FIVE LITTLE PLAYS

FIVE LITTLE PLAYS

BY ALFRED SUTRO

BRENTANONEW YORK 1922

_Printed in Great Britainby Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh_

CONTENTS

THE MAN IN THE STALLS

A MARRIAGE HAS BEEN ARRANGED. .. . 

THE MAN ON THE KERB

THE OPEN DOOR

THE BRACELET

THE MAN IN THE STALLS

A PLAY IN ONE ACT

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

HECTOR ALLENELIZABETH ALLEN (BETTY)WALTER COZENS

_This play was producedat the Palace Theatreon October 6, 1911_

THE MAN IN THE STALLS

_The sitting-room of a little flat in Shaftesbury Avenue. At back is a door leading to the dining-room--it is open, and the dinner-table is in full view of the audience. To the extreme right is another door, leading to the hall. _

 _The place is pleasantly and prettily, though quite inexpensively, furnished. To the left, at angles with the distempered wall, is a baby-grand piano; the fireplace, in which a fire is burning merrily, is on the same side, full centre. To the right of the door leading to the dining-room is a small side-table, on which there is a tray with decanter and glasses; in front of this, a card-table, open, with two packs of cards on it, and chairs on each side. Another table, a round one, is in the centre of the room--to right and to left of it are comfortable armchairs. Against the right wall is a long sofa; above it hang a few good, water-colours and engravings; on the piano and the table there are flowers. A general appearance of refinement and comfort pervades the room; no luxury, but evidence everywhere of good taste, and the countless feminine touches that make a room homelike and pleasant. _

 _When the curtain rises, _ HECTOR ALLEN, _a youngish man of forty, with an attractive intellectual face, is seen standing by the dining-table in the inner room, draining his liqueur-glass, with_ WALTER COZENS _to the right of him, lighting a cigarette. _ WALTER _is a few years younger than his friend, moderately good-looking, with fine, curly brown hair and a splendid silky moustache. His morning-clothes are conspicuously well-cut--he is evidently something of a dandy;_ HECTOR _wears a rather shabby dress-suit, his boots are awkward, and his tie ready-made. _ BETTY, _a handsome woman of thirty, wearing a very pretty tea-gown, is talking to the maid at the back of the dining-room. _

 HECTOR _puts down his glass and comes into the sitting-room, followed by_ WALTER. HECTOR _is puffing at a short, stumpy little black cigar. _

HECTOR [_Talking as he comes through, continuing the conversation--hewalks to the fireplace and stands with his back to it. _] I tell you, ifI'd known what it meant, I'd never have taken the job! Sounded so fine, tobe reader of plays for the Duke's Theatre--adviser to the great Mr. Honeyswill! And then--when the old man said I was to go to all the firstnights--why, I just chortled! "It's the first nights that show you thegrip of the thing--that teach you most"--he said. Teach you! As thoughthere were anything to learn! Oh my stars! I tell you, it's a dog's life!

WALTER. [_Sitting to left of the round table. _] I'd change places withyou, sonny. 

HECTOR. You would, eh? That's what they all say! Four new plays this week, my lad--one yesterday, one to-day--another to-morrow, and the night after!All day long I'm _reading_ plays--and I spend my nights seeing 'em! D'youknow I read about two thousand a year? Divide two thousand by threehundred and sixty five. A dog's life--that's what it is!

WALTER. Better than being a stockbroker's clerk--you believe _me!_

HECTOR. Is it? I wish _you_ could have a turn at it, my bonny boy! _Your_hair'd go grey, like mine! And look here--what are the plays to-day?They're either so chock-full of intellect that they send you to sleep--orthey reek of sentiment till you yearn for the smell of a cabbage!

WALTER. Well, you've the change, at any rate. 

HECTOR. [_Snorting. _] Change? By Jove, give me a Punch and Judy show onthe sands--or performing dogs! Plays--I'm sick of 'em! And look here--theone I'm off to to-night. It's adapted from the French--well, we know what_that_ means. Husband, wife and mistress. Or wife, husband, lover. That'swhat a French play means. And you make it English, and pass the Censor, byputting the lady in a mackintosh, and dumping in a curate!

BETTY. [_Coming in, and closing the door leading to the dining-room. _] Youought to be going, Hector. 

 [_She, stands listening for a moment, then goes through the other door into the hall. _

HECTOR. [_Disregarding her, too intent on his theme. _] And I tell you, ofthe two, I prefer the home-made stodge. I'm sick of the eternal triangle. They always do the same thing. Husband strikes attitudes--sometimes hestrikes the lover. The lover never stands up to him--why shouldn't he? Hewould--in real life. [BETTY _comes back, with his overcoat andmuffler--she proceeds affectionately to wrap this round his neck, andhelps him on with his coat, he talking all the time. _] He'd say, lookhere, you go to Hell. _That's_ what he'd say--well, there you'd have asituation. But not one of the playwriting chaps dares do it. Why not, Iask you? There you'd have truth, something big. But no--they'reafraid--think the public won't like it. The husband's got to down thelover--like a big tom-cat with a mouse--or the author'd have to sell oneof his motor-cars! That's just the fact of it!

BETTY. [_Looking at the clock on the mantelpiece. _] Twenty-five past, Hector. 

HECTOR. [_Cheerily. _] All right, my lass, I'm off. By-bye, Walter--keep theold woman company for a bit. Good-bye, sweetheart. [_He kisses her. _]Don't wait up. Now for the drama. Oh, the dog's life!

 [_He goes. _ BETTY _waits till the hall door has banged, then she sits on the elbow of_ WALTER'S _chair, and rests her head on his shoulder. _

BETTY. [_Softly. _] Poor Hector!

WALTER. [_Uncomfortably. _] . .. Yes . .. 

BETTY. Doesn't it make you feel dreadful when he talks like that? [_Shekisses him; then puts her arms round his neck, draws his face to her, andkisses him again, on the cheek. _] Doesn't it?

 [_She nestles contentedly closer to him. _

WALTER. [_Trying to edge away. _] Well, it does. Yes. 

BETTY. [_Dreamily. _] I--like it. 

WALTER. Betty!

BETTY. Yes, I like it. I don't know why. I suppose I'm frightfully wicked. Or the danger perhaps--I don't know. 

WALTER. [_Making a futile effort to get up. _] Betty--

BETTY. [_Tightening her arms around him. _] Stop there, and don't move. Howsmooth your chin is--_his_ scrapes. Why don't husbands shave better? Or isit that the forbidden chin is always smoother? Poor old Hector! If hecould see us! He hasn't a suspicion. I think it's lovely--really, I do. Heleaves us here together, night after night, and imagines you're teachingme bridge. 

WALTER. [_Restlessly. _] So I am. Where are the cards?

BETTY. [_Caressing him. _] Silly, have you forgotten that this isTuesday--Maggie's night out? She's gone--I told her she needn't wait toclear away. We've arranged master's supper. Master! _You're_ my master, aren't you?

WALTER. . .. I don't know what I am . .. 

BETTY. Oh yes you do--you're my boy. Whom I love. There. [_She kisses himagain, full on the lips. _] That was a nice one, wasn't it? Poor oldHector, sitting in his stall--thinks he's so wonderful, knows such a lot!Yes, Maggie's out--with _her_ young man, I suppose. The world's full ofwomen, with their young men--and husbands sitting in the stalls. .. . And Isuppose that's how it always has been, and always will be. 

WALTER. [_Shifting uneasily. _] Don't, Betty--I don't like it. I mean, hehas such confidence in us. 

BETTY. Of course he has. And quite rightly. Aren't you his oldest friend?

WALTER. [_With something of a groan. _] I've known him since I was seven. 

BETTY. The first man he introduced me to--his best man at the wedding--doyou remember coming to see us during the honeymoon? I liked you _then. _

WALTER. [_Really shocked. _] Betty!

BETTY. I did. You had a way of squeezing my hand. .. . And then when we cameback here. You know it didn't take me long to discover--

WALTER. [_Protesting. _] I scarcely saw you the first two or three years!

BETTY. No--you were afraid. Oh I thought you so silly! [_He suddenlycontrives to release himself--gets up, and moves to the card-table. _] Why, what's the matter?

WALTER. [_At the table, with his back to her. _] I hate hearing you talklike this. 

BETTY. Silly boy! [_She rises, and goes to him; he has taken a cigaretteout of the box on the table, and stands there, with his head bent, tappingthe cigarette against his hand. _] Women only talk "like this, " as you callit, to their lovers. They talk "like that" to their husbands--and that'swhy the husbands never know. That's why the husbands are always sitting inthe stalls, looking on. [_She puts her arms round him again. _] Looking andnot seeing. 

 [_She approaches her lips to his--he almost fretfully unclasps her arms. _

WALTER. Betty--I want to say a--serious word . .. 

BETTY. [_Looking fondly at him. _] Well, isn't what _I'm_ saying serious?

WALTER. I'm thirty-eight. 

BETTY. Yes. I'm only thirty. But I'm not complaining. 

WALTER. Has it ever occurred to you--

 [_He stops. _

BETTY. What?

 [WALTER _looks at her--tries to speak, but cannot--then he breaks away, goes across the room to the fireplace and stands for a moment looking into the fire. She has remained where she was, her eyes following him wonderingly. Suddenly he stamps his foot violently. _

WALTER. Damn it! DAMN it!

BETTY. [_Moving towards him in alarm. _] What's the matter?

WALTER. [_With a swift turn towards her. _] I'm going to get married. 

BETTY. [_Stonily, stopping by the round table. _] You . .. 

WALTER. [_Savagely. _] Going to get married, yes. Married, married!

 [_She stands there and doesn't stir--doesn't speak or try to speak; merely stands there, and looks at him, giving no sign. Her silence irritates him; he becomes more and more violent, as though to give himself courage. _

WALTER. You're wonderful, you women--you really are. Always contrive tomake us seem brutes, or cowards! I've wanted to tell you this a dozentimes--I've not had the pluck. Well, to-day I must. Must, do you hearthat?. .. Oh, for Heaven's sake, say something. 

BETTY. [_Still staring helplessly at him. _] You . .. 

WALTER. [_Feverishly. _] Yes, I, I! Now it's out, at least--it's spoken! Imean to get married, like other men--fooled, too, I dare say, like theothers--at least I deserve it! But I'm tired, I tell you--tired--

BETTY. Of me?

WALTER. Tired of the life I lead--the beastly, empty rooms--the meals atthe Club. And I'm thirty-eight--it's now or never. 

BETTY. [_Slowly. _] And how about--me?

WALTER. You?

BETTY. [_Passionately. _] Yes. Me. Me!

WALTER. You didn't think this would last for ever?

BETTY. [_Nodding her head. _] I did--yes--I did. Why shouldn't it?

WALTER. [_Working himself into a fury again. _] Why? You ask that? Why? Ohyes, it's all right for _you_--you've your home and your husband--I'mthere as an--annexe. To be telephoned to, when I'm wanted, at your beckand call, throw over everything, come when you whistle. And it's not onlythat--I tell you it makes me feel--horrid. After all, he's my--friend. 

BETTY. He has been that always. You didn't feel--horrid--before. .. . Who isshe?

WALTER. [_Shortly, as he turns back to the fire. _] That doesn't matter. 

BETTY. Yes, it does. Who?

WALTER. [_Fretfully. _] Oh, why should we--

BETTY. I want to know--I'm _entitled_ to know. 

WALTER. [_Still with his back to her. _] Mary Gillingham. 

BETTY. Mary Gillingham!

WALTER. [_Firmly, swinging round to her. _] Yes. 

BETTY. That child, that chit of a girl!

WALTER. She's twenty-three. 

BETTY. Whom I introduced you to--my own friend?

WALTER. [_Grumbling. _] What _has_ that to do with it? And besides . .. [_He suddenly changes his tone, noticing how calm she has become--he takesa step towards her, and stands by her side, at the back of the table, hisvoice becomes gentle and affectionate. _] But I say, really, you're takingit awfully well--pluckily. I knew you would--I knew I was an ass to beso--afraid. .. . And look here, we'll always be pals--the very best of pals. I'll . .. Never forget--never. You may be quite sure . .. Of that. I want toget married--I do--have a home of my own, and so forth--but you'll stillbe--just the one woman I really have loved--the one woman in my life--towhom I owe--everything. 

BETTY. [_With a mirthless laugh. _] Do you tell all that--to MaryGillingham?

WALTER. [_Pettishly, as he moves away. _] Do I--don't be so absurd. 

BETTY. You tell _her_ she is the only _girl_ you have loved. 

WALTER. [_Moving back to the fire, with his back to her. _] I tell her--Itell her--what does it matter what I tell her? And one girl oranother--she or someone else--

BETTY. But you haven't answered my question--what's to become of me?

WALTER. [_Angrily, facing her. _] Become of you! Don't talk such nonsense. Because it is--really it is. You'll be as you were. And Hector's asplendid chap--and after all we've been frightfully wrong--treating himinfernally badly--despicably. Oh yes, we have--and you know it. Lord, there've been nights when I have--but never mind that--that's all over! Infuture we can look him in the face without feeling guilty--we can--

BETTY. [_Quietly. _] _You_ can. 

WALTER. What do you mean?

BETTY. _You_ can, because of this girl. Oh, I know, of course! You'll comehere three or four times--then you'll drop off--you'll feel I'm not quitethe woman you want your wife to know. 

WALTER. [_With genuine feeling, as he impulsively steps towards her. _]Betty, Betty, what sort of cad do you take me for? What sort of cad, orbounder? Haven't I told you I'd never forget--never? And you think you'llpass out of my life--that I _want_ you to? Why, good Heaven, I'll be yourbest friend as long as I live. Friend--yes--what I always should havebeen--meant to be! And Hector. Why, Betty, I tell you, merely talkingto-night, as I've done, has made me feel--different--sort of--lifted--aload. Because I've always had it--somewhere deep down in me--when I'vethought of--him. 

BETTY. [_Calmly. _] Liar. 

WALTER. [_Falling back. _] Betty!

BETTY. Liar--yes. Why these stupid, silly lies? "Always, deep down in me!"Where was it, this beautiful feeling, when you got me to go to your rooms?

WALTER. [_Harshly. _] We needn't--

BETTY. I liked you--I've said that--I liked you from the first. But I wasstraight enough. Liked you, of course--but I had no idea, not theslightest. .. . Thought it fun to play the fool, flirt just a bit. But itwas you, you, _you_ who--

WALTER. [_Breaking in sulkily and stamping his foot. _] Never mind aboutwho it was. 

BETTY. [_Passionately. _] Never mind! You dare!

WALTER. [_Doggedly. _] Yes--I dare. And look here--since you force me toit--that's all rot--yes, it is--just rot. Just as you like it now, hearingHector ask me to stop with you, and kissing me the moment his back isturned--so you met me halfway, and more than halfway. 

BETTY. You cur!

WALTER. That's what a woman always says, when a man speaks the truth. Because it _is_ the truth--and you know it. "The way I squeezed yourhand!" D'you think I _meant_ to squeeze it--in a way! Why, as there's aHeaven above me, you were as sacred to me--as my own sister!

BETTY. [_Quietly, as she sits, to right of the table. _] What I'mwondering is--you see, you're the only lover I've had--what I wonder is, when a man breaks off, tells a woman he's tired of her, wants to getmarried--does he _always_ abuse the woman--

WALTER. [_Sulkily. _] I haven't--

BETTY. Degrade, and throw mud on, the love she has had for him?

WALTER. [_With a bitter shrug. _] Love--

BETTY. [_Passionately, as she springs to her feet. _] Love, love, yes, you--cruel man! Love, what else? I adore you, don't you know that? Livefor you! would give up everything in the world--everything, everything!And Walter, Walter! If it's only _that_--that you want a home--well, let'sgo off together. He'll divorce us--we can get married. Don't go away, andleave me here, alone with him! I couldn't stand it--Walter, I couldn't, Icouldn't!

 [_She goes eagerly to him, flings her arms round his neck, and a dry sob bursts from her. _

WALTER. [_Very gently. _] Betty, Betty, you've been so brave . .. Betty, dear, the horrid things I've said were only to make you angry, to make youfeel what a brute I was, how well you're rid of me. Oh, I'm not proud ofmyself! But look here, we must be sensible--we must, really. .. . You know, if you were divorced--if I were the co-respondent in a divorce case--I'dlose my berth, get the sack--

BETTY. [_Clinging to him. _] We could go to Australia--anywhere--

WALTER. I've no money. 

BETTY. [_With a sudden movement, raising her head and leaving him. _] AndMary Gillingham has lots?

WALTER. It's not for her money that I--

BETTY. [_With a start. _] You love her?

WALTER. [_Dropping his head, and speaking under his breath. _] Yes. 

BETTY. [_Wringing her hands. _] You do, you do?

WALTER. Yes, that's the truth--I do. Oh, Betty I'm so frightfullysorry--

BETTY. [_With a groan. _] Then you don't love me any more . .. 

WALTER. It's not that. But you see--

BETTY. [_Moaning. _] You don't, you don't!

 [_She stands there, crushed, overwhelmed, dry-eyed, broken moans escaping from her; suddenly she hears a key turning in the lock of the hall-door outside, and rushes to the card-table. _

BETTY. Hector! Quick, quick--the cards!

 [WALTER _flies to the table, and sits by her side. He seizes one pack and proceeds to shuffle it, she is dealing with the other. All this takes only a second. _ HECTOR _comes in--they both spring up. _

BETTY. Hector! You're not ill?

HECTOR. [_Kissing her. _] Play postponed, my child--bit of luck! When I gotto the theatre I found that the actor-manager's car had collided with acab outside the stage-door--he was thrown through the window--there's amagnificent exit for you! and has been cut about a bit. Nothing serious. But the play's postponed for a week. Bit of luck!

WALTER. [_Sitting. _] Not for him. 

HECTOR. Oh _he_ has had luck enough--tons of it! I'll get into ajacket--then we'll have some bridge. See what progress you've made, Betty!

 [_He hurries out, and closes the door. _

BETTY. [_Producing a little mirror from her bag, looking into it, touching her hair. _] We were only just in time. 

WALTER. [_Eagerly, as he bends across the table. _] You're splendid--youare--splendid!

BETTY. Yes. All very nice and comfortable for you--isn't it? [_She putsthe mirror back into the bag. _]

WALTER. [_Coaxingly. _] Betty. 

BETTY. To-morrow you'll go to her--or to-night perhaps--

WALTER. To-night--ridiculous! At this hour!

BETTY. She's a deceitful little cat. I saw her last week--she never toldme--

WALTER. I don't think she knew. I only proposed to-day. 

BETTY. [_Flinging herself back in her chair, and opening wide eyes. _]You--proposed--to-day!

WALTER. [_Very embarrassed. _] Yes--I mean--

BETTY. You--proposed--to-day! And waited till she had accepted you--totell _me_--

WALTER. [_Eagerly. _] Don't be so silly--come, come, he'll be back in aminute. .. . And, believe me, I'm not worth making a fuss about!

BETTY. [_Looking contemptuously at him. _] That's true. 

WALTER. Yes, it is, worse luck! I deserve all you've said to me. Andyou'll be . .. Much better . .. Without me. 

BETTY. Better?

WALTER. Yes, better, better--any way you choose to put it! I'm a--butnever mind that!--Look here--you'd like me to stop?

BETTY. He wants to play bridge. 

WALTER. Don't you think that I--

BETTY. [_Hearing_ HECTOR _coming. _] Sh. 

 [HECTOR _comes in--she is idly tossing the cards about. _ HECTOR _has put on a smoking-jacket--he comes in, very jolly, fussing around, rubbing his hands, so glad to be home. He sits, to the right of_ BETTY. 

HECTOR. Now for a game!

 [_He seizes a pack, and spreads out the cards. _

BETTY. [_Leaning back. _] Not sure that I want to play. 

HECTOR. Don't be disagreeable, Betty! Why?

BETTY. [_Listlessly, as she rises and moves across the room. _] No fun, being three. 

HECTOR. Good practice for you. Come on. 

BETTY. [_Leaning against the other table, and turning and facing them. _]Besides, _he_ has something to tell you. 

HECTOR. Walter?

BETTY. Yes. 

HECTOR. [_Looking inquiringly at_ WALTER. ] To tell _me?_ What is it?

BETTY. That he's engaged. 

HECTOR. [_Shouting, as he leans across the table. _] Never! Walter!Engaged? You?

WALTER. [_Nervously. _] Yes. 

HECTOR. [_Noisily and affectionately. _] You old scoundrel! You rascal andvillain! Engaged--and you don't come and tell _me_ first! WellI--am--damned!

WALTER. [_Trying to take it gaily. _] I knew you'd chaff me about it. 

HECTOR. Chaff you! Silly old coon! why I'm glad! Of course we shall missyou--but marriage--it's the only thing, my boy--the only thing! Who isshe? Do I know her?

WALTER. [_Mumbling, as he fingers the cards. _] A friend of Betty's--Ifancy you've met her--

HECTOR. Who?

BETTY. Mary Gillingham. We're the first to know--he only proposed to-day. 

HECTOR. Gillingham, Gillingham. .. . Oh yes, I've seen her, just seen her, but I don't remember. .. . I say, not the daughter of the sealing-wax man?

WALTER. Yes. 

HECTOR. Then there's lots of tin! Fine! Oh you artful old dodger! Is shepretty?

WALTER. So-So. 

BETTY. [_Still leaning against the table, and looking at them both. _]She's excessively pretty. She has yellow hair and blue eyes. 

HECTOR. [_Chuckling. _] And she has caught old Wallie. The cynical oldWallie who sniffed at women! Though perhaps it's the money--

BETTY. No. He's in love with her. 

HECTOR. That's good. I'm glad. And I congratulate you--heartily, my boy. [_He seizes_ WALTER'S _hand, and wrings it. _] We must drink to it! [_Hegets up, goes to the side-table, and pours some whiskey into a tumbler. _]Charge your glass, Walter! [WALTER _rises and goes to the side-table. _]Ladies and gentlemen. I give you the bride and bridegroom! [_He fills theglass from the syphon and passes it to_ WALTER, _then proceeds to fill hisown. _] Betty, you must join us. 

BETTY. [_Quietly. _] No. 

HECTOR. You can't toast him in water, of course. Has she cleared away yet?I'll get you some Hock. 

 [_He puts his glass down and moves to the door at back. _

BETTY. Don't be so silly. I won't drink at all. 

HECTOR. [_Amazed. _] Not to old Walter?

BETTY. [_Steadily. _] No. 

HECTOR. Why?

BETTY. [_Almost jeeringly. _] Because--old Walter--has been my lover. 

HECTOR. [_Stopping, and staring at her. _] What?

BETTY. [_Calmly, looking full at him. _] My lover . .. These last two years. 

HECTOR. [_Staring stupidly at her. _] He has been--

BETTY. [_Impatiently, as she taps the floor with her foot. _] Yes, yes. Howoften must I tell you? My lover--don't you know what that means? Why doyou stare at me with those fat goggle-eyes of yours? He has been mylover--and now he has fallen in love with this girl and means to marryher. That's all. 

HECTOR. [_Turning towards_ WALTER, _who hasn't stirred from theside-table. _] What? You?

 [WALTER _remains motionless and silent. _

HECTOR. [_In muffled tones, scarcely able to speak. _] You! It's true whatthis woman says?

BETTY. [_Contemptuously. _] This woman! Don't be so melodramatic! Have youforgotten my name?

HECTOR. [_Turning fiercely to her, roaring madly. _] Silence, Jezebel![_She shrinks back, in alarm, towards the fire. _] Your name! Wait a bit, I'll tell you! [_He takes a step towards her--she crouches in terroragainst the wall. _] You shall hear what your name is! Just now I'm dealingwith _him. _ [_He swings round to_ WALTER. ] You there, you skunk and thief!You, you lying hound! I was your best friend. So you've taken my wife, have you? And now mean to go off and marry this girl. That's it? Oh, it'sso simple! Here--come here--sit down. Sit down, I tell you. Here, in thischair. Shall I have to drag you to it? I want to keep my hands off you. Here. [WALTER _has moved slowly towards him. _ HECTOR _has banged down achair behind the centre table, _ WALTER _sits in it_--HECTOR _speaks overhis shoulder to_ BETTY. ] And you--fetch pen and ink and paper--

BETTY. [_In abject panic. _] Hector--

HECTOR. [_Turning fiercely and scowling at her. _] If you speak to me I'llbrain you too. Just you go in there and fetch the things. D'you hear? Go. [_She moves into the other room. _ HECTOR _swings round to_ WALTER. ] As foryou, you're a scoundrel. A rogue, a thief, a liar, a traitor. Of the veryworst kind, the blackest. Not an ordinary case of a husband and wife--Itrusted you--you were my best friend. You spawn, you thing of the gutter, you foul-hearted, damnable slug!

 [BETTY _comes back, dragging her feet, carrying paper and envelopes and a stylograph--she puts them on the table. _

HECTOR. Not that stylograph--that's mine--his dirty hands shan't touchit--I could never use it again. Fetch _your_ pen--yours--you belong tohim, don't you? Go in and fetch it. D'you hear?

 [BETTY _goes into the inner room again. _

HECTOR. My wife. And you the man I've done more for than for any one elsein the world. The man I cared for, you low dog. Used my house--came herebecause it was dull at the Club--and took my wife? I don't know why Idon't kill you. I've the right. But I won't. You shall pay for it, my finefellow--you are going to pay--now. 

 [BETTY _brings a pen and an inkstand; she places them on the table;_ HECTOR _seizes them and pushes them in front of_ WALTER. BETTY _slinks to the other side of the room, and stands by the sofa. _

HECTOR. [_To_ WALTER. ] Now you write. You hear? You write what I dictate. Word for word. What's the old brute's name?

WALTER. Whose?

HECTOR. Whose! Her father, the sealing-wax man, old Gillingham?

WALTER. [_Staring. _] Gillingham?

HECTOR. Gillingham. Yes. What is it?

WALTER. You want me to write to him?

HECTOR. [_Nodding. _] To him. Who else? A confession? I've had that. Hisname?

WALTER. [_Dropping the pen and half rising. _] I won't--

HECTOR. [_Springing upon him in a mad fury, and forcing him back into thechair. _] You won't, you dog! You dare say that--to me! By Heaven, youwill! You'll lick the dust off this floor, if I tell you! You'll go onyour hands and knees, and crawl! Sit down, you! Sit down and take up yourfilthy pen. So. [_Thoroughly cowed, _ WALTER _has taken up the pen again. _]And now--his name. Don't make me ask you again, I tell you, don't. What isit?

WALTER. Richard. 

HECTOR. Very well, Richard. So write that down. To Richard Gillingham. Ihave to-day proposed to your daughter, and she has accepted me. Got that?She has accepted me. But I can't marry her--can't marry her--because Ihave seduced the wife of my friend Hector Allen--

WALTER. [_Appealingly, dropping his pen. _] Hector!

HECTOR. [_Frantically gripping_ WALTER _by the throat, till he takes uphis pen again. _] The wife of my friend Hector Allen--write it--andplainly, you hound, plainly--so--and because I am taking the woman awaywith me to-night. 

BETTY. [_With a loud cry. _] Hector!

HECTOR. [_Over his shoulder, watching_ WALTER _write. _] Silence, overthere, you! Hold your tongue! Go into your room and put on yourthings--we've done with you here! Take what you want--I don't care--youdon't show your face here again. And you--[_he taps his clenched handagainst_ WALTER'S _arm_] write. What are you stopping for? How far haveyou got? [_He peers over_ WALTER'S _shoulder. _] Because--I--am--taking--the--woman--away--with--me--to-night. 

BETTY. [_Beside herself, wringing her hands. _] Hector, Hector--

HECTOR. [_Savagely, as he makes a half-turn towards her. _] You stillthere? Wait a bit. I'll come to you, when I've finished with him. If youhaven't gone and put on your things, you shall go off without them. Intothe street. You'll find other women there like you. [_He turns back to_WALTER. ] Here, you, have you written? [_He looks over_ WALTER'S_shoulder. _] Go on--I'm getting impatient. Go on, I tell you. I--am--taking--the--

 [WALTER _is slowly writing down the words, _ HECTOR _standing over him;_ BETTY _suddenly bursts into a peal of wild, uproarious laughter, and lets herself fall into a chair to the left of the card-table. _

HECTOR. [_Madly. _] You!

 [_He leaves_ WALTER, _and almost springs at her. _

BETTY. [_Brimming with merriment. _] Oh, you old donkey! _How_ we havepulled your leg!

HECTOR. [_Staring at her, stopping dead short. _] You--

BETTY. [_Through her laughter, choking. _] Hector, Hector! Conventionalsituations! The usual stodge! The lover and husband! You goose, youwonderful old goose!

 [WALTER, _with a mighty effort, has pulled himself together, and roars with laughter too. He jumps up. _ HECTOR _is standing there blinking, paralysed. _

WALTER. [_Merrily, to_ BETTY. ] Oh really, you shouldn't. You've given itaway too soon!

BETTY. Too soon! He'd have strangled us. Did you ever see such a tiger?

WALTER. [_Chuckling hugely. _] He didn't give the lover much chance tostand up to him, did he?

BETTY. And _wasn't_ he original! Dog, hound, villain, traitor!

WALTER. To say nothing of Jezebel! Though, between ourselves, I think hemeant Messalina!

BETTY. And I was to go into the street. But he did let me fill my bag!

WALTER. I think the playwrights come out on top, I do indeed. [_He goesto_ HECTOR, _and stands to left of him. _] Hector, old chap, here's theletter!

BETTY. [_Going to the other side of_ HECTOR, _and dropping a lowcurtsey. _] And please, Mr. Husband, was it to be a big bag, or a smallbag, and might I have taken the silver teapot?

 [HECTOR _has been standing there stupid, dazed, dumbfounded, too bewildered for his mind to act or thoughts to come to him; he suddenly bursts into a roar of Titanic, overwhelming laughter. He laughs, and laughs, staggers to the sofa, falls on it, rocks and roars till the tears roll down his cheeks. He sways from side to side, unable to control himself--his laughter is so colossal that the infection catches the others; theirs becomes genuine too. _

BETTY. [_With difficulty, trying to control herself. _] The letter! OldGillingham! "His name, scoundrel, his name!"

WALTER. [_Gurgling. _] With his hand at my throat! Sit there, villain, andwrite!

BETTY. "I'll deal with _you_ presently! Wait till I've finished with_him!_"

WALTER. "Into the street!" At least, they _do_ usually say "into thenight!"

HECTOR. [_Rubbing his eyes and panting for breath. _] Oh, you pair ofblackguards! Too bad--no, really too bad! It was! I fell in, I did! Oh, Lord, oh, Lord, what a nightmare! But it wasn't right, really itwasn't--no really! My Lord, how I floundered--head and shoulders--swallowed it all! Comes of reading that muck every day--never stopped tothink! I didn't! Walter, old chap! [_He holds out his hand. _] Betty! Mypoor Betty! [_He draws her towards him. _] The things I said to you!

BETTY. [_Carelessly eluding the caress. _] At least admit that you'rerather hard on the playwriting people!

HECTOR. [_Getting up and shaking himself. _] Oh, they be blowed! Well, you_have_ had a game with me! [_He shakes himself again. _] Brrrrr! Oh, myLord! What I went through!

BETTY. It _was_ a lark! you should have seen yourself! Your eyes startingout of your head! You looked like a murderer!

HECTOR. By Jove, and I felt it! For two pins I'd have--

BETTY. And Mary Gillingham! _That's_ the funniest part! That you couldhave thought _he_ was engaged--to _her!_

 [_Involuntarily the smile dies away on_ WALTER'S _face; he turns and stares at her; she goes on calmly. _

BETTY. When she happens to be the one girl in this world he can't stand!

WALTER. [_With a movement that he can't control. _] Betty!

BETTY. [_Turning smilingly to him. _] No harm in my telling Hector--hescarcely knows her! [_She swings round to_ HECTOR _again. _] Why, Waltersimply _loathes_ the poor girl! That's what made it so funny! [_At themere thought of it she bursts out laughing again, and goes on speakingthrough her laughter. _] And I tell you--if you ever hear he's engaged to_her_--why, you can believe the rest of the story too!

HECTOR. [_Laughing heartily as he pats_ WALTER _on the shoulder. _] Poorold Walter! And, d'you know, I was quite pleased at the thought of hisgetting married! I was! [_He turns to him. _] But it's better, old chap, for us--we'd have missed you--terribly! [_With another pat on_ WALTER'S_shoulder, he goes to the fire, and drops in the letter. _] Mustn't leave_that_ lying about! [_He turns. _] Well, by Jove, if any one had toldme. .. . And drinking to him, and all!

BETTY. If you'll fetch me that glass of Hock now, I _will_ drink to him, Hector. To Walter, the Bachelor!

HECTOR. [_Beaming. _] So we will! Good. I'll get it. 

 [_He bustles into the dining-room. _

BETTY. [_Moving swiftly to_ WALTER. ] Well, now's your time. One thing orthe other. 

WALTER. [_Savagely. _] You fiend!

BETTY. I'll go and see her to-morrow--see her constantly--

WALTER. Why are you doing this?

BETTY. You've ruined my life and his. At least, _you_ shan't be happy. 

WALTER. And you imagine I'll come back to _you_--that we'll go on, you andI?

BETTY. [_Scornfully. _] No--don't be afraid! You've shown yourself to meto-day. That's all done with--finished. _His_ friend now--with the loadoff you--but never _her_ husband. Never!

 [HECTOR _comes bustling back, with the bottle of Hock, and a wine-glass that he gives to_ BETTY--_she holds it, and he fills it from the bottle. _

HECTOR. Here you are, my girl--and now, where's my whiskey? [_He trotsround to the side table, finds his glass, and_ WALTER'S--_hands one to_WALTER. ] Here, Wallie--yours must be the one that's begun--I didn't havetime to touch mine! Here. [WALTER _takes it. _] And forgive me, old man, for thinking, even one minute--[_He wrings him by the hand. _] Here's toyou, old friend. And Betty, to you! Oh, Lord, I just want this drink!

BETTY. [_In cold, clear tones, as she holds up her glass. _] To Walter, theBachelor!

 [_She drains her glass;_ WALTER _has his moment's hesitation; he drinks, and with tremendous effort succeeds in composing his face. _

HECTOR. [_Gaily. _] To Walter, the Bachelor! [_He drinks his glass to thedregs and puts it down. _] And now--for a game. 

WALTER. I think I--

HECTOR. [_Coaxingly. _] Sit down, laddie--just one rubber. It's quiteearly. Do. There's a good chap. [_They all sit:_ HECTOR _at back, _ BETTY_to the left of him, _ WALTER _to the right--he spreads out the cards--theydraw for partners. _] As we are--you and Betty--I've got the dummy. [_Heshuffles the cards_--BETTY _cuts--he begins to deal. _] That's how I likeit--one on each side of me. Also I like having dummy. Now, Betty, playup. Oh, Lord, how good it is, how good! A nightmare, I tell you--terrible!And really you must forgive me for being such an ass. But the way youplayed up, both of you! My little Betty--a Duse, that's what she is--areal Duse! [_He gathers up his cards. _] And the gods are kind to me--I'vegot a hand, I tell you! I call NO TRUMPS!

 [_He beams at them--they are placidly sorting their cards. He puts his hand down and proceeds to look at his dummy, as the curtain falls. _

CURTAIN

A MARRIAGE HAS BEEN ARRANGED. .. . 

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

MR. HARRISON CROCKSTEADLADY ALINE DE VAUX

_Produced at theGarrick Theatreon March 27, 1904_

A MARRIAGE HAS BEEN ARRANGED. .. . 

SCENE _The conservatory of No. 300 Grosvenor Square. Hour, close onmidnight. A ball is in progress, and dreamy waltz music is heard in thedistance. _

 LADY ALINE DE VAUX _enters, leaning on the arm of_ MR. HARRISON CROCKSTEAD. 

 LADY ALINE _is a tall, exquisitely-gowned girl, of the conventional and much-admired type of beauty. Put her in any drawing-room in the world, and she would at once be recognised as a highborn Englishwoman. She has in her, in embryo, all those excellent qualities that go to make a great lady: the icy stare, the haughty movement of the shoulder, the disdainful arch of the lip; she has also, but only an experienced observer would notice it, something of wistfulness, something that speaks of a sore and wounded heart--though it is sufficiently evident that this organ is kept under admirable control. A girl who has been placed in a position of life where artificiality rules, who has been taught to be artificial and has thoroughly learned her lesson; yet one who would unhesitatingly know the proper thing to do did a camel bolt with her in the desert, or an eastern potentate invite her to become his two hundred and fifty-seventh wife. In a word, a lady of complete self-possession and magnificent control. _ MR. CROCKSTEAD _is a big, burly man of forty or so, and of the kind to whom the ordinary West End butler would consider himself perfectly justified in declaring that her ladyship was not at home. And yet his evening clothes sit well on him; and there is a certain air of command about the man that would have made the butler uncomfortable. That functionary would have excused himself by declaring that_ MR. CROCKSTEAD _didn't look a gentleman. And perhaps he doesn't. His walk is rather a slouch; he has a way of keeping his hands in his pockets, and of jerking out his sentences; a way, above all, of seeming perfectly indifferent to the comfort of the people he happens to be addressing. The impression he gives is one of power, not of refinement; and the massive face, with its heavy lines, and eyes that are usually veiled, seems to give no clue whatever to the character of the man within. _

 _The couple break apart when they enter the room;_ LADY ALINE _is the least bit nervous, though she shows no trace of it;_ MR. CROCKSTEAD _absolutely imperturbable and undisturbed. _

CROCKSTEAD. [_Looking around. _] Ah--this is the place--very quiet, retired, romantic--et cetera. Music in the distance--all very appropriateand sentimental. 

[_She leaves him, and sits, quietly fanning herself; he stands, lookingat her. _] You seem perfectly calm, Lady Aline?

ALINE. [_Sitting. _] Conservatories are not unusual appendages to aball-room, Mr. Crockstead; nor is this conservatory unlike otherconservatories. 

CROCKSTEAD [_Turning to her. _] I wonder why women are always so evasive?

ALINE. With your permission we will not discuss the sex. You and I are tooold to be cynical, and too young to be appreciative. And besides, it is arule of mine, whenever I sit out a dance, that my partner shall avoid thesubjects of women--and golf. 

CROCKSTEAD. You limit the area of conversation. But then, in thisparticular instance, I take it, we have not come here to talk?

ALINE. [_Coldly. _] I beg your pardon!

CROCKSTEAD. [_Sitting beside her. _] Lady Aline, they are dancing acotillon in there, so we have half an hour before us. We shall not bedisturbed, for the Duchess, your aunt, has considerately stationed heraged companion in the corridor, with instructions to ward off intruders. 

ALINE. [_Very surprised. _] Mr. Crockstead!

CROCKSTEAD. [_Looking hard at her. _] Didn't you know? [ALINE _turns aside, embarrassed. _] That's right--of course you did. Don't you know why I havebrought you here? That's right; of course you do. The Duchess, your aunt, and the Marchioness, your mother--observe how fondly my tongue trips outthe titles--smiled sweetly on us as we left the ball-room. There will bea notice in the _Morning Post_ to-morrow: "A Marriage Has Been ArrangedBetween--"

ALINE. [_Bewildered and offended. _] Mr. Crockstead! This--this is--

CROCKSTEAD. [_Always in the same quiet tone. _] Because I have not yetproposed, you mean? Of course I intend to, Lady Aline. Only as I know thatyou will accept me--

ALINE. [_In icy tones, as she rises. _] Let us go back to the ball-room. 

CROCKSTEAD. [_Quite undisturbed. _] Oh, please! That won't help us, youknow. Do sit down. I assure you I have never proposed before, so thatnaturally I am a trifle nervous. Of course I know that we are only supersreally, without much of a speaking part; but the spirit moves me to gag, in the absence of the stage-manager, who is, let us say, the Duchess--

ALINE. I have heard of the New Humour, Mr. Crockstead, though I confess Ihave never understood it. This may be an exquisite example--

CROCKSTEAD. By no means. I am merely trying to do the right thing, thoughperhaps not the conventional one. Before making you the formal offer of myhand and fortune, which amounts to a little over three millions--

ALINE. [_Fanning herself. _] How people exaggerate! Between six and seven, _I_ heard. 

CROCKSTEAD. Only three at present, but we must be patient. Before throwingmyself at your feet, metaphorically, I am anxious that you should knowsomething of the man whom you are about to marry. 

ALINE. That is really most considerate!

CROCKSTEAD. I have the advantage of you, you see, inasmuch as you havemany dear friends, who have told me all about you. 

ALINE. [_With growing exasperation, but keeping very cool. _] Indeed?

CROCKSTEAD. I am aware, for instance, that this is your ninth season--

ALINE. [_Snapping her fan. _] You are remarkably well-informed. 

CROCKSTEAD. I have been told that again to-night, three times, by charmingyoung women who vowed that they loved you. Now, as I have no dearestfriends, it is unlikely that you will have heard anything equally definiteconcerning myself. I propose to enlighten you. 

ALINE. [_Satirically. _] The story of your life--how thrilling!

CROCKSTEAD. I trust you may find it so. [_He sits, and pauses for amoment, then begins, very quietly. _] Lady Aline, I am a self-made man, asthe foolish phrase has it--a man whose early years were spent in savageand desolate places, where the devil had much to say; a man in whomwhatever there once had been of natural kindness was very soon kicked out. I was poor, and lonely, for thirty-two years: I have been rich, andlonely, for ten. My millions have been made honestly enough; but povertyand wretchedness had left their mark on me, and you will find very fewmen with a good word to say for Harrison Crockstead. I have no polish, orculture, or tastes. Art wearies me, literature sends me to sleep--

ALINE. When you come to the chapter of your personal deficiencies, Mr. Crockstead, please remember that they are sufficiently evident for me tohave already observed them. 

CROCKSTEAD. [_Without a trace of annoyance. _] That is true. I will pass, then, to more intimate matters. In a little township in Australia--ahorrible place where there was gold--I met a woman whom I loved. She waswhat is technically known as a bad woman. She ran away with another man. Itracked them to Texas, and in a mining camp there I shot the man. I wantedto take the woman back, but she refused. That has been my solitary loveaffair; and I shall never love any woman again as I loved her. I thinkthat is all that I have to tell you. And now--will you marry me, LadyAline?

ALINE. [_Very steadily, facing him. _] Not if you were the last man in thisworld, Mr. Crockstead. 

CROCKSTEAD. [_With a pleasant smile. _] At least that is emphatic. 

ALINE. See, I will give you confidence for confidence. This is, as yousuggest, my ninth season. Living in an absurd milieu where marriage with awealthy man is regarded as the one aim in life, I have, during the pastfew weeks, done all that lay in my power to wring a proposal from you. 

CROCKSTEAD. I appreciate your sincerity. 

ALINE. Perhaps the knowledge that other women were doing the same lent alittle zest to the pursuit, which otherwise would have been very dreary;for I confess that your personality did not--especially appeal to me. 

CROCKSTEAD. [_Cheerfully. _] Thank you very much. 

ALINE. Not at all. Indeed, this room being the Palace of Truth, I willadmit that it was only by thinking hard of your three millions that I havebeen able to conceal the weariness I have felt in your society. And nowwill you marry me, Mr. Crockstead?

CROCKSTEAD. [_Serenely. _] I fancy that's what we're here for, isn't it?

ALINE. [_Stamping her foot. _] I have, of course, been debarred from thedisreputable amours on which you linger so fondly; but I loved a soldiercousin of mine, and would have run away with him had my mother not packedme off in time. He went to India, and I stayed here; but he is the onlyman I have loved or ever shall love. Further, let me tell you I amtwenty-eight; I have always been poor--I hate poverty, and it has souredme no less than you. Dress is the thing in life I care for most, vulgaritymy chief abomination. And to be frank, I consider you the most vulgarperson I have ever met. Will you still marry me, Mr. Crockstead?

CROCKSTEAD. [_With undiminished cheerfulness. _] Why not?

ALINE. This is an outrage. Am I a horse, do you think, or aballet-dancer? Do you imagine I will sell myself to you for your threemillions?

CROCKSTEAD. Logic, my dear Lady Aline, is evidently not one of your morespecial possessions. For, had it not been for my--somewhat eccentricpreliminaries--you _would_ have accepted me, would you not?

ALINE. [_Embarrassed. _] I--I--

CROCKSTEAD. If I had said to you, timidly: "Lady Aline, I love you: I am asimple, unsophisticated person; will you marry me?" You would haveanswered, "Yes, Harrison, I will. "

ALINE. It is a mercy to have escaped marrying a man with such a Christianname as Harrison. 

CROCKSTEAD. It has been in the family for generations, you know; but it isa strange thing that I am always called Harrison, and that no one everadopts the diminutive. 

ALINE. That does not surprise me: we have no pet name for the East wind. 

CROCKSTEAD. The possession of millions, you see, Lady Aline, puts you intoeternal quarantine. It is a kind of yellow fever, with the difference thatpeople are perpetually anxious to catch your complaint. But we digress. Toreturn to the question of our marriage--

ALINE. I beg your pardon. 

CROCKSTEAD. I presume that it is--arranged?

ALINE. [_Haughtily. _] Mr. Crockstead, let me remind you that frankness hasits limits: exceeding these, it is apt to degenerate into impertinence. Be good enough to conduct me to the ball-room. 

 [_She moves to the door. _

CROCKSTEAD. You have five sisters, I believe, Lady Aline? [ALINE _stopsshort. _] All younger than yourself, all marriageable, and all unmarried?

 [ALINE _hangs her head and is silent. _

CROCKSTEAD. Your father--

ALINE. [_Fiercely. _] Not a word of my father!

CROCKSTEAD. Your father is a gentleman. The breed is rare, and very finewhen you get it. But he is exceedingly poor. People marry for moneynowadays; and your mother will be very unhappy if this marriage of oursfalls through. 

ALINE. [_Moving a step towards him. _] Is it to oblige my mother, then, that you desire to marry me?

CROCKSTEAD. Well, no. But you see I must marry some one, in mereself-defence; and honestly, I think you will do at least as well as anyone else. [ALINE _bursts out laughing. _] That strikes you as funny?

ALINE. If you had the least grain of chivalrous feeling, you would realisethat the man who could speak to a woman as you have spoken to me--

 [_She pauses. _

CROCKSTEAD. Yes?

ALINE. I leave you to finish the sentence. 

CROCKSTEAD. Thank you. I will finish it my own way. I will say that when awoman deliberately tries to wring an offer of marriage from a man whomshe does not love, she deserves to be spoken to as I have spoken to you, Lady Aline. 

ALINE. [_Scornfully. _] Love! What has love to do with marriage?

CROCKSTEAD. That remark rings hollow. You have been good enough to tell meof your cousin, whom you did love--

ALINE. Well?

CROCKSTEAD. And with whom you would have eloped, had your mother notprevented you. 

ALINE. I most certainly should. 

CROCKSTEAD. So you see that at one period of your life you thoughtdifferently. --You were very fond of him?

ALINE. I have told you. 

CROCKSTEAD. [_Meditatively. _] If I had been he, mother or no mother, moneyor no money, I would have carried you off. I fancy it must be pleasant tobe loved by you, Lady Aline. 

ALINE. [_Dropping a mock curtsey, as she sits on the sofa. _] You do me toomuch honour. 

CROCKSTEAD. [_Still thoughtful, moving about the room. _] Next to beingking, it is good to be maker of kings. Where is this cousin now?

ALINE. In America. But might I suggest that we have exhausted the subject?

CROCKSTEAD. Do you remember your "Arabian Nights, " Lady Aline?

ALINE. Vaguely. 

CROCKSTEAD. You have at least not forgotten that sublime Caliph, HarounAl-Raschid?

ALINE. Oh, no--but why?

CROCKSTEAD. We millionaires are the Caliphs to-day; and we command morefaithful than ever bowed to them. And, like that old scoundrel Haroun, wemay at times permit ourselves a respectable impulse. What is your cousin'saddress?

ALINE. Again I ask--why?

CROCKSTEAD. I will put him in a position to marry you. 

ALINE. [_In extreme surprise. _] What! [_She rises. _

CROCKSTEAD. Oh, don't be alarmed, I'll manage it pleasantly. I'll give himtips, shares, speculate for him, make him a director of one or two of mycompanies. He shall have an income of four thousand a year. You can liveon that. 

ALINE. You are not serious?

CROCKSTEAD. Oh yes; and though men may not like me, they always trust myword. You may. 

ALINE. And why will you do this thing?

CROCKSTEAD. Call it caprice--call it a mere vulgar desire to let mymagnificence dazzle you--call it the less vulgar desire to know that mymoney has made you happy with the man you love. 

ALINE. That is generous. 

CROCKSTEAD. I remember an old poem I learnt at school--which told howFrederick the Great coveted a mill that adjoined a favourite estate ofhis; but the miller refused to sell. Frederick could have turned him out, of course--there was not very much public opinion in those days--but herespected the miller's firmness, and left him in solid possession. Andmark that, at that very same time, he annexed--in other words stole--theprovince of Silesia. 

ALINE. Ah--

CROCKSTEAD. [_Moving to the fireplace. _]

 "Ce sont là jeux de Princes: Ils respectent un meunier, Ils volent une province. "

 [_The music stops. _

ALINE. You speak French?

CROCKSTEAD. I am fond of it. It is the true and native language ofinsincerity. 

ALINE. And yet you seem sincere. 

CROCKSTEAD. I am permitting myself that luxury to-night. I am uncorking, let us say, the one bottle of '47 port left in my cellar. 

ALINE. You are not quite fair to yourself, perhaps. 

CROCKSTEAD. Do not let this action of mine cause you too suddenly to alteryour opinion. The verdict you pronounced before was, on the whole, just. 

ALINE. What verdict?

CROCKSTEAD. I was the most unpleasant person you ever had met. 

ALINE. That was an exaggeration. 

CROCKSTEAD. The most repulsive--

ALINE. [_Quickly. _] I did not say that. 

CROCKSTEAD. And who prided himself on his repulsiveness. Very true, in themain, and yet consider! My wealth dates back ten years; till then I hadknown hunger, and every kind of sorrow and despair. I had stretched outlonging arms to the world, but not a heart opened to me. And suddenly, when the taste of men's cruelty was bitter in my mouth, capricious fortunesnatched me from abject poverty and gave me delirious wealth. I wasploughing a barren field, and flung up a nugget. From that moment golddogged my footsteps. I enriched the few friends I had--they turnedhowlingly from me because I did not give them more. I showered money onwhoever sought it of me--they cursed me because it was mine to give. In mypoverty there had been the bond of common sorrow between me and myfellows: in my wealth I stand alone, a modern Ishmael, with every man'shand against me. 

ALINE. [_Gently. _] Why do you tell me this?

CROCKSTEAD. Because I am no longer asking you to marry me. Because you arethe first person in all these years who has been truthful and frank withme. And because, perhaps, in the happiness that will, I trust, be yours, Iwant you to think kindly of me. [_She puts out her hand, he takes it. _]And now, shall we return to the ball-room? The music has stopped; theymust be going to supper. 

ALINE. What shall I say to the Marchioness, my mother, and the Duchess, myaunt?

CROCKSTEAD. You will acquaint those noble ladies with the fact of yourhaving refused me. 

 [_They have both risen, and move up the room together. _

ALINE. I shall be a nine days' wonder. And how do you propose to carryout your little scheme?

CROCKSTEAD. I will take Saturday's boat--you will give me a line to yourcousin. I had better state the case plainly to him, perhaps?

ALINE. That demands consideration. 

CROCKSTEAD. And I will tell you what you shall do for me in return. Findme a wife!

ALINE. I?

CROCKSTEAD. You. I beg it on my knees. I give you carte blanche. Iundertake to propose, with my eyes shut, to the woman you shall select. 

ALINE. And will you treat her to the--little preliminaries--with which youhave favoured me?

CROCKSTEAD. No. I said those things to you because I liked you. 

ALINE. And you don't intend to like the other one?

CROCKSTEAD. I will marry her, I can trust you to find me a loyal andintelligent woman. 

ALINE. In Society?

CROCKSTEAD. For preference. She will be better versed in spending moneythan a governess, or country parson's daughter. 

ALINE. But why this voracity for marriage?

CROCKSTEAD. Lady Aline, I am hunted, pestered, worried, persecuted. I havesettled two breach of promise actions already, though Heaven knows I didno more than remark it was a fine day, or enquire after the lady's health. If you do not help me, some energetic woman will capture me--I feelit--and bully me for the rest of my days. I raise a despairing cry toyou--Find me a wife!

ALINE. Do you desire the lady to have any--special qualifications?

CROCKSTEAD. No--the home-grown article will do. One thing, though--Ishould like her to be--merciful. 

ALINE. I don't understand. 

CROCKSTEAD. I have a vague desire to do something with my money: my wifemight help me. I should like her to have pity. 

ALINE. Pity?

CROCKSTEAD. In the midst of her wealth I should wish her to be sorry forthose who are poor. 

ALINE. Yes. And, as regards the rest--

CROCKSTEAD. The rest I leave to you, with absolute confidence. You willhelp me?

ALINE. I will try. My choice is to be final?

CROCKSTEAD. Absolutely. 

ALINE. I have an intimate friend--I wonder whether she would do?

CROCKSTEAD. Tell me about her. 

ALINE. She and I made our debut the same season. Like myself she hashitherto been her mother's despair. 

CROCKSTEAD. Because she has not yet--

ALINE. Married--yes. Oh, if men knew how hard the lot is of theportionless girl, who has to sit, and smile, and wait, with a verydesolate heart--they would think less unkindly of her, perhaps--[_Shesmiles. _] But I am digressing, too. 

CROCKSTEAD. Tell me more of your friend. 

ALINE. She is outwardly hard, and a trifle bitter, but I fancy sunshinewould thaw her. There has not been much happiness in her life. 

CROCKSTEAD. Would she marry a man she did not love?

ALINE. If she did you would not respect her?

CROCKSTEAD. I don't say that. She will be your choice; and thereforedeserving of confidence. Is she handsome?

ALINE. Well--no. 

CROCKSTEAD. [_With a quick glance at her. _] That's a pity. But we can'thave everything. 

ALINE. No. There is one episode in her life that I feel she would like youto know--

CROCKSTEAD. If you are not betraying a confidence--

ALINE. [_Looking down. _] No. She loved a man, years ago, very dearly. Theywere too poor to marry, but they vowed to wait. Within six months shelearned that he was engaged. 

CROCKSTEAD. Ah!

ALINE. To a fat and wealthy widow--

CROCKSTEAD. The old story. 

ALINE. Who was touring through India, and had been made love to by everyunmarried officer in the regiment. She chose him. 

CROCKSTEAD. India? [_He moves towards her. _]

ALINE. Yes. 

CROCKSTEAD. I have an idea that I shall like your friend. [_He takes herhand in his. _]

ALINE. I shall be careful to tell her all that you said to me--at thebeginning--

CROCKSTEAD. It is quite possible that my remarks may not apply after all. 

ALINE. But I believe myself from what I know of you both that--if shemarries you--it will not be--altogether--for your money. 

CROCKSTEAD. Listen--they're playing "God Save the King. " Will you be mywife, Aline?

ALINE. Yes--Harry. 

 [_He takes her in his arms and kisses her. _

CURTAIN

THE MAN ON THE KERB

A DUOLOGUE

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

JOSEPH MATTHEWSMARY (HIS WIFE)

TIME--_The present_

SCENE--_Their home in the West End_

_Produced at theAldwych Theatreon March 24, 1908_

THE MAN ON THE KERB

SCENE: _An underground room, bare of any furniture except two or three broken chairs, a tattered mattress on the stone floor and an old trunk. On a packing-chest are a few pots and pans and a kettle. A few sacks are spread over the floor, close to the empty grate; the walls are discoloured, with plentiful signs of damp oozing through. Close to the door, at back, is a window, looking on to the area; two of the panes are broken and stuffed with paper. _

 _On the mattress a child is sleeping, covered with a tattered old mantle;_ MARY _is bending over her, crooning a song. The woman is still quite young, and must have been very pretty; but her cheeks are hollow and there are great circles round her eyes; her face is very pale and bloodless. Her dress is painfully worn and shabby, but displays pathetic attempts at neatness. The only light in the room comes from the street lamp on the pavement above. _

 JOE _comes down the area steps, and enters. His clothes are of the familiar colourless, shapeless kind one sees at street corners; he would be a pleasant-looking young fellow enough were it not that his face is abnormally lined, and pinched, and weather-beaten. He shambles in, with the intense weariness of a man who has for hours been forcing benumbed limbs to move; he shakes himself, on the threshold, dog-fashion, to get rid of the rain. _ MARY _first makes sure that the child is asleep, then rises eagerly and goes to him. Her face falls as she notes his air of dejection. _

MARY. [_Wistfully. _] Nothing, Joe?

JOE. Nothing. Not a farthing. Nothing. 

 [MARY _turns away and checks a moan. _

JOE. Nothing at all. Same as yesterday--worse than yesterday--I _did_bring home a few coppers--And you?

MARY. A lady gave Minnie some food--

JOE. [_Heartily. _] Bless her for that!

MARY. Took her into the pastrycook's, Joe--

JOE. And the kiddie had a tuck-out? Thank God! And you?

MARY. Minnie managed to hide a great big bun for me. 

JOE. The lady didn't give you anything?

MARY. Only a lecture, Joe, for bringing the child out on so bitter a day. 

JOE. [_With a sour laugh, as he sits on a chair. _] Ho, ho! Always so readywith their lectures, aren't they? "Shouldn't beg, my man! Never give tobeggars in the street!"--Look at me, I said to one of them. Feel my arm. Tap my chest. I tell you I'm starving, and they're starving athome. --"Never give to beggars in the street. "

MARY. [_Laying a hand on his arm. _] Oh, Joe, you're wet!

JOE. It's been raining hard the last three hours--pouring. My stars, it'scold. Couldn't we raise a bit of fire, Mary?

MARY. With what, Joe?

JOE. [_After a look round, suddenly getting up, seizing a ricketty chairby the wall, breaking off the legs. _] With this! Wonderful fine furniturethey give you on the Hire System--so solid and substantial--as advertised. [_He breaks the flimsy thing up, as he speaks. _] And to think we paid forthis muck, in the days we were human beings--paid about three times itsvalue! And to think of the poor devils, poor devils like us, who sweatedtheir life-blood out to make it--and of the blood-sucking devils who soldit and got fat on it--and now back it goes to the devil it came from, andwe can at least get warm for a minute. [_He crams the wood into thegrate. _] Got any paper, Mary?

MARY. [_Taking an old newspaper from the trunk. _] Here, Joe. 

JOE. That will help to build up a fire. [_He glances at it, then lays itcarefully underneath the wood. _ MARY _gets lamp from table. _] The DailySomething or other--that tells the world what a happy people we are--howproud of belonging to an Empire on which the sun never sets. And I'd sellGibraltar to-night for a sausage with mashed potatoes; and let Russiatake India if some one would give me a clerkship at a pound aweek. --There, in you go! A match, Mary?

MARY. [_Standing above_ JOE, _handing him one. _] Ok Joe, be careful--we'veonly two left!

JOE. I'll be careful. Wait, though--I'll see whether there's a bit oftobacco still in my pipe. [_He fishes the pipe out of his pocket. _] Apoliceman who warned me away from the kerb gave me some tobacco. "Mustn'tbeg, " he said. "Got a pipe? Well, here's some tobacco. " I believe he'dhave given me money. But it was the first kind word I had heard all day, and it choked me. --There's just a bit left at the bottom. [_He bustles. _]Now, first the fire. [_He puts the match to the paper--it kindles. _] Andthen my pipe. [_The fire burns up; he throws himself in front of it. _]Boo-o-oh, I'm sizzling. .. . I got so wet that I felt the water running intomy lungs--my feet didn't seem to belong to me--and as for my head andnose! [_Yawns. _] Well, smoke's good--by the powers, I'm getting warm--comecloser to it, Mary. It's a little after midnight now--and I left home, this fine, luxurious British home, just as soon as it was light. And I'vetramped the streets all day. Net result, a policeman gave me a pipeful oftobacco, I lunched off a bit of bread that I saw floating down thegutter--and I dined off the kitchen smell of the Café Royal. That's myday. 

MARY. [_Stroking his hand. _] Poor boy, poor boy!

JOE. I stood for an hour in Leicester Square when the theatres emptied, thinking I might earn a copper, calling a cab, or something. There theywere, all streaming out, happy and clean and warm--broughams andmotor-cars--supper at the Savoy and the Carlton--and a hundred or two ofus others in the gutter, hungry--looking at them. They went off to theirsupper--it was pouring, and I got soaked--and there I stood, dodging thepolicemen, dodging the horses' heads and the motors--and it wasalways--get away, you loafer, get away--get away--get away--

MARY. We've done nothing to deserve it, Joe--

JOE. [_With sudden fury. _] Deserve it! What have I ever done wrong! Wasn't_my_ fault the firm went bankrupt and I couldn't get another job. I've afirst-rate character--I'm respectable--what's the use? I want towork--they won't let me!

MARY. That illness of mine ate up all our savings. O Joe, I wish I haddied!

JOE. And left me alone? That's not kind of you, Mary. How about Mrs. Willis? Is she worrying about the rent?

MARY. Well, she'd like to have it, of course--they're so dreadfully poorthemselves--but she says she won't turn us out. And I'm going to-morrow toher daughter's upstairs--she makes matchboxes, you know--and I don't seewhy I shouldn't try--I could earn nearly a shilling a day. 

JOE. A shilling a day! Princely! [_His pipe goes out. He takes a lastpuff at it, squints into it to make sure all the tobacco is gone, thenlays it down with a sigh. _] I reckon _I'll_ try making 'em too. I went tothe Vestry again, this morning, to see whether they'd take me assweeper--but they've thirty names down, ahead of me. I've tried choppingwood, but I can't--I begin to cough the third stroke--there's somethingwrong with me inside, somewhere. I've tried every Institution on God'searth--and there are others before me, and there is no vacancy, and Imustn't beg, and I mustn't worry the gentlemen. A shilling a day--can oneearn as much as that! Why, Mary, that will be fourteen shillings aweek--an income! We'll do it!

MARY. It's not quite a shilling, Joe--you have to find your own paste andodds and ends. And of course it takes a few weeks to learn, before youbegin to make any money. 

JOE. [_Crestfallen. _] Does it though? And what are we going to do, thosefew weeks? I thought there was a catch in it, somewhere. [_He gets up andstretches himself. _] Well, here's a free-born Englishman, able to conductcorrespondence in three languages, bookkeeping by double entry, twelveyears' experience--and all he's allowed to do is to starve. [_He stretcheshimself again. _]

 But in spite of all temptations To belong to other nations--

[_With sudden passion. _] God! I wish I were a Zulu!

MARY. [_Edging to him. _] Joe--

JOE. [_Turning. _] Well?

MARY. Joe, Joe, we've tried very hard, haven't we?

JOE. Tried! Is there a job in this world we'd refuse? Is there anythingwe'd turn up our nose at? Is there any chance we've neglected?

MARY. [_Stealing nervously to him and laying a hand on his arm. _] Joe--

JOE. [_Raising his head and looking at her. _] Yes--what is it? [_Shestands timidly with downcast eyes. _] Well? Out with it, Mary!

MARY. [_Suddenly. _] It's this, Joe. 

 [_She goes feverishly to the mattress, and from underneath it she pulls out a big, fat purse which she hands him. _

JOE. [_Staring. _] A purse!

MARY. [_Nodding. _] Yes. 

JOE. You--

MARY. Found it. 

JOE. [_Looking at her. _] Found?

MARY. [_Awkwardly. _] In a way I did--yes. 

JOE. How?

MARY. It came on to rain, Joe--and I went into a Tube Station--and wasstanding by a bookstall, showing Minnie the illustrated papers--and an oldlady bought one--and she took out her purse--this purse--and paid forit--and laid the purse on the board while she fumbled to pick up herskirts--and then some one spoke to her--a friend, I suppose--and--therewere lots of people standing about--I don't know how it was--I was out inthe street, with Minnie--

JOE. You had the purse?

MARY. Yes--

JOE. No one followed you?

MARY. No one. I couldn't run, as I had to carry Minnie. 

JOE. What made you do it?

MARY. I don't know--something in me did it--She put the purse down just bythe side of my hand--my fingers clutched it before I knew--and I was outin the street. 

JOE. How much is there in it?

MARY. I haven't looked, Joe. 

JOE. [_Wondering. _] You haven't looked?

MARY. No; I didn't dare. 

JOE. [_Sorrowfully. _] I didn't think we'd come to this, Mary. 

MARY. [_Desperately. _] We've got to do something. Before we can earn anymoney at making matchboxes we'll have to spend some weeks learning. Andyou've not had a decent meal for a month--nor have I. If there's moneyinside this purse you can get some clothes--and for me too--I need them!It's not as though the old lady would miss it--she's rich enough--hercloak was real sable--and no one can find us out--they can't tell onepiece of money from the other. It's heavy, Joe--I think there's a lotinside. 

JOE. [_Weighing it mechanically. _] Yes--it's heavy--

MARY. [_Eagerly. _] Open it, Joe. 

JOE. [_Turning to her again. _] Why didn't you?

MARY. I just thought I'd wait--I'd an idea something might have happened;that some one might have stopped you in the street, some one with aheart--and that he'd have come in with you to-night--and seen us--seenMinnie--and said--"Well, here's money--I'll put you on your legsagain"--And then we'd have given the purse back, Joe. 

JOE. [_As he still mechanically balances it in his hand. _] Yes. 

MARY. Can't go on like this, can we? You'll cough all night again, as youdid yesterday--and the stuff they gave you at the Dispensary's no good. Ifyou had clothes, you might get some sort of a job perhaps--you know youhad to give up trying because you were so shabby. 

JOE. They laugh at me. 

MARY. [_With a glance at herself. _] And I'm really ashamed to walk throughthe streets--

JOE. I know--though I'm getting used to it. Besides, there's the kiddie. Let's have a look at her. 

MARY. Be careful you don't wake her, Joe!

JOE. There's a fire. 

MARY. She'll be hungry. 

JOE. You said that she had some food?

MARY. That was at three o'clock. And little things aren't like us--theywant their regular meals. Night after night she has been hungry, and I'vehad nothing to give her. That's why I took the purse. 

JOE. [_Still holding it mechanically and staring at it. _] Yes. And, afterall, why not?

MARY. We can get the poor little thing some warm clothes, some good food--

JOE. [_Under his breath. _] A thief's daughter. 

 [_Covers his face with his hands. _

MARY. Joe!

JOE. Not nice, is it? Can't be helped, of course. And who cares? For threemonths this game has gone on--we getting shabbier, wretcheder, hungrier--no one bothers--all _they_ say is "keep off the pavement. " Let'ssee what's in the purse. 

MARY. [_Eagerly. _] Yes, yes!

JOE. [_Lifting his head as he is on the point of opening the purse. _]That's the policeman passing. 

MARY. [_Impatiently. _] Never mind that--

JOE. [_Turning to the purse again. _] First time in my life I've been afraidwhen I heard the policeman. 

 [_He has his finger on the catch of the purse when he pauses for a moment--then acting on a sudden impulse, makes a dart for the door, opens it, and is out, and up the area steps. _

MARY. [_With a despairing cry. _] Joe!

 [_She flings herself on the mattress, and sobs silently, so as not to awaken, the child. _ JOE _returns, hanging his head, dragging one foot before the other. _

MARY. [_Still sobbing, but trying to control herself. _] Why did you dothat?

JOE. [_Humbly. _] I don't know--

MARY. You gave it to the policeman?

JOE. Yes. 

MARY. What did you tell him?

JOE. That you had found it. 

MARY. Where?

JOE. In a Tube Station. Picked it up because we were starving. That wehadn't opened it. And that we lived here, in this cellar. 

MARY. [_With a little shake. _] I expect he'll keep it himself!

JOE. [_Miserably. _] Perhaps. 

 [_There is silence for a moment; she has ceased to cry; suddenly she raises herself violently on her elbow. _

MARY. You fool! You fool!

JOE. [_Pleading. _] Mary!

MARY. With your stupid ideas of honesty! What have they done for you, orme?

JOE. [_Dropping his head again. _] It's the kiddie, you know--her being athief's daughter--

MARY. Is that worse than being the daughter of a pair of miserablebeggars?

JOE. [_Under his breath. _] I suppose it is, somehow--

MARY. You'd rather she went hungry?

JOE. [_Despairingly. _] I don't know how it was--hearing his tramp upthere--

MARY. You were afraid?

JOE. I don't want you taken to prison. 

MARY. [_With a wail. _] I'll be taken to the graveyard soon, in a pauper'scoffin!

JOE. [_Starts suddenly. _] Suppose we did that?

MARY. [_Staring. _] The workhouse?

JOE. Why not, after all? That's what it will come to, sooner or later. 

MARY. They'd separate us. 

JOE. At least you and the kiddie'd have food. 

MARY. They'd separate us. And I love you, Joe. My poor, poor Joe! I loveyou. 

 [_She nestles up to him and takes his hand. _

JOE. [_Holding her hand in his, and bending over her. _] You forgive me forreturning the purse?

MARY. [_Dropping her head on his shoulder. _] Forgive you! You were right. It was the cold and the hunger maddened me. You were right!

JOE. [_Springing to his feet, with sudden passion. _ MARY _staggers back. _]I _wasn't_ right--I was a coward, a criminal--a vile and wicked fool. 

MARY. [_Startled. _] Joe!

JOE. I had money there--money in my hand--money that you need so badly, you, the woman I love with all my ragged soul--money that would have putfood into the body of my little girl--money that was mine, that belongedto me--and I've given it back, because of my rotten honesty! What righthave I to be honest? They've made a dog of me--what business had I toremember I was a man?

MARY. [_Following him and laying a hand on his arm. _] Hush, Joe--you'llwake Minnie. 

JOE. [_Turning and staring haggardly at her. _] I could have got clothes--ajob, perhaps--we might have left this cellar. We could have gone outto-morrow and bought things--gone into shops--we might have had food, coal--

MARY. Don't, Joe--what's the use? And who knows--it may prove a blessingto us. You told the policeman where we lived?

JOE. A blessing! I'll get up to-morrow, after having coughed out my lungsall night--and I'll go into the streets and walk there from left to rightand from right to left, standing at this corner and at that, peering intomen's faces, watching people go to their shops and their offices, peoplewho are warm and comfortable--and so it will go on, till the end comes. 

MARY. [_Standing very close to him, almost in a whisper. _] Why not now, Joe?

JOE. [_With a startled glance at her. _] The end?

MARY. There's no room for us in this world--

JOE. If I'd taken that money--

MARY. It's too late for that now. And I'm glad you didn't--yes, I am--I'mglad. We'll go before God clean-handed. And we'll say to Him we didn'tsteal, or do anything He didn't want us too. And we'll tell Him we've diedbecause people wouldn't allow us to live. 

JOE. [_With a shudder. _] No. Not that--we'll wait, Mary. Don't speak ofthat. 

MARY. [_Wistfully. _] You've thought of it too?

JOE. Thought of it! Don't, Mary, don't! It's bad enough, in the night, when I lie there and think of to-morrow! Something will happen--it must. 

MARY. What? We haven't a friend in the world. 

JOE. I may meet some one I used to know. 

MARY. You've met them before--they always refuse--

JOE. [_Passionately. _] I've done nothing wrong--I haven't drunk orgambled--I can't help being only a clerk, and unable to do heavy work! Ican't help my lungs being weak! I've a wife and a child, like otherpeople--and all we ask is to be allowed to live!

MARY. [_Pleading. _] Let's give it up, Joe. Go away together, you'd sleepwithout coughing. Sleep, that's all. And God will be kinder than men. 

JOE. [_Groaning. _] Don't, Mary--don't!

MARY. Joe, I can't stand it any longer--I can't. Not only myself--butMinnie--Joe, it's too much for me! I can't stand Minnie crying, and askingme for her breakfast, as she will in the morning. Joe, dear Joe, let therebe no morning!

JOE. [_Completely overcome. _] Oh, Mary, Mary!

MARY. It's not _your_ fault, dear--you've done what you could. Not _your_fault they won't let you work--you've tried hard enough. And no woman everhad a better husband than you've been to me. I love you, dear Joe. Andlet's do it--let's make an end. And take Minnie with us. 

JOE. [_Springing up. _] Mary, I'll steal something to-morrow. 

MARY. And they'd send you to prison. Besides, then God would be angry. Nowwe can go to Him and need not be ashamed. Let us, dear Joe--oh, do let us!I'm so tired!

JOE. No. 

MARY. [_Sorrowfully. _] You won't?

JOE. [_Doggedly. _] No. We'll go to the workhouse. 

MARY. You've seen them in there, haven't you?

JOE. Yes. 

MARY. You've seen them standing at the window, staring at the world? Andthey'd take you away from me. 

JOE. That's better than--

MARY. [_Firmly. _] I won't do it, Joe. I've been a good wife to you--I'vebeen a good mother: and I love you, though I'm ragged and have pawned allmy clothes; and I'll strangle myself rather than go to the workhouse andbe shut away from you. 

JOE. [_With a loud cry. _] No! I'll _make_ them give me something; and if I_have_ to kill, it shan't be my wife and child! To-morrow I'll come homewith food and money--to-morrow--

 [_There is a sudden wail from the child;_ JOE _stops and stares at her;_ MARY _goes quickly to the mattress and soothes the little girl. _

MARY. Hush, dear, hush--no it's not morning yet, not time for breakfast. Go to sleep again, dear. Yes, daddy's come back, and things are going tobe all right now--No, dear, you can't be hungry, really--remember thosebeautiful cakes. Go to sleep, Minnie, dear. You're cold? [_She takes offher ragged shawl and wraps it round the child. _] There, dear, you won't becold now. Go to sleep, Minnie--

 [_The child's wail dies away, as_ MARY _soothes her back to sleep. _

JOE. [_Staggering forward with a sudden cry. _] God, O God, give us bread!

THE CURTAIN SLOWLY FALLS

THE OPEN DOOR

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

SIR GEOFFREY TRANSOMLADY TORMINSTER

THE OPEN DOOR

SCENE: _The drawing-room of_ LORD TORMINSTER'S _cottage by the sea. It is 2 a. M. Of a fine July night; the French windows are open on to the lawn. The room is dark; in an armchair, _ SIR GEOFFREY TRANSOM, _a man of forty, with a frank, pleasant face, is seated, deep in thought. Suddenly the door opens, and_ LADY TORMINSTER _appears and switches on the light. She starts at seeing_ SIR GEOFFREY. 

LADY TORMINSTER. Oh!

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Rising. _] Hullo! Don't be afraid--it's only I!

LADY TORMINSTER. What a start you gave me Why haven't you gone to bed?

SIR GEOFFREY. I'm tired of going to bed. One always has to get up again, and it becomes monotonous. Why haven't you gone to sleep?

LADY TORMINSTER. I don't know--it's too hot, or something. I've come for abook. 

SIR GEOFFREY. Let me choose one for you. 

 [_He goes to the table. _

LADY TORMINSTER. Why were you sitting in the dark?

SIR GEOFFREY. Because the light annoyed me. What sort of book will youhave? A red one or a green one?

LADY TORMINSTER. Is there a virtue in the colour of the binding?

SIR GEOFFREY. Why not? They're all the same inside. There are threehundred ways, they say, of cooking a potato--there are as many of dressingup a lie, and calling it a novel. But it's always the same old lie. Heretake this. [_He hands her a book. _] Popular Astronomy. That will send youto sleep. 

LADY TORMINSTER. The stars frighten me. But I'll try it. Good-night. 

SIR GEOFFREY. Good-night. 

LADY TORMINSTER. And you really had better go to bed. 

SIR GEOFFREY. I move as an amendment that you sit down and talk. 

LADY TORMINSTER. At this time of night!

SIR GEOFFREY. Why not? It's day in the Antipodes. 

LADY TORMINSTER. And in this attire!

 [_She glances at her peignoir. _

SIR GEOFFREY. Pooh! You are more dressed than you were at dinner. That'sawfully rude, isn't it? But then, you see, you're not my hostessnow--you're a spirit, walking in the night. One can't be polite tospirits. Sit down, oh shade, and let us converse. 

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Hesitating. _] I don't know--

SIR GEOFFREY. The household have all retired; and we will make thisconcession to Mrs. Grundy--we will leave the door open. There! [_He flingsit open. _] The Open Door! Centuries ago, when I was alive, I rememberparagraphs with that heading. 

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Laughing. _] So you're not alive now?

SIR GEOFFREY. Sir Geoffrey Transom ceased to be when he said good-night toLady Torminster. Sir Geoffrey is upstairs asleep. So is her ladyship. Weare their souls. Let us talk. 

LADY TORMINSTER. You are in your whimsical mood. 

SIR GEOFFREY. And you in your wrapper--peignoir--tea gown--it don't matterwhat you call it. You look--jolly. Ridiculous word--I don't mean that atall. You look--you. More you than I've seen you for years. Sh--don'tinterrupt. Shades never do that. By the way, do you know that the oldlumber-room, my owner--my corporeal sheath--means to go away in themorning, before you are up?

LADY TORMINSTER. Sir Geoffrey! What nonsense! You've promised to stay amonth!

SIR GEOFFREY. I assure you I have been charged to invent fitting andappropriate lies to account for the ridiculous creature's abruptdeparture. The man Transom is a poor liar. 

LADY TORMINSTER. You are making me giddy. Would you mind putting on yourbody? I've not been introduced to your soul. 

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Springing up with a flourish. _] How very remiss of me!Permit me. Gertrude this is Geoffrey. You have often heard me speak ofhim. 

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Rising. _] I think I'll go to bed. 

SIR GEOFFREY. Now that is preposterous. Jack, my dear old friend--the bestand only friend I have in the world--is slumbering peacefully upstairs, and Jack's wife is reluctant to talk to Jack's old pal because the sunhappens to be hidden on the other side of the globe. Lady Torminster, sitdown. If you're good you shall have a cigarette. 

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Sitting. _] Well, just one. And when I've finished it, I'll go. 

SIR GEOFFREY. Agreed. 

 [_He hands her the box; she takes a cigarette; he strikes a match and holds it for her; he then takes a cigarette himself, and lights it. _

SIR GEOFFREY. And, while smoking it, remember Penelope's web. For I'veheaps of things to tell you. 

LADY TORMINSTER. They'll keep till to-morrow. 

SIR GEOFFREY. That's a fearful delusion. Nothing keeps. There is one lawin the universe: NOW. 

LADY TORMINSTER. I want to know what you mean by this nonsense about yourgoing. 

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Puffing out smoke. _] Yes--I'm off in the morning. It hasoccurred to me that I haven't been to China. Now that is a seriousomission. How can I face my forefathers, and confess to them that Ihaven't seen the land where the Yellow Labour comes from?

LADY TORMINSTER. China has waited a long time--a month more or less willmake no difference. They are a patient race. 

SIR GEOFFREY. There is gipsy blood in my veins--I must wander--I'mrestless. .. . Not like Jack--he's untroubled--he can sleep. Jack's a finesleeper, isn't he?

LADY TORMINSTER. Yes. 

SIR GEOFFREY. Calm, serene, untroubled, with the conscience of ababe--one, two, three, he sleeps. He and I have had some rare timestogether. I've been roped to him on the Andes--he shot a tiger that wasabout to scrunch me--I rubbed his nose when it was frost-bitten. He savedmy life--I saved his nose. I always maintain that the balance of gratitudeis on his side--for where would he have been without his nose?

LADY TORMINSTER. You _are_ absurd. 

SIR GEOFFREY. Would you have married him without a nose?

LADY TORMINSTER. I might have. 

SIR GEOFFREY. Now you know you wouldn't. You'd have been afraid of whatpeople would say. And what would he have done when he becameshort-sighted, and had to wear glasses?

LADY TORMINSTER. My cigarette has gone out. 

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Jumping up and handing her the box. _] Take another. Neverre-light a cigarette--it's like dragging up the past. Here. 

LADY TORMINSTER. I said only one. 

SIR GEOFFREY. This is not the hour for inflexibility. The Medes andPersians have all gone to bed. 

 [_She takes the cigarette; he lights it for her. _

LADY TORMINSTER. Tell me why you mean to leave us. And remember--I shan'tlet _this_ one go out. 

SIR GEOFFREY. My explanation will be handed to you with your cup of tea inthe morning. 

LADY TORMINSTER. And you will be gone?

SIR GEOFFREY. I shall be gone. There is a train at 7. 45--which will bepacked with husbands. I shall breakfast in town. 

LADY TORMINSTER. Why?

SIR GEOFFREY. Well, one must breakfast somewhere. It's a convention. 

LADY TORMINSTER. Sir Geoffrey, I want you to tell me what this means. 

SIR GEOFFREY. Give your decision, said the judge to the arbitrator, butnever your reasons. I go, because I go. Besides, has one reasons? Why dopeople die, or get married, or buy umbrellas? Because of typhoid, love, orthe rain? Not at all. Isn't that so?

LADY TORMINSTER. I wish you'd be serious. 

SIR GEOFFREY. I'm fearfully serious. When Jack shot that tiger he had togo so near the brute that he held his life in his hands. Do you know whatwas my chief impression as I lay there, with the ugly cat's paw upon mychest, beginning to rip me?

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Shuddering. _] Horrible! What?

SIR GEOFFREY. I resented his having eaten something that smelt likeonions. 

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Smiling. _] A tiger!

SIR GEOFFREY. Onions may have been his undoing. That's the beggar's skinon the floor. But you should have seen me rub Jack's nose!

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Warningly. _] Sir Geoffrey, there's very littlecigarette left--

SIR GEOFFREY. There are lots more in the box--and dawn is a long way off. Hang it, Lady Torminster, don't be in a hurry! Do you hear the sea outthere? It's breathing as regularly as old Jack. And don't you think thisis fine? Here we are, we two, meeting just as we shall meet on the otherside of the Never-Never Land. It's a chance for a man to speak to a woman, and tell her things. 

LADY TORMINSTER. What things!

SIR GEOFFREY. That's just it--what things? What have I to say, after all?I am going to-morrow because I am a fantastic, capricious ass. Alsobecause I'm lonely. 

LADY TORMINSTER. How will China help you?

SIR GEOFFREY. They colour it green on the map--and there _is_ such a lotof it!

LADY TORMINSTER. You should get married. 

SIR GEOFFREY. [_With a sudden burst of passion. _] _You_ say that--you!

 [_He starts back, ashamed, and hangs his head. _ LADY TORMINSTER _throws a quick glance at him, then looks ahead of her, puffing quietly at her cigarette. _

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Quietly. _] So that is why you are going?

SIR GEOFFREY. [_With a great sigh of relief. _] Now, that really is fine ofyou! Every other woman in the world would have seized that chance for amelodramatic exit. "Good-night, Sir Geoffrey; I must go to my husband. ""Good-night, Lady Torminster. " A clasp of the hand--a hot tear--mine--onyour wrist. But you sit there. Splendid!

LADY TORMINSTER. I ask you again--is that truly why you are going?

SIR GEOFFREY. Well, yes, that's the fact. I apologise humbly--it's soconventional. Isn't it?

LADY TORMINSTER. I suppose it's difficult for human beings to invent newsituations. 

SIR GEOFFREY. You've known it, of course, all the time; you've known itever since Jack brought me to you, the day after you were engaged. Andthat's nine years ago. It's the usual kind of fatality. 

LADY TORMINSTER. These things happen. 

SIR GEOFFREY. Yes. Well, I thought I was cured. I've been here five days, and I find I am not. So I go. That's best, isn't it?

LADY TORMINSTER. Yes. 

SIR GEOFFREY. It's so infernally stupid. You're a beautiful woman, ofcourse; but there are heaps of beautiful women. You've qualities--well, sohave other women, too. I'm only forty-one--and, as you say, why don't Imarry? Simply because of you. Because you've an uncomfortable knack ofintruding between me and the other lady. 

LADY TORMINSTER. That is a great misfortune. 

SIR GEOFFREY. It's most annoying. So I shall try China. I shall come backin two years--I shall be forty-three then--I shall come back, sound as abell; and I shall marry some healthy, pink-cheeked young woman, take ahouse next to yours, and in the fulness of time your eldest son shall fallin love with my daughter. 

LADY TORMINSTER. Why not?

SIR GEOFFREY. I shouldn't have told you, of course; but I'm glad that Ihave. It clears the air. Now what excuse shall I make?

LADY TORMINSTER. A wire from town?

SIR GEOFFREY. Jack knows all about my affairs; in fact, that's why I takethe early train, to avoid his questions. 

LADY TORMINSTER. You find it impossible to stay out your time here?

SIR GEOFFREY. Quite. There are moments when I am unpleasantly volcanic. 

LADY TORMINSTER. Then I tell you the best thing to do. Don't take yourtrunks; just go up with a bag. Leave a note that you'll come back onTuesday. Then write from town and say you're prevented. 

SIR GEOFFREY. That's a good idea--yes, that's much better. 

LADY TORMINSTER. And, if you find that you really cannot come back--

SIR GEOFFREY. Exactly; you'll forward my goods and chattels. And old Jackwill ascribe it all to my wayward mood; he'll think I have found it toodull down here. I'm immensely obliged. 

LADY TORMINSTER. [_With a smile. _] Remark that I've not offered to be asister to you. 

SIR GEOFFREY. You've been superb. Oh, the good talk we've had! Do youknow, I could almost wish old Jack to have heard what I said. I'm so fondof him, that grand old fellow, that I've been on the point of telling him, myself, more than once. For you know he _will_ have me take you about, andit's painful. Besides, I've felt it almost disloyal to--keep this thingfrom him. You understand, don't you?

LADY TORMINSTER. Yes. 

SIR GEOFFREY. He and I almost are one, you see. It's not British to showany feeling, but really I--love him. And the devil comes along, and, ofall women in the world, singles out Jack's wife, and fills my heart withher. That's the devil's sense of humour. 

LADY TORMINSTER. Perhaps he has read Bernard Shaw. But you must never letJack know--never. 

SIR GEOFFREY. I suppose not. He's so direct, so single-minded, that theshock would be terrible. But I'm not to blame. How could I help it? Oh, all that cackle about being master of one's fate!

LADY TORMINSTER. Two years in China--

SIR GEOFFREY. We'll hope so. Of course, it didn't matter about my tellingyou, because you knew already. 

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Nodding_] Yes, I knew. Although--

SIR GEOFFREY. Oh, you've done what you could! I've felt, in a hundredsubtle ways, how you almost implored me--not to. Well, there it is. I'llwrite that note at once. 

 [_He sits at the table and begins to write. _

LADY TORMINSTER. I'm sorry you are so lonely. 

SIR GEOFFREY. That's my fault, too--the fault of the ridiculous class towhich we belong. I don't do anything. 

LADY TORMINSTER. Why not?

SIR GEOFFREY. What would you have me do? Go into the House? Thank you, I've been there. You spend your time on the Terrace or in the smoke-roomtill a muffin-bell rings; then you gravely walk into the lobby, where anenergetic gentleman counts you as Polyphemus counted his sheep. Philanthropy! Well, I've tried that, but it's not in my line. I'm quite arespectable landlord, but a fellow can't live all by himself in a greatElizabethan barrack. Town--the Season? Christian mothers invite you toinspect their daughters' shoulders, with a view to purchase. I'm tired ofgolf and polo; I'm tired of bridge. So I'll try the good sea and the openplains; sleep in a tent and watch the stars twinkle--the stars that makeyou afraid. 

LADY TORMINSTER. Yes, I'm afraid of the stars. 

SIR GEOFFREY. Why?

LADY TORMINSTER. You remember the Persian poet? "I too have said to thestars and the wind, I will. But the wind and the stars have mockedme--they have laughed in my face. .. . "

SIR GEOFFREY. [_A little uncomfortable. _] Persian poets, like all poets, have a funny way of pretending that the stars take an interest in us. Tome, it's their chief charm that they're so unconcerned. They are lonely, too. 

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Suddenly, violently. _] Don't say that again--don't--Ican't bear it!

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Aghast. _] Gertrude!!!

LADY TORMINSTER. [_In a whisper. _] Yes. 

 [_He stares haggardly at her; she does not move, but looks out, through the open window, into the night. _

SIR GEOFFREY. [_With a deep breath. _] Well, I suppose we had better turnin--

LADY TORMINSTER. When do you go to China?

SIR GEOFFREY. I shall take the first boat. 

LADY TORMINSTER. And you will come back--?

SIR GEOFFREY. In a year--or two--or three--

LADY TORMINSTER. We shall hear from you?

SIR GEOFFREY. [_With an effort of lightness. _] Certainly. And I will sendyou chests of tea--best family Souchong--and jars of ginger. Also littleboxes that fit into each other. I am afraid that is all I know at presentof Chinese manufactures. 

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Musing. _] You will be away so long?

SIR GEOFFREY. You told me to do something. I shall learn Chinese. Ibelieve there are five hundred letters in the alphabet. 

LADY TORMINSTER. As many as that!

SIR GEOFFREY. It is possible that I exaggerate. Well, Lady Torminster, Ithink I'll say good-night. 

 [_He offers his hand, which she ignores. She smiles, and motions him back to his seat. _

LADY TORMINSTER. The sun is still shining in the antipodes, my dearGeoffrey, and you are still Jack's old friend, talking to Jack's wife. Sitdown, and don't be foolish. You'll be away for years; it's possible we maynever meet again. It's possible, too, that next time we do meet you may bemarried. 

SIR GEOFFREY. [_With iron control. _] Who knows?

LADY TORMINSTER. Exactly--who knows? So there's no reason why we shouldn'tlook each other squarely in the face for once, and speak out what's in us. 

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Sorrowfully. _] Oh, Lady Torminster, what is there to say?

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Bending forward a little and smiling. _] How you resentmy having told _you!_

SIR GEOFFREY. [_With a guilty start. _] Resent! I!

LADY TORMINSTER. You do, and you know it. In your heart you are saying, "All was going so well--she has spoiled it! If she _does_ love me sheshouldn't have said it--Jack's wife!"

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Sturdily. _] Well--Jack's wife. Yes!

LADY TORMINSTER. Geoffrey, Jack bores me. 

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Aghast. _] Lady Torminster!

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Clapping her hands in glee. _] There! I've said it! Oh, it's such a relief! I never have before, and I don't suppose I ever shallagain--for whom can I say it to but you? Listen--I tell you--quite _entrenous_--he bores me shockingly!

SIR GEOFFREY. [_In positive distress. _] Lady Torminster! I beg of you!

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Cheerfully. _] The best fellow in all the world, and hebores me. A heart of gold, a model husband, a perfect father--and a bore, bore, bore! There! I assure you I feel better. 

SIR GEOFFREY. I suppose there are moments when every woman says that ofevery man. 

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Fanning herself. _] My dear Geoffrey, please send foryour soul; it has wandered off somewhere, and I don't like talking tocopybooks. 

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Doggedly. _] You are talking to Jack's friend. 

LADY TORMINSTER. Jack's friend--and mine--don't forget that! And could Isay these things about Jack to any one else, and can't you conceive what ajoy it is to say them? Besides, aren't we just now on the rim of theworld--aren't we a little more than ourselves--aren't we almost on theother side of things? If we ever meet again, we shall look curiously ateach other, and wonder, was it all true? As it is, I am scarcely sure thatyou are real. Everything is so still, so strange. Jack! He is up there, ofcourse, the dear boy, his big red face pressed on the pillow. Oh, Geoffrey, when Jack brought you to me, and I was engaged--if you onlyhadn't been so loyal!

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Grimly. _] Do you know what you are saying?

LADY TORMINSTER. I am saying the things a woman says once in a lifetime, and feels all her life. Oh, it was all so simple! You loved me--you . .. Were blind because of Jack . .. And I married Jack . .. I mustn't complain. .. I am one of the hundreds of women who marry--Jacks. 

SIR GEOFFREY. A better, finer man never lived. 

LADY TORMINSTER. I dare say--in fact, I am sure. But you should see uswhen we are alone, sitting there night after night, with never a word tosay to each other! You tell me you're tired of polo, and golf, and bridge. Well, how about me? And need you be scowling so fiercely, and begrudge memy one little wail, you who are going away?

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Angrily. _] Yes, I am going away, and I shall marry aChinese. I shall marry the first Chinese woman I meet. 

LADY TORMINSTER. This is very sudden. Why?

SIR GEOFFREY. Because, at least, not knowing the language, she won't beable to say unkind things about me to my friends. 

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Her chin on her hand, looking squarely at him. _]Geoffrey, _is_ Jack a bore?

SIR GEOFFREY. He never bores me. 

LADY TORMINSTER. That's because he shot your tiger, and you rubbed hisnose. Besides, you talk about horses, and so on. And yet I heard him, fora solid hour, telling you about a rubber he lost at bridge through hispartner making diamonds trumps when he should have made spades. 

SIR GEOFFREY. He's not clever, of course--and you are. But still! Iscleverness everything?

LADY TORMINSTER. Haven't I told you he's the very best fellow in all theworld? And do you think I'm posing, pretending that I'm misunderstood, andthe rest? You know me better. I am indulging, for once, in the luxury ofabsolute candour. 

SIR GEOFFREY. You loved him--

LADY TORMINSTER. Of course I loved him--and I love him now. 

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Triumphantly. _] You see!

LADY TORMINSTER. If we women had had a hand in the making of the language, how many words there would be to express our feelings towards the men weare fond of! Of course I love Jack. I'm cruel to him sometimes; and therecomes a look into his eyes--he has dog's eyes, you know--a faithfulNewfoundland--

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Very earnestly. _] I don't think women quite realise whatfriendship means to a man. 

LADY TORMINSTER. I am certain that men don't realise what marriage meansto a woman! Dear funeral, am I not a good wife--shall I not remain a goodwife, till the end of the chapter? Because there isn't only Jack--thereare Jack's children. 

SIR GEOFFREY. Yes. 

LADY TORMINSTER. And isn't it wonderful, when you think of it--here are wetwo, Jack's friend and his wife, alone on a desert island--and we haveconfessed our love for each other, and we are able to discuss it as calmlyas though it were rheumatism!

SIR GEOFFREY. [_With a groan. _] If only I hadn't induced you to stay!

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Smiling. _] My dear friend, you didn't!

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Amazed. _] I didn't?

LADY TORMINSTER. Why no--of course not. I knew you were going to-morrow. 

SIR GEOFFREY. How?

LADY TORMINSTER. Oh, never mind how! I knew. And I suspected you would besitting up here to-night. So I came down, hoping to find you. I wantedthis talk with you. And I extracted your confession--as though it had beena tooth. 

SIR GEOFFREY. And why?

LADY TORMINSTER. Why? Because it will be something to think of, in thedull days ahead. Because I knew that you loved me, and wanted to be told. Because your life lies before you, and mine is ended. Because I love you, and insisted that you should know. You leave me now, and I have noillusions. Paolo and Francesca are merely a poet's dream. You willmarry--of course you will marry--but this moment, at least, has been mine. 

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Stretching out yearning hands. _] This moment, and everymoment, in past and future!

LADY TORMINSTER. Ah, the future! Strange little syllables that hide somuch! I can see you, introducing your wife to me, a little shyly--I cansee myself, shaking hands with her--and with you. .. . My boy is sevenalready--time travels fast. .. . But it's good to know that you really haveloved me, all these years. .. . 

SIR GEOFFREY. By day and by night--you, and only you!

LADY TORMINSTER. And I have loved you--ah, yes, I have loved you!. .. And, having said this to each other, we will not meet again--till you bring meyour wife. 

SIR GEOFFREY. Ah--then!

LADY TORMINSTER. I have loved you, and I love you, for the fine, upright, loyal creature that you are. I love you for loving Jack; and it is Jack'sgreat quality in my eyes that he has been able to inspire such love. And, my dear friend, let us not be ashamed, we two, but only very proud, andvery happy. We shall go our ways, and do our duty; but we shall neverforget this talk we have had to-night. 

SIR GEOFFREY. [_Gently. _] I am beginning to understand. .. . 

LADY TORMINSTER. You will be less lonely in future . .. And I no longerafraid of the stars. .. . Brave heart--oh, brave little heart that I for amoment have held in my hands!

SIR GEOFFREY. [_With a passionate movement towards her. _] Gertrude!

LADY TORMINSTER. [_Lifting a finger. _] No--stay where you are. .. . Thoseare the first rays of dawn--I must go. .. . Good-bye. We have no need toshake hands, you and I. .. . Ah, Geoffrey--good-bye!

 [_She goes swiftly, and closes the door. He bends his head, and remains standing, motionless, by the table. _

CURTAIN

THE BRACELET

A PLAY IN ONE ACT

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

HARVEY WESTERNHIS HONOUR JUDGE BANKETMARTINWILLIAMMRS. WESTERNMRS. BANKETMISS FARRENSMITHERS

TIME--_The present_

_Produced atthe LiverpoolRepertory Theatreon Feb. 26, 1912_

THE BRACELET

_The dining-room in an upper middle-class house near the Park. It is furnished in the conventional modern style, soberly and without imagination. The room is on the ground floor, facing the street, the door is to the right, and leads into the hall. To the left of this door is a sideboard, glittering with silver. Three tall windows, at the back heavily curtained; between them hang two or three family portraits. The table, on which there is the usual debris of a meal that is over--coffee-cups, liqueur-glasses, etc. --has been laid for four persons, and their four chairs are still around it. The fireplace, with its rather crude and ambitious mantelpiece, is in the centre of the left wall; and uncomfortable-looking heavy armchairs are on each side of it. On the mantelpiece are a marble clock and a few bits of china. In the angle formed at the left side is a small Queen Anne writing-table, open. To the right of the room is a large sofa. The floor is heavily carpeted, and there are many rugs scattered about. _

 _When the curtain rises, the room is in darkness. _ WILLIAM, _the footman, enters hurriedly and switches on the electric light. He rushes to the table, looks eagerly around, shifting cups and glasses, napkins, etc. , then goes on his hands and knees and searches on the carpet. After a moment, _ SMITHERS, _the lady's-maid, follows him. _

SMITHERS. [_Eagerly. _] Can't you find it?

WILLIAM. [_Sulkily. _] No. Not yet. Give me time. 

SMITHERS. [_Feeling along the table-cloth. _] Under one of those rugs, perhaps. 

WILLIAM. Well, I'm looking. [_Motor-horn sounds sharply, off. _] All right, all right!

SMITHERS. [_With a jerk of the head. _] Missis is telling him to do it. 

WILLIAM. [_On all fours, crawling about. _] Very like her voice, too, whenshe's angry. Drat the thing! Where can it be?

 [_He peers into the coal-scuttle. _

SMITHERS. No good looking in there, stupid. 

WILLIAM. They always say it's the unlikeliest places--

 [MARTIN, _the butler, comes in. _

MARTIN. Come, come, haven't you found it?

WILLIAM. No, Mr. Martin. It ain't here. 

MARTIN. [_Bustling about. _] Must be, must be. She says--

WILLIAM. I can't help what she says. It ain't. 

MARTIN. [_Looking under the sofa. _] Just you hustle, young man, and don'tgive me any back-answers. 

 [_Having completed his examination of the sofa, he moves to the sideboard, and fusses round that. _

SMITHERS. [_Methodically shaking out each napkin. _] I tell you she'scross. 

MARTIN. [_Hard at work, searching. _] Doesn't mind disturbing _us, _ in themidst of our supper!

WILLIAM. [_Who, all the time, has been on all fours searching. _] We'redirt, that's what we are--dirt. 

MARTIN. [_Reprovingly. _] William, I've told you before--

WILLIAM. Very sorry, Mr. Martin, but this is the first time I've acceptedan engagement at a stockbroker's. [_He has been crawling round thecurtains at the back, shaking them; pulling hard at one of them hedislodges the lower part. _] Lor! _Now_ I've done it!

SMITHERS. Clumsy!

MARTIN. [_Severely. _] That comes of too much talk Never mind thecurtain--go on looking. 

 [WILLIAM _drops on to his hands and knees again;_ HARVEY WESTERN _comes into the room, perturbed and restless. He is a well-preserved man of fifty. _

HARVEY. I say--not found it?

MARTIN. Not yet, sir. 

HARVEY. Nuisance. _Must_ be here, you know. 

MARTIN. Is it a very valuable one, sir?

HARVEY. [_Who has gone to the table, and is turning things over. _] No, no, not particularly--but that's not the point. [_He looks under the table. _

MARTIN. [_Still seeking. _] When did madam find that she'd lost it, sir?

HARVEY. Oh, about five minutes after we'd started And we've turned overeverything in the car. It's certainly not there. [_He fusses around thetable. _

MARTIN. Is madam quite sure she was wearing it, sir?

SMITHERS. [_Fretfully. _] Yes, yes, of course she was wearing it. I put iton her myself. 

MARTIN. Where did madam put her cloak on, sir?

SMITHERS. In here. I brought it in. 

MARTIN. You didn't notice whether--

SMITHERS. No. Don't you think if we moved _all_ the rugs--

 [_She moves across the room and joins_ WILLIAM, _who is still grovelling on the floor, and goes on her knees by his side. _

HARVEY. It must be here _somewhere. _

 [_They are all searching furiously_--WILLIAM _by the windows, peering into the spaces between the wall and the carpets, _ MARTIN _at the sideboard, _ SMITHERS _gathering the rugs together, all on their hands and knees, while_ HARVEY, _bent double, is looking under the table. _ MRS. WESTERN _comes in stonily, followed by the_ JUDGE _and_ MRS. BANKET. MRS. WESTERN _is a handsome woman of forty-five, with a rather stern, cold face; the_ JUDGE, _a somewhat corpulent, genial man of fifty-five; and his wife, an amiable nullity, seven or eight years younger. They are all in evening-dress, the ladies in opera-cloaks. _

MRS. WESTERN. [_Pausing on the threshold. _] Well!

HARVEY. [_Rising and dusting himself. _] No trace of it. 

MRS. WESTERN. [_Looking around. _] A nice mess you've made of the room!

MARTIN. You told us to look, Madam. 

JUDGE. [_Going to the fire and standing with his back to it. _] I'm afraidwe'll be shockingly late, Alice. 

MRS. WESTERN. [_Firmly. _] I don't go without my bracelet. 

 [_She goes to the table, and proceeds to shift the cups and glasses. _

MRS. BANKET. [_Moving to the other side of the table, and doing thesame. _] Quite right, dear--I wouldn't. 

 [_They all search, except the_ JUDGE, _who shrugs his shoulders placidly, then takes a cigarette from his case, and lights it. The three servants still are grovelling on the floor. _

MRS. WESTERN. I _know_ I had it while I was drinking my coffee--

JUDGE. My experience is, one should never look for things. They findthemselves. 

MRS. WESTERN. [_Shortly. _] Nonsense. 

JUDGE. A fact. Or at least one should _pretend_ to be looking forsomething else. My glasses now. When I lose them I declare loudly I can'tfind my cigar-case. That disheartens the glasses--they return at once. 

MRS. BANKET. [_Reproachfully. _] Don't be so irritating, Tom!

JUDGE. That's all very well, but how about me? I was asked here to dine. I've dined--I'm not complaining about the dinner. But now the curtain'sup--and here am I watching half-a-dozen people looking very hard for athing that isn't there. 

MRS. BANKET. Tom, Tom, it's those laughs you get in Court that make you sofond of talking. Don't you see how you're vexing your sister?

MRS. WESTERN. Oh, I'm used to Tom. Harvey, I think you might be looking. 

HARVEY. My dear, I've been turning round and round in this corner like abird in a cage. 

MARTIN. [_Who all this time, like the other servants, has been crawlingaround the different articles of furniture in the room, suddenly rises tohis feet and addresses his mistress firmly but respectfully. _] It's nothere, madam. 

 [_The other servants also rise; and stand, each in their corner. _

JUDGE. That, I imagine, is perfectly clear; and I congratulate the witnesson the manner in which he has given his evidence. [_He throws hiscigarette into the fire and steps forward. _] Now, my dear Alice--

MRS. WESTERN. [_Sitting doggedly in the chair in front of the table andproceeding to pull off her gloves. _ I don't go without my bracelet. 

JUDGE. Heaven forbid that I should speak slightingly of a gift ofHarvey's--but really it isn't of such priceless value. 

MRS. WESTERN. That has nothing to do with it. 

MRS. BANKET. Of course not. Oh, these men!

HARVEY. [_Stepping forward. _] Tom's right. Let's go. Look here, I'll getyou another. 

MRS. WESTERN. [_Drily. _] Thanks--I want _that_ one. --Smithers, and you, William, just look again in the hall. 

SMITHERS. Yes, m'm. 

MRS. WESTERN. And then help the chauffeur--turn out _everything_ in thecar. 

SMITHERS. Yes, m'm. 

MRS. WESTERN. Bring the rugs into the house, and shake them. 

SMITHERS. Yes, m'm. [_She and_ WILLIAM _go. _

JUDGE. [_Going hack to the fire. _] Sumptuary laws--that's what we want. Ifwomen didn't wear bracelets, they couldn't lose them. 

MRS. WESTERN. Martin, William is honest, isn't he?

HARVEY. [_Protesting. _] Oh, hang it, Alice!

MARTIN. Quite, madam--excellent character--a little flighty, but a mostrespectable young man. 

MRS. WESTERN. I've seen him reading a sporting paper. 

JUDGE. A weakness, my dear Alice, common to the best of us, I do itmyself sometimes, but I'm willing to be searched. 

MRS. BANKET. O Tom, _do_ be quiet!

MRS. WESTERN. [_To the_ JUDGE. ] You're very unsympathetic. [_Turning to_MARTIN _again. _] None of the other servants came in after we left?

MARTIN. No, madam. 

MRS. WESTERN. You're sure?

MARTIN. Quite sure, madam. They were all downstairs, having their supper. 

MRS. WESTERN. Most mysterious! Incomprehensible!

JUDGE. [_Looking at his watch. _] Past nine! We shall plunge into theplay--like body-snatchers, looking for the corpse of the plot--and weshall never know what it was that the heroine did. 

MRS. WESTERN. [_Ignoring him, to_ MARTIN. ] Smithers I'll answer for. 

MARTIN. Oh yes, madam. If I _might_ make a suggestion--

MRS. WESTERN. Well?

MARTIN. It couldn't have fallen anywhere into your dress, madam?

MRS. WESTERN. Nonsense, how could it? [_She gets up and shakes herself. _]Absurd. [_She sits again. _

MARTIN. Into your cloak?

MRS. WESTERN. Silk! No. That'll do, Martin. You might help the othersoutside. [MARTIN _goes. _

JUDGE. [_With a step forward. _] Now, admirable sister--

MRS. WESTERN. Didn't it strike you that Martin's manner was ratherstrange?

HARVEY. [_Fretfully. _] Really you _must_ not suspect the servants!

MRS. WESTERN. [_Turning to him. _] _Must_ not--must! That's scarcely theway to speak to me, Harvey. 

HARVEY. [_Deprecatingly. _] My dear--

MRS. WESTERN. And I wasn't suspecting--I was merely asking a question ofmy brother. 

JUDGE. Come, Alice, let's go. 

MRS. WESTERN. [_Shaking her head. _] You three go. You'll excuse me. 

JUDGE. [_Cheerfully. _] If you insist--

MRS. BANKET. [_Coming forward. _] No, no. _Do_ come, Alice!

MRS. WESTERN. I can't--I'm so puzzled. [_With a sudden idea. _] Oh!

HARVEY. [_Who is behind her to the left, between her and the_ JUDGE. ]What? Have you found it?

MRS. WESTERN. No, no--of course not. But ring, please, will you?

HARVEY. Why?

MRS. WESTERN, I want you to ring. [_He presses the bell by thefireplace. _] I just remember Miss Farren came in while we were havingcoffee. 

HARVEY. [_Indignantly. _] Alice!

MRS. WESTERN. I asked her to write a card to Harrod's--she'll have writtenit in here. 

HARVEY. [_Angrily. _] I say--really!

MRS. WESTERN. [_Coldly. _] No need to snub me again--before our guests! Ineed scarcely say I am not _suspecting_ Miss Farren--but in justice toher--

MRS. BANKET. But, Alice, she'll have gone out--you told her she might--

MRS. WESTERN. Only to her sister's close by--and she may not have goneyet. Why don't they answer the bell? Ring again, Harvey. 

JUDGE. The poor things are still searching. 

HARVEY. [_Firmly. _] Alice, I protest, I do indeed--

MRS. WESTERN. Don't be so foolishly sentimental--it's ridiculous at yourage. The young woman is in my employ, as governess to my children. [MARTIN_comes in. _] Has Miss Farren gone out yet?

MARTIN. No, madam. I believe she's in her room, dressing. 

MRS. WESTERN. Ask her to come. 

MARTIN. Yes, madam. [_He goes. _

JUDGE. [_Shaking his head. _] No sense of proportion, that's thetruth--they've no sense of proportion. 

MRS. BANKET. Tom!

JUDGE. A fact, my dear--but you can't help it. You've every quality in theworld but just that--you _will_ always look through the wrong end of thetelescope. 

MRS. BANKET. Really, Tom, this isn't the moment for your nonsense--and ifyou only knew how stupid you are when you try to be funny!

HARVEY. [_Going nervously to_ MRS. WESTERN. ] I say, I really do think--

MRS. WESTERN. [_Roughly. _] I don't care _what_ you think. Leave me alone!

 [_There is silence. The_ JUDGE, _sitting by the fire, whistles loudly "Waltz me around again, Willie!"_ HARVEY _has gone moodily across the room and stands by the sideboard. _ MRS. BANKET _is sitting behind the table. After a moment the door opens, and_ MISS FARREN _comes in, with hat and cloak on, and goes straight to_ MRS. WESTERN. _She is an extremely pretty girl of twenty. _

MISS FARREN. You want me, Mrs. Western?

MRS. WESTERN. Oh, Miss Farren, I've lost my bracelet. 

MISS FARREN. Really! I'm so sorry! Where?

MRS. WESTERN. I don't know. You didn't see it, of course, after we'd gone?

MISS FARREN. [_Shaking her head. _] No--and no one came in. I was writingthe letter to Harrod's. 

MRS. WESTERN. No one at all?

MISS FARREN. No--I'm sure of that. And I'd hardly got to my room when Iheard the car come back. 

MRS. WESTERN. Well, thank you, Miss Farren. 

MISS FARREN. It's very annoying. You're sure it's not in the car?

JUDGE. My dear Miss Farren, it's not in the car, it's not anywhere, andI'm beginning to believe it never was at all. Come, Alice, let's go. Weshan't see much of the play, but we can at least help the British drama bybuying two programmes. 

MISS FARREN. [_With a light laugh--then turning to_ MRS. WESTERN _again. _]Do you want me any more, Mrs. Western?

MRS. WESTERN. No, thanks. [MISS FARREN _turns to go_--MRS. WESTERN, _whohas suddenly cast an eager glance at her, as though attracted bysomething, calls her back. _] Oh, Miss Farren!

MISS FARREN. [_Turning. _] Yes?

MRS. WESTERN. I wonder whether you'd be so good as to shift this aigretteof mine--it's hurting me. 

MISS FARREN. Certainly. 

 [_She comes back to_ MRS. WESTERN, _and stands by her side; as she raises her arm_ MRS. WESTERN _jumps up and seizes it by the wrist. _

MRS. WESTERN. My bracelet!

 [_Keeping a tight hold of_ MISS FARREN'S _wrist, she holds it at arm's length. There is a general cry of amazement--the_ JUDGE _and his wife start to their feet_--HARVEY _rushes eagerly towards her. _

JUDGE. Alice!

MRS. BANKET. Oh!

HARVEY. No, no--

 [_These three exclamations are simultaneous. _

MRS. WESTERN. There it is! She took it!

JUDGE. Are you sure?

HARVEY. [_Breathless and urgent. _] Alice--

MISS FARREN. [_Recovering from her shock and bewilderment. _] Mrs. Western, it isn't--

MRS. WESTERN. [_Sternly, still holding the girl by the wrist. _] You dareto pretend--

HARVEY. [_Who is now at the back of his wife's chair, looking closely atthe bracelet. _] Let me look, let me look. .. . I say, Alice, you're wrong. It's not yours at all. The setting's different. 

MRS. WESTERN. [_Angrily. _] What do you mean, different? You think I don'tknow my own bracelet? Are you mad? I say it's mine--and it is!

JUDGE. [_Stepping forward. _] Alice, be careful--

MRS. WESTERN. Careful! You're as bad as he! Of course the thing'smine--I've been wearing it for weeks--and you think I can make a mistake?She found it, and took it. 

MISS FARREN. [_Very distressed. _] No, no, Mrs. Western, really! It isn'tyours! I assure you!

HARVEY. Alice, I declare to you--

MRS. WESTERN. [_Roughly. _] Be quiet and go away. This is no business ofyours. 

HARVEY. [_Eagerly. _] But it is! It was I who bought the wretchedthing--well, I am prepared to swear that this isn't the one!

MRS. WESTERN. [_A little shaken, looking at it again. _] You're preparedto. .. . [_She lifts her head. _] How can you talk such utter nonsense? Thereis not the least doubt--not the least!

JUDGE. [_Stopping_ HARVEY, _who is about to protest violently. _] Alice, mind what you're saying. You'll get yourself into trouble. If Harveysays--

MRS. BANKET. [_Contemptuously. _] He's saying it to shield her, that's all. 

HARVEY. [_Indignantly. _] I'm not. It's not true. But you mustn't bringsuch an accusation. It's monstrous. And I won't allow--

MRS. WESTERN. [_Drawing herself up. _] You--won't--allow! The girl takes mybracelet--and you won't allow!

Miss FARREN. [_Trying to free herself. _] Mrs. Western, I haven't, Ihaven't!

JUDGE. [_Impressively. _] Alice, will you listen to me?

MRS. WESTERN. No, I won't! This doesn't concern you, or any one, but meand this girl! Look at her--she knows!

MISS FARREN. Mrs. Western, you're hurting my arm. .. . 

MRS. WESTERN. Come now--confess! I won't be hard on you if you confess--

 [_She wrenches off the bracelet, and releases the girl, who staggers back, nursing her wrist. _

HARVEY. [_Almost beside himself, stamping his foot. _] Alice, Alice, willyou hear--

MISS FARREN. Oh, you _have_ hurt me! And you've no right--to say suchthings. .. . 

HARVEY. No, you haven't, you haven't!

MRS. WESTERN. Besides, a bracelet like that! [_She holds it up. To_ MISSFARREN. ] You won't confess? Very well, then. I'll send for a policeman. 

HARVEY. [_Doggedly. _] The bracelet is hers. 

MRS. WESTERN. [_Jeeringly. _] Turquoise and emeralds! Hers! A coincidence, perhaps. Very likely. I'll give her in charge at once. 

HARVEY. The bracelet is hers, I tell you. 

MRS. WESTERN. [_Turning furiously on him. _] You dare to say that?

HARVEY. [_Steadily. _] Yes. Because I myself--gave it to her. 

 [_There is a moment's almost stupefied silence;_ HARVEY _and_ ALICE _are face to face. _ MISS FARREN _to the left of her, _ MRS. BANKET _is still at the back, the_ JUDGE _by the fire. _ MRS. WESTERN _breaks the silence. _

MRS. WESTERN. [_Sternly. _] You--gave--it--her?

HARVEY. [_Steadily. _] Yes. 

MRS. WESTERN. You ask me to believe that you gave a bracelet to--thisperson--my children's governess?

HARVEY. I did. 

MRS. WESTERN. An exact copy of the one you gave me?

HARVEY. I've told you--it's not an exact copy--there's a difference in thesetting. 

MRS. BANKET. Nonsense, nonsense, it can't be--he's just saying this--

JUDGE. Fanny, don't interfere. 

HARVEY. I'm saying what's true. 

MRS. WESTERN. I refuse to believe it. It's incredible. You've not sunk solow as that. It's a lie. 

HARVEY. [_Indignantly. _] Alice!

MRS. WESTERN. Yes, a lie. A trumped-up story. The girl has taken it--

MISS FARREN. I have not!

MRS. WESTERN. You can tell that to the magistrate--[_She turns to_ HARVEY]and you too, if you like. [_She moves to the bell. _

JUDGE. [_Putting out a hand to stop her. _] Alice--

MRS. WESTERN. Leave me alone, Tom. I know what I'm doing. I'll send for apoliceman. 

HARVEY. [_Imploringly. _] Alice, Alice--

MRS. WESTERN. [_Pausing, with her hand on the bell. _] I'll let the girloff, if you'll tell me the truth. 

HARVEY. I _have_ told you the truth. 

MRS. WESTERN. You persist in this silly falsehood?

HARVEY. It isn't--I tell you it isn't!

MRS. WESTERN. Very well, then. 

 [_She presses the bell. At that moment the door bursts open, and_ MARTIN _comes in triumphantly, with the bracelet on a salver. _ SMITHERS _and_ WILLIAM _are behind him, but do not pass beyond the threshold. _

MARTIN. [_Eagerly. _] Ma'am, ma'am, we've found the--

 [MRS. WESTERN _has turned towards him, still holding the other bracelet in her hand. _ MARTIN _catches sight of it, and stops dead short, staring bewilderedly at it. _

MRS. WESTERN. [_Calmly. _] Where did you find it?

 [_She takes the bracelet off the salver and lays it on the table. _

MARTIN. [_With a great effort. _] It had fallen into the pocket of thecar--there was a hole in the pocket--it had worked its way right down intothe body. 

MRS. WESTERN. Very well. Thank you. 

 [MARTIN _goes; the other servants have already slunk off. There is a moment's silence. _ MRS. WESTERN _suddenly flings the bracelet she has in her hand in_ MISS FARREN'S _direction. _

MRS. WESTERN. [_Contemptuously. _] Here. I return you your property. Andnow pack up your things and leave the house. 

HARVEY. [_Who has stepped forward and picked up the bracelet, standingbetween_ MRS. WESTERN _and_ MISS FARREN. ] No. 

MRS. WESTERN. [_Staring at him. _] What?

HARVEY. [_Violently. _] I say, No!

MRS. WESTERN. I have told the girl to leave my house. 

HARVEY. _My_ house--mine! And she shall stay in it! Or, at least, when shegoes, it shall be without the slightest stain or suspicion--

MRS. WESTERN. [_Scornfully. _] I am not accusing her of theft. 

HARVEY. But you are insinuating--I declare solemnly before you all--

JUDGE. [_Interposing. _] Harvey, one moment. .. . I am sure that Miss Farrenwould rather go to her room. .. . 

MISS FARREN. Yes. 

HARVEY. By all means. Here, take your bracelet. [_He gives it to her. _]But you don't leave this house--you understand that? _I_ am master here. 

 [MISS FARREN _goes quietly. _

JUDGE. Now just listen to me, both of you. Be calm--all this excitementwon't help. Harvey, you too. You and Alice will have your explanation--

MRS. WESTERN. If the girl doesn't go to-night--

HARVEY. I tell you again she shall not! And there's no need. I was a foolto give her that bracelet--she didn't want to take it--

MRS. BANKET. Why _did_ you?

HARVEY. I had given Alice one on her birthday. 

MRS. WESTERN. Well?

HARVEY. And so I got _her_ one. 

MRS. WESTERN. Why?

HARVEY. Because--[_He stops, very embarrassed. _]

MRS. WESTERN. Well?

HARVEY. Because--oh, because--well, she admired it--and _she_ liked prettythings too. .. . 

MRS. WESTERN. I don't think you need say anything more. 

MRS. BANKET. No. He needn't. It's clear enough!

HARVEY. [_Eagerly. _] Look here, on my honour--I _am_ fond of her, ofcourse, in a way--but I'm old enough to be her father--and I swear to youall--I've seen her about, of course, a good deal--and I gave her thatthing--but beyond that, nothing, nothing!

MRS. WESTERN. [_Sitting, and with a shrug of the shoulder. _] A ridiculousfairy tale!

JUDGE. My dear Alice, take my advice, and believe your husband. 

MRS. WESTERN. You too!

MRS. BANKET. All alike, when there's a pretty face!

JUDGE. Let her find another situation, by all means. .. . But to turn a girlout, at a moment's notice! You couldn't. 

MRS. WESTERN. [_Turning to the_ JUDGE. ] You are really suggesting that Ishould sleep under the same roof with--

JUDGE. [_Almost sternly. _] You are condemning, without the slightestevidence. And condemning, remember, an utterly defenceless creature. Thisgirl has a claim on you: were your suspicions justified, she-would _still_have a claim. 

MRS. WESTERN. Indeed!

MRS. BANKET. The nonsense he talks! It's really too silly!

JUDGE. You are extraordinary, you women! You exact such rigid moralityfrom the governess and the housemaid! You're full of excuses when it's oneof yourselves!

MRS. BANKET. [_Indignantly. _] Tom!

JUDGE. Well, that's true--we all know it! And here--I believe every wordHarvey has said. 

MRS. WESTERN. [_Scarcely believing her ears. _] You do!

JUDGE. Because he is a man of honour, and men of honour have their code. Their children's governess . .. Is safe. You will do well to believe it, too. Now, Fanny, we'll go. Be sensible, Alice--I tell you again, Harvey'sright; the girl must not be--summarily dismissed: it would be an act ofcruel injustice. Good-bye. [_He offers to kiss her--she turns away. _] Asyou like. Good-bye, Harvey, old man. 

HARVEY. Good-bye, Tom. [_They shake hands. _] And thank you. 

MRS. BANKET. [_Kissing_ MRS. WESTERN. ] My poor, dear Alice!

MRS. WESTERN. Good-bye, Fanny. I'm sorry that our party to-night--

MRS. BANKET. Oh, that doesn't matter! Poor thing! I promise you that Tomshall have a good talking to!

 [_She is too angry with_ HARVEY _to say good-bye to him: she and the_ JUDGE _go. The moment the door closes, _ HARVEY _begins, feverishly and passionately. _

HARVEY. Now just listen. I'm going to speak to you--I'm going to saythings--things that have been in my heart, in my life, for years. I'm notgoing to spare you, I'm going to tell you the truth, and the truth, andthe truth!

MRS. WESTERN. [_Calmly, looking ironically at him. _] If it's the same kindof truth you've been giving us to-night--

HARVEY. We've been married ten years. Oh, I know, we were neither of usvery young. But anyhow the last five have been nothing but misery for me. Misery--do you hear that? You sitting there, calm and collected--notcaring one damn for me--

MRS. WESTERN. [_Quietly. _] That's not true. 

HARVEY. It is, and you know it. The mother of my children! Satisfied withthat. Never a word of kindness, or sympathy. And as for--affection!

MRS. WESTERN. We're not sweethearts--we're middle-aged people. 

HARVEY. Well, I need something more. And, look here, I'll tell you. Thisgirl has made life worth living. That's all. I'd come home at nightdog-tired, all day in the City--sick of it, Stock Exchange, office, andthe mud and the grime and the worry--there were you, with a nod, ah, Harvey, good evening--and you'd scarcely look up from your CommitteeReport or your Blue-book, or damned pamphlet or other--

MRS. WESTERN. [_Contemptuously. _] You are one of the men who want theirwife to be a mere sort of doll. 

HARVEY. [_More and more vehemently. _] I want my wife to care for me! Iwant her to smile when I come in, and be glad--I want her to love me! Youdon't! By the Lord, I've sneaked upstairs, gone in and had a peep at thechildren--well, they'd be asleep. I tell you I've been hungry, hungry, fora word, for a look! And there, in the schoolroom, was this girl. I'veplayed it low down, I know--she's fond of me. But I couldn't help it--Iwas lonely--that's what it was. I've gone up there night after night. _You_ didn't know where I was--and you didn't care. In my study, youthought--the cold, chilly box that you call my study--glad to have me outof the way. Well, there I was, with this girl. It was something to lookforward to, in the cab, coming home. It was something to catch hold of, when things went wrong, in that dreary grind of money-making. Her eyes litup when they saw me. She'd ask me about things--if I coughed, she'd fussme--she had pretty ways, and was pleased, oh, pleased beyond words, if Ibrought her home something--

MRS. WESTERN. So this isn't the first time!

HARVEY. [_With a snarl. _] No, of course not! She admired that bracelet ofyours--by Jove, I said to myself, I'll get her one like it! Whatever Ibrought home to _you_ you'd scarcely say thank you--and usually it wentinto the drawer--I'd such shocking bad taste! _She'd_ beam! Well, asill-luck would have it, you took a fancy to this one. I told her shemustn't wear hers--

MRS. WESTERN. [_Calmly and cuttingly. _] Conspiring behind my back. 

HARVEY. [_Raging. _] Oh, if you knew what has gone on behind your back!Not when I was with her--when I was alone! The things I've said aboutyou--to myself! When I thought of this miserable life that had to bedragged on here, thought of your superior smile, your damnable cruelty--

MRS. WESTERN. [_Genuinely surprised. _] Cruelty! Why?

HARVEY. What else? I'd go up to you timidly--bah, why talk of it? To youI've been the machine that made money--money to pay for the house, and thecar, and the dressmakers' bills--a machine that had to be fed--and whenyou'd done that, you'd done all. Well, there was this girl--

MRS. WESTERN. You had your children. 

HARVEY. A boy of seven and a girl of five--in bed when I came home--and_your_ children much more than mine--I'm a stranger to them! And anyhow, Iwanted something more--something human, alive--that only a woman can give. And she gave it. Nothing between us, I swear--but just that. As Tom says, I've not been such a cur--and _you_ ought to know me well enough, afterall these years!. .. But there is the truth--she's fond of me: she is, it'sa fact. And I _needed_ that fondness--it has kept me going. And now--doyou think I'll let her be thrust out into the street?

 [_As he says these last words he drops into a chair, facing her, and looks fiercely and doggedly at her. _

MRS. WESTERN. [_Calmly. _] Stop now, and listen to me. I've let you rattleon. Will you hear me for one moment?

HARVEY. Go on. 

MRS. WESTERN. All those things you've said about me--[_With a shrug. _]Well, what's the use? I suppose we're like most married people when theycome to our age. I've interests of my own, that don't appeal to you--

HARVEY. Blue-books and Committees!

MRS. WESTERN. I do useful work--oh yes, you may sneer--you always havesneered! If a woman tries to do something sensible with her life, insteadof cuddling and kissing you all day, she's cold and cruel. We've driftedapart--well, your fault as much as mine. More, perhaps--but it's no goodgoing into that--no good making reproaches. That's how things are--we mustmake the best of them. Wait, let me finish. About this girl. Granted thatwhat you say is true--and I'm inclined to believe it--

HARVEY. [_Genuinely grateful. _] At least thank you for that!

MRS. WESTERN. Or at any rate it's better policy to believe it, for everyone's sake--

HARVEY. [_Bitterly. _] That's right--that's more like you!

MRS. WESTERN. We gain nothing by abusing each other. And I didn'tinterrupt _you. _ Let's look facts in the face. Here we are, we two--tied. 

HARVEY. [_With a groan. _] Yes. 

MRS. WESTERN. With our two children. If it weren't for them. .. . Well, we've _got_ to remain together. Now there's this girl. It's quite evident, after what you've said, that she can't stop here--

HARVEY. [_Jumping to his feet. _] She shall!

MRS. WESTERN. [_Fretfully. _] Oh, do be a man, and drop this mawkishsentiment! You say she's fond of you--you've _made_ her fond of you. Wasthis a very pretty thing--for a man of your age to do?

HARVEY. [_Sullenly, as he drops back into his chair. _] Never mind my age. 

MRS. WESTERN. Very well then--for a married man?

HARVEY. An unhappy man. 

MRS. WESTERN. Even granting that--though if you're unhappy it's your ownfault--I've always been urging you to go on the County Council--What'sto become of the girl, if she stops here?

HARVEY. [_Desperately. _] I don't know--but I can't let her go--I tell youI can't!

MRS. WESTERN. [_Scarcely able to conceal her disgust. _] Oh, if you knewhow painful it is to hear you whining like this! It's pitiable, really! Inthe girl's own interest--how can she stop?

HARVEY. She must. I can't let her be turned out. It would break her heart. 

MRS. WESTERN. [_Turning right round, and staring at him. _] What?

HARVEY. [_Doggedly. _] Yes--it would. She's very fond of me, that's thetruth. I know that I've been to blame--but it's too late for that now. She's romantic, of course--what you'd call sentimental. I dare say I'veplayed on her feelings--she saw I was lonely. She has a side that you'venever suspected--a tender, sensitive side--she has ideals. .. . Well, do yourealise what it would mean, with a girl like that? No one knows her as Ido. I'm quite startled sometimes, to find how fond she is of me. Oh, havesome sympathy! It's difficult, I know--it's terribly difficult. But sheloves me--that's the truth--and a young girl's love--why, she might throwherself into the river! Oh yes, you smile--but she might! What do _you_know of life, with your Blue-books? Anyhow, I daren't risk it. By-and-by--there's no hurry, is there? And I put it to you--be merciful!You're not the ordinary woman--you have a brain--you're not conventional. Don't act like the others. Don't drive this girl out of the house. Itwould end in tragedy. Believe it!

MRS. WESTERN. You can't really expect me to keep a girl here, as governessto my children, who, as you say, is in love with you. 

HARVEY. [_Pleading. _] I expect you--I'm asking you--to help her--and me. 

MRS. WESTERN. [_Shaking her head. _] That's too much. We won't turn her outto-night--I'll give her a reference, and all that--

HARVEY. [_Springing to his feet again. _] Alice, I can't let her go!

MRS. WESTERN. [_Conciliatorily. _] Ask Tom, ask any one--

HARVEY. [_More and more passionately. _] I tell you, I can't let her go!

MRS. WESTERN. Be sensible, Harvey--you must realise yourself there's noalternative--

HARVEY. [_With a violent and uncontrollable outburst. _] I vow and declareto you--if she goes, I go too! And the consequences will be on your head!

 [MRS. WESTERN _has also risen--they stand face to face, looking at each other--and for a moment there is silence. The door opens, and_ MISS FARREN _comes in, dressed as before. She walks straight to_ MRS. WESTERN. 

MISS FARREN. Mrs. Western, my things are packed, and on the cab--

HARVEY. [_Wildly. _] My poor child, you're _not_ to go--I told you. 

MISS FARREN. [_With a demure glance at him, stopping him as he is movingtowards her. _] Of course I must--I can't stay here--that's not possible. My sister will take me in for to-night. 

MRS. WESTERN. Miss Farren, my husband has explained to me--I withdrawall--

MISS FARREN. [_Carelessly. _] Oh, that's all right--though thank you allthe same. And it really doesn't matter much. I was going to give noticeto-morrow anyway--

HARVEY. [_Starting violently. _] What!

MISS FARREN. Well, I put it off as long as I could, Mr. Western, because. .. But the fact is I'm going on the stage--musical comedy--

HARVEY. [_Breathless, staggering back. _] You--are--going--

MISS FARREN. I've accepted an engagement--oh, I'm only to be a show-girlat first--but they believe I'll do well. They've been wanting me sometime. And my _fiancé_ has persuaded me. 

HARVEY. [_Collapsing utterly, dropping into the chair by the fire. _]Your--

MISS FARREN. [_Gravely. _] My _fiancé_--yes. He's one of the comic menthere. 

MRS. WESTERN. [_Who has been watching them both with an unmoved face. _]I'll write a cheque for your salary, Miss Farren. 

 [_She goes to the desk at back. _

MISS FARREN. [_Coquettishly, to_ HARVEY. ] I ought to have told you, Iknow, Mr. Western. But it _was_ so dull here--and you've been most awfullygood to me. I can never be sufficiently grateful. 

HARVEY. [_With difficulty, his face turned away. _] Don't mention it. And Ihope you'll be happy. 

MISS FARREN. [_Lightly. _] Thank you. I mean to try!

 [MRS. WESTERN _returns with a cheque which she hands to_ MISS FARREN. 

MRS. WESTERN. Here, Miss Farren. 

MISS FARREN. [_Putting it into her bag. _] Thank you so much. Good-bye. 

MRS. WESTERN. If you should ever need a reference, don't be afraid to--

MISS FARREN. Oh, thanks, no more governessing for me. Good-bye!

 [_She trips out, without another glance at_ HARVEY, _who sits huddled by the fire. _ MRS. WESTERN _moves slowly to the door. At the threshold she pauses, turns, and looks at_ HARVEY. 

MRS. WESTERN. I'll take care that the next governess--shall be quite aspretty as this one, Harvey. 

 [_She opens the door and goes. _ HARVEY _doesn't stir. _

THE CURTAIN FALLS