diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:21:28 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:21:28 -0700 |
| commit | 0154f2dd7b35005092b5a4ca6163c4c44e3fcdc4 (patch) | |
| tree | 2c2c1a7038c8a3770a62e5acedb4265b99df0fa3 /old/theac10.txt | |
Diffstat (limited to 'old/theac10.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/theac10.txt | 4426 |
1 files changed, 4426 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/theac10.txt b/old/theac10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d2aaee7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/theac10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4426 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Admirable Crichton by J. M. Barrie +#5 in our series by J. M. Barrie + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the laws for your country before redistributing 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. + +Please do not remove this. + +This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book. +Do not change or edit it without written permission. The words +are carefully chosen to provide users with the information they +need about what they can legally do with the texts. + + +**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. We need your donations. +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3) +organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541 +Details on this are below. + + +Title: THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON + +Author: J. M. Barrie + +Official Release Date: October, 2002 [Etext #3490] +[Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule] +[The actual date this file first posted = 05/20/01] +[Date Last Updated: January 10, 2004] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Admirable Crichton by J. M. Barrie +*********This file should be named theac10.txt or ntheac0.zip******** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, theac11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, theac10a.txt + +This etext was produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions, +all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a +copyright notice is included. Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any +of these books in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our books one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to send us error messages even years after +the official publication date. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our sites at: +http://gutenberg.net +http://promo.net/pg + + +Those of you who want to download any Etext before announcement +can surf to them as follows, and just download by date; this is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext02 +or +ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext02 + +Or /etext01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release fifty new Etext +files per month, or 500 more Etexts in 2000 for a total of 3000+ +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +should reach over 300 billion Etexts given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third +of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 3,333 Etexts unless we +manage to get some real funding. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +As of 05/16/01 contributions are only being solicited from people in: +Connecticut, Louisiana, Maine, Missouri, Oklahoma, Colorado, +Delaware, Hawaii, Idaho, Indiana, Iowa, Montana, Nebraska, +South Dakota, Texas, Vermont, Wyoming, South Carolina. + +We have filed in about 45 states now, but these are the only ones +that have responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, +additions to this list will be made and fund raising +will begin in the additional states. Please feel +free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork +to legally request donations in all 50 states. If +your state is not listed and you would like to know +if we have added it since the list you have, just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in +states where we are not yet registered, we know +of no prohibition against accepting donations +from donors in these states who approach us with +an offer to donate. + + +International donations are accepted, +but we don't know ANYTHING about how +to make them tax-deductible, or +even if they CAN be made deductible, +and don't have the staff to handle it +even if there are ways. + +All donations should be made to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655-4109 + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3) +organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541, +and has been approved as a 501(c)(3) organization by the US Internal +Revenue Service (IRS). Donations are tax-deductible to the maximum +extent permitted by law. As the requirements for other states are met, +additions to this list will be made and fund raising will begin in the +additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information at: + +http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +hart@pobox.com forwards to hart@prairienet.org and archive.org +if your mail bounces from archive.org, I will still see it, if +it bounces from prairienet.org, better resend later on. . . . + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +*** + + +Example command-line FTP session: + +ftp ftp.ibiblio.org +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd pub/docs/books/gutenberg +cd etext90 through etext99 or etext00 through etext02, etc. +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET GUTINDEX.?? [to get a year's listing of books, e.g., GUTINDEX.99] +GET GUTINDEX.ALL [to get a listing of ALL books] + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etexts, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this etext, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the etext, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.05/20/01*END* +[Portions of this header are copyright (C) 2001 by Michael S. Hart +and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.] +[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales +of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or +software or any other related product without express permission.] + + + + + +This etext was produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + +THE PLAYS OF J. M. BARRIE + + +THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON + + +A COMEDY + + + + +ACT I + +AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR + + +A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up +to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his +pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is +thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about +town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he +almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great +moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is +Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can +conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for +his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just +the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of +humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the +whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the +other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to +have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a +bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), +and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in +restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during +this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the +privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a +working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and +that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the +country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to +float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he +has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, +for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which +would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return +unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing +quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in +pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he +will be fondled in the process. + +He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts +the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the +house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding +a door above. + +It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a +servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as +a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the +pantry and the boudoir. + +We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we +found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights +as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a +hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to +get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor +servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at +thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly +attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he +is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are +immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great +English peer. + +This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a +certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and +the play begins. + +It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most +magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that +those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are +magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to +keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable +purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, +when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong +turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing +distance. + +This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are +so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider +and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head +comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and +there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out +of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which +you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too +much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters +of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue +somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several +library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying +against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this +row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly +and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a +great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has +his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before +delivering the thrust. + +ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great +function is to take place here. + +CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. + +ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have +tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look +happy, Crichton. + +CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. + +ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might +look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his +lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? + +CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's +radical views. + +ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that +he is affable to you. + +CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's +treatment of us is everything that could be desired. + +ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a +cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the +dregs. + +CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. + +ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an +ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to +the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand +strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. + +(He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning +over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. +CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand +on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has +kicked the footstool across the room.) + +ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling +them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of +the sea-- + +(He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the +fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for +being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one +after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on +the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of +the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They +are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a +dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than +AGATHA.) + +ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). +And how are my little friends to-day? + +AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If +you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of +entertaining the servants is so exhausting. + +CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to +decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a +mental strain. + +ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his +favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while +CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. + +CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your +hand? + +AGATHA. Yes? + +ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think +it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be +butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. + +(Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an +accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY +enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) + +Tea, my lady? + +(LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a +natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her +sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that +you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom +chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; +she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She +often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: +there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, +like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) + +LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought +there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). + +ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very +tiring day also, Mary? + +LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all +the morning. + +ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's +that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? + +(The energetic AGATHA nods.) + +You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? + +(LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) + +I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, +but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't +you make the effort? + +(She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he +starts back melodramatically.) + +The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, +like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of +course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. +Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you +will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky +ought to be informed. Now-- + +(He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) + +If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall +awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. + +(CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) + +LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. + +ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew +that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young +enough to know everything. + +(He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to +grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) + +AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? + +ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know +everything. + +AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. + +(Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young +clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) + +CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. + +ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know +everything. + +TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? + +ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. + +LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. + +ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. + +TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not +old enough to know everything. + +ERNEST. No, I don't. + +TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. + +LADY MARY. Of course it is. + +CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. + +(ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) + +ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. + +(It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from +CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) + +CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) + +ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you +would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear +you bowl with your head. + +TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good +for, Ernest. + +CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You +are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. + +TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. + +CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman +who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. + +TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. + +(The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. +The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of +advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the +domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to +speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his +philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and +his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the +weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, +because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he +does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as +well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, +which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very +jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and +learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an +intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords +which will come some day. + +Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick +him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying +socks--or selling them.) + +LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the +voyage, Treherne? + +TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. + +LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they +were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we +had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. + +LADY MARY. They hate it. + +LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea- +table.) + +ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. + +ERNEST. Mother pleased? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. + +ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not +be called Brocky. + +ERNEST. Mother don't like it? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him +and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) + +LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, +Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) + +LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! + +LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful +creature. + +CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help +being a Conservative, my lord. + +LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as +myself. + +CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! + +LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not +all here last time. + +CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. + +LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, +Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall +soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. + +(CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has +no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) + +And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends +recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) + +By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? + +LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make +them disappear, for instance? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. + +LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able +to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few +words; something bright and sparkling. + +ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. + +LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. + +ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. + +(He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the +chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first +is the housekeeper.) + +CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. + +LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our +friend, Mrs. Perkins. + +LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? + +LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! + +AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? + +LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. +Perkins. + +(LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a +moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. + +ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. + +CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. + +ERNEST. The chef. + +LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, +Monsieur Fleury. + +FLEURY. Thank you very much. + +(FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) + +LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! + +(She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. +FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. +LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) + +CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. + +LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? + +(CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) + +CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. + +(TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he +shrinks.) + +CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. + +(This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even +LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) + +LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. + +ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes +her unto himself). + +CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. + +LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss +Simmons. + +ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. +Won't you sit down? + +CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. + +LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. + +(A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an +animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not +sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) + +LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. + +LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? + +LADY MARY. My friend. + +CRICHTON. Thomas. + +LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? + +(The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) + +CRICHTON. John. + +LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? + +(ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) + +ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have +already met on the door-step. + +CRICHTON. Jane. + +(She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) + +LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. + +CRICHTON. Gladys. + +ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? + +LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. + +(He bestows her on AGATHA.) + +CRICHTON. Tweeny. + +(She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to +see more.) + +LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. + +FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; +introduce me. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon +pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. + +(But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake +hands.) + +ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are +too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) +Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; +let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, +Tweeny. + +(BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, +and something may come of this.) + +LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. + +CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. + +(A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter +of the house advances to them.) + +LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? + +(The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) + +LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how +are all at home? + +TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring +for? + +LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? + +TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. + +LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; +nice little fellow. + +TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my +lord, it's a girl. + +LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly +remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. + +(CRICHTON now comes down.) + +LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. + +(CRICHTON has to shake hands.) + +Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? + +(He wanders off in search of other prey.) + +LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? + +CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. + +LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most +distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do +speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? + +CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of +the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a +burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. + +LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. + +CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if +the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. + +LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by +saying he was not young enough to know everything? + +CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. + +LADY MARY. But you laughed. + +CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. + +LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you +been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the +kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. + +CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may +compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in +the servants' hall. + +LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you +see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that +if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, +all would be equal? + +CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- + +LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. + +CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. +They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) +There must always be a master and servants in all civilised +communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is +right. + +LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and +allow you to talk such nonsense. + +CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been +striving to point out to your lordship. + +AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is +looking daggers. + +CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I +suppose. + +(She sails across to FISHER.) + +How are you, Fisher? + +FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am +nothing at all. + +AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? + +FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to +have a second cup of tea. + +CATHERINE. But why not? + +FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before +offering it to me-- + +AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? + +FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked +first. + +AGATHA. Oh dear. + +(All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of +the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is +still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every +one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, +as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may +be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that +there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better +one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the +peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who +knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. +LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees +ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural +indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look +down their noses, and the address begins.) + +LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It +used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove +distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the +question. + +(He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON +giving them a lead.) + +No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly +hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer +to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that +if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure +from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than +satisfied. + +(All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) + +For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural +(glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are +swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. + +(The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his +life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really +heard of again.) + +But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a +few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. +Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage +to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we +shall be under weigh. + +(But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his +success.) + +Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. +My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what +I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my +daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on +this voyage have but one maid between them. + +(Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) + +CRICHTON. My lord! + +LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. + +ERNEST. I cordially agree. + +LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is +some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble +saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection +I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I +first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It +constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was-- +the proverb I speak of-- + +(He grows pale and taps his forehead.) + +LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. + +LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- + +(Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the +sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try +applause, but it is no help.) + +I have it now--(not he). + +LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. + +(He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as +well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to +precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he +signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from +the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The +proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S +skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an +opportunity to air their indignation.) + +LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful +kitchenmaid-- + +LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. + +(He salutes her.) + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am +glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for +myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall +see you, darling, before you sail. + +(He bows to the others and goes.) + +ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my +speech? + +LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? + +ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. + +LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are +kept? + +AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? + +CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the +carriage? + +LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how +shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the +blinds? + +(CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) + +ERNEST. How is his lordship now? + +CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. + +LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. + +(He goes.) + +ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- + +LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. + +ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me +to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at +all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. + +(He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls +are alone with their tragic thoughts.) + +LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor +sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this +draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every +way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. + +AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. + +LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. + +CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) +What do you propose to do, Mary? + +LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you +when I don't need her myself. + +AGATHA. Fisher? + +LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as +the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. + +CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. + +AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for +either me or Catherine. + +LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for +you. + +(The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival +of FISHER.) + +LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? + +FISHER. Yes, my lady. + +LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). +You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my +approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies +us. + +FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. + +LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. + +FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give +notice. + +(CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) + +LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. + +CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? + +FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't +do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to +think that this affront-- + +LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. + +(FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she +has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty +woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) + +AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. + +(CRICHTON comes.) + +CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. + +CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? + +CATHERINE. What is it? + +CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to +give notice for the same reason as Fisher. + +CATHERINE. Oh! + +AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. + +CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. + +(LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her +sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) + +AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be +got to wait upon three? + +LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, +Crichton? + +CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. + +LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail +in two days; could one be discovered in the time? + +AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? + +CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your +ladyship, a young woman-- + +LADY MARY. Yes? + +CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. + +CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? + +CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. + +LADY MARY. Ah! + +CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. +Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- + +LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) +You two needn't wait. + +CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. + +AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. + +(They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who +looks scared.) + +CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. + +CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! + +(It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) + +LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. + +(TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) + +CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as +you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. + +LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? + +TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. + +CATHERINE. A what? + +CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, +strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable +maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of +the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other +end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. + +LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? + +(CRICHTON draws himself up.) + +TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. + +LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? + +CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture +with his arms)--but we do not keep company. + +AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? + +(TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) + +CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is +that I have cast a favourable eye. + +(Even this is much to TWEENY.) + +LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not +suit us. + +CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very +sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. + +AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. + +CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the +ladies'-maids for our evening meals. + +(The ladies are interested at last.) + +LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? + +TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. + +CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! + +TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. + +CRICHTON. What alters! + +TWEENY. Which alters. + +AGATHA. Mary? + +LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. + +CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to +make a lady's-maid of you. + +TWEENY. Oh lawks! + +AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may +be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. + +CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's +chances. + +LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, +she will make the necessary arrangements. + +(She resumes reading.) + +TWEENY (elated). My lady! + +LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. + +TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? + +LADY MARY. Certainly. + +TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? + +CRICHTON. No. + +TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. + +AGATHA. YOU must. + +TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. + +LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in +your wages. + +TWEENY. I ain't going. + +CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. + +TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. + +LADY MARY. Leave the room. + +(CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) + +AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with +her. + +CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to +part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say +so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with +her. + +(He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) + +LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! + +CATHERINE. What is it now, father? + +LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us +because you are to have but one maid. + +AGATHA. Hurrah! + +LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should +lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. + +LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do +without three maids. + +CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable +the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the-- +the usual perquisites. + +LORD LOAM. Any one will do. + +CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! + +LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! + +(AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) + +LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! + +AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to +you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove +unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you +yourself--you-- + +(As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, +offended dignity, and she is appalled.) + +I beg your pardon. + +(He bows stiffly.) + +CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. + +(CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) + +LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to +let the master you love go so far away without you while he has +these dangerous views about equality? + +(CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his +master, who has been pacing the room.) + +CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. + +LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? + +(CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) + +Yourself? + +CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. + +LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. +Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it +will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that +I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. + +(He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA +impulsively offering him her hand.) + +CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! + +AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do +it? + +(CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) + +LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an +answer. + +CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid-- +perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most +beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English +house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your +ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be +counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were +equal to me. + +CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- + +CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be +to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person +might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't +say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would +decide for us. + +LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. + +CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. + +CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you +thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? + +CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it +for the house. + +AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY +has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could +show our gratitude. + +CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by +becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our +superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower +servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. + +(He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) + +AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. + +CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. + +(LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) + +LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter +cases. + +AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. + +LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be +master, and the same persons might not be servants. + +CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature +would decide. + +LADY MARY. I wonder-- + +(But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she +knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The +ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) + +End of Act I. + + + + +ACT II + +THE ISLAND + + +Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the +Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. + +The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save +the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally +Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and +hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between +the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we +shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at +present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing +out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the +ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be +seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its +roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at +a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches +thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly +remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a +cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, +and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our +dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are +not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which +a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, +hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by +wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted +to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but +though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with +his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in +his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert +woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit +them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time +in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face +is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries +the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month +will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he +has begun. + +But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible +falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save +the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. + +They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are +farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. +Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to +dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made +the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they +known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. +They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts +dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for +instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify +that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay +in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both +hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. +There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and +their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. + +By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in +the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the +only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is +due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his +having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest +satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they +listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. + +ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from +the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! +on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, +the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha +Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's +steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these +seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, +putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot +tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in +whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- + +LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. + +ERNEST. --'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only +one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a +gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The +ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is +something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) + +AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to +save father. + +ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging +qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling +away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this +document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an +English peer, you know-- + +LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is +very thoughtful of you. + +ERNEST (continuing, well pleased). --'By night the cries of wild +cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not +satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies +extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a +hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable +seat'-- + +LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. + +ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls +suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to +prowl and roar.' + +LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our +toes as we sleep? + +ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich +reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This +is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton +found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I +shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. + +(He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams +the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives +birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) + +The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. + +(They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little +petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of +epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking +the ladies are in danger.) + +CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? + +ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who +calls at our island twice a day for letters. + +CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. + +(He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which +is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in +him.) + +ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of +humour. Come along, Agatha. + +(He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly +from view.) + +CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. + +LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is +still. + +CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are +always very still just before they jump. + +LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are +startled.) + +LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down +trees. + +CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside +him. + +LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! + +CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on +one from above. + +(She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY +MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as +the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick +glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) + +LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! + +(It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes +to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) + +CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? + +LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? + +CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are +afraid of being alone, my lady-- + +LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. + +(But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting +the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) + +LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. + +CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. + +(He continues his labours.) + +LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. + +CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. + +LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do +for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. + +CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. + +(By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea +are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. +The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of +the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) + +CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. + +LADY MARY. My poor father. + +CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. + +LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. +(With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. + +CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. + +LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a +ship coming? + +CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. + +LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have +got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. + +CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I +fear far from the track of commerce. + +LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. + +(For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands +and stands erect.) + +CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that +they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my +lady. + +LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. +(Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? + +CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. + +(She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by +CRICHTON.) + +And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best +for you ladies. + +LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. + +CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. + +LADY MARY. I doubt it. + +CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no +dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. + +LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, +Crichton? + +CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem +to see it growing all over the island. + +LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. + +CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. + +LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying +anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't +work there will be no dinner for us? + +CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of +it. + +LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds +that we are all equal now. I see. + +CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so +inconsistent? + +LADY MARY. That is it. + +CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home +because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly +disbelieve in it on an island. + +LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. + +CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be +one to command and others to obey. + +LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then +suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his +confident words.) Crichton! + +CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? + +(But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left +alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself +gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa- +nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her +three minutes' grace for dressing.) + +TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). +Look what I found. + +CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! + +TWEENY. They grows on trees. + +CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? + +TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. + +CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! + +TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? + +CRICHTON. A little. + +TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and +ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as +soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the +house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I +says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the +time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord +it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' + +(A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) + +That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. + +(She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) + +CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give +you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so +fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about +you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. + +TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). +Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. + +CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We +shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been +arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings +him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens +from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) + +TWEENY. Why, what's that? + +CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch +and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm +hoping to kindle a fire with it. + +TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! + +(After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it +when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA +runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) + +ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! + +CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? + +AGATHA. It is at our heels. + +ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. + +CRICHTON. H'sh! + +(TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE +join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He +seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that +ERNEST is no coward.) + +TREHERNE. Listen! + +ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. + +(It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his +hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously +attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into +his arms.) + +LADY MARY. Father. + +LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh +dear! + +LADY MARY. Darling. + +AGATHA. Sweetest. + +CATHERINE. Love. + +TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. + +ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. + +(For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is +thoughtless.) + +TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. + +LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at +once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. + +(ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) + +CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. + +ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. +(Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. +To work, to work. + +CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. + +(He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, +which is now burning brightly.) + +TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. + +(He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the +hut.) + +LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious +stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It +isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? + +LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. + +LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. +(Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? + +ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) + +LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! + +(There is a sudden diversion.) + +CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! + +LADY MARY. So he has. + +LORD LOAM. Of course I have. + +ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. +It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. + +LORD LOAM. Is it? + +ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the +arteries, you know. + +LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. + +(He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) + +ERNEST. O Lord, yes. + +(In another moment those boots will be his.) + +LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from +you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. + +ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only +wanted the loan of them. + +AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them +to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. + +LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. + +ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't +want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't +think you could spare me one boot? + +LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. + +ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. + +(He departs to recline elsewhere.) + +LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. + +LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How +awful that first night was. + +LADY MARY. Poor father. + +LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely +hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the +Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. +My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he +pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. + +LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? + +LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the +senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. + +CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- + +LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. + +LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that +if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa- +nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not +one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I +longed for Crichton. + +LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? + +LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The +authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by +rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! + +LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the +island but yourself? + +LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the +pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I +saw before me--on the sand-- + +CATHERINE. What? + +LORD LOAM. A hairpin. + +LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. + +AGATHA. No, it's mine. + +LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. + +LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin +on an island, and didn't keep it? + +LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. + +AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to +nature more than you bargained for. + +LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) +Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to +assert your position as the chief person on the island. + +(They are all surprised.) + +LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? + +CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. + +LADY MARY. Must I? + +AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. + +LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I +shall make short work of him. + +AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid +things to his face. + +LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. + +LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? + +LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing +way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. + +ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out +the building of this hut. + +LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. + +ERNEST. That don't matter. + +LORD LOAM. Eh? + +ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. + +LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. + +ERNEST. What! + +LADY MARY. Father. + +LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not +thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And +now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? + +ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The +great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' + +LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). +My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall +be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts +that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear +nephew, why I have given you my boots. + +ERNEST. This is my answer. + +(He kicks off the boots.) + +LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. + +LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a +happy thought.) Call Crichton. + +LADY MARY. Oh father. + +(CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by +TREHERNE.) + +ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, +look here. + +LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to +what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. + +ERNEST. Pooh! + +CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? + +LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. + +CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have +been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were +wrecked. + +ERNEST. My case? + +LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. + +CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me +that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. + +ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. + +CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in +the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are +not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully +propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an +epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring +water. + +(There is a terrible silence.) + +LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. + +ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. + +CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My +feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to +a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as +respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. + +(Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently +means what he says.) + +LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is +your nephew. + +LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, +Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- + +ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a +stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in +the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his +consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his +sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he +turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) + +CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the +privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is +cowed.) Come. + +ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. + +CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. + +(ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to +the nearest spring.) + +LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. + +LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it +himself. + +LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. + +LADY MARY. Father, be strong. + +LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- + +LADY MARY. Yes, I do. + +TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of +acting dishonourably. + +LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that +that is what makes him so dangerous? + +TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. + +CATHERINE. He is coming back. + +LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let +us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. + +LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now +and for ever. + +LORD LOAM. I will. + +LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. + +(CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) + +LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out +my instructions, Crichton? + +CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. + +(ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since +we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, +but AGATHA is specially his champion.) + +AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. + +LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. + +LADY MARY. Now, father, please. + +LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further +orders, Crichton-- + +CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. + +LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. + +LADY MARY. No. Please go on. + +LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you +think now, Crichton? + +CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing +to do. + +LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. + +LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. + +CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any +interference from us. + +(The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) + +LADY MARY. Father. + +LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, +when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. + +CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about +quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and +we shall have as little to do with it here. + +TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. + +LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, +Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. + +CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. + +CATHERINE. But you must know. + +CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an +island. + +(They look at each other uneasily.) + +LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. + +CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more +uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left +that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) + +LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused +dissension. + +CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. +From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we +could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in +need; indeed, we are all in need of them. + +LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? + +CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. + +LADY MARY. Father. + +CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, +if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will +not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this +undergrowth-- + +LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. + +LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, +'Down with nature,' + +CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! + +LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a +month's notice. + +(If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the +interview is closed.) + +CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- + +LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. + +LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a +character. + +ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all +forgetting that this is an island? + +(This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his +eldest daughter for the fitting response.) + +LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference-- +that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. + +(The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he +was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his +fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would +be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip +to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then +affection for these great ones wells up in him.) + +CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. + +LADY MARY. Go. + +CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. + +LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there +is but one alternative, we must leave him. + +(LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) + +TREHERNE. It seems a pity. + +CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? + +TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, +Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. + +LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? + +LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. + +CRICHTON. My lord! + +LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. + +ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. + +TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back +to it before it sank. He risked his life. + +CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. + +LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. + +ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- + +LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. + +(Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the +rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is +coming to a sudden end.) + +CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. +Do you have a try at it, my lord. + +LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! + +CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best +man. + +LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. + +(They disappear proudly in single file.) + +TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. + +CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. + +(He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she +has been watching breathlessly.) + +Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? + +TREHERNE. Assuredly. + +TWEENY. But what do it all mean? + +CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to +TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. + +TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. + +CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is +blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is +already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, +sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell +will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. +Good night, sir. + +TREHERNE. Good night. + +(He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little +time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing +darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he +has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is +deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is +as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that +nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his +preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of +several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe +with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy +movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern +in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground +around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the +fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his +face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister +figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the +wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is +indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has +fallen on the island like a pall. + +Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir +the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent +vigil. + +Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the +rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal +nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands +out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes +within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her +teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of +her.) + + +End of Act II. + + + + +ACT III + +THE HAPPY HOME + + +The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This +sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in +process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west +of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose +this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream +was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time +they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. + +This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of +stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many +home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from +hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are +specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain +various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, +trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The +chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and +in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various +pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: +thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with +electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has +become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn +coyly from each other as a settee. + +The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a +great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. +There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the +boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many +plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size +and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are +as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well- +conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note +struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and +barbaric. + +The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It +is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of +fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing +the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have +found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a +little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage +to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground- +floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and +whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as +it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, +which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view +of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine +summer evening. + +Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird +and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. +She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may +remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for +an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still +adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been +added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been +patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said +and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She +is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on +important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. + +Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle +which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an +indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be +clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the +mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to +take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who +answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island +name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the +new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the +happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, +but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his +pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. + +In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the +exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts +into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety +chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick +is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from +insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a +placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and +steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. + +LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. + +TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here +idling-- + +(LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly +dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies +herself laying the table for dinner.) + +LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? + +TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and +cold. + +LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man +who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- + +TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. + +LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; +the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has +made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in +two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. + +(He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) + +TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful +creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) +Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. + +LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his +plucking contentedly.) + +TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? + +LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. + +TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing +the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, +and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little +agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. + +LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we +could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a +mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on +that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing +all round the shore. + +TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's +the most wonderful thing he has done. + +LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! + +TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! + +LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic +chamber-- + +TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road-- +(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) + +LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At +this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He +is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his +shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST +completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. +As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is +perhaps justifiably indignant.) + +ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? + +LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian +shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put +my head in a bucket. + +ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with +excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It +was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water +cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall +require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of +thing encourages a fellow. + +TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). +I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. + +ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. + +(She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, +and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a +cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he +tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? + +TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a +set of razors. One for each day in the week. + +ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll +like that. He likes sets of things. + +TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? + +ERNEST. Rather. + +TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. + +ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. + +TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you +think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. + +ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. + +TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of +wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the +grindstone and put an edge on them. + +ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. + +TREHERNE. Well? + +ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a +clergyman. + +TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that +none of you forget it. + +ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? + +TREHERNE. What? + +ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? + +TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. + +ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, +John, is right. + +TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today +already. + +ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? + +TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the +Gov. himself. + +ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar +he is. + +TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? + +ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the +love-light in my eyes. You answered-- + +TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if +called upon. + +ERNEST. You're a brick. + +TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of +you? + +ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. + +TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. + +ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? + +TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were +wrecked. + +ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm +flying at bigger game. + +TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? + +ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. + +TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has +nothing to do with this. + +ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. + +TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. + +ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of +her, but I think I have touched her heart. + +TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As +you know, Catherine won't look at me. + +ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. + +TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, +my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. + +ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? + +TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. + +(After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) + +ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? + +TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; +but if you want me, Ernest-- + +ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could +spare me a moment. + +TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? + +ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. + +TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. + +ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even +now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until +I knew you I never knew any woman. + +TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an +epigram). Take care--the bucket. + +ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes +chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the +bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a +dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. + +TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, +Erny? + +ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little +house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to +make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a +sideboard for you. + +TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) +Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? + +ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be +your adoring husband. + +TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. + +ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. + +TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that +sorry. + +ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away +altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me +from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true +lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. + +TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. + +ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. +(Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. + +TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? + +ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. + +TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. +From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY +draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has +stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so +handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, +we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is +the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has +done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and +over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of +triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the +window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? + +LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a +splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the +kitchen fire.) + +ERNEST. Where did you get it? + +LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to +creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they +spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to +try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went +down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he +doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after +him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. +He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he +clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up +the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track +again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in +Firefly Grove. + +TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? + +LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and +deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) + +TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. + +LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. + +TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. + +LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing +each other defiantly.) + +ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. +(LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the +first time.) + +LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling +annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming +TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, +Tweeny dear? + +TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. + +LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to +everybody. + +TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be +so nice, Polly? + +LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) +It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and +AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in +manly attire.) + +CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we +in time? We ran all the way. + +TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and +look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA +follows her.) + +AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? + +CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. + +AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. + +TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants +Polly again. + +(LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) + +AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY +angry.) + +TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? + +LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was +anything I could do to make you happy also. + +TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to +forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. + +(LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) + +AGATHA. A proposal? + +CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) + +ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only +me. + +LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! + +AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. + +CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in +thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook +them. + +ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to- +night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. +A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a +little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he +addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly +disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I +think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. + +AGATHA. Oh, bother. + +ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I +shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but +unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating +smile.) + +LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please +may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such +charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) + +TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. + +AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. + +LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that +he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. + +TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. + +LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. + +TWEENY. And it's mine. + +LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt +directly. + +CATHERINE. Don't. + +TWEENY. I won't. + +LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. + +TWEENY. I should like to see you try. + +(An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. +The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight +to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The +ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe +to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. +CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and +brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a +wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside +the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the +younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that +separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, +which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we +have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is +in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but +she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. +We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of +us who would not give her £26 a year. + +The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book +on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a +printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of +the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle +more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that +he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a +dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a +face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in +affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and +bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as +strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall +figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly +muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, +are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails +better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many +indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often +been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can +easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore +and fear him. + +He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but +inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place +at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu- +shell before him, and he glances at it.) + +CRICHTON. Clear, please. + +(LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, +through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the +clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the +master partakes of the soup.) + +CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent +soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. + +LADY MARY. Thank you. + +(The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through +the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. + +LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant +spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) + +CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. + +LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! + +CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll +swear. + +LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! + +CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? + +LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. + +CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- + +LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of +asking. + +CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he +has gone too far.) You may clear. + +(Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, +sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. +She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to +decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) + +CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? + +LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. + +CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black +Gorge? + +LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. + +CRICHTON. Hand over hand? + +LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least +dizzy. + +CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a +little agitated.) But never do that again. + +LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. + +CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. + +LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. + +CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step +forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when +she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky +child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of +the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than +severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. + +LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. + +CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; +there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, +bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, +he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to +do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and +cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of +me to wish to save you from harm? + +LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I +don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she +looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. + +CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a +little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) +Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. + +LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. + +CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half +rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks +himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple +island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and +CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a +stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though +with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an +artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful +to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric +light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been +regarding her.) + +CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite +like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so +well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. + +LADY MARY. What do I do? + +CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others +tend to do it also. It seems odd. + +LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? + +CRICHTON. What? + +LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. + +CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) +Horrible! + +LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long +time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. + +CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up +expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) + +LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. + +CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns +to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is +some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right +thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing +by you. + +LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your +reward, Gov. + +CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a +greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill +Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England-- +(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) + +LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. + +CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen +for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He +says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the +most horrible of all words to him now.) + +LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you +and forget them both. + +CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly-- +that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried +to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some +success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my +back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not +myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring +him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now +abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; +I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his +obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you +call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. + +LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you +say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. + +CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the +yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what +TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I +say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is +another voice within me crying--(He stops.) + +LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- + +CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. + +LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, +Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. + +CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people +hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so +lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late +that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all +come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as- +if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old +world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a +Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. + +LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. + +CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and +drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I +hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the +right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to +mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I +was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' + +LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever +known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. +Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly +in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want +you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time +you thought me nicer than the others? + +CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We +were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; +you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of +you that day. + +LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please +you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please +you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from +among us you were imperilling your dignity-- + +CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I +have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same +position as the husband. + +LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I +should be allowed to wait on you at that table. + +CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, +Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try +what it will be like. + +LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. + +CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. + +(They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee +offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters +peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and +saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) + +CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). +Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, +but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you +a good girl, Kitty? + +CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. + +CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of +himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in +cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on +a chair, wondering what has happened.) + +CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a +little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. + +ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and +TREHERNE arrive.) + +CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. + +LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the +dam? + +CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a +goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. + +LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but +the master checks him.) + +CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to +promise to be my wife. + +LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! + +CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your +consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your +approval? + +LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his +proud arms round her.) + +TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. + +ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. + +(There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) + +TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? + +CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon +as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most +indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he +knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his +presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good +wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave +you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. +Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. + +(He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of +two girls at LADY MARY.) + +LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. + +LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, +never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may +pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. + +(In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above +using her as a weapon.) + +CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. + +AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. + +TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always +honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare +say a word agin that man. + +ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, +Daddy. + +LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. + +ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out +the dam now. + +LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him +again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the +concertina.) + +TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round +CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's +music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is +presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful +robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked +more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the +one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) + +CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted +to see you all so happy. Go on. + +TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. + +CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. + +(The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the +dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that +all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of +a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) + +TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for +confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? + +CRICHTON. Yes. + +(In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) + +LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you +heard. + +LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. + +LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, +father. + +LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a +gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't +we go on dancing? + +(She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) + +LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the +beach? Come. + +LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream +it. + +LADY MARY. Come, father, come. + +LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. + +(CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) + +CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great +ship. + +LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. + +LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. + +LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? +There's no ship? + +CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and +there is a ship. + +LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? + +CRICHTON. It is the truth. + +LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! + +(He goes after the others pitifully.) + +CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; +they must have sent it ashore for water. + +LADY MART. Coming in? + +CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is +going back. They can't hear our cries. + +LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. +(Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. + +CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. + +(He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) + +LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). +What are you going to do? + +CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. + +LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? + +CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to +a natural end. + +LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- + +CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. + +LADY MARY. But I am afraid. + +CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. + +LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. + +CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he +loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls +the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen +flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the +first to arrive.) + +ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English +sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! + +LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? + +ERNEST (staring). Eh? + +LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? + +ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. + +LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never +forget all that the Gov. has done for us. + +ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a +selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! + +LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. + +ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! + +(The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others +boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the +curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom +he is continually shaking by the hand.) + +LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in +the name of us all, again and again and again. + +OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been +able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. + +LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other +room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. + +(He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It +is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave +CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) + +LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never +give you up. + +(There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He +lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an +answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great +renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; +he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as +if he were washing them.) + +CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. + +(She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) + + +End of Act III. + + + + +ACT IV + +THE OTHER ISLAND + + +Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting +upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, +but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited +many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed +birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. +Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases +containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the +bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label +calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for +dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively +cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger +daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary +pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively +reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently +but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called +for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that +they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their +otherwise delightful task. + +AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In +conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. +This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave +companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' + +(Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) + +ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. + +CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's +engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be +wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! + +ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's +another one. + +AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two +servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the +butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' + +(Some one coughs uncomfortably.) + +LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). +Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the +whole book is about yourself. + +ERNEST (genially). As the author-- + +LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the +realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one +of your adventures. + +ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by +rubbing two pieces of stick together. + +LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What +page? + +(Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the +evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already +seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every +one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he +withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new +papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts +contemptuously on the floor.) + +AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' +says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in +the face, but he never flinched.' + +LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. + +AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he +fixed an arrow in his bow.' + +LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. + +AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' + +LORD LOAM. Eh? + +AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- + +LORD LOAM. My cries? + +AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the +monster to the heart.' + +(LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a +scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of +the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is +particularly sly.) + +LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? + +CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. + +ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides +that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. + +(CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and +ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is +undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the +island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the +bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to +himself.) + +LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. + +ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He +goes.) + +CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living +on tiptoe. + +LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. + +AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to +--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had +gone at once. + +CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst +were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, +suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't +tell a lie. + +LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. +(He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. +She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with +Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. + +(All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) + +AGATHA. Is she mad? + +LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. + +CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? + +LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure +to find out to-night. + +(Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has +perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made +for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) + +CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. + +LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done +that twice. + +(LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant +to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly +entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and +has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she +wishes to be alone with papa.) + +AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. + +(They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again +corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown +study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This +troubles them both.) + +LADY MARY. How horrid of me! + +LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- + +LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. + +LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, +Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. + +LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. + +LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last +Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help +wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in +the bucket. + +LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so +scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to +dinner. + +LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think +how irksome collars are to me nowadays. + +LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She +looks dolefully at her skirt.) + +LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early +to-night, Mary. + +LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying +that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted +to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we +know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to +tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It +seemed so natural at the time. + +LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this +house, Mary. + +LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal +to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to +keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a +little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little +secret. + +LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, +he-- + +LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him +though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even +understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? +Do you see the curve of the beach? + +LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were +happy days; there was something magical about them. + +LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I +have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past +existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has +been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to +be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back +in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in +memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling +Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) +Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. + +LORD LOAM. But my dear-- + +(LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) + +LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? + +LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to +have a word with Mary before dinner. + +LORD LOAM. But-- + +LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus +courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, +George. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is +thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish +I could have spared you this, Mary. + +LADY MARY. Please go on. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be +remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to +believe that we should ever meet again. + +(This is more considerate than she had expected.) + +LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is +utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- + +LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. + +LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother +everything. + +LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the +whole affair. + +LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole +affair! + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over +this.' + +LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old +woman. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! + +LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such +a pain to me. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me +bear all the pain, Mary. + +LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest +man-- + +(She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he +simpers.) + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but +he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it +was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got +them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You +see she had such large, helpless eyes. + +LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day +at the club-- + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. + +LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. + +LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him +since? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. + +(She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down +on him like a ship of war.) + +LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a +lady's-maid. + +LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY +whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at +this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it +was largely your father's fault. + +LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. + +LADY MARY. My maid! + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? + +LADY MARY. Oh George, George! + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about +it; but-- + +LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. + +LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved +awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I +suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- + +LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is +to be excused if she loses her head. + +LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything +against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of +our class she has a very different standard. + +LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, +she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. +That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. + +LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, +George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to +father. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? + +LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? + +LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very +late, George. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. + +LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite +perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a +moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to +be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to +be of some little use, dear. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. + +LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is +determined to play the game, George. + +(Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes +this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY +MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very +formidable old lady.) + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved +magnificently. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She +casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the +wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I +suppose? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I +wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure +you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; +she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what +would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we +think her? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, +you would know it. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what +happened on that island. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I +had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I +should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her +ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether +Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact +is.' + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do +these things in other people's houses. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. +(Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the +castaways, Crichton? + +CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about +your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? + +CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with +a copy. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the +island? + +CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. + +(CRICHTON again bows.) + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you +were not the only servant wrecked? + +CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) +Fetch her up. (He goes.) + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is +scandalous. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. + +(CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in +secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) + +(Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You +didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did +you dress? + +(They have thought themselves prepared, but--) + +AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. + +(They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical +dress.) + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much +of you in the book as I had hoped. + +TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, +Lady Brocklehurst. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. +Congratulations. + +TREHERNE. Thanks. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? + +TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good +bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who +takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match +for any old lady.) + +ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! + +ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a +work of fiction. + +ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The +fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange +meaning looks.) + +CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we +are engaged. + +AGATHA. And Ernest and I. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep +the island in the family. + +(An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, +who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) + +LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! +younger than any of them, Emily. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high +spirits, Mary. + +LADY MARY (gaily). I am. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). +After-- + +LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- + +(Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) + +LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm +hard of hearing. + +LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, +I'm sure I don't. + +LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, +Emily; I should like you to examine them. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I +have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. +(There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON +with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, +but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always +begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to +discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were +adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. +Woolley has not a word on the subject. + +(All eyes turn to ERNEST.) + +ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- + +(The fatal words again.) + +LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure +you, Emily-- + +LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on +the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will +be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, +and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. + +CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. + +(Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a +Crichton.) + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? + +CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little +equality there as elsewhere. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? + +CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? + +CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an +inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? + +(Can there be a more critical moment?) + +TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s +doing. + +(They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of +sight.) + +CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, +the master is usually referred to as the Gov. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- + +LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call +me. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals +with the family? + +CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. + +(Is all safe?) + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with +Crichton? + +TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? + +TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the +rest. + +(Vae victis.) + +ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. +You remember our monkey, Agatha? + +AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. + +CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the +sweetest little parrot, Mary? + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? + +LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here +once a month-- + +CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were +discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake +here. + +LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it +frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on +the island, I think of going over to the Tories. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. + +LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. + +(He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled +groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an +island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say +sentimentalising, going on? + +CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) +You, girl, tell me. + +TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- + +ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and +probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) + +TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? + +AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and +I-- + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. +(Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? + +TWEENY. No, your ladyship. + +LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. +(TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. + +LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. +(To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; +and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, +come to us. + +LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY +cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it +should be impossible, my man? + +(He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of +him?) + +CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as +your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all +immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) + +TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? +(CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) + +CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, +TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the +thunderstorm is over.) + +LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid +of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it +would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, +Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being +disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think +we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) + +LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, +and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively +holds out her hand.) + +LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. + +CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. + +LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never +tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. + +CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. + +LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. + +CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against +England. + +LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? + +CRICHTON. No, my lady. + +(She goes. He turns out the lights.) + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Admirable Crichton by J. M. Barrie + |