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diff --git a/old/2000-05-nvrct10.txt b/old/2000-05-nvrct10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..244da27 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2000-05-nvrct10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5241 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of You Never Can Tell, by G. B. Shaw +#7 in our series by [George] Bernard Shaw + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. 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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 + diff --git a/old/2000-05-nvrct10.zip b/old/2000-05-nvrct10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..47fe4e6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2000-05-nvrct10.zip |