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+The Project Gutenberg Etext of You Never Can Tell, by G. B. Shaw
+#7 in our series by [George] Bernard Shaw
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+You Never Can Tell
+
+by [George] Bernard Shaw
+
+May, 2000  [Etext #2175]
+[Date last updated: January 27, 2004]
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+The Project Gutenberg Etext of You Never Can Tell, by G. B. Shaw
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+
+
+
+You Never Can Tell
+
+by [George] Bernard Shaw
+
+
+
+
+Act I
+
+In a dentist's operating room on a fine August morning in 1896.  Not
+the usual tiny London den, but the best sitting room of a furnished
+lodging in a terrace on the sea front at a fashionable watering place.
+The operating chair, with a gas pump and cylinder beside it, is half way
+between the centre of the room and one of the corners.  If you look into
+the room through the window which lights it, you will see the fireplace
+in the middle of the wall opposite you, with the door beside it to your
+left; an M.R.C.S. diploma in a frame hung on the chimneypiece; an easy
+chair covered in black leather on the hearth; a neat stool and bench,
+with vice, tools, and a mortar and pestle in the corner to the right.
+Near this bench stands a slender machine like a whip provided with a
+stand, a pedal, and an exaggerated winch. Recognising this as a dental
+drill, you shudder and look away to your left, where you can see another
+window, underneath which stands a writing table, with a blotter and a
+diary on it, and a chair. Next the writing table, towards the door, is a
+leather covered sofa. The opposite wall, close on your right, is
+occupied mostly by a bookcase. The operating chair is under your nose,
+facing you, with the cabinet of instruments handy to it on your left.
+You observe that the professional furniture and apparatus are new, and
+that the wall paper, designed, with the taste of an undertaker, in
+festoons and urns, the carpet with its symmetrical plans of rich,
+cabbagy nosegays, the glass gasalier with lustres; the ornamental gilt
+rimmed blue candlesticks on the ends of the mantelshelf, also glass-
+draped with lustres, and the ormolu clock under a glass-cover in the
+middle between them, its uselessness emphasized by a cheap American
+clock disrespectfully placed beside it and now indicating 12 o'clock
+noon, all combine with the black marble which gives the fireplace the
+air of a miniature family vault, to suggest early Victorian commercial
+respectability, belief in money, Bible fetichism, fear of hell always at
+war with fear of poverty, instinctive horror of the passionate character
+of art, love and Roman Catholic religion, and all the first fruits of
+plutocracy in the early generations of the industrial revolution.
+
+There is no shadow of this on the two persons who are occupying the
+room just now.  One of them, a very pretty woman in miniature, her tiny
+figure dressed with the daintiest gaiety, is of a later generation,
+being hardly eighteen yet.  This darling little creature clearly does
+not belong to the room, or even to the country; for her complexion,
+though very delicate, has been burnt biscuit color by some warmer sun
+than England's; and yet there is, for a very subtle observer, a link
+between them.  For she has a glass of water in her hand, and a rapidly
+clearing cloud of Spartan obstinacy on her tiny firm set mouth and
+quaintly squared eyebrows. If the least line of conscience could be
+traced between those eyebrows, an Evangelical might cherish some faint
+hope of finding her a sheep in wolf's clothing - for her frock is
+recklessly pretty - but as the cloud vanishes it leaves her frontal
+sinus as smoothly free from conviction of sin as a kitten's.
+
+The dentist, contemplating her with the self-satisfaction of a
+successful operator, is a young man of thirty or thereabouts. He does
+not give the impression of being much of a workman: his professional
+manner evidently strikes him as being a joke, and is underlain by a
+thoughtless pleasantry which betrays the young gentleman still unsettled
+and in search of amusing adventures, behind the newly set-up dentist in
+search of patients. He is not without gravity of demeanor; but the
+strained nostrils stamp it as the gravity of the humorist. His eyes are
+clear, alert, of sceptically moderate size, and yet a little rash; his
+forehead is an excellent one, with plenty of room behind it; his nose
+and chin cavalierly handsome. On the whole, an attractive, noticeable
+beginner, of whose prospects a man of business might form a tolerably
+favorable estimate.
+
+THE YOUNG LADY (handing him the glass). Thank you. (In spite of the
+biscuit complexion she has not the slightest foreign accent.)
+
+THE DENTIST (putting it down on the ledge of his cabinet of
+instruments). That was my first tooth.
+
+THE YOUNG LADY (aghast). Your first! Do you mean to say that you
+began practising on me?
+
+THE DENTIST.  Every dentist has to begin on somebody.
+
+THE YOUNG LADY.  Yes: somebody in a hospital, not people who pay.
+
+THE DENTIST (laughing).  Oh, the hospital doesn't count. I only meant
+my first tooth in private practice.  Why didn't you let me give you gas?
+
+THE YOUNG LADY.  Because you said it would be five shillings extra.
+
+THE DENTIST (shocked).  Oh, don't say that.  It makes me feel as if I
+had hurt you for the sake of five shillings.
+
+THE YOUNG LADY (with cool insolence).  Well, so you have! (She gets
+up.) Why shouldn't you? it's your business to hurt people. (It amuses
+him to be treated in this fashion: he chuckles secretly as he proceeds
+to clean and replace his instruments.  She shakes her dress into order;
+looks inquisitively about her; and goes to the window.) You have a good
+view of the sea from these rooms!  Are they expensive?
+
+THE DENTIST.  Yes.
+
+THE YOUNG LADY.  You don't own the whole house, do you?
+
+THE DENTIST.  No.
+
+THE YOUNG LADY (taking the chair which stands at the writing-table
+and looking critically at it as she spins it round on one leg.)  Your
+furniture isn't quite the latest thing, is it?
+
+THE DENTIST.  It's my landlord's.
+
+THE YOUNG LADY.  Does he own that nice comfortable Bath chair?
+(pointing to the operating chair.)
+
+THE DENTIST.  No: I have that on the hire-purchase system.
+
+THE YOUNG LADY (disparagingly).  I thought so. (Looking about her
+again in search of further conclusions.) I suppose you haven't been here
+long?
+
+THE DENTIST.  Six weeks.  Is there anything else you would like to
+know?
+
+THE YOUNG LADY (the hint quite lost on her).  Any family?
+
+THE DENTIST.  I am not married.
+
+THE YOUNG LADY.  Of course not: anybody can see that.  I meant
+sisters and mother and that sort of thing.
+
+THE DENTIST.  Not on the premises.
+
+THE YOUNG LADY.  Hm!  If you've been here six weeks, and mine was
+your first tooth, the practice can't be very large, can it?
+
+THE DENTIST.  Not as yet. (He shuts the cabinet, having tidied up
+everything.)
+
+THE YOUNG LADY.  Well, good luck! (She takes our her purse.) Five
+shillings, you said it would be?
+
+THE DENTIST.  Five shillings.
+
+THE YOUNG LADY (producing a crown piece).  Do you charge five
+shillings for everything?
+
+THE DENTIST.  Yes.
+
+THE YOUNG LADY.  Why?
+
+THE DENTIST.  It's my system. I'm what's called a five shilling
+dentist.
+
+THE YOUNG LADY.  How nice! Well, here! (holding up the crown piece) a
+nice new five shilling piece! your first fee!  Make a hole in it with
+the thing you drill people's teeth with and wear it on your watch-chain.
+
+THE DENTIST.  Thank you.
+
+THE PARLOR MAID (appearing at the door).  The young lady's brother,
+sir.
+
+A handsome man in miniature, obviously the young lady's twin, comes
+in eagerly. He wears a suit of terra-cotta cashmere, the elegantly cut
+frock coat lined in brown silk, and carries in his hand a brown tall hat
+and tan gloves to match. He has his sister's delicate biscuit
+complexion, and is built on the same small scale; but he is elastic and
+strong in muscle, decisive in movement, unexpectedly deeptoned and
+trenchant in speech, and with perfect manners and a finished personal
+style which might be envied by a man twice his age. Suavity and self-
+possession are points of honor with him; and though this, rightly
+considered, is only the modern mode of boyish self-consciousness, its
+effect is none the less staggering to his elders, and would be
+insufferable in a less prepossessing youth. He is promptitude itself,
+and has a question ready the moment he enters.
+
+THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN.  Am I on time?
+
+THE YOUNG LADY.  No: it's all over.
+
+THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN.  Did you howl?
+
+THE YOUNG LADY.  Oh, something awful.  Mr. Valentine: this is my
+brother Phil.  Phil: this is Mr. Valentine, our new dentist.  (Valentine
+and Phil bow to one another.  She proceeds, all in one breath.)  He's
+only been here six weeks; and he's a bachelor.  The house isn't his; and
+the furniture is the landlord's; but the professional plant is hired.
+He got my tooth out beautifully at the first go; and he and I are great
+friends.
+
+PHILIP.  Been asking a lot of questions?
+
+THE YOUNG LADY (as if incapable of doing such a thing).  Oh, no.
+
+PHILIP.  Glad to hear it.  (To Valentine.)  So good of you not to
+mind us, Mr. Valentine.  The fact is, we've never been in England
+before; and our mother tells us that the people here simply won't stand
+us.  Come and lunch with us.  (Valentine, bewildered by the leaps and
+bounds with which their acquaintanceship is proceeding, gasps; but he
+has no opportunity of speaking, as the conversation of the twins is
+swift and continuous.)
+
+THE YOUNG LADY.  Oh, do, Mr. Valentine.
+
+PHILIP.  At the Marine Hotel - half past one.
+
+THE YOUNG LADY.  We shall be able to tell mamma that a respectable
+Englishman has promised to lunch with us.
+
+PHILIP.  Say no more, Mr. Valentine: you'll come.
+
+VALENTINE.  Say no more!  I haven't said anything.  May I ask whom I
+have the pleasure of entertaining?  It's really quite impossible for me
+to lunch at the Marine Hotel with two perfect strangers.
+
+THE YOUNG LADY (flippantly).  Ooooh! what bosh!  One patient in six
+weeks!  What difference does it make to you?
+
+PHILIP (maturely).  No, Dolly: my knowledge of human nature confirms
+Mr. Valentine's judgment.  He is right.  Let me introduce Miss Dorothy
+Clandon, commonly called Dolly.  (Valentine bows to Dolly.  She nods to
+him.)  I'm Philip Clandon.  We're from Madeira, but perfectly
+respectable, so far.
+
+VALENTINE.  Clandon!  Are you related to ---
+
+DOLLY (unexpectedly crying out in despair).  Yes, we are.
+
+VALENTINE (astonished).  I beg your pardon?
+
+DOLLY.  Oh, we are, we are.  It's all over, Phil: they know all about
+us in England.  (To Valentine.)  Oh, you can't think how maddening it is
+to be related to a celebrated person, and never be valued anywhere for
+our own sakes.
+
+VALENTINE.  But excuse me: the gentleman I was thinking of is not
+celebrated.
+
+DOLLY (staring at him).  Gentleman!  (Phil is also puzzled.)
+
+VALENTINE.  Yes.  I was going to ask whether you were by any chance a
+daughter of Mr. Densmore Clandon of Newbury Hall.
+
+DOLLY (vacantly).  No.
+
+PHILIP.  Well come, Dolly: how do you know you're not?
+
+DOLLY (cheered).  Oh, I forgot.  Of course.  Perhaps I am.
+
+VALENTINE.  Don't you know?
+
+PHILIP.  Not in the least.
+
+DOLLY.  It's a wise child ---
+
+PHILIP (cutting her short).  Sh!  (Valentine starts nervously; for
+the sound made by Philip, though but momentary, is like cutting a sheet
+of silk in two with a flash of lightning.  It is the result of long
+practice in checking Dolly's indiscretions.)  The fact is, Mr.
+Valentine, we are the children of the celebrated Mrs. Lanfrey Clandon,
+an authoress of great repute - in Madeira.  No household is complete
+without her works.  We came to England to get away from them.  The are
+called the Twentieth Century Treatises.
+
+DOLLY.   Twentieth Century Cooking.
+
+PHILIP.  Twentieth Century Creeds.
+
+DOLLY.   Twentieth Century Clothing.
+
+PHILIP.  Twentieth Century Conduct.
+
+DOLLY.   Twentieth Century Children.
+
+PHILIP.  Twentieth Century Parents.
+
+DOLLY.   Cloth limp, half a dollar.
+
+PHILIP.  Or mounted on linen for hard family use, two dollars.  No
+family should be without them.  Read them, Mr. Valentine: they'll
+improve your mind.
+
+DOLLY.  But not till we've gone, please.
+
+PHILIP.  Quite so: we prefer people with unimproved minds.  Our own
+minds are in that fresh and unspoiled condition.
+
+VALENTINE (dubiously).  Hm!
+
+DOLLY (echoing him inquiringly).  Hm?  Phil: he prefers people whose
+minds are improved.
+
+PHILIP.  In that case we shall have to introduce him to the other
+member of the family: the Woman of the Twentieth Century; our sister
+Gloria!
+
+DOLLY (dithyrambically).  Nature's masterpiece!
+
+PHILIP.  Learning's daughter!
+
+DOLLY.  Madeira's pride!
+
+PHILIP.  Beauty's paragon!
+
+DOLLY (suddenly descending to prose). Bosh!  No complexion.
+
+VALENTINE (desperately).  May I have a word?
+
+PHILIP (politely).  Excuse us.  Go ahead.
+
+DOLLY (very nicely).  So sorry.
+
+VALENTINE (attempting to take them paternally).  I really must give a
+hint to you young people---
+
+DOLLY (breaking out again).  Oh, come: I like that.  How old are you?
+
+PHILIP.  Over thirty.
+
+DOLLY.  He's not.
+
+PHILIP (confidently).  He is.
+
+DOLLY (emphatically).  Twenty-seven.
+
+PHILIP (imperturbably).  Thirty-three.
+
+DOLLY.  Stuff!
+
+PHILIP (to Valentine).  I appeal to you, Mr. Valentine.
+
+VALENTINE (remonstrating).  Well, really---(resigning himself.)
+Thirty-one.
+
+PHILIP (to Dolly).  You were wrong.
+
+DOLLY.  So were you.
+
+PHILIP (suddenly conscientious).  We're forgetting our manners,
+Dolly.
+
+DOLLY (remorseful).  Yes, so we are.
+
+PHILIP (apologetic).  We interrupted you, Mr. Valentine.
+
+DOLLY.  You were going to improve our minds, I think.
+
+VALENTINE.  The fact is, your---
+
+PHILIP (anticipating him).  Our appearance?
+
+DOLLY.  Our manners?
+
+VALENTINE (ad misericordiam).  Oh, do let me speak.
+
+DOLLY.  The old story.  We talk too much.
+
+PHILIP.  We do.  Shut up, both.  (He seats himself on the arm of the
+opposing chair.)
+
+DOLLY.  Mum!  (She sits down in the writing-table chair, and closes
+her lips tight with the tips of her fingers.)
+
+VALENTINE.  Thank you.  (He brings the stool from the bench in the
+corner; places it between them; and sits down with a judicial air.  They
+attend to him with extreme gravity.  He addresses himself first to
+Dolly.)  Now may I ask, to begin with, have you ever been in an English
+seaside resort before?  (She shakes her head slowly and solemnly.  He
+turns to Phil, who shakes his head quickly and expressively.)  I thought
+so.  Well, Mr. Clandon, our acquaintance has been short; but it has been
+voluble; and I have gathered enough to convince me that you are neither
+of you capable of conceiving what life in an English seaside resort is.
+Believe me, it's not a question of manners and appearance.  In those
+respects we enjoy a freedom unknown in Madeira.  (Dolly shakes her head
+vehemently.)  Oh, yes, I assure you.  Lord de Cresci's sister bicycles
+in knickerbockers; and the rector's wife advocates dress reform and
+wears hygienic boots.  (Dolly furtively looks at her own shoe: Valentine
+catches her in the act, and deftly adds)  No, that's not the sort of
+boot I mean. (Dolly's shoe vanishes.)  We don't bother much about dress
+and manners in England, because, as a nation we don't dress well and
+we've no manners.  But - and now will you excuse my frankness?  (They
+nod.)  Thank you.  Well, in a seaside resort there's one thing you must
+have before anybody can afford to be seen going about with you; and
+that's a father, alive or dead.  (He looks at them alternately, with
+emphasis.  They meet his gaze like martyrs.)  Am I to infer that you
+have omitted that indispensable part of your social equipment?  (They
+confirm him by melancholy nods.)  Them I'm sorry to say that if you are
+going to stay here for any length of time, it will be impossible for me
+to accept your kind invitation to lunch.  (He rises with an air of
+finality, and replaces the stool by the bench.)
+
+PHILIP (rising with grave politeness).  Come, Dolly.  (He gives her
+his arm.)
+
+DOLLY.  Good morning.  (They go together to the door with perfect
+dignity.)
+
+VALENTINE (overwhelmed with remorse).  Oh, stop, stop.  (They halt
+and turn, arm in arm.)  You make me feel a perfect beast.
+
+DOLLY.  That's your conscience: not us.
+
+VALENTINE (energetically, throwing off all pretence of a professional
+manner).  My conscience!  My conscience has been my ruin.  Listen to me.
+Twice before I have set up as a respectable medical practitioner in
+various parts of England.  On both occasions I acted conscientiously,
+and told my patients the brute truth instead of what they wanted to be
+told.  Result, ruin.  Now I've set up as a dentist, a five shilling
+dentist; and I've done with conscience forever.  This is my last chance.
+I spent my last sovereign on moving in; and I haven't paid a shilling of
+rent yet.  I'm eating and drinking on credit; my landlord is as rich as
+a Jew and as hard as nails; and I've made five shillings in six weeks.
+If I swerve by a hair's breadth from the straight line of the most rigid
+respectability, I'm done for.  Under such a circumstance, is it fair to
+ask me to lunch with you when you don't know your own father?
+
+DOLLY.  After all, our grandfather is a canon of Lincoln Cathedral.
+
+VALENTINE (like a castaway mariner who sees a sail on the horizon).
+What!  Have you a grandfather?
+
+DOLLY.  Only one.
+
+VALENTINE.  My dear, good young friends, why on earth didn't you tell
+me that before?  A cannon of Lincoln!  That makes it all right, of
+course.  Just excuse me while I change my coat.  (He reaches the door in
+a bound and vanishes.  Dolly and Phil stare after him, and then stare at
+one another.  Missing their audience, they droop and become commonplace
+at once.)
+
+PHILIP (throwing away Dolly's arm and coming ill-humoredly towards
+the operating chair).  That wretched bankrupt ivory snatcher makes a
+compliment of allowing us to stand him a lunch - probably the first
+square meal he has had for months.  (He gives the chair a kick, as if it
+were Valentine.)
+
+DOLLY.  It's too beastly.  I won't stand it any longer, Phil.  Here
+in England everybody asks whether you have a father the very first
+thing.
+
+PHILIP.  I won't stand it either.  Mamma must tell us who he was.
+
+DOLLY.  Or who he is.  He may be alive.
+
+PHILIP.  I hope not.  No man alive shall father me.
+
+DOLLY.  He might have a lot of money, though.
+
+PHILIP.  I doubt it.  My knowledge of human nature leads me to
+believe that if he had a lot of money he wouldn't have got rid of his
+affectionate family so easily.  Anyhow, let's look at the bright side of
+things.  Depend on it, he's dead.  (He goes to the hearth and stands
+with his back to the fireplace, spreading himself.  The parlor maid
+appears.  The twins, under observation, instantly shine out again with
+their former brilliancy.)
+
+THE PARLOR MAID.  Two ladies for you, miss.  Your mother and sister,
+miss, I think.
+
+Mrs. Clandon and Gloria come in.  Mrs. Clandon is between forty and
+fifty, with a slight tendency to soft, sedentary fat, and a fair
+remainder of good looks, none the worse preserved because she has
+evidently followed the old tribal matronly fashion of making no
+pretension in that direction after her marriage, and might almost be
+suspected of wearing a cap at home.  She carries herself artificially
+well, as women were taught to do as a part of good manners by dancing
+masters and reclining boards before these were superseded by the modern
+artistic cult of beauty and health.  Her hair, a flaxen hazel fading
+into white, is crimped, and parted in the middle with the ends plaited
+and made into a knot, from which observant people of a certain age infer
+that Mrs. Clandon had sufficient individuality and good taste to stand
+out resolutely against the now forgotten chignon in her girlhood.  In
+short, she is distinctly old fashioned for her age in dress and manners.
+But she belongs to the forefront of her own period (say 1860-80) in a
+jealously assertive attitude of character and intellect, and in being a
+woman of cultivated interests rather than passionately developed
+personal affections.  Her voice and ways are entirely kindly and humane;
+and she lends herself conscientiously to the occasional demonstrations
+of fondness by which her children mark their esteem for her; but
+displays of personal sentiment secretly embarrass her: passion in her is
+humanitarian rather than human: she feels strongly about social
+questions and principles, not about persons.  Only, one observes that
+this reasonableness and intense personal privacy, which leaves her
+relations with Gloria and Phil much as they might be between her and the
+children of any other woman, breaks down in the case of Dolly.  Though
+almost every word she addresses to her is necessarily in the nature of a
+remonstrance for some breach of decorum, the tenderness in her voice is
+unmistakable; and it is not surprising that years of such remonstrance
+have left Dolly hopelessly spoiled.
+
+Gloria, who is hardly past twenty, is a much more formidable person
+than her mother.  She is the incarnation of haughty highmindedness,
+raging with the impatience of an impetuous, dominative character
+paralyzed by the impotence of her youth, and unwillingly disciplined by
+the constant danger of ridicule from her lighter-handed juniors.  Unlike
+her mother, she is all passion; and the conflict of her passion with her
+obstinate pride and intense fastidiousness results in a freezing
+coldness of manner.  In an ugly woman all this would be repulsive; but
+Gloria is an attractive woman.  Her deep chestnut hair, olive brown
+skin, long eyelashes, shaded grey eyes that often flash like stars,
+delicately turned full lips, and compact and supple, but muscularly
+plump figure appeal with disdainful frankness to the senses and
+imagination.  A very dangerous girl, one would say, if the moral
+passions were not also marked, and even nobly marked, in a fine brow.
+Her tailor-made skirt-and-jacket dress of saffron brown cloth, seems
+conventional when her back is turned; but it displays in front a blouse
+of sea-green silk which upsets its conventionality with one stroke, and
+sets her apart as effectually as the twins from the ordinary run of
+fashionable seaside humanity.
+
+Mrs. Clandon comes a little way into the room, looking round to see
+who is present.  Gloria, who studiously avoids encouraging the twins by
+betraying any interest in them, wanders to the window and looks out with
+her thoughts far away.  The parlor maid, instead of withdrawing, shuts
+the door and waits at it.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Well, children? How is the toothache, Dolly?
+
+DOLLY.  Cured, thank Heaven.  I've had it out.  (She sits down on the
+step of the operating chair.  Mrs. Clandon takes the writing-table
+chair.)
+
+PHILIP (striking in gravely from the hearth).  And the dentist, a
+first-rate professional man of the highest standing, is coming to lunch
+with us.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (looking round apprehensively at the servant).  Phil!
+
+THE PARLOR MAID.  Beg pardon, ma'am.  I'm waiting for Mr. Valentine.
+I have a message for him.
+
+DOLLY.  Who from?
+
+MRS. CLANDON (shocked).  Dolly!  (Dolly catches her lips with her
+finger tips, suppressing a little splutter of mirth.)
+
+THE PARLOR MAID.  Only the landlord, ma'am.
+
+Valentine, in a blue serge suit, with a straw hat in his hand, comes
+back in high spirits, out of breath with the haste he has made.  Gloria
+turns from the window and studies him with freezing attention.
+
+PHILIP.  Let me introduce you, Mr. Valentine.  My mother, Mrs.
+Lanfrey Clandon.  (Mrs. Clandon bows.  Valentine bows, self-possessed
+and quite equal to the occasion.)  My sister Gloria.  (Gloria bows with
+cold dignity and sits down on the sofa.  Valentine falls in love at
+first sight and is miserably confused.  He fingers his hat nervously,
+and makes her a sneaking bow.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  I understand that we are to have the pleasure of
+seeing you at luncheon to-day, Mr. Valentine.
+
+VALENTINE.  Thank you--er--if you don't mind--I mean if you will be
+so kind -- (to the parlor maid testily)  What is it?
+
+THE PARLOR MAID.  The landlord, sir, wishes to speak to you before
+you go out.
+
+VALENTINE.  Oh, tell him I have four patients here.  (The Clandons
+look surprised, except Phil, who is imperturbable.)  If he wouldn't mind
+waiting just two minutes, I--I'll slip down and see him for a moment.
+(Throwing himself confidentially on her sense of the position.)  Say I'm
+busy, but that I want to see him.
+
+THE PARLOR MAID (reassuringly).  Yes, sir.  (She goes.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (on the point of rising).  We are detaining you, I am
+afraid.
+
+VALENTINE.  Not at all, not at all.  Your presence here will be the
+greatest help to me.  The fact is, I owe six week's rent; and I've had
+no patients until to-day.  My interview with my landlord will be
+considerably smoothed by the apparent boom in my business.
+
+DOLLY (vexed).  Oh, how tiresome of you to let it all out!  And we've
+just been pretending that you were a respectable professional man in a
+first-rate position.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (horrified).  Oh, Dolly, Dolly!  My dearest, how can you
+be so rude?  (To Valentine.)  Will you excuse these barbarian children
+of mine, Mr. Valentine?
+
+VALENTINE.  Thank you, I'm used to them.  Would it be too much to ask
+you to wait five minutes while I get rid of my landlord downstairs?
+
+DOLLY.  Don't be long.  We're hungry.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (again remonstrating).  Dolly, dear!
+
+VALENTINE (to Dolly).  All right.  (To Mrs. Clandon.)  Thank you: I
+shan't be long.  (He steals a look at Gloria as he turns to go.  She is
+looking gravely at him.  He falls into confusion.)  I--er--er--yes--
+thank you (he succeeds at last in blundering himself out of the room;
+but the exhibition is a pitiful one).
+
+PHILIP.  Did you observe?  (Pointing to Gloria.)  Love at first
+sight.  You can add his scalp to your collection, Gloria.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Sh--sh, pray, Phil.  He may have heard you.
+
+PHILIP.  Not he.  (Bracing himself for a scene.)  And now look here,
+mamma.  (He takes the stool from the bench; and seats himself
+majestically in the middle of the room, taking a leaf out of Valentine's
+book.  Dolly, feeling that her position on the step of the operating
+chair is unworthy of the dignity of the occasion, rises, looking
+important and determined; crosses to the window; and stands with her
+back to the end of the writing-table, her hands behind her and on the
+table.  Mrs. Clandon looks at them, wondering what is coming.  Gloria
+becomes attentive.  Philip straightens his back; places his knuckles
+symmetrically on his knees; and opens his case.)  Dolly and I have been
+talking over things a good deal lately; and I don't think, judging from
+my knowledge of human nature--we don't think that you (speaking very
+staccato, with the words detached) quite appreciate the fact ---
+
+DOLLY (seating herself on the end of the table with a spring).  That
+we've grown up.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Indeed?  In what way have I given you any reason to
+complain?
+
+PHILIP.  Well, there are certain matters upon which we are beginning
+to feel that you might take us a little more into your confidence.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (rising, with all the placidity of her age suddenly
+broken up; and a curious hard excitement, dignified but dogged, ladylike
+but implacable--the manner of the Old Guard of the Women's Rights
+movement--coming upon her).  Phil: take care.  Remember what I have
+always taught you.  There are two sorts of family life, Phil; and your
+experience of human nature only extends, so far, to one of them.
+(Rhetorically.)  The sort you know is based on mutual respect, on
+recognition of the right of every member of the household to
+independence and privacy (her emphasis on "privacy" is intense) in their
+personal concerns.  And because you have always enjoyed that, it seems
+such a matter of course to you that you don't value it.  But (with
+biting acrimony) there is another sort of family life: a life in which
+husbands open their wives' letters, and call on them to account for
+every farthing of their expenditure and every moment of their time; in
+which women do the same to their children; in which no room is private
+and no hour sacred; in which duty, obedience, affection, home, morality
+and religion are detestable tyrannies, and life is a vulgar round of
+punishments and lies, coercion and rebellion, jealousy, suspicion,
+recrimination--Oh!  I cannot describe it to you: fortunately for you,
+you know nothing about it.  (She sits down, panting.  Gloria has
+listened to her with flashing eyes, sharing all her indignation.)
+
+DOLLY (inaccessible to rhetoric).  See Twentieth Century Parents,
+chapter on Liberty, passim.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (touching her shoulder affectionately, soothed even by a
+gibe from her).  My dear Dolly: if you only knew how glad I am that it
+is nothing but a joke to you, though it is such bitter earnest to me.
+(More resolutely, turning to Philip.)  Phil, I never ask you questions
+about your private concerns.  You are not going to question me, are you?
+
+PHILIP.  I think it due to ourselves to say that the question we
+wanted to ask is as much our business as yours.
+
+DOLLY.  Besides, it can't be good to keep a lot of questions bottled
+up inside you.  You did it, mamma; but see how awfully it's broken out
+again in me.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  I see you want to ask your question.  Ask it.
+
+DOLLY AND PHILIP (beginning simultaneously).  Who--- (They stop.)
+
+PHILIP.  Now look here, Dolly: am I going to conduct this business or
+are you?
+
+DOLLY.  You.
+
+PHILIP.  Then hold your mouth.  (Dolly does so literally.)  The
+question is a simple one.  When the ivory snatcher---
+
+MRS. CLANDON (remonstrating).  Phil!
+
+PHILIP.  Dentist is an ugly word.  The man of ivory and gold asked us
+whether we were the children of Mr. Densmore Clandon of Newbury Hall.
+In pursuance of the precepts in your treatise on Twentieth Century
+Conduct, and your repeated personal exhortations to us to curtail the
+number of unnecessary lies we tell, we replied truthfully the we didn't
+know.
+
+DOLLY.  Neither did we.
+
+PHILIP.  Sh!  The result was that the gum architect made considerable
+difficulties about accepting our invitation to lunch, although I doubt
+if he has had anything but tea and bread and butter for a fortnight
+past.  Now my knowledge of human nature leads me to believe that we had
+a father, and that you probably know who he was.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (her agitation returning).  Stop, Phil.  Your father is
+nothing to you, nor to me (vehemently).  That is enough.  (The twins are
+silenced, but not satisfied.  Their faces fall.  But Gloria, who has
+been following the altercation attentively, suddenly intervenes.)
+
+GLORIA (advancing).  Mother: we have a right to know.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (rising and facing her).  Gloria!  "We!"  Who is "we"?
+
+GLORIA (steadfastly).  We three.  (Her tone is unmistakable: she is
+pitting her strength against her mother for the first time.  The twins
+instantly go over to the enemy.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (wounded).  In your mouth "we" used to mean you and I,
+Gloria.
+
+PHILIP (rising decisively and putting away the stool).  We're hurting
+you: let's drop it.  We didn't think you'd mind.  I don't want to know.
+
+DOLLY (coming off the table).  I'm sure I don't.  Oh, don't look like
+that, mamma.  (She looks angrily at Gloria.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (touching her eyes hastily with her handkerchief and
+sitting down again).  Thank you, my dear.  Thanks, Phil.
+
+GLORIA (inexorably).  We have a right to know, mother.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (indignantly).  Ah!  You insist.
+
+GLORIA.  Do you intend that we shall never know?
+
+DOLLY.  Oh, Gloria, don't.  It's barbarous.
+
+GLORIA (with quiet scorn).  What is the use of being weak?  You see
+what has happened with this gentleman here, mother.  The same thing has
+happened to me.
+
+MRS. CLANDON } (all       { What do you mean?
+
+DOLLY        } together). { Oh, tell us.
+
+PHILIP       }            { What happened to you?
+
+GLORIA.  Oh, nothing of any consequence.  (She turns away from them
+and goes up to the easy chair at the fireplace, where she sits down,
+almost with her back to them.  As they wait expectantly, she adds, over
+her shoulder, with studied indifference.)  On board the steamer the
+first officer did me the honor to propose to me.
+
+DOLLY.  No, it was to me.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  The first officer!  Are you serious, Gloria?  What did
+you say to him?  (correcting herself)  Excuse me: I have no right to ask
+that.
+
+GLORIA.  The answer is pretty obvious.  A woman who does not know who
+her father was cannot accept such an offer.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Surely you did not want to accept it?
+
+GLORIA (turning a little and raising her voice).  No; but suppose I
+had wanted to!
+
+PHILIP.  Did that difficulty strike you, Dolly?
+
+DOLLY.  No, I accepted him.
+
+GLORIA       } (all crying   { Accepted him!
+
+MRS. CLANDON }  out          { Dolly!
+
+PHILIP       }  together)    { Oh, I say!
+
+DOLLY (naively).  He did look such a fool!
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  But why did you do such a thing, Dolly?
+
+DOLLY.  For fun, I suppose.  He had to measure my finger for a ring.
+You'd have done the same thing yourself.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  No, Dolly, I would not.  As a matter of fact the first
+officer did propose to me; and I told him to keep that sort of thing for
+women were young enough to be amused by it.  He appears to have acted on
+my advice.  (She rises and goes to the hearth.)  Gloria: I am sorry you
+think me weak; but I cannot tell you what you want.  You are all too
+young.
+
+PHILIP.  This is rather a startling departure from Twentieth Century
+principles.
+
+DOLLY (quoting).  "Answer all your children's questions, and answer
+them truthfully, as soon as they are old enough to ask them."  See
+Twentieth Century Motherhood---
+
+PHILIP.  Page one---
+
+DOLLY.   Chapter one---
+
+PHILIP.  Sentence one.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  My dears: I did not say that you were too young to
+know.  I said you were too young to be taken into my confidence.  You
+are very bright children, all of you; but I am glad for your sakes that
+you are still very inexperienced and consequently very unsympathetic.
+There are some experiences of mine that I cannot bear to speak of except
+to those who have gone through what I have gone through.  I hope you
+will never be qualified for such confidences.  But I will take care that
+you shall learn all you want to know.  Will that satisfy you?
+
+PHILIP.  Another grievance, Dolly.
+
+DOLLY.  We're not sympathetic.
+
+GLORIA (leaning forward in her chair and looking earnestly up at her
+mother).  Mother: I did not mean to be unsympathetic.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (affectionately).  Of course not, dear.  Do you think I
+don't understand?
+
+GLORIA (rising).  But, mother---
+
+MRS. CLANDON (drawing back a little).  Yes?
+
+GLORIA (obstinately).  It is nonsense to tell us that our father is
+nothing to us.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (provoked to sudden resolution).  Do you remember your
+father?
+
+GLORIA (meditatively, as if the recollection were a tender one).  I
+am not quite sure.  I think so.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (grimly).  You are not sure?
+
+GLORIA.  No.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (with quiet force).  Gloria: if I had ever struck you--
+(Gloria recoils: Philip and Dolly are disagreeably shocked; all three
+start at her, revolted as she continues)--struck you purposely,
+deliberately, with the intention of hurting you, with a whip bought for
+the purpose!  Would you remember that, do you think?  (Gloria utters an
+exclamation of indignant repulsion.)  That would have been your last
+recollection of your father, Gloria, if I had not taken you away from
+him.  I have kept him out of your life: keep him now out of mine by
+never mentioning him to me again.  (Gloria, with a shudder, covers her
+face with her hands, until, hearing someone at the door, she turns away
+and pretends to occupy herself looking at the names of the books in the
+bookcase.  Mrs. Clandon sits down on the sofa.  Valentine returns.).
+
+VALENTINE.  I hope I've not kept you waiting.  That landlord of mine
+is really an extraordinary old character.
+
+DOLLY (eagerly).  Oh, tell us.  How long has he given you to pay?
+
+MRS. CLANDON (distracted by her child's bad manners).  Dolly, Dolly,
+Dolly dear!  You must not ask questions.
+
+DOLLY (demurely).  So sorry.  You'll tell us, won't you, Mr.
+Valentine?
+
+VALENTINE.  He doesn't want his rent at all.  He's broken his tooth
+on a Brazil nut; and he wants me to look at it and to lunch with him
+afterwards.
+
+DOLLY.  Then have him up and pull his tooth out at once; and we'll
+bring him to lunch, too.  Tell the maid to fetch him along.  (She runs
+to the bell and rings it vigorously.  Then, with a sudden doubt she
+turns to Valentine and adds)  I suppose he's respectable---really
+respectable.
+
+VALENTINE.  Perfectly.  Not like me.
+
+DOLLY.  Honest Injun?  (Mrs. Clandon gasps faintly; but her powers of
+remonstrance are exhausted.)
+
+VALENTINE.  Honest Injun!
+
+DOLLY.  Then off with you and bring him up.
+
+VALENTINE (looking dubiously at Mrs. Clandon).  I daresay he'd be
+delighted if--er---?
+
+MRS. CLANDON (rising and looking at her watch).  I shall be happy to
+see your friend at lunch, if you can persuade him to come; but I can't
+wait to see him now: I have an appointment at the hotel at a quarter to
+one with an old friend whom I have not seen since I left England
+eighteen years ago.  Will you excuse me?
+
+VALENTINE.  Certainly, Mrs. Clandon.
+
+GLORIA.  Shall I come?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  No, dear.  I want to be alone.  (She goes out,
+evidently still a good deal troubled.  Valentine opens the door for her
+and follows her out.)
+
+PHILIP (significantly--to Dolly).  Hmhm!
+
+DOLLY (significantly to Philip).  Ahah!  (The parlor maid answers the
+bell.)
+
+DOLLY.  Show the old gentleman up.
+
+THE PARLOR MAID (puzzled).  Madam?
+
+DOLLY.  The old gentleman with the toothache.
+
+PHILIP.  The landlord.
+
+THE PARLOR MAID.  Mr. Crampton, Sir?
+
+PHILIP.  Is his name Crampton?
+
+DOLLY (to Philip).  Sounds rheumaticky, doesn't it?
+
+PHILIP.  Chalkstones, probably.
+
+DOLLY (over her shoulder, to the parlor maid).  Show Mr. Crampstones
+up.  (Goes R. to writing-table chair).
+
+THE PARLOR MAID (correcting her).  Mr. Crampton, miss.  (She goes.)
+
+DOLLY (repeating it to herself like a lesson).  Crampton, Crampton,
+Crampton, Crampton, Crampton.  (She sits down studiously at the writing-
+table.)  I must get that name right, or Heaven knows what I shall call
+him.
+
+GLORIA.  Phil: can you believe such a horrible thing as that about
+our father---what mother said just now?
+
+PHILIP.  Oh, there are lots of people of that kind.  Old Chalice used
+to thrash his wife and daughters with a cartwhip.
+
+DOLLY (contemptuously).  Yes, a Portuguese!
+
+PHILIP.  When you come to men who are brutes, there is much in common
+between the Portuguese and the English variety, Doll.  Trust my
+knowledge of human nature.  (He resumes his position on the hearthrug
+with an elderly and responsible air.)
+
+GLORIA (with angered remorse).  I don't think we shall ever play
+again at our old game of guessing what our father was to be like.
+Dolly: are you sorry for your father---the father with lots of money?
+
+DOLLY.  Oh, come!  What about your father---the lonely old man with
+the tender aching heart?  He's pretty well burst up, I think.
+
+PHILIP.  There can be no doubt that the governor is an exploded
+superstition.  (Valentine is heard talking to somebody outside the
+door.)  But hark: he comes.
+
+GLORIA (nervously).  Who?
+
+DOLLY.  Chalkstones.
+
+PHILIP.  Sh!  Attention.  (They put on their best manners.  Philip
+adds in a lower voice to Gloria)  If he's good enough for the lunch,
+I'll nod to Dolly; and if she nods to you, invite him straight away.
+
+(Valentine comes back with his landlord.  Mr. Fergus Crampton is a
+man of about sixty, tall, hard and stringy, with an atrociously
+obstinate, ill tempered, grasping mouth, and a querulously dogmatic
+voice.  Withal he is highly nervous and sensitive, judging by his thin
+transparent skin marked with multitudinous lines, and his slender
+fingers.  His consequent capacity for suffering acutely from all the
+dislike that his temper and obstinacy can bring upon him is proved by
+his wistful, wounded eyes, by a plaintive note in his voice, a painful
+want of confidence in his welcome, and a constant but indifferently
+successful effort to correct his natural incivility of manner and
+proneness to take offence.  By his keen brows and forehead he is clearly
+a shrewd man; and there is no sign of straitened means or commercial
+diffidence about him: he is well dressed, and would be classed at a
+guess as a prosperous master manufacturer in a business inherited from
+an old family in the aristocracy of trade.  His navy blue coat is not of
+the usual fashionable pattern.  It is not exactly a pilot's coat; but it
+is cut that way, double breasted, and with stout buttons and broad
+lappels, a coat for a shipyard rather than a counting house.  He has
+taken a fancy to Valentine, who cares nothing for his crossness of grain
+and treats him with a sort of disrespectful humanity, for which he is
+secretly grateful.)
+
+VALENTINE.  May I introduce---this is Mr. Crampton---Miss Dorothy
+Clandon, Mr. Philip Clandon, Miss Clandon.  (Crampton stands nervously
+bowing.  They all bow.)  Sit down, Mr. Crampton.
+
+DOLLY (pointing to the operating chair).  That is the most
+comfortable chair, Mr. Ch--crampton.
+
+CRAMPTON.  Thank you; but won't this young lady---(indicating Gloria,
+who is close to the chair)?
+
+GLORIA.  Thank you, Mr. Crampton: we are just going.
+
+VALENTINE (bustling him across to the chair with good-humored
+peremptoriness).  Sit down, sit down.  You're tired.
+
+CRAMPTON.  Well, perhaps as I am considerably the oldest person
+present, I--- (He finishes the sentence by sitting down a little
+rheumatically in the operating chair.  Meanwhile, Philip, having studied
+him critically during his passage across the room, nods to Dolly; and
+Dolly nods to Gloria.)
+
+GLORIA.  Mr. Crampton: we understand that we are preventing Mr.
+Valentine from lunching with you by taking him away ourselves.  My
+mother would be very glad, indeed, if you would come too.
+
+CRAMPTON (gratefully, after looking at her earnestly for a moment).
+Thank you.  I will come with pleasure.
+
+GLORIA  } (politely  { Thank you very much--er---
+
+DOLLY   } murmuring).{ So glad--er---
+
+PHILIP  }            { Delighted, I'm sure--er---
+
+(The conversation drops.  Gloria and Dolly look at one another; then
+at Valentine and Philip.  Valentine and Philip, unequal to the occasion,
+look away from them at one another, and are instantly so disconcerted by
+catching one another's eye, that they look back again and catch the eyes
+of Gloria and Dolly.  Thus, catching one another all round, they all
+look at nothing and are quite at a loss.  Crampton looks about him,
+waiting for them to begin.  The silence becomes unbearable.)
+
+DOLLY (suddenly, to keep things going).  How old are you, Mr.
+Crampton?
+
+GLORIA (hastily).  I am afraid we must be going, Mr. Valentine.  It
+is understood, then, that we meet at half past one.  (She makes for the
+door.  Philip goes with her.  Valentine retreats to the bell.)
+
+VALENTINE.  Half past one.  (He rings the bell.)  Many thanks.  (He
+follows Gloria and Philip to the door, and goes out with them.)
+
+DOLLY (who has meanwhile stolen across to Crampton).  Make him give
+you gas.  It's five shillings extra: but it's worth it.
+
+CRAMPTON (amused).  Very well.  (Looking more earnestly at her.)  So
+you want to know my age, do you?  I'm fifty-seven.
+
+DOLLY (with conviction).  You look it.
+
+CRAMPTON (grimly).  I dare say I do.
+
+DOLLY.  What are you looking at me so hard for?  Anything wrong?
+(She feels whether her hat is right.)
+
+CRAMPTON.  You're like somebody.
+
+DOLLY.  Who?
+
+CRAMPTON.  Well, you have a curious look of my mother.
+
+DOLLY (incredulously).  Your mother!!!  Quite sure you don't mean
+your daughter?
+
+CRAMPTON (suddenly blackening with hate).  Yes: I'm quite sure I
+don't mean my daughter.
+
+DOLLY (sympathetically).  Tooth bad?
+
+CRAMPTON.  No, no: nothing.  A twinge of memory, Miss Clandon, not of
+toothache.
+
+DOLLY.  Have it out.  "Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow:" with
+gas, five shillings extra.
+
+CRAMPTON (vindicatively).  No, not a sorrow.  An injury that was done
+me once: that's all.  I don't forget injuries; and I don't want to
+forget them.  (His features settle into an implacable frown.)
+
+(re-enter Philip: to look for Dolly.  He comes down behind her
+unobserved.)
+
+DOLLY (looking critically at Crampton's expression).  I don't think
+we shall like you when you are brooding over your sorrows.
+
+PHILIP (who has entered the room unobserved, and stolen behind her).
+My sister means well, Mr. Crampton: but she is indiscreet.  Now Dolly,
+outside!  (He takes her towards the door.)
+
+DOLLY (in a perfectly audible undertone).  He says he's only fifty-
+seven; and he thinks me the image of his mother; and he hates his
+daughter; and--- (She is interrupted by the return of Valentine.)
+
+VALENTINE.  Miss Clandon has gone on.
+
+PHILIP.  Don't forget half past one.
+
+DOLLY.  Mind you leave Mr. Crampton with enough teeth to eat with.
+(They go out.  Valentine comes down to his cabinet, and opens it.)
+
+CRAMPTON.  That's a spoiled child, Mr. Valentine.  That's one of your
+modern products.  When I was her age, I had many a good hiding fresh in
+my memory to teach me manners.
+
+VALENTINE (taking up his dental mirror and probe from the shelf in
+front of the cabinet).  What did you think of her sister?
+
+CRAMPTON.  You liked her better, eh?
+
+VALENTINE (rhapsodically).  She struck me as being--- (He checks
+himself, and adds, prosaically)  However, that's not business.  (He
+places himself behind Crampton's right shoulder and assumes his
+professional tone.)  Open, please.  (Crampton opens his mouth.
+Valentine puts the mirror in, and examines his teeth.)  Hm!  You have
+broken that one.  What a pity to spoil such a splendid set of teeth!
+Why do you crack nuts with them?  (He withdraws the mirror, and comes
+forward to converse with Crampton.)
+
+CRAMPTON.  I've always cracked nuts with them: what else are they
+for?  (Dogmatically.)  The proper way to keep teeth good is to give them
+plenty of use on bones and nuts, and wash them every day with soap---
+plain yellow soap.
+
+VALENTINE.  Soap!  Why soap?
+
+CRAMPTON.  I began using it as a boy because I was made to; and I've
+used it ever since.  And I never had toothache in my life.
+
+VALENTINE.  Don't you find it rather nasty?
+
+CRAMPTON.  I found that most things that were good for me were nasty.
+But I was taught to put up with them, and made to put up with them.  I'm
+used to it now: in fact, I like the taste when the soap is really good.
+
+VALENTINE (making a wry face in spite of himself).  You seem to have
+been very carefully educated, Mr. Crampton.
+
+CRAMPTON (grimly).  I wasn't spoiled, at all events.
+
+VALENTINE (smiling a little to himself).  Are you quite sure?
+
+CRAMPTON.  What d'y' mean?
+
+VALENTINE.  Well, your teeth are good, I admit.  But I've seen just
+as good in very self-indulgent mouths.  (He goes to the ledge of cabinet
+and changes the probe for another one.)
+
+CRAMPTON.  It's not the effect on the teeth: it's the effect on the
+character.
+
+VALENTINE (placably).  Oh, the character, I see.  (He recommences
+operations.)  A little wider, please.  Hm!  That one will have to come
+out: it's past saving.  (He withdraws the probe and again comes to the
+side of the chair to converse.)  Don't be alarmed: you shan't feel
+anything.  I'll give you gas.
+
+CRAMPTON.  Rubbish, man: I want none of your gas.  Out with it.
+People were taught to bear necessary pain in my day.
+
+VALENTINE.  Oh, if you like being hurt, all right.  I'll hurt you as
+much as you like, without any extra charge for the beneficial effect on
+your character.
+
+CRAMPTON (rising and glaring at him).  Young man: you owe me six
+weeks' rent.
+
+VALENTINE.  I do.
+
+CRAMPTON.  Can you pay me?
+
+VALENTINE.  No.
+
+CRAMPTON (satisfied with his advantage).  I thought not.  How soon
+d'y' think you'll be able to pay me if you have no better manners than
+to make game of your patients?  (He sits down again.)
+
+VALENTINE.  My good sir: my patients haven't all formed their
+characters on kitchen soap.
+
+CRAMPTON (suddenly gripping him by the arm as he turns away again to
+the cabinet).  So much the worse for them.  I tell you you don't
+understand my character.  If I could spare all my teeth, I'd make you
+pull them all out one after another to shew you what a properly hardened
+man can go through with when he's made up his mind to do it.  (He nods
+at him to enforce the effect of this declaration, and releases him.)
+
+VALENTINE (his careless pleasantry quite unruffled).  And you want to
+be more hardened, do you?
+
+CRAMPTON.  Yes.
+
+VALENTINE (strolling away to the bell).  Well, you're quite hard
+enough for me already---as a landlord.  (Crampton receives this with a
+growl of grim humor.  Valentine rings the bell, and remarks in a
+cheerful, casual way, whilst waiting for it to be answered.)  Why did
+you never get married, Mr. Crampton?  A wife and children would have
+taken some of the hardness out of you.
+
+CRAMPTON (with unexpected ferocity).  What the devil is that to you?
+(The parlor maid appears at the door.)
+
+VALENTINE (politely).  Some warm water, please.  (She retires: and
+Valentine comes back to the cabinet, not at all put out by Crampton's
+rudeness, and carries on the conversation whilst he selects a forceps
+and places it ready to his hand with a gag and a drinking glass.)  You
+were asking me what the devil that was to me.  Well, I have an idea of
+getting married myself.
+
+CRAMPTON (with grumbling irony).  Naturally, sir, naturally.  When a
+young man has come to his last farthing, and is within twenty-four hours
+of having his furniture distrained upon by his landlord, he marries.
+I've noticed that before.  Well, marry; and be miserable.
+
+VALENTINE.  Oh, come, what do you know about it?
+
+CRAMPTON.  I'm not a bachelor.
+
+VALENTINE.  Then there is a Mrs. Crampton?
+
+CRAMPTON (wincing with a pang of resentment).  Yes---damn her!
+
+VALENTINE (unperturbed).  Hm!  A father, too, perhaps, as well as a
+husband, Mr. Crampton?
+
+CRAMPTON.  Three children.
+
+VALENTINE (politely).  Damn them?--eh?
+
+CRAMPTON (jealously).  No, sir: the children are as much mine as
+hers.  (The parlor maid brings in a jug of hot water.)
+
+VALENTINE.  Thank you.  (He takes the jug from her, and brings it to
+the cabinet, continuing in the same idle strain)  I really should like
+to know your family, Mr. Crampton.  (The parlor maid goes out: and he
+pours some hot water into the drinking glass.)
+
+CRAMPTON.  Sorry I can't introduce you, sir.  I'm happy to say that I
+don't know where they are, and don't care, so long as they keep out of
+my way.  (Valentine, with a hitch of his eyebrows and shoulders, drops
+the forceps with a clink into the glass of hot water.)  You needn't warm
+that thing to use on me.  I'm not afraid of the cold steel.  (Valentine
+stoops to arrange the gas pump and cylinder beside the chair.)  What's
+that heavy thing?
+
+VALENTINE.  Oh, never mind.  Something to put my foot on, to get the
+necessary purchase for a good pull.  (Crampton looks alarmed in spite of
+himself.  Valentine stands upright and places the glass with the forceps
+in it ready to his hand, chatting on with provoking indifference.)  And
+so you advise me not to get married, Mr. Crampton?  (He stoops to fit
+the handle on the apparatus by which the chair is raised and lowered.)
+
+CRAMPTON (irritably).  I advise you to get my tooth out and have done
+reminding me of my wife.  Come along, man.  (He grips the arms of the
+chair and braces himself.)
+
+VALENTINE (pausing, with his hand on the lever, to look up at him and
+say).  What do you bet that I don't get that tooth out without your
+feeling it?
+
+CRAMPTON.  Your six week's rent, young man.  Don't you gammon me.
+
+VALENTINE (jumping at the bet and winding him aloft vigorously).
+Done!  Are you ready?  (Crampton, who has lost his grip of the chair in
+his alarm at its sudden ascent, folds his arms: sits stiffly upright:
+and prepares for the worst.  Valentine lets down the back of the chair
+to an obtuse angle.)
+
+CRAMPTON (clutching at the arms of the chair as he falls back).  Take
+care man.  I'm quite helpless in this po----
+
+VALENTINE (deftly stopping him with the gag, and snatching up the
+mouthpiece of the gas machine).  You'll be more helpless presently.  (He
+presses the mouthpiece over Crampton's mouth and nose, leaning over his
+chest so as to hold his head and shoulders well down on the chair.
+Crampton makes an inarticulate sound in the mouthpiece and tries to lay
+hands on Valentine, whom he supposes to be in front of him.  After a
+moment his arms wave aimlessly, then subside and drop.  He is quite
+insensible.  Valentine, with an exclamation of somewhat preoccupied
+triumph, throws aside the mouthpiece quickly: picks up the forceps
+adroitly from the glass: and ---the curtain falls.)
+
+END OF ACT I.
+
+
+
+Act II
+
+
+On the terrace at the Marine Hotel. It is a square flagged platform,
+with a parapet of heavy oil jar pilasters supporting a broad stone
+coping on the outer edge, which stands up over the sea like a cliff.
+The head waiter of the establishment, busy laying napkins on a luncheon
+table with his back to the sea, has the hotel on his right, and on his
+left, in the corner nearest the sea, the flight of steps leading down to
+the beach.
+
+When he looks down the terrace in front of him he sees a little to
+his left a solitary guest, a middle-aged gentleman sitting on a chair of
+iron laths at a little iron table with a bowl of lump sugar and three
+wasps on it, reading the Standard, with his umbrella up to defend him
+from the sun, which, in August and at less than an hour after noon, is
+toasting his protended insteps.  Just opposite him, at the hotel side of
+the terrace, there is a garden seat of the ordinary esplanade pattern.
+Access to the hotel for visitors is by an entrance in the middle of its
+facade, reached by a couple of steps on a broad square of raised
+pavement.  Nearer the parapet there lurks a way to the kitchen, masked
+by a little trellis porch.  The table at which the waiter is occupied is
+a long one, set across the terrace with covers and chairs for five, two
+at each side and one at the end next the hotel.  Against the parapet
+another table is prepared as a buffet to serve from.
+
+The waiter is a remarkable person in his way.  A silky old man,
+white-haired and delicate looking, but so cheerful and contented that in
+his encouraging presence ambition stands rebuked as vulgarity, and
+imagination as treason to the abounding sufficiency and interest of the
+actual.  He has a certain expression peculiar to men who have been
+extraordinarily successful in their calling, and who, whilst aware of
+the vanity of success, are untouched by envy.
+
+The gentleman at the iron table is not dressed for the seaside.  He
+wears his London frock coat and gloves; and his tall silk hat is on the
+table beside the sugar bowl.  The excellent condition and quality of
+these garments, the gold-rimmed folding spectacles through which he is
+reading the Standard, and the Times at his elbow overlaying the local
+paper, all testify to his respectability.  He is about fifty, clean
+shaven, and close-cropped, with the corners of his mouth turned down
+purposely, as if he suspected them of wanting to turn up, and was
+determined not to let them have their way.  He has large expansive ears,
+cod colored eyes, and a brow kept resolutely wide open, as if, again, he
+had resolved in his youth to be truthful, magnanimous, and
+incorruptible, but had never succeeded in making that habit of mind
+automatic and unconscious.  Still, he is by no means to be laughed at.
+There is no sign of stupidity or infirmity of will about him: on the
+contrary, he would pass anywhere at sight as a man of more than average
+professional capacity and responsibility.  Just at present he is
+enjoying the weather and the sea too much to be out of patience; but he
+has exhausted all the news in his papers and is at present reduced to
+the advertisements, which are not sufficiently succulent to induce him
+to persevere with them.
+
+
+THE GENTLEMAN (yawning and giving up the paper as a bad job).
+Waiter!
+
+WAITER.  Sir?  (coming down C.)
+
+THE GENTLEMAN.  Are you quite sure Mrs. Clandon is coming back before
+lunch?
+
+WAITER.  Quite sure, sir.  She expects you at a quarter to one, sir.
+(The gentleman, soothed at once by the waiter's voice, looks at him with
+a lazy smile.  It is a quiet voice, with a gentle melody in it that
+gives sympathetic interest to his most commonplace remark; and he speaks
+with the sweetest propriety, neither dropping his aitches nor misplacing
+them, nor committing any other vulgarism.  He looks at his watch as he
+continues)  Not that yet, sir, is it?  12:43, sir.  Only two minutes
+more to wait, sir.  Nice morning, sir?
+
+THE GENTLEMAN.  Yes: very fresh after London.
+
+WAITER.  Yes, sir: so all our visitors say, sir.  Very nice family,
+Mrs. Clandon's, sir.
+
+THE GENTLEMAN.  You like them, do you?
+
+WAITER.  Yes, sir.  They have a free way with them that is very
+taking, sir, very taking indeed, sir: especially the young lady and
+gentleman.
+
+THE GENTLEMAN.  Miss Dorothea and Mr. Philip, I suppose.
+
+WAITER.  Yes, sir.  The young lady, in giving an order, or the like
+of that, will say, "Remember, William, we came to this hotel on your
+account, having heard what a perfect waiter you are."  The young
+gentleman will tell me that I remind him strongly of his father (the
+gentleman starts at this) and that he expects me to act by him as such.
+(Soothing, sunny cadence.)  Oh, very peasant, sir, very affable and
+pleasant indeed!
+
+THE GENTLEMAN.  You like his father!  (He laughs at the notion.)
+
+WAITER.  Oh, we must not take what they say too seriously, sir.  Of
+course, sir, if it were true, the young lady would have seen the
+resemblance, too, sir.
+
+THE GENTLEMAN.  Did she?
+
+WAITER.  No, sir.  She thought me like the bust of Shakespear in
+Stratford Church, sir.  That is why she calls me William, sir.  My real
+name is Walter, sir.  (He turns to go back to the table, and sees Mrs.
+Clandon coming up to the terrace from the beach by the steps.)  Here is
+Mrs. Clandon, sir.  (To Mrs. Clandon, in an unobtrusively confidential
+tone) Gentleman for you, ma'am.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.   We shall have two more gentlemen at lunch, William.
+
+WAITER.  Right, ma'am.  Thank you, ma'am.  (He withdraws into the
+hotel.  Mrs. Clandon comes forward looking round for her visitor, but
+passes over the gentleman without any sign of recognition.)
+
+THE GENTLEMAN  (peering at her quaintly from under the umbrella).
+Don't you know me?
+
+MRS. CLANDON (incredulously, looking hard at him)  Are you Finch
+McComas?
+
+McCOMAS.  Can't you guess?  (He shuts the umbrella; puts it aside;
+and jocularly plants himself with his hands on his hips to be
+inspected.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  I believe you are.  (She gives him her hand.  The
+shake that ensues is that of old friends after a long separation.)
+Where's your beard?
+
+McCOMAS (with humorous solemnity).  Would you employ a solicitor with
+a beard?
+
+MRS. CLANDON (pointing to the silk hat on the table).  Is that your
+hat?
+
+McCOMAS.  Would you employ a solicitor with a sombrero?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  I have thought of you all these eighteen years with
+the beard and the sombrero.  (She sits down on the garden seat.  McComas
+takes his chair again.)  Do you go to the meetings of the Dialectical
+Society still?
+
+McCOMAS (gravely).  I do not frequent meetings now.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Finch: I see what has happened.  You have become
+respectable.
+
+McCOMAS.  Haven't you?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Not a bit.
+
+McCOMAS.  You hold to your old opinions still?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  As firmly as ever.
+
+McCOMAS.  Bless me!  And you are still ready to make speeches in
+public, in spite of your sex (Mrs. Clandon nods); to insist on a married
+woman's right to her own separate property (she nods again); to champion
+Darwin's view of the origin of species and John Stuart Mill's essay on
+Liberty (nod); to read Huxley, Tyndall and George Eliot (three nods);
+and to demand University degrees, the opening of the professions, and
+the parliamentary franchise for women as well as men?
+
+MRS. CLANDON (resolutely).  Yes: I have not gone back one inch; and I
+have educated Gloria to take up my work where I left it.  That is what
+has brought me back to England: I felt that I had no right to bury her
+alive in Madeira--my St. Helena, Finch.  I suppose she will be howled at
+as I was; but she is prepared for that.
+
+McCOMAS.  Howled at!  My dear good lady: there is nothing in any of
+those views now-a-days to prevent her from marrying a bishop.  You
+reproached me just now for having become respectable.  You were wrong: I
+hold to our old opinions as strongly as ever.  I don't go to church; and
+I don't pretend I do.  I call myself what I am: a Philosophic Radical,
+standing for liberty and the rights of the individual, as I learnt to do
+from my master Herbert Spencer.  Am I howled at?  No: I'm indulged as an
+old fogey.  I'm out of everything, because I've refused to bow the knee
+to Socialism.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (shocked).  Socialism.
+
+McCOMAS.  Yes, Socialism.  That's what Miss Gloria will be up to her
+ears in before the end of the month if you let her loose here.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (emphatically).  But I can prove to her that Socialism
+is a fallacy.
+
+McCOMAS (touchingly).  It is by proving that, Mrs. Clandon, that I
+have lost all my young disciples.  Be careful what you do: let her go
+her own way.  (With some bitterness.)  We're old-fashioned: the world
+thinks it has left us behind.  There is only one place in all England
+where your opinions would still pass as advanced.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (scornfully unconvinced).  The Church, perhaps?
+
+McCOMAS.  No, the theatre.  And now to business!  Why have you made
+me come down here?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Well, partly because I wanted to see you---
+
+McCOMAS (with good-humored irony).  Thanks.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  ---and partly because I want you to explain everything
+to the children.  They know nothing; and now that we have come back to
+England, it is impossible to leave them in ignorance any longer.
+(Agitated.)  Finch: I cannot bring myself to tell them.  I--- (She is
+interrupted by the twins and Gloria.  Dolly comes tearing up the steps,
+racing Philip, who combines a terrific speed with unhurried propriety of
+bearing which, however, costs him the race, as Dolly reaches her mother
+first and almost upsets the garden seat by the precipitancy of her
+arrival.)
+
+DOLLY (breathless).  It's all right, mamma.  The dentist is coming;
+and he's bringing his old man.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Dolly, dear: don't you see Mr. McComas?  (Mr. McComas
+rises, smilingly.)
+
+DOLLY (her face falling with the most disparagingly obvious
+disappointment).  This!  Where are the flowing locks?
+
+PHILIP (seconding her warmly).  Where the beard? ---the cloak? ---the
+poetic exterior?
+
+DOLLY.  Oh, Mr. McComas, you've gone and spoiled yourself.  Why
+didn't you wait till we'd seen you?
+
+McCOMAS (taken aback, but rallying his humor to meet the emergency).
+Because eighteen years is too long for a solicitor to go without having
+his hair cut.
+
+GLORIA (at the other side of McComas).  How do you do, Mr. McComas?
+(He turns; and she takes his hand and presses it, with a frank straight
+look into his eyes.)  We are glad to meet you at last.
+
+McCOMAS.  Miss Gloria, I presume?  (Gloria smiles assent, and
+releases his hand after a final pressure.  She then retires behind the
+garden seat, leaning over the back beside Mrs. Clandon.)  And this young
+gentleman?
+
+PHILIP.  I was christened in a comparatively prosaic mood.  My name
+is---
+
+DOLLY (completing his sentence for him declamatorily).  "Norval.  On
+the Grampian hills"---
+
+PHILIP (declaiming gravely).  "My father feeds his flock, a frugal
+swain"---
+
+MRS. CLANDON (remonstrating).  Dear, dear children: don't be silly.
+Everything is so new to them here, Finch, that they are in the wildest
+spirits.  They think every Englishman they meet is a joke.
+
+DOLLY.  Well, so he is: it's not our fault.
+
+PHILIP.  My knowledge of human nature is fairly extensive, Mr.
+McComas; but I find it impossible to take the inhabitants of this island
+seriously.
+
+McCOMAS.  I presume, sir, you are Master Philip (offering his hand)?
+
+PHILIP (taking McComas's hand and looking solemnly at him).  I was
+Master Philip---was so for many years; just as you were once Master
+Finch.  (He gives his hand a single shake and drops it; then turns away,
+exclaiming meditatively)  How strange it is to look back on our boyhood!
+(McComas stares after him, not at all pleased.)
+
+DOLLY (to Mrs. Clandon).  Has Finch had a drink?
+
+MRS. CLANDON (remonstrating).  Dearest: Mr. McComas will lunch with
+us.
+
+DOLLY.  Have you ordered for seven?  Don't forget the old gentleman.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  I have not forgotten him, dear.  What is his name?
+
+DOLLY.  Chalkstones.  He'll be here at half past one.  (To McComas.)
+Are we like what you expected?
+
+MRS. CLANDON (changing her tone to a more earnest one).  Dolly: Mr.
+McComas has something more serious than that to tell you.  Children: I
+have asked my old friend to answer the question you asked this morning.
+He is your father's friend as well as mine: and he will tell you the
+story more fairly than I could.  (Turning her head from them to Gloria.)
+Gloria: are you satisfied?
+
+GLORIA (gravely attentive).  Mr. McComas is very kind.
+
+McCOMAS (nervously).  Not at all, my dear young lady: not at all.  At
+the same time, this is rather sudden.  I was hardly prepared---er---
+
+DOLLY (suspiciously).  Oh, we don't want anything prepared.
+
+PHILIP (exhorting him).  Tell us the truth.
+
+DOLLY (emphatically).  Bald headed.
+
+McCOMAS (nettled).  I hope you intend to take what I have to say
+seriously.
+
+PHILIP (with profound mock gravity).  I hope it will deserve it, Mr.
+McComas.  My knowledge of human nature teaches me not to expect too
+much.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (remonstrating).  Phil---
+
+PHILIP.  Yes, mother, all right.  I beg your pardon, Mr. McComas:
+don't mind us.
+
+DOLLY (in conciliation).  We mean well.
+
+PHILIP.  Shut up, both.
+
+(Dolly holds her lips.  McComas takes a chair from the luncheon
+table; places it between the little table and the garden seat with Dolly
+on his right and Philip on his left; and settles himself in it with the
+air of a man about to begin a long communication.  The Clandons match
+him expectantly.)
+
+McCOMAS.  Ahem!  Your father---
+
+DOLLY (interrupting).  How old is he?
+
+PHILIP.  Sh!
+
+MRS. CLANDON (softly).  Dear Dolly: don't let us interrupt Mr.
+McComas.
+
+McCOMAS (emphatically).  Thank you, Mrs. Clandon.  Thank you.  (To
+Dolly.)  Your father is fifty-seven.
+
+DOLLY (with a bound, startled and excited).  Fifty-seven!  Where does
+he live?
+
+MRS. CLANDON (remonstrating).  Dolly, Dolly!
+
+McCOMAS (stopping her).  Let me answer that, Mrs. Clandon.  The
+answer will surprise you considerably.  He lives in this town.  (Mrs.
+Clandon rises.  She and Gloria look at one another in the greatest
+consternation.)
+
+DOLLY (with conviction).  I knew it!  Phil: Chalkstones is our
+father.
+
+McCOMAS.  Chalkstones!
+
+DOLLY.  Oh, Crampstones, or whatever it is.  He said I was like his
+mother.  I knew he must mean his daughter.
+
+PHILIP (very seriously).  Mr. McComas: I desire to consider your
+feelings in every possible way: but I warn you that if you stretch the
+long arm of coincidence to the length of telling me that Mr. Crampton of
+this town is my father, I shall decline to entertain the information for
+a moment.
+
+McCOMAS.  And pray why?
+
+PHILIP.  Because I have seen the gentleman; and he is entirely unfit
+to be my father, or Dolly's father, or Gloria's father, or my mother's
+husband.
+
+McCOMAS.  Oh, indeed!  Well, sir, let me tell you that whether you
+like it or not, he is your father, and your sister' father, and Mrs.
+Clandon's husband.  Now!  What have you to say to that!
+
+DOLLY (whimpering).  You needn't be so cross.  Crampton isn't your
+father.
+
+PHILIP.  Mr. McComas: your conduct is heartless.  Here you find a
+family enjoying the unspeakable peace and freedom of being orphans.  We
+have never seen the face of a relative---never known a claim except the
+claim of freely chosen friendship.  And now you wish to thrust into the
+most intimate relationship with us a man whom we don't know---
+
+DOLLY (vehemently).  An awful old man!  (reproachfully)  And you
+began as if you had quite a nice father for us.
+
+McCOMAS (angrily).  How do you know that he is not nice?  And what
+right have you to choose your own father?  (raising his voice.)  Let me
+tell you, Miss Clandon, that you are too young to---
+
+DOLLY (interrupting him suddenly and eagerly).  Stop, I forgot!  Has
+he any money?
+
+McCOMAS.  He has a great deal of money.
+
+DOLLY (delighted).  Oh, what did I always say, Phil?
+
+PHILIP.  Dolly: we have perhaps been condemning the old man too
+hastily.  Proceed, Mr. McComas.
+
+McCOMAS.  I shall not proceed, sir.  I am too hurt, too shocked, to
+proceed.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (urgently).  Finch: do you realize what is happening?
+Do you understand that my children have invited that man to lunch, and
+that he will be here in a few moments?
+
+McCOMAS (completely upset).  What!  do you mean---am I to understand-
+--is it---
+
+PHILIP (impressively).  Steady, Finch.  Think it out slowly and
+carefully.  He's coming---coming to lunch.
+
+GLORIA.  Which of us is to tell him the truth?  Have you thought of
+that?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Finch: you must tell him.
+
+DOLLY  Oh, Finch is no good at telling things.  Look at the mess he
+has made of telling us.
+
+McCOMAS.  I have not been allowed to speak.  I protest against this.
+
+DOLLY (taking his arm coaxingly).  Dear Finch: don't be cross.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Gloria: let us go in.  He may arrive at any moment.
+
+GLORIA (proudly).  Do not stir, mother.  I shall not stir.  We must
+not run away.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (delicately rebuking her).  My dear: we cannot sit down
+to lunch just as we are.  We shall come back again.  We must have no
+bravado.  (Gloria winces, and goes into the hotel without a word.)
+Come, Dolly.  (As she goes into the hotel door, the waiter comes out
+with plates, etc., for two additional covers on a tray.)
+
+WAITER.  Gentlemen come yet, ma'am?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Two more to come yet, thank you.  They will be here,
+immediately.  (She goes into the hotel.  The waiter takes his tray
+to the service table.)
+
+PHILIP.  I have an idea.  Mr. McComas: this communication should be
+made, should it not, by a man of infinite tact?
+
+McCOMAS.  It will require tact, certainly.
+
+PHILIP  Good!  Dolly: whose tact were you noticing only this morning?
+
+DOLLY (seizing the idea with rapture).  Oh, yes, I declare!  William!
+
+PHILIP.  The very man!  (Calling)  William!
+
+WAITER.  Coming, sir.
+
+McCOMAS (horrified).  The waiter!   Stop, stop!  I will not permit
+this.  I---
+
+WAITER (presenting himself between Philip and McComas).  Yes, sir.
+(McComas's complexion fades into stone grey; and all movement and
+expression desert his eyes.  He sits down stupefied.)
+
+PHILIP.  William: you remember my request to you to regard me as your
+son?
+
+WAITER (with respectful indulgence).  Yes, sir.  Anything you please,
+sir.
+
+PHILIP.  William: at the very outset of your career as my father, a
+rival has appeared on the scene.
+
+WAITER.  Your real father, sir?  Well, that was to be expected,
+sooner or later, sir, wasn't it?  (Turning with a happy smile to
+McComas.)  Is it you, sir?
+
+McCOMAS (renerved by indignation).  Certainly not.  My children know
+how to behave themselves.
+
+PHILIP.  No, William: this gentleman was very nearly my father: he
+wooed my mother, but wooed her in vain.
+
+McCOMAS (outraged).  Well, of all the---
+
+PHILIP.  Sh!  Consequently, he is only our solicitor.  Do you know
+one Crampton, of this town?
+
+WAITER.  Cock-eyed Crampton, sir, of the Crooked Billet, is it?
+
+PHILIP.  I don't know.  Finch: does he keep a public house?
+
+McCOMAS (rising scandalized).  No, no, no.  Your father, sir, is a
+well-known yacht builder, an eminent man here.
+
+WAITER (impressed).  Oh, beg pardon, sir, I'm sure.  A son of Mr.
+Crampton's!  Dear me!
+
+PHILIP.  Mr. Crampton is coming to lunch with us.
+
+WAITER (puzzled).  Yes, sir.  (Diplomatically.)  Don't usually lunch
+with his family, perhaps, sir?
+
+PHILIP (impressively).  William: he does not know that we are his
+family.  He has not seen us for eighteen years.  He won't know us.  (To
+emphasize the communication he seats himself on the iron table with a
+spring, and looks at the waiter with his lips compressed and his legs
+swinging.)
+
+DOLLY.  We want you to break the news to him, William.
+
+WAITER.  But I should think he'd guess when he sees your mother,
+miss.  (Philip's legs become motionless at this elucidation.  He
+contemplates the waiter raptly.)
+
+DOLLY (dazzled).  I never thought of that.
+
+PHILIP.  Nor I.  (Coming off the table and turning reproachfully on
+McComas.)  Nor you.
+
+DOLLY.  And you a solicitor!
+
+PHILIP.  Finch: Your professional incompetence is appalling.
+William: your sagacity puts us all to shame.
+
+DOLLY  You really are like Shakespear, William.
+
+WAITER.  Not at all, sir.  Don't mention it, miss.  Most happy, I'm
+sure, sir.  (Goes back modestly to the luncheon table and lays the two
+additional covers, one at the end next the steps, and the other so as to
+make a third on the side furthest from the balustrade.)
+
+PHILIP (abruptly).  Finch: come and wash your hands.  (Seizes his arm
+and leads him toward the hotel.)
+
+McCOMAS.  I am thoroughly vexed and hurt, Mr. Clandon---
+
+PHILIP (interrupting him).  You will get used to us.  Come, Dolly.
+(McComas shakes him off and marches into the hotel.  Philip follows with
+unruffled composure.)
+
+DOLLY (turning for a moment on the steps as she follows them).  Keep
+your wits about you, William.  There will be fire-works.
+
+WAITER.  Right, miss.  You may depend on me, miss.  (She goes into
+the hotel.)
+
+(Valentine comes lightly up the steps from the beach, followed
+doggedly by Crampton.  Valentine carries a walking stick.  Crampton,
+either because he is old and chilly, or with some idea of extenuating
+the unfashionableness of his reefer jacket, wears a light overcoat.  He
+stops at the chair left by McComas in the middle of the terrace, and
+steadies himself for a moment by placing his hand on the back of it.)
+
+CRAMPTON.  Those steps make me giddy.  (He passes his hand over his
+forehead.)  I have not got over that infernal gas yet.
+
+(He goes to the iron chair, so that he can lean his elbows on the
+little table to prop his head as he sits.  He soon recovers, and begins
+to unbutton his overcoat.  Meanwhile Valentine interviews the waiter.)
+
+VALENTINE.  Waiter!
+
+WAITER (coming forward between them).  Yes, sir.
+
+VALENTINE.  Mrs. Lanfrey Clandon.
+
+WAITER (with a sweet smile of welcome).  Yes, sir.  We're expecting
+you, sir.  That is your table, sir.  Mrs. Clandon will be down
+presently, sir.  The young lady and young gentleman were just talking
+about your friend, sir.
+
+VALENTINE.  Indeed!
+
+WAITER (smoothly melodious).   Yes, sire.  Great flow of spirits,
+sir.  A vein of pleasantry, as you might say, sir.  (Quickly, to
+Crampton, who has risen to get the overcoat off.)  Beg pardon, sir, but
+if you'll allow me (helping him to get the overcoat off and taking it
+from him).  Thank you, sir.  (Crampton sits down again; and the waiter
+resumes the broken melody.)  The young gentleman's latest is that you're
+his father, sir.
+
+CRAMPTON.  What!
+
+WAITER.  Only his joke, sir, his favourite joke.  Yesterday, I was to
+be his father.  To-day, as soon as he knew you were coming, sir, he
+tried to put it up on me that you were his father, his long lost father-
+--not seen you for eighteen years, he said.
+
+CRAMPTON (startled).  Eighteen years!
+
+WAITER.  Yes, sir.  (With gentle archness.)  But I was up to his
+tricks, sir.  I saw the idea coming into his head as he stood there,
+thinking what new joke he'd have with me.  Yes, sir: that's the sort he
+is: very pleasant, ve--ry off hand and affable indeed, sir.  (Again
+changing his tempo to say to Valentine, who is putting his stick down
+against the corner of the garden seat)  If you'll allow me, sir?
+(Taking Valentine's stick.)  Thank you, sir.  (Valentine strolls up to
+the luncheon table and looks at the menu.  The waiter turns to Crampton
+and resumes his lay.)  Even the solicitor took up the joke, although he
+was in a manner of speaking in my confidence about the young gentleman,
+sir.  Yes, sir, I assure you, sir.  You would never imagine what
+respectable professional gentlemen from London will do on an outing,
+when the sea air takes them, sir.
+
+CRAMPTON.  Oh, there's a solicitor with them, is there?
+
+WAITER.  The family solicitor, sir---yes, sir.  Name of McComas, sir.
+(He goes towards hotel entrance with coat and stick, happily unconscious
+of the bomblike effect the name has produced on Crampton.)
+
+CRAMPTON (rising in angry alarm).  McComas!  (Calls to Valentine.)
+Valentine!  (Again, fiercely.)  Valentine!!  (Valentine turns.)  This is
+a plant, a conspiracy.  This is my family---my children--my infernal
+wife.
+
+VALENTINE (coolly).  On, indeed!  Interesting meeting!  (He resumes
+his study of the menu.)
+
+CRAMPTON.  Meeting!  Not for me.  Let me out of this.  (Calling to
+the waiter.)  Give me that coat.
+
+WAITER.  Yes, sir.  (He comes back, puts Valentine's stick carefully
+down against the luncheon table; and delicately shakes the coat out and
+holds it for Crampton to put on.)  I seem to have done the young
+gentleman an injustice, sir, haven't I, sir.
+
+CRAMPTON.  Rrrh!  (He stops on the point of putting his arms into the
+sleeves, and turns to Valentine with sudden suspicion.)  Valentine: you
+are in this.  You made this plot.  You---
+
+VALENTINE (decisively).  Bosh!  (He throws the menu down and goes
+round the table to look out unconcernedly over the parapet.)
+
+CRAMPTON (angrily).  What d'ye--- (McComas, followed by Philip and
+Dolly, comes out.  He vacillates for a moment on seeing Crampton.)
+
+WAITER (softly--interrupting Crampton).  Steady, sir.  Here they
+come, sir.  (He takes up the stick and makes for the hotel, throwing the
+coat across his arm.  McComas turns the corners of his mouth resolutely
+down and crosses to Crampton, who draws back and glares, with his hands
+behind him.  McComas, with his brow opener than ever, confronts him in
+the majesty of a spotless conscience.)
+
+WAITER (aside, as he passes Philip on his way out).  I've broke it to
+him, sir.
+
+PHILIP.  Invaluable William!  (He passes on to the table.)
+
+DOLLY (aside to the waiter).  How did he take it?
+
+WAITER (aside to her).  Startled at first, miss; but resigned---very
+resigned, indeed, miss.  (He takes the stick and coat into the hotel.)
+
+McCOMAS (having stared Crampton out of countenance).  So here you
+are, Mr. Crampton.
+
+CRAMPTON.  Yes, here--caught in a trap--a mean trap.  Are those my
+children?
+
+PHILIP (with deadly politeness).  Is this our father, Mr. McComas?
+
+McCOMAS.  Yes--er---  (He loses countenance himself and stops.)
+
+DOLLY (conventionally).  Pleased to meet you again.  (She wanders
+idly round the table, exchanging a smile and a word of greeting with
+Valentine on the way.)
+
+PHILIP.  Allow me to discharge my first duty as host by ordering your
+wine.  (He takes the wine list from the table.  His polite attention,
+and Dolly's unconcerned indifference, leave Crampton on the footing of
+the casual acquaintance picked up that morning at the dentist's.  The
+consciousness of it goes through the father with so keen a pang that he
+trembles all over; his brow becomes wet; and he stares dumbly at his
+son, who, just conscious enough of his own callousness to intensely
+enjoy the humor and adroitness of it, proceeds pleasantly.)  Finch: some
+crusted old port for you, as a respectable family solicitor, eh?
+
+McCOMAS (firmly).  Apollinaris only.  I prefer to take nothing
+heating.  (He walks away to the side of the terrace, like a man putting
+temptation behind him.)
+
+PHILIP.  Valentine---?
+
+VALENTINE.  Would Lager be considered vulgar?
+
+PHILIP.  Probably.  We'll order some.  Dolly takes it.  (Turning to
+Crampton with cheerful politeness.)  And now, Mr. Crampton, what can we
+do for you?
+
+CRAMPTON.  What d'ye mean, boy?
+
+PHILIP.  Boy!  (Very solemnly.)  Whose fault is it that I am a boy?
+
+(Crampton snatches the wine list rudely from him and irresolutely
+pretends to read it.  Philip abandons it to him with perfect
+politeness.)
+
+DOLLY (looking over Crampton's right shoulder).  The whisky's on the
+last page but one.
+
+CRAMPTON.  Let me alone, child.
+
+DOLLY.  Child!  No, no: you may call me Dolly if you like; but you
+mustn't call me child.  (She slips her arm through Philip's; and the two
+stand looking at Crampton as if he were some eccentric stranger.)
+
+CRAMPTON (mopping his brow in rage and agony, and yet relieved even
+by their playing with him).  McComas: we are--ha!--going to have a
+pleasant meal.
+
+McCOMAS (pusillanimously).  There is no reason why it should not be
+pleasant.  (He looks abjectly gloomy.)
+
+PHILIP.  Finch's face is a feast in itself.  (Mrs. Clandon and Gloria
+come from the hotel.  Mrs. Clandon advances with courageous self-
+possession and marked dignity of manner.  She stops at the foot of the
+steps to address Valentine, who is in her path.  Gloria also stops,
+looking at Crampton with a certain repulsion.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Glad to see you again, Mr. Valentine.  (He smiles.
+She passes on and confronts Crampton, intending to address him with
+perfect composure; but his aspect shakes her.  She stops suddenly and
+says anxiously, with a touch of remorse.)  Fergus: you are greatly
+changed.
+
+CRAMPTON (grimly).  I daresay.  A man does change in eighteen years.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (troubled).  I--I did not mean that.  I hope your health
+is good.
+
+CRAMPTON.  Thank you.  No: it's not my health.  It's my happiness:
+that's the change you meant, I think.  (Breaking out suddenly.)  Look at
+her, McComas!  Look at her; and look at me!  (He utters a half laugh,
+half sob.)
+
+PHILIP.  Sh!  (Pointing to the hotel entrance, where the waiter has
+just appeared.)  Order before William!
+
+DOLLY (touching Crampton's arm warningly with her finger).
+Ahem!  (The waiter goes to the service table and beckons to the kitchen
+entrance, whence issue a young waiter with soup plates, and a cook, in
+white apron and cap, with the soup tureen.  The young waiter remains and
+serves: the cook goes out, and reappears from time to time bringing in
+the courses.  He carves, but does not serve.  The waiter comes to the
+end of the luncheon table next the steps.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (as they all assemble about the table).  I think you
+have all met one another already to-day.  Oh, no, excuse me.
+(Introducing)  Mr. Valentine: Mr. McComas.  (She goes to the end of the
+table nearest the hotel.)  Fergus: will you take the head of the table,
+please.
+
+CRAMPTON.  Ha!  (Bitterly.)  The head of the table!
+
+WAITER (holding the chair for him with inoffensive encouragement).
+This end, sir.  (Crampton submits, and takes his seat.)  Thank you, sir.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Mr. Valentine: will you take that side (indicating the
+side nearest the parapet) with Gloria?  (Valentine and Gloria take their
+places, Gloria next Crampton and Valentine next Mrs. Clandon.)  Finch: I
+must put you on this side, between Dolly and Phil.  You must protect
+yourself as best you can.  (The three take the remaining side of the
+table, Dolly next her mother, Phil next his father, and McComas between
+them.  Soup is served.)
+
+WAITER (to Crampton).  Thick or clear, sir?
+
+CRAMPTON (to Mrs. Clandon).  Does nobody ask a blessing in this
+household?
+
+PHILIP (interposing smartly).  Let us first settle what we are about
+to receive.  William!
+
+WAITER.  Yes, sir.  (He glides swiftly round the table to Phil's left
+elbow.  On his way he whispers to the young waiter)  Thick.
+
+PHILIP.  Two small Lagers for the children as usual, William; and one
+large for this gentleman (indicating Valentine).  Large Apollinaris for
+Mr. McComas.
+
+WAITER.  Yes, sir.
+
+DOLLY.  Have a six of Irish in it, Finch?
+
+McCOMAS (scandalized).  No--no, thank you.
+
+PHILIP.  Number 413 for my mother and Miss Gloria as before; and--
+(turning enquiringly to Crampton)  Eh?
+
+CRAMPTON (scowling and about to reply offensively).  I---
+
+WAITER (striking in mellifluously).  All right, sir.  We know what
+Mr. Crampton likes here, sir.  (He goes into the hotel.)
+
+PHILIP (looking gravely at his father).  You frequent bars.  Bad
+habit!  (The cook, accompanied by a waiter with a supply of hot plates,
+brings in the fish from the kitchen to the service table, and begins
+slicing it.)
+
+CRAMPTON.  You have learnt your lesson from your mother, I see.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Phil: will you please remember that your jokes are apt
+to irritate people who are not accustomed to us, and that your father is
+our guest to-day.
+
+CRAMPTON (bitterly).  Yes, a guest at the head of my own table.  (The
+soup plates are removed.)
+
+DOLLY (sympathetically).  Yes: it's embarrassing, isn't it?  It's
+just as bad for us, you know.
+
+PHILIP.  Sh!  Dolly: we are both wanting in tact.  (To Crampton.)  We
+mean well, Mr. Crampton; but we are not yet strong in the filial line.
+(The waiter returns from the hotel with the drinks.)  William: come and
+restore good feeling.
+
+WAITER (cheerfully).  Yes, sir.  Certainly, sir.  Small Lager for
+you, sir.  (To Crampton.)  Seltzer and Irish, sir.  (To McComas.)
+Apollinaris, sir.  (To Dolly.)  Small Lager, miss.  (To Mrs. Clandon,
+pouring out wine.)  413, madam.  (To Valentine.)  Large Lager for you,
+sir.  (To Gloria.)  413, miss.
+
+DOLLY (drinking).  To the family!
+
+PHILIP. (drinking).  Hearth and Home!  (Fish is served.)
+
+McCOMAS (with an obviously forced attempt at cheerful domesticity).
+We are getting on very nicely after all.
+
+DOLLY (critically).  After all!  After all what, Finch?
+
+CRAMPTON (sarcastically).  He means that you are getting on very
+nicely in spite of the presence of your father.  Do I take your point
+rightly, Mr. McComas?
+
+McCOMAS (disconcerted).  No, no.  I only said "after all" to round
+off the sentence.  I---er---er---er----
+
+WAITER (tactfully).  Turbot, sir?
+
+McCOMAS (intensely grateful for the interruption).  Thank you,
+waiter: thank you.
+
+WAITER (sotto voce).  Don't mention it, sir.  (He returns to the
+service table.)
+
+CRAMPTON (to Phil).  Have you thought of choosing a profession yet?
+
+PHILIP.  I am keeping my mind open on that subject.  William!
+
+WAITER.  Yes, sir.
+
+PHILIP.  How long do you think it would take me to learn to be a
+really smart waiter?
+
+WAITER.  Can't be learnt, sir.  It's in the character, sir.
+(Confidentially to Valentine, who is looking about for something.)
+Bread for the lady, sir? yes, sir.  (He serves bread to Gloria, and
+resumes at his former pitch.)  Very few are born to it, sir.
+
+PHILIP.  You don't happen to have such a thing as a son, yourself,
+have you?
+
+WAITER.  Yes, sir: oh, yes, sir.  (To Gloria, again dropping his
+voice.)  A little more fish, miss? you won't care for the joint in the
+middle of the day.
+
+GLORIA.  No, thank you.  (The fish plates are removed.)
+
+DOLLY.  Is your son a waiter, too, William?
+
+WAITER (serving Gloria with fowl).  Oh, no, miss, he's too impetuous.
+He's at the Bar.
+
+McCOMAS (patronizingly).  A potman, eh?
+
+WAITER (with a touch of melancholy, as if recalling a disappointment
+softened by time).  No, sir: the other bar---your profession, sir.  A
+Q.C., sir.
+
+McCOMAS (embarrassed).  I'm sure I beg your pardon.
+
+WAITER.  Not at all, sir.  Very natural mistake, I'm sure, sir.  I've
+often wished he was a potman, sir.  Would have been off my hands ever so
+much sooner, sir.  (Aside to Valentine, who is again in difficulties.)
+Salt at your elbow, sir.  (Resuming.)  Yes, sir: had to support him
+until he was thirty-seven, sir.  But doing well now, sir: very
+satisfactory indeed, sir.  Nothing less than fifty guineas, sir.
+
+McCOMAS.  Democracy, Crampton!---modern democracy!
+
+WAITER (calmly).  No, sir, not democracy: only education, sir.
+Scholarships, sir.  Cambridge Local, sir.  Sidney Sussex College, sir.
+(Dolly plucks his sleeve and whispers as he bends down.)  Stone ginger,
+miss?  Right, miss.  (To McComas.)  Very good thing for him, sir: he
+never had any turn for real work, sir.  (He goes into the hotel, leaving
+the company somewhat overwhelmed by his son's eminence.)
+
+VALENTINE.  Which of us dare give that man an order again!
+
+DOLLY.  I hope he won't mind my sending him for ginger-beer.
+
+CRAMPTON (doggedly).  While he's a waiter it's his business to wait.
+If you had treated him as a waiter ought to be treated, he'd have held
+his tongue.
+
+DOLLY.  What a loss that would have been!  Perhaps he'll give us an
+introduction to his son and get us into London society.  (The waiter
+reappears with the ginger-beer.)
+
+CRAMPTON (growling contemptuously).  London society!  London
+society!!  You're not fit for any society, child.
+
+DOLLY (losing her temper).  Now look here, Mr. Crampton.  If you
+think---
+
+WAITER (softly, at her elbow).  Stone ginger, miss.
+
+DOLLY (taken aback, recovers her good humor after a long breath and
+says sweetly).  Thank you, dear William.  You were just in time.  (She
+drinks.)
+
+McCOMAS (making a fresh effort to lead the conversation into
+dispassionate regions).  If I may be allowed to change the subject, Miss
+Clandon, what is the established religion in Madeira?
+
+GLORIA.  I suppose the Portuguese religion.  I never inquired.
+
+DOLLY.  The servants come in Lent and kneel down before you and
+confess all the things they've done: and you have to pretend to forgive
+them. Do they do that in England, William?
+
+WAITER.  Not usually, miss.  They may in some parts: but it has not
+come under my notice, miss.  (Catching Mrs. Clandon's eye as the young
+waiter offers her the salad bowl.)  You like it without dressing, ma'am:
+yes, ma'am, I have some for you.  (To his young colleague, motioning him
+to serve Gloria.)  This side, Jo.  (He takes a special portion of salad
+from the service table and puts it beside Mrs. Clandon's plate.  In
+doing so he observes that Dolly is making a wry face.)  Only a bit of
+watercress, miss, got in by mistake.  (He takes her salad away.)  Thank
+you, miss.   (To the young waiter, admonishing him to serve Dolly
+afresh.)  Jo.  (Resuming.)  Mostly members of the Church of England,
+miss.
+
+DOLLY.  Members of the Church of England!  What's the subscription?
+
+CRAMPTON (rising violently amid general consternation).  You see how
+my children have been brought up, McComas.  You see it; you hear it.  I
+call all of you to witness---  (He becomes inarticulate, and is about to
+strike his fist recklessly on the table when the waiter considerately
+takes away his plate.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (firmly).  Sit down, Fergus.  There is no occasion at
+all for this outburst.  You must remember that Dolly is just like a
+foreigner here.  Pray sit down.
+
+CRAMPTON (subsiding unwillingly).  I doubt whether I ought to sit
+here and countenance all this.  I doubt it.
+
+WAITER.  Cheese, sir; or would you like a cold sweet?
+
+CRAMPTON (take aback).  What?  Oh!---cheese, cheese.
+
+DOLLY.  Bring a box of cigarets, William.
+
+WAITER.  All ready, miss.  (He takes a box of cigarets from the
+service table and places them before Dolly, who selects one and prepares
+to smoke.  He then returns to his table for a box of vestas.)
+
+CRAMPTON (staring aghast at Dolly).  Does she smoke?
+
+DOLLY (out of patience).  Really, Mr. Crampton, I'm afraid I'm
+spoiling your lunch.  I'll go and have my cigaret on the beach.  (She
+leaves the table with petulant suddenness and goes down the steps.  The
+waiter attempts to give her the matches; but she is gone before he can
+reach her.)
+
+CRAMPTON (furiously).  Margaret: call that girl back.  Call her back,
+I say.
+
+McCOMAS (trying to make peace).  Come, Crampton: never mind.  She's
+her father's daughter: that's all.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (with deep resentment).  I hope not, Finch.  (She rises:
+they all rise a little.)  Mr. Valentine: will you excuse me: I am afraid
+Dolly is hurt and put out by what has passed.  I must go to her.
+
+CRAMPTON.  To take her part against me, you mean.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (ignoring him).  Gloria: will you take my place whilst I
+am away, dear.  (She crosses to the steps.  Crampton's eyes follow her
+with bitter hatred.  The rest watch her in embarrassed silence, feeling
+the incident to be a very painful one.)
+
+WAITER (intercepting her at the top of the steps and offering her a
+box of vestas).  Young lady forgot the matches, ma'am.  If you would be
+so good, ma'am.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (surprised into grateful politeness by the witchery of
+his sweet and cheerful tones).  Thank you very much.  (She takes the
+matches and goes down to the beach.  The waiter shepherds his assistant
+along with him into the hotel by the kitchen entrance, leaving the
+luncheon party to themselves.)
+
+CRAMPTON (throwing himself back in his chair).  There's a mother for
+you, McComas!  There's a mother for you!
+
+GLORIA (steadfastly).  Yes: a good mother.
+
+CRAMPTON.  And a bad father?  That's what you mean, eh?
+
+VALENTINE (rising indignantly and addressing Gloria).  Miss Clandon:
+I---
+
+CRAMPTON (turning on him).  That girl's name is Crampton, Mr.
+Valentine, not Clandon.  Do you wish to join them in insulting me?
+
+VALENTINE (ignoring him).  I'm overwhelmed, Miss Clandon.  It's all
+my fault: I brought him here: I'm responsible for him.  And I'm ashamed
+of him.
+
+CRAMPTON.  What d'y' mean?
+
+GLORIA (rising coldly).  No harm has been done, Mr. Valentine.  We
+have all been a little childish, I am afraid.  Our party has been a
+failure: let us break it up and have done with it.  (She puts her chair
+aside and turns to the steps, adding, with slighting composure, as she
+passes Crampton.)  Good-bye, father.
+
+(She descends the steps with cold, disgusted indifference.  They all
+look after her, and so do not notice the return of the waiter from the
+hotel, laden with Crampton's coat, Valentine's stick, a couple of shawls
+and parasols, a white canvas umbrella, and some camp stools.)
+
+CRAMPTON (to himself, staring after Gloria with a ghastly
+expression).  Father!  Father!!  (He strikes his fist violently on the
+table.)  Now---
+
+WAITER (offering the coat).  This is yours, sir, I think, sir.
+(Crampton glares at him; then snatches it rudely and comes down the
+terrace towards the garden seat, struggling with the coat in his angry
+efforts to put it on.  McComas rises and goes to his assistance; then
+takes his hat and umbrella from the little iron table, and turns towards
+the steps.  Meanwhile the waiter, after thanking Crampton with unruffled
+sweetness for taking the coat, offers some of his burden to Phil.)  The
+ladies' sunshades, sir.  Nasty glare off the sea to-day, sir: very
+trying to the complexion, sir.  I shall carry down the camp stools
+myself, sir.
+
+PHILIP.  You are old, Father William; but you are the most
+considerate of men.  No: keep the sunshades and give me the camp stools
+(taking them).
+
+WAITER (with flattering gratitude).  Thank you, sir.
+
+PHILIP.  Finch: share with me (giving him a couple).  Come along.
+(They go down the steps together.)
+
+VALENTINE (to the waiter).  Leave me something to bring down--one of
+these.  (Offering to take a sunshade.)
+
+WAITER (discreetly).  That's the younger lady's, sir.  (Valentine
+lets it go.)  Thank you, sir.  If you'll allow me, sir, I think you had
+better have this.  (He puts down the sunshades on Crampton's chair, and
+produces from the tail pocket of his dress coat, a book with a lady's
+handkerchief between the leaves, marking the page.)  The eldest young
+lady is reading it at present.  (Valentine takes it eagerly.)  Thank
+you, sir.  Schopenhauer, sir, you see.  (He takes up the sunshades
+again.)  Very interesting author, sir: especially on the subject of
+ladies, sir.  (He goes down the steps.  Valentine, about to follow him,
+recollects Crampton and changes his mind.)
+
+VALENTINE (coming rather excitedly to Crampton).  Now look here,
+Crampton: are you at all ashamed of yourself?
+
+CRAMPTON (pugnaciously).  Ashamed of myself!  What for?
+
+VALENTINE.  For behaving like a bear.  What will your daughter think
+of me for having brought you here?
+
+CRAMPTON.  I was not thinking of what my daughter was thinking of
+you.
+
+VALENTINE.  No, you were thinking of yourself.  You're a perfect
+maniac.
+
+CRAMPTON (heartrent).  She told you what I am---a father---a father
+robbed of his children.  What are the hearts of this generation like?
+Am I to come here after all these years---to see what my children are
+for the first time!  to hear their voices!---and carry it all off like a
+fashionable visitor; drop in to lunch; be Mr. Crampton---M i s t e r
+Crampton!  What right have they to talk to me like that?  I'm their
+father: do they deny that?  I'm a man, with the feelings of our common
+humanity: have I no rights, no claims?  In all these years who have I
+had round me?  Servants, clerks, business acquaintances.  I've had
+respect from them---aye, kindness.  Would one of them have spoken to me
+as that girl spoke?---would one of them have laughed at me as that boy
+was laughing at me all the time?  (Frantically.)  My own children!
+M i s t e r  Crampton!  My---
+
+VALENTINE.  Come, come: they're only children.  The only one of them
+that's worth anything called you father.
+
+CRAMPTON (wildly).  Yes: "good-bye, father."  Oh, yes: she got at my
+feelings---with a stab!
+
+VALENTINE (taking this in very bad part).  Now look here, Crampton:
+you just let her alone: she's treated you very well.  I had a much worse
+time of it at lunch than you.
+
+CRAMPTON.  You!
+
+VALENTINE (with growing impetuosity).  Yes: I.  I sat next to her;
+and I never said a single thing to her the whole time---couldn't think
+of a blessed word.  And not a word did she say to me.
+
+CRAMPTON.  Well?
+
+VALENTINE.  Well?  Well???  (Tackling him very seriously and talking
+faster and faster.)  Crampton: do you know what's been the matter with
+me to-day?  You don't suppose, do you, that I'm in the habit of playing
+such tricks on my patients as I played on you?
+
+CRAMPTON.  I hope not.
+
+VALENTINE.  The explanation is that I'm stark mad, or rather that
+I've never been in my real senses before.  I'm capable of anything: I've
+grown up at last: I'm a Man; and it's your daughter that's made a man of
+me.
+
+CRAMPTON (incredulously).  Are you in love with my daughter?
+
+VALENTINE (his words now coming in a perfect torrent).  Love!
+Nonsense: it's something far above and beyond that.  It's life, it's
+faith, it's strength, certainty, paradise---
+
+CRAMPTON (interrupting him with acrid contempt).  Rubbish, man!  What
+have you to keep a wife on?  You can't marry her.
+
+VALENTINE.  Who wants to marry her?  I'll kiss her hands; I'll kneel
+at her feet; I'll live for her; I'll die for her; and that'll be enough
+for me.  Look at her book!  See!  (He kisses the handkerchief.)  If you
+offered me all your money for this excuse for going down to the beach
+and speaking to her again, I'd only laugh at you.  (He rushes buoyantly
+off to the steps, where he bounces right into the arms of the waiter,
+who is coming up form the beach.  The two save themselves from falling
+by clutching one another tightly round the waist and whirling one
+another around.)
+
+WAITER (delicately).  Steady, sir, steady.
+
+VALENTINE (shocked at his own violence).  I beg your pardon.
+
+WAITER.  Not at all, sir, not at all.  Very natural, sir, I'm sure,
+sir, at your age.  The lady has sent me for her book, sir.  Might I take
+the liberty of asking you to let her have it at once, sir?
+
+VALENTINE.  With pleasure.  And if you will allow me to present you
+with a professional man's earnings for six weeks--- (offering him
+Dolly's crown piece.)
+
+WAITER (as if the sum were beyond his utmost expectations).  Thank
+you, sir: much obliged.  (Valentine dashes down the steps.)  Very high-
+spirited young gentleman, sir: very manly and straight set up.
+
+CRAMPTON (in grumbling disparagement).  And making his fortune in a
+hurry, no doubt.  I know what his six weeks' earnings come to.  (He
+crosses the terrace to the iron table, and sits down.)
+
+WAITER (philosophically).  Well, sir, you never can tell.  That's a
+principle in life with me, sir, if you'll excuse my having such a thing,
+sir.  (Delicately sinking the philosopher in the waiter for a moment.)
+Perhaps you haven't noticed that you hadn't touched that seltzer and
+Irish, sir, when the party broke up.  (He takes the tumbler from the
+luncheon table, and sets if before Crampton.)  Yes, sir, you never can
+tell.  There was my son, sir! who ever thought that he would rise to
+wear a silk gown, sir?  And yet to-day, sir, nothing less than fifty
+guineas, sir.  What a lesson, sir!
+
+CRAMPTON.  Well, I hope he is grateful to you, and recognizes what he
+owes you.
+
+WAITER.  We get on together very well, very well indeed, sir,
+considering the difference in our stations.  (With another of his
+irresistible transitions.)  A small lump of sugar, sir, will take the
+flatness out of the seltzer without noticeably sweetening the drink,
+sir.  Allow me, sir.  (He drops a lump of sugar into the tumbler.)  But
+as I say to him, where's the difference after all?  If I must put on a
+dress coat to show what I am, sir, he must put on a wig and gown to show
+what he is.  If my income is mostly tips, and there's a pretence that I
+don't get them, why, his income is mostly fees, sir; and I understand
+there's a pretence that he don't get them!  If he likes society, and his
+profession brings him into contact with all ranks, so does mine, too,
+sir.  If it's a little against a barrister to have a waiter for his
+father, sir, it's a little against a waiter to have a barrister for a
+son: many people consider it a great liberty, sir, I assure you, sir.
+Can I get you anything else, sir?
+
+CRAMPTON.  No, thank you.  (With bitter humility.)  I suppose that's
+no objection to my sitting here for a while: I can't disturb the party
+on the beach here.
+
+WAITER (with emotion).  Very kind of you, sir, to put it as if it was
+not a compliment and an honour to us, Mr. Crampton, very kind indeed.
+The more you are at home here, sir, the better for us.
+
+CRAMPTON (in poignant irony).  Home!
+
+WAITER (reflectively).  Well, yes, sir: that's a way of looking at
+it, too, sir.  I have always said that the great advantage of a hotel is
+that it's a refuge from home life, sir.
+
+CRAMPTON.  I missed that advantage to-day, I think.
+
+WAITER.  You did, sir, you did.  Dear me!  It's the unexpected that
+always happens, isn't it?  (Shaking his head.)  You never can tell, sir:
+you never can tell. (He goes into the hotel.)
+
+CRAMPTON (his eyes shining hardly as he props his drawn, miserable
+face on his hands).  Home!  Home!!  (He drops his arms on the table and
+bows his head on them, but presently hears someone approaching and
+hastily sits bolt upright.  It is Gloria, who has come up the steps
+alone, with her sunshade and her book in her hands.  He looks defiantly
+at her, with the brutal obstinacy of his mouth and the wistfulness of
+his eyes contradicting each other pathetically.  She comes to the corner
+of the garden seat and stands with her back to it, leaning against the
+end of it, and looking down at him as if wondering at his weakness: too
+curious about him to be cold, but supremely indifferent to their
+kinship.)  Well?
+
+GLORIA.  I want to speak with you for a moment.
+
+CRAMPTON (looking steadily at her).  Indeed?  That's surprising.  You
+meet your father after eighteen years; and you actually want to speak to
+him for a moment!  That's touching: isn't it?  (He rests his head on his
+hands, and looks down and away from her, in gloomy reflection.)
+
+GLORIA.  All that is what seems to me so nonsensical, so uncalled
+for.  What do you expect us to feel for you---to do for you?  What is it
+you want?  Why are you less civil to us than other people are?  You are
+evidently not very fond of us---why should you be?  But surely we can
+meet without quarrelling.
+
+CRAMPTON (a dreadful grey shade passing over his face).  Do you
+realize that I am your father?
+
+GLORIA.  Perfectly.
+
+CRAMPTON.  Do you know what is due to me as your father?
+
+GLORIA.  For instance----?
+
+CRAMPTON (rising as if to combat a monster).  For instance!  For
+instance!!  For instance, duty, affection, respect, obedience---
+
+GLORIA (quitting her careless leaning attitude and confronting him
+promptly and proudly).  I obey nothing but my sense of what is right.  I
+respect nothing that is not noble.  That is my duty.  (She adds, less
+firmly)  As to affection, it is not within my control.  I am not sure
+that I quite know what affection means.  (She turns away with an evident
+distaste for that part of the subject, and goes to the luncheon table
+for a comfortable chair, putting down her book and sunshade.)
+
+CRAMPTON (following her with his eyes).  Do you really mean what you
+are saying?
+
+GLORIA (turning on him quickly and severely).  Excuse me: that is an
+uncivil question.  I am speaking seriously to you; and I expect you to
+take me seriously.  (She takes one of the luncheon chairs; turns it away
+from the table; and sits down a little wearily, saying)  Can you not
+discuss this matter coolly and rationally?
+
+CRAMPTON.  Coolly and rationally!  No, I can't.  Do you understand
+that?  I can't.
+
+GLORIA (emphatically).  No.  That I  c a n n o t  understand.  I have
+no sympathy with---
+
+CRAMPTON (shrinking nervously).  Stop!  Don't say anything more yet;
+you don't know what you're doing.  Do you want to drive me mad?  (She
+frowns, finding such petulance intolerable.  He adds hastily)  No: I'm
+not angry: indeed I'm not.  Wait, wait: give me a little time to think.
+(He stands for a moment, screwing and clinching his brows and hands in
+his perplexity; then takes the end chair from the luncheon table and
+sits down beside her, saying, with a touching effort to be gentle and
+patient)  Now, I think I have it.  At least I'll try.
+
+GLORIA (firmly).  You see!  Everything comes right if we only think
+it resolutely out.
+
+CRAMPTON (in sudden dread).  No: don't think.  I want you to feel:
+that's the only thing that can help us.  Listen!  Do you---but first---I
+forgot.  What's your name?  I mean you pet name.  They can't very well
+call you Sophronia.
+
+GLORIA (with astonished disgust).  Sophronia!  My name is Gloria.  I
+am always called by it.
+
+CRAMPTON (his temper rising again).  Your name is Sophronia, girl:
+you were called after your aunt Sophronia, my sister: she gave you your
+first Bible with your name written in it.
+
+GLORIA.  Then my mother gave me a new name.
+
+CRAMPTON (angrily).  She had no right to do it.  I will not allow
+this.
+
+GLORIA.  You had no right to give me your sister's name.  I don't
+know her.
+
+CRAMPTON.  You're talking nonsense.  There are bounds to what I will
+put up with.  I will not have it.  Do you hear that?
+
+GLORIA (rising warningly).  Are you resolved to quarrel?
+
+CRAMPTON (terrified, pleading).  No, no: sit down.  Sit down, won't
+you?  (She looks at him, keeping him in suspense.  He forces himself to
+utter the obnoxious name.)  Gloria.  (She marks her satisfaction with a
+slight tightening of the lips, and sits down.)  There!  You see I only
+want to shew you that I am your father, my---my dear child.  (The
+endearment is so plaintively inept that she smiles in spite of herself,
+and resigns herself to indulge him a little.)  Listen now.  What I want
+to ask you is this.  Don't you remember me at all? You were only a tiny
+child when you were taken away from me; but you took plenty of notice of
+things.  Can't you remember someone whom you loved, or (shyly) at least
+liked in a childish way?  Come! someone who let you stay in his study
+and look at his toy boats, as you thought them?  (He looks anxiously
+into her face for some response, and continues less hopefully and more
+urgently)  Someone who let you do as you liked there and never said a
+word to you except to tell you that you must sit still and not speak?
+Someone who was something that no one else was to you---who was your
+father.
+
+GLORIA (unmoved).  If you describe things to me, no doubt I shall
+presently imagine that I remember them.  But I really remember nothing.
+
+CRAMPTON (wistfully).  Has your mother never told you anything about
+me?
+
+GLORIA.  She has never mentioned your name to me.  (He groans
+involuntarily.  She looks at him rather contemptuously and continues)
+Except once; and then she did remind me of something I had forgotten.
+
+CRAMPTON (looking up hopefully).  What was that?
+
+GLORIA (mercilessly).  The whip you bought to beat me with.
+
+CRAMPTON (gnashing his teeth).  Oh!  To bring that up against me!  To
+turn from me!  When you need never have known.  (Under a grinding,
+agonized breath.)  Curse her!
+
+GLORIA (springing up).  You wretch!  (With intense emphasis.)  You
+wretch!!  You dare curse my mother!
+
+CRAMPTON.  Stop; or you'll be sorry afterwards.  I'm your father.
+
+GLORIA.  How I hate the name!  How I love the name of mother!  You
+had better go.
+
+CRAMPTON.  I---I'm choking.  You want to kill me.  Some---I--- (His
+voice stifles: he is almost in a fit.)
+
+GLORIA (going up to the balustrade with cool, quick resourcefulness,
+and calling over to the beach).  Mr. Valentine!
+
+VALENTINE (answering from below).  Yes.
+
+GLORIA.  Come here a moment, please.  Mr. Crampton wants you.  (She
+returns to the table and pours out a glass of water.)
+
+CRAMPTON (recovering his speech).  No: let me alone.  I don't want
+him.  I'm all right, I tell you.  I need neither his help nor yours.
+(He rises and pulls himself together.)  As you say, I had better go.
+(He puts on his hat.)  Is that your last word?
+
+GLORIA.  I hope so.  (He looks stubbornly at her for a moment; nods
+grimly, as if he agreed to that; and goes into the hotel.  She looks at
+him with equal steadiness until he disappears, when she makes a gesture
+of relief, and turns to speak to Valentine, who comes running up the
+steps.)
+
+VALENTINE (panting).  What's the matter?  (Looking round.)  Where's
+Crampton?
+
+GLORIA.  Gone.  (Valentine's face lights up with sudden joy, dread,
+and mischief.  He has just realized that he is alone with Gloria.  She
+continues indifferently)  I thought he was ill; but he recovered
+himself.  He wouldn't wait for you.  I am sorry.  (She goes for her book
+and parasol.)
+
+VALENTINE.  So much the better.  He gets on my nerves after a while.
+(Pretending to forget himself.)  How could that man have so beautiful a
+daughter!
+
+GLORIA (taken aback for a moment; then answering him with polite but
+intentional contempt).  That seems to be an attempt at what is called a
+pretty speech.  Let me say at once, Mr. Valentine, that pretty speeches
+make very sickly conversation.  Pray let us be friends, if we are to be
+friends, in a sensible and wholesome way.  I have no intention of
+getting married; and unless you are content to accept that state of
+things, we had much better not cultivate each other's acquaintance.
+
+VALENTINE (cautiously).  I see.  May I ask just this one question?
+Is your objection an objection to marriage as an institution, or merely
+an objection to marrying me personally?
+
+GLORIA.  I do not know you well enough, Mr. Valentine, to have any
+opinion on the subject of your personal merits.  (She turns away from
+him with infinite indifference, and sits down with her book on the
+garden seat.)  I do not think the conditions of marriage at present are
+such as any self-respecting woman can accept.
+
+VALENTINE (instantly changing his tone for one of cordial sincerity,
+as if he frankly accepted her terms and was delighted and reassured by
+her principles).  Oh, then that's a point of sympathy between us
+already.  I quite agree with you: the conditions are most unfair.  (He
+takes off his hat and throws it gaily on the iron table.)  No: what I
+want is to get rid of all that nonsense.  (He sits down beside her, so
+naturally that she does not think of objecting, and proceeds, with
+enthusiasm)  Don't you think it a horrible thing that a man and a woman
+can hardly know one another without being supposed to have designs of
+that kind?  As if there were no other interests---no other subjects of
+conversation---as if women were capable of nothing better!
+
+GLORIA (interested). Ah, now you are beginning to talk humanly and
+sensibly, Mr. Valentine.
+
+VALENTINE (with a gleam in his eye at the success of his hunter's
+guile).  Of course!---two intelligent people like us.  Isn't it
+pleasant, in this stupid, convention-ridden world, to meet with someone
+on the same plane---someone with an unprejudiced, enlightened mind?
+
+GLORIA (earnestly).  I hope to meet many such people in England.
+
+VALENTINE (dubiously).  Hm!  There are a good many people here---
+nearly forty millions.  They're not all consumptive members of the
+highly educated classes like the people in Madeira.
+
+GLORIA (now full of her subject).  Oh, everybody is stupid and
+prejudiced in Madeira---weak, sentimental creatures!  I hate weakness;
+and I hate sentiment.
+
+VALENTINE.  That's what makes you so inspiring.
+
+GLORIA (with a slight laugh).  Am I inspiring?
+
+VALENTINE  Yes.  Strength's infectious.
+
+GLORIA.  Weakness is, I know.
+
+VALENTINE (with conviction).  Y o u're strong.  Do you know that you
+changed the world for me this morning?  I was in the dumps, thinking of
+my unpaid rent, frightened about the future.  When you came in, I was
+dazzled.  (Her brow clouds a little.  He goes on quickly.)  That was
+silly, of course; but really and truly something happened to me.
+Explain it how you will, my blood got--- (he hesitates, trying to think
+of a sufficiently unimpassioned word) ---oxygenated: my muscles braced;
+my mind cleared; my courage rose.  That's odd, isn't it?  considering
+that I am not at all a sentimental man.
+
+GLORIA (uneasily, rising).  Let us go back to the beach.
+
+VALENTINE (darkly---looking up at her).  What!  you feel it, too?
+
+GLORIA.  Feel what?
+
+VALENTINE.  Dread.
+
+GLORIA.  Dread!
+
+VALENTINE.  As if something were going to happen.  It came over me
+suddenly just before you proposed that we should run away to the others.
+
+GLORIA (amazed).  That's strange---very strange!  I had the same
+presentiment.
+
+VALENTINE.  How extraordinary!  (Rising.)  Well: shall we run away?
+
+GLORIA.  Run away!  Oh, no: that would be childish.  (She sits down
+again.  He resumes his seat beside her, and watches her with a gravely
+sympathetic air.  She is thoughtful and a little troubled as she adds)
+I wonder what is the scientific explanation of those fancies that cross
+us occasionally!
+
+VALENTINE.  Ah, I wonder!  It's a curiously helpless sensation: isn't
+it?
+
+GLORIA (rebelling against the word).  Helpless?
+
+VALENTINE.  Yes.  As if Nature, after allowing us to belong to
+ourselves and do what we judged right and reasonable for all these
+years, were suddenly lifting her great hand to take us---her two little
+children---by the scruff's of our little necks, and use us, in spite of
+ourselves, for her own purposes, in her own way.
+
+GLORIA.  Isn't that rather fanciful?
+
+VALENTINE (with a new and startling transition to a tone of utter
+recklessness).  I don't know.  I don't care.  (Bursting out
+reproachfully.)  Oh, Miss Clandon, Miss Clandon: how could you?
+
+GLORIA.  What have I done?
+
+VALENTINE.  Thrown this enchantment on me.  I'm honestly trying to be
+sensible---scientific---everything that you wish me to be.  But---but---
+oh, don't you see what you have set to work in my imagination?
+
+GLORIA (with indignant, scornful sternness).  I hope you are not
+going to be so foolish---so vulgar---as to say love.
+
+VALENTINE (with ironical haste to disclaim such a weakness).  No, no,
+no.  Not love: we know better than that.  Let's call it chemistry.  You
+can't deny that there is such a thing as chemical action, chemical
+affinity, chemical combination---the most irresistible of all natural
+forces.  Well, you're attracting me irresistibly---chemically.
+
+GLORIA (contemptuously).  Nonsense!
+
+VALENTINE.  Of course it's nonsense, you stupid girl.  (Gloria
+recoils in outraged surprise.)  Yes, stupid girl:  t h a t's  a
+scientific fact, anyhow.  You're a prig---a feminine prig: that's what
+you are.  (Rising.)  Now I suppose you've done with me for ever.  (He
+goes to the iron table and takes up his hat.)
+
+GLORIA (with elaborate calm, sitting up like a High-school-mistress
+posing to be photographed).  That shows how very little you understand
+my real character.  I am not in the least offended.  (He pauses and puts
+his hat down again.)  I am always willing to be told of my own defects,
+Mr. Valentine, by my friends, even when they are as absurdly mistaken
+about me as you are.  I have many faults---very serious faults---of
+character and temper; but if there is one thing that I am not, it is
+what you call a prig.  (She closes her lips trimly and looks steadily
+and challengingly at him as she sits more collectedly than ever.)
+
+VALENTINE (returning to the end of the garden seat to confront her
+more emphatically).  Oh, yes, you are.  My reason tells me so: my
+knowledge tells me so: my experience tells me so.
+
+GLORIA.  Excuse my reminding you that your reason and your knowledge
+and your experience are not infallible.  At least I hope not.
+
+VALENTINE.  I must believe them.  Unless you wish me to believe my
+eyes, my heart, my instincts, my imagination, which are all telling me
+the most monstrous lies about you.
+
+GLORIA (the collectedness beginning to relax).  Lies!
+
+VALENTINE (obstinately).  Yes, lies.  (He sits down again beside
+her.)  Do you expect me to believe that you are the most beautiful woman
+in the world?
+
+GLORIA.  That is ridiculous, and rather personal.
+
+VALENTINE.  Of course it's ridiculous.  Well, that's what my eyes
+tell me.  (Gloria makes a movement of contemptuous protest.)  No: I'm
+not flattering.  I tell you I don't believe it.  (She is ashamed to find
+that this does not quite please her either.)  Do you think that if you
+were to turn away in disgust from my weakness, I should sit down here
+and cry like a child?
+
+GLORIA (beginning to find that she must speak shortly and pointedly
+to keep her voice steady).  Why should you, pray?
+
+VALENTINE (with a stir of feeling beginning to agitate his voice).
+Of course not: I'm not such an idiot.  And yet my heart tells me I
+should---my fool of a heart.  But I'll argue with my heart and bring it
+to reason.  If I loved you a thousand times, I'll force myself to look
+the truth steadily in the face.  After all, it's easy to be sensible:
+the facts are the facts.  What's this place? it's not heaven: it's the
+Marine Hotel.  What's the time? it's not eternity: it's about half past
+one in the afternoon.  What am I? a dentist---a five shilling dentist!
+
+GLORIA.  And I am a feminine prig.
+
+VALENTINE. (passionately).  No, no: I can't face that: I must have
+one illusion left---the illusion about you.  I love you.  (He turns
+towards her as if the impulse to touch her were ungovernable: she rises
+and stands on her guard wrathfully.  He springs up impatiently and
+retreats a step.)  Oh, what a fool I am!---an idiot!  You don't
+understand: I might as well talk to the stones on the beach.  (He turns
+away, discouraged.)
+
+GLORIA (reassured by his withdrawal, and a little remorseful).  I am
+sorry.  I do not mean to be unsympathetic, Mr. Valentine; but what can I
+say?
+
+VALENTINE (returning to her with all his recklessness of manner
+replaced by an engaging and chivalrous respect).  You can say nothing,
+Miss Clandon.  I beg your pardon: it was my own fault, or rather my own
+bad luck.  You see, it all depended on your naturally liking me.  (She
+is about to speak: he stops her deprecatingly.)  Oh, I know you mustn't
+tell me whether you like me or not; but---
+
+GLORIA (her principles up in arms at once).  Must not!  Why not?  I
+am a free woman: why should I not tell you?
+
+VALENTINE (pleading in terror, and retreating).  Don't.  I'm afraid
+to hear.
+
+GLORIA (no longer scornful).  You need not be afraid.  I think you
+are sentimental, and a little foolish; but I like you.
+
+VALENTINE (dropping into the iron chair as if crushed).  Then it's
+all over.  (He becomes the picture of despair.)
+
+GLORIA (puzzled, approaching him).  But why?
+
+VALENTINE.  Because liking is not enough.  Now that I think down into
+it seriously, I don't know whether I like you or not.
+
+GLORIA (looking down at him with wondering concern).  I'm sorry.
+
+VALENTINE (in an agony of restrained passion).  Oh, don't pity me.
+Your voice is tearing my heart to pieces.  Let me alone, Gloria.  You go
+down into the very depths of me, troubling and stirring me---I can't
+struggle with it---I can't tell you---
+
+GLORIA (breaking down suddenly).  Oh, stop telling me what you feel:
+I can't bear it.
+
+VALENTINE (springing up triumphantly, the agonized voice now solid,
+ringing, and jubilant).  Ah, it's come at last---my moment of courage.
+(He seizes her hands: she looks at him in terror.)  Our moment of
+courage!  (He draws her to him; kisses her with impetuous strength; and
+laughs boyishly.)  Now you've done it, Gloria.  It's all over: we're in
+love with one another.  (She can only gasp at him.)  But what a dragon
+you were!  And how hideously afraid I was!
+
+PHILIP'S VOICE (calling from the beach).  Valentine!
+
+DOLLY'S VOICE.  Mr. Valentine!
+
+VALENTINE.  Good-bye.  Forgive me.  (He rapidly kisses her hands, and
+runs away to the steps, where he meets Mrs. Clandon, ascending.  Gloria,
+quite lost, can only start after him.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  The children want you, Mr. Valentine.  (She looks
+anxiously around.)  Is he gone?
+
+VALENTINE (puzzled). He?  (Recollecting.)  Oh, Crampton.  Gone this
+long time, Mrs. Clandon.  (He runs off buoyantly down the steps.)
+
+GLORIA (sinking upon the seat). Mother!
+
+MRS. CLANDON (hurrying to her in alarm).  What is it, dear?
+
+GLORIA (with heartfelt, appealing reproach).  Why didn't you educate
+me properly?
+
+MRS. CLANDON (amazed).  My child: I did my best.
+
+GLORIA.  Oh, you taught me nothing---nothing.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  What is the matter with you?
+
+GLORIA (with the most intense expression).  Only shame---shame---
+shame.  (Blushing unendurably, she covers her face with her hands and
+turns away from her mother.)
+
+END OF ACT II.
+
+
+
+Act III
+
+
+The Clandon's sitting room in the hotel.  An expensive apartment on
+the ground floor, with a French window leading to the gardens.  In the
+centre of the room is a substantial table, surrounded by chairs, and
+draped with a maroon cloth on which opulently bound hotel and railway
+guides are displayed.  A visitor entering through the window and coming
+down to this central table would have the fireplace on his left, and a
+writing table against the wall on his right, next the door, which is
+further down.  He would, if his taste lay that way, admire the wall
+decoration of Lincrusta Walton in plum color and bronze lacquer, with
+dado and cornice; the ormolu consoles in the corners; the vases on
+pillar pedestals of veined marble with bases of polished black wood, one
+on each side of the window; the ornamental cabinet next the vase on the
+side nearest the fireplace, its centre compartment closed by an inlaid
+door, and its corners rounded off with curved panes of glass protecting
+shelves of cheap blue and white pottery; the bamboo tea table, with
+folding shelves, in the corresponding space on the other side of the
+window; the pictures of ocean steamers and Landseer's dogs; the
+saddlebag ottoman in line with the door but on the other side of the
+room; the two comfortable seats of the same pattern on the hearthrug;
+and finally, on turning round and looking up, the massive brass pole
+above the window, sustaining a pair of maroon rep curtains with
+decorated borders of staid green.  Altogether, a room well arranged to
+flatter the occupant's sense of importance, and reconcile him to a
+charge of a pound a day for its use.
+
+Mrs. Clandon sits at the writing table, correcting proofs.  Gloria is
+standing at the window, looking out in a tormented revery.
+
+The clock on the mantelpiece strikes five with a sickly clink, the
+bell being unable to bear up against the black marble cenotaph in which
+it is immured.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Five!  I don't think we need wait any longer for the
+children.  The are sure to get tea somewhere.
+
+GLORIA (wearily).  Shall I ring?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Do, my dear.  (Gloria goes to the hearth and rings.)
+I have finished these proofs at last, thank goodness!
+
+GLORIA (strolling listlessly across the room and coming behind her
+mother's chair).  What proofs?
+
+MRS. CLANDON  The new edition of Twentieth Century Women.
+
+GLORIA (with a bitter smile).  There's a chapter missing.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (beginning to hunt among her proofs).  Is there?  Surely
+not.
+
+GLORIA.  I mean an unwritten one.  Perhaps I shall write it for you--
+-when I know the end of it.  (She goes back to the window.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Gloria!  More enigmas!
+
+GLORIA.  Oh, no.  The same enigma.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (puzzled and rather troubled; after watching her for a
+moment).  My dear.
+
+GLORIA (returning).  Yes.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  You know I never ask questions.
+
+GLORIA (kneeling beside her chair).  I know, I know.  (She suddenly
+throws her arms about her mother and embraces her almost passionately.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON. (gently, smiling but embarrassed).  My dear: you are
+getting quite sentimental
+
+GLORIA (recoiling).  Ah, no, no.  Oh, don't say that.  Oh!  (She
+rises and turns away with a gesture as if tearing herself.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (mildly).  My dear: what is the matter?  What--- (The
+waiter enters with the tea tray.)
+
+WAITER (balmily).  This was what you rang for, ma'am, I hope?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Thank you, yes.  (She turns her chair away from the
+writing table, and sits down again.  Gloria crosses to the hearth and
+sits crouching there with her face averted.)
+
+WAITER (placing the tray temporarily on the centre table).  I thought
+so, ma'am.  Curious how the nerves seem to give out in the afternoon
+without a cup of tea.  (He fetches the tea table and places it in front
+of Mrs. Cladon, conversing meanwhile.)  the young lady and gentleman
+have just come back, ma'am: they have been out in a boat, ma'am.  Very
+pleasant on a fine afternoon like this---very pleasant and invigorating
+indeed.  (He takes the tray from the centre table and puts it on the tea
+table.)  Mr. McComas will not come to tea, ma'am: he has gone to call
+upon Mr. Crampton.  (He takes a couple of chairs and sets one at each
+end of the tea table.)
+
+GLORIA (looking round with an impulse of terror).  And the other
+gentleman?
+
+WAITER (reassuringly, as he unconsciously drops for a moment into the
+measure of "I've been roaming," which he sang as a boy.)  Oh, he's
+coming, miss, he's coming.  He has been rowing the boat, miss, and has
+just run down the road to the chemist's for something to put on the
+blisters.  But he will be here directly, miss---directly.  (Gloria, in
+ungovernable apprehension, rises and hurries towards the door.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON. (half rising).  Glo---  (Gloria goes out.  Mrs. Clandon
+looks perplexedly at the waiter, whose composure is unruffled.)
+
+WAITER (cheerfully).  Anything more, ma'am?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Nothing, thank you.
+
+WAITER.  Thank you, ma'am.  (As he withdraws, Phil and Dolly, in the
+highest spirits, come tearing in.  He holds the door open for them; then
+goes out and closes it.)
+
+DOLLY (ravenously).  Oh, give me some tea.  (Mrs. Clandon pours out a
+cup for her.)  We've been out in a boat.  Valentine will be here
+presently.
+
+PHILIP.  He is unaccustomed to navigation.  Where's Gloria?
+
+MRS. CLANDON (anxiously, as she pours out his tea).  Phil: there is
+something the matter with Gloria.  Has anything happened?  (Phil and
+Dolly look at one another and stifle a laugh.)  What is it?
+
+PHILIP (sitting down on her left).  Romeo---
+
+DOLLY (sitting down on her right).  ---and Juliet.
+
+PHILIP (taking his cup of tea from Mrs. Clandon).  Yes, my dear
+mother: the old, old story.  Dolly: don't take all the milk.
+(He deftly takes the jug from her.)  Yes: in the spring---
+
+DOLLY.  ---a young man's fancy---
+
+PHILIP. ---lightly turns to---thank you (to Mrs. Clandon, who has
+passed the biscuits) ---thoughts of love.  It also occurs in the autumn.
+The young man in this case is---
+
+DOLLY.  Valentine.
+
+PHILIP.  And his fancy has turned to Gloria to the extent of---
+
+DOLLY.   ---kissing her---
+
+PHILIP.  ---on the terrace---
+
+DOLLY (correcting him).  --on the lips, before everybody.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (incredulously).  Phil!  Dolly!  Are you joking?  (They
+shake their heads.)  Did she allow it?
+
+PHILIP.  We waited to see him struck to earth by the lightning of her
+scorn;---
+
+DOLLY.  ---but he wasn't.
+
+PHILIP.  She appeared to like it.
+
+DOLLY.  As far as we could judge.  (Stopping Phil, who is about to
+pour out another cup.)  No: you've sworn off two cups.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (much troubled).  Children: you must not be here when
+Mr. Valentine comes.  I must speak very seriously to him about this.
+
+PHILIP.  To ask him his intentions?  What a violation of Twentieth
+Century principles!
+
+DOLLY.  Quite right, mamma: bring him to book.  Make the most of the
+nineteenth century while it lasts.
+
+PHILIP.  Sh!  Here he is.  (Valentine comes in.)
+
+VALENTINE  Very sorry to be late for tea, Mrs. Clandon.  (She takes
+up the tea-pot.)  No, thank you: I never take any.  No doubt Miss Dolly
+and Phil have explained what happened to me.
+
+PHILIP (momentously rising).  Yes, Valentine: we have explained.
+
+DOLLY (significantly, also rising).  We have explained very
+thoroughly.
+
+PHILIP.  It was our duty.  (Very seriously.)  Come, Dolly.  (He
+offers Dolly his arm, which she takes.  They look sadly at him, and go
+out gravely, arm in arm.  Valentine stares after them, puzzled; then
+looks at Mrs. Clandon for an explanation.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (rising and leaving the tea table).  Will you sit down,
+Mr. Valentine.  I want to speak to you a little, if you will allow me.
+(Valentine sits down slowly on the ottoman, his conscience presaging a
+bad quarter of an hour.  Mrs. Clandon takes Phil's chair, and seats
+herself deliberately at a convenient distance from him.)  I must begin
+by throwing myself somewhat at your consideration.  I am going to speak
+of a subject of which I know very little---perhaps nothing.  I mean
+love.
+
+VALENTINE.  Love!
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Yes, love.  Oh, you need not look so alarmed as that,
+Mr. Valentine: I am not in love with you.
+
+VALENTINE (overwhelmed).  Oh, really, Mrs.--- (Recovering himself.)
+I should be only too proud if you were.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Thank you, Mr. Valentine.  But I am too old to begin.
+
+VALENTINE.  Begin!  Have you never---?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Never.  My case is a very common one, Mr. Valentine.
+I married before I was old enough to know what I was doing.  As you have
+seen for yourself, the result was a bitter disappointment for both my
+husband and myself.  So you see, though I am a married woman, I have
+never been in love; I have never had a love affair; and to be quite
+frank with you, Mr. Valentine, what I have seen of the love affairs of
+other people has not led me to regret that deficiency in my experience.
+(Valentine, looking very glum, glances sceptically at her, and says
+nothing.  Her color rises a little; and she adds, with restrained anger)
+You do not believe me?
+
+VALENTINE (confused at having his thought read).  Oh, why not?  Why
+not?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Let me tell you, Mr. Valentine, that a life devoted to
+the Cause of Humanity has enthusiasms and passions to offer which far
+transcend the selfish personal infatuations and sentimentalities of
+romance. Those are not your enthusiasms and passions, I take it?
+(Valentine, quite aware that she despises him for it, answers in the
+negative with a melancholy shake of the head.)  I thought not.  Well,
+I am equally at a disadvantage in discussing those so-called affairs
+of the heart in which you appear to be an expert.
+
+VALENTINE (restlessly).  What are you driving at, Mrs. Clandon?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  I think you know.
+
+VALENTINE.  Gloria?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Yes.  Gloria.
+
+VALENTINE (surrendering).  Well, yes: I'm in love with Gloria.
+(Interposing as she is about to speak.)  I know what you're going to
+say: I've no money.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  I care very little about money, Mr. Valentine.
+
+VALENTINE.  Then you're very different to all the other mothers who
+have interviewed me.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Ah, now we are coming to it, Mr. Valentine.  You are
+an old hand at this.  (He opens his mouth to protest: she cuts him short
+with some indignation.)  Oh, do you think, little as I understand these
+matters, that I have not common sense enough to know that a man who
+could make as much way in one interview with such a woman as my
+daughter, can hardly be a novice!
+
+VALENTINE. I assure you---
+
+MRS. CLANDON (stopping him).  I am not blaming you, Mr. Valentine.  It
+is Gloria's business to take care of herself; and you have a right to
+amuse yourself as you please.  But---
+
+VALENTINE (protesting).  Amuse myself!  Oh, Mrs. Clandon!
+
+MRS. CLANDON (relentlessly).  On your honor, Mr. Valentine, are you
+in earnest?
+
+VALENTINE (desperately).  On my honor I am in earnest.  (She looks
+searchingly at him.  His sense of humor gets the better of him; and he
+adds quaintly)  Only, I always have been in earnest; and yet---here I
+am, you see!
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  This is just what I suspected.  (Severely.)  Mr.
+Valentine: you are one of those men who play with women's affections.
+
+VALENTINE.  Well, why not, if the Cause of Humanity is the only thing
+worth being serious about?  However, I understand.  (Rising and taking
+his hat with formal politeness.)  You wish me to discontinue my visits.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  No: I am sensible enough to be well aware that
+Gloria's best chance of escape from you now is to become better
+acquainted with you.
+
+VALENTINE (unaffectedly alarmed).  Oh, don't say that, Mrs. Clandon.
+You don't think that, do you?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  I have great faith, Mr. Valentine, in the sound
+training Gloria's mind has had since she was a child.
+
+VALENTINE (amazingly relieved).  O-oh!  Oh, that's all right.  (He
+sits down again and throws his hat flippantly aside with the air of a
+man who has no longer anything to fear.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (indignant at his assurance).  What do you mean?
+
+VALENTINE (turning confidentially to her).  Come: shall I teach you
+something, Mrs. Clandon?
+
+MRS. CLANDON (stiffly).  I am always willing to learn.
+
+VALENTINE.  Have you ever studied the subject of gunnery---artillery-
+--cannons and war-ships and so on?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Has gunnery anything to do with Gloria?
+
+VALENTINE.  A great deal---by way of illustration.  During this whole
+century, my dear Mrs. Clandon, the progress of artillery has been a duel
+between the maker of cannons and the maker of armor plates to keep the
+cannon balls out.  You build a ship proof against the best gun known:
+somebody makes a better gun and sinks your ship.  You build a heavier
+ship, proof against that gun: somebody makes a heavier gun and sinks you
+again.  And so on.  Well, the duel of sex is just like that.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  The duel of sex!
+
+VALENTINE.  Yes: you've heard of the duel of sex, haven't you?  Oh, I
+forgot: you've been in Madeira: the expression has come up since your
+time.  Need I explain it?
+
+MRS. CLANDON (contemptuously).  No.
+
+VALENTINE.  Of course not.  Now what happens in the duel of sex?  The
+old fashioned mother received an old fashioned education to protect her
+against the wiles of man.  Well, you know the result: the old fashioned
+man got round her.  The old fashioned woman resolved to protect her
+daughter more effectually---to find some armor too strong for the old
+fashioned man.  So she gave her daughter a scientific education---your
+plan.  That was a corker for the old fashioned man: he said it wasn't
+fair---unwomanly and all the rest of it.  But that didn't do him any
+good.  So he had to give up his old fashioned plan of attack---you know-
+--going down on his knees and swearing to love, honor and obey, and so
+on.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Excuse me: that was what the woman swore.
+
+VALENTINE.  Was it?  Ah, perhaps you're right---yes: of course it
+was.  Well, what did the man do?  Just what the artillery man does---
+went one better than the woman---educated himself scientifically and
+beat her at that game just as he had beaten her at the old game.  I
+learnt how to circumvent the Women's Rights woman before I was twenty-
+three: it's all been found out long ago.  You see, my methods are
+thoroughly modern.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (with quiet disgust).  No doubt.
+
+VALENTINE.  But for that very reason there's one sort of girl against
+whom they are of no use.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Pray which sort?
+
+VALENTINE.  The thoroughly old fashioned girl.  If you had brought up
+Gloria in the old way, it would have taken me eighteen months to get to
+the point I got to this afternoon in eighteen minutes.  Yes, Mrs.
+Clandon: the Higher Education of Women delivered Gloria into my hands;
+and it was you who taught her to believe in the Higher Education of
+Women.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (rising).  Mr. Valentine: you are very clever.
+
+VALENTINE (rising also).  Oh, Mrs. Clandon!
+
+MRS. CLANDON  And you have taught me  n o t h i n g.  Good-bye.
+
+VALENTINE (horrified).  Good-bye!  Oh, mayn't I see her before I go?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  I am afraid she will not return until you have gone
+Mr. Valentine.  She left the room expressly to avoid you.
+
+VALENTINE (thoughtfully).  That's a good sign.  Good-bye.  (He bows
+and makes for the door, apparently well satisfied.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (alarmed).  Why do you think it a good sign?
+
+VALENTINE (turning near the door).  Because I am mortally afraid of
+her; and it looks as if she were mortally afraid of me.  (He turns to go
+and finds himself face to face with Gloria, who has just entered.  She
+looks steadfastly at him.  He stares helplessly at her; then round at
+Mrs. Clandon; then at Gloria again, completely at a loss.)
+
+GLORIA (white, and controlling herself with difficulty).  Mother: is
+what Dolly told me true?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  What did she tell you, dear?
+
+GLORIA.  That you have been speaking about me to this gentleman.
+
+VALENTINE (murmuring).  This gentleman!  Oh!
+
+MRS. CLANDON (sharply).  Mr. Valentine: can you hold your tongue for
+a moment?  (He looks piteously at them; then, with a despairing shrug,
+goes  back to the ottoman and throws his hat on it.)
+
+GLORIA (confronting her mother, with deep reproach).  Mother: what
+right had you to do it?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  I don't think I have said anything I have no right to
+say, Gloria.
+
+VALENTINE (confirming her officiously).  Nothing.  Nothing whatever.
+(Gloria looks at him with unspeakable indignation.)  I beg your pardon.
+(He sits down ignominiously on the ottoman.)
+
+GLORIA.  I cannot believe that any one has any right even to think
+about things that concern me only.  (She turns away from them to conceal
+a painful struggle with her emotion.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  My dear, if I have wounded your pride---
+
+GLORIA (turning on them for a moment).  My  p r i d e!  My pride!!
+Oh, it's gone: I have learnt now that I have no strength to be proud of.
+(Turning away again.)  But if a woman cannot protect herself, no one can
+protect her.  No one has any right to try---not even her mother.  I know
+I have lost your confidence, just as I have lost this man's respect;---
+(She stops to master a sob.)
+
+VALENTINE (under his breath).  This man!  (Murmuring again.)  Oh!
+
+MRS. CLANDON (in an undertone).  Pray be silent, sir.
+
+GLORIA (continuing).  ---but I have at least the right to be left
+alone in my disgrace.  I am one of those weak creatures born to be
+mastered by the first man whose eye is caught by them; and I must
+fulfill my destiny, I suppose.  At least spare me the humiliation of
+trying to save me.  (She sits down, with her handkerchief to her eyes,
+at the farther end of the table.)
+
+VALENTINE (jumping up).  Look here---
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Mr. Va---
+
+VALENTINE (recklessly).  No: I will speak: I've been silent for
+nearly thirty seconds.  (He goes up to Gloria.)  Miss Clandon---
+
+GLORIA (bitterly).  Oh, not Miss Clandon: you have found that it is
+quite safe to call me Gloria.
+
+VALENTINE.  No, I won't: you'll throw it in my teeth afterwards and
+accuse me of disrespect.  I say it's a heartbreaking falsehood that I
+don't respect you.  It's true that I didn't respect your old pride: why
+should I?  It was nothing but cowardice.  I didn't respect your
+intellect: I've a better one myself: it's a masculine specialty.  But
+when the depths stirred!---when my moment came!---when you made me
+brave!---ah, then, then, t h e n!
+
+GLORIA.  Then you respected me, I suppose.
+
+VALENTINE.  No, I didn't: I adored you.  (She rises quickly and turns
+her back on him.)  And you can never take that moment away from me.  So
+now I don't care what happens.  (He comes down the room addressing a
+cheerful explanation to nobody in particular.)  I'm perfectly aware that
+I'm talking nonsense.  I can't help it.  (To Mrs. Clandon.)  I love
+Gloria; and there's an end of it.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (emphatically).  Mr. Valentine: you are a most dangerous
+man.  Gloria: come here.  (Gloria, wondering a little at the command,
+obeys, and stands, with drooping head, on her mother's right hand,
+Valentine being on the opposite side.  Mrs. Clandon then begins, with
+intense scorn.)  Ask this man whom you have inspired and made brave, how
+many women have inspired him before (Gloria looks up suddenly with a
+flash of jealous anger and amazement); how many times he has laid the
+trap in which he has caught you; how often he has baited it with the
+same speeches; how much practice it has taken to make him perfect in his
+chosen part in life as the Duellist of Sex.
+
+VALENTINE.  This isn't fair.  You're abusing my confidence, Mrs.
+Clandon.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Ask him, Gloria.
+
+GLORIA (in a flush of rage, going over to him with her fists
+clenched).  Is that true?
+
+VALENTINE.  Don't be angry---
+
+GLORIA (interrupting him implacably).  Is it true?  Did you ever say
+that before?  Did you ever feel that before---for another woman?
+
+VALENTINE (bluntly).  Yes.  (Gloria raises her clenched hands.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (horrified, springing to her side and catching her
+uplifted arm).  Gloria!!  My dear!  You're forgetting yourself.
+(Gloria, with a deep expiration, slowly relaxes her threatening
+attitude.)
+
+VALENTINE.  Remember: a man's power of love and admiration is like
+any other of his powers: he has to throw it away many times before he
+learns what is really worthy of it.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Another of the old speeches, Gloria.  Take care.
+
+VALENTINE (remonstrating).  Oh!
+
+GLORIA (to Mrs. Clandon, with contemptuous self-possession).  Do you
+think I need to be warned now?  (To Valentine.)  You have tried to make
+me love you.
+
+VALENTINE.  I have.
+
+GLORIA.  Well, you have succeeded in making me hate you---
+passionately.
+
+VALENTINE (philosophically).  It's surprising how little difference
+there is between the two.  (Gloria turns indignantly away from him.  He
+continues, to Mrs. Clandon)  I know men whose wives love them; and they
+go on exactly like that.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Excuse me, Mr. Valentine; but had you not better go?
+
+GLORIA.  You need not send him away on my account, mother.  He is
+nothing to me now; and he will amuse Dolly and Phil.  (She sits down
+with slighting indifference, at the end of the table nearest the
+window.)
+
+VALENTINE (gaily).  Of course: that's the sensible way of looking at
+it.  Come, Mrs. Clandon: you can't quarrel with a mere butterfly like
+me.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  I very greatly mistrust you, Mr. Valentine.  But I do
+not like to think that your unfortunate levity of disposition is mere
+shamelessness and worthlessness;---
+
+GLORIA (to herself, but aloud).  It is shameless; and it is
+worthless.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  ---so perhaps we had better send for Phil and Dolly
+and allow you to end your visit in the ordinary way.
+
+VALENTINE (as if she had paid him the highest compliment).  You
+overwhelm me, Mrs. Clandon.  Thank you.  (The waiter enters.)
+
+WAITER.  Mr. McComas, ma'am.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Oh, certainly.  Bring him in.
+
+WAITER.  He wishes to see you in the reception-room, ma'am.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Why not here?
+
+WAITER.  Well, if you will excuse my mentioning it, ma'am, I think
+Mr. McComas feels that he would get fairer play if he could speak to you
+away from the younger members of your family, ma'am.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Tell him they are not here.
+
+WAITER.  They are within sight of the door, ma'am; and very watchful,
+for some reason or other.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (going).  Oh, very well: I'll go to him.
+
+WAITER (holding the door open for her).  Thank you, ma'am.  (She goes
+out.  He comes back into the room, and meets the eye of Valentine, who
+wants him to go.)  All right, sir.  Only the tea-things, sir.  (Taking
+the tray.)  Excuse me, sir.  Thank you sir.  (He goes out.)
+
+VALENTINE (to Gloria).  Look here.  You will forgive me, sooner or
+later.  Forgive me now.
+
+GLORIA (rising to level the declaration more intensely at him).
+Never!  While grass grows or water runs, never, never, never!!!
+
+VALENTINE (unabashed).  Well, I don't care.  I can't be unhappy about
+anything.  I shall never be unhappy again, never, never, never, while
+grass grows or water runs.  The thought of you will always make me wild
+with joy.  (Some quick taunt is on her lips: he interposes swiftly.)
+No: I never said that before: that's new.
+
+GLORIA.  It will not be new when you say it to the next woman.
+
+VALENTINE.  Oh, don't, Gloria, don't.  (He kneels at her feet.)
+
+GLORIA.  Get up.  Get up!  How dare you?  (Phil and Dolly, racing, as
+usual, for first place, burst into the room.  They check themselves on
+seeing what is passing.  Valentine springs up.)
+
+PHILIP (discreetly).  I beg your pardon.  Come, Dolly.  (He turns to
+go.)
+
+GLORIA (annoyed).  Mother will be back in a moment, Phil.
+(Severely.)  Please wait here for her.  (She turns away to the window,
+where she stands looking out with her back to them.)
+
+PHILIP (significantly).  Oh, indeed.  Hmhm!
+
+DOLLY.  Ahah!
+
+PHILIP.  You seem in excellent spirits, Valentine.
+
+VALENTINE.  I am.  (Comes between them.)  Now look here.  You both
+know what's going on, don't you?  (Gloria turns quickly, as if
+anticipating some fresh outrage.)
+
+DOLLY.  Perfectly.
+
+VALENTINE.  Well, it's all over.  I've been refused---scorned.  I'm
+only here on sufferance.  You understand: it's all over.  Your sister is
+in no sense entertaining my addresses, or condescending to interest
+herself in me in any way.  (Gloria, satisfied, turns back contemptuously
+to the window.)  Is that clear?
+
+DOLLY.  Serve you right.  You were in too great a hurry.
+
+PHILIP (patting him on the shoulder).  Never mind: you'd never have
+been able to call your soul your own if she'd married you.  You can now
+begin a new chapter in your life.
+
+DOLLY.  Chapter seventeen or thereabouts, I should imagine.
+
+VALENTINE (much put out by this pleasantry).  No: don't say things
+like that.  That's just the sort of thoughtless remark that makes a lot
+of mischief.
+
+DOLLY.  Oh, indeed.  Hmhm!
+
+PHILIP.  Ahah!  (He goes to the hearth and plants himself there in
+his best head-of-the-family attitude.)
+
+McComas, looking very serious, comes in quickly with Mrs. Clandon,
+whose first anxiety is about Gloria.  She looks round to see where she
+is, and is going to join her at the window when Gloria comes down to
+meet her with a marked air of trust and affection.  Finally, Mrs.
+Clandon takes her former seat, and Gloria posts herself behind it.
+McComas, on his way to the ottoman, is hailed by Dolly.
+
+DOLLY.  What cheer, Finch?
+
+McCOMAS (sternly).  Very serious news from your father, Miss Clandon.
+Very serious news indeed.  (He crosses to the ottoman, and sits down.
+Dolly, looking deeply impressed, follows him and sits beside him on his
+right.)
+
+VALENTINE.  Perhaps I had better go.
+
+McCOMAS.  By no means, Mr. Valentine.  You are deeply concerned in
+this.  (Valentine takes a chair from the table and sits astride of it,
+leaning over the back, near the ottoman.)  Mrs. Clandon: your husband
+demands the custody of his two younger children, who are not of age.
+(Mrs. Clandon, in quick alarm, looks instinctively to see if Dolly is
+safe.)
+
+DOLLY (touched).  Oh, how nice of him!  He likes us, mamma.
+
+McCOMAS.  I am sorry to have to disabuse you of any such idea, Miss
+Dorothea.
+
+DOLLY (cooing ecstatically).  Dorothee-ee-ee-a!  (Nestling against
+his shoulder, quite overcome.)  Oh, Finch!
+
+McCOMAS (nervously, moving away).  No, no, no, no!
+
+MRS. CLANDON (remonstrating).  D e a r e s t  Dolly!  (To McComas.)
+The deed of separation gives me the custody of the children.
+
+McCOMAS.  It also contains a covenant that you are not to approach or
+molest him in any way.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Well, have I done so?
+
+McCOMAS.  Whether the behavior of your younger children amounts to
+legal molestation is a question on which it may be necessary to take
+counsel's opinion.  At all events, Mr. Crampton not only claims to have
+been molested; but he believes that he was brought here by a plot in
+which Mr. Valentine acted as your agent.
+
+VALENTINE.  What's that?  Eh?
+
+McCOMAS.  He alleges that you drugged him, Mr. Valentine.
+
+VALENTINE.  So I did.  (They are astonished.)
+
+McCOMAS.  But what did you do that for?
+
+DOLLY.  Five shillings extra.
+
+McCOMAS (to Dolly, short-temperedly).  I must really ask you, Miss
+Clandon, not to interrupt this very serious conversation with irrelevant
+interjections.  (Vehemently.)  I insist on having earnest matters
+earnestly and reverently discussed.  (This outburst produces an
+apologetic silence, and puts McComas himself out of countenance.  He
+coughs, and starts afresh, addressing himself to Gloria.)  Miss Clandon:
+it is my duty to tell you that your father has also persuaded himself
+that Mr. Valentine wishes to marry you---
+
+VALENTINE (interposing adroitly).  I do.
+
+McCOMAS (offended).  In that case, sir, you must not be surprised to
+find yourself regarded by the young lady's father as a fortune hunter.
+
+VALENTINE.  So I am.  Do you expect my wife to live on what I earn?
+ten-pence a week!
+
+McCOMAS (revolted).  I have nothing more to say, sir.  I shall return
+and tell Mr. Crampton that this family is no place for a father.  (He
+makes for the door.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (with quiet authority).  Finch!  (He halts.)  If Mr.
+Valentine cannot be serious, you can.  Sit down.  (McComas, after a
+brief struggle between his dignity and his friendship, succumbs, seating
+himself this time midway between Dolly and Mrs. Clandon.)  You know that
+all this is a made up case---that Fergus does not believe in it any more
+than you do.  Now give me your real advice---your sincere, friendly
+advice: you know I have always trusted your judgment.  I promise you the
+children will be quiet.
+
+McCOMAS (resigning himself).  Well, well!  What I want to say is
+this.  In the old arrangement with your husband, Mrs. Clandon, you had
+him at a terrible disadvantage.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  How so, pray?
+
+McCOMAS.  Well, you were an advanced woman, accustomed to defy public
+opinion, and with no regard for what the world might say of you.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (proud of it).  Yes: that is true.  (Gloria, behind the
+chair, stoops and kisses her mother's hair, a demonstration which
+disconcerts her extremely.)
+
+McCOMAS.  On the other hand, Mrs. Clandon, your husband had a great
+horror of anything getting into the papers.  There was his business to
+be considered, as well as the prejudices of an old-fashioned family.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Not to mention his own prejudices.
+
+McCOMAS.  Now no doubt he behaved badly, Mrs. Clandon---
+
+MRS. CLANDON (scornfully).  No doubt.
+
+McCOMAS.  But was it altogether his fault?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Was it mine?
+
+McCOMAS (hastily).  No.  Of course not.
+
+GLORIA (observing him attentively).  You do not mean that, Mr.
+McComas.
+
+McCOMAS.  My dear young lady, you pick me up very sharply.  But let
+me just put this to you.  When a man makes an unsuitable marriage
+(nobody's fault, you know, but purely accidental incompatibility of
+tastes); when he is deprived by that misfortune of the domestic sympathy
+which, I take it, is what a man marries for; when in short, his wife is
+rather worse than no wife at all (through no fault of his own, of
+course), is it to be wondered at if he makes matters worse at first by
+blaming her, and even, in his desperation, by occasionally drinking
+himself into a violent condition or seeking sympathy elsewhere?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  I did not blame him: I simply rescued myself and the
+children from him.
+
+McCOMAS.  Yes: but you made hard terms, Mrs. Clandon.  You had him at
+your mercy: you brought him to his knees when you threatened to make the
+matter public by applying to the Courts for a judicial separation.
+Suppose he had had that power over you, and used it to take your
+children away from you and bring them up in ignorance of your very name,
+how would you feel? what would you do?  Well, won't you make some
+allowance for his feelings?---in common humanity.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  I never discovered his feelings.  I discovered his
+temper, and his--- (she shivers) the rest of his common humanity.
+
+McCOMAS (wistfully).  Women can be very hard, Mrs. Clandon.
+
+VALENTINE.  That's true.
+
+GLORIA (angrily).  Be silent.  (He subsides.)
+
+McCOMAS (rallying all his forces).  Let me make one last appeal.
+Mrs. Clandon: believe me, there are men who have a good deal of feeling,
+and kind feeling, too, which they are not able to express.  What you
+miss in Crampton is that mere veneer of civilization, the art of shewing
+worthless attentions and paying insincere compliments in a kindly,
+charming way.  If you lived in London, where the whole system is one of
+false good-fellowship, and you may know a man for twenty years without
+finding out that he hates you like poison, you would soon have your eyes
+opened.  There we do unkind things in a kind way: we say bitter things
+in a sweet voice: we always give our friends chloroform when we tear
+them to pieces.  But think of the other side of it!  Think of the people
+who do kind things in an unkind way---people whose touch hurts, whose
+voices jar, whose tempers play them false, who wound and worry the
+people they love in the very act of trying to conciliate them, and yet
+who need affection as much as the rest of us.  Crampton has an
+abominable temper, I admit.  He has no manners, no tact, no grace.
+He'll never be able to gain anyone's affection unless they will take his
+desire for it on trust.  Is he to have none---not even pity---from his
+own flesh and blood?
+
+DOLLY (quite melted).  Oh, how beautiful, Finch!  How nice of you!
+
+PHILIP (with conviction).  Finch: this is eloquence---positive
+eloquence.
+
+DOLLY.  Oh, mamma, let us give him another chance.  Let us have him
+to dinner.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (unmoved).  No, Dolly: I hardly got any lunch.  My dear
+Finch: there is not the least use in talking to me about Fergus.  You
+have never been married to him: I have.
+
+McCOMAS (to Gloria).   Miss Clandon: I have hitherto refrained from
+appealing to you, because, if what Mr. Crampton told me to be true, you
+have been more merciless even than your mother.
+
+GLORIA (defiantly).  You appeal from her strength to my weakness!
+
+McCOMAS.  Not your weakness, Miss Clandon.  I appeal from her
+intellect to your heart.
+
+GLORIA.  I have learnt to mistrust my heart.  (With an angry glance
+at Valentine.)  I would tear my heart and throw it away if I could.  My
+answer to you is my mother's answer.  (She goes to Mrs. Clandon, and
+stands with her arm about her; but Mrs. Clandon, unable to endure this
+sort of demonstrativeness, disengages herself as soon as she can without
+hurting Gloria's feelings.)
+
+McCOMAS (defeated).  Well, I am very sorry---very sorry.  I have done
+my best.  (He rises and prepares to go, deeply dissatisfied.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  But what did you expect, Finch?  What do you want us
+to do?
+
+McCOMAS.  The first step for both you and Crampton is to obtain
+counsel's opinion as to whether he is bound by the deed of separation or
+not.  Now why not obtain this opinion at once, and have a friendly
+meeting (her face hardens)---or shall we say a neutral meeting? ---to
+settle the difficulty---here---in this hotel---to-night?  What do you
+say?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  But where is the counsel's opinion to come from?
+
+McCOMAS.  It has dropped down on us out of the clouds.  On my way
+back here from Crampton's I met a most eminent Q.C., a man whom I
+briefed in the case that made his name for him.  He has come down here
+from Saturday to Monday for the sea air, and to visit a relative of his
+who lives here.  He has been good enough to say that if I can arrange a
+meeting of the parties he will come and help us with his opinion.  Now
+do let us seize this chance of a quiet friendly family adjustment.  Let
+me bring my friend here and try to persuade Crampton to come, too.
+Come: consent.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (rather ominously, after a moment's consideration).
+Finch: I don't want counsel's opinion, because I intend to be guided by
+my own opinion.  I don't want to meet Fergus again, because I don't like
+him, and don't believe the meeting will do any good.  However (rising),
+you have persuaded the children that he is not quite hopeless.  Do as
+you please.
+
+McCOMAS (taking her hand and shaking it).  Thank you, Mrs. Clandon.
+Will nine o'clock suit you?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Perfectly.  Phil: will you ring, please.  (Phil rings
+the bell.)  But if I am to be accused of conspiring with Mr. Valentine,
+I think he had better be present.
+
+VALENTINE (rising).  I quite agree with you.  I think it's most
+important.
+
+McCOMAS.  There can be no objection to that, I think.  I have the
+greatest hopes of a happy settlement.  Good-bye for the present.  (He
+goes out, meeting the waiter; who holds the door for him to pass
+through.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  We expect some visitors at nine, William.  Can we have
+dinner at seven instead of half-past?
+
+WAITER (at the door).  Seven, ma'am?  Certainly, ma'am.  It will be a
+convenience to us this busy evening, ma'am.  There will be the band and
+the arranging of the fairy lights and one thing or another, ma'am.
+
+DOLLY.  The fairy lights!
+
+PHILIP.  The band!  William: what mean you?
+
+WAITER.  The fancy ball, miss---
+
+DOLLY and PHILIP (simultaneously rushing to him).  Fancy ball!
+
+WAITER.  Oh, yes, sir.  Given by the regatta committee for the
+benefit of the Life-boat, sir.  (To Mrs. Clandon.)  We often have them,
+ma'am: Chinese lanterns in the garden, ma'am: very bright and pleasant,
+very gay and innocent indeed.  (To Phil.)  Tickets downstairs at the
+office, sir, five shillings: ladies half price if accompanied by a
+gentleman.
+
+PHILIP (seizing his arm to drag him off).  To the office, William!
+
+DOLLY (breathlessly, seizing his other arm).  Quick, before they're
+all sold.  (They rush him out of the room between them.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  What on earth are they going to do?  (Going out.)  I
+really must go and stop this---  (She follows them, speaking as she
+disappears.  Gloria stares coolly at Valentine, and then deliberately
+looks at her watch.)
+
+VALENTINE.  I understand.  I've stayed too long.  I'm going.
+
+GLORIA (with disdainful punctiliousness).  I owe you some apology,
+Mr. Valentine.  I am conscious of having spoken somewhat sharply---
+perhaps rudely---to you.
+
+VALENTINE.  Not at all.
+
+GLORIA.  My only excuse is that it is very difficult to give
+consideration and respect when there is no dignity of character on the
+other side to command it.
+
+VALENTINE (prosaically).  How is a man to look dignified when he's
+infatuated?
+
+GLORIA (effectually unstilted).  Don't say those things to me.  I
+forbid you.  They are insults.
+
+VALENTINE.  No: they're only follies.  I can't help them.
+
+GLORIA.  If you were really in love, it would not make you foolish:
+it would give you dignity---earnestness---even beauty.
+
+VALENTINE.  Do you really think it would make me beautiful?  (She
+turns her back on him with the coldest contempt.)  Ah, you see you're
+not in earnest.  Love can't give any man new gifts.  It can only
+heighten the gifts he was born with.
+
+GLORIA (sweeping round at him again).  What gifts were you born with,
+pray?
+
+VALENTINE.  Lightness of heart.
+
+GLORIA.  And lightness of head, and lightness of faith, and lightness
+of everything that makes a man.
+
+VALENTINE.  Yes, the whole world is like a feather dancing in the
+light now; and Gloria is the sun.  (She rears her head angrily.)  I beg
+your pardon: I'm off.  Back at nine.  Good-bye.  (He runs off gaily,
+leaving her standing in the middle of the room staring after him.)
+
+END OF ACT III
+
+
+Act IV
+
+
+The same room.  Nine o'clock.  Nobody present.  The lamps are
+lighted; but the curtains are not drawn.  The window stands wide open;
+and strings of Chinese lanterns are glowing among the trees outside,
+with the starry sky beyond.  The band is playing dance-music in the
+garden, drowning the sound of the sea.
+
+The waiter enters, shewing in Crampton and McComas.  Crampton looks
+cowed and anxious.  He sits down wearily and timidly on the ottoman.
+
+WAITER.  The ladies have gone for a turn through the grounds to see
+the fancy dresses, sir.  If you will be so good as to take seats,
+gentlemen, I shall tell them.  (He is about to go into the garden
+through the window when McComas stops him.)
+
+McCOMAS.  One moment.  If another gentleman comes, shew him in
+without any delay: we are expecting him.
+
+WAITER.  Right, sir.  What name, sir?
+
+McCOMAS.  Boon.  Mr. Boon.  He is a stranger to Mrs. Clandon; so he
+may give you a card.  If so, the name is spelt B.O.H.U.N.  You will not
+forget.
+
+WAITER (smiling).  You may depend on me for that, sir.  My own name
+is Boon, sir, though I am best known down here as Balmy Walters, sir.
+By rights I should spell it with the aitch you, sir; but I think it best
+not to take that liberty, sir.  There is Norman blood in it, sir; and
+Norman blood is not a recommendation to a waiter.
+
+McCOMAS.  Well, well: "True hearts are more than coronets, and simple
+faith than Norman blood."
+
+WAITER.  That depends a good deal on one's station in life, sir.  If
+you were a waiter, sir, you'd find that simple faith would leave you
+just as short as Norman blood.  I find it best to spell myself B.
+double-O.N., and to keep my wits pretty sharp about me.  But I'm taking
+up your time, sir.  You'll excuse me, sir: your own fault for being so
+affable, sir.  I'll tell the ladies you're here, sir.  (He goes out into
+the garden through the window.)
+
+McCOMAS.  Crampton: I can depend on you, can't I?
+
+CRAMPTON.  Yes, yes.  I'll be quiet.  I'll be patient.  I'll do my
+best.
+
+McCOMAS.  Remember: I've not given you away.  I've told them it was
+all their fault.
+
+CRAMPTON.  You told me that it was all my fault.
+
+McCOMAS.  I told you the truth.
+
+CRAMPTON (plaintively).  If they will only be fair to me!
+
+McCOMAS.  My dear Crampton, they won't be fair to you: it's not to be
+expected from them at their age.  If you're going to make impossible
+conditions of this kind, we may as well go back home at once.
+
+CRAMPTON.  But surely I have a right---
+
+McCOMAS (intolerantly).  You won't get your rights.  Now, once for
+all, Crampton, did your promises of good behavior only mean that you
+won't complain if there's nothing to complain of?  Because, if so---
+(He moves as if to go.)
+
+CRAMPTON (miserably).  No, no: let me alone, can't you?  I've been
+bullied enough: I've been tormented enough.  I tell you I'll do my
+best.  But if that girl begins to talk to me like that and to look at
+me like---  (He breaks off and buries his head in his hands.)
+
+McCOMAS (relenting).  There, there: it'll be all right, if you will
+only bear and forbear.  Come, pull yourself together: there's someone
+coming.  (Crampton, too dejected to care much, hardly changes his
+attitude.  Gloria enters from the garden; McComas goes to meet her at
+the window; so that he can speak to her without being heard by
+Crampton.)  There he is, Miss Clandon.  Be kind to him.  I'll leave you
+with him for a moment.  (He goes into the garden.  Gloria comes in and
+strolls coolly down the middle of the room.)
+
+CRAMPTON (looking round in alarm).  Where's McComas?
+
+GLORIA (listlessly, but not unsympathetically).  Gone out---to leave
+us together.  Delicacy on his part, I suppose.  (She stops beside him
+and looks quaintly down at him.)  Well, father?
+
+CRAMPTON (a quaint jocosity breaking through his forlornness).  Well,
+daughter?  (They look at one another for a moment, with a melancholy
+sense of humor.)
+
+GLORIA.  Shake hands.  (They shake hands.)
+
+CRAMPTON (holding her hand).  My dear: I'm afraid I spoke very
+improperly of your mother this afternoon.
+
+GLORIA.  Oh, don't apologize.  I was very high and mighty myself; but
+I've come down since: oh, yes: I've been brought down.  (She sits on the
+floor beside his chair.)
+
+CRAMPTON.  What has happened to you, my child?
+
+GLORIA.  Oh, never mind.  I was playing the part of my mother's
+daughter then; but I'm not: I'm my father's daughter.  (Looking at him
+funnily.)  That's a come down, isn't it?
+
+CRAMPTON (angry).  What!  (Her odd expression does not alter.  He
+surrenders.)  Well, yes, my dear: I suppose it is, I suppose it is.
+(She nods sympathetically.)  I'm afraid I'm sometimes a little
+irritable; but I know what's right and reasonable all the time, even
+when I don't act on it.  Can you believe that?
+
+GLORIA.  Believe it!  Why, that's myself---myself all over.  I know
+what's right and dignified and strong and noble, just as well as she
+does; but oh, the things I do! the things I do! the things I let other
+people do!!
+
+CRAMPTON (a little grudgingly in spite of himself).  As well as she
+does?  You mean your mother?
+
+GLORIA (quickly).  Yes, mother.  (She turns to him on her knees and
+seizes his hands.)  Now listen.  No treason to her: no word, no thought
+against her.  She is our superior---yours and mine---high heavens above
+us.  Is that agreed?
+
+CRAMPTON.  Yes, yes.  Just as you please, my dear.
+
+GLORIA (not satisfied, letting go his hands and drawing back from
+him).  You don't like her?
+
+CRAMPTON.  My child: you haven't been married to her.  I have.  (She
+raises herself slowly to her feet, looking at him with growing
+coldness.)  She did me a great wrong in marrying me without really
+caring for me.  But after that, the wrong was all on my side,
+I dare say.  (He offers her his hand again.)
+
+GLORIA (taking it firmly and warningly).  Take care.  That's a
+dangerous subject.  My feelings---my miserable, cowardly, womanly
+feelings---may be on your side; but my conscience is on hers.
+
+CRAMPTON.  I'm very well content with that division, my dear.  Thank
+you.  (Valentine arrives.  Gloria immediately becomes deliberately
+haughty.)
+
+VALENTINE.  Excuse me; but it's impossible to find a servant to
+announce one: even the never failing William seems to be at the ball.  I
+should have gone myself; only I haven't five shillings to buy a ticket.
+How are you getting on, Crampton?  Better, eh?
+
+CRAMPTON.  I am myself again, Mr. Valentine, no thanks to you.
+
+VALENTINE.  Look at this ungrateful parent of yours, Miss Clandon!  I
+saved him from an excruciating pang; and he reviles me!
+
+GLORIA (coldly).  I am sorry my mother is not here to receive you,
+Mr. Valentine.  It is not quite nine o'clock; and the gentleman of whom
+Mr. McComas spoke, the lawyer, is not yet come.
+
+VALENTINE.  Oh, yes, he is.  I've met him and talked to him.  (With
+gay malice.)  You'll like him, Miss Clandon: he's the very incarnation
+of intellect.  You can hear his mind working.
+
+GLORIA (ignoring the jibe).  Where is he?
+
+VALENTINE.  Bought a false nose and gone into the fancy ball.
+
+CRAMPTON (crustily, looking at his watch).  It seems that everybody
+has gone to this fancy ball instead of keeping to our appointment here.
+
+VALENTINE.  Oh, he'll come all right enough: that was half an hour
+ago.  I didn't like to borrow five shillings from him and go in with
+him; so I joined the mob and looked through the railings until Miss
+Clandon disappeared into the hotel through the window.
+
+GLORIA.  So it has come to this, that you follow me about in public
+to stare at me.
+
+VALENTINE.  Yes: somebody ought to chain me up.
+
+Gloria turns her back on him and goes to the fireplace.  He takes the
+snub very philosophically, and goes to the opposite side of the room.
+The waiter appears at the window, ushering in Mrs. Clandon and McComas.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (hurrying in).  I am so sorry to have kept you waiting.
+
+A grotesquely majestic stranger, in a domino and false nose, with
+goggles, appears at the window.
+
+WAITER (to the stranger).  Beg pardon, sir; but this is a private
+apartment, sir.  If you will allow me, sir, I will shew you to the
+American bar and supper rooms, sir.  This way, sir.
+
+He goes into the gardens, leading the way under the impression that
+the stranger is following him.  The majestic one, however, comes
+straight into the room to the end of the table, where, with impressive
+deliberation, he takes off the false nose and then the domino, rolling
+up the nose into the domino  and throwing the bundle on the table like a
+champion throwing down his glove.  He is now seen to be a stout, tall
+man between forty and fifty, clean shaven, with a midnight oil pallor
+emphasized by stiff black hair, cropped short and oiled, and eyebrows
+like early Victorian horsehair upholstery.  Physically and spiritually,
+a coarsened man: in cunning and logic, a ruthlessly sharpened one.  His
+bearing as he enters is sufficiently imposing and disquieting; but when
+he speaks, his powerful, menacing voice, impressively articulated
+speech, strong inexorable manner, and a terrifying power of intensely
+critical listening raise the impression produced by him to absolute
+tremendousness.
+
+THE STRANGER.  My name is Bohun.  (General awe.)  Have I the honor of
+addressing Mrs. Clandon?  (Mrs. Clandon bows.  Bohun bows.)  Miss
+Clandon?  (Gloria bows.  Bohun bows.)  Mr. Clandon?
+
+CRAMPTON (insisting on his rightful name as angrily as he dares).  My
+name is Crampton, sir.
+
+BOHUN.  Oh, indeed.  (Passing him over without further notice and
+turning to Valentine.)  Are you Mr. Clandon?
+
+VALENTINE (making it a point of honor not to be impressed by him).
+Do I look like it?  My name is Valentine.  I did the drugging.
+
+BOHUN.  Ah, quite so.  Then Mr. Clandon has not yet arrived?
+
+WAITER (entering anxiously through the window).  Beg pardon, ma'am;
+but can you tell me what became of that--- (He recognizes Bohun, and
+loses all his self-possession.  Bohun waits rigidly for him to pull
+himself together.  After a pathetic exhibition of confusion, he recovers
+himself sufficiently to address Bohun weakly but coherently.)  Beg
+pardon, sir, I'm sure, sir.  Was---was it you, sir?
+
+BOHUN (ruthlessly).  It was I.
+
+WAITER (brokenly).  Yes, sir.  (Unable to restrain his tears.)  You
+in a false nose, Walter!  (He sinks faintly into a chair at the table.)
+I beg pardon, ma'am, I'm sure.  A little giddiness---
+
+BOHUN (commandingly).  You will excuse him, Mrs. Clandon, when I
+inform you that he is my father.
+
+WAITER (heartbroken).  Oh, no, no, Walter.  A waiter for your father
+on the top of a false nose!  What will they think of you?
+
+MRS. CLANDON (going to the waiter's chair in her kindest manner).  I
+am delighted to hear it, Mr. Bohun.  Your father has been an excellent
+friend to us since we came here.  (Bohun bows gravely.)
+
+WAITER (shaking his head).  Oh, no, ma'am.  It's very kind of you---
+very ladylike and affable indeed, ma'am; but I should feel at a great
+disadvantage off my own proper footing.  Never mind my being the
+gentleman's father, ma'am: it is only the accident of birth after all,
+ma'am.  (He gets up feebly.)  You'll all excuse me, I'm sure, having
+interrupted your business.  (He begins to make his way along the table,
+supporting himself from chair to chair, with his eye on the door.)
+
+BOHUN.  One moment.  (The waiter stops, with a sinking heart.)  My
+father was a witness of what passed to-day, was he not, Mrs. Clandon?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Yes, most of it, I think.
+
+BOHUN.  In that case we shall want him.
+
+WAITER (pleading).  I hope it may not be necessary, sir.  Busy
+evening for me, sir, with that ball: very busy evening indeed, sir.
+
+BOHUN (inexorably).  We shall want you.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (politely).  Sit down, won't you?
+
+WAITER (earnestly).  Oh, if you please, ma'am, I really must draw the
+line at sitting down.  I couldn't let myself be seen doing such a thing,
+ma'am: thank you, I am sure, all the same.  (He looks round from face to
+face wretchedly, with an expression that would melt a heart of stone.)
+
+GLORIA.  Don't let us waste time.  William only wants to go on taking
+care of us.  I should like a cup of coffee.
+
+WAITER (brightening perceptibly).  Coffee, miss?  (He gives a little
+gasp of hope.)  Certainly, miss.  Thank you, miss: very timely, miss,
+very thoughtful and considerate indeed.  (To Mrs. Clandon, timidly but
+expectantly.)  Anything for you, ma'am?
+
+MRS. CLANDON  Er---oh, yes: it's so hot, I think we might have a jug
+of claret cup.
+
+WAITER (beaming).  Claret cup, ma'am!  Certainly, ma'am.
+
+GLORIA  Oh, well I'll have a claret cup instead of coffee.  Put some
+cucumber in it.
+
+WAITER (delighted).  Cucumber, miss!  yes, miss.  (To Bohun.)
+Anything special for you, sir?  You don't like cucumber, sir.
+
+BOHUN.  If Mrs. Clandon will allow me---syphon---Scotch.
+
+WAITER.  Right, sir.  (To Crampton.)  Irish for you, sir, I think,
+sir?  (Crampton assents with a grunt.  The waiter looks enquiringly at
+Valentine.)
+
+VALENTINE.  I like the cucumber.
+
+WAITER.  Right, sir.  (Summing up.)  Claret cup, syphon, one Scotch
+and one Irish?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  I think that's right.
+
+WAITER (perfectly happy).  Right, ma'am.  Directly, ma'am.  Thank
+you.  (He ambles off through the window, having sounded the whole gamut
+of human happiness, from the bottom to the top, in a little over two
+minutes.)
+
+McCOMAS.  We can begin now, I suppose?
+
+BOHUN.  We had better wait until Mrs. Clandon's husband arrives.
+
+CRAMPTON.  What d'y' mean?  I'm her husband.
+
+BOHUN (instantly pouncing on the inconsistency between this and his
+previous statement).  You said just now your name was Crampton.
+
+CRAMPTON.  So it is.
+
+MRS. CLANDON } (all four    { I---
+
+GLORIA       }  speaking    { My---
+
+McCOMAS      }  simul-      { Mrs.---
+
+VALENTINE    }  taneously). { You---
+
+BOHUN (drowning them in two thunderous words).  One moment.  (Dead
+silence.)  Pray allow me.  Sit down everybody.  (They obey humbly.
+Gloria takes the saddle-bag chair on the hearth.  Valentine slips around
+to her side of the room and sits on the ottoman facing the window, so
+that he can look at her.  Crampton sits on the ottoman with his back to
+Valentine's.  Mrs. Clandon, who has all along kept at the opposite side
+of the room in order to avoid Crampton as much as possible, sits near
+the door, with McComas beside her on her left.  Bohun places himself
+magisterially in the centre of the group, near the corner of the table
+on Mrs. Clandon's side.  When they are settled, he fixes Crampton with
+his eye, and begins.)  In this family, it appears, the husband's name is
+Crampton: the wife's Clandon.  Thus we have on the very threshold of the
+case an element of confusion.
+
+VALENTINE (getting up and speaking across to him with one knee on the
+ottoman).  But it's perfectly simple.
+
+BOHUN (annihilating him with a vocal thunderbolt).  It is.  Mrs.
+Clandon has adopted another name.  That is the obvious explanation which
+you feared I could not find out for myself.  You mistrust my
+intelligence, Mr. Valentine--- (Stopping him as he is about to protest.)
+No: I don't want you to answer that: I want you to think over it when
+you feel your next impulse to interrupt me.
+
+VALENTINE (dazed).  This is simply breaking a butterfly on a wheel.
+What does it matter?  (He sits down again.)
+
+BOHUN.  I will tell you what it matters, sir.  It matters that if
+this family difference is to be smoothed over as we all hope it may be,
+Mrs. Clandon, as a matter of social convenience and decency, will have
+to resume her husband's name.  (Mrs. Clandon assumes an expression of
+the most determined obstinacy.)  Or else Mr. Crampton will have to call
+himself Mr. Clandon.  (Crampton looks indomitably resolved to do nothing
+of the sort.)  No doubt you think that an easy matter, Mr. Valentine.
+(He looks pointedly at Mrs. Clandon, then at Crampton.)  I differ from
+you.  (He throws himself back in his chair, frowning heavily.)
+
+McCOMAS (timidly).  I think, Bohun, we had perhaps better dispose of
+the important questions first.
+
+BOHUN.  McComas: there will be no difficulty about the important
+questions.  There never is.  It is the trifles that will wreck you at
+the harbor mouth.  (McComas looks as if he considered this a paradox.)
+You don't agree with me, eh?
+
+McCOMAS (flatteringly).  If I did---
+
+BOHUN (interrupting him).  If you did, you would be me, instead of
+being what you are.
+
+McCOMAS (fawning on him).  Of course, Bohun, your specialty---
+
+BOHUN (again interrupting him).  My specialty is being right when
+other people are wrong.  If you agreed with me I should be of no use
+here.  (He nods at him to drive the point home; then turns suddenly and
+forcibly on Crampton.)  Now you, Mr. Crampton: what point in this
+business have you most at heart?
+
+CRAMPTON (beginning slowly).  I wish to put all considerations of
+self aside in this matter---
+
+BOHUN (interrupting him).  So do we all, Mr. Crampton.  (To Mrs.
+Clandon.)  Y o u  wish to put self aside, Mrs. Clandon?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Yes: I am not consulting my own feelings in being
+here.
+
+BOHUN.  So do you, Miss Clandon?
+
+GLORIA.  Yes.
+
+BOHUN.  I thought so.  We all do.
+
+VALENTINE.  Except me.  My aims are selfish.
+
+BOHUN.  That's because you think an impression of sincerity will
+produce a better effect on Miss Clandon than an impression of
+disinterestedness.  (Valentine, utterly dismantled and destroyed by this
+just remark, takes refuge in a feeble, speechless smile.  Bohun,
+satisfied at having now effectually crushed all rebellion, throws
+himself back in his chair, with an air of being prepared to listen
+tolerantly to their grievances.)  Now, Mr. Crampton, go on.  It's
+understood that self is put aside.  Human nature always begins by saying
+that.
+
+CRAMPTON.  But I mean it, sir.
+
+BOHUN.  Quite so.  Now for your point.
+
+CRAMPTON.  Every reasonable person will admit that it's an unselfish
+one---the children.
+
+BOHUN.   Well?  What about the children?
+
+CRAMPTON (with emotion).  They have---
+
+BOHUN (pouncing forward again).  Stop.  You're going to tell me about
+your feelings, Mr. Crampton.  Don't: I sympathize with them; but they're
+not my business.  Tell us exactly what you want: that's what we have to
+get at.
+
+CRAMPTON (uneasily).  It's a very difficult question to answer, Mr.
+Bohun.
+
+BOHUN.  Come: I'll help you out.  What do you object to in the
+present circumstances of the children?
+
+CRAMPTON.  I object to the way they have been brought up.
+
+BOHUN.  How do you propose to alter that now?
+
+CRAMPTON.  I think they ought to dress more quietly.
+
+VALENTINE.  Nonsense.
+
+BOHUN (instantly flinging himself back in his chair, outraged by the
+interruption).  When you are done, Mr. Valentine---when you are quite
+done.
+
+VALENTINE.  What's wrong with Miss Clandon's dress?
+
+CRAMPTON (hotly to Valentine).  My opinion is as good as yours.
+
+GLORIA (warningly).  Father!
+
+CRAMPTON (subsiding piteously).  I didn't mean you, my dear.
+(Pleading earnestly to Bohun.)  But the two younger ones! you have not
+seen them, Mr. Bohun; and indeed I think you would agree with me that
+there is something very noticeable, something almost gay and frivolous
+in their style of dressing.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (impatiently).  Do you suppose I choose their clothes
+for them?  Really this is childish.
+
+CRAMPTON (furious, rising).  Childish!  (Mrs. Clandon rises
+indignantly.)
+
+McCOMAS   } (all ris-   } Crampton, you promised---
+
+VALENTINE }  ing and    } Ridiculous.  They dress
+
+          }  speaking   }   charmingly.
+
+GLORIA    }  together). } Pray let us behave reasonably.
+
+Tumult.  Suddenly they hear a chime of glasses in the room behind
+them.  They turn in silent surprise and find that the waiter has just
+come back from the bar in the garden, and is jingling his tray warningly
+as he comes softly to the table with it.
+
+WAITER (to Crampton, setting a tumbler apart on the table).  Irish
+for you, sir.  (Crampton sits down a little shamefacedly.  The waiter
+sets another tumbler and a syphon apart, saying to Bohun) Scotch and
+syphon for you, sir.  (Bohun waves his hand impatiently.  The waiter
+places a large glass jug in the middle.)  And claret cup.  (All subside
+into their seats.  Peace reigns.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (humbly to Bohun).  I am afraid we interrupted you, Mr.
+Bohun.
+
+BOHUN (calmly).  You did.  (To the waiter, who is going out.)  Just
+wait a bit.
+
+WAITER.  Yes, sir.  Certainly, sir.  (He takes his stand behind
+Bohun's chair.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (to the waiter).  You don't mind our detaining you, I
+hope.  Mr. Bohun wishes it.
+
+WAITER (now quite at his ease).  Oh, no, ma'am, not at all, ma'am.
+It is a pleasure to me to watch the working of his trained and powerful
+mind---very stimulating, very entertaining and instructive indeed,
+ma'am.
+
+BOHUN (resuming command of the proceedings).  Now, Mr. Crampton: we
+are waiting for you.  Do you give up your objection to the dressing, or
+do you stick to it?
+
+CRAMPTON (pleading).  Mr. Bohun: consider my position for a moment.
+I haven't got myself alone to consider: there's my sister Sophronia and
+my brother-in-law and all their circle.  They have a great horror of
+anything that is at all---at all---well---
+
+BOHUN.  Out with it.  Fast?  Loud?  Gay?
+
+CRAMPTON.  Not in any unprincipled sense of course; but---but---
+(blurting it out desperately) those two children would shock them.
+They're not fit to mix with their own people.  That's what I complain
+of.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (with suppressed impatience).  Mr. Valentine: do you
+think there is anything fast or loud about Phil and Dolly?
+
+VALENTINE.  Certainly not.  It's utter bosh.  Nothing can be in
+better taste.
+
+CRAMPTON.  Oh, yes: of course you say so.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  William: you see a great deal of good English society.
+Are my children overdressed?
+
+WAITER (reassuringly).  Oh, dear, no, ma'am.  (Persuasively.)  Oh,
+no, sir, not at all.  A little pretty and tasty no doubt; but very
+choice and classy---very genteel and high toned indeed.  Might be the
+son and daughter of a Dean, sir, I assure you, sir.  You have only to
+look at them, sir, to--- (At this moment a harlequin and columbine,
+dancing to the music of the band in the garden, which has just reached
+the coda of a waltz, whirl one another into the room.  The harlequin's
+dress is made of lozenges, an inch square, of turquoise blue silk and
+gold alternately.  His hat is gilt and his mask turned up.  The
+columbine's petticoats are the epitome of a harvest field, golden orange
+and poppy crimson, with a tiny velvet jacket for the poppy stamens.
+They pass, an exquisite and dazzling apparition, between McComas and
+Bohun, and then back in a circle to the end of the table, where, as the
+final chord of the waltz is struck, they make a tableau in the middle of
+the company, the harlequin down on his left knee, and the columbine
+standing on his right knee, with her arms curved over her head.  Unlike
+their dancing, which is charmingly graceful, their attitudinizing is
+hardly a success, and threatens to end in a catastrophe.)
+
+THE COLUMBINE (screaming).  Lift me down, somebody: I'm going to
+fall.  Papa: lift me down.
+
+CRAMPTON (anxiously running to her and taking her hands).  My child!
+
+DOLLY (jumping down with his help).  Thanks: so nice of you.  (Phil,
+putting his hat into his belt, sits on the side of the table and pours
+out some claret cup.  Crampton returns to his place on the ottoman in
+great perplexity.)  Oh, what fun!  Oh, dear.  (She seats herself with a
+vault on the front edge of the table, panting.)  Oh, claret cup!  (She
+drinks.)
+
+BOHUN (in powerful tones).  This is the younger lady, is it?
+
+DOLLY (slipping down off the table in alarm at his formidable voice
+and manner).  Yes, sir.  Please, who are you?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  This is Mr. Bohun, Dolly, who has very kindly come to
+help us this evening.
+
+DOLLY.  Oh, then he comes as a boon and a blessing---
+
+PHILIP.  Sh!
+
+CRAMPTON.  Mr. Bohun---McComas: I appeal to you.  Is this right?
+Would you blame my sister's family for objecting to this?
+
+DOLLY (flushing ominously).  Have you begun again?
+
+CRAMPTON (propitiating her).  No, no.  It's perhaps natural at your
+age.
+
+DOLLY (obstinately).  Never mind my age.  Is it pretty?
+
+CRAMPTON.  Yes, dear, yes.  (He sits down in token of submission.)
+
+DOLLY (following him insistently).  Do you like it?
+
+CRAMPTON.  My child: how can you expect me to like it or to approve
+of it?
+
+DOLLY (determined not to let him off).  How can you think it pretty
+and not like it?
+
+McCOMAS (rising, angry and scandalized).  Really I must say---
+(Bohun, who has listened to Dolly with the highest approval, is down on
+him instantly.)
+
+BOHUN.  No: don't interrupt, McComas.  The young lady's method is
+right.  (To Dolly, with tremendous emphasis.)  Press your questions,
+Miss Clandon: press your questions.
+
+DOLLY (rising).  Oh, dear, you are a regular overwhelmer!  Do you
+always go on like this?
+
+BOHUN (rising).  Yes.  Don't you try to put me out of countenance,
+young lady:  you're too young to do it.  (He takes McComas's chair from
+beside Mrs. Clandon's and sets it beside his own.)  Sit down.  (Dolly,
+fascinated, obeys; and Bohun sits down again.  McComas, robbed of his
+seat, takes a chair on the other side between the table and the
+ottoman.)  Now, Mr. Crampton, the facts are before you---both of them.
+You think you'd like to have your two youngest children to live with
+you.  Well, you wouldn't--- (Crampton tries to protest; but Bohun will
+not have it on any terms.)  No, you wouldn't: you think you would; but
+I know better than you.  You'd want this young lady here to give up
+dressing like a stage columbine in the evening and like a fashionable
+columbine in the morning.  Well, she won't---never.  She thinks she
+will; but---
+
+DOLLY (interrupting him).  No I don't.  (Resolutely.)  I'll
+n e v e r  give up dressing prettily.  Never.  As Gloria said to that
+man in Madeira, never, never, never while grass grows or water runs.
+
+VALENTINE (rising in the wildest agitation).  What!  What!
+(Beginning to speak very fast.)  When did she say that?  Who did she say
+that to?
+
+BOHUN (throwing himself back with massive, pitying remonstrance).
+Mr. Valentine---
+
+VALENTINE (pepperily).  Don't you interrupt me, sir: this is
+something really serious.  I  i n s i s t  on knowing who Miss Clandon
+said that to.
+
+DOLLY.  Perhaps Phil remembers.  Which was it, Phil? number three or
+number five?
+
+VALENTINE.  Number five!!!
+
+PHILIP.  Courage, Valentine.  It wasn't number five: it was only a
+tame naval lieutenant that was always on hand---the most patient and
+harmless of mortals.
+
+GLORIA (coldly).  What are we discussing now, pray?
+
+VALENTINE (very red).  Excuse me: I am sorry I interrupted.  I shall
+intrude no further, Mrs. Clandon.  (He bows to Mrs. Clandon and marches
+away into the garden, boiling with suppressed rage.)
+
+DOLLY.  Hmhm!
+
+PHILIP.  Ahah!
+
+GLORIA. Please go on, Mr. Bohun.
+
+DOLLY (striking in as Bohun, frowning formidably, collects himself
+for a fresh grapple with the case).  You're going to bully us, Mr.
+Bohun.
+
+BOHUN.  I---
+
+DOLLY (interrupting him).  Oh, yes, you are: you think you're not;
+but you are.  I know by your eyebrows.
+
+BOHUN (capitulating).  Mrs. Clandon: these are clever children---
+clear headed, well brought up children.  I make that admission
+deliberately.  Can you, in return, point out to me any way of inducting
+them to hold their tongues?
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Dolly, dearest---!
+
+PHILIP.  Our old failing, Dolly.  Silence!  (Dolly holds her mouth.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Now, Mr. Bohun, before they begin again---
+
+WAITER (softer).  Be quick, sir: be quick.
+
+DOLLY (beaming at him).  Dear William!
+
+PHILIP.  Sh!
+
+BOHUN (unexpectedly beginning by hurling a question straight at
+Dolly).  Have you any intention of getting married?
+
+DOLLY.  I!  Well, Finch calls me by my Christian name.
+
+McCOMAS.  I will not have this.  Mr. Bohun: I use the young lady's
+Christian name naturally as an old friend of her mother's.
+
+DOLLY.  Yes, you call me Dolly as an old friend of my mother's.  But
+what about Dorothee-ee-a?  (McComas rises indignantly.)
+
+CRAMPTON (anxiously, rising to restrain him).  Keep your temper,
+McComas.  Don't let us quarrel.  Be patient.
+
+McCOMAS.  I will not be patient.  You are shewing the most wretched
+weakness of character, Crampton.  I say this is monstrous.
+
+DOLLY.  Mr. Bohun: please bully Finch for us.
+
+BOHUN.  I will.  McComas: you're making yourself ridiculous.  Sit
+down.
+
+McCOMAS.  I---
+
+BOHUN (waving him down imperiously).  No: sit down, sit down.
+(McComas sits down sulkily; and Crampton, much relieved, follows his
+example.)
+
+DOLLY (to Bohun, meekly).  Thank you.
+
+BOHUN.  Now, listen to me, all of you.  I give no opinion, McComas,
+as to how far you may or may not have committed yourself in the
+direction indicated by this young lady.  (McComas is about to protest.)
+No: don't interrupt me: if she doesn't marry you she will marry somebody
+else.  That is the solution of the difficulty as to her not bearing her
+father's name.  The other lady intends to get married.
+
+GLORIA (flushing).  Mr. Bohun!
+
+BOHUN.  Oh, yes, you do: you don't know it; but you do.
+
+GLORIA (rising).  Stop.  I warn you, Mr. Bohun, not to answer for my
+intentions.
+
+BOHUN (rising).  It's no  use, Miss Clandon: you can't put me down.
+I tell you your name will soon be neither Clandon nor Crampton; and I
+could tell you what it will be if I chose.  (He goes to the other end of
+the table, where he unrolls his domino, and puts the false nose on the
+table.  When he moves they all rise; and Phil goes to the window.
+Bohun, with a gesture, summons the waiter to help him in robing.)  Mr.
+Crampton: your notion of going to law is all nonsense: your children
+will be of age before you could get the point decided.  (Allowing the
+waiter to put the domino on his shoulders.)  You can do nothing but make
+a friendly arrangement.  If you want your family more than they want
+you, you'll get the worse of the arrangement: if they want you more than
+you want them, you'll get the better of it.  (He shakes the domino into
+becoming folds and takes up the false nose.  Dolly gazes admiringly at
+him.)  The strength of their position lies in their being very agreeable
+people personally.  The strength of your position lies in your income.
+(He claps on the false nose, and is again grotesquely transfigured.)
+
+DOLLY (running to him).  Oh, now you look quite like a human being.
+Mayn't I have just one dance with you?  C a n  you dance?  (Phil,
+resuming his part of harlequin, waves his hat as if casting a spell on
+them.)
+
+BOHUN (thunderously).  Yes: you think I can't; but I can.  Come
+along.  (He seizes her and dances off with her through the window in a
+most powerful manner, but with studied propriety and grace.  The waiter
+is meanwhile busy putting the chairs back in their customary places.)
+
+PHILIP.  "On with the dance: let joy be unconfined."  William!
+
+WAITER.  Yes, sir.
+
+PHILIP.  Can you procure a couple of dominos and false noses for my
+father and Mr. McComas?
+
+McCOMAS.  Most certainly not.  I protest---
+
+CRAMPTON.  No, no.  What harm will it do, just for once, McComas?
+Don't let us be spoil-sports.
+
+McCOMAS.  Crampton: you are not the man I took you for.  (Pointedly.)
+Bullies are always cowards.  (He goes disgustedly towards the window.)
+
+CRAMPTON (following him).  Well, never mind.  We must indulge them a
+little.  Can you get us something to wear, waiter?
+
+WAITER.  Certainly, sir.  (He precedes them to the window, and stands
+aside there to let them pass out before him.)  This way, sir.  Dominos
+and noses, sir?
+
+McCOMAS (angrily, on his way out).  I shall wear my own nose.
+
+WAITER (suavely).  Oh, dear, yes, sir: the false one will fit over it
+quite easily, sir: plenty of room, sir, plenty of room.  (He goes out
+after McComas.)
+
+CRAMPTON (turning at the window to Phil with an attempt at genial
+fatherliness).  Come along, my boy, come along.  (He goes.)
+
+PHILIP (cheerily, following him).  Coming, dad, coming.  (On the
+window threshold, he stops; looking after Crampton; then turns
+fantastically with his bat bent into a halo round his head, and says
+with a lowered voice to Mrs. Clandon and Gloria)  Did you feel the
+pathos of that?  (He vanishes.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (left alone with Gloria).  Why did Mr. Valentine go away
+so suddenly, I wonder?
+
+GLORIA (petulantly).  I don't know.  Yes, I   d o   know.  Let us go
+and see the dancing.  (They go towards the window, and are met by
+Valentine, who comes in from the garden walking quickly, with his face
+set and sulky.)
+
+VALENTINE (stiffly).  Excuse me.  I thought the party had quite
+broken up.
+
+GLORIA (nagging).  Then why did you come back?
+
+VALENTINE.  I came back because I am penniless.  I can't get out that
+way without a five shilling ticket.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Has anything annoyed you, Mr. Valentine?
+
+GLORIA.  Never mind him, mother.  This is a fresh insult to me: that
+is all.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (hardly able to realize that Gloria is deliberately
+provoking an altercation).  Gloria!
+
+VALENTINE.  Mrs. Clandon: have I said anything insulting?  Have I
+done anything insulting?
+
+GLORIA.  you have implied that my past has been like yours.  That is
+the worst of insults.
+
+VALENTINE.  I imply nothing of the sort.  I declare that my past has
+been blameless in comparison with yours.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (most indignantly).  Mr. Valentine!
+
+VALENTINE.  Well, what am I to think when I learn that Miss Clandon
+has made exactly the same speeches to other men that she has made to
+me---when I hear of at least five former lovers, with a tame naval
+lieutenant thrown in?  Oh, it's too bad.
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  But you surely do not believe that these affairs---
+mere jokes of the children's---were serious, Mr. Valentine?
+
+VALENTINE.  Not to you---not to her, perhaps.  But I know what the
+men felt.  (With ludicrously genuine earnestness.)  Have you ever
+thought of the wrecked lives, the marriages contracted in the
+recklessness of despair, the suicides, the---the---the---
+
+GLORIA (interrupting him contemptuously).  Mother: this man is a
+sentimental idiot.  (She sweeps away to the fireplace.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (shocked).  Oh, my  d e a r e s t  Gloria, Mr. Valentine
+will think that rude.
+
+VALENTINE.  I am not a sentimental idiot.  I am cured of sentiment
+for ever.  (He sits down in dudgeon.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  Mr. Valentine: you must excuse us all.  Women have to
+unlearn the false good manners of their slavery before they acquire the
+genuine good manners of their freedom.  Don't think Gloria vulgar
+(Gloria turns, astonished): she is not really so.
+
+GLORIA.  Mother!  You apologize for me to  h i m!
+
+MRS. CLANDON.  My dear: you have some of the faults of youth as well
+as its qualities; and Mr. Valentine seems rather too old fashioned in
+his ideas about his own sex to like being called an idiot.  And now had
+we not better go and see what Dolly is doing?  (She goes towards the
+window.  Valentine rises.)
+
+GLORIA.  Do you go, mother.  I wish to speak to Mr. Valentine alone.
+
+MRS. CLANDON (startled into a remonstrance).  My dear!  (Recollecting
+herself.)  I beg your pardon, Gloria.  Certainly, if you wish.  (She
+bows to Valentine and goes out.)
+
+VALENTINE.  Oh, if your mother were only a widow!  She's worth six of
+you.
+
+GLORIA.  That is the first thing I have heard you say that does you
+honor.
+
+VALENTINE.  Stuff!  Come: say what you want to say and let me go.
+
+GLORIA.  I have only this to say.  You dragged me down to your level
+for a moment this afternoon.  Do you think, if that had ever happened
+before, that I should not have been on my guard---that I should not have
+known what was coming, and known my own miserable weakness?
+
+VALENTINE (scolding at her passionately).  Don't talk of it in that
+way.  What do I care for anything in you but your weakness, as you call
+it?  You thought yourself very safe, didn't you, behind your advanced
+ideas!  I amused myself by upsetting  t h e m  pretty easily.
+
+GLORIA (insolently, feeling that now she can do as she likes with
+him).  Indeed!
+
+VALENTINE.  But why did I do it?  Because I was being tempted to
+awaken your heart---to stir the depths in you.  Why was I tempted?
+Because Nature was in deadly earnest with me when I was in jest with
+her.  When the great moment came, who was awakened? who was stirred? in
+whom did the depths break up?  In myself--- m y s e l f: I was
+transported: you were only offended---shocked.  You were only an
+ordinary young lady, too ordinary to allow tame lieutenants to go as far
+as I went.  That's all.  I shall not trouble you with conventional
+apologies.  Good-bye.  (He makes resolutely for the door.)
+
+GLORIA.  Stop.  (He hesitates.)  Oh, will you understand, if I tell
+you the truth, that I am not making an advance to you?
+
+VALENTINE.  Pooh!  I know what you're going to say.  You think you're
+not ordinary---that I was right---that you really have those depths in
+your nature.  It flatters you to believe it.  (She recoils.)  Well, I
+grant that you are not ordinary in some ways: you are a clever girl
+(Gloria stifles an exclamation of rage, and takes a threatening step
+towards him); but you've not been awakened yet.  You didn't care: you
+don't care.  It was my tragedy, not yours.  Good-bye.  (He turns to the
+door.  She watches him, appalled to see him slipping from her grasp.  As
+he turns the handle, he pauses; then turns again to her, offering his
+hand.)  Let us part kindly.
+
+GLORIA (enormously relieved, and immediately turning her back on him
+deliberately.)  Good-bye.  I trust you will soon recover from the wound.
+
+VALENTINE (brightening up as it flashes on him that he is master of
+the situation after all).  I shall recover: such wounds heal more than
+they harm.  After all, I still have my own Gloria.
+
+GLORIA (facing him quickly).  What do you mean?
+
+VALENTINE.  The Gloria of my imagination.
+
+GLORIA (proudly).  Keep your own Gloria---the Gloria of your
+imagination.  (Her emotion begins to break through her pride.)  The real
+Gloria---the Gloria who was shocked, offended, horrified---oh, yes,
+quite truly---who was driven almost mad with shame by the feeling that
+all her power over herself had been broken down at her first real
+encounter with---with--- (The color rushes over her face again.  She
+covers it with her left hand, and puts her right on his left arm to
+support herself.)
+
+VALENTINE.  Take care.  I'm losing my senses again.  (Summoning all
+her courage, she takes away her hand from her face and puts it on his
+right shoulder, turning him towards her and looking him straight in the
+eyes.  He begins to protest agitatedly.)  Gloria: be sensible: it's no
+use: I haven't a penny in the world.
+
+GLORIA.  Can't you earn one?  Other people do.
+
+VALENTINE (half delighted, half frightened).  I never could---you'd
+be unhappy---  My dearest love: I should be the merest fortune-hunting
+adventurer if--- (Her grip on his arms tightens; and she kisses him.)
+Oh, Lord!  (Breathless.)  Oh, I---  (He gasps.)  I don't know anything
+about women: twelve years' experience is not enough.  (In a gust of
+jealousy she throws him away from her; and he reels her back into the
+chair like a leaf before the wind, as Dolly dances in, waltzing with the
+waiter, followed by Mrs. Clandon and Finch, also waltzing, and Phil
+pirouetting by himself.)
+
+DOLLY (sinking on the chair at the writing-table).  Oh, I'm out of
+breath.  How beautifully you waltz, William!
+
+MRS. CLANDON (sinking on the saddlebag seat on the hearth).  Oh, how
+could you make me do such a silly thing, Finch!  I haven't danced since
+the soiree at South Place twenty years ago.
+
+GLORIA (peremptorily at Valentine).  Get up.  (Valentine gets up
+abjectly.)  Now let us have no false delicacy.  Tell my mother that we
+have agreed to marry one another.  (A silence of stupefaction ensues.
+Valentine, dumb with panic, looks at them with an obvious impulse to run
+away.)
+
+DOLLY (breaking the silence).  Number Six!
+
+PHILIP.  Sh!
+
+DOLLY (tumultuously).  Oh, my feelings!  I want to kiss somebody; and
+we bar it in the family.  Where's Finch?
+
+McCOMAS (starting violently).  No, positively--- (Crampton appears in
+the window.)
+
+DOLLY (running to Crampton).  Oh, you're just in time.  (She kisses
+him.)  Now (leading him forward) bless them.
+
+GLORIA.  No.  I will have no such thing, even in jest.  When I need a
+blessing, I shall ask my mother's.
+
+CRAMPTON (to Gloria, with deep disappointment).  Am I to understand
+that you have engaged yourself to this young gentleman?
+
+GLORIA (resolutely).  Yes.  Do you intend to be our friend or---
+
+DOLLY (interposing).  ---or our father?
+
+CRAMPTON.  I should like to be both, my child.  But surely---!  Mr.
+Valentine: I appeal to your sense of honor.
+
+VALENTINE.  You're quite right.  It's perfect madness.  If we go out
+to dance together I shall have to borrow five shillings from her for a
+ticket.  Gloria: don't be rash: you're throwing yourself away.  I'd much
+better clear straight out of this, and never see any of you again.  I
+shan't commit suicide: I shan't even be unhappy.  It'll be a relief to
+me: I---I'm frightened, I'm positively frightened; and that's the plain
+truth.
+
+GLORIA (determinedly).  You shall not go.
+
+VALENTINE (quailing).  No, dearest: of course not.  But--oh, will
+somebody only talk sense for a moment and bring us all to reason!  I
+can't.  Where's Bohun?  Bohun's the man.  Phil: go and summon Bohun---
+
+PHILIP.  From the vastly deep.  I go.  (He makes his bat quiver in
+the air and darts away through the window.)
+
+WAITER (harmoniously to Valentine).  If you will excuse my putting in
+a word, sir, do not let a matter of five shillings stand between you and
+your happiness, sir.  We shall be only too pleased to put the ticket
+down to you: and you can settle at your convenience.  Very glad to meet
+you in any way, very happy and pleased indeed, sir.
+
+PHILIP (re-appearing).  He comes.  (He waves his bat over the window.
+Bohun comes in, taking off his false nose and throwing it on the table
+in passing as he comes between Gloria and Valentine.)
+
+VALENTINE.  The point is, Mr. Bohun---
+
+McCOMAS (interrupting from the hearthrug).  Excuse me, sir: the point
+must be put to him by a solicitor.  The question is one of an engagement
+between these two young people.  The lady has some property, and
+(looking at Crampton) will probably have a good deal more.
+
+CRAMPTON.  Possibly.  I hope so.
+
+VALENTINE.  And the gentleman hasn't a rap.
+
+BOHUN (nailing Valentine to the point instantly).  Then insist on a
+settlement.  That shocks your delicacy: most sensible precautions do.
+But you ask my advice; and I give it to you.  Have a settlement.
+
+GLORIA (proudly).  He shall have a settlement.
+
+VALENTINE.  My good sir, I don't want advice for myself.  Give  h e r
+some advice.
+
+BOHUN.  She won't take it.  When you're married, she won't take yours
+either--- (turning suddenly on Gloria) oh, no, you won't: you think you
+will; but you won't.  He'll set to work and earn his living--- (turning
+suddenly to Valentine) oh, yes, you will: you think you won't; but you
+will.  She'll make you.
+
+CRAMPTON (only half persuaded).  Then, Mr. Bohun, you don't think
+this match an unwise one?
+
+BOHUN.  Yes, I do: all matches are unwise.  It's unwise to be born;
+it's unwise to be married; it's unwise to live; and it's unwise to die.
+
+WAITER (insinuating himself between Crampton and Valentine).  Then,
+if I may respectfully put in a word in, sir, so much the worse for
+wisdom!  (To Valentine, benignly.)  Cheer up, sir, cheer up: every man
+is frightened of marriage when it comes to the point; but it often turns
+out very comfortable, very enjoyable and happy indeed, sir---from time
+to time.  I never was master in my own house, sir: my wife was like your
+young lady: she was of a commanding and masterful disposition, which my
+son has inherited.  But if I had my life to live twice over, I'd do it
+again, I'd do it again, I assure you.  You never can tell, sir: you
+never can tell.
+
+PHILIP.  Allow me to remark that if Gloria has made up her mind---
+
+DOLLY.  The matter's settled and Valentine's done for.  And we're
+missing all the dances.
+
+VALENTINE (to Gloria, gallantly making the best of it).  May I have a
+dance---
+
+BOHUN (interposing in his grandest diapason).  Excuse me: I claim
+that privilege as counsel's fee.  May I have the honor---thank you.
+(He dances away with Gloria and disappears among the lanterns, leaving
+Valentine gasping.)
+
+VALENTINE (recovering his breath).  Dolly: may I--- (offering himself
+as her partner)?
+
+DOLLY.  Nonsense!  (Eluding him and running round the table to the
+fireplace.)  Finch---my Finch!  (She pounces on McComas and makes him
+dance.)
+
+McCOMAS (protesting).  Pray restrain --- really --- (He is borne off
+dancing through the window.)
+
+VALENTINE (making a last effort).  Mrs. Clandon: may I---
+
+PHILIP (forestalling him).  Come, mother.  (He seizes his mother and
+whirls her away.)
+
+MRS. CLANDON (remonstrating).  Phil, Phil--- (She shares McComas's
+fate.)
+
+CRAMPTON (following them with senile glee).  Ho! ho!  He! he! he!
+(He goes into the garden chuckling at the fun.)
+
+VALENTINE (collapsing on the ottoman and staring at the waiter).  I
+might as well be a married man already.  (The waiter contemplates the
+captured Duellist of Sex with affectionate commiseration, shaking his
+head slowly.)
+
+CURTAIN.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of You Never Can Tell, by G. B. Shaw
+
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