DEAR BRUTUS

By

J. M. Barrie

ACT I

The scene is a darkened room, which the curtain reveals so stealthilythat if there was a mouse on the stage it is there still. Our objectis to catch our two chief characters unawares; they are Darkness andLight. 

The room is so obscure as to be invisible, but at the back of theobscurity are French windows, through which is seen Lob's gardenbathed in moon-shine. The Darkness and Light, which this room andgarden represent, are very still, but we should feel that it is onlythe pause in which old enemies regard each other before they come tothe grip. The moonshine stealing about among the flowers, to givethem their last instructions, has left a smile upon them, but it is asmile with a menace in it for the dwellers in darkness. What weexpect to see next is the moonshine slowly pushing the windows open, so that it may whisper to a confederate in the house, whose name isLob. But though we may be sure that this was about to happen it doesnot happen; a stir among the dwellers in darkness prevents it. 

These unsuspecting ones are in the dining-room, and as a communicatingdoor opens we hear them at play. Several tenebrious shades appear inthe lighted doorway and hesitate on the two steps that lead down intothe unlit room. The fanciful among us may conceive a rustle at thesame moment among the flowers. The engagement has begun, though notin the way we had intended. 

VOICES. -- 'Go on, Coady: lead the way. ' 'Oh dear, I don't see why I should go first. ' 'The nicest always goes first. ' 'It is a strange house if I am the nicest. ' 'It is a strange house. ' 'Don't close the door; I can't see where the switch is. ' 'Over here. '

They have been groping their way forward, blissfully unaware of howthey shall be groping there again more terribly before the night isout. Some one finds a switch, and the room is illumined, with theeffect that the garden seems to have drawn back a step as if worstedin the first encounter. But it is only waiting. 

The apparently inoffensive chamber thus suddenly revealed is, for abachelor's home, creditably like a charming country housedrawing-room and abounds in the little feminine touches that are sooften best applied by the hand of man. There is nothing in the roominimical to the ladies, unless it be the cut flowers which are fromthe garden and possibly in collusion with it. The fireplace may alsobe a little dubious. It has been hacked out of a thick wall which mayhave been there when the other walls were not, and is presumably thecavern where Lob, when alone, sits chatting to himself among the bluesmoke. He is as much at home by this fire as any gnome that may behiding among its shadows; but he is less familiar with the rest ofthe room, and when he sees it, as for instance on his lonely way tobed, he often stares long and hard at it before chucklinguncomfortably. 

There are five ladies, and one only of them is elderly, the Mrs. Coadewhom a voice in the darkness has already proclaimed the nicest. Sheis the nicest, though the voice was no good judge. Coady, as she isfamiliarly called and as her husband also is called, each having formany years been able to answer for the other, is a rounded old ladywith a beaming smile that has accompanied her from childhood. If shelives to be a hundred she will pretend to the census man that she isonly ninety-nine. She has no other vice that has not been smoothedout of existence by her placid life, and she has but one complaintagainst the male Coady, the rather odd one that he has long forgottenhis first wife. Our Mrs. Coady never knew the first one but it is shealone who sometimes looks at the portrait of her and preserves intheir home certain mementoes of her, such as a lock of brown hair, which the equally gentle male Coady must have treasured once but hasnow forgotten. The first wife had been slightly lame, and in theirbrief married life he had carried solicitously a rest for her foot, had got so accustomed to doing this, that after a quarter of acentury with our Mrs. Coady he still finds footstools for her as ifshe were lame also. She has ceased to pucker her face over this, taking it as a kind little thoughtless attention, and indeed with theyears has developed a friendly limp. 

Of the other four ladies, all young and physically fair, two aremarried. Mrs. Dearth is tall, of smouldering eye and fierce desires, murky beasts lie in ambush in the labyrinths of her mind, she is awhite-faced gypsy with a husky voice, most beautiful when she issullen, and therefore frequently at her best. The other ladies whenin conclave refer to her as The Dearth. Mrs. Purdie is a safercompanion for the toddling kind of man. She is soft and pleading, andwould seek what she wants by laying her head on the loved one'sshoulder, while The Dearth might attain it with a pistol. A brighterspirit than either is Joanna Trout who, when her affections are notengaged, has a merry face and figure, but can dismiss them both atthe important moment, which is at the word 'love. ' Then Joannaquivers, her sense of humour ceases to beat and the dullest man maygo ahead. There remains Lady Caroline Laney of the disdainful poise, lately from the enormously select school where they are taught topronounce their r's as w's; nothing else seems to be taught, but formatrimonial success nothing else is necessary. Every woman whopronounces r as w will find a mate; it appeals to all that ischivalrous in man. 

An old-fashioned gallantry induces us to accept from each of theseladies her own estimate of herself, and fortunately it is favourablein every case. This refers to their estimate of themselves up to thehour of ten on the evening on which we first meet them; the estimatemay have changed temporarily by the time we part from them on thefollowing morning. What their mirrors say to each of them is, A dearface, not classically perfect but abounding in that changing charmwhich is the best type of English womanhood; here is a woman who hasseen and felt far more than her reticent nature readily betrays; shesometimes smiles, but behind that concession, controlling it in amanner hardly less than adorable, lurks the sigh called Knowledge; astrangely interesting face, mysterious; a line for her tombstonemight be 'If I had been a man what adventures I could have had withher who lies here. '

Are these ladies then so very alike? They would all deny it, so wemust take our own soundings. At this moment of their appearance inthe drawing-room at least they are alike in having a common interest. No sooner has the dining-room door closed than purpose leaps totheir eyes; oddly enough, the men having been got rid of, the dramabegins. 

ALICE DEARTH (the darkest spirit but the bravest). We must not waste asecond. Our minds are made up, I think?

JOANNA. Now is the time. 

MRS. COADE (at once delighted and appalled). Yes, now if at all; butshould we?

ALICE. Certainly; and before the men come in. 

MABEL PURDIE. You don't think we should wait for the men? They are asmuch in it as we are. 

LADY CAROLINE (unlucky, as her opening remark is without a single r). Lob would be with them. If the thing is to be done at all it shouldbe done now. 

MRS. COADE. IS it quite fair to Lob? After all, he is our host. 

JOANNA. Of course it isn't fair to him, but let's do it, Coady. 

MRS. COADE. Yes, let's do it!

MABEL. Mrs. Dearth _is_ doing it. 

ALICE (who is writing out a telegram). Of course I am. The men are notcoming, are they?

JOANNA (reconnoitring). NO; your husband is having another glass ofport. 

ALICE. I am sure he is. One of you ring, please. 

(The bold Joanna rings. )

MRS. COADE. Poor Matey!

LADY CAROLINE. He wichly desewves what he is about to get. 

JOANNA. He is coming! Don't all stand huddled together likeconspirators. 

MRS. COADE. It is what we are!

(Swiftly they find seats, and are sunk thereon like ladies waitinglanguidly for their lords when the doomed butler appears. He is a manof brawn, who could cast any one of them forth for a wager; but weare about to connive at the triumph of mind over matter. )

ALICE (always at her best before "the bright face of danger"). Ah, Matey, I wish this telegram sent. 

MATEY (a general favourite). Very good, ma'am. The village post officeclosed at eight, but if your message is important--

ALICE. It is; and you are so clever, Matey, I am sure that you canpersuade them to oblige you. 

MATEY (taking the telegram). I will see to it myself, ma'am; you candepend on its going. 

(There comes a little gasp from COADY, which is the equivalent todropping a stitch in needle-work. )

ALICE (who is THE DEARTH now). Thank you. Better read the telegram, Matey, to be sure that you can make it out. (MATEY reads it tohimself, and he has never quite the same faith in woman again. THEDEARTH continues in a purring voice. ) Read it aloud, Matey. 

MATEY. Oh, ma'am!

ALICE (without the purr). Aloud. 

(Thus encouraged he reads the fatal missive. )

MATEY. 'To Police Station, Great Cumney. Send officer first thingto-morrow morning to arrest Matey, butler, for theft of rings. '

ALICE. Yes, that is quite right. 

MATEY. Ma'am! (But seeing that she has taken up a book, he turns toLADY CAROLINE. ) My lady!

LADY CAROLINE (whose voice strikes colder than THE DEARTH'S). Shouldwe not say how many wings?

ALICE. Yes, put in the number of rings, Matey. 

(MATEY does not put in the number, but he produces three rings fromunostentatious parts of his person and returns them without noticeabledignity to their various owners. )

MATEY (hopeful that the incident is now closed). May I tear up thetelegram, ma'am?

ALICE. Certainly not. 

LADY CAROLINE. I always said that this man was the culpwit. I amnevaw mistaken in faces, and I see bwoad awwows all over youws, Matey. 

(He might reply that he sees w's all over hers, but it is no momentfor repartee. )

MATEY. It is deeply regretted. 

ALICE (darkly). I am sure it is. 

JOANNA (who has seldom remained silent for so long). We may as welltell him now that it is not our rings we are worrying about. Theyhave just been a means to an end, Matey. 

(The stir among the ladies shows that they have arrived at the moreinteresting point. )

ALICE. Precisely. In other words that telegram is sent unless--

(MATEY'S head rises. )

JOANNA. Unless you can tell us instantly whet peculiarity it is thatall we ladies have in common. 

MABEL. Not only the ladies; all the guests in this house. 

ALICE. We have been here a week, and we find that when Lob invited ushe knew us all so little that we begin to wonder why he asked us. Andnow from words he has let drop we know that we were invited becauseof something he thinks we have in common. 

MABEL. But he won't say what it is. 

LADY CAROLINE (drawing back a little from JOANNA). One knows that nopeople could be more unlike. 

JOANNA (thankfully). One does. 

MRS. COADE. And we can't sleep at night, Matey, for wondering whatthis something is. 

JOANNA (summing up). But we are sure you know, and it you don't tellus--quod. 

MATEY (with growing uneasiness). I don't know what you mean, ladies. 

ALICE. Oh yes, you do. 

MRS. COADE You must admit that your master is a very strange person. 

MATEY (wriggling). He is a little odd, ma'am. That is why every onecalls him Lob; not Mr. Lob. 

JOANNA. He is so odd that it has got on my nerves that we have beeninvited here for some sort of horrid experiment. (MATEY shivers. ) Youlook as if you thought so too!

MATEY. Oh no, miss, I--he-- (The words he would keep back elude him). You shouldn't have come, ladies; you didn't ought to have come. 

(For the moment he is sorrier for them than for himself. )

LADY CAROLINE. (Shouldn't have come). Now, my man, what do you meanby that?

MATEY. Nothing, my lady: I--I just mean, why did you come if you arethe kind he thinks?

MABEL. The kind he thinks?

ALICE. What kind does he think? Now we are getting at it. 

MATEY (guardedly). I haven't a notion, ma'am. 

LADY CAROLINE (whose w's must henceforth be supplied by the judiciousreader). Then it is not necessarily our virtue that makes Lobinterested in us?

MATEY (thoughtlessly). No, my lady; oh no, my lady. (This makes anunfavourable impression. )

MRS. COADE. And yet, you know, he is rather lovable. 

MATEY (carried away). He is, ma'am, He is the most lovable olddevil--I beg pardon, ma'am. 

JOANNA. You scarcely need to, for in a way it is true. I have seen himout there among his flowers, petting them, talking to them, coaxingthem till they simply _had_ to grow. 

ALICE (making use perhaps of the wrong adjective). It is certainly adivine garden. 

(They all look at the unblinking enemy. )

MRS. COADE (not more deceived than the others). How lovely it is inthe moonlight. Roses, roses, all the way. (Dreamily. ) It is like ahat I once had when I was young. 

ALICE. Lob is such an amazing gardener that I believe he could evengrow hats. 

LADY CAROLINE (who will catch it for this). He is a wonderfulgardener; but is that quite nice at his age? What _is_ his age, man?

MATEY (shuffling). He won't tell, my lady. I think he is frightenedthat the police would step in if they knew how old he is. They do sayin the village that they remember him seventy years ago, looking justas he does to-day. 

ALICE. Absurd. 

MATEY. Yes, ma'am; but there are his razors. 

LADY CAROLINE. Razors?

MATEY. You won't know about razors, my lady, not being married--asyet--excuse me. But a married lady can tell a man's age by the numberof his razors. (A little scared. ) If you saw his razors--there is alittle world of them, from patents of the present day back toimplements so horrible, you can picture him with them in his handscraping his way through the ages. 

LADY CAROLINE. You amuse one to an extent. Was he ever married?

MATEY (too lightly). He has quite forgotten, my lady. (Reflecting. )How long ago is it since Merry England?

LADY CAROLINE. Why do you ask?

MABEL. In Queen Elizabeth's time, wasn't it?

MATEY. He says he is all that is left of Merry England: that littleman. 

MABEL (who has brothers). Lob? I think there is a famous cricketercalled Lob. 

MRS. COADE. Wasn't there a Lob in Shakespeare? No, of course I amthinking of Robin Goodfellow. 

LADY CAROLINE. The names are so alike. 

JOANNA. Robin Goodfellow was Puck. 

MRS. COADE (with natural elation). That is what was in my head. Lobwas another name for Puck. 

JOANNA. Well, he is certainly rather like what Puck might have growninto if he had forgotten to die. And, by the way, I remember now hedoes call his flowers by the old Elizabethan names. 

MATEY. He always calls the Nightingale Philomel, miss--if that is anyhelp. 

ALICE (who is not omniscient). None whatever. Tell me this, did hespecially ask you all for Midsummer week?

(They assent. )

MATEY (who might more judiciously have remained silent). He would!

MRS. COADE. Now what do you mean?

MATEY. He always likes them to be here on Midsummer night, ma'am. 

ALICE. Them? Whom?

MATEY. Them who have that in common. 

MABEL. What can it be?

MATEY. I don't know. 

LADY CAROLINE (suddenly introspective). I hope we are all nice women?We don't know each other very well. (Certain suspicions are reborn invarious breasts. ) Does anything startling happen at those times?

MATEY. I don't know. 

JOANNA. Why, I believe this is Midsummer Eve!

MATEY. Yes, miss, it is. The villagers know it. They are all insidetheir houses, to-night--with the doors barred. 

LADY CAROLINE. Because of--of him?

MATEY. He frightens them. There are stories. 

ALICE. What alarms them? Tell us--or--(She brandishes the telegram. )

MATEY. I know nothing for certain, ma'am. I have never done it myself. He has wanted me to, but I wouldn't. 

MABEL. Done what?

MATEY (with fine appeal). Oh. Ma'am, don't ask me. Be merciful to me, ma'am. I am not bad naturally. It was just going into domesticservice that did for me; the accident of being flung among badcompanions. It's touch and go how the poor turn out in this world;all depends on your taking the right or the wrong turning. 

MRS. COADE (the lenient). I daresay that is true. 

MATEY (under this touch of sun). When I was young, ma'am, I wasoffered a clerkship in the city. If I had taken it there wouldn't bea more honest man alive to-day. I would give the world to be able tobegin over again. 

(He means every word of it, though the flowers would here, if theydared, burst into ironical applause. )

MRS. COADE. It is very sad, Mrs. Dearth. 

ALICE. I am sorry for him; but still--

MATEY (his eyes turning to LADY CAROLINE). What do you say, my lady?

LADY CAROLINE (briefly). As you ask me, I should certainly say jail. 

MATEY (desperately). If you will say no more about this, ma'am--I'llgive you a tip that is worth it. 

ALICE. Ah, now you are talking. 

LADY CAROLINE. Don't listen to him. 

MATEY (lowering). You are the one that is hardest on me. 

LADY CAROLINE. Yes, I flatter myself I am. 

MATEY (forgetting himself). You might take a wrong turning yourself, my lady. 

LADY CAROLINE, I? How dare you, man. 

(But the flowers rather like him for this; it is possibly what gavethem a certain idea. )

JOANNA (near the keyhole of the dining-room door). The men arerising. 

ALICE (hurriedly). Very well, Matey, we agree--if the 'tip' is goodenough. 

LADY CAROLINE. You will regret this. 

MATEY. I think not, my lady. It's this: I wouldn't go out to-night ifhe asks you. Go into the garden, if you like. The garden is allright. (He really believes this. ) I wouldn't go farther--notto-night. 

MRS. COADE. But he never proposes to us to go farther. Why should heto-night?

MATEY. I don't know, ma'am, but don't any of you go--(devilishly)except you, my lady; I should like you to go. 

LADY CAROLINE. Fellow!

(They consider this odd warning. )

ALICE. Shall I? (They nod and she tears up the telegram. )

MATEY (with a gulp). Thank you, ma'am. 

LADY CAROLINE. You should have sent that telegram off. 

JOANNA. You are sure you have told us all you know, Matey?

MATEY. Yes, miss. (But at the door he is more generous. ) Above all, ladies, I wouldn't go into the wood. 

MABEL. The wood? Why, there is no wood within a dozen miles of here. 

MATEY. NO, ma'am. But all the same I wouldn't go into it, ladies--notif I was you. 

(With this cryptic warning he leaves them, and any discussion of itis prevented by the arrival of their host. LOB is very small, andprobably no one has ever looked so old except some newborn child. Tosuch as watch him narrowly, as the ladies now do for the first time, he has the effect of seeming to be hollow, an attenuated piece ofpiping insufficiently inflated; one feels that if he were to strikeagainst a solid object he might rebound feebly from it, which wouldbe less disconcerting if he did not obviously know this and carefullyavoid the furniture; he is so light that the subject must not bementioned in his presence, but it is possible that, were the ladiesto combine, they could blow him out of a chair. He entersportentously, his hands behind his back, as if every bit of him, fromhis domed head to his little feet, were the physical expressions ofthe deep thoughts within him, then suddenly he whirls round to makehis guests jump. This amuses him vastly, and he regains his gravitywith difficulty. He addresses MRS. COADE. )

LOB. Standing, dear lady? Pray be seated. 

(He finds a chair for her and pulls it away as she is about to sit, orkindly pretends to be about to do so, for he has had this quaintconceit every evening since she arrived. )

MRS. COADE (who loves children). You naughty!

LOB (eagerly). It is quite a flirtation, isn't it?

(He rolls on a chair, kicking out his legs in an ecstasy ofsatisfaction. But the ladies are not certain that he is the littleinnocent they have hitherto thought him. The advent of MR. COADE andMR. PURDIE presently adds to their misgivings. MR. COADE is old, asweet pippin of a man with a gentle smile for all; he must havesuffered much, you conclude incorrectly, to acquire that tolerantsmile. Sometimes, as when he sees other people at work, a wistfullook takes the place of the smile, and MR. COADE fidgets like one whowould be elsewhere. Then there rises before his eyes the room calledthe study in his house, whose walls are lined with boxes marked A. B. C. To Z. And A2. B2. C2. To K2. These contain dusty notes for hisgreat work on the Feudal System, the notes many years old, the work, strictly speaking, not yet begun. He still speaks at times offinishing it but never of beginning it. He knows that in morefavourable circumstances, for instance if he had been a poor maninstead of pleasantly well to do, he could have flung himself avidlyinto that noble undertaking; but he does not allow his secret sorrowto embitter him or darken the house. Quickly the vision passes, andhe is again his bright self. Idleness, he says in his game way, hasits recompenses. It is charming now to see how he at once crosses tohis wife, solicitous for her comfort. He is bearing down on her witha footstool when MR. PURDIE comes from the dining-room. He is themost brilliant of our company, recently notable in debate at Oxford, where he was runner-up for the presidentship of the Union and onlylost it because the other man was less brilliant. Since then he hasgone to the bar on Monday, married on Tuesday and had a brief onWednesday. Beneath his brilliance, and making charming company forhimself, he is aware of intellectual powers beyond his years. As weare about to see, he has made one mistake in his life which he isbravely facing. )

ALICE. Is my husband still sampling the port, Mr. Purdie?

PURDIE (with a disarming smile for the absent DEARTH). Do you know, Ibelieve he is. Do the ladies like our proposal, Coade?

COADE. I have not told them of it yet. The fact is, I am afraid thatit might tire my wife too much. Do you feel equal to a littleexertion to-night, Coady, or is your foot troubling you?

MRS. COADE (the kind creature). I have been resting it, Coady. 

COADE (propping it on the footstool). There! Is that morecomfortable? Presently, dear, if you are agreeable we are all goingout for a walk. 

MRS. COADE (quoting MATEY). The garden is all right. 

PURDIE (with jocular solemnity). Ah, but it is not to be the garden. We are going farther afield. We have an adventure for to-night. Getthick shoes and a wrap, Mrs. Dearth; all of you. 

LADY CAROLINE (with but languid interest). Where do you propose totake us?

PURDIE. To find a mysterious wood. (With the word 'wood' the ladiesare blown upright. Their eyes turn to LOB, who, however, has neverlooked more innocent). 

JOANNE. Are you being funny, Mr. Purdie? You know quite well thatthere are not any trees for miles around. You have said yourself thatit is the one blot on the landscape. 

COADE (almost as great a humorist as PURDIE). Ah, on ordinaryoccasions! But allow us to point out to you, Miss Joanna, that thisis Midsummer Eve. 

(LOB again comes sharply under female observation. )

PURDIE. Tell them what you told us, Lob. 

LOB (with a pout for the credulous). It is all nonsense, of course;just foolish talk of the villagers. They say that on Midsummer Evethere is a strange wood in this part of the country. 

ALICE (lowering). Where?

PURDIE. Ah, that is one of its most charming features. It is nevertwice in the same place apparently. It has been seen on differentparts of the Downs and on More Common; once it was close to Radleyvillage and another time about a mile from the sea. Oh, a sportingwood!

LADY CAROLINE. And Lob is anxious that we should all go and look forit?

COADE. Not he; Lob is the only sceptic in the house. Says it is allrubbish, and that we shall be sillies if we go. But we believe, eh, Purdie?

PURDIE (waggishly). Rather!

LOB (the artful). Just wasting the evening. Let us have a round gameat cards here instead. 

PURDIE (grandly), No, sir, I am going to find that wood. 

JOANNA. What is the good of it when it is found?

PURDIE. We shall wander in it deliciously, listening to a new sort ofbird called the Philomel. 

(LOB is behaving in the most exemplary manner; making sweet littleclucking sounds. )

JOANNA (doubtfully). Shall we keep together, Mr. Purdie?

PURDIE. No, we must hunt in pairs. 

JOANNA. (converted). I think it would be rather fun. Come on, Coady, I'll lace your boots for you. I am sure your poor foot will carry younicely. 

ALICE. Miss Trout, wait a moment. Lob, has this wonderful wood anyspecial properties?

LOB. Pooh! There's no wood. 

LADY CAROLINE. You've never seen it?

LOB. Not I. I don't believe in it. 

ALICE. Have any of the villagers ever been in it?

LOB (dreamily). So it's said; so it's said. 

ALICE. What did they say were their experiences?

LOB. That isn't known. They never came back. 

JOANNA (promptly resuming her seat). Never came back!

LOB. Absurd, of course. You see in the morning the wood was gone; andso they were gone, too. (He clucks again. )

JOANNA. I don't think I like this wood. 

MRS. COADE. It certainly is Midsummer Eve. 

COADE (remembering that women are not yet civilised). Of course if youladies are against it we will drop the idea. It was only a bit offun. 

ALICE (with a malicious eye on LOB). Yes, better give it up--to pleaseLob. 

PURDIE. Oh, all right, Lob. What about that round game of cards?

(The proposal meets with approval. )

LOB (bursting into tears). I wanted you to go. I had set my heart onyour going. It is the thing I wanted, and it isn't good for me not toget the thing I want. 

(He creeps under the table and threatens the hands that would drawhim out. )

MRS. COADE. Good gracious, he has wanted it all the time. You wickedLob!

ALICE. Now, you see there _is_ something in it. 

COADE. Nonsense, Mrs. Dearth, it was only a joke. 

MABEL (melting). Don't cry, Lobby. 

LOB. Nobody cares for me--nobody loves me. And I need to be loved. 

(Several of them are on their knees to him. )

JOANNA. Yes, we do, we all love you. Nice, nice Lobby. 

MABEL. Dear Lob, I am so fond of you. 

JOANNA. Dry his eyes with my own handkerchief. (He holds up his eyesbut is otherwise inconsolable. )

LADY CAROLINE. Don't pamper him. 

LOB (furiously). I need to be pampered. 

MRS. COADE. You funny little man. Let us go at once and look for hiswood. 

(All feel that thus alone can his tears be dried. )

JOANNA. Boots and cloaks, hats forward. Come on, Lady Caroline, justto show you are not afraid of Matey. 

(There is a general exodus, and LOB left alone emerges from histemporary retirement. He ducks victoriously, but presently is on hisknees again distressfully regarding some flowers that have fallenfrom their bowl. )

LOB. Poor bruised one, it was I who hurt you. Lob is so sorry. Liethere! (To another. ) Pretty, pretty, let me see where you have apain? You fell on your head; is this the place? Now I make it better. Oh, little rascal, you are not hurt at all; you just pretend. Ohdear, oh dear! Sweetheart, don't cry, you are now prettier than ever. You were too tall. Oh, how beautifully you smell now that you aresmall. (He replaces the wounded tenderly in their bowl. ) rink, drink. Now, you are happy again. The little rascal smiles. All smile, please--nod heads--aha! aha! You love Lob--Lob loves you. 

(JOANNA and MR. PURDIE stroll in by the window. )

JOANNA. What were you saying to them, Lob?

LOB. I was saying 'Two's company, three's none. '

(He departs with a final cluck. )

JOANNA. That man--he suspects!

(This is a very different JOANNA from the one who has so far flittedacross our scene. It is also a different PURDIE. In company theyseldom look at each other, though when the one does so the eyes ofthe other magnetically respond. We have seen them trivial, almostcynical, but now we are to greet them as they know they really are, the great strong-hearted man and his natural mate, in the grip of themaster passion. For the moment LOB'S words have unnerved JOANNA andit is JOHN PURDIE's dear privilege to soothe her. )

PURDIE. No one minds Lob. My dear, oh my dear. 

JOANNA (faltering). Yes, but he saw you kiss my hand. Jack, if Mabelwere to suspect!

PURDIE (happily). There is nothing for her to suspect. 

JOANNA (eagerly). No, there isn't, is there? (She is desirous ever tobe without a flaw. ) Jack, I am not doing anything wrong, am I?

PURDIE. You!

(With an adorable gesture she gives him one of her hands, and manlikehe takes the other also. )

JOANNA. Mabel is your wife, Jack. I should so hate myself if I didanything that was disloyal to her. 

PURDIE (pressing her hand to her eyes as if counting them, in thestrange manner of lovers). Those eyes could never be disloyal--mylady of the nut-brown eyes. (He holds her from him, surveying her, and is scorched in the flame of her femininity. ) Oh, the sveldtnessof you. (Almost with reproach. ) Joanna, why are you so sveldt!

(For his sake she would be less sveldt if she could, but she can't. She admits her failure with eyes grown still larger, and he envelopsher so that he may not see her. Thus men seek safety. )

JOANNA (while out of sight). All I want is to help her and you. 

PURDIE. I know--how well I know--my dear brave love. 

JOANNA. I am very fond of Mabel, Jack. I should like to be the bestfriend she has in the world. 

PURDIE. You are, dearest. No woman ever had a better friend. 

JOANNA. And yet I don't think she really likes me. I wonder why?

PURDIE (who is the bigger brained of the two. ) It is just that Mabeldoesn't understand. Nothing could make me say a word against my wife. 

JOANNA (sternly). I wouldn't listen to you if you did. 

PURDIE. I love you all the more, dear, for saying that. But Mabel is acold nature and she doesn't understand. 

JOANNA (thinking never of herself but only of him). She doesn'tappreciate your finer qualities. 

PURDIE (ruminating). That's it. But of course I am difficult. I alwayswas a strange, strange creature. I often think, Joanna, that I amrather like a flower that has never had the sun to shine on it northe rain to water it. 

JOANNA. You break my heart. 

PURDIE (with considerable enjoyment). I suppose there is no morelonely man than I walking the earth to-day. 

JOANNA (beating her wings). It is so mournful. 

PURDIE. It is the thought of you that sustains me, elevates me. Youshine high above me like a star. 

JOANNA. No, no. I wish I was wonderful, but I am not. 

PURDIE. You have made me a better man, Joanna. 

JOANNA. I am so proud to think that. 

PURDIE. You have made me kinder to Mabel. 

JOANNA. I am sure you are always kind to her. 

PURDIE. Yes, I hope so. But I think now of special little ways ofgiving her pleasure. That never-to-be-forgotten day when we firstmet, you and I!

JOANNA (fluttering nearer to him. ) That tragic, lovely day by theweir. Oh, Jack!

PURDIE. Do you know how in gratitude I spent the rest of that day?

JOANNA (crooning). Tell me. 

PURDIE. I read to Mabel aloud for an hour. I did it out of kindness toher, because I had met you. 

JOANNA. It was dear of you. 

PURDIE. Do you remember that first time my arms--your waist--you areso fluid, Joanna. (Passionately. ) Why are you so fluid?

JOANNA (downcast). I can't help it, Jack. 

PURDIE. I gave her a ruby bracelet for that. 

JOANNA. It is a gem. You have given that lucky woman many lovelythings. 

PURDIE. It is my invariable custom to go straight off and buy Mabelsomething whenever you have been sympathetic to me. Those newearrings of hers--they are in memory of the first day you called meJack. Her Paquin gown--the one with the beads--was because you let mekiss you. 

JOANNA. I didn't exactly let you. 

PURDIE. No, but you have such a dear way of giving in. 

JOANNA. Jack, she hasn't worn that gown of late. 

PURDIE. No, nor the jewels. I think she has some sort of idea now thatwhen I give her anything nice it means that you have been nice to me. She has rather a suspicious nature, Mabel; she never used to have it, but it seems to be growing on her. I wonder why, I wonder why?

(In this wonder which is shared by JOANNA their lips meet, and MABEL, who has been about to enter from the garden quietly retires. )

JOANNA. Was that any one in the garden?

PURDIE (returning from a quest). There is no one there now. 

JOANNA. I am sure I heard some one. If it was Mabel! (With aperspicacity that comes of knowledge of her sex. ) Jack, if she saw usshe will think you were kissing me. 

(These fears are confirmed by the rather odd bearing of MABEL, who nowjoins their select party. )

MABEL (apologetically). I am so sorry to interrupt you, Jack; butplease wait a moment before you kiss her again. Excuse me, Joanna. (She quietly draws the curtains, thus shutting out the garden and anypossible onlooker. ) I did not want the others to see you; they mightnot understand how noble you are, Jack. You can go on now. 

(Having thus passed the time of day with them she withdraws by thedoor, leaving JACK bewildered and JOANNA knowing all about it. )

JOANNA. How extraordinary! Of all the--! Oh, but how contemptible!(She sweeps to the door and calls to MABEL by name. )

MABEL (returning with promptitude). Did you call me, Joanna?

JOANNA (guardedly). I insist on an explanation. (With creditablehauteur. ) What were you doing in the garden, Mabel?

MABEL (who has not been so quiet all day). I was looking for somethingI have lost. 

PURDIE (hope springing eternal). Anything important?

MABEL. I used to fancy it, Jack. It is my husband's love. You don'thappen to have picked it up, Joanna? If so and you don't set greatstore by it I should like it back--the pieces, I mean. 

(MR. PURDIE is about lo reply to this, when JOANNA rather wisely fillsthe breach. )

JOANNA. Mabel, I--I will not be talked to in that way. To imply thatI--that your husband--oh, shame!

PURDIE (finely). I must say, Mabel, that I am a little disappointed inyou. I certainly understood that you had gone upstairs to put on yourboots. 

MABEL. Poor old Jack. (She muses. ) A woman like that!

JOANNA (changing her comment in the moment of utterance), I forgiveyou Mabel, you will be sorry for this afterwards. 

PURDIE (warningly, but still reluctant to think less well of hiswife). Not a word against Joanna, Mabel. If you knew how nobly shehas spoken of you. 

JOANNA (imprudently). She does know. She has been listening. 

(There is a moment's danger of the scene degenerating into somethingmid-Victorian. Fortunately a chivalrous man is present to lift it to ahigher plane. JOHN PURDIE is one to whom subterfuge of any kind isabhorrent; if he has not spoken out before it is because of hisreluctance to give MABEL pain. He speaks out now, and seldomprobably has he proved himself more worthy. )

PURDIE. This is a man's business. I must be open with you now, Mabel:it is the manlier way. If you wish it I shall always be true to youin word and deed; it is your right. But I cannot pretend that Joannais not the one woman in the world for me. If I had met her beforeyou--it's Kismet, I suppose. (He swells. )

JOANNA (from a chair). Too late, too late. 

MABEL (although the woman has seen him swell). I suppose you neverknew what true love was till you met her, Jack?

PURDIE. You force me to say it. Joanna and I are as one person. Wehave not a thought at variance. We are one rather than two. 

MABEL (looking at JOANNA). Yes, and that's the one! (With thecheapest sarcasm. ) I am so sorry to have marred your lives. 

PURDIE. If any blame there is, it is all mine; she is as spotless asthe driven snow. The moment I mentioned love to her she told me todesist. 

MABEL. Not she. 

JOANNA. So you were listening! (The obtuseness of MABEL is verystrange to her. ) Mabel, don't you see how splendid he is!

MABEL. Not quite, Joanna. 

(She goes away. She is really a better woman than this, but nevercapable of scaling that higher plane to which he has, as it were, offered her a hand. )

JOANNA. How lovely of you, Jack, to take it all upon yourself. 

PURDIE (simply). It is the man's privilege. 

JOANNA. Mabel has such a horrid way of seeming to put people in thewrong. 

PURDIE. Have you noticed that? Poor Mabel, it is not an enviablequality. 

JOANNA (despondently). I don't think I care to go out now. She hasspoilt it all. She has taken the innocence out of it, Jack. 

PURDIE (a rock). We must be brave and not mind her. Ah, Joanna, if wehad met in time. If only I could begin again. To be battered for everjust because I once took the wrong turning, it isn't fair. 

JOANNA (emerging from his arms). The wrong turning! Now, who wassaying that a moment ago--about himself? Why, it was Matey. 

(A footstep is heard. )

PURDIE (for the first time losing patience with his wife). Is that hercoming back again? It's too bad. 

(But the intruder is MRS. DEARTH, and he greets her with relief. )

Ah, it is you, Mrs. Dearth. 

ALICE. Yes, it is; but thank you for telling me, Mr. Purdie. I don'tintrude, do I?

JOANNA (descending to the lower plane, on which even goddesses snap). Why should you?

PURDIE. Rather not. We were--hoping it would be you. We want to starton the walk. I can't think what has become of the others. We havebeen looking for them everywhere. (He glances vaguely round the room, as if they might so far have escaped detection. )

ALICE (pleasantly). Well, do go on looking; under that flower-potwould be a good place. It is my husband I am in search of. 

PURDIE (who likes her best when they are in different rooms). Shall Irout him out for you?

ALICE. How too unutterably kind of you, Mr. Purdie. I hate to troubleyou, but it would be the sort of service one never forgets. 

PURDIE. You know, I believe you are chaffing me. 

ALICE. No, no, I am incapable of that. 

PURDIE. I won't be a moment. 

ALICE. Miss Trout and I will await your return with ill-concealedimpatience. 

(They await it across a table, the newcomer in a reverie and JOANNAwatching her. Presently MRS. DEARTH looks up, and we may notice thatshe has an attractive screw of the mouth which denotes humour. )

Yes, I suppose you are right; I dare say I am. 

JOANNA (puzzled). I didn't say anything. 

ALICE. I thought I heard you say 'That hateful Dearth woman, comingbutting in where she is not wanted. '

(Joanna draws up her sveldt figure, but a screw of one mouth oftencalls for a similar demonstration from another, and both ladiessmile. They nearly become friends. )

JOANNA. You certainly have good ears. 

ALICE (drawling). Yes, they have always been rather admired. 

JOANNA (snapping). By the painters for whom you sat when you were anartist's model?

ALICE (measuring her). So that has leaked out, has it!

JOANNA (ashamed). I shouldn't have said that. 

ALICE (their brief friendship over). Do you think I care whether youknow or not?

JOANNA (making an effort to be good). I'm sure you don't. Still, itwas cattish of me. 

ALICE. It was. 

JOANNA (in flame). I don't see it. 

(MRS. DEARTH laughs and forgets her, and with the entrance of a manfrom the dining room JOANNA drifts elsewhere. Not so much a man, thisnewcomer, as the relic of what has been a good one; it is the most hewould ever claim for himself. Sometimes, brandy in hand, he hasvisions of the WILL DEARTH he used to be, clear of eye, sees him buta field away, singing at his easel or, fishing-rod in hand, leaping astile. Our WILL stares after the fellow for quite a long time, solong that the two melt into the one who finishes LOB's brandy. He isscarcely intoxicated as he appears before the lady of his choice, buthe is shaky and has watery eyes. )

(ALICE has had a rather wild love for this man, or for that other one, and he for her, but somehow it has gone whistling down the wind. Wemay expect therefore to see them at their worst when in each other'scompany. )

DEARTH (who is not without a humorous outlook on his own degradation). I am uncommonly flattered, Alice, to hear that you have sent for me. It quite takes me aback. 

ALICE (with cold distaste). It isn't your company I want, Will. 

DEARTH. You know. I felt that Purdie must have delivered your messagewrongly. 

ALICE. I want you to come with us on this mysterious walk and keep aneye on Lob. 

DEARTH. On poor little Lob? Oh, surely not. 

ALICE. I can't make the man out. I want you to tell me something; whenhe invited us here, do you think it was you or me he speciallywanted?

DEARTH. Oh, you. He made no bones about it; said there was somethingabout you that made him want uncommonly to have you down here. 

ALICE. Will, try to remember this: did he ask us for any particulartime?

DEARTH. Yes, he was particular about its being Midsummer week. 

ALICE. Ah! I thought so. Did he say what it was about me that made himwant to have me here in Midsummer week?

DEARTH. No, but I presumed it must be your fascination, Alice. 

ALICE. Just so. Well, I want you to come out with us to-night to watchhim. 

DEARTH. Crack-in-my-eye-Tommy, spy on my host! And such a harmlesslittle chap, too. Excuse me, Alice. Besides I have an engagement. 

ALICE. An engagement--with the port decanter, I presume. 

DEARTH. A good guess, but wrong. The decanter is now but an emptyshell. Still, how you know me! My engagement is with a quiet cigarin the garden. 

ALICE. Your hand is so unsteady, you won't be able to light thematch. 

DEARTH. I shall just manage. (He triumphantly proves the exact truthof his statement. )

ALICE. A nice hand for an artist!

DEARTH. One would scarcely call me an artist now-a-days. 

ALICE. Not so far as any work is concerned. 

DEARTH. Not so far as having any more pretty dreams to paint isconcerned. (Grinning at himself. ) Wonder why I have become such awaster, Alice?

ALICE. I suppose it was always in you. 

DEARTH (with perhaps a glimpse of the fishing-rod). I suppose so; andyet I was rather a good sort in the days when I went courting you. 

ALICE. Yes, I thought so. Unlucky days for me, as it has turned out. 

DEARTH (heartily). Yes, a bad job for you. (Puzzling unsteadily overhimself. ) I didn't know I was a wrong 'un at the time; thought quitewell of myself, thought a vast deal more of you. Crack-in-my-eye-Tommy, how I used to leap out of bed at 6 A. M. All agog to be at my easel;blood ran through my veins in those days. And now I'm middle-agedand done for. Funny! Don't know how it has come about, nor what hasmade the music mute. (Mildly curious. ) When did you begin to despiseme, Alice?

ALICE. When I got to know you really, Will; a long time ago. 

DEARTH (bleary of eye). Yes, I think that is true. It was a long timeago, and before I had begun to despise myself. It wasn't till I knewyou had no opinion of me that I began to go down hill. You will grantthat, won't you; and that I did try for a bit to fight on? If you hadcared for me I wouldn't have come to this, surely?

ALICE. Well, I found I didn't care for you, and I wasn't hypocriteenough to pretend I did. That's blunt, but you used to admire mybluntness. 

DEARTH. The bluntness of you, the adorable wildness of you, youuntamed thing! There were never any shades in you; kiss or kill wasyour motto, Alice. I felt from the first moment I saw you that youwould love me or knife me. 

(Memories of their shooting star flare in both of them for as long asa sheet of paper might take to burn. )

ALICE. I didn't knife you. 

DEARTH. No. I suppose that was where you made the mistake. It is hardon you, old lady. (Becoming watery. ) I suppose it's too late to tryto patch things up?

ALICE. Let's be honest; it is too late, Will. DEARTH (whose tearswould smell of brandy). Perhaps if we had had children--Pity!

ALICE. A blessing I should think, seeing what sort of a father theywould have had. 

DEARTH (ever reasonable). I dare say you're right. Well, Alice, I knowthat somehow it's my fault. I'm sorry for you. 

ALICE. I'm sorry for myself. If I hadn't married you what a differentwoman I should be. What a fool I was. 

DEARTH. Ah! Three things they say come not back to men nor women--thespoken word, the past life and the neglected opportunity. Wonder ifwe should make any more of them, Alice, if they did come back to us. 

ALICE. You wouldn't. 

DEARTH (avoiding a hiccup). I guess you're right. 

ALICE. But I--

DEARTH (sincerely). Yes, what a boon for you. But I hope it's notFreddy Finch-Fallowe you would put in my place; I know he isfollowing you about again. (He is far from threatening her, he hastoo beery an opinion of himself for that. )

ALICE. He followed me about, as you put it, before I knew you. I don'tknow why I quarrelled with him. 

DEARTH. Your heart told you that he was no good, Alice. 

ALICE. My heart told me that you were. So it wasn't of much service tome, my heart!

DEARTH. The Honourable Freddy Finch-Fallowe is a rotter. 

ALICE (ever inflammable). You are certainly an authority on thesubject. 

DEARTH (with the sad smile of the disillusioned). You have me there. After which brief, but pleasant, little connubial chat, he pursuedhis dishonoured way into the garden. 

(He is however prevented doing so for the moment by the return of theothers. They are all still in their dinner clothes though wearingwraps. They crowd in through the door, chattering. )

LOB. Here they are. Are you ready, dear lady?

MRS. COADE (seeing that DEARTH's hand is on the window curtains). Areyou not coming with us to find the wood, Mr. Dearth. 

DEARTH. Alas, I am unavoidably detained. You will find me in thegarden when you come back. 

JOANNA (whose sense of humour has been restored). If we ever do comeback!

DEARTH. Precisely. (With a groggy bow. ) Should we never meet again, Alice, fare thee well. Purdie, if you find the tree of knowledge inthe wood bring me back an apple. 

PURDIE. I promise. 

LOB. Come quickly. Matey mustn't see me. (He is turning out thelights. )

LADY CAROLINE (pouncing). Matey? What difference would that make, Lob?

LOB. He would take me off to bed; it's past my time. 

COADE (not the least gay of the company). You know, old fellow, youmake it very difficult for us to embark upon this adventure in theproper eerie spirit. 

DEARTH. Well, I'm for the garden. 

(He walks to the window, and the others are going out by the door. Butthey do not go. There is a hitch somewhere--at the window apparently, for DEARTH, having begun to draw the curtains apart lets them fall, like one who has had a shock. The others remember long afterwards hisgrave face as he came quietly back and put his cigar on the table. The room is in darkness save for the light from one lamp. )

PURDIE (wondering). How, now, Dearth?

DEARTH. What is it we get in that wood, Lob?

ALICE. Ah, he won't tell us that. 

LOB (shrinking). Come on!

ALICE (impressed by the change that has come over her husband). Tellus first. 

LOB (forced to the disclosure). They say that in the wood you get whatnearly everybody here is longing for--a second chance. 

(The ladies are simultaneously enlightened. )

JOANNA (speaking for all). So that is what we have in common!

COADE: (with gentle regret). I have often thought, Coady, that if Ihad a second chance I should be a useful man instead of just a nicelazy one. 

ALICE (morosely). A second chance!

LOB. Come on. 

PURDIE (gaily). Yes, to the wood--the wood!

DEARTH (as they are going out by the door). Stop, why not go thisway?

(He pulls the curtains apart, and there comes a sudden indrawing ofbreath from all, for no garden is there now. In its place is anendless wood of great trees; the nearest of them has come close tothe window. It is a sombre wood, with splashes of moonshine and ofblackness standing very still in it. )

(The party in the drawing-room are very still also; there is scarcely acry or a movement. It is perhaps strange that the most obviouslyfrightened is LOB who calls vainly for MATEY. The first articulatevoice is DEARTH'S. )

DEARTH (very quietly). Any one ready to risk it?

PURDIE (after another silence). Of course there is nothing in it--just

DEARTH (grimly). Of course. Going out, Purdie?

(PURDIE draws back. )

MRS. DEARTH (the only one who is undaunted). A second chance! (She islooking at her husband. They all look at him as if he had been aleader once. )

DEARTH (with his sweet mournful smile). I shall be back in amoment--probably. 

(As he passes into the wood his hands rise, as if a hammer had tappedhim on the forehead. He is soon lost to view. )

LADY CAROLINE (after a long pause). He does not come back. 

MRS. COADE. It's horrible. 

(She steals off by the door to her room, calling to her husband to dolikewise. He takes a step after her, and stops in the grip of the twowords that holds them all. The stillness continues. At last MRS. PURDIE goes out into the wood, her hands raised, and is swallowed upby it. )

PURDIE. Mabel!

ALICE (sardonically). You will have to go now, Mr. Purdie. 

(He looks at JOANNA, and they go out together, one tap of the hammerfor each. )

LOB. That's enough. (Warningly. ) Don't you go, Mrs. Dearth. You'llcatch it if you go. 

ALICE. A second chance!

(She goes out unflinching. )

LADY CAROLINE. One would like to know. 

(She goes out. MRS. COADE'S voice is heard from the stair calling toher husband. He hesitates but follows LADY CAROLINE. To LOB now alonecomes MATEY with a tray of coffee cups. )

MATEY (as he places his tray on the table). It is past your bed-time, sir. Say good-night to the ladies, and come along. 

LOB. Matey, look!

(MATEY looks. )

MATEY (shrinking). Great heavens, then it's true!

LOB. Yes, but I--I wasn't sure. 

(MATEY approaches the window cautiously to peer out, and his mastergives him a sudden push that propels him into the wood. LOB's back istoward us as he stands alone staring out upon the unknown. He isterrified still; yet quivers of rapture are running up and down hislittle frame. )

ACT II

We are translated to the depths of the wood in the enchantment of amoonlight night. In some other glade a nightingale is singing, inthis one, in proud motoring attire, recline two mortals whom we haveknown in different conditions; the second chance has converted theminto husband and wife. The man, of gross muddy build, lies luxuriouson his back exuding affluence, a prominent part of him heavingplayfully, like some little wave that will not rest in a still sea. Ahandkerchief over his face conceals from us what Colossus he may be, but his mate is our Lady Caroline. The nightingale trills on, andLady Caroline takes up its song. 

LADY CAROLINE. Is it not a lovely night, Jim. Listen, my own, toPhilomel; he is saying that he is lately married. So are we, youducky thing. I feel, Jim, that I am Rosalind and that you are myOrlando. 

(The handkerchief being removed MR. MATEY is revealed; and thenightingale seeks some farther tree. )

MATEY. What do you say I am, Caroliny?

LADY CAROLINE (clapping her hands). My own one, don't you think itwould be fun if we were to write poems about each other and pin themon the tree trunks?

MATEY (tolerantly). Poems? I never knew such a lass for high-flownlanguage. 

LADY CAROLINE. Your lass, dearest. Jim's lass. 

MATEY (pulling her ear). And don't you forget it. 

LADY CAROLINE (with the curiosity of woman). What would you do if Iwere to forget it, great bear?

MATEY. Take a stick to you. 

LADY CAROLINE (so proud of him). I love to hear you talk like that;it is so virile. I always knew that it was a master I needed. 

MATEY. It's what you all need. 

LADY CAROLINE. It is, it is, you knowing wretch. 

MATEY. Listen, Caroliny. (He touches his money pocket, which emits acrinkly sound--the squeak of angels. ) That is what gets the ladies. 

LADY CAROLINE. How much have you made this week, you wonderful man?

MATEY (blandly). Another two hundred or so. That's all, just twohundred or so. 

LADY CAROLINE (caressing her wedding ring). My dear golden fetter, listen to him. Kiss my fetter, Jim. 

MATEY. Wait till I light this cigar. 

LADY CAROLINE. Let me hold the darling match. 

MATEY. Tidy-looking Petitey Corona, this. There was a time when one ofthat sort would have run away with two days of my screw. 

LADY CAROLINE. How I should have loved, Jim, to know you when you werepoor. Fancy your having once been a clerk. 

MATEY (remembering Napoleon and others). We all have our beginnings. But it wouldn't have mattered how I began, Caroliny: I should havecome to the top just the same. (Becoming a poet himself. ) I am aclimber and there are nails in my boots for the parties beneath me. Boots! I tell you if I had been a bootmaker, I should have been thefirst bootmaker in London. 

LADY CAROLINE (a humourist at last). I am sure you would, Jim; butshould you have made the best boots?

MATEY (uxoriously wishing that others could have heard this). Verygood. Caroliny; that is the nearest thing I have heard you say. Butit's late; we had best be strolling back to our Rolls-Royce. 

LADY CAROLINE (as they rise). I do hope the ground wasn't damp. 

MATEY. Don't matter if it was; I was lying on your rug. 

(Indeed we notice now that he has had all the rug, and she the bareground. JOANNA reaches the glade, now an unhappy lady who has gotwhat she wanted. She is in country dress and is unknown to them asthey are to her. ) Who is the mournful party?

JOANNA (hesitating). I wonder, sir, whether you happen to have seenmy husband? I have lost him in the wood. 

MATEY. We are strangers in these parts ourselves, missis. Have wepassed any one, Caroliny?

LADY CAROLINE (coyly). Should we have noticed, dear? Might it be thatold gent over there? (After the delightful manner of those happilywed she has already picked up many of her lover's favourite words andphrases. )

JOANNA. Oh no, my husband is quite young. 

(The woodlander referred to is MR COADE in gala costume; at his moutha whistle he has made him from some friendly twig. To its ravishingmusic he is seen pirouetting charmingly among the trees, his newoccupation. )

MATEY (signing to the unknown that he is wanted). Seems a merry oldcock. Evening to you, sir. Do you happen to have seen a younggentleman in the wood lately, all by himself, and looking for hiswife?

COADE (with a flourish of his legs). Can't say I have. 

JOANNA (dolefully). He isn't necessarily by himself; and I don't knowthat he is looking for me. There may be a young lady with him. 

(The more happily married lady smiles, and Joanna is quick to takeoffence. )

JOANNA. What do you mean by that? LADY CAROLINE (neatly). Oho--ifyou like that better. 

MATEY. Now, now, now--your manners, Caroliny. 

COADE. Would he be singing or dancing?

JOANNA. Oh no--at least, I hope not. 

COADE (an artist to the tips). Hope not? Odd! If he is doing neither Iam not likely to notice him, but if I do, what name shall I say?

JOANNA (gloating not). Purdie; I am Mrs. Purdie. 

COADE. I will try to keep a look-out, and if I see him . .. But I amrather occupied at present . .. (The reference is to his legs and anew step they are acquiring. He sways this way and that, and, whistleto lips, minuets off in the direction of Paradise. )

JOANNA (looking elsewhere). I am sorry I troubled you. I see him now. 

LADY CAROLINE. Is he alone?

(JOANNA glares at her. )

Ah, I see from your face that he isn't. 

MATEY (who has his wench in training). Caroliny, no awkwardquestions. Evening, missis, and I hope you will get him to go alongwith you quietly. (Looking after COADE. ) Watch the old codgerdancing. 

(Light-hearted as children they dance after him, while JOANNA behind atree awaits her lord. PURDIE in knickerbockers approaches withmisgivings to make sure that his JOANNA is not in hiding, and then hegambols joyously with a charming confection whose name is MABEL. Theychase each other from tree to tree, but fortunately not roundJOANNA'S tree. )

MABEL (as he catches her). No, and no, and no. I don't know you nearlywell enough for that. Besides, what would your wife say! I shallbegin to think you are a very dreadful man, Mr. Purdie. 

PURDIE (whose sincerity is not to be questioned). Surely you mightcall me Jack by this time. 

MABEL (heaving). Perhaps, if you are very good, Jack. 

PURDIE (of noble thoughts compact). If only Joanna were more likeyou. 

MABEL. Like me? You mean her face? It is a--well, if it is notprecisely pretty, it is a good face. (Handsomely. ) I don't mind herface at all. I am glad you have got such a dependable little wife, Jack. 

PURDIE (gloomily). Thanks. 

MABEL (seated with a moonbeam in her lap). What would Joanna have saidif she had seen you just now?

PURDIE. A wife should be incapable of jealousy. 

MABEL Joanna jealous? But has she any reason? Jack, tell me, who isthe woman?

PURDIE (restraining himself by a mighty effort, for he wishes alwaysto be true to JOANNA). Shall I, Mabel, shall I?

MABEL (faltering, yet not wholly giving up the chase). I can't thinkwho she is. Have I ever seen her?

PURDIE. Every time you look in a mirror. 

MABEL (with her head on one side). How odd, Jack, that can't be; whenI look in a mirror I see only myself. 

PURDIE (gloating). How adorably innocent you are, Mabel. Joanna wouldhave guessed at once. 

(Slowly his meaning comes to her, and she is appalled. )

MABEL. Not that!

PURDIE (aflame). Shall I tell you now?

MABEL (palpitating exquisitely). I don't know, I am not sure. Jack, try not to say it, but if you feel you must, say it in such a waythat it would not hurt the feelings of Joanna if she happened to bepassing by, as she nearly always is. 

(A little moan from JOANNA'S tree is unnoticed. )

PURDIE. I would rather not say it at all than that way. (He istouchingly anxious that she should know him as he really is. ) I don'tknow, Mabel, whether you have noticed that I am not like other men. (He goes deeply into the very structure of his being. ) All my life Ihave been a soul that has had to walk alone. Even as a child I had nohope that it would be otherwise. I distinctly remember when I was sixthinking how unlike other children I was. Before I was twelve Isuffered from terrible self-depreciation; I do so still. I supposethere never was a man who had a more lowly opinion of himself. 

MABEL. Jack, you who are so universally admired. 

PURDIE. That doesn't help; I remain my own judge. I am afraid I am adark spirit, Mabel. Yes, yes, my dear, let me leave nothing untoldhowever it may damage me in your eyes. Your eyes! I cannot remember atime when I did not think of Love as a great consuming passion; Ivisualised it, Mabel, as perhaps few have done, but always as theabounding joy that could come to others but never to me. I expectedtoo much of women: I suppose I was touched to finer issues than most. That has been my tragedy. 

MABEL. Then you met Joanna. 

PURDIE. Then I met Joanna. Yes! Foolishly, as I now see, I thought shewould understand that I was far too deep a nature really to mean thelittle things I sometimes said to her. I suppose a man was neverplaced in such a position before. What was I to do? Remember, I wasalways certain that the ideal love could never come to me. Whateverthe circumstances, I was convinced that my soul must walk alone. 

MABEL. Joanna, how could you. 

PURDIE (firmly). Not a word against her, Mabel; if blame there is theblame is mine. 

MABEL. And so you married her. 

PURDIE. And so I married her. 

MABEL. Out of pity. 

PURDIE. I felt it was a man's part. I was such a child in worldlymatters that it was pleasant to me to have the right to pay a woman'sbills; I enjoyed seeing her garments lying about on my chairs. Intime that exultation wore off. But I was not unhappy, I didn't expectmuch, I was always so sure that no woman could ever plumb the well ofmy emotions. 

MABEL. Then you met me. 

PURDIE. Then I met you. 

MABEL. Too late--never--forever--forever--never. They are the saddestwords in the English tongue. 

PURDIE. At the time I thought a still sadder word was Joanna. 

MABEL. What was it you saw in me that made you love me?

PURDIE (plumbing the well of his emotions). I think it was the feelingthat you are so like myself. 

MABEL (with great eyes). Have you noticed that, Jack? Sometimes it hasalmost terrified me. 

PURDIE. We think the same thoughts; we are not two, Mabel; we are one. Your hair--

MABEL. Joanna knows you admire it, and for a week she did hers in thesame way. 

PURDIE. I never noticed. 

MABEL. That was why she gave it up. And it didn't really suit her. (Ruminating. ) I can't think of a good way of doing dear Joanna's hair. What is that you are muttering to yourself, Jack? Don't keep anythingfrom me. 

PURDIE. I was repeating a poem I have written: it is in two words, 'Mabel Purdie. ' May I teach it to you, sweet: say 'Mabel Purdie' tome. 

MABEL (timidly covering his mouth with her little hand). If I were tosay it, Jack, I should be false to Joanna: never ask me to be that. Let us go on. 

PURDIE (merciless in his passion). Say it, Mabel, say it. See I writeit on the ground with your sunshade. 

MABEL. If it could be! Jack, I'll whisper it to you. 

(She is whispering it as they wander, not two but one, farther intothe forest, ardently believing in themselves; they are nothypocrites. The somewhat bedraggled figure of Joanna follows them, and the nightingale resumes his love-song. 'That's all you know, youbird!' thinks Joanna cynically. The nightingale, however, is notsinging for them nor for her, but for another pair he has espiedbelow. They are racing, the prize to be for the one who first findsthe spot where the easel was put up last night. The hobbledehoy issure to be the winner, for she is less laden, and the father losestime by singing as he comes. Also she is all legs and she startedahead. Brambles adhere to her, one boot has been in the water and shehas as many freckles as there are stars in heaven. She is as lovelyas you think she is, and she is aged the moment when you like yourdaughter best. A hoot of triumph from her brings her father to thespot. )

MARGARET. Daddy, Daddy. I have won. Here is the place. Crack-in-my-eye-Tommy!

(He comes. Crack-in-my-eye-Tommy, this engaging fellow in tweedsis MR. DEARTH, ablaze in happiness and health and a daughter. Hefinishes his song, picked up in the Latin Quarter. )

DEARTH. Yes, that is the tree I stuck my easel under last night, andbehold the blessed moon behaving more gorgeously than ever. I amsorry to have kept you waiting, old moon; but you ought to know bynow how time passes. Now, keep still, while I hand you down toposterity. 

(The easel is erected, MARGARET helping by getting in the way. )

MARGARET (critical, as an artist's daughter should be. ) The moonis rather pale to-night, isn't she?

DEARTH. Comes of keeping late hours. 

MARGARET (showing off). Daddy, watch me, look at me. Please, sweetmoon, a pleasant expression. No, no, not as if you were sitting orit; that is too professional. That is better; thank you. Now keep it. That is the sort of thing you say to them, Dad. 

DEARTH (quickly at work). I oughtn't to have brought you out so late;you should be tucked up in your cosy bed at home. 

MARGARET (pursuing a squirrel that isn't there). With the pillowanyhow. 

DEARTH. Except in its proper place. 

MARGARET (wetting the other foot). And the sheet over my face. 

DEARTH. Where it oughtn't to be. 

MARGARET (more or less upside down). And Daddy tiptoeing in to take it off. 

DEARTH. Which is more than you deserve. 

MARGARET (in a tree). Then why does he stand so long at the door? Andbefore he has gone she bursts out laughing, for she has been awakeall the time. 

DEARTH. That's about it. What a life! But I oughtn't to have broughtyou here. Best to have the sheet over you when the moon is about;moonlight is bad for little daughters. 

MARGARET (pelting him with nuts). I can't sleep when the moon's at thefull; she keeps calling to me to get up. Perhaps I am _her_ daughtertoo. 

DEARTH. Gad, you look it to-night. 

MARGARET. Do I? Then can't you paint me into the picture as well asMamma? You could call it 'A Mother and Daughter' or simply 'Twoladies. ' if the moon thinks that calling me her daughter would makeher seem too old. 

DEARTH. O matre pulchra filia pulchrior. That means, 'O Moon--morebeautiful than any twopenny-halfpenny daughter. '

MARGARET (emerging in an unexpected place). Daddy, do you reallyprefer her?

DEARTH. 'Sh! She's not a patch on you; it's the sort of thing we sayto our sitters to keep them in good humour. (He surveys ruefully agreat stain on her frock. ) I wish to heaven, Margaret, we were notboth so fond of apple-tart. And what's this? (Catching hold of herskirt. )

MARGARET (unnecessarily). It's a tear. 

DEARTH. I should think it is a tear. 

MARGARET. That boy at the farm did it. He kept calling Snubs after me, but I got him down and kicked him in the stomach. He is rather ajolly boy. 

DEARTH. He sounds it. Ye Gods, what a night!

MARGARET (considering the picture). And what a moon! Dad, she is notquite so fine as that. 

DEARTH. 'Sh! I have touched her up. 

MARGARET. Dad, Dad--what a funny man!

(She has seen MR. COADE with whistle, enlivening the wood. Hepirouettes round them and departs to add to the happiness of others. MARGARET gives an excellent imitation of him at which her fathershakes his head, then reprehensibly joins in the dance. Her moodchanges, she clings to him. )

MARGARET. Hold me tight, Daddy, I 'm frightened. I think they want totake you away from me. 

DEARTH. Who, gosling?

MARGARET. I don't know. It's too lovely, Daddy; I won't be able tokeep hold of it. 

DEARTH. What is?

MARGARET. The world--everything--and you, Daddy, most of all. Thingsthat are too beautiful can't last. 

DEARTH (who knows it). Now, how did you find that out?

MARGARET (still in his arms). I don't know, Daddy, am I sometimesstranger than other people's daughters?

DEARTH. More of a madcap, perhaps. 

MARGARET (solemnly). Do you think I am sometimes too full ofgladness?

DEARTH. My sweetheart, you do sometimes run over with it. (He is athis easel again. )

MARGARET (persisting). To be very gay, dearest dear, is so near tobeing very sad. 

DEARTH (who knows it). How did you find that out, child?

MARGARET. I don't know. From something in me that's afraid. (Unexpectedly. ) Daddy, what is a 'might-have-been?'

DEARTH. A might-have-been? They are ghosts, Margaret. I daresay I'might have been' a great swell of a painter, instead of just thisuncommonly happy nobody. Or again, I might have been a worthless idlewaster of a fellow. 

MARGARET (laughing). You!

DEARTH. Who knows? Some little kink in me might have set me off on thewrong road. And that poor soul I might so easily have been might havehad no Margaret. My word, I'm sorry for him. 

MARGARET. So am I. (She conceives a funny picture. ) The poor oldDaddy, wandering about the world without me!

DEARTH. And there are other 'might-have-beens'--lovely ones, butintangible. Shades, Margaret, made of sad folk's thoughts. 

MARGARET (jigging about). I am so glad I am not a shade. How awful itwould be, Daddy, to wake up and find one wasn't alive. 

DEARTH. It would, dear. 

MARGARET. Daddy, wouldn't it be awful. I think men need daughters. 

DEARTH. They do. 

MARGARET. Especially artists. 

DEARTH. Yes, especially artists. 

MARGARET. Especially artists. 

DEARTH. Especially artists. 

MARGARET (covering herself with leaves and kicking them off). Fame isnot everything. 

DEARTH. Fame is rot; daughters are the thing. 

MARGARET. Daughters are the thing. 

DEARTH. Daughters are the thing. 

MARGARET. I wonder if sons would be even nicer?

DEARTH. Not a patch on daughters. The awful thing about a son is thatnever, never--at least, from the day he goes to school--can you tellhim that you rather like him. By the time he is ten you can't eventake him on your knee. Sons are not worth having, Margaret. SignedW. Dearth. 

MARGARET. But if you were a mother, Dad, I daresay he would let you doit. 

DEARTH. Think so?

MARGARET. I mean when no one was looking. Sons are not so bad. Signed, M. Dearth. But I'm glad you prefer daughters. (She works her waytoward him on her knees, making the tear larger. ) At what age are wenicest, Daddy? (She has constantly to repeat her questions, he is soengaged with his moon. ) Hie, Daddy, at what age are we nicest? Daddy, hie, hie, at what age are we nicest?

DEARTH. Eh? That's a poser. I think you were nicest when you were twoand knew your alphabet up to G but fell over at H. No, you were bestwhen you were half-past three; or just before you struck six; or inthe mumps year, when I asked you in the early morning how you wereand you said solemnly 'I haven't tried yet. '

MARGARET (awestruck). Did I?

DEARTH. Such was your answer. (Struggling with the momentousquestion. ) But I am not sure that chicken-pox doesn't beat mumps. OhLord, I'm all wrong. The nicest time in a father's life is the yearbefore she puts up her hair. 

MARGARET (topheavy with pride in herself). I suppose that is asplendid time. But there's a nicer year coming to you. Daddy, thereis a nicer year coming to you. 

DEARTH. Is there, darling?

MARGARET. Daddy, the year she does put up her hair!

DEARTH. (with arrested brush). Puts it up for ever? You know, I amafraid that when the day for that comes I shan't be able to stand it. It will be too exciting. My poor heart, Margaret. 

MARGARET (rushing at him). No, no, it will be lucky you, for it isn'tto be a bit like that. I am to be a girl and woman day about for thefirst year. You will never know which I am till you look at my hair. And even then you won't know, for if it is down I shall put it up, and if it is up I shall put it down. And so my Daddy will graduallyget used to the idea. 

DEARTH. (wryly). I see you have been thinking it out. 

MARGARET (gleaming). I have been doing more than that. Shut your eyes, Dad, and I shall give you a glimpse into the future. 

DEARTH. I don't know that I want that: the present is so good. 

MARGARET. Shut your eyes, please. 

DEARTH. No, Margaret. 

MARGARET. Please, Daddy. 

DEARTH. Oh, all right. They are shut. 

MARGARET. Don't open them till I tell you. What finger is that?

DEARTH. The dirty one. 

MARGARET (on her knees among the leaves). Daddy, now I am putting upmy hair. I have got such a darling of a mirror. It is such a darlingmirror I 've got, Dad. Dad, don't look. I shall tell you about it. Itis a little pool of water. I wish we could take it home and hang itup. Of course the moment my hair is up there will be other changesalso; for instance, I shall talk quite differently. 

DEARTH. Pooh. Where are my matches, dear?

MARGARET, Top pocket, waistcoat. 

DEARTH (trying to light his pipe in darkness). You were meaning tofrighten me just now. 

MARGARET. No. I am just preparing you. You see, darling, I can't callyou Dad when my hair is up. I think I shall call you Parent. (Hegrowls. ) Parent dear, do you remember the days when your Margaret wasa slip of a girl, and sat on your knee? How foolish we were, Parent, in those distant days. 

DEARTH. Shut up, Margaret. 

MARGARET. Now I must be more distant to you; more like a boy who couldnot sit on your knee any more. 

DEARTH. See here, I want to go on painting. Shall I look now?

MARGARET. I am not quite sure whether I want you to. It makes such adifference. Perhaps you won't know me. Even the pool is looking alittle scared. (The change in her voice makes him open his eyesquickly. She confronts him shyly. ) What do you think? Will I do?

DEARTH. Stand still, dear, and let me look my fill. The Margaret thatis to be. 

MARGARET (the change in his voice falling clammy on her). You'll seeme often enough, Daddy, like this, so you don't need to look yourfill. You are looking as long as if this were to be the only time. 

DEARTH. (with an odd tremor). Was I? Surely it isn't to be that. 

MARGARET. Be gay, Dad. (Bumping into him and round him and over him. )You will be sick of Margaret with her hair up before you are donewith her. 

DEARTH. I expect so. 

MARGARET. Shut up, Daddy. (She waggles her head, and down comes herhair. ) Daddy, I know what you are thinking of. You are thinking whata handful she is going to be. 

DEARTH. Well, I guess she is. 

MARGARET (surveying him from another angle). Now you are thinkingabout--about my being in love some day. 

DEARTH (with unnecessary warmth). Rot!

MARGARET (reassuringly). I won't, you know; no, never. Oh, I havequite decided, so don't be afraid, (Disordering his hair. ) Will youhate him at first, Daddy? Daddy, will you hate him? Will you hatehim, Daddy?

DEARTH (at work). Whom?

MARGARET. Well, if there was?

DEARTH. If there was what, darling?

MARGARET. You know the kind of thing I mean, quite well. Would youhate him at first?

DEARTH. I hope not. I should want to strangle him, but I wouldn't hatehim. 

MARGARET. _I_ would. That is to say, if I liked him. 

DEARTH. If you liked him how could you hate him?

MARGARET. For daring!

DEARTH. Daring what?

MARGARET. You know. (Sighing. ) But of course I shall have no say inthe matter. You will do it all. You do everything for me. 

DEARTH (with a groan). I can't help it. 

MARGARET. You will even write my love-letters, if I ever have any towrite, which I won't. 

DEARTH (ashamed). Surely to goodness, Margaret, I will leave you aloneto do that!

MARGARET. Not you; you will try to, but you won't be able. 

DEARTH (in a hopeless attempt at self-defence). I want you, you see, to do everything exquisitely. I do wish I could leave you to dothings a little more for yourself. I suppose it's owing to my havinghad to be father and mother both. I knew nothing practically aboutthe bringing up of children, and of course I couldn't trust you to anurse. 

MARGARET (severely). Not you; so sure you could do it better yourself. That's you all over. Daddy, do you remember how you taught me tobalance a biscuit on my nose, like a puppy?

DEARTH (sadly). Did I?

MARGARET. You called me Rover. 

DEARTH. I deny that. 

MARGARET. And when you said 'snap' I caught the biscuit in my mouth. 

DEARTH. Horrible. 

MARGARET (gleaming). Daddy, I can do it still! (Putting a biscuit onher nose. ) Here is the last of my supper. Say 'snap, ' Daddy. 

DEARTH. Not I. 

MARGARET. Say 'snap, ' please. 

DEARTH. I refuse. 

MARGARET. Daddy!

DEARTH. Snap. (She catches the biscuit in her mouth. ) Let that be thelast time, Margaret. 

MARGARET. Except just once more. I don't mean now, but when my hair isreally up. If I should ever have a--a Margaret of my own, come in andsee me, Daddy, in my white bed, and say 'snap'--and I'll have thebiscuit ready. 

DEARTH (turning away his head). Right O. 

MARGARET. Dad, if I ever should marry, not that I will but if Ishould--at the marriage ceremony will you let me be the one who says'I do'?

DEARTH. I suppose I deserve this. 

MARGARET (coaxingly). You think I 'm pretty, don't you, Dad, whateverother people say?

DEARTH. Not so bad. 

MARGARET. I _know_ I have nice ears. 

DEARTH. They are all right now, but I had to work on them for months. 

MARGARET. You don't mean to say that you did my ears?

DEARTH. Rather!

MARGARET (grown humble). My dimple is my own. 

DEARTH. I am glad you think so. I wore out the point of my littlefinger over that dimple. 

MARGARET. Even my dimple! Have I anything that is really mine? A bitof my nose or anything?

DEARTH. When you were a babe you had a laugh that was all your own. 

MARGARET. Haven't I it now?

DEARTH. It's gone. (He looks ruefully at her. ) I'll tell you how itwent. We were fishing in a stream--that is to say, I was wading andyou were sitting on my shoulders holding the rod. We didn't catchanything. Somehow or another--I can't think how I did it--youirritated me, and I answered you sharply. 

MARGARET (gasping). I can't believe that. 

DEARTH. Yes, it sounds extraordinary, but I did. It gave you a shock, and, for the moment, the world no longer seemed a safe place to you;your faith in me had always made it safe till then. You were suddenlynot even sure of your bread and butter, and a frightened tear came toyour eyes. I was in a nice state about it, I can tell you. (He is ina nice state about it still. )

MARGARET. Silly! (Bewildered) But what has that to do with my laugh, Daddy?

DEARTH. The laugh that children are born with lasts just so long asthey have perfect faith. To think that it was I who robbed you ofyours!

MARGARET. Don't, dear. I am sure the laugh just went off with the tearto comfort it, and they have been playing about that stream eversince. They have quite forgotten us, so why should we remember them. Cheeky little beasts! Shall I tell you my farthest backrecollection? (In some awe. ) I remember the first time I saw thestars. I had never seen night, and then I saw it and the starstogether. Crack-in-my-eye Tommy, it isn't every one who can boast ofsuch a lovely, lovely, recollection for their earliest, is it?

DEARTH. I was determined your earliest should be a good one. 

MARGARET (blankly). Do you mean to say you planned it?

DEARTH. Rather! Most people's earliest recollection is of some trivialthing; how they cut their finger, or lost a piece of string. I wasresolved my Margaret's should be something bigger. I was poor, but Icould give her the stars. 

MARGARET (clutching him round the legs). Oh, how you love me, Daddikins. 

DEARTH. Yes, I do, rather. 

(A vagrant woman has wandered in their direction, one whom the shrillwinds of life have lashed and bled; here and there ragged gracesstill cling to her, and unruly passion smoulders, but she, once adear, fierce rebel, with eyes of storm, is now first of all awhimperer. She and they meet as strangers. )

MARGARET (nicely, as becomes an artist's daughter. ) Good evening. 

ALICE. Good evening, Missy; evening, Mister. 

DEARTH (seeing that her eyes search the ground). Lost anything?

ALICE. Sometimes when the tourists have had their sandwiches there arebits left over, and they squeeze them between the roots to keep theplace tidy. I am looking for bits. 

DEARTH. You don't tell me you are as hungry as that?

ALICE (with spirit). Try me. (Strange that he should not know thatonce loved husky voice. )

MARGARET (rushing at her father and feeling all his pockets. ) Daddy, that was my last biscuit!

DEARTH. We must think of something else. 

MARGARET (taking her hand). Yes, wait a bit, we are sure to think ofsomething. Daddy, think of something. 

ALICE (sharply). Your father doesn't like you to touch the likes ofme. 

MARGARET. Oh yes, he does. (Defiantly) And if he didn't, I'd do it allthe same. This is a bit of _myself_, daddy. 

DEARTH. That is all you know. 

ALICE (whining). You needn't be angry with her. Mister; I'm allright. 

DEARTH. I am not angry with her; I am very sorry for you. 

ALICE (flaring). If I had my rights, I would be as good as you--andbetter. 

DEARTH. I daresay. 

ALICE. I have had men-servants and a motor-car. DEARTH. Margaret andI never rose to that. 

MARGARET (stung). I have been in a taxi several times, and Dad oftengets telegrams. 

DEARTH. Margaret!

MARGARET. I'm sorry I boasted. 

ALICE. That's nothing. I have a town house--at least I had . .. Atany rate he said there was a town house. 

MARGARET (interested). Fancy his not knowing for certain. 

ALICE. The Honourable Mrs. Finch-Fallowe--that's who I am. 

MARGARET (cordially). It's a lovely name. 

ALICE. Curse him. 

MARGARET. Don't you like him?

DEARTH. We won't go into that. I have nothing to do with your past, but I wish we had some food to offer you. 

ALICE. You haven't a flask?

DEARTH. No, I don't take anything myself. But let me see. .. . 

MARGARET (sparkling). I know! You said we had five pounds. (To theneedy one. ) Would you like five pounds?

DEARTH. Darling, don't be stupid; we haven't paid our bill at theinn. 

ALICE (with bravado). All right; I never asked you for anything. 

DEARTH. Don't take me up in that way: I have had my ups and downsmyself. Here is ten bob and welcome. 

(He surreptitiously slips a coin into MARGARET'S hand. )

MARGARET. And I have half a crown. It is quite easy for us. Dad willbe getting another fiver any day. You can't think how exciting it iswhen the fiver comes in; we dance and then we run out and buy chops. 

DEARTH. Margaret!

ALICE. It's kind of you. I'm richer this minute than I have been formany a day. 

DEARTH. It's nothing; I am sure you would do the same for us. 

ALICE. I wish I was as sure. 

DEARTH. Of course you would. Glad to be of any help. Get some victualsas quickly as you can. Best of wishes, ma'am, and may your luckchange. 

ALICE. Same to you, and may yours go on. 

MARGARET. Good-night. 

ALICE. What is her name, Mister?

DEARTH (who has returned to his easel). Margaret. 

ALICE. Margaret. You drew something good out of the lucky bag when yougot her, Mister. 

DEARTH. Yes. 

ALICE. Take care of her; they are easily lost. 

(She shuffles away. )

DEARTH. Poor soul. I expect she has had a rough time, and that someman is to blame for it--partly, at any rate. (Restless) That womanrather affects me, Margaret; I don't know why. Didn't you like herhusky voice? (He goes on painting. ) I say, Margaret, we lucky ones, let's swear always to be kind to people who are down on their luck, and then when we are kind let's be a little kinder. 

MARGARET (gleefully). Yes, let's. 

DEARTH. Margaret, always feel sorry for the failures, the ones who arealways failures--especially in my sort of calling. Wouldn't it belovely, to turn them on the thirty-ninth year of failure intoglittering successes?

MARGARET. Topping. 

DEARTH. Topping. 

MARGARET. Oh, topping. How could we do it, Dad?

DEARTH. By letter. 'To poor old Tom Broken Heart, Top Attic, GarretChambers, S. E. --'DEAR SIR, --His Majesty has been graciously pleasedto purchase your superb picture of Marlow Ferry. '

MARGARET. 'P. S. --I am sending the money in a sack so as you can hearit chink. '

DEARTH. What could we do for our friend who passed just now? I can'tget her out of my head. 

MARGARET. You have made me forget her. (Plaintively) Dad, I didn'tlike it. 

DEARTH. Didn't like what, dear?

MARGARET (shuddering). I didn't like her saying that about your losingme. 

DEARTH (the one thing of which he is sure). I shan't lose you. 

MARGARET (hugging his arm). It would be hard for me if you lost me, but it would be worse for you. I don't know how I know that, but I doknow it. What would you do without me?

DEARTH (almost sharply). Don't talk like that, dear. It is wicked andstupid, and naughty. Somehow that poor woman--I won't paint any moreto-night. 

MARGARET. Let's get out of the wood; it frightens me. 

DEARTH. And you loved it a moment ago. Hullo! (He has seen a distantblurred light in the wood, apparently from a window. ) I hadn'tnoticed there was a house there. 

MARGARET (tingling). Daddy, I feel sure there wasn't a house there!

DEARTH. Goose. It is just that we didn't look: our old way of lettingthe world go hang; so interested in ourselves. Nice behaviour forpeople who have been boasting about what they would do for otherpeople. Now I see what I ought to do. 

MARGARET. Let's get out of the wood. 

DEARTH. Yes, but my idea first. It is to rouse these people and getfood from them for the husky one. 

MARGARET (clinging to him). She is too far away now. 

DEARTH. I can overtake her. 

MARGARET (in a frenzy). Don't go into that house, Daddy! I don't knowwhy it is, but I am afraid of that house!

(He waggles a reproving finger at her. )

DEARTH. There is a kiss for each moment until I come back. (She wipesthem from her face. ) Oh, naughty, go and stand in the corner. (Shestands against a tree but she stamps her foot. ) Who has got a nastytemper!

(She tries hard not to smile, but she smiles and he smiles, and theymake comic faces at each other, as they have done in similarcircumstances since she first opened her eyes. )

I shall be back before you can count a hundred. 

(He goes off humming his song so that she may still hear him when heis lost to sight; all just as so often before. She tries dutifully tocount her hundred, but the wood grows dark and soon she is afraidagain. She runs from tree to tree calling to her Daddy. We begin tolose her among the shadows. )

MARGARET (Out of the impalpable that is carrying her away). Daddy, come back; I don't want to be a might-have-been. 

ACT III

Lob's room has gone very dark as it sits up awaiting the possiblereturn of the adventurers. The curtains are drawn, so that no lightcomes from outside. There is a tapping on the window, and anon twointruders are stealing about the floor, with muffled cries when theymeet unexpectedly. They find the switch and are revealed as Purdieand his Mabel. Something has happened to them as they emerged fromthe wood, but it is so superficial that neither notices it: they areagain in the evening dress in which they had left the house. But theyare still being led by that strange humour of the blood. 

MABEL (looking around her curiously). A pretty little room; I wonderwho is the owner?

PURDIE. It doesn't matter; the great thing is that we have escapedJoanna. 

MABEL. Jack, look, a man!

(The term may not be happily chosen, but the person indicated is Lobcurled up on his chair by a dead fire. The last look on his facebefore he fell asleep having been a leery one it is still there. )

PURDIE. He is asleep. 

MABEL. Do you know him?

PURDIE. Not I. Excuse me, sir, Hi! (No shaking, however, wakens thesleeper. )

MABEL. Darling, how extraordinary. 

PURDIE (always considerate). After all, precious, have we any right towake up a stranger, just to tell him that we are runaways hiding inhis house?

MABEL (who comes of a good family). I think he would expect it of us. 

PURDIE (after trying again). There is no budging him. 

MABEL (appeased). At any rate, we have done the civil thing. 

(She has now time to regard the room more attentively, including thetray of coffee cups which MATEY had left on the table in a notunimportant moment of his history. ) There have evidently been peoplehere, but they haven't drunk their coffee. Ugh! cold as a desertedegg in a bird's nest. Jack, if you were a clever detective you couldconstruct those people out of their neglected coffee cups. I wonderwho they are and what has spirited them away?

PURDIE. Perhaps they have only gone to bed. Ought we to knock themup?

MABEL (after considering what her mother would have done). I thinknot, dear. I suppose we have run away, Jack--meaning to?

PURDIE (with the sturdiness that weaker vessels adore). Irrevocably. Mabel, if the dog-like devotion of a lifetime . .. (He becomesconscious that something has happened to LOB'S leer. It has not lefthis face but it has shifted. ) He is not shamming, do you think?

MABEL. Shake him again. 

PURDIE (after shaking him). It's all right. Mabel, if the dog-likedevotion of a lifetime . .. 

MABEL. Poor little Joanna! Still, if a woman insists on being apendulum round a man's neck . .. 

PURDIE. Do give me a chance, Mabel. If the dog-like devotion of alifetime . .. 

(JOANNA comes through the curtains so inopportunely that for themoment he is almost pettish. )

May I say, this is just a little too much, Joanna!

JOANNA (unconscious as they of her return to her dinner gown). So, sweet husband, your soul is still walking alone, is it?

MABEL (who hates coarseness of any kind). How can you sneak about inthis way, Joanna? Have you no pride?

JOANNA (dashing away a tear). Please to address me as Mrs. Purdie, madam. (She sees LOB. ) Who is this man?

PURDIE. We don't know; and there is no waking him. You can try, if youlike. 

(Failing to rouse him JOANNA makes a third at table. They are all alittle inconsequential, as if there were still some moon-shine intheir hair. )

JOANNA. You were saying something about the devotion of a lifetime;please go on. 

PURDIE (diffidently). I don't like to before you, Joanna. 

JOANNA (becoming coarse again). Oh, don't mind me. 

PURDIE (looking like a note of interrogation). I should certainly liketo say it. 

MABEL (loftily). And I shall be proud to hear it. 

PURDIE. I should have liked to spare you this, Joanna; you wouldn'tput your hands over your ears?

JOANNA (alas). No, sir. 

MABEL. Fie, Joanna. Surely a wife's natural delicacy . .. 

PURDIE (severely). As you take it in that spirit, Joanna, I canproceed with a clear conscience. If the dog-like devotion of alifetime--(He reels a little, staring at LOB, over whose face theleer has been wandering like an insect. )

MABEL. Did he move?

PURDIE. It isn't that. I am feeling--very funny. Did one of you tap mejust now on the forehead?

(Their hands also have gone to their foreheads. )

MABEL. I think I have been in this room before. 

PURDIE (flinching). There is something coming rushing back to me. 

MABEL. I seem to know that coffee set. If I do, the lid of the milkjug is chipped. It is!

JOANNA. I can't remember this man's name; but I am sure it begins with L. 

MABEL. Lob. 

PURDIE. Lob. 

JOANNA. Lob. 

PURDIE. Mabel, your dress?

MABEL (beholding it). How on earth. .. ?

JOANNA. My dress! (To PURDIE. ) You were in knickerbockers in thewood. 

PURDIE. And so I am now. (He sees he is not. ) Where did I change? Thewood! Let me think. The wood . .. The wood, certainly. But thewood wasn't the wood. 

JOANNA (revolving like one in pursuit). My head is going round. 

MABEL. Lob's wood! I remember it all. We were here. We did go. 

PURDIE. So we did. But how could. .. ? where was. .. ?

JOANNE. And who was. .. ?

MABEL And what was. .. ?

PURDIE (even in this supreme hour a man). Don't let go. Hold on towhat we were doing, or we shall lose grip of ourselves. Devotion. Something about devotion. Hold on to devotion. 'If the dog-likedevotion of a lifetime. .. ' Which of you was I saying that to?

MABEL. To me. 

PURDIE. Are you sure?

MABEL (shakily). I am not quite sure. 

PURDIE (anxiously). Joanna, what do you think? (With a sudden increaseof uneasiness. ) Which of you is my wife?

JOANNA (without enthusiasm). I am. No, I am not. It is Mabel who isyour wife!

MABEL. Me?

PURDIE (with a curious gulp). Why, of course you are, Mabel!

MABEL. I believe I am!

PURDIE. And yet how can it be? I was running away with you. 

JOANNA (solving that problem). You don't need to do it now. 

PURDIE. The wood. Hold on to the wood. The wood is what explains it. Yes, I see the whole thing. (He gazes at LOB. ) You infernal oldrascal! Let us try to think it out. Don't any one speak for a moment. Think first. Love . .. Hold on to love. (He gets another tap. ) Isay, I believe I am not a deeply passionate chap at all; I believe Iam just . .. . A philanderer!

MABEL. It is what you are. 

JOANNA (more magnanimous). Mabel, what about ourselves?

PURDIE (to whom it is truly a nauseous draught). I didn't know. Justa philanderer! (The soul of him would like at this instant to creepinto another body. ) And if people don't change, I suppose we shallbegin all over again now. 

JOANNA (the practical). I daresay; but not with each other. I mayphilander again, but not with you. 

(They look on themselves without approval, always a sorry occupation. The man feels it most because he has admired himself most, or perhapspartly for some better reason. )

PURDIE (saying good-bye to an old friend). John Purdie, John Purdie, the fine fellow I used to think you! (When he is able to look them inthe face again. ) The wood has taught me one thing, at any rate. 

MABEL (dismally). What, Jack?

PURDIE. That it isn't accident that shapes our lives. 

JOANNA. No, it's Fate. 

PURDIE (the truth running through him, seeking for a permanent home inhim, willing to give him still another chance, loth to desert him). It's not Fate, Joanna. Fate is something outside us. What reallyplays the dickens with us is some thing in ourselves. Something thatmakes us go on doing the same sort of fool things, however manychances we get. 

MABEL. Something in ourselves?

PURDIE (shivering). Something we are born with. 

JOANNA. Can't we cut out the beastly thing?

PURDIE. Depends, I expect, on how long we have pampered him. We can atleast control him if we try hard enough. But I have for the moment anabominably clear perception that the likes of me never really tries. Forgive me, Joanna--no, Mabel--both of you. (He is a shamedman. ) It isn't very pleasant to discover that one is a rotter. Isuppose I shall get used to it. 

JOANNA. I could forgive anybody anything to-night. (Candidly. ) It isso lovely not to be married to you, Jack. 

PURDIE (spiritless). I can understand that. I do feel small. 

JOANNA (the true friend). You will soon swell up again. 

PURDIE (for whom, alas, we need not weep). That is the appallingthing. But at present, at any rate, I am a rag at your feet, Joanna--no, at yours, Mabel. Are you going to pick me up? I don'tadvise it. 

MABEL. I don't know whether I want to, Jack. To begin with, which ofus is it your lonely soul is in search of?

JOANNA. Which of us is the fluid one, or the fluider one?

MABEL. Are you and I one? Or are you and Joanna one? Or are the threeof us two?

JOANNA. He wants you to whisper in his ear, Mabel, the entrancingpoem, 'Mabel Purdie. ' Do it, Jack; there will be nothing wrong in itnow. 

PURDIE. Rub it in. 

MABEL. When I meet Joanna's successor--

PURDIE (quailing). No, no, Mabel none of that. At least credit me withhaving my eyes open at last. There will be no more of this. I swearit by all that is--

JOANNA (in her excellent imitation of a sheep). Baa-a, he is offagain. 

PURDIE. Oh Lord, so I am. 

MABEL. Don't, Joanna. 

PURDIE (his mind still illumined). She is quite right--I was. In mypresent state of depression--which won't last--I feel there issomething in me that will make me go on being the same ass, howevermany chances I get. I haven't the stuff in me to take warning. Mywhole being is corroded. Shakespeare knew what he was talkingabout--'The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But inourselves, that we are underlings. '

JOANNA. For 'dear Brutus' we are to read 'dear audience' I suppose?

PURDIE. You have it. 

JOANNA. Meaning that we have the power to shape ourselves?

PURDIE. We have the power right enough. 

JOANNA. But isn't that rather splendid?

PURDIE. For those who have the grit in them, yes. (Still seeing with astrange clearness through the chink the hammer has made. ) And theyare not the dismal chappies; they are the ones with the thin brightfaces. (He sits lugubriously by his wife and is sorry for the firsttime that she has not married a better man. ) I am afraid there is notmuch fight in me, Mabel, but we shall see. If you catch me at itagain, have the goodness to whisper to me in passing, 'Lob's Wood. 'That may cure me for the time being. 

MABEL (still certain that she loved him once but not so sure why. )Perhaps I will . .. As long as I care to bother, Jack. It depends onyou how long that is to be. 

JOANNA (to break an awkward pause). I feel that there is hope in thatas well as a warning. Perhaps the wood may prove to have been usefulafter all. (This brighter view of the situation meets with noimmediate response. With her next suggestion she reaches harbour. )You know, we are not people worth being sorrowful about--so let uslaugh. 

(The ladies succeed in laughing though not prettily, but the man hasbeen too much shaken. )

JOANNA (in the middle of her laugh). We have forgotten the others! Iwonder what is happening to them?

PURDIE (reviving). Yes, what about them? Have they changed!

MABEL. I didn't see any of them in the wood. 

JOANNA. Perhaps we did see them without knowing them; we didn't knowLob. 

PURDIE (daunted). That's true. 

JOANNA. Won't it be delicious to be here to watch them when they comeback, and see them waking up--or whatever it was we did. 

PURDIE. What was it we did? I think something tapped me on theforehead. 

MABEL (blanching). How do we know the others will come back?

JOANNA (infected). We don't know. How awful!

MABEL. Listen!

PURDIE. I distinctly hear some one on the stairs. 

MABEL. It will be Matey. 

PURDIE (the chink beginning to close). Be cautious both of you; don'ttell him we have had any . .. Odd experiences. 

(It is, however, MRS. COADE who comes downstairs in a dressing-gownand carrying a candle and her husband's muffler. )

MRS. COADE. So you are back at last. A nice house, I must say. Whereis Coady?

PURDIE (taken aback). Coady! Did he go into the wood, too?

MRS. COADE (placidly). I suppose so. I have been down several times tolook for him. 

MABEL. Coady, too!

JOANNA (seeing visions). I wonder . .. Oh, how dreadful!

MRS. COADE. What is dreadful, Joanna?

JOANNA (airily). Nothing. I was just wondering what he is doing. 

MRS. COADE. Doing? What should he be doing? Did anything odd happen toyou in the wood?

PURDIE (taking command). No, no, nothing. 

JOANNA. We just strolled about, and came back. (That subject beingexhausted she points to LOB). Have you noticed him?

MRS. COADE. Oh, yes; he has been like that all the time. A sort ofstupor, I think; and sometimes the strangest grin comes over hisface. 

PURDIE (wincing). Grin?

MRS. COADE. Just as if he were seeing amusing things in his sleep. 

PURDIE (guardedly). I daresay he is. Oughtn't we to get Matey to him?

MRS. COADE. Matey has gone, too. 

PURDIE. Wha-at!

MRS. COADE. At all events he is not in the house. 

JOANNA (unguardedly). Matey! I wonder who is with him. 

MRS. COADE. Must somebody be with him?

JOANNA. Oh, no, not at all. 

(They are simultaneously aware that someone outside has reached thewindow. )

MRS. COADE. I hope it is Coady. 

(The other ladies are too fond of her to share this wish. )

MABEL. Oh, I hope not. 

MRS. COADE (blissfully). Why, Mrs. Purdie?

JOANNA (coaxingly). Dear Mrs. Coade, whoever he is, and whatever hedoes, I beg you not to be surprised. We feel that though we had nounusual experiences in the wood, others may not have been sofortunate. 

MABEL. And be cautious, you dear, what you say to them before theycome to. 

MRS. COADE. 'Come to'? You puzzle me. And Coady didn't have hismuffler. 

(Let it be recorded that in their distress for this old lady theyforget their own misadventures. PURDIE takes a step toward thecurtains in a vague desire to shield her;--and gets a rich reward; hehas seen the coming addition to their circle. )

PURDIE (elated and pitiless). It is Matey!

(A butler intrudes who still thinks he is wrapped in fur. )

JOANNA (encouragingly). Do come in. 

MATEY. With apologies, ladies and gents . .. May I ask who is host?

PURDIE (splashing in the temperature that suits him best). A veryreasonable request. Third on the left. 

MATEY (advancing upon Lob). Merely to ask, sir, if you can direct meto my hotel?

(The sleeper's only response is a alight quiver in one leg. )

The gentleman seems to be reposing. 

MRS. COADE. It is Lob. 

MATEY. What is lob, ma'am?

MRS. COADE (pleasantly curious). Surely you haven't forgotten?

PURDIE (over-riding her). Anything we can do for you, sir? Just giveit a name. 

JOANNA (in the same friendly spirit). I hope you are not alone: do sayyou have some lady friends with you. 

MATEY (with an emphasis on his leading word). My wife is with me. 

JOANNA. His wife! . .. (With commendation. ) You have been quick!

MRS. COADE. I didn't know you were married. 

MATEY. Why should you, madam? You talk as if you knew me. 

MRS. COADE. Good gracious, do you really think I don't?

PURDIE (indicating delicately that she is subject to a certainsoftening). Sit down, won't you, my dear sir, and make yourselfcomfy. 

MATEY (accustomed of late to such deferential treatment). Thank you. But my wife . .. 

JOANNA (hospitably). Yes, bring her in; we are simply dying to makeher acquaintance. 

MATEY. You are very good; I am much obliged. 

MABEL (as he goes out). Who can she be?

JOANNA (leaping). Who, who, who!

MRS. COADE. But what an extraordinary wood. He doesn't seem to knowwho he is at all. 

MABEL (soothingly). Don't worry about that, Coady darling. He willknow soon enough. 

JOANNA (again finding the bright side). And so will the little wife!By the way, whoever she is, I hope she is fond of butlers. 

MABEL (who has peeped). It is Lady Caroline!

JOANNA (leaping again). Oh, joy, joy! And she was so sure she couldn'ttake the wrong turning!

(Lady Caroline is evidently still sure of it. )

MATEY. May I present my wife--Lady Caroline Matey. 

MABEL (glowing). How do you do!

PURDIE. Your servant, Lady Caroline. 

MRS. COADE. Lady Caroline Matey! You?

LADY CAROLINE (without an r in her). Charmed, I'm sure. 

JOANNA (neatly). Very pleased to meet any wife of Mr. Matey. 

PURDIE (taking the floor). Allow me. The Duchess of Candelabra. TheLadies Helena and Matilda M'Nab. I am the Lord Chancellor. 

MABEL. I have wanted so long to make your acquaintance. 

LADY CAROLINE. Charmed. 

JOANNA (gracefully). These informal meetings are so delightful, don'tyou think?

LADY CAROLINE. Yes, indeed. 

MATEY (the introductions being thus pleasantly concluded). And yourfriend by the fire?

PURDIE. I will introduce you to him when you wake up--I mean when hewakes up. 

MATEY. Perhaps I ought to have said that I am _James_ Matey. 

LADY CAROLINE (the happy creature). _The_ James Matey. 

MATEY. A name not, perhaps, unknown in the world of finance. 

JOANNA. Finance? Oh, so you did take that clerkship in the City!

MATEY (a little stiffly). I began as a clerk in the City, certainly;and I am not ashamed to admit it. 

MRS. COADE (still groping). Fancy that, now. And did it save you?

MATEY. Save me, madam?

JOANNA. Excuse us--we ask odd questions in this house; we only mean, did that keep you honest? Or are you still a pilferer?

LADY CAROLINE (an outraged swan). Husband mine, what does she mean?

JOANNA. No offence; I mean a pilferer on a large scale. 

MATEY (remembering certain newspaper jealousy). If you are referringto that Labrador business--or the Working Women's Bank . .. 

PURDIE (after the manner of one who has caught a fly). O-ho, got him!

JOANNA (bowing). Yes, those are what I meant. 

MATEY (stoutly). There was nothing proved. 

JOANNA (like one calling a meeting). Mabel, Jack, here is another ofus! You have gone just the same way again, my friend. (Ecstatically. )There is more in it, you see, than taking the wrong turning; youwould always take the wrong turning. (The only fitting comment. )Tra-la-la!

LADY CAROLINE. If you are casting any aspersions on my husband, allowme to say that a prouder wife than I does not to-day exist. 

MRS. COADE (who finds herself the only clear-headed one). My dear, dobe careful. 

MABEL. So long as you are satisfied, dear Lady Caroline. But I thoughtyou shrank from all blood that was not blue. 

LADY CAROLINE. You thought? Why should you think about me? I beg toassure you that I adore my Jim. 

(She seeks his arm, but her Jim has encountered the tray containingcoffee cups and a cake, and his hands close on it with a certainintimacy. ) Whatever are you doing, Jim?

MATEY. I don't understand it, Caroliny; but somehow I feel at homewith this in my hands. 

MABEL. 'Caroliny!'

MRS. COADE. Look at me well; don't you remember me?

MATEY (musing). I don't remember you; but I seem to associate youwith hard-boiled eggs. (With conviction. ) You like your eggshard-boiled. 

PURDIE. Hold on to hard-boiled eggs! She used to tip you especially tosee to them. 

(MATEY'S hand goes to his pocket. )

Yes, that was the pocket. 

LADY CAROLINE (with distaste). Tip!

MATEY (without distaste). Tip!

PURDIE. Jolly word, isn't it?

MATEY (raising the tray). It seems to set me thinking. 

LADY CAROLINE (feeling the tap of the hammer). Why is my work-basketin this house?

MRS. COADE. You are living here, you know. 

LADY CAROLINE. That is what a person feels. But when did I come? It isvery odd, but one feels one ought to say when did one go. 

PURDIE. She is coming to with a wush!

MATEY (under the hammer). Mr. .. . Purdie!

LADY CAROLINE. MRS. Coade!

MATEY. The Guv'nor! My clothes!

LADY CAROLINE. One is in evening dress!

JOANNA (charmed to explain). You will understand clearly in a minute, Caroliny. You didn't really take that clerkship, Jim; you went intodomestic service; but in the essentials you haven't altered. 

PURDIE (pleasantly). I'll have my shaving water at 7. 30 sharp, Matey. 

MATEY (mechanically). Very good, sir. 

LADY CAROLINE. Sir? Midsummer Eve! The wood!

PURDIE. Yes, hold on to the wood. 

MATEY. You are . .. You are . .. You are Lady Caroline Laney!

LADY CAROLINE. It is Matey, the butler!

MABEL. You seemed quite happy with him, you know, Lady Caroline. 

JOANNA (nicely). We won't tell. 

LADY CAROLINE (subsiding). Caroline Matey! And I seemed to like it!How horrible!

MRS. COADE (expressing a general sentiment). It is rather difficult tosee what we should do next. 

MATEY (tentatively). Perhaps if I were to go downstairs?

PURDIE. It would be conferring a personal favour on us all. 

(Thus encouraged MATEY and his tray resume friendly relations withthe pantry. )

LADY CAROLINE (with itching fingers as she glares at Lob). It is allthat wretch's doing. 

(A quiver from Lob's right leg acknowledges the compliment. The gaymusic of a pipe is heard from outside. )

JOANNA (peeping). Coady!

MRS. COADE. Coady! Why is he so happy?

JOANNA (troubled). Dear, hold my hand. 

MRS. COADE (suddenly trembling). Won't he know me?

PURDIE (abashed by that soft face). Mrs. Coade, I 'm sorry. It didn'tso much matter about the likes of us, but for your sake I wish Coadyhadn't gone out. 

MRS. COADE. We that have been happily married this thirty years. 

COADE (popping in buoyantly). May I intrude? My name is Coade. Thefact is I was playing about in the wood on a whistle, and I saw yourlight. 

MRS. COADE (the only one with the nerve to answer). Playing about inthe wood with a whistle!

COADE (with mild dignity). And why not, madam?

MRS. COADE. Madam! Don't you know me?

COADE. I don't know you . .. (Reflecting. ) But I wish I did. 

MRS. COADE. Do you? Why?

COADE. If I may say so, you have a very soft, lovable face. 

(Several persons breathe again. )

MRS. COADE (inquisitorially). Who was with you, playing whistles inthe wood?

(The breathing ceases. )

COADE. No one was with me. 

(And is resumed. )

MRS. COADE. No . .. Lady?

COADE. Certainly not. (Then he spoils it. ) I am a bachelor. 

MRS. COADE. A bachelor!

JOANNA. Don't give way, dear; it might be much worse. 

MRS. COADE. A bachelor! And you are sure you never spoke to me before?Do think. 

COADE. Not to my knowledge. Never . .. Except in dreams. 

MABEL (taking a risk). What did you say to her in dreams?

COADE. I said, 'My dear. ' (This when uttered surprises him. ) Odd!

JOANNA. The darling man!

MRS. COADE (wavering). How could you say such things to an old woman?

COADE (thinking it out). Old? I didn't think of you as old. No, no, young--with the morning dew on your face--coming across a lawn--in ablack and green dress--and carrying such a pretty parasol. 

MRS. COADE (thrilling). That was how he first met me! He used to loveme in black and green; and it _was_ a pretty parasol. Look, I am old. .. So it can't be the same woman. 

COADE (blinking). Old? Yes, I suppose so. But it is the same soft, lovable face, and the same kind, beaming smile that children couldwarm their hands at. 

MRS. COADE. He always liked my smile. 

PURDUE. So do we all. 

COADE (to himself). Emma!

MRS. COADE. He hasn't forgotten my name!

COADE. It is sad that we didn't meet long ago. I think I have beenwaiting for you. I suppose we have met too late? You couldn'toverlook my being an old fellow, could you, eh?

JOANNA. How lovely; he is going to propose to her again. Coady, youhappy thing, he is wanting the same soft face after thirty years!

MRS. COADE (undoubtedly hopeful). We mustn't be too sure, but I thinkthat is it. (Primly. ) What is it exactly that you want, Mr. Coade?

COADE (under a lucky star). I want to have the right to hold theparasol over you. Won't you be my wife, my dear, and so give my longdream of you a happy ending?

MRS. COADE (preening). Kisses are not called for at our age, Coady, but here is a muffler for your old neck. 

COADE. My muffler; I have missed it. (It is however to his foreheadthat his hand goes. Immediately thereafter he misses his sylvanattire. ) Why . .. Why . .. What . .. Who . .. How is this?

PURDIE (nervously). He is coming to. 

COADE (reeling and righting himself). Lob!

(The leg indicates that he has got it. )

Bless me, Coady, I went into that wood!

MRS. COADE. And without your muffler, you that are so subject tochills. What are you feeling for in your pocket?

COADE. The whistle. It is a whistle I--Gone! of course it is. It'srather a pity, but . .. (Anxious. ) Have I been saying awful thingsto you?

MABEL. You have been making her so proud. It is a compliment to ourwhole sex. You had a second chance, and it is her, again!

COADE. Of course it is. (Crestfallen. ) But I see I was just the samenice old lazy Coady as before; and I had thought that if I had asecond chance, I could do things. I have often said to you, Coady, that it was owing to my being cursed with a competency that I didn'twrite my great book. But I had no competency this time, and I haven'twritten a word. 

PURDIE (bitterly enough). That needn't make you feel lonely in thishouse. 

MRS. COADE (in a small voice). You seem to have been quite happy as anold bachelor, dear. 

COADE. I am surprised at myself, Emma, but I fear I was. 

MRS. COADE (with melancholy perspicacity). I wonder if what it meansis that you don't especially need even me. I wonder if it means thatyou are just the sort of amiable creature that would be happyanywhere, and anyhow?

COADE. Oh dear, can it be as bad as that!

JOANNA (a ministering angel she). Certainly not. It is a romance, andI won't have it looked upon as anything else. 

MRS. COADE. Thank you, Joanna. You will try not to miss that whistle, Coady?

COADE (getting the footstool for her). You are all I need. 

MRS. COADE. Yes; but I am not so sure as I used to be that it is agreat compliment. 

JOANNA. Coady, behave. 

(There is a knock on the window. )

PURDIE (peeping). Mrs. Dearth! (His spirits revive. ) She is alone. Whowould have expected that of _her_?

MABEL. She is a wild one, Jack, but I sometimes thought rather a dear;I do hope she has got off cheaply. 

(ALICE comes to them in her dinner gown. )

PURDIE (the irrepressible). Pleased to see you, stranger. 

ALICE (prepared for ejection. ) I was afraid such an unceremoniousentry might startle you. 

PURDIE. Not a bit. 

ALICE (defiant). I usually enter a house by the front door. 

PURDIE. I have heard that such is the swagger way. 

ALICE (simpering). So stupid of me. I lost myself in the wood . .. And . .. 

JOANNA (genially). Of course you did. But never mind that; do tell usyour name. 

LADY CAROLINE (emerging again). Yes, yes, your name. 

ALICE. Of course, I am the Honourable Mrs. Finch-Fallowe. 

LADY CAROLINE. Of course, of course!

PURDIE. I hope Mr. Finch-Fallowe is very well? We don't know himpersonally, but may we have the pleasure of seeing him bob uppresently?

ALICE. No, I am not sure where he is. 

LADY CAROLINE (with point). I wonder if the dear clever police know?

ALICE (imprudently). No, they don't. 

(It is a very secondary matter to her. This woman of calamitous fireshears and sees her tormentors chiefly as the probable owner, of thecake which is standing on that tray. ) So awkward, I gave mysandwiches to a poor girl and her father whom I met in the wood, andnow . .. Isn't it a nuisance--I am quite hungry. (So far with amincing bravado. ) May I?

(Without waiting for consent she falls to upon the cake, looking overit like one ready to fight them for it. )

PURDIE (sobered again). Poor soul. 

LADY CAROLINE. We are so anxious to know whether you met a friend ofours in the wood--a Mr. Dearth. Perhaps you know him, too?

ALICE. Dearth? I don't know any Dearth. 

MRS. COADE. Oh, dear what a wood!

LADY CAROLINE. He is quite a front door sort of man; knocks and rings, you know. 

PURDIE. Don't worry her. 

ALICE (gnawing). I meet so many; you see I go out a great deal. Ihave visiting-cards--printed ones. 

LADY CAROLINE. How very distingue. Perhaps Mr. Dearth has paintedyour portrait; he is an artist. 

ALICE. Very likely; they all want to paint me. I daresay that is theman to whom I gave my sandwiches. 

MRS. COADE. But I thought you said he had a daughter?

ALICE. Such a pretty girl; I gave her half a crown. 

COADE. A daughter? That can't be Dearth. 

PURDIE (darkly). Don't be too sure. Was the man you speak of a ratherchop-fallen, gone-to-seed sort of person. 

ALICE. No, I thought him such a jolly, attractive man. 

COADE. Dearth jolly, attractive! Oh no. Did he say anything about hiswife?

LADY CAROLINE, Yes, do try to remember if he mentioned her. 

ALICE (snapping). No, he didn't. 

PURDIE. He was far from jolly in her time. 

ALICE (with an archness for which the cake is responsible). Perhapsthat was the lady's fault. 

(The last of the adventurers draws nigh, carolling a French song as hecomes. )

COADE. Dearth's voice. He sounds quite merry!

JOANNA (protecting). Alice, you poor thing. 

PURDIE. This is going to be horrible. 

(A clear-eyed man of lusty gait comes in. )

DEARTH. I am sorry to bounce in on you in this way, but really I havean excuse. I am a painter of sorts, and. .. 

(He sees he has brought some strange discomfort here. )

MRS. COADE. I must say, Mr. Dearth, I am delighted to see you lookingso well. Like a new man, isn't he?

(No one dares to answer. )

DEARTH. I am certainly very well, if you care to know. But did I tellyou my name?

JOANNA (for some one has to speak). No, but--but we have an instinctin this house. 

DEARTH. Well, it doesn't matter. Here is the situation; my daughterand I have just met in the wood a poor woman famishing for want offood. We were as happy as grigs ourselves, and the sight of herdistress rather cut us up. Can you give me something for her? Why areyou looking so startled? (Seeing the remains of the cake. ) May I havethis?

(A shrinking movement from one of them draws his attention, and herecognises in her the woman of whom he has been speaking. He sees herin fine clothing and he grows stern. )

I feel I can't be mistaken; it was you I met in the wood? Have youbeen playing some trick on me? (To the others. ) It was for her Iwanted the food. 

ALICE (her hand guarding the place where his gift lies). Have you cometo take hack the money you gave me?

DEARTH. Your dress! You were almost in rags when I saw you outside. 

ALICE (frightened as she discovers how she is now attired). I don't . .. Understand . .. 

COADE (gravely enough). For that matter, Dearth, I daresay you weredifferent in the wood, too. 

(DEARTH sees his own clothing. )

DEARTH. What. .. !

ALICE (frightened). Where am I? (To Mrs. Coade. ) I seem to know you. .. Do I?

MRS. COADE (motherly). Yes, you do; hold my hand, and you will soonremember all about it. 

JOANNA. I am afraid, Mr. Dearth, it is harder for you than for therest of us. 

PURDIE (looking away). I wish I could help you, but I can't; I am arotter. 

MABEL. We are awfully sorry. Don't you remember . .. Midsummer Eve?

DEARTH (controlling himself). Midsummer Eve? This room. Yes, this room. .. You was it you? . .. Were going out to look for something . .. The tree of knowledge, wasn't it? Somebody wanted me to go, too . .. Who was that? A lady, I think . .. Why did she ask me to go?What was I doing here? I was smoking a cigar . .. I laid it down, there . .. (He finds the cigar. ) Who was the lady?

ALICE (feebly). Something about a second chance. 

MRS. COADE. Yes, you poor dear, you thought you could make so much ofit. 

DEARTH. A lady who didn't like me-- (With conviction. ) She had goodreasons, too--but what were they. .. ?

ALICE. A little old man! He did it. What did he do?

(The hammer is raised. )

DEARTH. I am . .. It is coming back--I am not the man I thoughtmyself. 

ALICE. I am not Mrs. Finch-Fallowe. Who am I?

DEARTH (staring at her). You were that lady. 

ALICE. It is you--my husband!

(She is overcome. )

MRS. COADE. My dear, you are much better off, so far as I can see, than if you were Mrs. Finch-Fallowe. 

ALICE (with passionate knowledge). Yes, yes indeed! (Generously. ) Buthe isn't. 

DEARTH. Alice! . .. I--(He tries to smile. ) I didn't know you when Iwas in the wood with Margaret. She . .. She . .. Margaret. .. (The hammer falls. )

O my God!

(He buries his face in his hands. )

ALICE. I wish--I wish--

(She presses his shoulder fiercely and then stalks out by the door. )

PURDIE (to LOB, after a time). You old ruffian. 

DEARTH. No, I am rather fond of him, our lonely, friendly little host. Lob, I thank thee for that hour. 

(The seedy-looking fellow passes from the scene. )

COADE. Did you see that his hand is shaking again?

PURDIE. The watery eye has come back. 

JOANNA. And yet they are both quite nice people. 

PURDIE (finding the tragedy of it). We are all quite nice people. 

MABEL. If she were not such a savage!

PURDIE. I daresay there is nothing the matter with her except that shewould always choose the wrong man, good man or bad man, but the wrongman for her. 

COADE. We can't change. 

MABEL. Jack says the brave ones can. 

JOANNA. 'The ones with the thin bright faces. '

MABEL. Then there is hope for you and me, Jack. 

PURDIE (ignobly). I don't expect so. 

JOANNA (wandering about the room, like one renewing acquaintance withit after returning from a journey). Hadn't we better go to bed? Itmust be getting late. 

PURDIE. Hold on to bed! (They all brighten. )

MATEY (entering). Breakfast is quite ready. 

(They exclaim. )

LADY CAROLINE. My watch has stopped. 

JOANNA. And mine. Just as well perhaps!

MABEL. There is a smell of coffee. 

(The gloom continues to lift. )

COADE. Come along, Coady; I do hope you have not been tiring yourfoot. 

MRS. COADE. I shall give it a good rest to-morrow, dear. 

MATEY. I have given your egg six minutes, ma'am. 

(They set forth once more upon the eternal round. The curious JOANNAremains behind. )

JOANNA. A strange experiment, Matey; does it ever have any permanenteffect?

MATEY (on whom it has had none). So far as I know, not often, miss;but, I believe, once in a while. 

(There is hope in this for the brave ones. If we could wait longenough we might see the DEARTHS breasting their way into the light. )

_He_ could tell you. 

(The elusive person thus referred to kicks responsively, meaningperhaps that none of the others will change till there is a tap fromanother hammer. But when MATEY goes to rout him from his chair he isno longer there. His disappearance is no shock to MATEY, who shrugshis shoulders and opens the windows to let in the glory of a summermorning. The garden has returned, and our queer little hero is busyat work among his flowers. A lark is rising. )

The End