on the Works Committee of the County Council and hassome influence in the matter of contracts. (Burgess wakes up at once. Morell, expecting as much, waits a moment, and says) Will you come?

BURGESS (with enthusiasm). Course I'll come, James. Ain' it always apleasure to 'ear you. 

MORELL (turning from him). I shall want you to take some notes at themeeting, Miss Garnett, if you have no other engagement. (She nods, afraid to speak. ) You are coming, Lexy, I suppose. 

LEXY. Certainly. 

CANDIDA. We are all coming, James. 

MORELL. No: you are not coming; and Eugene is not coming. You will stayhere and entertain him--to celebrate your return home. (Eugene rises, breathless. )

CANDIDA. But James--

MORELL (authoritatively). I insist. You do not want to come; and hedoes not want to come. (Candida is about to protest. ) Oh, don't concernyourselves: I shall have plenty of people without you: your chairs willbe wanted by unconverted people who have never heard me before. 

CANDIDA (troubled). Eugene: wouldn't you like to come?

MORELL. I should be afraid to let myself go before Eugene: he is socritical of sermons. (Looking at him. ) He knows I am afraid of him: hetold me as much this morning. Well, I shall show him how much afraid Iam by leaving him here in your custody, Candida. 

MARCHBANKS (to himself, with vivid feeling). That's brave. That'sbeautiful. (He sits down again listening with parted lips. )

CANDIDA (with anxious misgiving). But--but--Is anything the matter, James? (Greatly troubled. ) I can't understand--

MORELL. Ah, I thought it was I who couldn't understand, dear. (He takesher tenderly in his arms and kisses her on the forehead; then looksround quietly at Marchbanks. )

ACT III

Late in the evening. Past ten. The curtains are drawn, and the lampslighted. The typewriter is in its case; the large table has beencleared and tidied; everything indicates that the day's work is done. 

Candida and Marchbanks are seated at the fire. The reading lamp is onthe mantelshelf above Marchbanks, who is sitting on the small chairreading aloud from a manuscript. A little pile of manuscripts and acouple of volumes of poetry are on the carpet beside him. Candida is inthe easy chair with the poker, a light brass one, upright in her hand. She is leaning back and looking at the point of it curiously, with herfeet stretched towards the blaze and her heels resting on the fender, profoundly unconscious of her appearance and surroundings. 

MARCHBANKS (breaking off in his recitation): Every poet that ever livedhas put that thought into a sonnet. He must: he can't help it. (Helooks to her for assent, and notices her absorption in the poker. )Haven't you been listening? (No response. ) Mrs. Morell!

CANDIDA (starting). Eh?

MARCHBANKS. Haven't you been listening?

CANDIDA (with a guilty excess of politeness). Oh, yes. It's very nice. Go on, Eugene. I'm longing to hear what happens to the angel. 

MARCHBANKS (crushed--the manuscript dropping from his hand to thefloor). I beg your pardon for boring you. 

CANDIDA. But you are not boring me, I assure you. Please go on. Do, Eugene. 

MARCHBANKS. I finished the poem about the angel quarter of an hour ago. I've read you several things since. 

CANDIDA (remorsefully). I'm so sorry, Eugene. I think the poker musthave fascinated me. (She puts it down. )

MARCHBANKS. It made me horribly uneasy. 

CANDIDA. Why didn't you tell me? I'd have put it down at once. 

MARCHBANKS. I was afraid of making you uneasy, too. It looked as if itwere a weapon. If I were a hero of old, I should have laid my drawnsword between us. If Morell had come in he would have thought you hadtaken up the poker because there was no sword between us. 

CANDIDA (wondering). What? (With a puzzled glance at him. ) I can'tquite follow that. Those sonnets of yours have perfectly addled me. Whyshould there be a sword between us?

MARCHBANKS (evasively). Oh, never mind. (He stoops to pick up themanuscript. )

CANDIDA. Put that down again, Eugene. There are limits to my appetitefor poetry--even your poetry. You've been reading to me for more thantwo hours--ever since James went out. I want to talk. 

MARCHBANKS (rising, scared). No: I mustn't talk. (He looks round him inhis lost way, and adds, suddenly) I think I'll go out and take a walkin the park. (Making for the door. )

CANDIDA. Nonsense: it's shut long ago. Come and sit down on thehearth-rug, and talk moonshine as you usually do. I want to be amused. Don't you want to?

MARCHBANKS (in half terror, half rapture). Yes. 

CANDIDA. Then come along. (She moves her chair back a little to makeroom. He hesitates; then timidly stretches himself on the hearth-rug, face upwards, and throws back his head across her knees, looking up ather. )

MARCHBANKS. Oh, I've been so miserable all the evening, because I wasdoing right. Now I'm doing wrong; and I'm happy. 

CANDIDA (tenderly amused at him). Yes: I'm sure you feel a great grownup wicked deceiver--quite proud of yourself, aren't you?

MARCHBANKS (raising his head quickly and turning a little to look roundat her). Take care. I'm ever so much older than you, if you only knew. (He turns quite over on his knees, with his hands clasped and his armson her lap, and speaks with growing impulse, his blood beginning tostir. ) May I say some wicked things to you?

CANDIDA (without the least fear or coldness, quite nobly, and withperfect respect for his passion, but with a touch of her wise-heartedmaternal humor). No. But you may say anything you really and trulyfeel. Anything at all, no matter what it is. I am not afraid, so longas it is your real self that speaks, and not a mere attitude--a gallantattitude, or a wicked attitude, or even a poetic attitude. I put you onyour honor and truth. Now say whatever you want to. 

MARCHBANKS (the eager expression vanishing utterly from his lips andnostrils as his eyes light up with pathetic spirituality). Oh, now Ican't say anything: all the words I know belong to some attitude orother--all except one. 

CANDIDA. What one is that?

MARCHBANKS (softly, losing himself in the music of the name). Candida, Candida, Candida, Candida, Candida. I must say that now, because youhave put me on my honor and truth; and I never think or feel Mrs. Morell: it is always Candida. 

CANDIDA. Of course. And what have you to say to Candida?

MARCHBANKS. Nothing, but to repeat your name a thousand times. Don'tyou feel that every time is a prayer to you?

CANDIDA. Doesn't it make you happy to be able to pray?

MARCHBANKS. Yes, very happy. 

CANDIDA. Well, that happiness is the answer to your prayer. Do you wantanything more?

MARCHBANKS (in beatitude). No: I have come into heaven, where want isunknown. 

(Morell comes in. He halts on the threshold, and takes in the scene ata glance. )

MORELL (grave and self-contained). I hope I don't disturb you. (Candidastarts up violently, but without the smallest embarrassment, laughingat herself. Eugene, still kneeling, saves himself from falling byputting his hands on the seat of the chair, and remains there, staringopen mouthed at Morell. )

CANDIDA (as she rises). Oh, James, how you startled me! I was so takenup with Eugene that I didn't hear your latch-key. How did the meetinggo off? Did you speak well?

MORELL. I have never spoken better in my life. 

CANDIDA. That was first rate! How much was the collection?

MORELL. I forgot to ask. 

CANDIDA (to Eugene). He must have spoken splendidly, or he would neverhave forgotten that. (To Morell. ) Where are all the others?

MORELL. They left long before I could get away: I thought I shouldnever escape. I believe they are having supper somewhere. 

CANDIDA (in her domestic business tone). Oh; in that case, Maria may goto bed. I'll tell her. (She goes out to the kitchen. )

MORELL (looking sternly down at Marchbanks). Well?

MARCHBANKS (squatting cross-legged on the hearth-rug, and actually atease with Morell--even impishly humorous). Well?

MORELL. Have you anything to tell me?

MARCHBANKS. Only that I have been making a fool of myself here inprivate whilst you have been making a fool of yourself in public. 

MORELL. Hardly in the same way, I think. 

MARCHBANKS (scrambling up--eagerly). The very, very, VERY same way. Ihave been playing the good man just like you. When you began yourheroics about leaving me here with Candida--

MORELL (involuntarily). Candida?

MARCHBANKS. Oh, yes: I've got that far. Heroics are infectious: Icaught the disease from you. I swore not to say a word in your absencethat I would not have said a month ago in your presence. 

MORELL. Did you keep your oath?

MARCHBANKS. (suddenly perching himself grotesquely on the easy chair). I was ass enough to keep it until about ten minutes ago. Up to thatmoment I went on desperately reading to her--reading my ownpoems--anybody's poems--to stave off a conversation. I was standingoutside the gate of Heaven, and refusing to go in. Oh, you can't thinkhow heroic it was, and how uncomfortable! Then--

MORELL (steadily controlling his suspense). Then?

MARCHBANKS (prosaically slipping down into a quite ordinary attitude inthe chair). Then she couldn't bear being read to any longer. 

MORELL. And you approached the gate of Heaven at last?

MARCHBANKS. Yes. 

MORELL. Well? (Fiercely. ) Speak, man: have you no feeling for me?

MARCHBANKS (softly and musically). Then she became an angel; and therewas a flaming sword that turned every way, so that I couldn't go in;for I saw that that gate was really the gate of Hell. 

MORELL (triumphantly). She repulsed you!

MARCHBANKS (rising in wild scorn). No, you fool: if she had done that Ishould never have seen that I was in Heaven already. Repulsed me! Youthink that would have saved me--virtuous indignation! Oh, you are notworthy to live in the same world with her. (He turns awaycontemptuously to the other side of the room. )

MORELL (who has watched him quietly without changing his place). Do youthink you make yourself more worthy by reviling me, Eugene?

MARCHBANKS. Here endeth the thousand and first lesson. Morell: I don'tthink much of your preaching after all: I believe I could do it bettermyself. The man I want to meet is the man that Candida married. 

MORELL. The man that--? Do you mean me?

MARCHBANKS. I don't mean the Reverend James Mavor Morell, moralist andwindbag. I mean the real man that the Reverend James must have hiddensomewhere inside his black coat--the man that Candida loved. You can'tmake a woman like Candida love you by merely buttoning your collar atthe back instead of in front. 

MORELL (boldly and steadily). When Candida promised to marry me, I wasthe same moralist and windbag that you now see. I wore my black coat;and my collar was buttoned behind instead of in front. Do you think shewould have loved me any the better for being insincere in my profession?

MARCHBANKS (on the sofa hugging his ankles). Oh, she forgave you, justas she forgives me for being a coward, and a weakling, and what youcall a snivelling little whelp and all the rest of it. (Dreamily. ) Awoman like that has divine insight: she loves our souls, and not ourfollies and vanities and illusions, or our collars and coats, or anyother of the rags and tatters we are rolled up in. (He reflects on thisfor an instant; then turns intently to question Morell. ) What I want toknow is how you got past the flaming sword that stopped me. 

MORELL (meaningly). Perhaps because I was not interrupted at the end often minutes. 

MARCHBANKS (taken aback). What!

MORELL. Man can climb to the highest summits; but he cannot dwell therelong. 

MARCHBANKS. It's false: there can he dwell for ever and there only. It's in the other moments that he can find no rest, no sense of thesilent glory of life. Where would you have me spend my moments, if noton the summits?

MORELL. In the scullery, slicing onions and filling lamps. 

MARCHBANKS. Or in the pulpit, scrubbing cheap earthenware souls?

MORELL. Yes, that, too. It was there that I earned my golden moment, and the right, in that moment, to ask her to love me. I did not takethe moment on credit; nor did I use it to steal another man's happiness. 

MARCHBANKS (rather disgustedly, trotting back towards the fireplace). Ihave no doubt you conducted the transaction as honestly as if you werebuying a pound of cheese. (He stops on the brink of the hearth-rug andadds, thoughtfully, to himself, with his back turned to Morell) I couldonly go to her as a beggar. 

MORELL (starting). A beggar dying of cold--asking for her shawl?

MARCHBANKS (turning, surprised). Thank you for touching up my poetry. Yes, if you like, a beggar dying of cold asking for her shawl. 

MORELL (excitedly). And she refused. Shall I tell you why she refused?I CAN tell you, on her own authority. It was because of--

MARCHBANKS. She didn't refuse. 

MORELL. Not!

MARCHBANKS. She offered me all I chose to ask for, her shawl, herwings, the wreath of stars on her head, the lilies in her hand, thecrescent moon beneath her feet--

MORELL (seizing him). Out with the truth, man: my wife is my wife: Iwant no more of your poetic fripperies. I know well that if I have losther love and you have gained it, no law will bind her. 

MARCHBANKS (quaintly, without fear or resistance). Catch me by theshirt collar, Morell: she will arrange it for me afterwards as she didthis morning. (With quiet rapture. ) I shall feel her hands touch me. 

MORELL. You young imp, do you know how dangerous it is to say that tome? Or (with a sudden misgiving) has something made you brave?

MARCHBANKS. I'm not afraid now. I disliked you before: that was why Ishrank from your touch. But I saw to-day--when she tortured you--thatyou love her. Since then I have been your friend: you may strangle meif you like. 

MORELL (releasing him). Eugene: if that is not a heartless lie--if youhave a spark of human feeling left in you--will you tell me what hashappened during my absence?

MARCHBANKS. What happened! Why, the flaming sword--(Morell stamps withimpatience. ) Well, in plain prose, I loved her so exquisitely that Iwanted nothing more than the happiness of being in such love. Andbefore I had time to come down from the highest summits, you came in. 

MORELL (suffering deeply). So it is still unsettled--still the miseryof doubt. 

MARCHBANKS. Misery! I am the happiest of men. I desire nothing now buther happiness. (With dreamy enthusiasm. ) Oh, Morell, let us both giveher up. Why should she have to choose between a wretched little nervousdisease like me, and a pig-headed parson like you? Let us go on apilgrimage, you to the east and I to the west, in search of a worthylover for her--some beautiful archangel with purple wings--

MORELL. Some fiddlestick. Oh, if she is mad enough to leave me for you, who will protect her? Who will help her? who will work for her? whowill be a father to her children? (He sits down distractedly on thesofa, with his elbows on his knees and his head propped on his clenchedfists. )

MARCHBANKS (snapping his fingers wildly). She does not ask those sillyquestions. It is she who wants somebody to protect, to help, to workfor--somebody to give her children to protect, to help and to work for. Some grown up man who has become as a little child again. Oh, you fool, you fool, you triple fool! I am the man, Morell: I am the man. (Hedances about excitedly, crying. ) You don't understand what a woman is. Send for her, Morell: send for her and let her choose between--(Thedoor opens and Candida enters. He stops as if petrified. )

CANDIDA (amazed, on the threshold). What on earth are you at, Eugene?

MARCHBANKS (oddly). James and I are having a preaching match; and he isgetting the worst of it. (Candida looks quickly round at Morell. Seeingthat he is distressed, she hurries down to him, greatly vexed, speakingwith vigorous reproach to Marchbanks. )

CANDIDA. You have been annoying him. Now I won't have it, Eugene: doyou hear? (Putting her hand on Morell's shoulder, and quite forgettingher wifely tact in her annoyance. ) My boy shall not be worried: I willprotect him. 

MORELL (rising proudly). Protect!

CANDIDA (not heeding him--to Eugene). What have you been saying?

MARCHBANKS (appalled). Nothing--

CANDIDA. Eugene! Nothing?

MARCHBANKS (piteously). I mean--I--I'm very sorry. I won't do it again:indeed I won't. I'll let him alone. 

MORELL (indignantly, with an aggressive movement towards Eugene). Letme alone! You young--

CANDIDA (Stopping him). Sh--no, let me deal with him, James. 

MARCHBANKS. Oh, you're not angry with me, are you?

CANDIDA (severely). Yes, I am--very angry. I have a great mind to packyou out of the house. 

MORELL (taken aback by Candida's vigor, and by no means relishing thesense of being rescued by her from another man). Gently, Candida, gently. I am able to take care of myself. 

CANDIDA (petting him). Yes, dear: of course you are. But you mustn't beannoyed and made miserable. 

MARCHBANKS (almost in tears, turning to the door). I'll go. 

CANDIDA. Oh, you needn't go: I can't turn you out at this time ofnight. (Vehemently. ) Shame on you! For shame!

MARCHBANKS (desperately). But what have I done?

CANDIDA. I know what you have done--as well as if I had been here allthe time. Oh, it was unworthy! You are like a child: you cannot holdyour tongue. 

MARCHBANKS. I would die ten times over sooner than give you a moment'spain. 

CANDIDA (with infinite contempt for this puerility). Much good yourdying would do me!

MORELL. Candida, my dear: this altercation is hardly quite seemingly. It is a matter between two men; and I am the right person to settle it. 

CANDIDA. Two MEN! Do you call that a man? (To Eugene. ) You bad boy!

MARCHBANKS (gathering a whimsically affectionate courage from thescolding). If I am to be scolded like this, I must make a boy's excuse. He began it. And he's bigger than I am. 

CANDIDA (losing confidence a little as her concern for Morell's dignitytakes the alarm). That can't be true. (To Morell. ) You didn't begin it, James, did you?

MORELL (contemptuously). No. 

MARCHBANKS (indignant). Oh!

MORELL (to Eugene). YOU began it--this morning. (Candida, instantlyconnecting this with his mysterious allusion in the afternoon tosomething told him by Eugene in the morning, looks quickly at him, wrestling with the enigma. Morell proceeds with the emphasis ofoffended superiority. ) But your other point is true. I am certainly thebigger of the two, and, I hope, the stronger, Candida. So you hadbetter leave the matter in my hands. 

CANDIDA (again soothing him). Yes, dear; but--(Troubled. ) I don'tunderstand about this morning. 

MORELL (gently snubbing her). You need not understand, my dear. 

CANDIDA. But, James, I--(The street bell rings. ) Oh, bother! Here theyall come. (She goes out to let them in. )

MARCHBANKS (running to Morell ). Oh, Morell, isn't it dreadful? She'sangry with us: she hates me. What shall I do?

MORELL (with quaint desperation, clutching himself by the hair). Eugene: my head is spinning round. I shall begin to laugh presently. (He walks up and down the middle of the room. )

MARCHBANKS (following him anxiously). No, no: she'll think I've thrownyou into hysterics. Don't laugh. (Boisterous voices and laughter areheard approaching. Lexy Mill, his eyes sparkling, and his bearingdenoting unwonted elevation of spirit, enters with Burgess, who isgreasy and self-complacent, but has all his wits about him. MissGarnett, with her smartest hat and jacket on, follows them; but thoughher eyes are brighter than before, she is evidently a prey tomisgiving. She places herself with her back to her typewriting table, with one hand on it to rest herself, passes the other across herforehead as if she were a little tired and giddy. Marchbanks relapsesinto shyness and edges away into the corner near the window, whereMorell's books are. )

MILL (exhilaratedly). Morell: I MUST congratulate you. (Grasping hishand. ) What a noble, splendid, inspired address you gave us! Yousurpassed yourself. 

BURGESS. So you did, James. It fair kep' me awake to the last word. Didn't it, Miss Garnett?

PROSERPINE (worriedly). Oh, I wasn't minding you: I was trying to makenotes. (She takes out her note-book, and looks at her stenography, which nearly makes her cry. )

MORELL. Did I go too fast, Pross?

PROSERPINE. Much too fast. You know I can't do more than a hundredwords a minute. (She relieves her feelings by throwing her note-bookangrily beside her machine, ready for use next morning. )

MORELL (soothingly). Oh, well, well, never mind, never mind, nevermind. Have you all had supper?

LEXY. Mr. Burgess has been kind enough to give us a really splendidsupper at the Belgrave. 

BURGESS (with effusive magnanimity). Don't mention it, Mr. Mill. (Modestly. ) You're 'arty welcome to my little treat. 

PROSERPINE. We had champagne! I never tasted it before. I feel quitegiddy. 

MORELL (surprised). A champagne supper! That was very handsome. Was itmy eloquence that produced all this extravagance?

MILL (rhetorically). Your eloquence, and Mr. Burgess's goodness ofheart. (With a fresh burst of exhilaration. ) And what a very finefellow the chairman is, Morell! He came to supper with us. 

MORELL (with long drawn significance, looking at Burgess). O-o-o-h, thechairman. NOW I understand. 

(Burgess, covering a lively satisfaction in his diplomatic cunning witha deprecatory cough, retires to the hearth. Lexy folds his arms andleans against the cellaret in a high-spirited attitude. Candida comesin with glasses, lemons, and a jug of hot water on a tray. )

CANDIDA. Who will have some lemonade? You know our rules: totalabstinence. (She puts the tray on the table, and takes up the lemonsqueezers, looking enquiringly round at them. )

MORELL. No use, dear. They've all had champagne. Pross has broken herpledge. 

CANDIDA (to Proserpine). You don't mean to say you've been drinkingchampagne!

PROSERPINE (stubbornly). Yes, I do. I'm only a beer teetotaller, not achampagne teetotaller. I don't like beer. Are there any letters for meto answer, Mr. Morell?

MORELL. No more to-night. 

PROSERPINE. Very well. Good-night, everybody. 

LEXY (gallantly). Had I not better see you home, Miss Garnett?

PROSERPINE. No, thank you. I shan't trust myself with anybody to-night. I wish I hadn't taken any of that stuff. (She walks straight out. )

BURGESS (indignantly). Stuff, indeed! That gurl dunno wot champagne is!Pommery and Greeno at twelve and six a bottle. She took two glassesa'most straight hoff. 

MORELL (a little anxious about her). Go and look after her, Lexy. 

LEXY (alarmed). But if she should really be--Suppose she began to singin the street, or anything of that sort. 

MORELL. Just so: she may. That's why you'd better see her safely home. 

CANDIDA. Do, Lexy: there's a good fellow. (She shakes his hand andpushes him gently to the door. )

LEXY. It's evidently my duty to go. I hope it may not be necessary. Good-night, Mrs. Morell. (To the rest. ) Good-night. (He goes. Candidashuts the door. )

BURGESS. He was gushin' with hextra piety hisself arter two sips. People carn't drink like they huseter. (Dismissing the subject andbustling away from the hearth. ) Well, James: it's time to lock up. Mr. Morchbanks: shall I 'ave the pleasure of your company for a bit of theway home?

MARCHBANKS (affrightedly). Yes: I'd better go. . (He hurries across tothe door; but Candida places herself before it, barring his way. )

CANDIDA (with quiet authority). You sit down. You're not going yet. 

MARCHBANKS (quailing). No: I--I didn't mean to. (He comes back into theroom and sits down abjectly on the sofa. )

CANDIDA. Mr. Marchbanks will stay the night with us, papa. 

BURGESS. Oh, well, I'll say good-night. So long, James. (He shakeshands with Morell and goes on to Eugene. ) Make 'em give you a nightlight by your bed, Mr. Morchbanks: it'll comfort you if you wake up inthe night with a touch of that complaint of yores. Good-night. 

MARCHBANKS. Thank you: I will. Good-night, Mr. Burgess. (They shakehands and Burgess goes to the door. )

CANDIDA (intercepting Morell, who is following Burgess). Stay here, dear: I'll put on papa's coat for him. (She goes out with Burgess. )

MARCHBANKS. Morell: there's going to be a terrible scene. Aren't youafraid?

MORELL. Not in the least. 

MARCHBANKS. I never envied you your courage before. (He rises timidlyand puts his hand appealingly on Morell's forearm. ) Stand by me, won'tyou?

MORELL (casting him off gently, but resolutely). Each for himself, Eugene. She must choose between us now. (He goes to the other side ofthe room as Candida returns. Eugene sits down again on the sofa like aguilty schoolboy on his best behaviour. )

CANDIDA (between them, addressing Eugene). Are you sorry?

MARCHBANKS (earnestly). Yes, heartbroken. 

CANDIDA. Well, then, you are forgiven. Now go off to bed like a goodlittle boy: I want to talk to James about you. 

MARCHBANKS (rising in great consternation). Oh, I can't do that, Morell. I must be here. I'll not go away. Tell her. 

CANDIDA (with quick suspicion). Tell me what? (His eyes avoid hersfurtively. She turns and mutely transfers the question to Morell. )

MORELL (bracing himself for the catastrophe). I have nothing to tellher, except (here his voice deepens to a measured and mournfultenderness) that she is my greatest treasure on earth--if she is reallymine. 

CANDIDA (coldly, offended by his yielding to his orator's instinct andtreating her as if she were the audience at the Guild of St. Matthew). I am sure Eugene can say no less, if that is all. 

MARCHBANKS (discouraged). Morell: she's laughing at us. 

MORELL (with a quick touch of temper). There is nothing to laugh at. Are you laughing at us, Candida?

CANDIDA (with quiet anger). Eugene is very quick-witted, James. I hopeI am going to laugh; but I am not sure that I am not going to be veryangry. (She goes to the fireplace, and stands there leaning with herarm on the mantelpiece and her foot on the fender, whilst Eugene stealsto Morell and plucks him by the sleeve. )

MARCHBANKS (whispering). Stop Morell. Don't let us say anything. 

MORELL (pushing Eugene away without deigning to look at him). I hopeyou don't mean that as a threat, Candida. 

CANDIDA (with emphatic warning). Take care, James. Eugene: I asked youto go. Are you going?

MORELL (putting his foot down). He shall not go. I wish him to remain. 

MARCHBANKS. I'll go. I'll do whatever you want. (He turns to the door. )

CANDIDA. Stop! (He obeys. ) Didn't you hear James say he wished you tostay? James is master here. Don't you know that?

MARCHBANKS (flushing with a young poet's rage against tyranny). By whatright is he master?

CANDIDA (quietly). Tell him, James. 

MORELL (taken aback). My dear: I don't know of any right that makes memaster. I assert no such right. 

CANDIDA (with infinite reproach). You don't know! Oh, James, James! (ToEugene, musingly. ) I wonder do you understand, Eugene! No: you're tooyoung. Well, I give you leave to stay--to stay and learn. (She comesaway from the hearth and places herself between them. ) Now, James:what's the matter? Come: tell me. 

MARCHBANKS (whispering tremulously across to him). Don't. 

CANDIDA. Come. Out with it!

MORELL (slowly). I meant to prepare your mind carefully, Candida, so asto prevent misunderstanding. 

CANDIDA. Yes, dear: I am sure you did. But never mind: I shan'tmisunderstand. 

MORELL. Well--er--(He hesitates, unable to find the long explanationwhich he supposed to be available. )

CANDIDA. Well?

MORELL (baldly). Eugene declares that you are in love with him. 

MARCHBANKS (frantically). No, no, no, no, never. I did not, Mrs. Morell: it's not true. I said I loved you, and that he didn't. I saidthat I understood you, and that he couldn't. And it was not after whatpassed there before the fire that I spoke: it was not, on my word. Itwas this morning. 

CANDIDA (enlightened). This morning!

MARCHBANKS. Yes. (He looks at her, pleading for credence, and thenadds, simply) That was what was the matter with my collar. 

CANDIDA (after a pause; for she does not take in his meaning at once). His collar! (She turns to Morell, shocked. ) Oh, James: did you--(shestops)?

MORELL (ashamed). You know, Candida, that I have a temper to strugglewith. And he said (shuddering) that you despised me in your heart. 

CANDIDA (turning quickly on Eugene). Did you say that?

MARCHBANKS (terrified). No!

CANDIDA (severely). Then James has just told me a falsehood. Is thatwhat you mean?

MARCHBANKS. No, no: I--I-- (blurting out the explanation desperately)--it was David's wife. And it wasn't at home: it was when she saw himdancing before all the people. 

MORELL (taking the cue with a debater's adroitness). Dancing before allthe people, Candida; and thinking he was moving their hearts by hismission when they were only suffering from--Prossy's complaint. (She isabout to protest: he raises his hand to silence her, exclaiming) Don'ttry to look indignant, Candida:--

CANDIDA (interjecting). Try!

MORELL (continuing). Eugene was right. As you told me a few hoursafter, he is always right. He said nothing that you did not say farbetter yourself. He is the poet, who sees everything; and I am the poorparson, who understands nothing. 

CANDIDA (remorsefully). Do you mind what is said by a foolish boy, because I said something like it again in jest?

MORELL. That foolish boy can speak with the inspiration of a child andthe cunning of a serpent. He has claimed that you belong to him and notto me; and, rightly or wrongly, I have come to fear that it may betrue. I will not go about tortured with doubts and suspicions. I willnot live with you and keep a secret from you. I will not suffer theintolerable degradation of jealousy. We have agreed--he and I--that youshall choose between us now. I await your decision. 

CANDIDA (slowly recoiling a step, her heart hardened by his rhetoric inspite of the sincere feeling behind it). Oh! I am to choose, am I? Isuppose it is quite settled that I must belong to one or the other. 

MORELL (firmly). Quite. You must choose definitely. 

MARCHBANKS (anxiously). Morell: you don't understand. She means thatshe belongs to herself. 

CANDIDA (turning on him). I mean that and a good deal more, MasterEugene, as you will both find out presently. And pray, my lords andmasters, what have you to offer for my choice? I am up for auction, itseems. What do you bid, James?

MORELL (reproachfully). Cand-- (He breaks down: his eyes and throatfill with tears: the orator becomes the wounded animal. ) I can't speak--

CANDIDA (impulsively going to him). Ah, dearest--

MARCHBANKS (in wild alarm). Stop: it's not fair. You mustn't show herthat you suffer, Morell. I am on the rack, too; but I am not crying. 

MORELL (rallying all his forces). Yes: you are right. It is not forpity that I am bidding. (He disengages himself from Candida. )

CANDIDA (retreating, chilled). I beg your pardon, James; I did not meanto touch you. I am waiting to hear your bid. 

MORELL (with proud humility). I have nothing to offer you but mystrength for your defence, my honesty of purpose for your surety, myability and industry for your livelihood, and my authority and positionfor your dignity. That is all it becomes a man to offer to a woman. 

CANDIDA (quite quietly). And you, Eugene? What do you offer?

MARCHBANKS. My weakness! my desolation! my heart's need!

CANDIDA (impressed). That's a good bid, Eugene. Now I know how to makemy choice. 

She pauses and looks curiously from one to the other, as if weighingthem. Morell, whose lofty confidence has changed into heartbreakingdread at Eugene's bid, loses all power of concealing his anxiety. Eugene, strung to the highest tension, does not move a muscle. 

MORELL (in a suffocated voice--the appeal bursting from the depths ofhis anguish). Candida!

MARCHBANKS (aside, in a flash of contempt). Coward!

CANDIDA (significantly). I give myself to the weaker of the two. 

Eugene divines her meaning at once: his face whitens like steel in afurnace that cannot melt it. 

MORELL (bowing his head with the calm of collapse). I accept yoursentence, Candida. 

CANDIDA. Do you understand, Eugene?

MARCHBANKS. Oh, I feel I'm lost. He cannot bear the burden. 

MORELL (incredulously, raising his bead with prosaic abruptness). Doyou mean, me, Candida?

CANDIDA (smiling a little). Let us sit and talk comfortably over itlike three friends. (To Morell. ) Sit down, dear. (Morell takes thechair from the fireside--the children's chair. ) Bring me that chair, Eugene. (She indicates the easy chair. He fetches it silently, evenwith something like cold strength, and places it next Morell, a littlebehind him. She sits down. He goes to the sofa and sits there, stillsilent and inscrutable. When they are all settled she begins, throwinga spell of quietness on them by her calm, sane, tender tone. ) Youremember what you told me about yourself, Eugene: how nobody has caredfor you since your old nurse died: how those clever, fashionablesisters and successful brothers of yours were your mother's andfather's pets: how miserable you were at Eton: how your father istrying to starve you into returning to Oxford: how you have had to livewithout comfort or welcome or refuge, always lonely, and nearly alwaysdisliked and misunderstood, poor boy!

MARCHBANKS (faithful to the nobility of his lot). I had my books. I hadNature. And at last I met you. 

CANDIDA. Never mind that just at present. Now I want you to look atthis other boy here--MY boy--spoiled from his cradle. We go once afortnight to see his parents. You should come with us, Eugene, and seethe pictures of the hero of that household. James as a baby! the mostwonderful of all babies. James holding his first school prize, won atthe ripe age of eight! James as the captain of his eleven! James in hisfirst frock coat! James under all sorts of glorious circumstances! Youknow how strong he is (I hope he didn't hurt you)--how clever heis--how happy! (With deepening gravity. ) Ask James's mother and histhree sisters what it cost to save James the trouble of doing anythingbut be strong and clever and happy. Ask ME what it costs to be James'smother and three sisters and wife and mother to his children all inone. Ask Prossy and Maria how troublesome the house is even when wehave no visitors to help us to slice the onions. Ask the tradesmen whowant to worry James and spoil his beautiful sermons who it is that putsthem off. When there is money to give, he gives it: when there is moneyto refuse, I refuse it. I build a castle of comfort and indulgence andlove for him, and stand sentinel always to keep little vulgar caresout. I make him master here, though he does not know it, and could nottell you a moment ago how it came to be so. (With sweet irony. ) Andwhen he thought I might go away with you, his only anxiety was whatshould become of ME! And to tempt me to stay he offered me (leaningforward to stroke his hair caressingly at each phrase) his strength forMY defence, his industry for my livelihood, his position for mydignity, his-- (Relenting. ) Ah, I am mixing up your beautiful sentencesand spoiling them, am I not, darling? (She lays her cheek fondlyagainst his. )

MORELL (quite overcome, kneeling beside her chair and embracing herwith boyish ingenuousness). It's all true, every word. What I am youhave made me with the labor of your hands and the love of your heart!You are my wife, my mother, my sisters: you are the sum of all lovingcare to me. 

CANDIDA (in his arms, smiling, to Eugene). Am I YOUR mother and sistersto you, Eugene?

MARCHBANKS (rising with a fierce gesture of disgust). Ah, never. Out, then, into the night with me!

CANDIDA (rising quickly and intercepting him). You are not going likethat, Eugene?

MARCHBANKS (with the ring of a man's voice--no longer a boy's--in thewords). I know the hour when it strikes. I am impatient to do what mustbe done. 

MORELL (rising from his knee, alarmed). Candida: don't let him doanything rash. 

CANDIDA (confident, smiling at Eugene). Oh, there is no fear. He haslearnt to live without happiness. 

MARCHBANKS. I no longer desire happiness: life is nobler than that. Parson James: I give you my happiness with both hands: I love youbecause you have filled the heart of the woman I loved. Good-bye. (Hegoes towards the door. )

CANDIDA. One last word. (He stops, but without turning to her. ) How oldare you, Eugene?

MARCHBANKS. As old as the world now. This morning I was eighteen. 

CANDIDA (going to him, and standing behind him with one handcaressingly on his shoulder). Eighteen! Will you, for my sake, make alittle poem out of the two sentences I am going to say to you? And willyou promise to repeat it to yourself whenever you think of me?

MARCHBANKS (without moving). Say the sentences. 

CANDIDA. When I am thirty, she will be forty-five. When I am sixty, shewill be seventy-five. 

MARCHBANKS (turning to her). In a hundred years, we shall be the sameage. But I have a better secret than that in my heart. Let me go now. The night outside grows impatient. 

CANDIDA. Good-bye. (She takes his face in her hands; and as he divinesher intention and bends his knee, she kisses his forehead. Then heflies out into the night. She turns to Morell, holding out her arms tohim. ) Ah, James! (They embrace. But they do not know the secret in thepoet's heart. )