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diff --git a/old/brtus10.txt b/old/brtus10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..becbc2c --- /dev/null +++ b/old/brtus10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3885 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Dear Brutus, by J. M. Barrie +#6 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. 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The Darkness and Light, which this room and +garden represent, are very still, but we should feel that it is only +the pause in which old enemies regard each other before they come to +the grip. The moonshine stealing about among the flowers, to give +them their last instructions, has left a smile upon them, but it is a +smile with a menace in it for the dwellers in darkness. What we +expect to see next is the moonshine slowly pushing the windows open, +so that it may whisper to a confederate in the house, whose name is +Lob. But though we may be sure that this was about to happen it does +not happen; a stir among the dwellers in darkness prevents it. + +These unsuspecting ones are in the dining-room, and as a communicating +door opens we hear them at play. Several tenebrious shades appear in +the lighted doorway and hesitate on the two steps that lead down into +the unlit room. The fanciful among us may conceive a rustle at the +same moment among the flowers. The engagement has begun, though not +in the way we had intended. + +VOICES.-- +'Go on, Coady: lead the way.' +'Oh dear, I don't see why I should go first.' +'The nicest always goes first.' +'It is a strange house if I am the nicest.' +'It is a strange house.' +'Don't close the door; I can't see where the switch is.' +'Over here.' + +They have been groping their way forward, blissfully unaware of how +they shall be groping there again more terribly before the night is +out. Some one finds a switch, and the room is illumined, with the +effect that the garden seems to have drawn back a step as if worsted +in the first encounter. But it is only waiting. + +The apparently inoffensive chamber thus suddenly revealed is, for a +bachelor's home, creditably like a charming country house +drawing-room and abounds in the little feminine touches that are so +often best applied by the hand of man. There is nothing in the room +inimical to the ladies, unless it be the cut flowers which are from +the garden and possibly in collusion with it. The fireplace may also +be a little dubious. It has been hacked out of a thick wall which may +have been there when the other walls were not, and is presumably the +cavern where Lob, when alone, sits chatting to himself among the blue +smoke. He is as much at home by this fire as any gnome that may be +hiding among its shadows; but he is less familiar with the rest of +the room, and when he sees it, as for instance on his lonely way to +bed, he often stares long and hard at it before chuckling +uncomfortably. + +There are five ladies, and one only of them is elderly, the Mrs. Coade +whom a voice in the darkness has already proclaimed the nicest. She +is the nicest, though the voice was no good judge. Coady, as she is +familiarly called and as her husband also is called, each having for +many years been able to answer for the other, is a rounded old lady +with a beaming smile that has accompanied her from childhood. If she +lives to be a hundred she will pretend to the census man that she is +only ninety-nine. She has no other vice that has not been smoothed +out of existence by her placid life, and she has but one complaint +against the male Coady, the rather odd one that he has long forgotten +his first wife. Our Mrs. Coady never knew the first one but it is she +alone who sometimes looks at the portrait of her and preserves in +their home certain mementoes of her, such as a lock of brown hair, +which the equally gentle male Coady must have treasured once but has +now forgotten. The first wife had been slightly lame, and in their +brief married life he had carried solicitously a rest for her foot, +had got so accustomed to doing this, that after a quarter of a +century with our Mrs. Coady he still finds footstools for her as if +she were lame also. She has ceased to pucker her face over this, +taking it as a kind little thoughtless attention, and indeed with the +years has developed a friendly limp. + +Of the other four ladies, all young and physically fair, two are +married. Mrs. Dearth is tall, of smouldering eye and fierce desires, +murky beasts lie in ambush in the labyrinths of her mind, she is a +white-faced gypsy with a husky voice, most beautiful when she is +sullen, and therefore frequently at her best. The other ladies when +in conclave refer to her as The Dearth. Mrs. Purdie is a safer +companion for the toddling kind of man. She is soft and pleading, and +would seek what she wants by laying her head on the loved one's +shoulder, while The Dearth might attain it with a pistol. A brighter +spirit than either is Joanna Trout who, when her affections are not +engaged, has a merry face and figure, but can dismiss them both at +the important moment, which is at the word 'love.' Then Joanna +quivers, her sense of humour ceases to beat and the dullest man may +go ahead. There remains Lady Caroline Laney of the disdainful poise, +lately from the enormously select school where they are taught to +pronounce their r's as w's; nothing else seems to be taught, but for +matrimonial success nothing else is necessary. Every woman who +pronounces r as w will find a mate; it appeals to all that is +chivalrous in man. + +An old-fashioned gallantry induces us to accept from each of these +ladies her own estimate of herself, and fortunately it is favourable +in every case. This refers to their estimate of themselves up to the +hour of ten on the evening on which we first meet them; the estimate +may have changed temporarily by the time we part from them on the +following morning. What their mirrors say to each of them is, A dear +face, not classically perfect but abounding in that changing charm +which is the best type of English womanhood; here is a woman who has +seen and felt far more than her reticent nature readily betrays; she +sometimes smiles, but behind that concession, controlling it in a +manner hardly less than adorable, lurks the sigh called Knowledge; a +strangely interesting face, mysterious; a line for her tombstone +might be 'If I had been a man what adventures I could have had with +her who lies here.' + +Are these ladies then so very alike? They would all deny it, so we +must take our own soundings. At this moment of their appearance in +the drawing-room at least they are alike in having a common interest. +No sooner has the dining-room door closed than purpose leaps to +their eyes; oddly enough, the men having been got rid of, the drama +begins. + + +ALICE DEARTH (the darkest spirit but the bravest). We must not waste a +second. Our minds are made up, I think? + +JOANNA. Now is the time. + +MRS. COADE (at once delighted and appalled). Yes, now if at all; but +should we? + +ALICE. Certainly; and before the men come in. + +MABEL PURDIE. You don't think we should wait for the men? They are as +much in it as we are. + +LADY CAROLINE (unlucky, as her opening remark is without a single r). +Lob would be with them. If the thing is to be done at all it should +be done now. + +MRS. COADE. IS it quite fair to Lob? After all, he is our host. + +JOANNA. Of course it isn't fair to him, but let's do it, Coady. + +MRS. COADE. Yes, let's do it! + +MABEL. Mrs. Dearth _is_ doing it. + +ALICE (who is writing out a telegram). Of course I am. The men are not +coming, are they? + +JOANNA (reconnoitring). NO; your husband is having another glass of +port. + +ALICE. I am sure he is. One of you ring, please. + +(The bold Joanna rings.) + +MRS. COADE. Poor Matey! + +LADY CAROLINE. He wichly desewves what he is about to get. + +JOANNA. He is coming! Don't all stand huddled together like +conspirators. + +MRS. COADE. It is what we are! + +(Swiftly they find seats, and are sunk thereon like ladies waiting +languidly for their lords when the doomed butler appears. He is a man +of brawn, who could cast any one of them forth for a wager; but we +are about to connive at the triumph of mind over matter.) + +ALICE (always at her best before "the bright face of danger"). Ah, +Matey, I wish this telegram sent. + +MATEY (a general favourite). Very good, ma'am. The village post office +closed at eight, but if your message is important-- + +ALICE. It is; and you are so clever, Matey, I am sure that you can +persuade them to oblige you. + +MATEY (taking the telegram). I will see to it myself, ma'am; you can +depend on its going. + +(There comes a little gasp from COADY, which is the equivalent to +dropping a stitch in needle-work.) + +ALICE (who is THE DEARTH now). Thank you. Better read the telegram, +Matey, to be sure that you can make it out. (MATEY reads it to +himself, and he has never quite the same faith in woman again. THE +DEARTH continues in a purring voice.) Read it aloud, Matey. + +MATEY. Oh, ma'am! + +ALICE (without the purr). Aloud. + +(Thus encouraged he reads the fatal missive.) + +MATEY. 'To Police Station, Great Cumney. Send officer first thing +to-morrow morning to arrest Matey, butler, for theft of rings.' + +ALICE. Yes, that is quite right. + +MATEY. Ma'am! (But seeing that she has taken up a book, he turns to +LADY CAROLINE.) My lady! + +LADY CAROLINE (whose voice strikes colder than THE DEARTH'S). Should +we not say how many wings? + +ALICE. Yes, put in the number of rings, Matey. + +(MATEY does not put in the number, but he produces three rings from +unostentatious parts of his person and returns them without noticeable +dignity to their various owners.) + +MATEY (hopeful that the incident is now closed). May I tear up the +telegram, ma'am? + +ALICE. Certainly not. + +LADY CAROLINE. I always said that this man was the culpwit. I am +nevaw mistaken in faces, and I see bwoad awwows all over youws, +Matey. + +(He might reply that he sees w's all over hers, but it is no moment +for repartee.) + +MATEY. It is deeply regretted. + +ALICE (darkly). I am sure it is. + +JOANNA (who has seldom remained silent for so long). We may as well +tell him now that it is not our rings we are worrying about. They +have just been a means to an end, Matey. + +(The stir among the ladies shows that they have arrived at the more +interesting point.) + +ALICE. Precisely. In other words that telegram is sent unless-- + +(MATEY'S head rises.) + +JOANNA. Unless you can tell us instantly whet peculiarity it is that +all we ladies have in common. + +MABEL. Not only the ladies; all the guests in this house. + +ALICE. We have been here a week, and we find that when Lob invited us +he knew us all so little that we begin to wonder why he asked us. And +now from words he has let drop we know that we were invited because +of something he thinks we have in common. + +MABEL. But he won't say what it is. + +LADY CAROLINE (drawing back a little from JOANNA). One knows that no +people could be more unlike. + +JOANNA (thankfully). One does. + +MRS. COADE. And we can't sleep at night, Matey, for wondering what +this something is. + +JOANNA (summing up). But we are sure you know, and it you don't tell +us--quod. + +MATEY (with growing uneasiness). I don't know what you mean, ladies. + +ALICE. Oh yes, you do. + +MRS. COADE You must admit that your master is a very strange person. + +MATEY (wriggling). He is a little odd, ma'am. That is why every one +calls him Lob; not Mr. Lob. + +JOANNA. He is so odd that it has got on my nerves that we have been +invited here for some sort of horrid experiment. (MATEY shivers.) You +look as if you thought so too! + +MATEY. Oh no, miss, I--he--(The words he would keep back elude him). +You shouldn't have come, ladies; you didn't ought to have come. + +(For the moment he is sorrier for them than for himself.) + +LADY CAROLINE. (Shouldn't have come). Now, my man, what do you mean +by that? + +MATEY. Nothing, my lady: I--I just mean, why did you come if you are +the kind he thinks? + +MABEL. The kind he thinks? + +ALICE. What kind does he think? Now we are getting at it. + +MATEY (guardedly). I haven't a notion, ma'am. + +LADY CAROLINE (whose w's must henceforth be supplied by the judicious +reader). Then it is not necessarily our virtue that makes Lob +interested in us? + +MATEY (thoughtlessly). No, my lady; oh no, my lady. (This makes an +unfavourable impression.) + +MRS. COADE. And yet, you know, he is rather lovable. + +MATEY (carried away). He is, ma'am, He is the most lovable old +devil--I beg pardon, ma'am. + +JOANNA. You scarcely need to, for in a way it is true. I have seen him +out there among his flowers, petting them, talking to them, coaxing +them till they simply _had_ to grow. + +ALICE (making use perhaps of the wrong adjective). It is certainly a +divine garden. + +(They all look at the unblinking enemy.) + +MRS. COADE (not more deceived than the others). How lovely it is in +the moonlight. Roses, roses, all the way. (Dreamily.) It is like a +hat I once had when I was young. + +ALICE. Lob is such an amazing gardener that I believe he could even +grow hats. + +LADY CAROLINE (who will catch it for this). He is a wonderful +gardener; but is that quite nice at his age? What _is_ his age, man? + +MATEY (shuffling). He won't tell, my lady. I think he is frightened +that the police would step in if they knew how old he is. They do say +in the village that they remember him seventy years ago, looking just +as he does to-day. + +ALICE. Absurd. + +MATEY. Yes, ma'am; but there are his razors. + +LADY CAROLINE. Razors? + +MATEY. You won't know about razors, my lady, not being married--as +yet--excuse me. But a married lady can tell a man's age by the number +of his razors. (A little scared.) If you saw his razors--there is a +little world of them, from patents of the present day back to +implements so horrible, you can picture him with them in his hand +scraping his way through the ages. + +LADY CAROLINE. You amuse one to an extent. Was he ever married? + +MATEY (too lightly). He has quite forgotten, my lady. (Reflecting.) +How long ago is it since Merry England? + +LADY CAROLINE. Why do you ask? + +MABEL. In Queen Elizabeth's time, wasn't it? + +MATEY. He says he is all that is left of Merry England: that little +man. + +MABEL (who has brothers). Lob? I think there is a famous cricketer +called Lob. + +MRS. COADE. Wasn't there a Lob in Shakespeare? No, of course I am +thinking of Robin Goodfellow. + +LADY CAROLINE. The names are so alike. + +JOANNA. Robin Goodfellow was Puck. + +MRS. COADE (with natural elation). That is what was in my head. Lob +was another name for Puck. + +JOANNA. Well, he is certainly rather like what Puck might have grown +into if he had forgotten to die. And, by the way, I remember now he +does call his flowers by the old Elizabethan names. + +MATEY. He always calls the Nightingale Philomel, miss--if that is any +help. + +ALICE (who is not omniscient). None whatever. Tell me this, did he +specially ask you all for Midsummer week? + +(They assent.) + +MATEY (who might more judiciously have remained silent). He would! + +MRS. COADE. Now what do you mean? + +MATEY. He always likes them to be here on Midsummer night, ma'am. + +ALICE. Them? Whom? + +MATEY. Them who have that in common. + +MABEL. What can it be? + +MATEY. I don't know. + +LADY CAROLINE (suddenly introspective). I hope we are all nice women? +We don't know each other very well. (Certain suspicions are reborn in +various breasts.) Does anything startling happen at those times? + +MATEY. I don't know. + +JOANNA. Why, I believe this is Midsummer Eve! + +MATEY. Yes, miss, it is. The villagers know it. They are all inside +their houses, to-night--with the doors barred. + +LADY CAROLINE. Because of--of him? + +MATEY. He frightens them. There are stories. + +ALICE. What alarms them? Tell us--or--(She brandishes the telegram.) + +MATEY. I know nothing for certain, ma'am. I have never done it myself. +He has wanted me to, but I wouldn't. + +MABEL. Done what? + +MATEY (with fine appeal). Oh. ma'am, don't ask me. Be merciful to me, +ma'am. I am not bad naturally. It was just going into domestic +service that did for me; the accident of being flung among bad +companions. It's touch and go how the poor turn out in this world; +all depends on your taking the right or the wrong turning. + +MRS. COADE (the lenient). I daresay that is true. + +MATEY (under this touch of sun). When I was young, ma'am, I was +offered a clerkship in the city. If I had taken it there wouldn't be +a more honest man alive to-day. I would give the world to be able to +begin over again. + +(He means every word of it, though the flowers would here, if they +dared, burst into ironical applause.) + +MRS. COADE. It is very sad, Mrs. Dearth. + +ALICE. I am sorry for him; but still-- + +MATEY (his eyes turning to LADY CAROLINE). What do you say, my lady? + +LADY CAROLINE (briefly). As you ask me, I should certainly say jail. + +MATEY (desperately). If you will say no more about this, ma'am--I'll +give you a tip that is worth it. + +ALICE. Ah, now you are talking. + +LADY CAROLINE. Don't listen to him. + +MATEY (lowering). You are the one that is hardest on me. + +LADY CAROLINE. Yes, I flatter myself I am. + +MATEY (forgetting himself). You might take a wrong turning yourself, +my lady. + +LADY CAROLINE, I? How dare you, man. + +(But the flowers rather like him for this; it is possibly what gave +them a certain idea.) + +JOANNA (near the keyhole of the dining-room door). The men are +rising. + +ALICE (hurriedly). Very well, Matey, we agree--if the 'tip' is good +enough. + +LADY CAROLINE. You will regret this. + +MATEY. I think not, my lady. It's this: I wouldn't go out to-night if +he asks you. Go into the garden, if you like. The garden is all +right. (He really believes this.) I wouldn't go farther--not +to-night. + +MRS. COADE. But he never proposes to us to go farther. Why should he +to-night? + +MATEY. I don't know, ma'am, hut don't any of you go--(devilishly) +except you, my lady; I should like you to go. + +LADY CAROLINE. Fellow! + +(They consider this odd warning.) + +ALICE. Shall I? (They nod and she tears up the telegram.) + +MATEY (with a gulp). Thank you, ma'am. + +LADY CAROLINE. You should have sent that telegram off. + +JOANNA. You are sure you have told us all you know, Matey? + +MATEY. Yes, miss. (But at the door he is more generous.) Above all, +ladies, I wouldn't go into the wood. + +MABEL. The wood? Why, there is no wood within a dozen miles of here. + +MATEY. NO, ma'am. But all the same I wouldn't go into it, ladies--not +if I was you. + +(With this cryptic warning he leaves them, and any discussion of it +is prevented by the arrival of their host. LOB is very small, and +probably no one has ever looked so old except some newborn child. To +such as watch him narrowly, as the ladies now do for the first time, +he has the effect of seeming to be hollow, an attenuated piece of +piping insufficiently inflated; one feels that if he were to strike +against a solid object he might rebound feebly from it, which would +be less disconcerting if he did not obviously know this and carefully +avoid the furniture; he is so light that the subject must not be +mentioned in his presence, but it is possible that, were the ladies +to combine, they could blow him out of a chair. He enters +portentously, his hands behind his back, as if every bit of him, from +his domed head to his little feet, were the physical expressions of +the deep thoughts within him, then suddenly he whirls round to make +his guests jump. This amuses him vastly, and he regains his gravity +with difficulty. He addresses MRS. COADE.) + +LOB. Standing, dear lady? Pray be seated. + +(He finds a chair for her and pulls it away as she is about to sit, or +kindly pretends to be about to do so, for he has had this quaint +conceit every evening since she arrived.) + +MRS. COADE (who loves children). You naughty! + +LOB (eagerly). It is quite a flirtation, isn't it? + +(He rolls on a chair, kicking out his legs in an ecstasy of +satisfaction. But the ladies are not certain that he is the little +innocent they have hitherto thought him. The advent of MR. COADE and +MR. PURDIE presently adds to their misgivings. MR. COADE is old, a +sweet pippin of a man with a gentle smile for all; he must have +suffered much, you conclude incorrectly, to acquire that tolerant +smile. Sometimes, as when he sees other people at work, a wistful +look takes the place of the smile, and MR. COADE fidgets like one who +would be elsewhere. Then there rises before his eyes the room called +the study in his house, whose walls are lined with boxes marked A. B. +C. to Z. and A2. B2. C2. to K2. These contain dusty notes for his +great work on the Feudal System, the notes many years old, the work, +strictly speaking. not yet begun. He still speaks at times of +finishing it but never of beginning it. He knows that in more +favourable circumstances, for instance if he had been a poor man +instead of pleasantly well to do, he could have flung himself avidly +into that noble undertaking; but he does not allow his secret sorrow +to embitter him or darken the house. Quickly the vision passes, and +he is again his bright self. Idleness, he says in his game way, has +its recompenses. It is charming now to see how he at once crosses to +his wife, solicitous for her comfort. He is bearing down on her with +a footstool when MR. PURDIE comes from the dining-room. He is the +most brilliant of our company, recently notable in debate at Oxford, +where he was runner-up for the presidentship of the Union and only +lost it because the other man was less brilliant. Since then he has +gone to the bar on Monday, married on Tuesday and had a brief on +Wednesday. Beneath his brilliance, and making charming company for +himself, he is aware of intellectual powers beyond his years. As we +are about to see, he has made one mistake in his life which he is +bravely facing.) + +ALICE. Is my husband still sampling the port, Mr. Purdie? + +PURDIE (with a disarming smile for the absent DEARTH). Do you know, I +believe he is. Do the ladies like our proposal, Coade? + +COADE. I have not told them of it yet. The fact is, I am afraid that +it might tire my wife too much. Do you feel equal to a little +exertion to-night, Coady, or is your foot troubling you? + +MRS. COADE (the kind creature). I have been resting it, Coady. + +COADE (propping it on the footstool). There! Is that more +comfortable? Presently, dear, if you are agreeable we are all going +out for a walk. + +MRS. COADE (quoting MATEY). The garden is all right. + +PURDIE (with jocular solemnity). Ah, but it is not to be the garden. +We are going farther afield. We have an adventure for to-night. Get +thick shoes and a wrap, Mrs. Dearth; all of you. + +LADY CAROLINE (with but languid interest). Where do you propose to +take us? + +PURDIE. To find a mysterious wood. (With the word 'wood' the ladies +are blown upright. Their eyes turn to LOB, who, however, has never +looked more innocent). + +JOANNE. Are you being funny, Mr. Purdie? You know quite well that +there are not any trees for miles around. You have said yourself that +it is the one blot on the landscape. + +COADE (almost as great a humorist as PURDIE). Ah, on ordinary +occasions! But allow us to point out to you, Miss Joanna, that this +is Midsummer Eve. + +(LOB again comes sharply under female observation.) + +PURDIE. Tell them what you told us, Lob. + +LOB (with a pout for the credulous). It is all nonsense, of course; +just foolish talk of the villagers. They say that on Midsummer Eve +there is a strange wood in this part of the country. + +ALICE (lowering). Where? + +PURDIE. Ah, that is one of its most charming features. It is never +twice in the same place apparently. It has been seen on different +parts of the Downs and on More Common; once it was close to Radley +village and another time about a mile from the sea. Oh, a sporting +wood! + +LADY CAROLINE. And Lob is anxious that we should all go and look for +it? + +COADE. Not he; Lob is the only sceptic in the house. Says it is all +rubbish, and that we shall be sillies if we go. But we believe, eh, +Purdie? + +PURDIE (waggishly). Rather! + +LOB (the artful). Just wasting the evening. Let us have a round game +at cards here instead. + +PURDIE (grandly), No, sir, I am going to find that wood. + +JOANNA. What is the good of it when it is found? + +PURDIE. We shall wander in it deliciously, listening to a new sort of +bird called the Philomel. + +(LOB is behaving in the most exemplary manner; making sweet little +clucking sounds.) + +JOANNA (doubtfully). Shall we keep together, Mr. Purdie? + +PURDIE. No, we must hunt in pairs. + +JOANNA. (converted). I think it would he rather fun. Come on, Coady, +I'll lace your boots for you. I am sure your poor foot will carry you +nicely. + +ALICE. Miss Trout, wait a moment. Lob, has this wonderful wood any +special properties? + +LOB. Pooh! There's no wood. + +LADY CAROLINE. You've never seen it? + +LOB. Not I. I don't believe in it. + +ALICE. Have any of the villagers ever been in it? + +LOB (dreamily). So it's said; so it's said. + +ALICE. What did they say were their experiences? + +LOB. That isn't known. They never came back. + +JOANNA (promptly resuming her seat). Never came back! + +LOB. Absurd, of course. You see in the morning the wood was gone; and +so they were gone, too. (He clucks again.) + +JOANNA. I don't think I like this wood. + +MRS. COADE. It certainly is Midsummer Eve. + +COADE (remembering that women are not yet civilised). Of course if you +ladies are against it we will drop the idea. It was only a bit of +fun. + +ALICE (with a malicious eye on LOB). Yes, better give it up--to please +Lob. + +PURDIE. Oh, all right, Lob. What about that round game of cards? + +(The proposal meets with approval.) + +LOB (bursting into tears). I wanted you to go. I had set my heart on +your going. It is the thing I wanted, and it isn't good for me not to +get the thing I want. + +(He creeps under the table and threatens the hands that would draw +him out.) + +MRS. COADE. Good gracious, he has wanted it all the time. You wicked +Lob! + +ALICE. Now, you see there _is_ something in it. + +COADE. Nonsense, Mrs. Dearth, it was only a joke. + +MABEL (melting). Don't cry, Lobby. + +LOB. Nobody cares for me--nobody loves me. And I need to be loved. + +(Several of them are on their knees to him.) + +JOANNA. Yes, we do, we all love you. Nice, nice Lobby. + +MABEL. Dear Lob, I am so fond of you. + +JOANNA. Dry his eyes with my own handkerchief. (He holds up his eyes +but is otherwise inconsolable.) + +LADY CAROLINE. Don't pamper him. + +LOB (furiously). I need to be pampered. + +MRS. COADE. You funny little man. Let us go at once and look for his +wood. + +(All feel that thus alone can his tears be dried.) + +JOANNA. Boots and cloaks, hats forward. Come on, Lady Caroline, just +to show you are not afraid of Matey. + +(There is a general exodus, and LOB left alone emerges from his +temporary retirement. He ducks victoriously, but presently is on his +knees again distressfully regarding some flowers that have fallen +from their bowl.) + +LOB. Poor bruised one, it was I who hurt you. Lob is so sorry. Lie +there! (To another.) Pretty, pretty, let me see where you have a +pain? You fell on your head; is this the place? Now I make it better. +Oh, little rascal, you are not hurt at all; you just pretend. Oh +dear, oh dear! Sweetheart, don't cry, you are now prettier than ever. +You were too tall. Oh, how beautifully you smell now that you are +small. (He replaces the wounded tenderly in their bowl.) rink, drink. +Now, you are happy again. The little rascal smiles. All smile, +please--nod heads--aha! aha! You love Lob--Lob loves you. + +(JOANNA and MR. PURDIE stroll in by the window.) + +JOANNA. What were you saying to them, Lob? + +LOB. I was saying 'Two's company, three's none.' + +(He departs with a final cluck.) + +JOANNA. That man--he suspects! + +(This is a very different JOANNA from the one who has so far flitted +across our scene. It is also a different PURDIE. In company they +seldom look at each other, though when the one does so the eyes of +the other magnetically respond. We have seen them trivial, almost +cynical, but now we are to greet them as they know they really are, +the great strong-hearted man and his natural mate, in the grip of the +master passion. For the moment LOB'S words have unnerved JOANNA and +it is JOHN PURDIE's dear privilege to soothe her.) + +PURDIE. No one minds Lob. My dear, oh my dear. + +JOANNA (faltering). Yes, but he saw you kiss my hand. Jack, if Mabel +were to suspect! + +PURDIE (happily). There is nothing for her to suspect. + +JOANNA (eagerly). No, there isn't, is there? (She is desirous ever to +be without a flaw.) Jack, I am not doing anything wrong, am I? + +PURDIE. You! + +(With an adorable gesture she gives him one of her hands, and manlike +he takes the other also.) + +JOANNA. Mabel is your wife, Jack. I should so hate myself if I did +anything that was disloyal to her. + +PURDIE (pressing her hand to her eyes as if counting them, in the +strange manner of lovers). Those eyes could never be disloyal--my +lady of the nut-brown eyes. (He holds her from him, surveying her, +and is scorched in the flame of her femininity.) Oh, the sveldtness +of you. (Almost with reproach.) Joanna, why are you so sveldt! + +(For his sake she would be less sveldt if she could, but she can't. +She admits her failure with eyes grown still larger, and he envelops +her so that he may not see her. Thus men seek safety.) + +JOANNA (while out of sight). All I want is to help her and you. + +PURDIE. I know--how well I know--my dear brave love. + +JOANNA. I am very fond of Mabel, Jack. I should like to be the best +friend she has in the world. + +PURDIE. You are, dearest. No woman ever had a better friend. + +JOANNA. And yet I don't think she really likes me. I wonder why? + +PURDIE (who is the bigger brained of the two.) It is just that Mabel +doesn't understand. Nothing could make me say a word against my wife + +JOANNA (sternly). I wouldn't listen to you if you did. + +PURDIE. I love you all the more, dear, for saying that. But Mabel is a +cold nature and she doesn't understand. + +JOANNA (thinking never of herself but only of him). She doesn't +appreciate your finer qualities. + +PURDIE (ruminating). That's it. But of course I am difficult. I always +was a strange, strange creature. I often think, Joanna, that I am +rather like a flower that has never had the sun to shine on it nor +the rain to water it. + +JOANNA. You break my heart. + +PURDIE (with considerable enjoyment). I suppose there is no more +lonely man than I walking the earth to-day. + +JOANNA (beating her wings). It is so mournful. + +PURDIE. It is the thought of you that sustains me, elevates me. You +shine high above me like a star. + +JOANNA. No, no. I wish I was wonderful, but I am not. + +PURDIE. You have made me a better man, Joanna. + +JOANNA. I am so proud to think that. + +PURDIE. You have made me kinder to Mabel. + +JOANNA. I am sure you are always kind to her. + +PURDIE. Yes, I hope so. But I think now of special little ways of +giving her pleasure. That never-to-be-forgotten day when we first +met, you and I! + +JOANNA (fluttering nearer to him.) That tragic, lovely day by the +weir. Oh, Jack! + +PURDIE. Do you know how in gratitude I spent the rest of that day? + +JOANNA (crooning). Tell me. + +PURDIE. I read to Mabel aloud for an hour. I did it out of kindness to +her, because I had met you. + +JOANNA. It was dear of you. + +PURDIE. Do you remember that first time my arms--your waist--you are +so fluid, Joanna. (Passionately.) Why are you so fluid? + +JOANNA (downcast). I can't help it, Jack. + +PURDIE. I gave her a ruby bracelet for that. + +JOANNA. It is a gem. You have given that lucky woman many lovely +things. + +PURDIE. It is my invariable custom to go straight off and buy Mabel +something whenever you have been sympathetic to me. Those new +earrings of hers--they are in memory of the first day you called me +Jack. Her Paquin gown--the one with the beads--was because you let me +kiss you. + +JOANNA. I didn't exactly let you. + +PURDIE. No, but you have such a dear way of giving in. + +JOANNA. Jack, she hasn't worn that gown of late. + +PURDIE. No, nor the jewels. I think she has some sort of idea now that +when I give her anything nice it means that you have been nice to me. +She has rather a suspicious nature, Mabel; she never used to have it, +but it seems to be growing on her. I wonder why, I wonder why? + +(In this wonder which is shared by JOANNA their lips meet, and MABEL, +who has been about to enter from the garden quietly retires.) + +JOANNA. Was that any one in the garden? + +PURDIE (returning from a quest). There is no one there now. + +JOANNA. I am sure I heard some one. If it was Mabel! (With a +perspicacity that comes of knowledge of her sex.) Jack, if she saw us +she will think you were kissing me. + +(These fears are confirmed by the rather odd bearing of MABEL, who now +joins their select party.) + +MABEL (apologetically). I am so sorry to interrupt you, Jack; but +please wait a moment before you kiss her again. Excuse me, Joanna. +(She quietly draws the curtains, thus shutting out the garden and any +possible onlooker.) I did not want the others to see you; they might +not understand how noble you are, Jack. You can go on now. + +(Having thus passed the time of day with them she withdraws by the +door, leaving JACK bewildered and JOANNA knowing all about it.) + +JOANNA. How extraordinary! Of all the--! Oh, but how contemptible! +(She sweeps to the door and calls to MABEL by name.) + +MABEL (returning with promptitude). Did you call me, Joanna? + +JOANNA (guardedly). I insist on an explanation. (With creditable +hauteur.) What were you doing in the garden, Mabel? + +MABEL (who has not been so quiet all day). I was looking for something +I have lost. + +PURDIE (hope springing eternal). Anything important? + +MABEL. I used to fancy it, Jack. It is my husband's love. You don't +happen to have picked it up, Joanna? If so and you don't set great +store by it I should like it back--the pieces, I mean. + +(MR. PURDIE is about lo reply to this, when JOANNA rather wisely fills +the breach.) + +JOANNA. Mabel, I--I will not be talked to in that way. To imply that +I--that your husband--oh, shame! + +PURDIE (finely). I must say, Mabel, that I am a little disappointed in +you. I certainly understood that you had gone upstairs to put on your +boots. + +MABEL. Poor old Jack. (She muses.) A woman like that! + +JOANNA (changing her comment in the moment of utterance), I forgive +you Mabel, you will be sorry for this afterwards. + +PURDIE (warningly, but still reluctant to think less well of his +wife). Not a word against Joanna, Mabel. If you knew how nobly she +has spoken of you. + +JOANNA (imprudently). She does know. She has been listening. + +(There is a moment's danger of the scene degenerating into something +mid-Victorian. Fortunately a chivalrous man is present to lift it to a +higher plane. JOHN PURDIE is one to whom subterfuge of any kind is +abhorrent; if he has not spoken out before it is because of his +reluctance to give MABEL pain. He speaks out now, and seldom +probably has he proved himself more worthy.) + +PURDIE. This is a man's business. I must be open with you now, Mabel: +it is the manlier way. If you wish it I shall always be true to you +in word and deed; it is your right. But I cannot pretend that Joanna +is not the one woman in the world for me. If I had met her before +you--it's Kismet, I suppose. (He swells.) + +JOANNA (from a chair). Too late, too late. + +MABEL (although the woman has seen him swell). I suppose you never +knew what true love was till you met her, Jack? + +PURDIE. You force me to say it. Joanna and I are as one person. We +have not a thought at variance. We are one rather than two. + +MABEL (looking at JOANNA). Yes, and that's the one! (With the +cheapest sarcasm.) I am so sorry to have marred your lives. + +PURDIE. If any blame there is, it is all mine; she is as spotless as +the driven snow. The moment I mentioned love to her she told me to +desist. + +MABEL. Not she. + +JOANNA. So you were listening! (The obtuseness of MABEL is very +strange to her.) Mabel, don't you see how splendid he is! + +MABEL. Not quite, Joanna. + +(She goes away. She is really a better woman than this, but never +capable of scaling that higher plane to which he has, as it were, +offered her a hand.) + +JOANNA. How lovely of you, Jack, to take it all upon yourself. + +PURDIE (simply). It is the man's privilege. + +JOANNA. Mabel has such a horrid way of seeming to put people in the +wrong. + +PURDIE. Have you noticed that? Poor Mabel, it is not an enviable +quality. + +JOANNA (despondently). I don't think I care to go out now. She has +spoilt it all. She has taken the innocence out of it, Jack. + +PURDIE (a rock). We must be brave and not mind her. Ah, Joanna, if we +had met in time. If only I could begin again. To be battered for ever +just because I once took the wrong turning, it isn't fair. + +JOANNA (emerging from his arms). The wrong turning! Now, who was +saying that a moment ago--about himself? Why, it was Matey. + +(A footstep is heard.) + +PURDIE (for the first time losing patience with his wife). Is that her +coming back again? It's too bad. + +(But the intruder is MRS. DEARTH, and he greets her with relief.) + +Ah, it is you, Mrs. Dearth. + +ALICE. Yes, it is; but thank you for telling me, Mr. Purdie. I don't +intrude, do I? + +JOANNA (descending to the lower plane, on which even goddesses snap). +Why should you? + +PURDIE. Rather not. We were--hoping it would be you. We want to start +on the walk. I can't think what has become of the others. We have +been looking for them everywhere. (He glances vaguely round the room, +as if they might so far have escaped detection.) + +ALICE (pleasantly). Well, do go on looking; under that flower-pot +would be a good place. It is my husband I am in search of. + +PURDIE (who likes her best when they are in different rooms). Shall I +rout him out for you? + +ALICE. How too unutterably kind of you, Mr. Purdie. I hate to trouble +you, but it would be the sort of service one never forgets. + +PURDIE. You know, I believe you are chaffing me. + +ALICE. No, no, I am incapable of that. + +PURDIE. I won't be a moment. + +ALICE. Miss Trout and I will await your return with ill-concealed +impatience. + +(They await it across a table, the newcomer in a reverie and JOANNA +watching her. Presently MRS. DEARTH looks up, and we may notice that +she has an attractive screw of the mouth which denotes humour.) + +Yes, I suppose you are right; I dare say I am. + +JOANNA (puzzled). I didn't say anything. + +ALICE. I thought I heard you say 'That hateful Dearth woman, coming +butting in where she is not wanted.' + +(Joanna draws up her sveldt figure, but a screw of one mouth often +calls for a similar demonstration from another, and both ladies +smile. They nearly become friends.) + +JOANNA. You certainly have good ears. + +ALICE (drawling). Yes, they have always been rather admired. + +JOANNA (snapping). By the painters for whom you sat when you were an +artist's model? + +ALICE (measuring her). So that has leaked out, has it! + +JOANNA (ashamed). I shouldn't have said that. + +ALICE (their brief friendship over). Do you think I care whether you +know or not? + +JOANNA (making an effort to be good). I'm sure you don't. Still, it +was cattish of me. + +ALICE. It was. + +JOANNA (in flame). I don't see it. + +(MRS. DEARTH laughs and forgets her, and with the entrance of a man +from the dining room JOANNA drifts elsewhere. Not so much a man, this +newcomer, as the relic of what has been a good one; it is the most he +would ever claim for himself. Sometimes, brandy in hand, he has +visions of the WILL DEARTH he used to be, clear of eye. sees him but +a field away, singing at his easel or, fishing-rod in hand, leaping a +stile. Our WILL stares after the fellow for quite a long time, so +long that the two melt into the one who finishes LOB's brandy. He is +scarcely intoxicated as he appears before the lady of his choice, but +he is shaky and has watery eyes.) + +(ALICE has had a rather wild love for this man, or for that other one, +and he for her, but somehow it has gone whistling down the wind. We +may expect therefore to see them at their worst when in each other's +company.) + +DEARTH (who is not without a humorous outlook on his own degradation). +I am uncommonly flattered, Alice, to hear that you have sent for me. +It quite takes me aback. + +ALICE (with cold distaste). It isn't your company I want, Will. + +DEARTH. You know. I felt that Purdie must have delivered your message +wrongly. + +ALICE. I want you to come with us on this mysterious walk and keep an +eye on Lob. + +DEARTH. On poor little Lob? Oh, surely not. + +ALICE. I can't make the man out. I want you to tell me something; when +he invited us here, do you think it was you or me he specially +wanted? + +DEARTH. Oh, you. He made no bones about it; said there was something +about you that made him want uncommonly to have you down here. + +ALICE. Will, try to remember this: did he ask us for any particular +time? + +DEARTH. Yes, he was particular about its being Midsummer week. + +ALICE. Ah! I thought so. Did he say what it was about me that made him +want to have me here in Midsummer week? + +DEARTH. No, but I presumed it must be your fascination, Alice. + +ALICE. Just so. Well, I want you to come out with us to-night to watch +him. + +DEARTH. Crack-in-my-eye-Tommy, spy on my host! And such a harmless +little chap, too. Excuse me, Alice. Besides I have an engagement. + +ALICE. An engagement--with the port decanter, I presume. + +DEARTH. A good guess, but wrong. The decanter is now but an empty +shell. Still, how you know me! My engagement is with a quiet cigar +in the garden. + +ALICE. Your hand is so unsteady, you won't be able to light the +match. + +DEARTH. I shall just manage. (He triumphantly proves the exact truth +of his statement.) + +ALICE. A nice hand for an artist! + +DEARTH. One would scarcely call me an artist now-a-days. + +ALICE. Not so far as any work is concerned. + +DEARTH. Not so far as having any more pretty dreams to paint is +concerned. (Grinning at himself.) Wonder why I have become such a +waster, Alice? + +ALICE. I suppose it was always in you. + +DEARTH (with perhaps a glimpse of the fishing-rod). I suppose so; and +yet I was rather a good sort in the days when I went courting you. + +ALICE. Yes, I thought so. Unlucky days for me, as it has turned out. + +DEARTH (heartily). Yes, a bad job for you. (Puzzling unsteadily over +himself.) I didn't know I was a wrong 'un at the time; thought quite +well of myself, thought a vast deal more of you. Crack-in-my-eye-Tommy, +how I used to leap out of bed at 6 A.M. all agog to be at my easel; +blood ran through my veins in those days. And now I'm middle-aged +and done for. Funny! Don't know how it has come about, nor what has +made the music mute. (Mildly curious.) When did you begin to despise +me, Alice? + +ALICE. When I got to know you really, Will; a long time ago. + +DEARTH (bleary of eye). Yes, I think that is true. It was a long time +ago, and before I had begun to despise myself. It wasn't till I knew +you had no opinion of me that I began to go down hill. You will grant +that, won't you; and that I did try for a bit to fight on? If you had +cared for me I wouldn't have come to this, surely? + +ALICE. Well, I found I didn't care for you, and I wasn't hypocrite +enough to pretend I did. That's blunt, but you used to admire my +bluntness. + +DEARTH. The bluntness of you, the adorable wildness of you, you +untamed thing! There were never any shades in you; kiss or kill was +your motto, Alice. I felt from the first moment I saw you that you +would love me or knife me. + +(Memories of their shooting star flare in both of them for as long as +a sheet of paper might take to burn.) + +ALICE. I didn't knife you. + +DEARTH. No. I suppose that was where you made the mistake. It is hard +on you, old lady. (Becoming watery.) I suppose it's too late to try +to patch things up? + +ALICE. Let's be honest; it is too late, Will. DEARTH (whose tears +would smell of brandy). Perhaps if we had had children--Pity! + +ALICE. A blessing I should think, seeing what sort of a father they +would have had. + +DEARTH (ever reasonable). I dare say you're right. Well, Alice, I know +that somehow it's my fault. I'm sorry for you. + +ALICE. I'm sorry for myself. If I hadn't married you what a different +woman I should be. What a fool I was. + +DEARTH. Ah! Three things they say come not back to men nor women--the +spoken word, the past life and the neglected opportunity. Wonder if +we should make any more of them, Alice, if they did come back to us. + +ALICE. You wouldn't. + +DEARTH (avoiding a hiccup). I guess you're right. + +ALICE. But I-- + +DEARTH (sincerely). Yes, what a boon for you. But I hope it's not +Freddy Finch-Fallowe you would put in my place; I know he is +following you about again. (He is far from threatening her, he has +too beery an opinion of himself for that.) + +ALICE. He followed me about, as you put it, before I knew you. I don't +know why I quarrelled with him. + +DEARTH. Your heart told you that he was no good, Alice. + +ALICE. My heart told me that you were. So it wasn't of much service to +me, my heart! + +DEARTH. The Honourable Freddy Finch-Fallowe is a rotter. + +ALICE (ever inflammable). You are certainly an authority on the +subject. + +DEARTH (with the sad smile of the disillusioned). You have me there. +After which brief, but pleasant, little connubial chat, he pursued +his dishonoured way into the garden. + +(He is however prevented doing so for the moment by the return of the +others. They are all still in their dinner clothes though wearing +wraps. They crowd in through the door, chattering.) + +LOB. Here they are. Are you ready, dear lady? + +MRS. COADE (seeing that DEARTH's hand is on the window curtains). Are +you not coming with us to find the wood, Mr. Dearth. + +DEARTH. Alas, I am unavoidably detained. You will find me in the +garden when you come back. + +JOANNA (whose sense of humour has been restored). If we ever do come +back! + +DEARTH. Precisely. (With a groggy bow.) Should we never meet again, +Alice, fare thee well. Purdie, if you find the tree of knowledge in +the wood bring me back an apple. + +PURDIE. I promise. + +LOB. Come quickly. Matey mustn't see me. (He is turning out the +lights.) + +LADY CAROLINE (pouncing). Matey? What difference would that make, +Lob? + +LOB. He would take me off to bed; it's past my time. + +COADE (not the least gay of the company). You know, old fellow, you +make it very difficult for us to embark upon this adventure in the +proper eerie spirit. + +DEARTH. Well, I'm for the garden. + +(He walks to the window, and the others are going out by the door. But +they do not go. There is a hitch somewhere--at the window apparently, +for DEARTH, having begun to draw the curtains apart lets them fall, +like one who has had a shock. The others remember long afterwards his +grave face as he came quietly back and put his cigar on the table. +The room is in darkness save for the light from one lamp.) + +PURDIE (wondering). How, now, Dearth? + +DEARTH. What is it we get in that wood, Lob? + +ALICE. Ah, he won't tell us that. + +LOB (shrinking). Come on! + +ALICE (impressed by the change that has come over her husband). Tell +us first. + +LOB (forced to the disclosure). They say that in the wood you get what +nearly everybody here is longing for--a second chance. + +(The ladies are simultaneously enlightened.) + +JOANNA (speaking for all). So that is what we have in common! + +COADE: (with gentle regret). I have often thought, Coady, that if I +had a second chance I should be a useful man instead of just a nice +lazy one. + +ALICE (morosely). A second chance! + +LOB. Come on. + +PURDIE (gaily). Yes, to the wood--the wood! + +DEARTH (as they are going out by the door). Stop, why not go this +way? + +(He pulls the curtains apart, and there comes a sudden indrawing of +breath from all, for no garden is there now. In its place is an +endless wood of great trees; the nearest of them has come close to +the window. It is a sombre wood, with splashes of moonshine and of +blackness standing very still in it. + +The party in the drawing-room are very still also; there is scarcely a +cry or a movement. It is perhaps strange that the most obviously +frightened is LOB who calls vainly for MATEY. The first articulate +voice is DEARTH'S.) + +DEARTH (very quietly). Any one ready to risk it? + +PURDIE (after another silence). Of course there is nothing in it--just + +DEARTH (grimly). Of course. Going out, Purdie? + +(PURDIE draws back.) + +MRS. DEARTH (the only one who is undaunted). A second chance! (She is +looking at her husband. They all look at him as if he had been a +leader once.) + +DEARTH (with his sweet mournful smile). I shall be back in a +moment--probably. + +(As he passes into the wood his hands rise, as if a hammer had tapped +him on the forehead. He is soon lost to view.) + +LADY CAROLINE (after a long pause). He does not come back. + +MRS. COADE. It's horrible. + +(She steals off by the door to her room, calling to her husband to do +likewise. He takes a step after her, and stops in the grip of the two +words that holds them all. The stillness continues. At last MRS. +PURDIE goes out into the wood, her hands raised, and is swallowed up +by it.) + +PURDIE. Mabel! + +ALICE (sardonically). You will have to go now, Mr. Purdie. + +(He looks at JOANNA, and they go out together, one tap of the hammer +for each.) + +LOB. That's enough. (Warningly.) Don't you go, Mrs. Dearth. You'll +catch it if you go. + +ALICE. A second chance! + +(She goes out unflinching.) + +LADY CAROLINE. One would like to know. + +(She goes out. MRS. COADE'S voice is heard from the stair calling to +her husband. He hesitates but follows LADY CAROLINE. To LOB now alone +comes MATEY with a tray of coffee cups.) + +MATEY (as he places his tray on the table). It is past your bed-time, +sir. Say good-night to the ladies, and come along. + +LOB. Matey, look! + +(MATEY looks.) + +MATEY (shrinking). Great heavens, then it's true! + +LOB. Yes, but I--I wasn't sure. + +(MATEY approaches the window cautiously to peer out, and his master +gives him a sudden push that propels him into the wood. LOB's back is +toward us as he stands alone staring out upon the unknown. He is +terrified still; yet quivers of rapture are running up and down his +little frame.) + + + +ACT II + +We are translated to the depths of the wood in the enchantment of a +moonlight night. In some other glade a nightingale is singing, in +this one, in proud motoring attire, recline two mortals whom we have +known in different conditions; the second chance has converted them +into husband and wife. The man, of gross muddy build, lies luxurious +on his back exuding affluence, a prominent part of him heaving +playfully, like some little wave that will not rest in a still sea. A +handkerchief over his face conceals from us what Colossus he may be, +but his mate is our Lady Caroline. The nightingale trills on, and +Lady Caroline takes up its song. + +LADY CAROLINE. Is it not a lovely night, Jim. Listen, my own, to +Philomel; he is saying that he is lately married. So are we, you +ducky thing. I feel, Jim, that I am Rosalind and that you are my +Orlando. + +(The handkerchief being removed MR. MATEY is revealed; and the +nightingale seeks some farther tree.) + +MATEY. What do you say I am, Caroliny? + +LADY CAROLINE (clapping her hands). My own one, don't you think it +would he fun if we were to write poems about each other and pin them +on the tree trunks? + +MATEY (tolerantly). Poems? I never knew such a lass for high-flown +language. + +LADY CAROLINE. Your lass, dearest. Jim's lass. + +MATEY (pulling her ear). And don't you forget it. + +LADY CAROLINE (with the curiosity of woman). What would you do if I +were to forget it, great bear? + +MATEY. Take a stick to you. + +LADY CAROLINE (so proud of him). I love to hear you talk like that; +it is so virile. I always knew that it was a master I needed. + +MATEY. It's what you all need. + +LADY CAROLINE. It is, it is, you knowing wretch. + +MATEY. Listen, Caroliny. (He touches his money pocket, which emits a +crinkly sound--the squeak of angels.) That is what gets the ladies. + +LADY CAROLINE. How much have you made this week, you wonderful man? + +MATEY (blandly). Another two hundred or so. That's all, just two +hundred or so. + +LADY CAROLINE (caressing her wedding ring). My dear golden fetter, +listen to him. Kiss my fetter, Jim. + +MATEY. Wait till I light this cigar. + +LADY CAROLINE. Let me hold the darling match. + +MATEY. Tidy-looking Petitey Corona, this. There was a time when one of +that sort would have run away with two days of my screw. + +LADY CAROLINE. How I should have loved, Jim, to know you when you were +poor. Fancy your having once been a clerk. + +MATEY (remembering Napoleon and others). We all have our beginnings. +But it wouldn't have mattered how I began, Caroliny: I should have +come to the top just the same. (Becoming a poet himself.) I am a +climber and there are nails in my boots for the parties beneath me. +Boots! I tell you if I had been a bootmaker, I should have been the +first bootmaker in London. + +LADY CAROLINE (a humourist at last). I am sure you would, Jim; but +should you have made the best boots? + +MATEY (uxoriously wishing that others could have heard this). Very +good. Caroliny; that is the nearest thing I have heard you say. But +it's late; we had best be strolling back to our Rolls-Royce. + +LADY CAROLINE (as they rise). I do hope the ground wasn't damp. + +MATEY. Don't matter if it was; I was lying on your rug. + +(Indeed we notice now that he has had all the rug, and she the bare +ground. JOANNA reaches the glade, now an unhappy lady who has got +what she wanted. She is in country dress and is unknown to them as +they are to her.) Who is the mournful party? + +JOANNA (hesitating). I wonder, sir, whether you happen to have seen +my husband? I have lost him in the wood. + +MATEY. We are strangers in these parts ourselves, missis. Have we +passed any one, Caroliny? + +LADY CAROLINE (coyly). Should we have noticed, dear? Might it be that +old gent over there? (After the delightful manner of those happily +wed she has already picked up many of her lover's favourite words and +phrases.) + +JOANNA. Oh no, my husband is quite young. + +(The woodlander referred to is MR COADE in gala costume; at his mouth +a whistle he has made him from some friendly twig. To its ravishing +music he is seen pirouetting charmingly among the trees, his new +occupation.) + +MATEY (signing to the unknown that he is wanted). Seems a merry old +cock. Evening to you, sir. Do you happen to have seen a young +gentleman in the wood lately, all by himself, and looking for his +wife? + +COADE (with a flourish of his legs). Can't say I have. + +JOANNA (dolefully). He isn't necessarily by himself; and I don't know- +that he is looking for me. There may be a young lady with him. + +(The more happily married lady smiles, and Joanna is quick to take +offence.) + +JOANNA. What do you mean by that? LADY CAROLINE (neatly). Oho--if +you like that better. + +MATEY. Now, now, now--your manners, Caroliny. + +COADE. Would he be singing or dancing? + +JOANNA. Oh no--at least, I hope not. + +COADE (an artist to the tips). Hope not? Odd! If he is doing neither I +am not likely to notice him, but if I do, what name shall I say? + +JOANNA (gloating not). Purdie; I am Mrs. Purdie. + +COADE. I will try to keep a look-out, and if I see him . . . but I am +rather occupied at present . . . (The reference is to his legs and a +new step they are acquiring. He sways this way and that, and, whistle +to lips, minuets off in the direction of Paradise.) + +JOANNA (looking elsewhere). I am sorry I troubled you. I see him now. + +LADY CAROLINE. Is he alone? + +(JOANNA glares at her.) + +Ah, I see from your face that he isn't. + +MATEY (who has his wench in training). Caroliny, no awkward +questions. Evening, missis, and I hope you will get him to go along +with you quietly. (Looking after COADE.) Watch the old codger +dancing. + +(Light-hearted as children they dance after him, while JOANNA behind a +tree awaits her lord. PURDIE in knickerbockers approaches with +misgivings to make sure that his JOANNA is not in hiding, and then he +gambols joyously with a charming confection whose name is MABEL. They +chase each other from tree to tree, but fortunately not round +JOANNA'S tree.) + +MABEL (as he catches her). No, and no, and no. I don't know you nearly +well enough for that. Besides, what would your wife say! I shall +begin to think you are a very dreadful man, Mr. Purdie. + +PURDIE (whose sincerity is not to be questioned). Surely you might +call me Jack by this time. + +MABEL (heaving). Perhaps, if you are very good, Jack. + +PURDIE (of noble thoughts compact). If only Joanna were more like +you. + +MABEL. Like me? You mean her face? It is a--well, if it is not +precisely pretty, it is a good face. (Handsomely.) I don't mind her +face at all. I am glad you have got such a dependable little wife, +Jack. + +PURDIE (gloomily). Thanks. + +MABEL (seated with a moonbeam in her lap). What would Joanna have said +if she had seen you just now? + +PURDIE. A wife should be incapable of jealousy. + +MABEL Joanna jealous? But has she any reason? Jack, tell me, who is +the woman? + +PURDIE (restraining himself by a mighty effort, for he wishes always +to be true to JOANNA). Shall I, Mabel, shall I? + +MABEL (faltering, yet not wholly giving up the chase). I can't think +who she is. Have I ever seen her? + +PURDIE. Every time you look in a mirror. + +MABEL (with her head on one side). How odd, Jack, that can't be; when +I look in a mirror I see only myself. + +PURDIE (gloating). How adorably innocent you are, Mabel. Joanna would +have guessed at once. + +(Slowly his meaning comes to her, and she is appalled.) + +MABEL. Not that! + +PURDIE (aflame). Shall I tell you now? + +MABEL (palpitating exquisitely). I don't know, I am not sure. Jack, +try not to say it, but if you feel you must, say it in such a way +that it would not hurt the feelings of Joanna if she happened to be +passing by, as she nearly always is. + +(A little moan from JOANNA'S tree is unnoticed.) + +PURDIE. I would rather not say it at all than that way. (He is +touchingly anxious that she should know him as he really is.) I don't +know, Mabel, whether you have noticed that I am not like other men. +(He goes deeply into the very structure of his being.) All my life I +have been a soul that has had to walk alone. Even as a child I had no +hope that it would be otherwise. I distinctly remember when I was six +thinking how unlike other children I was. Before I was twelve I +suffered from terrible self-depreciation; I do so still. I suppose +there never was a man who had a more lowly opinion of himself. + +MABEL. Jack, you who are so universally admired. + +PURDIE. That doesn't help; I remain my own judge. I am afraid I am a +dark spirit, Mabel. Yes, yes, my dear, let me leave nothing untold +however it may damage me in your eyes. Your eyes! I cannot remember a +time when I did not think of Love as a great consuming passion; I +visualised it, Mabel, as perhaps few have done, but always as the +abounding joy that could come to others but never to me. I expected +too much of women: I suppose I was touched to finer issues than most. +That has been my tragedy. + +MABEL. Then you met Joanna. + +PURDIE. Then I met Joanna. Yes! Foolishly, as I now see, I thought she +would understand that I was far too deep a nature really to mean the +little things I sometimes said to her. I suppose a man was never +placed in such a position before. What was I to do? Remember, I was +always certain that the ideal love could never come to me. Whatever +the circumstances, I was convinced that my soul must walk alone. + +MABEL. Joanna, how could you. + +PURDIE (firmly). Not a word against her, Mabel; if blame there is the +blame is mine. + +MABEL. And so you married her. + +PURDIE. And so I married her. + +MABEL. Out of pity. + +PURDIE. I felt it was a man's part. I was such a child in worldly +matters that it was pleasant to me to have the right to pay a woman's +bills; I enjoyed seeing her garments lying about on my chairs. In +time that exultation wore off. But I was not unhappy, I didn't expect +much, I was always so sure that no woman could ever plumb the well of +my emotions. + +MABEL. Then you met me. + +PURDIE. Then I met you. + +MABEL. Too late--never--forever--forever--never. They are the saddest +words in the English tongue. + +PURDIE. At the time I thought a still sadder word was Joanna. + +MABEL. What was it you saw in me that made you love me? + +PURDIE (plumbing the well of his emotions). I think it was the feeling +that you are so like myself. + +MABEL (with great eyes). Have you noticed that, Jack? Sometimes it has +almost terrified me. + +PURDIE. We think the same thoughts; we are not two, Mabel; we are one. +Your hair-- + +MABEL. Joanna knows you admire it, and for a week she did hers in the +same way. + +PURDIE. I never noticed. + +MABEL. That was why she gave it up. And it didn't really suit her. +(Ruminating.) I can't think of a good way of doing dear Joanna's hair. +What is that you are muttering to yourself, Jack? Don't keep anything +from me. + +PURDIE. I was repeating a poem I have written: it is in two words, +'Mabel Purdie.' May I teach it to you, sweet: say 'Mabel Purdie' to +me. + +MABEL (timidly covering his mouth with her little hand). If I were to +say it, Jack, I should be false to Joanna: never ask me to be that. +Let us go on. + +PURDIE (merciless in his passion). Say it, Mabel, say it. See I write +it on the ground with your sunshade. + +MABEL. If it could be! Jack, I'll whisper it to you. + +(She is whispering it as they wander, not two but one, farther into +the forest, ardently believing in themselves; they are not +hypocrites. The somewhat bedraggled figure of Joanna follows them, +and the nightingale resumes his love-song. 'That's all you know, you +bird!' thinks Joanna cynically. The nightingale, however, is not +singing for them nor for her, but for another pair he has espied +below. They are racing, the prize to be for the one who first finds +the spot where the easel was put up last night. The hobbledehoy is +sure to be the winner, for she is less laden, and the father loses +time by singing as he comes. Also she is. all legs and she started +ahead. Brambles adhere to her, one boot has been in the water and she +has as many freckles as there are stars in heaven. She is as lovely +as you think she is, and she is aged the moment when you like your +daughter best. A hoot of triumph from her brings her father to the +spot.) + +MARGARET. Daddy, Daddy. I have won. Here is the place. +Crack-in-my-eye-Tommy! + +(He comes. Crack-in-my-eye-Tommy, this engaging fellow in tweeds +is MR. DEARTH, ablaze in happiness and health and a daughter. He +finishes his song, picked up in the Latin Quarter.) + +DEARTH. Yes, that is the tree I stuck my easel under last night, and +behold the blessed moon behaving more gorgeously than ever. I am +sorry to have kept you waiting, old moon; but you ought to know by +now how time passes. Now, keep still, while I hand you down to +posterity. + +(The easel is erected, MARGARET helping by getting in the way.) + +MARGARET (critical, as an artist's daughter should be.) The moon +is rather pale to-night, isn't she? + +DEARTH. Comes of keeping late hours. + +MARGARET (showing off). Daddy, watch me, look at me. Please, sweet +moon, a pleasant expression. No, no, not as if you were sitting or +it; that is too professional. That is better; thank you. Now keep it. +That is the sort of thing you say to them, Dad. + +DEARTH (quickly at work). I oughtn't to have brought you out so late; +you should be tucked up in your cosy bed at home. + +MARGARET (pursuing a squirrel that isn't there). With the pillow +anyhow. + +DEARTH. Except in its proper place. + +MARGARET (wetting the other foot). And the sheet over my face. + +DEARTH. Where it oughtn't to be. + +MARGARET (more or less upside down). And Daddy tiptoeing in to take it off. + +DEARTH. Which is more than you deserve. + +MARGARET (in a tree). Then why does he stand so long at the door? And +before he has gone she bursts out laughing, for she has been awake +all the time. + +DEARTH. That's about it. What a life! But I oughtn't to have brought +you here. Best to have the sheet over you when the moon is about; +moonlight is bad for little daughters. + +MARGARET (pelting him with nuts). I can't sleep when the moon's at the +full; she keeps calling to me to get up. Perhaps I am _her_ daughter +too. + +DEARTH. Gad, you look it to-night. + +MARGARET. Do I? Then can't you paint me into the picture as well as +Mamma? You could call it 'A Mother and Daughter' or simply 'Two +ladies.' if the moon thinks that calling me her daughter would make +her seem too old. + +DEARTH. O matre pulchra filia pulchrior. That means, 'O Moon--more +beautiful than any twopenny-halfpenny daughter.' + +MARGARET (emerging in an unexpected place). Daddy, do you really +prefer her? + +DEARTH. 'Sh! She's not a patch on you; it's the sort of thing we say +to our sitters to keep them in good humour. (He surveys ruefully a +great stain on her frock.) I wish to heaven, Margaret, we were not +both so fond of apple-tart. And what's this? (Catching hold of her +skirt.) + +MARGARET (unnecessarily). It's a tear. + +DEARTH. I should think it is a tear. + +MARGARET. That boy at the farm did it. He kept calling Snubs after me, +but I got him down and kicked him in the stomach. He is rather a +jolly boy. + +DEARTH. He sounds it. Ye Gods, what a night! + +MARGARET (considering the picture). And what a moon! Dad, she is not +quite so fine as that. + +DEARTH. 'Sh! I have touched her up. + +MARGARET. Dad, Dad--what a funny man! + +(She has seen MR. COADE with whistle, enlivening the wood. He +pirouettes round them and departs to add to the happiness of others. +MARGARET gives an excellent imitation of him at which her father +shakes his head, then reprehensibly joins in the dance. Her mood +changes, she clings to him.) + +MARGARET. Hold me tight, Daddy, I 'm frightened. I think they want to +take you away from me. + +DEARTH. Who, gosling? + +MARGARET. I don't know. It's too lovely, Daddy; I won't be able to +keep hold of it. + +DEARTH. What is? + +MARGARET. The world--everything--and you, Daddy, most of all. Things +that are too beautiful can't last. + +DEARTH (who knows it). Now, how did you find that out? + +MARGARET (still in his arms). I don't know, Daddy, am I sometimes +stranger than other people's daughters? + +DEARTH. More of a madcap, perhaps. + +MARGARET (solemnly). Do you think I am sometimes too full of +gladness? + +DEARTH. My sweetheart, you do sometimes run over with it. (He is at +his easel again.) + +MARGARET (persisting). To be very gay, dearest dear, is so near to +being very sad. + +DEARTH (who knows it). How did you find that out, child? + +MARGARET. I don't know. From something in me that's afraid. +(Unexpectedly.) Daddy, what is a 'might-have-been?' + +DEARTH. A might-have-been? They are ghosts, Margaret. I daresay I +'might have been' a great swell of a painter, instead of just this +uncommonly happy nobody. Or again, I might have been a worthless idle +waster of a fellow. + +MARGARET (laughing). You! + +DEARTH. Who knows? Some little kink in me might have set me off on the +wrong road. And that poor soul I might so easily have been might have +had no Margaret. My word, I'm sorry for him. + +MARGARET. So am I. (She conceives a funny picture.) The poor old +Daddy, wandering about the world without me! + +DEARTH. And there are other 'might-have-beens'--lovely ones, but +intangible. Shades, Margaret, made of sad folk's thoughts. + +MARGARET (jigging about). I am so glad I am not a shade. How awful it +would be, Daddy, to wake up and find one wasn't alive. + +DEARTH. It would, dear. + +MARGARET. Daddy, wouldn't it be awful. I think men need daughters. + +DEARTH. They do. + +MARGARET. Especially artists. + +DEARTH. Yes, especially artists. + +MARGARET. Especially artists. + +DEARTH. Especially artists. + +MARGARET (covering herself with leaves and kicking them off). Fame is +not everything. + +DEARTH. Fame is rot; daughters are the thing. + +MARGARET. Daughters are the thing. + +DEARTH. Daughters are the thing. + +MARGARET. I wonder if sons would be even nicer? + +DEARTH. Not a patch on daughters. The awful thing about a son is that +never, never--at least, from the day he goes to school--can you tell +him that you rather like him. By the time he is ten you can't even +take him on your knee. Sons are not worth having, Margaret. Signed +W. Dearth. + +MARGARET. But if you were a mother, Dad, I daresay he would let you do +it. + +DEARTH. Think so? + +MARGARET. I mean when no one was looking. Sons are not so bad. Signed, +M. Dearth. But I'm glad you prefer daughters. (She works her way +toward him on her knees, making the tear larger.) At what age are we +nicest, Daddy? (She has constantly to repeat her questions, he is so +engaged with his moon.) Hie, Daddy, at what age are we nicest? Daddy, +hie, hie, at what age are we nicest? + +DEARTH. Eh? That's a poser. I think you were nicest when you were two +and knew your alphabet up to G but fell over at H. No, you were best +when you were half-past three; or just before you struck six; or in +the mumps year, when I asked you in the early morning how you were +and you said solemnly 'I haven't tried yet.' + +MARGARET (awestruck). Did I? + +DEARTH. Such was your answer. (Struggling with the momentous +question.) But I am not sure that chicken-pox doesn't beat mumps. Oh +Lord, I'm all wrong. The nicest time in a father's life is the year +before she puts up her hair. + +MARGARET (topheavy with pride in herself). I suppose that is a +splendid time. But there's a nicer year coming to you. Daddy, there +is a nicer year coming to you. + +DEARTH. Is there, darling? + +MARGARET. Daddy, the year she does put up her hair! + +DEARTH. (with arrested brush). Puts it up for ever? You know, I am +afraid that when the day for that comes I shan't be able to stand it. +It will be too exciting. My poor heart, Margaret. + +MARGARET (rushing at him). No, no, it will be lucky you, for it isn't +to be a bit like that. I am to be a girl and woman day about for the +first year. You will never know which I am till you look at my hair. +And even then you won't know, for if it is down I shall put it up, +and if it is up I shall put it down. And so my Daddy will gradually +get used to the idea. + +DEARTH. (wryly). I see you have been thinking it out. + +MARGARET (gleaming). I have been doing more than that. Shut your eyes, +Dad, and I shall give you a glimpse into the future. + +DEARTH. I don't know that I want that: the present is so good. + +MARGARET. Shut your eyes, please. + +DEARTH. No, Margaret. + +MARGARET. Please, Daddy. + +DEARTH. Oh, all right. They are shut. + +MARGARET. Don't open them till I tell you. What finger is that? + +DEARTH. The dirty one. + +MARGARET (on her knees among the leaves). Daddy, now I am putting up +my hair. I have got such a darling of a mirror. It is such a darling +mirror I 've got, Dad. Dad, don't look. I shall tell you about it. It +is a little pool of water. I wish we could take it home and hang it +up. Of course the moment my hair is up there will be other changes +also; for instance, I shall talk quite differently. + +DEARTH. Pooh. Where are my matches, dear? + +MARGARET, Top pocket, waistcoat. + +DEARTH (trying to light his pipe in darkness). You were meaning to +frighten me just now. + +MARGARET. No. I am just preparing you. You see, darling, I can't call +you Dad when my hair is up. I think I shall call you Parent. (He +growls.) Parent dear, do you remember the days when your Margaret was +a slip of a girl, and sat on your knee? How foolish we were, Parent, +in those distant days. + +DEARTH. Shut up, Margaret. + +MARGARET. Now I must be more distant to you; more like a boy who could +not sit on your knee any more. + +DEARTH. See here, I want to go on painting. Shall I look now? + +MARGARET. I am not quite sure whether I want you to. It makes such a +difference. Perhaps you won't know me. Even the pool is looking a +little scared. (The change in her voice makes him open his eyes +quickly. She confronts him shyly.) What do you think? Will I do? + +DEARTH. Stand still, dear, and let me look my fill. The Margaret that +is to be. + +MARGARET (the change in his voice falling clammy on her). You'll see +me often enough, Daddy, like this, so you don't need to look your +fill. You are looking as long as if this were to be the only time. + +DEARTH. (with an odd tremor). Was I? Surely it isn't to be that. + +MARGARET. Be gay, Dad. (Bumping into him and round him and over him.) +You will be sick of Margaret with her hair up before you are done +with her. + +DEARTH. I expect so. + +MARGARET. Shut up, Daddy. (She waggles her head, and down comes her +hair.) Daddy, I know what you are thinking of. You are thinking what +a handful she is going to be. + +DEARTH. Well, I guess she is. + +MARGARET (surveying him from another angle). Now you are thinking +about--about my being in love some day. + +DEARTH (with unnecessary warmth). Rot! + +MARGARET (reassuringly). I won't, you know; no, never. Oh, I have +quite decided, so don't be afraid, (Disordering his hair.) Will you +hate him at first, Daddy? Daddy, will you hate him? Will you hate +him, Daddy? + +DEARTH (at work). Whom? + +MARGARET. Well, if there was? + +DEARTH. If there was what, darling? + +MARGARET. You know the kind of thing I mean, quite well. Would you +hate him at first? + +DEARTH. I hope not. I should want to strangle him, but I wouldn't hate +him. + +MARGARET. _I_ would. That is to say, if I liked him. + +DEARTH. If you liked him how could you hate him? + +MARGARET. For daring! + +DEARTH. Daring what? + +MARTARET. You know. (Sighing.) But of course I shall have no say in +the matter. You will do it all. You do everything for me. + +DEARTH (with a groan). I can't help it. + +MARGARET. You will even write my love-letters, if I ever have any to +write, which I won't. + +DEARTH (ashamed). Surely to goodness, Margaret, I will leave you alone +to do that! + +MARGARET. Not you; you will try to, but you won't be able. + +DEARTH (in a hopeless attempt at self-defence). I want you, you see, +to do everything exquisitely. I do wish I could leave you to do +things a little more for yourself. I suppose it's owing to my having +had to be father and mother both. I knew nothing practically about +the bringing up of children, and of course I couldn't trust you to a +nurse. + +MARGARET (severely). Not you; so sure you could do it better yourself. +That's you all over. Daddy, do you remember how you taught me to +balance a biscuit on my nose, like a puppy? + +DEARTH (sadly). Did I? + +MARGARET. You called me Rover. + +DEARTH. I deny that. + +MARGARET. And when you said 'snap' I caught the biscuit in my mouth. + +DEARTH. Horrible. + +MARGARET (gleaming). Daddy, I can do it still! (Putting a biscuit on +her nose.) Here is the last of my supper. Say 'snap,' Daddy. + +DEARTH. Not I. + +MARGARET. Say 'snap,' please. + +DEARTH. I refuse. + +MARGARET. Daddy! + +DEARTH. Snap. (She catches the biscuit in her mouth.) Let that be the +last time, Margaret. + +MARGARET. Except just once more. I don't mean now, but when my hair is +really up. If I should ever have a--a Margaret of my own, come in and +see me, Daddy, in my white bed, and say 'snap'--and I'll have the +biscuit ready. + +DEARTH (turning away his head). Right O. + +MARGARET. Dad, if I ever should marry, not that I will but if I +should--at the marriage ceremony will you let me be the one who says +'I do'? + +DEARTH. I suppose I deserve this. + +MARGARET (coaxingly). You think I 'm pretty, don't you, Dad, whatever +other people say? + +DEARTH. Not so bad. + +MARGARET. I _know_ I have nice ears. + +DEARTH. They are all right now, but I had to work on them for months. + +MARGARET. You don't mean to say that you did my ears? + +DEARTH. Rather! + +MARGARET (grown humble). My dimple is my own. + +DEARTH. I am glad you think so. I wore out the point of my little +finger over that dimple. + +MARGARET. Even my dimple! Have I anything that is really mine? A bit +of my nose or anything? + +DEARTH. When you were a babe you had a laugh that was all your own. + +MARGARET. Haven't I it now? + +DEARTH. It's gone. (He looks ruefully at her.) I'll tell you how it +went. We were fishing in a stream--that is to say, I was wading and +you were sitting on my shoulders holding the rod. We didn't catch +anything. Somehow or another--I can't think how I did it--you +irritated me, and I answered you sharply. + +MARGARET (gasping). I can't believe that. + +DEARTH. Yes, it sounds extraordinary, but I did. It gave you a shock, +and, for the moment, the world no longer seemed a safe place to you; +your faith in me had always made it safe till then. You were suddenly +not even sure of your bread and butter, and a frightened tear came to +your eyes. I was in a nice state about it, I can tell you. (He is in +a nice state about it still.) + +MARGARET. Silly! (Bewildered) But what has that to do with my laugh, +Daddy? + +DEARTH. The laugh that children are born with lasts just so long as +they have perfect faith. To think that it was I who robbed you of +yours! + +MARGARET. Don't, dear. I am sure the laugh just went off with the tear +to comfort it, and they have been playing about that stream ever +since. They have quite forgotten us, so why should we remember them. +Cheeky little beasts! Shall I tell you my farthest back +recollection? (In some awe.) I remember the first time I saw the +stars. I had never seen night, and then I saw it and the stars +together. Crack-in-my-eye Tommy, it isn't every one who can boast of +such a lovely, lovely, recollection for their earliest, is it? + +DEARTH. I was determined your earliest should be a good one. + +MARGARET (blankly). Do you mean to say you planned it? + +DEARTH. Rather! Most people's earliest recollection is of some trivial +thing; how they cut their finger, or lost a piece of string. I was +resolved my Margaret's should be something bigger. I was poor, but I +could give her the stars. + +MARGARET (clutching him round the legs). Oh, how you love me, +Daddikins. + +DEARTH. Yes, I do, rather. + +(A vagrant woman has wandered in their direction, one whom the shrill +winds of life have lashed and bled; here and there ragged graces +still cling to her, and unruly passion smoulders, but she, once a +dear, fierce rebel, with eyes of storm, is now first of all a +whimperer. She and they meet as strangers.) + +MARGARET (nicely, as becomes an artist's daughter.) Good evening. + +ALICE. Good evening, Missy; evening, Mister. + +DEARTH (seeing that her eyes search the ground). Lost anything? + +ALICE. Sometimes when the tourists have had their sandwiches there are +bits left over, and they squeeze them between the roots to keep the +place tidy. I am looking for bits. + +DEARTH. You don't tell me you are as hungry as that? + +ALICE (with spirit). Try me. (Strange that he should not know that +once loved husky voice.) + +MARGARET (rushing at her father and feeling all his pockets.) Daddy, +that was my last biscuit! + +DEARTH. We must think of something else. + +MARGARET (taking her hand). Yes, wait a bit, we are sure to think of +something. Daddy, think of something. + +ALICE (sharply). Your father doesn't like you to touch the likes of +me. + +MARGARET. Oh yes, he does. (Defiantly) And if he didn't, I'd do it all +the same. This is a bit of _myself_, daddy. + +DEARTH. That is all you know. + +ALICE (whining). You needn't be angry with her. Mister; I'm all +right. + +DEARTH. I am not angry with her; I am very sorry for you. + +ALICE (flaring). if I had my rights, I would be as good as you--and +better. + +DEARTH. I daresay. + +ALICE. I have had men-servants and a motor-car. DEARTH. Margaret and +I never rose to that. + +MARGARET (stung). I have been in a taxi several times, and Dad often +gets telegrams. + +DEARTH. Margaret! + +MARGARET. I'm sorry I boasted. + +ALICE. That's nothing. I have a town house--at least I had . . . At +any rate he said there was a town house. + +MARGARET (interested). Fancy his not knowing for certain. + +ALICE. The Honourable Mrs. Finch-Fallowe--that's who I am. + +MARGARET (cordially). It's a lovely name. + +ALICE. Curse him. + +MARGARET. Don't you like him? + +DEARTH. We won't go into that. I have nothing to do with your past, +but I wish we had some food to offer you. + +ALICE. You haven't a flask? + +DEARTH. No, I don't take anything myself. But let me see. . . . + +MARGARET (sparkling). I know! You said we had five pounds. (To the +needy one.) Would you like five pounds? + +DEARTH. Darling, don't be stupid; we haven't paid our bill at the +inn. + +ALICE (with bravado). All right; I never asked you for anything. + +DEARTH. Don't take me up in that way: I have had my ups and downs +myself. Here is ten bob and welcome. + +(He surreptitiously slips a coin into MARGARET'S hand.) + +MARGARET. And I have half a crown. It is quite easy for us. Dad will +be getting another fiver any day. You can't think how exciting it is +when the fiver comes in; we dance and then we run out and buy chops. + +DEARTH. Margaret! + +ALICE. It's kind of you. I'm richer this minute than I have been for +many a day. + +DEARTH. It's nothing; I am sure you would do the same for us. + +ALICE. I wish I was as sure. + +DEARTH. Of course you would. Glad to be of any help. Get some victuals +as quickly as you can. Best of wishes, ma'am, and may your luck +change. + +ALICE. Same to you, and may yours go on. + +MARGARET. Good-night. + +ALICE. What is her name, Mister? + +DEARTH (who has returned to his easel). Margaret. + +ALICE. Margaret. You drew something good out of the lucky bag when you +got her, Mister. + +DEARTH. Yes. + +ALICE. Take care of her; they are easily lost. + +(She shuffles away.) + +DEARTH. Poor soul. I expect she has had a rough time, and that some +man is to blame for it--partly, at any rate. (Restless) That woman +rather affects me, Margaret; I don't know why. Didn't you like her +husky voice? (He goes on painting.) I say, Margaret, we lucky ones, +let's swear always to be kind to people who are down on their luck, +and then when we are kind let's be a little kinder. + +MARGARET (gleefully). Yes, let's. + +DEARTH. Margaret, always feel sorry for the failures, the ones who are +always failures--especially in my sort of calling. Wouldn't it be +lovely, to turn them on the thirty-ninth year of failure into +glittering successes? + +MARGARET. Topping. + +DEARTH. Topping. + +MARGARET. Oh, topping. How could we do it, Dad? + +DEARTH. By letter. 'To poor old Tom Broken Heart, Top Attic, Garret +Chambers, S.E.--'DEAR SIR,--His Majesty has been graciously pleased +to purchase your superb picture of Marlow Ferry.' + +MARGARET. 'P.S.--I am sending the money in a sack so as you can hear +it chink.' + +DEARTH. What could we do for our friend who passed just now? I can't +get her out of my head. + +MARGARET. You have made me forget her. (Plaintively) Dad, I didn't +like it. + +DEARTH. Didn't like what, dear? + +MARGARET (shuddering). I didn't like her saying that about your losing +me. + +DEARTH (the one thing of which he is sure). I shan't lose you. + +MARGARET (hugging his arm). It would be hard for me if you lost me, +but it would be worse for you. I don't know how I know that, but I do +know it. What would you do without me? + +DEARTH (almost sharply). Don't talk like that, dear. It is wicked and +stupid, and naughty. Somehow that poor woman--I won't paint any more +to-night. + +MARGARET. Let's get out of the wood; it frightens me. + +DEARTH. And you loved it a moment ago. Hullo! (He has seen a distant +blurred light in the wood, apparently from a window.) I hadn't +noticed there was a house there. + +MARGARET (tingling). Daddy, I feel sure there wasn't a house there! + +DEARTH. Goose. It is just that we didn't look: our old way of letting +the world go hang; so interested in ourselves. Nice behaviour for +people who have been boasting about what they would do for other +people. Now I see what I ought to do. + +MARGARET. Let's get out of the wood. + +DEARTH. Yes, but my idea first. It is to rouse these people and get +food from them for the husky one. + +MARGARET (clinging to him). She is too far away now. + +DEARTH. I can overtake her. + +MARGARET (in a frenzy). Don't go into that house, Daddy! I don't know +why it is, but I am afraid of that house! + +(He waggles a reproving finger at her.) + +DEARTH. There is a kiss for each moment until I come back. (She wipes +them from her face.) Oh, naughty, go and stand in the corner. (She +stands against a tree but she stamps her foot.) Who has got a nasty +temper! + +(She tries hard not to smile, but she smiles and he smiles, and they +make comic faces at each other, as they have done in similar +circumstances since she first opened her eyes.) + +I shall be back before you can count a hundred. + +(He goes off humming his song so that she may still hear him when he +is lost to sight; all just as so often before. She tries dutifully to +count her hundred, but the wood grows dark and soon she is afraid +again. She runs from tree to tree calling to her Daddy. We begin to +lose her among the shadows.) + +MARGARET (Out of the impalpable that is carrying her away). Daddy, +come back; I don't want to be a might-have-been. + + + +ACT III + +Lob's room has gone very dark as it sits up awaiting the possible +return of the adventurers. The curtains are drawn, so that no light +comes from outside. There is a tapping on the window, and anon two +intruders are stealing about the floor, with muffled cries when they +meet unexpectedly. They find the switch and are revealed as Purdie +and his Mabel. Something has happened to them as they emerged from +the wood, but it is so superficial that neither notices it: they are +again in the evening dress in which they had left the house. But they +are still being led by that strange humour of the blood. + +MABEL (looking around her curiously). A pretty little room; I wonder +who is the owner? + +PURDIE. It doesn't matter; the great thing is that we have escaped +Joanna. + +MABEL. Jack, look, a man! + +(The term may not be happily chosen, but the person indicated is Lob +curled up on his chair by a dead fire. The last look on his face +before he fell asleep having been a leery one it is still there.) + +PURDIE. He is asleep. + +MABEL. Do you know him? + +PURDIE. Not I. Excuse me, sir, Hi! (No shaking, however, wakens the +sleeper.) + +MABEL. Darling, how extraordinary. + +PURDIE (always considerate). After all, precious, have we any right to +wake up a stranger, just to tell him that we are runaways hiding in +his house? + +MABEL (who comes of a good family). I think he would expect it of us. + +PURDIE (after trying again). There is no budging him. + +MABEL (appeased). At any rate, we have done the civil thing. + +(She has now time to regard the room more attentively, including the +tray of coffee cups which MATEY had left on the table in a not +unimportant moment of his history.) There have evidently been people +here, but they haven't drunk their coffee. Ugh! cold as a deserted +egg in a bird's nest. Jack, if you were a clever detective you could +construct those people out of their neglected coffee cups. I wonder +who they are and what has spirited them away? + +PURDIE. Perhaps they have only gone to bed. Ought we to knock them +up? + +MABEL (after considering what her mother would have done). I think +not, dear. I suppose we have run away, Jack--meaning to? + +PURDIE (with the sturdiness that weaker vessels adore). Irrevocably. +Mabel, if the dog-like devotion of a lifetime . . . (He becomes +conscious that something has happened to LOB'S leer. It has not left +his face but it has shifted.) He is not shamming, do you think? + +MABEL. Shake him again. + +PURDIE (after shaking him). It's all right. Mabel, if the dog-like +devotion of a lifetime . . . + +MABEL. Poor little Joanna! Still, if a woman insists on being a +pendulum round a man's neck . . . + +PURDIE. Do give me a chance, Mabel. If the dog-like devotion of a +lifetime . . . + +(JOANNA comes through the curtains so inopportunely that for the +moment he is almost pettish.) + +May I say, this is just a little too much, Joanna! + +JOANNA (unconscious as they of her return to her dinner gown). So, +sweet husband, your soul is still walking alone, is it? + +MABEL (who hates coarseness of any kind). How can you sneak about in +this way, Joanna? Have you no pride? + +JOANNA (dashing away a tear). Please to address me as Mrs. Purdie, +madam. (She sees LOB.) Who is this man? + +PURDIE. We don't know; and there is no waking him. You can try, if you +like. + +(Failing to rouse him JOANNA makes a third at table. They are all a +little inconsequential, as if there were still some moon-shine in +their hair.) + +JOANNA. You were saying something about the devotion of a lifetime; +please go on. + +PURDIE (diffidently). I don't like to before you, Joanna. + +JOANNA (becoming coarse again). Oh, don't mind me. + +PURDIE (looking like a note of interrogation). I should certainly like +to say it. + +MABEL (loftily). And I shall be proud to hear it. + +PURDIE. I should have liked to spare you this, Joanna; you wouldn't +put your hands over your ears? + +JOANNA (alas). No, sir. + +MABEL. Fie, Joanna. Surely a wife's natural delicacy . . . + +PURDIE (severely). As you take it in that spirit, Joanna, I can +proceed with a clear conscience. If the dog-like devotion of a +lifetime--(He reels a little, staring at LOB, over whose face the +leer has been wandering like an insect.) + +MABEL. Did he move? + +PURDIE. It isn't that. I am feeling--very funny. Did one of you tap me +just now on the forehead? + +(Their hands also have gone to their foreheads.) + +MABEL. I think I have been in this room before. + +PURDIE (flinching). There is something coming rushing back to me. + +MABEL. I seem to know that coffee set. If I do, the lid of the milk +jug is chipped. It is! + +JOANNA. I can't remember this man's name; but I am sure it begins with L. + +MABEL. Lob. + +PURDIE. Lob. + +JOANNA. Lob. + +PURDIE. Mabel, your dress? + +MABEL (beholding it). How on earth . . . ? + +JOANNA. My dress! (To PURDIE.) You were in knickerbockers in the +wood. + +PURDIE. And so I am now. (He sees he is not.) Where did I change? The +wood! Let me think. The wood . . . the wood, certainly. But the +wood wasn't the wood. + +JOANNA (revolving like one in pursuit). My head is going round. + +MABEL. Lob's wood! I remember it all. We were here. We did go. + +PURDIE. So we did. But how could . . . ? where was . . . ? + +JOANNE. And who was . . . ? + +MABEL And what was . . . ? + +PURDIE (even in this supreme hour a man). Don't let go. Hold on to +what we were doing, or we shall lose grip of ourselves. Devotion. +Something about devotion. Hold on to devotion. 'If the dog-like +devotion of a lifetime . . . ' Which of you was I saying that to? + +MABEL. To me. + +PURDIE. Are you sure? + +MABEL (shakily). I am not quite sure. + +PURDIE (anxiously). Joanna, what do you think? (With a sudden increase +of uneasiness.) Which of you is my wife? + +JOANNA (without enthusiasm). I am. No, I am not. It is Mabel who is +your wife! + +MABEL. Me? + +PURDIE (with a curious gulp). Why, of course you are, Mabel! + +MABEL. I believe I am! + +PURDIE. And yet how can it be? I was running away with you. + +JOANNA (solving that problem). You don't need to do it now. + +PURDIE. The wood. Hold on to the wood. The wood is what explains it. +Yes, I see the whole thing. (He gazes at LOB.) You infernal old +rascal! Let us try to think it out. Don't any one speak for a moment. +Think first. Love . . . Hold on to love. (He gets another tap.) I +say, I believe I am not a deeply passionate chap at all; I believe I +am just . . . . a philanderer! + +MABEL. It is what you are. + +JOANNA (more magnanimous). Mabel, what about ourselves? + +PURDIE (to whom it is truly a nauseous draught). I didn't know. Just +a philanderer! (The soul of him would like at this instant to creep +into another body.) And if people don't change, I suppose we shall +begin all over again now. + +JOANNA (the practical). I daresay; but not with each other. I may +philander again, but not with you. + +(They look on themselves without approval, always a sorry occupation. +The man feels it most because he has admired himself most, or perhaps +partly for some better reason.) + +PURDIE (saying good-bye to an old friend). John Purdie, John Purdie, +the fine fellow I used to think you! (When he is able to look them in +the face again.) The wood has taught me one thing, at any rate. + +MABEL (dismally). What, Jack? + +PURDIE. That it isn't accident that shapes our lives. + +JOANNA. No, it's Fate. + +PURDIE (the truth running through him, seeking for a permanent home in +him, willing to give him still another chance, loth to desert him). +It's not Fate, Joanna. Fate is something outside us. What really +plays the dickens with us is some thing in ourselves. Something that +makes us go on doing the same sort of fool things, however many +chances we get. + +MABEL. Something in ourselves? + +PURDIE (shivering). Something we are born with. + +JOANNA. Can't we cut out the beastly thing? + +PURDIE. Depends, I expect, on how long we have pampered him. We can at +least control him if we try hard enough. But I have for the moment an +abominably clear perception that the likes of me never really tries. +Forgive me, Joanna--no, Mabel--both of you. (He is a shamed +man.) It isn't very pleasant to discover that one is a rotter. I +suppose I shall get used to it. + +JOANNA. I could forgive anybody anything to-night. (Candidly.) It is +so lovely not to be married to you, Jack. + +PURDIE (spiritless). I can understand that. I do feel small. + +JOANNA (the true friend). You will soon swell up again. + +PURDIE (for whom, alas, we need not weep). That is the appalling +thing. But at present, at any rate, I am a rag at your feet, +Joanna--no, at yours, Mabel. Are you going to pick me up? I don't +advise it. + +MABEL. I don't know whether I want to, Jack. To begin with, which of +us is it your lonely soul is in search of? + +JOANNA. Which of us is the fluid one, or the fluider one? + +MABEL. Are you and I one? Or are you and Joanna one? Or are the three +of us two? + +JOANNA. He wants you to whisper in his ear, Mabel, the entrancing +poem, 'Mabel Purdie.' Do it, Jack; there will be nothing wrong in it +now. + +PURDIE. Rub it in. + +MABEL. When I meet Joanna's successor-- + +PURDIE (quailing). No, no, Mabel none of that. At least credit me with +having my eyes open at last. There will be no more of this. I swear +it by all that is-- + +JOANNA (in her excellent imitation of a sheep). Baa-a, he is off +again. + +PURDIE. Oh Lord, so I am. + +MABEL. Don't, Joanna. + +PURDIE (his mind still illumined). She is quite right--I was. In my +present state of depression--which won't last--I feel there is +something in me that will make me go on being the same ass, however +many chances I get. I haven't the stuff in me to take warning. My +whole being is corroded. Shakespeare knew what he was talking +about--'The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in +ourselves, that we are underlings.' + +JOANNA. For 'dear Brutus' we are to read 'dear audience' I suppose? + +PURDIE. You have it. + +JOANNA. Meaning that we have the power to shape ourselves? + +PURDIE. We have the power right enough. + +JOANNA. But isn't that rather splendid? + +PURDIE. For those who have the grit in them, yes. (Still seeing with a +strange clearness through the chink the hammer has made.) And they +are not the dismal chappies; they are the ones with the thin bright +faces. (He sits lugubriously by his wife and is sorry for the first +time that she has not married a better man.) I am afraid there is not +much fight in me, Mabel, but we shall see. If you catch me at it +again, have the goodness to whisper to me in passing, 'Lob's Wood.' +That may cure me for the time being. + +MABEL (still certain that she loved him once but not so sure why.) +Perhaps I will . . . as long as I care to bother, Jack. It depends on +you how long that is to be. + +JOANNA (to break an awkward pause). I feel that there is hope in that +as well as a warning. Perhaps the wood may prove to have been useful +after all. (This brighter view of the situation meets with no +immediate response. With her next suggestion she reaches harbour.) +You know, we are not people worth being sorrowful about--so let us +laugh. + +(The ladies succeed in laughing though not prettily, but the man has +been too much shaken.) + +JOANNA (in the middle of her laugh). We have forgotten the others! I +wonder what is happening to them? + +PURDIE (reviving). Yes, what about them? Have they changed! + +MABEL. I didn't see any of them in the wood. + +JOANNA. Perhaps we did see them without knowing them; we didn't know +Lob. + +PURDIE (daunted). That's true. + +JOANNA. Won't it be delicious to be here to watch them when they come +back, and see them waking up--or whatever it was we did. + +PURDIE. What was it we did? I think something tapped me on the +forehead. + +MABEL (blanching). How do we know the others will come back? + +JOANNA (infected). We don't know. How awful! + +MABEL. Listen! + +PURDIE. I distinctly hear some one on the stairs. + +MABEL. It will be Matey. + +PURDIE (the chink beginning to close). Be cautious both of you; don't +tell him we have had any . . . odd experiences. + +(It is, however, MRS. COADE who comes downstairs in a dressing-gown +and carrying a candle and her husband's muffler.) + +MRS. COADE. So you are back at last. A nice house, I must say. Where +is Coady? + +PURDIE (taken aback). Coady! Did he go into the wood, too? + +MRS. COADE (placidly). I suppose so. I have been down several times to +look for him. + +MABEL. Coady, too! + +JOANNA (seeing visions). I wonder . . . Oh, how dreadful! + +MRS. COADE. What is dreadful, Joanna? + +JOANNA (airily). Nothing. I was just wondering what he is doing. + +MRS. COADE. Doing? What should he be doing? Did anything odd happen to +you in the wood? + +PURDIE (taking command). No, no, nothing. + +JOANNA. We just strolled about, and came back. (That subject being +exhausted she points to LOB). Have you noticed him? + +MRS. COADE. Oh, yes; he has been like that all the time. A sort of +stupor, I think; and sometimes the strangest grin comes over his +face. + +PURDIE (wincing). Grin? + +MRS. COADE. Just as if he were seeing amusing things in his sleep. + +PURDIE (guardedly). I daresay he is. Oughtn't we to get Matey to him? + +MRS. COADE. Matey has gone, too. + +PURDIE. Wha-at! + +MRS. COADE. At all events he is not in the house. + +JOANNA (unguardedly). Matey! I wonder who is with him. + +MRS. COADE. Must somebody be with him? + +JOANNA. Oh, no, not at all. + +(They are simultaneously aware that someone outside has reached the +window.) + +MRS. COADE. I hope it is Coady. + +(The other ladies are too fond of her to share this wish.) + +MABEL. Oh, I hope not. + +MRS. COADE (blissfully). Why, Mrs. Purdie? + +JOANNA (coaxingly). Dear Mrs. Coade, whoever he is, and whatever he +does, I beg you not to be surprised. We feel that though we had no +unusual experiences in the wood, others may not have been so +fortunate. + +MABEL. And be cautious, you dear, what you say to them before they +come to. + +MRS. COADE. 'Come to'? You puzzle me. And Coady didn't have his +muffler. + +(Let it be recorded that in their distress for this old lady they +forget their own misadventures. PURDIE takes a step toward the +curtains in a vague desire to shield her;--and gets a rich reward; he +has seen the coming addition to their circle.) + +PURDIE (elated and pitiless). It is Matey! + +(A butler intrudes who still thinks he is wrapped in fur.) + +JOANNA (encouragingly). Do come in. + +MATEY. With apologies, ladies and gents . . . May I ask who is host? + +PURDIE (splashing in the temperature that suits him best). A very +reasonable request. Third on the left. + +MATEY (advancing upon Lob). Merely to ask, sir, if you can direct me +to my hotel? + +(The sleeper's only response is a alight quiver in one leg.) + +The gentleman seems to be reposing. + +MRS. COADE. It is Lob. + +MATEY. What is lob, ma'am? + +MRS. COADE (pleasantly curious). Surely you haven't forgotten? + +PURDIE (over-riding her). Anything we can do for you, sir? Just give +it a name. + +JOANNA (in the same friendly spirit). I hope you are not alone: do say +you have some lady friends with you. + +MATEY (with an emphasis on his leading word). My wife is with me. + +JOANNA. His wife! . . . (With commendation.) You have been quick! + +MRS. COADE. I didn't know you were married. + +MATEY. Why should you, madam? You talk as if you knew me. + +MRS. COADE. Good gracious, do you really think I don't? + +PURDIE (indicating delicately that she is subject to a certain +softening). Sit down, won't you, my dear sir, and make yourself +comfy. + +MATEY (accustomed of late to such deferential treatment). Thank you. +But my wife . . . + +JOANNA (hospitably). Yes, bring her in; we are simply dying to make +her acquaintance. + +MATEY. You are very good; I am much obliged. + +MABEL (as he goes out). Who can she be? + +JOANNA (leaping). Who, who, who! + +MRS. COADE. But what an extraordinary wood. He doesn't seem to know +who he is at all. + +MABEL (soothingly). Don't worry about that, Coady darling. He will +know soon enough. + +JOANNA (again finding the bright side). And so will the little wife! +By the way, whoever she is, I hope she is fond of butlers. + +MABEL (who has peeped). It is Lady Caroline! + +JOANNA (leaping again). Oh, joy, joy! And she was so sure she couldn't +take the wrong turning! + +(Lady Caroline is evidently still sure of it.) + +MATEY. May I present my wife--Lady Caroline Matey. + +MABEL (glowing). How do you do! + +PURDIE. Your servant, Lady Caroline. + +MRS. COADE. Lady Caroline Matey! You? + +LADY CAROLINE (without an r in her). Charmed, I'm sure. + +JOANNA (neatly). Very pleased to meet any wife of Mr. Matey. + +PURDIE (taking the floor). Allow me. The Duchess of Candelabra. The +Ladies Helena and Matilda M'Nab. I am the Lord Chancellor. + +MABEL. I have wanted so long to make your acquaintance. + +LADY CAROLINE. Charmed. + +JOANNA (gracefully). These informal meetings are so delightful, don't +you think? + +LADY CAROLINE. Yes, indeed. + +MATEY (the introductions being thus pleasantly concluded). And your +friend by the fire? + +PURDIE. I will introduce you to him when you wake up--I mean when he +wakes up. + +MATEY. Perhaps I ought to have said that I am _James_ Matey. + +LADY CAROLINE (the happy creature). _The_ James Matey. + +MATEY. A name not, perhaps, unknown in the world of finance. + +JOANNA. Finance? Oh, so you did take that clerkship in the City! + +MATEY (a little stiffly). I began as a clerk in the City, certainly; +and I am not ashamed to admit it. + +MRS. COADE (still groping). Fancy that, now. And did it save you? + +MATEY. Save me, madam? + +JOANNA. Excuse us--we ask odd questions in this house; we only mean, +did that keep you honest? Or are you still a pilferer? + +LADY CAROLINE (an outraged swan). Husband mine, what does she mean? + +JOANNA. No offence; I mean a pilferer on a large scale. + +MATEY (remembering certain newspaper jealousy). If you are referring +to that Labrador business--or the Working Women's Bank . . . + +PURDIE (after the manner of one who has caught a fly). O-ho, got him! + +JOANNA (bowing). Yes, those are what I meant. + +MATEY (stoutly). There was nothing proved. + +JOANNA (like one calling a meeting). Mabel, Jack, here is another of +us! You have gone just the same way again, my friend. (Ecstatically.) +There is more in it, you see, than taking the wrong turning; you +would always take the wrong turning. (The only fitting comment.) +Tra-la-la! + +LADY CAROLINE. If you are casting any aspersions on my husband, allow +me to say that a prouder wife than I does not to-day exist. + +MRS. COADE (who finds herself the only clear-headed one). My dear, do +be careful. + +MABEL. So long as you are satisfied, dear Lady Caroline. But I thought +you shrank from all blood that was not blue. + +LADY CAROLINE. You thought? Why should you think about me? I beg to +assure you that I adore my Jim. + +(She seeks his arm, but her Jim has encountered the tray containing +coffee cups and a cake, and his hands close on it with a certain +intimacy.) Whatever are you doing, Jim? + +MATEY. I don't understand it, Caroliny; but somehow I feel at home +with this in my hands. + +MABEL. 'Caroliny!' + +MRS. COADE. Look at me well; don't you remember me? + +MATEY (musing). I don't remember you; but I seem to associate you +with hard-boiled eggs. (With conviction.) You like your eggs +hard-boiled. + +PURDIE. Hold on to hard-boiled eggs! She used to tip you especially to +see to them. + +(MATEY'S hand goes to his pocket.) + +Yes, that was the pocket. + +LADY CAROLINE (with distaste). Tip! + +MATEY (without distaste). Tip! + +PURDIE. Jolly word, isn't it? + +MATEY (raising the tray). It seems to set me thinking. + +LADY CAROLINE (feeling the tap of the hammer). Why is my work-basket +in this house? + +MRS. COADE. You are living here, you know. + +LADY CAROLINE. That is what a person feels. But when did I come? It is +very odd, but one feels one ought to say when did one go. + +PURDIE. She is coming to with a wush! + +MATEY (under the hammer). Mr. . . . Purdie! + +LADY CAROLINE. MRS. Coade! + +MATEY. The Guv'nor! My clothes! + +LADY CAROLINE. One is in evening dress! + +JOANNA (charmed to explain). You will understand clearly in a minute, +Caroliny. You didn't really take that clerkship, Jim; you went into +domestic service; but in the essentials you haven't altered. + +PURDIE (pleasantly). I'll have my shaving water at 7.30 sharp, Matey. + +MATEY (mechanically). Very good, sir. + +LADY CAROLINE. Sir? Midsummer Eve! The wood! + +PURDIE. Yes, hold on to the wood. + +MATEY. You are . . . you are . . . you are Lady Caroline Laney! + +LADY CAROLINE. It is Matey, the butler! + +MABEL. You seemed quite happy with him, you know, Lady Caroline. + +JOANNA (nicely). We won't tell. + +LADY CAROLINE (subsiding). Caroline Matey! And I seemed to like it! +How horrible! + +MRS. COADE (expressing a general sentiment). It is rather difficult to +see what we should do next. + +MATEY (tentatively). Perhaps if I were to go downstairs? + +PURDIE. It would be conferring a personal favour on us all. + +(Thus encouraged MATEY and his tray resume friendly relations with +the pantry.) + +LADY CAROLINE (with itching fingers as she glares at Lob). It is all +that wretch's doing. + +(A quiver from Lob's right leg acknowledges the compliment. The gay +music of a pipe is heard from outside.) + +JOANNA (peeping). Coady! + +MRS. COADE. Coady! Why is he so happy? + +JOANNA (troubled). Dear, hold my hand. + +MRS. COADE (suddenly trembling). Won't he know me? + +PURDIE (abashed by that soft face). Mrs. Coade, I 'm sorry. It didn't +so much matter about the likes of us, but for your sake I wish Coady +hadn't gone out. + +MRS. COADE. We that have been happily married this thirty years. + +COADE (popping in buoyantly). May I intrude? My name is Coade. The +fact is I was playing about in the wood on a whistle, and I saw your +light. + +MRS. COADE (the only one with the nerve to answer). Playing about in +the wood with a whistle! + +COADE (with mild dignity). And why not, madam? + +MRS. COADE. Madam! Don't you know me? + +COADE. I don't know you . . . (Reflecting.) But I wish I did. + +MRS. COADE. Do you? Why? + +COADE. If I may say so, you have a very soft, lovable face. + +(Several persons breathe again.) + +MRS. COADE (inquisitorially). Who was with you, playing whistles in +the wood? + +(The breathing ceases.) + +COADE. No one was with me. + +(And is resumed.) + +MRS. COADE. No . . . lady? + +COADE. Certainly not. (Then he spoils it.) I am a bachelor. + +MRS. COADE. A bachelor! + +JOANNA. Don't give way, dear; it might be much worse. + +MRS. COADE. A bachelor! And you are sure you never spoke to me before? +Do think. + +COADE. Not to my knowledge. Never . . . except in dreams. + +MABEL (taking a risk). What did you say to her in dreams? + +COADE. I said, 'My dear.' (This when uttered surprises him.) Odd! + +JOANNA. The darling man! + +MRS. COADE (wavering). How could you say such things to an old woman? + +COADE (thinking it out). Old? I didn't think of you as old. No, no, +young--with the morning dew on your face--coming across a lawn--in a +black and green dress--and carrying such a pretty parasol. + +MRS. COADE (thrilling). That was how he first met me! He used to love +me in black and green; and it _was_ a pretty parasol. Look, I am old +. . . So it can't be the same woman. + +COADE (blinking). Old? Yes, I suppose so. But it is the same soft, +lovable face, and the same kind, beaming smile that children could +warm their hands at. + +MRS. COADE. He always liked my smile. + +PURDUE. So do we all. + +COADE (to himself). Emma! + +MRS. COADE. He hasn't forgotten my name! + +COADE. It is sad that we didn't meet long ago. I think I have been +waiting for you. I suppose we have met too late? You couldn't +overlook my being an old fellow, could you, eh? + +JOANNA. How lovely; he is going to propose to her again. Coady, you +happy thing, he is wanting the same soft face after thirty years! + +MRS. COADE (undoubtedly hopeful). We mustn't be too sure, but I think +that is it. (Primly.) What is it exactly that you want, Mr. Coade? + +COADE (under a lucky star). I want to have the right to hold the +parasol over you. Won't you be my wife, my dear, and so give my long +dream of you a happy ending? + +MRS. COADE (preening). Kisses are not called for at our age, Coady, +but here is a muffler for your old neck. + +COADE. My muffler; I have missed it. (It is however to his forehead +that his hand goes. Immediately thereafter he misses his sylvan +attire.) Why . . . why . . . what . . . who . . . how is this? + +PURDIE (nervously). He is coming to. + +COADE (reeling and righting himself). Lob! + +(The leg indicates that he has got it.) + +Bless me, Coady, I went into that wood! + +MRS. COADE. And without your muffler, you that are so subject to +chills. What are you feeling for in your pocket? + +COADE. The whistle. It is a whistle I--Gone! of course it is. It's +rather a pity, but . . . (Anxious.) Have I been saying awful things +to you? + +MABEL. You have been making her so proud. It is a compliment to our +whole sex. You had a second chance, and it is her, again! + +COADE. Of course it is. (Crestfallen.) But I see I was just the same +nice old lazy Coady as before; and I had thought that if I had a +second chance, I could do things. I have often said to you, Coady, +that it was owing to my being cursed with a competency that I didn't +write my great book. But I had no competency this time, and I haven't +written a word. + +PURDIE (bitterly enough). That needn't make you feel lonely in this +house. + +MRS. COADE (in a small voice). You seem to have been quite happy as an +old bachelor, dear. + +COADE. I am surprised at myself, Emma, but I fear I was. + +MRS. COADE (with melancholy perspicacity). I wonder if what it means +is that you don't especially need even me. I wonder if it means that +you are just the sort of amiable creature that would be happy +anywhere, and anyhow? + +COADE. Oh dear, can it be as bad as that! + +JOANNA (a ministering angel she). Certainly not. It is a romance, and +I won't have it looked upon as anything else. + +MRS. COADE. Thank you, Joanna. You will try not to miss that whistle, +Coady? + +COADE (getting the footstool for her). You are all I need. + +MRS. COADE. Yes; but I am not so sure as I used to be that it is a +great compliment. + +JOANNA. Coady, behave. + +(There is a knock on the window.) + +PURDIE (peeping). Mrs. Dearth! (His spirits revive.) She is alone. Who +would have expected that of _her_? + +MABEL. She is a wild one, Jack, but I sometimes thought rather a dear; +I do hope she has got off cheaply. + +(ALICE comes to them in her dinner gown.) + +PURDIE (the irrepressible). Pleased to see you, stranger. + +ALICE (prepared for ejection.) I was afraid such an unceremonious +entry might startle you. + +PURDIE. Not a bit. + +ALICE (defiant). I usually enter a house by the front door. + +PURDIE. I have heard that such is the swagger way. + +ALICE (simpering). So stupid of me. I lost myself in the wood . . . +and . . . + +JOANNA (genially). Of course you did. But never mind that; do tell us +your name. + +LADY CAROLINE (emerging again). Yes, yes, your name. + +ALICE. Of course, I am the Honourable Mrs. Finch-Fallowe. + +LADY CAROLINE. Of course, of course! + +PURDIE. I hope Mr. Finch-Fallowe is very well? We don't know him +personally, but may we have the pleasure of seeing him bob up +presently? + +ALICE. No, I am not sure where he is. + +LADY CAROLINE (with point). I wonder if the dear clever police know? + +ALICE (imprudently). No, they don't. + +(It is a very secondary matter to her. This woman of calamitous fires +hears and sees her tormentors chiefly as the probable owner, of the +cake which is standing on that tray.) So awkward, I gave my +sandwiches to a poor girl and her father whom I met in the wood, and +now . . . isn't it a nuisance--I am quite hungry. (So far with a +mincing bravado.) May I? + +(Without waiting for consent she falls to upon the cake, looking over +it like one ready to fight them for it.) + +PURDIE (sobered again). Poor soul. + +LADY CAROLINE. We are so anxious to know whether you met a friend of +ours in the wood--a Mr. Dearth. Perhaps you know him, too? + +ALICE. Dearth? I don't know any Dearth. + +MRS. COADE. Oh, dear what a wood! + +LADY CAROLINE. He is quite a front door sort of man; knocks and rings, +you know. + +PURDIE. Don't worry her. + +ALICE (gnawing). I meet so many; you see I go out a great deal. I +have visiting-cards--printed ones. + +LADY CAROLINE. How very distingue. Perhaps Mr. Dearth has painted +your portrait; he is an artist. + +ALICE. Very likely; they all want to paint me. I daresay that is the +man to whom I gave my sandwiches. + +MRS. COADE. But I thought you said he had a daughter? + +ALICE. Such a pretty girl; I gave her half a crown. + +COADE. A daughter? That can't be Dearth. + +PURDIE (darkly). Don't be too sure. Was the man you speak of a rather +chop-fallen, gone-to-seed sort of person. + +ALICE. No, I thought him such a jolly, attractive man. + +COADE. Dearth jolly, attractive! Oh no. Did he say anything about his +wife? + +LADY CAROLINE, Yes, do try to remember if he mentioned her. + +ALICE (snapping). No, he didn't. + +PURDIE. He was far from jolly in her time. + +ALICE (with an archness for which the cake is responsible). Perhaps +that was the lady's fault. + +(The last of the adventurers draws nigh, carolling a French song as he +comes.) + +COADE. Dearth's voice. He sounds quite merry! + +JOANNA (protecting). Alice, you poor thing. + +PURDIE. This is going to be horrible. + +(A clear-eyed man of lusty gait comes in.) + +DEARTH. I am sorry to bounce in on you in this way, but really I have +an excuse. I am a painter of sorts, and . . . + +(He sees he has brought some strange discomfort here.) + +MRS. COADE. I must say, Mr. Dearth, I am delighted to see you looking +so well. Like a new man, isn't he? + +(No one dares to answer.) + +DEARTH. I am certainly very well, if you care to know. But did I tell +you my name? + +JOANNA (for some one has to speak). No, but--but we have an instinct +in this house. + +DEARTH. Well, it doesn't matter. Here is the situation; my daughter +and I have just met in the wood a poor woman famishing for want of +food. We were as happy as grigs ourselves, and the sight of her +distress rather cut us up. Can you give me something for her? Why are +you looking so startled? (Seeing the remains of the cake.) May I have +this? + +(A shrinking movement from one of them draws his attention, and he +recognises in her the woman of whom he has been speaking. He sees her +in fine clothing and he grows stern.) + +I feel I can't be mistaken; it was you I met in the wood? Have you +been playing some trick on me? (To the others.) It was for her I +wanted the food. + +ALICE (her hand guarding the place where his gift lies). Have you come +to take hack the money you gave me? + +DEARTH. Your dress! You were almost in rags when I saw you outside. + +ALICE (frightened as she discovers how she is now attired). I don't +. . . understand . . . + +COADE (gravely enough). For that matter, Dearth, I daresay you were +different in the wood, too. + +(DEARTH sees his own clothing.) + +DEARTH. What . . . ! + +ALICE (frightened). Where am I? (To Mrs. Coade.) I seem to know you +. . . do I? + +MRS. COADE (motherly). Yes, you do; hold my hand, and you will soon +remember all about it. + +JOANNA. I am afraid, Mr. Dearth, it is harder for you than for the +rest of us. + +PURDIE (looking away). I wish I could help you, but I can't; I am a +rotter. + +MABEL. We are awfully sorry. Don't you remember . . . Midsummer Eve? + +DEARTH (controlling himself). Midsummer Eve? This room. Yes, this room +. . . You was it you? . . . were going out to look for something . . . +The tree of knowledge, wasn't it? Somebody wanted me to go, too . . . +Who was that? A lady, I think . . . Why did she ask me to go? +What was I doing here? I was smoking a cigar . . . I laid it down, +there . . . (He finds the cigar.) Who was the lady? + +ALICE (feebly). Something about a second chance. + +MRS. COADE. Yes, you poor dear, you thought you could make so much of +it. + +DEARTH. A lady who didn't like me-- (With conviction.) She had good +reasons, too--but what were they . . . ? + +ALICE. A little old man! He did it. What did he do? + +(The hammer is raised.) + +DEARTH. I am . . . it is coming back--I am not the man I thought +myself. + +ALICE. I am not Mrs. Finch-Fallowe. Who am I? + +DEARTH (staring at her). You were that lady. + +ALICE. It is you--my husband! + +(She is overcome.) + +MRS. COADE. My dear, you are much better off, so far as I can see, +than if you were Mrs. Finch-Fallowe. + +ALICE (with passionate knowledge). Yes, yes indeed! (Generously.) But +he isn't. + +DEARTH. Alice! . . . I--(He tries to smile.) I didn't know you when I +was in the wood with Margaret. She . . . she . . . Margaret . . . +(The hammer falls.) + +O my God! + +(He buries his face in his hands.) + +ALICE. I wish--I wish-- + +(She presses his shoulder fiercely and then stalks out by the door.) + +PURDIE (to LOB, after a time). You old ruffian. + +DEARTH. No, I am rather fond of him, our lonely, friendly little host. +Lob, I thank thee for that hour. + +(The seedy-looking fellow passes from the scene.) + +COADE. Did you see that his hand is shaking again? + +PURDIE. The watery eye has come back. + +JOANNA. And yet they are both quite nice people. + +PURDIE (finding the tragedy of it). We are all quite nice people. + +MABEL. If she were not such a savage! + +PURDIE. I daresay there is nothing the matter with her except that she +would always choose the wrong man, good man or bad man, but the wrong +man for her. + +COADE. We can't change. + +MABEL. Jack says the brave ones can. + +JOANNA. 'The ones with the thin bright faces.' + +MABEL. Then there is hope for you and me, Jack. + +PURDIE (ignobly). I don't expect so. + +JOANNA (wandering about the room, like one renewing acquaintance with +it after returning from a journey). Hadn't we better go to bed? It +must be getting late. + +PURDIE. Hold on to bed! (They all brighten.) + +MATEY (entering). Breakfast is quite ready. + +(They exclaim.) + +LADY CAROLINE. My watch has stopped. + +JOANNA. And mine. Just as well perhaps! + +MABEL. There is a smell of coffee. + +(The gloom continues to lift.) + +COADE. Come along, Coady; I do hope you have not been tiring your +foot. + +MRS. COADE. I shall give it a good rest to-morrow, dear. + +MATEY. I have given your egg six minutes, ma'am. + +(They set forth once more upon the eternal round. The curious JOANNA +remains behind.) + +JOANNA. A strange experiment, Matey; does it ever have any permanent +effect? + +MATEY (on whom it has had none). So far as I know, not often, miss; +but, I believe, once in a while. + +(There is hope in this for the brave ones. If we could wait long +enough we might see the DEARTHS breasting their way into the light.) + +_He_ could tell you. + +(The elusive person thus referred to kicks responsively, meaning +perhaps that none of the others will change till there is a tap from +another hammer. But when MATEY goes to rout him from his chair he is +no longer there. His disappearance is no shock to MATEY, who shrugs +his shoulders and opens the windows to let in the glory of a summer +morning. The garden has returned, and our queer little hero is busy +at work among his flowers. A lark is rising.) + + +The End + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Dear Brutus, by J. M. Barrie + diff --git a/old/brtus10.zip b/old/brtus10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..96f227b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/brtus10.zip |