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diff --git a/5071-h/5071-h.htm b/5071-h/5071-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6d7173d --- /dev/null +++ b/5071-h/5071-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4695 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Philanderer, by George Bernard Shaw + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Philanderer, by George Bernard Shaw + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Philanderer + +Author: George Bernard Shaw + + +Release Date: February, 2004 [EBook #5071] +This file was first posted on April 14, 2002 +Last Updated: April 10, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PHILANDERER *** + + + + +Produced by Jim Tinsley + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE PHILANDERER + </h1> + <h2> + By George Bernard Shaw + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> ACT I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> ACT II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ACT III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ACT IV </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT I + </h2> + <p> + A lady and gentleman are making love to one another in the drawing-room of + a flat in Ashly Gardens in the Victoria district of London. It is past ten + at night. The walls are hung with theatrical engravings and photographs—Kemble + as Hamlet, Mrs. Siddons as Queen Katharine pleading in court, Macready as + Werner (after Maclise), Sir Henry Irving as Richard III (after Long), Miss + Ellen Terry, Mrs. Kendal, Miss Ada Rehan, Madame Sarah Bernhardt, Mr. + Henry Arthur Jones, Mr. A. W. Pinero, Mr. Sydney Grundy, and so on, but + not the Signora Duse or anyone connected with Ibsen. The room is not a + perfect square, the right hand corner at the back being cut off diagonally + by the doorway, and the opposite corner rounded by a turret window filled + up with a stand of flowers surrounding a statue of Shakespear. The + fireplace is on the right, with an armchair near it. A small round table, + further forward on the same side, with a chair beside it, has a + yellow-backed French novel lying open on it. The piano, a grand, is on the + left, open, with the keyboard in full view at right angles to the wall. + The piece of music on the desk is "When other lips." Incandescent lights, + well shaded, are on the piano and mantelpiece. Near the piano is a sofa, + on which the lady and gentleman are seated affectionately side by side, in + one another's arms. + </p> + <p> + The lady, Grace Tranfield, is about 32, slight of build, delicate of + feature, and sensitive in expression. She is just now given up to the + emotion of the moment; but her well closed mouth, proudly set brows, firm + chin, and elegant carriage show plenty of determination and self respect. + She is in evening dress. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman, Leonard Charteris, a few years older, is unconventionally + but smartly dressed in a velvet jacket and cashmere trousers. His collar, + dyed Wotan blue, is part of his shirt, and turns over a garnet coloured + scarf of Indian silk, secured by a turquoise ring. He wears blue socks and + leather sandals. The arrangement of his tawny hair, and of his moustaches + and short beard, is apparently left to Nature; but he has taken care that + Nature shall do him the fullest justice. His amative enthusiasm, at which + he is himself laughing, and his clever, imaginative, humorous ways, + contrast strongly with the sincere tenderness and dignified quietness of + the woman. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (impulsively clasping Grace). My dearest love. + </p> + <p> + GRACE (responding affectionately). My darling. Are you happy? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. In Heaven. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. My own. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. My heart's love. (He sighs happily, and takes her hands in his, + looking quaintly at her.) That must positively be my last kiss, Grace, or + I shall become downright silly. Let us talk. (Releases her and sits a + little apart from her.) Grace: is this your first love affair? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Have you forgotten that I am a widow? Do you think I married + Tranfield for money? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. How do I know? Besides, you might have married him not because + you loved him, but because you didn't love anybody else. When one is + young, one marries out of mere curiosity, just to see what it's like. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Well, since you ask me, I never was in love with Tranfield, though + I only found that out when I fell in love with you. But I used to like him + for being in love with me. It brought out all the good in him so much that + I have wanted to be in love with some one ever since. I hope, now that I + am in love with you, you will like me for it just as I liked Tranfield. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. My dear, it is because I like you that I want to marry you. I + could love anybody—any pretty woman, that is. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Do you really mean that, Leonard? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Of course. Why not? + </p> + <p> + GRACE (reflecting). Never mind why. Now tell me, is this your first love + affair? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (amazed at the simplicity of the question). No, bless my soul. + No—nor my second, nor my third. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. But I mean your first serious one. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (with a certain hesitation). Yes. (There is a pause. She is not + convinced. He adds, with a very perceptible load on his conscience.) It is + the first in which <i>I</i> have been serious. + </p> + <p> + GRACE (searchingly). I see. The other parties were always serious. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. No, not always—heaven forbid! + </p> + <p> + GRACE. How often? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Well, once. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Julia Craven? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (recoiling). Who told you that? (She shakes her head + mysteriously, and he turns away from her moodily and adds) You had much + better not have asked. + </p> + <p> + GRACE (gently). I'm sorry, dear. (She puts out her hand and pulls softly + at him to bring him near her again.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (yielding mechanically to the pull, and allowing her hand to + rest on his arm, but sitting squarely without the least attempt to return + the caress). Do I feel harder to the touch than I did five minutes ago? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. What nonsense! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I feel as if my body had turned into the toughest of hickory. + That is what comes of reminding me of Julia Craven. (Brooding, with his + chin on his right hand and his elbow on his knee.) I have sat alone with + her just as I am sitting with you— + </p> + <p> + GRACE (shrinking from him). Just! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (sitting upright and facing her steadily). Just exactly. She has + put her hands in mine, and laid her cheek against mine, and listened to me + saying all sorts of silly things. (Grace, chilled to the soul, rises from + the sofa and sits down on the piano stool, with her back to the keyboard.) + Ah, you don't want to hear any more of the story. So much the better. + </p> + <p> + GRACE (deeply hurt, but controlling herself). When did you break it off? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (guiltily). Break it off? + </p> + <p> + GRACE (firmly). Yes, break it off. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Well, let me see. When did I fall in love with you? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Did you break it off then? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (mischievously, making it plainer and plainer that it has not + been broken off). It was clear then, of course, that it must be broken + off. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. And did you break it off? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Oh, yes: <i>I</i> broke it off, + </p> + <p> + GRACE. But did she break it off? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (rising). As a favour to me, dearest, change the subject. Come + away from the piano: I want you to sit here with me. (Takes a step towards + her.) + </p> + <p> + GRACE. No. I also have grown hard to the touch—much harder than + hickory for the present. Did she break it off? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. My dear, be reasonable. It was fully explained to her that it + was to be broken off. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Did she accept the explanation? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. She did what a woman like Julia always does. When I explained + personally, she said it was not not my better self that was speaking, and + that she knew I still really loved her. When I wrote it to her with brutal + explicitness, she read the letter carefully and then sent it back to me + with a note to say that she had not had the courage to open it, and that I + ought to be ashamed of having written it. (Comes beside Grace, and puts + his left hand caressingly round her neck.) You see, dearie, she won't look + the situation in the face. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. (shaking off his hand and turning a little away on the stool). I am + afraid, from the light way in which you speak of it, you did not sound the + right chord. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. My dear, when you are doing what a woman calls breaking her + heart, you may sound the very prettiest chords you can find on the piano; + but to her ears it is just like this—(Sits down on the bass end of + the keyboard. Grace puts her fingers in her ears. He rises and moves away + from the piano, saying) No, my dear: I've been kind; I've been frank; I've + been everything that a goodnatured man could be: she only takes it as the + making up of a lover's quarrel. (Grace winces.) Frankness and kindness: + one is as the other—especially frankness. I've tried both. (He + crosses to the fireplace, and stands facing the fire, looking at the + ornaments on the mantelpiece and warming his hands.) + </p> + <p> + GRACE (Her voice a little strained). What are you going to try now? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (on the hearthrug, turning to face her). Action, my dear! + Marriage!! In that she must believe. She won't be convinced by anything + short of it, because, you see, I have had some tremendous philanderings + before and have gone back to her after them. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. And so that is why you want to marry me? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I cannot deny it, my love. Yes: it is your mission to rescue me + from Julia. + </p> + <p> + GRACE (rising). Then, if you please, I decline to be made use of for any + such purpose. I will not steal you from another woman. (She begins to walk + up and down the room with ominous disquiet.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Steal me! (Comes towards her.) Grace: I have a question to put + to you as an advanced woman. Mind! as an advanced woman. Does Julia belong + to me? Am I her owner—her master? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Certainly not. No woman is the property of a man. A woman belongs + to herself and to nobody else. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Quite right. Ibsen for ever! That's exactly my opinion. Now + tell me, do I belong to Julia; or have I a right to belong to myself? + </p> + <p> + GRACE (puzzled). Of course you have; but— + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (interrupting her triumphantly). Then how can you steal me from + Julia if I don't belong to her? (Catching her by the shoulders and holding + her out at arm's length in front of him.) Eh, little philosopher? No, my + dear: if Ibsen sauce is good for the goose, it's good for the gander as + well. Besides (coaxing her) it was nothing but a philander with Julia—nothing + else in the world, I assure you. + </p> + <p> + GRACE (breaking away from him). So much the worse! I hate your + philanderings: they make me ashamed of you and of myself. (Goes to the + sofa and sits in the right hand corner of it, leaning gloomily on her + elbow with her face averted.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Grace: you utterly misunderstand the origin of my + philanderings. (Sits down beside her.) Listen to me: am I a particularly + handsome man? + </p> + <p> + GRACE (turning to him as if astonished at his conceit). No! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (triumphantly). You admit it. Am I a well dressed man? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Not particularly. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Of course not. Have I a romantic mysterious charm about me?—do + I look as if a secret sorrow preyed on me?—am I gallant to women? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Not in the least. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Certainly not. No one can accuse me of it. Then whose fault is + it that half the women I speak to fall in love with me? Not mine: I hate + it: it bores me to distraction. At first it flattered me—delighted + me—that was how Julia got me, because she was the first woman who + had the pluck to make me a declaration. But I soon had enough of it; and + at no time have I taken the initiative and persecuted women with my + advances as women have persecuted me. Never. Except, of course, in your + case. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Oh, you need not make any exception. I had a good deal of trouble + to induce you to come and see us. You were very coy. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (fondly, taking her hand). With you, dearest, the coyness was + sheer coquetry. I loved you from the first, and fled only that you might + pursue. But come! let us talk about something really interesting. (Takes + her in his arms.) Do you love me better than anyone else in the world? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. I don't think you like to be loved too much. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. That depends on who the person is. You (pressing her to his + heart) cannot love me too much: you cannot love me half enough. I reproach + you every day for your coldness—your— (Violent double knock + heard without. They start and listen, still in one another's arms, hardly + daring to breathe.) Who the deuce is calling at this hour? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. I can't imagine. (They listen guiltily. The door of the flat is + opened without. They hastily get away from one another.) + </p> + <p> + A WOMAN'S VOICE OUTSIDE. Is Mr. Charteris here? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (springing up). Julia! The devil! (Stands at the left of the + sofa with his hands on it, bending forward with his eyes fixed on the + door.) + </p> + <p> + GRACE (rising also). What can she want? + </p> + <p> + THE VOICE. Never mind: I will announce myself. (A beautiful, dark, tragic + looking woman, in mantle and bonnet, appears at the door, raging + furiously.) Oh, this is charming. I have interrupted a pretty tete-a-tete. + Oh, you villain! (She comes straight at Grace. Charteris runs across + behind the sofa and stops her. She struggles furiously with him. Grace + preserves her self possession, but retreats quietly to the piano. Julia, + finding Charteris too strong for her, gives up her attempt to get at + Grace, but strikes him in the face as she frees herself.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (shocked). Oh, Julia, Julia! This is too bad. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Is it, indeed, too bad? What are you doing up here with that woman? + You scoundrel! But now listen to me; Leonard: you have driven me to + desperation; and I don't care what I do, or who hears me. I'll not bear + it. She shall not have my place with you— + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Sh-sh! + </p> + <p> + JULIA. No, no: I don't care: I will expose her true character before + everybody. You belong to me: you have no right to be here; and she knows + it. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I think you had better let me take you home, Julia. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. I will not. I am not going home: I am going to stay here—here—until + I have made you give her up. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. My dear, you must be reasonable. You really cannot stay in Mrs. + Tranfield's house if she objects. She can ring the bell and have us both + put out. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Let her do it then. Let her ring the bell if she dares. Let us see + how this pure virtuous creature will face the scandal of what I will + declare about her. Let us see how you will face it. I have nothing to + lose. Everybody knows how you have treated me: you have boasted of your + conquests, you poor pitiful, vain creature—I am the common talk of + your acquaintances and hers. Oh, I have calculated my advantage (tearing + off her mantle): I am a most unhappy and injured woman; but I am not the + fool you take me to be. I am going to stay—see! (She flings the + mantle on the round table; puts her bonnet on it, and sits down.) Now, + Mrs. Tranfield: there is the bell: (pointing to the button beside the + fireplace) why don't you ring? (Grace, looking attentively at Charteris, + does not move.) Ha! ha! I thought so. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (quietly, without relaxing his watch on Julia). Mrs. Tranfield: + I think you had better go into another room. (Grace makes a movement + towards the door, but stops and looks inquiringly at Charteris as Julia + springs up. He advances a step so as to prevent her from getting to the + door.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA. She shall not. She shall stay here. She shall know what you are, + and how you have been in love with me—how it is not two days since + you kissed me and told me that the future would be as happy as the past. + (Screaming at him) You did: deny it if you dare. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (to Grace in a low voice). Go! + </p> + <p> + GRACE (with nonchalant disgust—going). Get her away as soon as you + can, Leonard. + </p> + <p> + (Julia, with a stifled cry of rage, rushes at Grace, who is crossing + behind the sofa towards door. Charteris seizes her and prevents her from + getting past the sofa. Grace goes out. Charteris, holding Julia fast, + looks around to the door to see whether Grace is safely out of the room.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (suddenly ceasing to struggle and speaking with the most pathetic + dignity). Oh, there is no need to be violent. (He passes her across to the + left end of the sofa, and leans against the right end, panting and mopping + his forehead). That is worthy of you!—to use brute force—to + humiliate me before her! (She breaks down and bursts into tears.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (to himself with melancholy conviction). This is going to be a + cheerful evening. Now patience, patience, patience! (Sits on a chair near + the round table.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (in anguish). Leonard, have you no feeling for me? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Only an intense desire to get you safely out of this. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (fiercely). I am not going to stir. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (wearily). Well, well. (Heaves a long sigh. They sit silent for + awhile, Julia struggling, not to regain her self control, but to maintain + her rage at boiling point.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (rising suddenly). I am going to speak to that woman. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (jumping up). No, no. Hang it, Julia, don't let's have another + wrestling match. I have the strength, but not the wind: you're too young + for me. Sit down or else let me take you home. Suppose her father comes + in. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. I don't care. It rests with you. I am ready to go if she will give + you up: until then I stay. Those are my terms: you owe me that, (She sits + down determinedly. Charteris looks at her for a moment; then, making up + his mind, goes resolutely to the couch, sits down near the right hand end + of it, she being at the left; and says with biting emphasis)— + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I owe you just exactly nothing. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (reproachfully). Nothing! You can look me in the face and say that? + Oh, Leonard! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Let me remind you, Julia, that when first we became acquainted, + the position you took up was that of a woman of advanced views. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. That should have made you respect me the more. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (placably). So it did, my dear. But that is not the point. As a + woman of advanced views, you were determined to be free. You regarded + marriage as a degrading bargain, by which a woman sold herself to a man + for the social status of a wife and the right to be supported and + pensioned in old age out of his income. That's the advanced view—our + view. Besides, if you had married me, I might have turned out a drunkard, + a criminal, an imbecile, a horror to you; and you couldn't have released + yourself. Too big a risk, you see. That's the rational view—our + view. Accordingly, you reserved the right to leave me at any time if you + found our companionship incompatible with—what was the expression + you used?—with your full development as a human being: I think that + was how you put the Ibsenist view—our view. So I had to be content + with a charming philander, which taught me a great deal, and brought me + some hours of exquisite happiness. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Leonard: you confess then that you owe me something? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (haughtily). No: what I received, I paid. Did you learn nothing + from me?—was there no delight for you in our friendship? + </p> + <p> + JULIA (vehemently and movingly; for she is now sincere). No. You made me + pay dearly for every moment of happiness. You revenged yourself on me for + the humiliation of being the slave of your passion for me. I was never + sure of you for a moment. I trembled whenever a letter came from you, lest + it should contain some stab for me. I dreaded your visits almost as much + as I longed for them. I was your plaything, not your companion. (She + rises, exclaiming) Oh, there was such suffering in my happiness that I + hardly knew joy from pain. (She sinks on the piano stool, and adds, as she + buries her face in her hands and turns away from him) Better for me if I + had never met you! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (rising indignantly). You ungenerous wretch! Is this your + gratitude for the way I have just been flattering you? What have I not + endured from you—endured with angelic patience? Did I not find out, + before our friendship was a fortnight old, that all your advanced views + were merely a fashion picked up and followed like any other fashion, + without understanding or meaning a word of them? Did you not, in spite of + your care for your own liberty, set up claims on me compared to which the + claims of the most jealous wife would have been trifles. Have I a single + woman friend whom you have not abused as old, ugly, vicious— + </p> + <p> + JULIA (quickly looking up). So they are. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Well, then, I'll come to grievances that even you can + understand. I accuse you of habitual and intolerable jealousy and ill + temper; of insulting me on imaginary provocation: of positively beating + me; of stealing letters of mine— + </p> + <p> + JULIA (rising). Yes, nice letters. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. —of breaking your solemn promises not to do it again; of + spending hours—aye, days! piecing together the contents of my waste + paper basket in your search for more letters; and then representing + yourself as an ill used saint and martyr wantonly betrayed and deserted by + a selfish monster of a man. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. I was justified in reading your letters. Our perfect confidence in + one another gave me the right to do it. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Thank you. Then I hasten to break off a confidence which gives + such rights. (Sits down sulkily on sofa.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (with her right hand on the back of the sofa, bending over him + threateningly). You have no right to break it off. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I have. You refused to marry me because— + </p> + <p> + JULIA. I did not. You never asked me. If we were married, you would never + dare treat me as you are doing now. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (laboriously going back to his argument). It was understood + between us as people of advanced views that we were not to marry because, + as the law stands, I might have become a drunkard, a— + </p> + <p> + JULIA. —a criminal, an imbecile or a horror. You said that before. + (Sits down beside him with a fling.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (politely). I beg your pardon, my dear. I know I have a habit of + repeating myself. The point is that you reserved your freedom to give me + up when you pleased. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Well, what of that? I do not please to give you up; and I will not. + You have not become a drunkard or a criminal. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. You don't see the point yet, Julia. You seem to forget that in + reserving your freedom to leave me in case I should turn out badly, you + also reserved my freedom to leave you in case you should turn out badly. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Very ingenious. And pray, have <i>I</i> become a drunkard, or a + criminal, or an imbecile? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (rising). You have become what is infinitely worse than all + three together—a jealous termagant. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (shaking her head bitterly). Yes, abuse me—call me names. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I now assert the right I reserved—the right of breaking + with you when I please. Advanced views, Julia, involve advanced duties: + you cannot be an advanced woman when you want to bring a man to your feet, + and a conventional woman when you want to hold him there against his will. + Advanced people form charming friendships: conventional people marry. + Marriage suits a good deal of people; and its first duty is fidelity. + Friendship suits some people; and its first duty is unhesitating, + uncomplaining acceptance of a notice of a change of feeling from either + side. You chose friendship instead of marriage. Now do your duty, and + accept your notice. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Never! We are engaged in the eye of—the eye of— + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (sitting down quickly beside her). Yes, Julia. Can't you get it + out? In the eye of something that advanced women don't believe in, en? + </p> + <p> + JULIA (throwing herself at his feet). O Leonard, don't be cruel. I am too + miserable to argue—to think. I only know I love you. You reproach me + with not wanting to marry you. I would have married you at any time after + I came to love you, if you had asked me. I will marry you now if you will. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I won't, my dear. That's flat. We're intellectually + incompatible. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. But why? We could be so happy. You love me—I know you love me—I + feel it. You say "My dear" to me: you have said it several times this + evening. I know I have been wicked, odious, bad. I say nothing in defence + of myself. But don't be hard on me. I was distracted by the thought of + losing you. I can't face life without you Leonard. I was happy when I met + you: I had never loved anyone; and if you had only let me alone I could + have gone on contentedly by myself. But I can't now. I must have you with + me. Don't cast me off without a thought of all I have at stake. I could be + a friend to you if you would only let me—if you would only tell me + your plans—give me a share in your work—-treat me as something + more than the amusement of an idle hour. Oh Leonard, Leonard, you've never + given me a chance: indeed you haven't. I'll take pains; I'll read; I'll + try to think; I'll conquer my jealousy; I'll— (She breaks down, + rocking her head desperately on his knee and writhing.) Oh, I'm mad: I'm + mad: you'll kill me if you desert me. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (petting her). My dear love, don't cry—don't go on in this + way. You know I can't help it. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (sobbing as he rises and coaxingly lifts her with him). Oh, you can, + you can. One word from you will make us happy for ever. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (diplomatically). Come, my dear: we really must go. We can't + stay until Cuthbertson comes. (Releases her gently and takes her mantle + from the table.) Here is your mantle: put it on and be good. You have + given me a terrible evening: you must have some consideration for me. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (dangerous again). Then I am to be cast off. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (coaxingly). You are to put on your bonnet, dearest. (He puts + the mantle on her shoulders.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (with a bitter half laugh, half sob). Well, I suppose I must do what + I am told. (She goes to the table, and looks for her bonnet. She sees the + yellow-backed French novel.) Ah, look at that! (holds it out to him.) Look—look + at what the creature reads—filthy, vile French stuff that no decent + woman would touch. And you—you have been reading it with her. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. You recommended that book to me yourself. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Faugh! (Dashes it on the floor.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (running anxiously to the book). Don't damage property, Julia. + (He picks it up and dusts it.) Making scenes is an affair of sentiment: + damaging property is serious. (Replaces it on the table.) And now do pray + come along. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (implacably). You can go: there is nothing to prevent you. I will + not stir. (She sits down stubbornly on the sofa.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (losing patience). Oh come! I am not going to begin all this + over again. There are limits even to my forbearance. Come on. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. I will not, I tell you. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Then good night. (He makes resolutely for the door. With a + rush, she gets there before him, and bars his way.) I thought you wanted + me to go. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (at the door). You shall not leave me here alone. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Then come with me. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Not until you have sworn to me to give up that woman. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. My dear, I will swear anything if you will only come away and + put an end to this. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (perplexed—doubting him). You will swear? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Solemnly. Propose the oath. I have been on the point of + swearing for the last half hour. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (despairingly). You are only making fun of me. I want no oaths. I + want your promise—your sacred word of honour. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Certainly—anything you demand, on condition that you come + away immediately. On my sacred word of honour as a gentleman—as an + Englishman—as anything you like—I will never see her again, + never speak to her, never think of her. Now come. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. But are you in earnest? Will you keep your word? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (smiling subtly). Now you are getting unreasonable. Do come + along without any more nonsense. At any rate, I am going. I am not strong + enough to carry you home; but I am strong enough to make my way through + that door in spite of you. You will then have a new grievance against me + for my brutal violence. (He takes a step towards the door.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (solemnly). If you do, I swear I will throw myself from that window, + Leonard, as you pass out. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (unimpressed). That window is at the back of the building. I + shall pass out at the front; so you will not hurt me. Good night. (He + approaches the door.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Leonard: have you no pity? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Not in the least. When you condescend to these antics you force + me to despise you. How can a woman who behaves like a spoiled child and + talks like a sentimental novel have the audacity to dream of being a + companion for a man of any sort of sense or character? (She gives an + inarticulate cry and throws herself sobbing on his breast.) Come, don't + cry, my dear Julia: you don't look half so beautiful as when you're happy; + and it takes all the starch out of my shirt front. Come along. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (affectionately). I'll come, dear, if you wish it. Give me one kiss. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (exasperated). This is too much. No: I'm dashed if I will. Here, + let me go, Julia. (She clings to him.) Will you come without another word + if I give you a kiss? + </p> + <p> + JULIA. I will do anything you wish, darling. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Well, here. (He takes her in his arms and gives her an + unceremonious kiss.) Now remember your promise. Come along. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. That was not a nice kiss, dearest. I want one of our old real + kisses. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (furious). Oh, go to the deuce. (He disengages himself + impulsively; and she, as if he had flung her down, falls pathetically with + a stifled moan. With an angry look at her, he strides out and slams the + door. She raises herself on one hand, listening to his retreating + footsteps. They stop. Her face lights up with eager, triumphant cunning. + The steps return hastily. She throws herself down again as before. + Charteris reappears, in the utmost dismay, exclaiming) Julia: we're done. + Cuthbertson's coming upstairs with your father—(she sits up quickly) + do you hear?—the two fathers. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (sitting on the floor). Impossible. They don't know one another. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (desperately). I tell you they are coming up together like + brothers. What on earth are we to do? + </p> + <p> + JULIA (scrambling up with the help of his hand). Quick, the lift: we can + go down in that. (She rushes to the table for her bonnet.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. No, the man's gone home; and the lift's locked. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (putting on bonnet at express speed). Let's go up to the next floor. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. There's no next floor. We're at the top of the house. No, no, + you must invent some thumping lie. I can't think of one: you can, Julia. + Exercise all your genius. I'll back you up. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. But——— + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Sh-sh! Here they are. Sit down and look at home. (Julia tears + off her bonnet and mantle; throws them on the table; and darts to the + piano at which she seats herself.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Come and sing. (She plays the symphony to "When other lips." He + stands at the piano, as if about to sing. Two elderly gentlemen enter. + Julia stops playing.) + </p> + <p> + The elder of the two gentlemen, Colonel Daniel Craven, affects the bluff, + simple veteran, and carries it off pleasantly and well, having a fine + upright figure, and being, in fact, a goodnaturedly impulsive, credulous + person who, after an entirely thoughtless career as an officer and a + gentleman, is now being startled into some sort of self-education by the + surprising proceedings of his children. + </p> + <p> + His companion, Mr. Joseph Cuthbertson, Grace's father, has none of the + Colonel's boyishness. He is a man of fervent idealistic sentiment, so + frequently outraged by the facts of life, that he has acquired an + habitually indignant manner, which unexpectedly becomes enthusiastic or + affectionate when he speaks. + </p> + <p> + The two men differ greatly in expression. The Colonel's face is lined with + weather, with age, with eating and drinking, and with the cumulative + effects of many petty vexations, but not with thought: he is still fresh, + and he has by no means full expectations of pleasure and novelty. + Cuthbertson has the lines of sedentary London brain work, with its chronic + fatigue and longing for rest and recreative emotion, and its disillusioned + indifference to adventure and enjoyment, except as a means of + recuperation. + </p> + <p> + They are both in evening dress; and Cuthbertson wears his fur collared + overcoat, which, with his vigilant, irascible eye, piled up hair, and the + honorable earnestness with which he takes himself, gives him an air of + considerable consequence. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (with a hospitable show of delight at finding visitors). Don't + stop, Miss Craven. Go on, Charteris. (He comes down behind the sofa, and + hangs his overcoat on it, after taking an opera glass and a theatre + programme from the pockets, and putting them down on the piano. Craven + meanwhile goes to the fire-place and stands on the hearthrug.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. No, thank you. Miss Craven has just been taking me through an + old song; and I've had enough of it. (He takes the song off the piano desk + and lays it aside; then closes the lid over the keyboard.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (passing between the sofa and piano to shake hands with + Cuthbertson). Why, you've brought Daddy! What a surprise! (Looking across + to Craven.) So glad you've come, Dad. (She takes a chair near the window, + and sits there.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Craven: let me introduce you to Mr. Leonard Charteris, the + famous Ibsenist philosopher. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Oh, we know one another already. Charteris is quite at home at our + house, Jo. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. I beg both your pardons. (Charteris sits down on the piano + stool.) He's quite at home here too. By the bye, where's Grace? + </p> + <p> + JULIA and CHARTERIS. Er— (They stop and look at one another.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (politely). I beg your pardon, Mr. Charteris: I interrupted you. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Not at all, Miss Craven. (An awkward pause.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (to help them out). You were going to tell about Grace, + Charteris. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I was only going to say that I didn't know that you and Craven + were acquainted. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Why, <i>I</i> didn't know it until to-night. It's a most + extraordinary thing. We met by chance at the theatre; and he turns out to + be my oldest friend. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (energetically). Yes, Craven; and do you see how this proves + what I was saying to you about the breaking up of family life? Here are + all our young people—Grace and Miss Julia and the rest—bosom + friends, inseparables; and yet we two, who knew each other before they + were born, might never have met again if you hadn't popped into the stall + next to mine to-night by pure chance. Come, sit down (bustling over to him + affectionately and pushing him into the arm chair above the fire): there's + your place, by my fireside, whenever you choose to fill it. (He posts + himself at the right end of the sofa, leaning against it and admiring + Craven.) Just imagine your being Dan Craven! + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Just imagine your being Jo Cuthbertson, though! That's a far more + extraordinary coincidence, because I'd got it into my head that your name + was Tranfield. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Oh, that's my daughter's name. She's a widow, you know. How + uncommonly well you look, Dan! The years haven't hurt you much. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (suddenly becoming unnaturally gloomy). I look well. I even feel + well. But my days are numbered. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (alarmed). Oh don't say that, my dear fellow. I hope not. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (with anguish in her voice). Daddy! (Cuthbertson looks inquiringly + around at her.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. There, there, my dear: I was wrong to talk of it. It's a sad + subject. But it's better that Cuthbertson should know. We used to be very + close friends, and are so still, I hope. (Cuthbertson goes to Craven and + presses his hand silently; then returns to sofa and sits, pulling out his + handkerchief and displaying some emotion. ) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (a little impatiently). The fact is, Cuthbertson, Craven's a + devout believer in the department of witchcraft called medical science. + He's celebrated in all the medical schools as an example of the newest + sort of liver complaint. The doctors say he can't last another year; and + he has fully made up his mind not to survive next Easter, just to oblige + them. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (with military affectation). It's very kind of you to try to keep + up my spirits by making light of it, Charteris. But I shall be ready when + my time comes. I'm a soldier. (A sob from Julia.) Don't cry, Julia. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (huskily). I hope you may long be spared, Dan. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. To oblige me, Jo, change the subject. (He gets up and again posts + himself on the hearthrug with his back to the fire.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Try and persuade him to join our club, Cuthbertson. He mopes. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. It's no use. Sylvia and I are always at him to join; but he won't. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. My child, I have my own club. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (contemptuously). Yes, the Junior Army and Navy! Do you call + that a club? Why, they daren't let a woman cross the doorstep! + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (a little ruffled). Clubs are a matter of taste, Charteris. You + like a cock and hen club: I don't. It's bad enough to have Julia and her + sister—a girl under twenty—spending half their time at such a + place. Besides, now really, such a name for a club! The Ibsen club! I + should be laughed out of London. The Ibsen club! Come, Cuthbertson, back + me up. I'm sure you agree with me. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Cuthbertson's a member. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (amazed). No! Why, he's been talking to me all the evening about + the way in which everything is going to the dogs through advanced ideas in + the younger generation. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Of course. He's been studying it in the club. He's always + there. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (warmly). Not always. Don't exaggerate, Charteris. You know + very well that though I joined the club on Grace's account, thinking that + her father's presence there would be a protection and a—a sort of + sanction, as it were—I never approved of it. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (tactlessly harping on Cuthbertson's inconsistency). Well, you + know, this is unexpected: now it's really very unexpected. I should never + have thought it from hearing you talk, Jo. Why, you said the whole modern + movement was abhorrent to you because your life had been passed in + witnessing scenes of suffering nobly endured and sacrifice willingly + rendered by womanly women and manly men and deuce knows what else. Is it + at the Ibsen club that you see all this manliness and womanliness? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Certainly not: the rules of the club forbid anything of that + sort. Every candidate for membership must be nominated by a man and a + woman, who both guarantee that the candidate, if female, is not womanly, + and if male, is not manly. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (chuckling cunningly and stooping to press his heated trousers + against his legs, which are chilly). Won't do, Charteris. Can't take me in + with so thin a story as that. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (vehemently). It's true. It's monstrous, but it's true. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (with rising indignation, as he begins to draw the inevitable + inferences). Do you mean to say that somebody had the audacity to + guarantee that my Julia is not a womanly woman? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (darkly). It sounds incredible; but a man was found ready to + take that inconceivable lie on his conscience. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (firing up). If he has nothing worse than that on his conscience, he + may sleep pretty well. In what way am I more womanly than any of the rest + of them, I should like to know? They are always saying things like that + behind my back—I hear of them from Sylvia. Only the other day a + member of the committee said I ought never to have been elected—that + you (to Charteris) had smuggled me in. I should like to see her say it to + my face: that's all. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. But, my precious, I most sincerely hope she was right. She paid + you the highest compliment. Why, the place must be a den of infamy. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (emphatically). So it is, Craven, so it is. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Exactly. That's what keeps it so select: nobody but people + whose reputations are above suspicion dare belong to it. If we once got a + good name, we should become a mere whitewashing shop for all the shady + characters in London. Better join us, Craven. Let me put you up. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. What! Join a club where there's some scoundrel who guaranteed my + daughter to be an unwomanly woman! If I weren't an invalid, I'd kick him. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Oh don't say that. It was I who did it. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (reproachfully). You! Now upon my soul, Charteris, this is very + vexing. Now how could you bring yourself to do such a thing? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. She made me. Why, I had to guarantee Cuthbertson as unmanly; + and he's the leading representative of manly sentiment in London. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. That didn't do Jo any harm: but it took away my Julia's character. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (outraged). Daddy! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Not at the Ibsen club, quite the contrary. After all, what can + we do? You know what breaks up most clubs for men and women. There's a + quarrel—a scandal—cherchez la femme—always a woman at + the bottom of it. Well, we knew this when we founded the club; but we + noticed that the woman at the bottom of it was always a womanly woman. The + unwomanly women who work for their living and know how to take care of + themselves never give any trouble. So we simply said we wouldn't have any + womanly women; and when one gets smuggled in she has to take care not to + behave in a womanly way. We get on all right. (He rises.) Come to lunch + with me there tomorrow and see the place. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (rising). No, he's engaged to me. But you can join us. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. What hour? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Any time after twelve. (To Craven) It's at 90 Cork street, at + the other end of the Burlington Arcade. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (making a note). 90, you say. After twelve. (He suddenly relapses + into gloom.) By the bye, don't order anything special for me. I'm not + allowed wine—only Apollinaris. No meat either—only a scrap of + fish occasionally. I'm to have a short life, but not a merry one. + (Sighing.) Well, well. (Bracing himself up.) Now, Julia, it's time for us + to be off. (Julia rises.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. But where on earth is Grace? I must go and look for her. (He + turns to the door.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (stopping him). Oh, pray don't disturb her, Mr. Cuthbertson. She's + so tired. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. But just for a moment to say good night. (Julia and Charteris + look at one another in dismay. Cuthbertson looks quickly at them, + perceiving that something is wrong.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. We must make a clean breast of it, I see. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Clean breast? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. The truth is, Cuthbertson, Mrs. Tranfield, who is, as you know, + the most thoughtful of women, took it into her head that I—well, + that I particularly wanted to speak to Miss Craven alone. So she said she + was tired and wanted to go to bed. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (scandalized). Tut! tut! + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Oho! is that it? Then it's all right. She never goes to bed + as early as this. I'll fetch her in a moment. (He goes out confidently, + leaving Charteris aghast.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Now you've done it. (She rushes to the round table and snatches up + her mantle and bonnet.) I'm off. (She makes for the door.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (horrified). What are you doing, Julia? You can't go until you've + said good night to Mrs. Tranfield. It would be horribly rude. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. You can stay if you like, Daddy: I can't. I'll wait for you in the + hall. (She hurries out.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (following her). But what on earth am I to say? (Stopping as she + disappears, and turning to Charteris grumbling) Now really you know, + Charteris, this is devilish awkward, upon my life it is. That was a most + indelicate thing of you to say plump out before us all—that about + you and Julia. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I'll explain it all to-morrow. Just at present we'd really + better follow Julia's example and bolt. (He starts for the door.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (intercepting him). Stop! don't leave me like this: I shall look + like a fool. Now I shall really take it in bad part if you run away, + Charteris. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (resignedly). All right. I'll stay. (Lifts himself on to the + shoulder of the grand piano and sits there swinging his legs and + contemplating Craven resignedly.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (pacing up and down). I'm excessively vexed about Julia's conduct, + I am indeed. She can't bear to be crossed in the slightest thing, poor + child. I'll have to apologize for her you know: her going away is a + downright slap in the face for these people here. Cuthbertson may be + offended already for all I know. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Oh never mind about him. Mrs. Tranfield bosses this + establishment. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (cunningly). Ah, that's it, is it? He's just the sort of fellow + that would have no control over his daughter. (He goes back to his former + place on the hearthrug with his back to the fire.) By the bye, what the + dickens did he mean by all that about passing his life amid—what was + it?—"scenes of suffering nobly endured and sacrifice willingly + rendered by womanly women and manly men" and a lot more of the same sort? + I suppose he's something in a hospital. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Hospital! Nonsense: he's a dramatic critic. Didn't you hear me + say that he was the leading representative of manly sentiment in London? + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. You don't say so. Now really, who'd have thought it! How jolly it + must be to be able to go to the theatre for nothing! I must ask him to get + me a few tickets occasionally. But isn't it ridiculous for a man to talk + like that! I'm hanged if he don't take what he sees on the stage quite + seriously. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Of course: that's why he's a good critic. Besides, if you take + people seriously off the stage, why shouldn't you take them seriously on + it, where they're under some sort of decent restraint? (He jumps down off + piano and goes up to the window. Cuthbertson comes back.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (to Craven, rather sheepishly). The fact is, Grace has gone to + bed. I must apologize to you and Miss— (He turns to Julia's seat, + and stops on seeing it vacant.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (embarrassed). It is I who have to apologize for Julia, Jo. She— + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (interrupting). She said she was quite sure that if we didn't + go, you'd persuade Mrs. Tranfield to get up to say good night for the sake + of politeness; so she went straight off. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Very kind of her indeed. I'm really ashamed— + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Don't mention it, Jo, don't mention it. She's waiting for me + below. (Going.) Good night. Good night, Charteris. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Good night. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (seeing Craven out). Goodnight. Say good night and thanks to + Miss Craven for me. To-morrow any time after twelve, remember. (They go + out; and Charteris with a long sigh crosses to the fireplace, thoroughly + tired out.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (outside). All right. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (outside). Take care of the stairs; they're rather steep. Good + night. (The outside door shuts; and Cuthbertson returns. Instead of + entering, he stands in the doorway with one hand in the breast of his + waistcoat, eyeing Charteris sternly.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. What's the matter? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (sternly). Charteris: what's been going on here? I insist on + knowing. Grace has not gone to bed: I have seen and spoken with her. What + is it all about? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Ask your theatrical experience, Cuthbertson. A man, of course. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (coming forward and confronting him). Don't play the fool with + me, Charteris: I'm too old a hand to be amused by it. I ask you, + seriously, what's the matter? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I tell you, seriously, I'm the matter, Julia wants to marry me: + I want to marry Grace. I came here to-night to sweetheart Grace. Enter + Julia. Alarums and excursions. Exit Grace. Enter you and Craven. + Subterfuges and excuses. Exeunt Craven and Julia. And here we are. That's + the whole story. Sleep over it. Good night. (He leaves.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (staring after him). Well I'll be— (The act drop + descends.) + </p> + <h3> + END OF ACT I. + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT II + </h2> + <p> + Next day at noon, in the Library of the Ibsen club. A spacious room, with + glass doors right and left. At the back, in the middle, is the fireplace, + surmounted by a handsome mantelpiece, with a bust of Ibsen, and decorated + inscriptions of the titles of his plays. There are circular recesses at + each side of fireplace, with divan seats running round them, and windows + at the top, the space between the divan and the window sills being lined + with books. A long settee is placed before the fire. Along the back of the + settee, and touching it, is a green table, littered with journals. A + revolving bookcase stands in the foreground, a little to the left, with an + easy chair close to it. On the right, between the door and the recess, is + a light library stepladder. Placards inscribed "silence" are conspicuously + exhibited here and there. + </p> + <p> + (Cuthbertson is seated in the easy chair at the revolving bookstand, + reading the "Daily Graphic." Dr. Paramore is on the divan in the right + hand recess, reading "The British Medical Journal." He is young as age is + counted in the professions—barely forty. His hair is wearing bald on + his forehead; and his dark arched eyebrows, coming rather close together, + give him a conscientiously sinister appearance. He wears the frock coat + and cultivates the "bedside manner" of the fashionable physician with + scrupulous conventionality. Not at all a happy or frank man, but not + consciously unhappy nor intentionally insincere, and highly self satisfied + intellectually. + </p> + <p> + Sylvia Craven is sitting in the middle of the settee before the fire, only + the back of her head being visible. She is reading a volume of Ibsen. She + is a girl of eighteen, small and trim, wearing a smart tailor-made dress, + rather short, and a Newmarket jacket, showing a white blouse with a light + silk sash and a man's collar and watch chain so arranged as to look as + like a man's waistcoat and shirt-front as possible without spoiling the + prettiness of the effect. A Page Boy's voice, monotonously calling for Dr. + Paramore, is heard approaching outside on the right.) + </p> + <p> + PAGE (outside). Dr. Paramore, Dr. Paramore, Dr. Paramore. (He enters + carrying a salver with a card on it.) Dr. Par— + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (sharply, sitting up). Here, boy. (The boy presents the salver. + Paramore takes the card and looks at it.) All right: I'll come down to + him. (The boy goes. Paramore rises, and comes from the recess, throwing + his paper on the table.) Good morning, Mr. Cuthbertson (stopping to pull + out his cuffs and shake his coat straight) Mrs. Tranfield quite well, I + hope? + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (turning her head indignantly). Sh—sh—sh! (Paramore + turns, surprised. Cuthbertson rises energetically and looks across the + bookstand to see who is the author of this impertinence.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (to Sylvia—stiffly). I beg your pardon, Miss Craven: I did + not mean to disturb you. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (flustered and self assertive). You may talk as much as you like if + you will only have the common consideration to first ask whether the other + people object. What I protest against is your assumption that my presence + doesn't matter because I'm only a female member. That's all. Now go on, + pray: you don't disturb me in the least. (She turns to the fire, and again + buries herself in Ibsen.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (with emphatic dignity). No gentleman would have dreamt of + objecting to our exchanging a few words, madam. (She takes no notice. He + resumes angrily.) As a matter of fact I was about to say to Dr. Paramore + that if he would care to bring his visitor up here, <i>I</i> should not + object. The impudence! (Dashes his paper down on the chair.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. Oh, many thanks; but it's only an instrument maker. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Any new medical discoveries, doctor? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. Well, since you ask me, yes—perhaps a most important one. + I have discovered something that has hitherto been overlooked—a + minute duct in the liver of the guinea pig. Miss Craven will forgive my + mentioning it when I say that it may throw an important light on her + father's case. The first thing, of course, is to find out what the duct is + there for. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (reverently—feeling that he is in the presence of + science). Indeed. How will you do that? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. Oh, easily enough, by simply cutting the duct and seeing what + will happen to the guinea pig. (Sylvia rises, horrified.) I shall require + a knife specially made to get at it. The man who is waiting for me + downstairs has brought me a few handles to try before fitting it and + sending it to the laboratory. I am afraid it would not do to bring such + weapons up here. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. If you attempt such a thing, Dr. Paramore, I will complain to the + committee. The majority of the committee are anti-vivisectionists. You + ought to be ashamed of yourself. (She flounces out at the right hand + door.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (with patient contempt). That's the sort of thing we scientific + men have to put up with nowadays, Mr. Cuthbertson. Ignorance, + superstition, sentimentality: they are all one. A guinea pig's convenience + is set above the health and lives of the entire human race. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (vehemently). It's not ignorance or superstition, Paramore: + it's sheer downright Ibsenism: that's what it is. I've been wanting to sit + comfortably at the fire the whole morning; but I've never had a chance + with that girl there. I couldn't go and plump myself down on a seat beside + her: goodness knows what she'd think I wanted. That's one of the delights + of having women in the club: when they come in here they all want to sit + at the fire and adore that bust. I sometimes feel that I should like to + take the poker and fetch it a wipe across the nose—ugh! + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. I must say I prefer the elder Miss Craven to her sister. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (his eyes lighting up). Ah, Julia! I believe you. A splendid + fine creature—every inch a woman. No Ibsenism about her! + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. I quite agree with you there, Mr. Cuthbertson. Er—by the + way, do you think is Miss Craven attached to Charteris at all? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. What, that fellow! Not he. He hangs about after her; but he's + not man enough for her. A woman of that sort likes a strong, manly, + deep-throated, broad-chested man. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (anxiously). Hm, a sort of sporting character, you think? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Oh, no, no. A scientific man, perhaps, like yourself. But you + know what I mean—a MAN. (Strikes himself a sounding blow on the + chest.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. Of course; but Charteris is a man. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Pah! you don't see what I mean. (The Page Boy returns with + his salver.) + </p> + <p> + PAGE BOY (calling monotonously as before). Mr. Cuthbertson, Mr. + Cuthbertson, Mr. Cuth— + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Here, boy. (He takes a card from the salver.) Bring the + gentleman up here. (The boy goes out.) It's Craven. He's coming to lunch + with me and Charteris. You might join us if you've nothing better to do, + when you've finished with the instrument man. If Julia turns up I'll ask + her too. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (flushing with pleasure). I shall be very happy. Thank you. (He + is going out at the right hand door when Craven enters.) Good morning, + Colonel Craven. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (at the door). Good morning—glad to see you. I'm looking for + Cuthbertson. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (smiling). There he is. (He goes out.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (greeting Craven effusively). Delighted to see you. Now will + you come to the smoking room, or will you sit down here and have a chat + while we're waiting for Charteris. If you like company, the smoking room + is always full of women. Here we shall have it pretty well all to + ourselves until about three o'clock. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. I don't like to see women smoking. I'll make myself comfortable + here. (Sits in an easy chair on the right.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (taking a chair beside him, on his left). Neither do I. + There's not a room in this club where I can enjoy a pipe quietly without a + woman coming in and beginning to roll a cigarette. It's a disgusting habit + in a woman: it's not natural to her sex. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (sighing). Ah, Jo, times have changed since we both courted Molly + Ebden all those years ago. I took my defeat well, old chap, didn't I? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (with earnest approval). You did, Dan. The thought of it has + often helped me to behave well myself: it has, on my honour. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Yes, you always believe in hearth and home, Jo—in a true + English wife and a happy wholesome fireside. How did Molly turn out? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (trying to be fair to Molly). Well, not bad. She might have + been worse. You see I couldn't stand her relations: all the men were + roaring cads; and she couldn't get on with my mother. And then she hated + being in town; and of course I couldn't live in the country on account of + my work. But we hit it off as well as most people, until we separated. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (taken aback). Separated! (He is irresistibly amused.) Oh, that was + the end of the hearth and home, Jo, was it? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (warmly). It was not my fault, Dan. (Sentimentally.) Some day + the world will know how I loved that woman. But she was incapable of + valuing a true man's affection. Do you know, she often said she wished + she'd married you instead. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (sobered by the suggestion). Dear me, dear me! Well, perhaps it was + better as it was. You heard about my marriage, I suppose. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Oh yes: we all heard of it. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Well, Jo, I may as well make a clean breast of it—everybody + knew it. I married for money. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (encouragingly). And why not, Dan, why not? We can't get on + without it, you know. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (with sincere feeling). I got to be very fond of her, Jo. I had a + home until she died. Now everything's changed. Julia's always here. + Sylvia's of a different nature; but she's always here too. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (sympathetically). I know. It's the same with Grace. She's + always here. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. And now they want me to be always here. They're at me every day to + join the club—to stop my grumbling, I suppose. That's what I want to + consult you about. Do you think I ought to join? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Well, if you have no conscientious objection— + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (testily interrupting him). I object to the existence of the place + on principle; but what's the use of that? Here it is in spite of my + objection, and I may as well have the benefit of any good that may be in + it. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (soothing him). Of course: that's the only reasonable view of + the matter. Well, the fact is, it's not so inconvenient as you might + think. When you're at home, you have the house more to yourself; and when + you want to have your family about you, you can dine with them at the + club. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (not much attracted by this). True. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Besides, if you don't want to dine with them, you needn't. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (convinced). True, very true. But don't they carry on here, rather? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Oh, no, they don't exactly carry on. Of course the usual tone + of the club is low, because the women smoke and earn their own living and + all that; but still there's nothing actually to complain of. And it's + convenient, certainly. (Charteris comes in, looking round for them.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (rising). Do you know, I've a great mind to join, just to see what + it's like. Would you mind putting me up? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Delighted, Dan, delighted. (He grasps Craven's hand.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (putting one hand on Craven's shoulder and the other on + Cuthbertson's). Bless you, my children! (Cuthbertson, a little wounded in + his dignity, moves away. The Colonel takes the jest in the utmost good + humor.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (cordially). Hallo! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (to Craven). Hope I haven't disturbed your chat by coming too + soon. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Not at all. Welcome, dear boy. (Shakes his hand.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. That's right. I'm earlier than I intended. The fact is, I have + something rather pressing to say to Cuthbertson. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Private! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Not particularly. (To Cuthbertson.) Only what we were speaking + of last night. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Well, Charteris, I think that is private, or ought to be. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (going up towards the table). I'll just take a look at the Times— + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (stopping him). Oh, it's no secret: everybody in the club + guesses it. (To Cuthbertson.) Has Grace never mentioned to you that she + wants to marry me? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (indignantly). She has mentioned that you want to marry her. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Ah; but then it's not what I want, but what Grace wants, that + will weigh with you. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (a little shocked). Excuse me Charteris: this is private. I'll + leave you to yourselves. (Again moves towards the table.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Wait a bit, Craven: you're concerned in this. Julia wants to + marry me too. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (in a tone of the strongest remonstrance). Now really! Now upon my + life and soul! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. It's a fact, I assure you. Didn't it strike you as rather odd, + our being up there last night and Mrs. Tranfield not with us? + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Well, yes it did. But you explained it. And now really, Charteris, + I must say your explanation was in shocking bad taste before Julia. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Never mind. It was a good, fat, healthy, bouncing lie. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN and CUTHBERTSON. Lie! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Didn't you suspect that? + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Certainly not. Did you, Jo? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. No, most emphatically. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. What's more, I don't believe you. I'm sorry to have to say such a + thing; but you forget that Julia was present and didn't contradict you. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. She didn't want to. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Do you mean to say that my daughter deceived me? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Delicacy towards me compelled her to, Craven. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (taking a very serious tone). Now look here, Charteris: have you + any proper sense of the fact that you're standing between two fathers? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Quite right, Dan, quite right. I repeat the question on my + own account. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Well, I'm a little dazed still by standing for so long between + two daughters; but I think I grasp the situation. (Cuthbertson flings away + with an exclamation of disgust.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Then I'm sorry for your manners, Charteris: that's all. (He turns + away sulkily; then suddenly fires up and turns on Charteris.) How dare you + tell me my daughter wants to marry you. Who are you, pray, that she should + have any such ambition? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Just so; she couldn't have made a worse choice. But she won't + listen to reason. I've talked to her like a father myself—I assure + you, my dear Craven, I've said everything that you could have said; but + it's no use: she won't give me up. And if she won't listen to me, what + likelihood is there of her listening to you? + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (in angry bewilderment). Cuthbertson: did you ever hear anything + like this? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Never! Never! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Oh, bother? Come, don't behave like a couple of conventional + old fathers: this is a serious affair. Look at these letters (producing a + letter and a letter-card.) This (showing the card) is from Grace—by + the way, Cuthbertson, I wish you'd ask her not to write on letter-cards: + the blue colour makes it so easy for Julia to pick the bits out of my + waste paper basket and piece them together. Now listen. "My dear Leonard: + Nothing could make it worth my while to be exposed to such scenes as last + night's. You had much better go back to Julia and forget me. Yours + sincerely, Grace Tranfield." + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (infuriated). Damnation! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (turning to Craven and preparing to read the letter). Now for + Julia. (The Colonel turns away to hide his face from Charteris, + anticipating a shock, and puts his hand on a chair to steady himself.) "My + dearest boy. Nothing will make me believe that this odious woman can take + my place in your heart. I send some of the letters you wrote me when we + first met; and I ask you to read them. They will recall what you felt when + you wrote them. You cannot have changed so much as to be indifferent to + me: whoever may have struck your fancy for the moment, your heart is still + mine"—and so on: you know the sort of thing—"Ever and always + your loving Julia." (The Colonel sinks on the chair and covers his face + with his hand.) You don't suppose she's serious, do you: that's the sort + of thing she writes me three times a day. (To Cuthbertson) Grace is in + earnest though, confound it. (He holds out Grace's letter.) A blue card as + usual! This time I shall not trust the waste paper basket. (He goes to the + fire, and throws the letters into it.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (facing him with folded arms as he comes down again). May I + ask, Mr. Charteris, is this the New Humour? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (still too preoccupied with his own difficulty to have any sense + of the effect he is producing on the others). Oh, stuff! Do you suppose + it's a joke to be situated as I am? You've got your head so stuffed with + the New Humour and the New Woman and the New This, That and the Other, all + mixed up with your own old Adam, that you've lost your senses. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (strenuously). Do you see that old man, grown grey in the + honoured service of his country, whose last days you have blighted? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (surprised, looking at Craven and realizing his distress with + genuine concern). I'm very sorry. Come, Craven; don't take it to heart. + (Craven shakes his head.) I assure you it means nothing: it happens to me + constantly. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. There is only one excuse for you. You are not fully + responsible for your actions. Like all advanced people, you have got + neurasthenia. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (appalled). Great Heavens! what's that? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. I decline to explain. You know as well as I do. I am going + downstairs now to order lunch. I shall order it for three; but the third + place is for Paramore, whom I have invited, not for you. (He goes out + through the left hand door.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (putting his hand on Craven's shoulder). Come, Craven; advise + me. You've been in this sort of fix yourself probably. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Charteris: no woman writes such letters to a man unless he has + made advances to her. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (mournfully). How little you know the world, Colonel! The New + Woman is not like that. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. I can only give you very old fashioned advice, my boy; and that is + that it's well to be off with the Old Woman before you're on with the New. + I'm sorry you told me. You might have waited for my death: it's not far + off now. (His head droops again. Julia and Paramore enter on the right. + Julia stops as she catches sight of Charteris, her face clouding and her + breast heaving. Paramore, seeing the Colonel apparently ill, hurries down + to him with the bedside manner in full play.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (seeing Julia). Oh Lord! (He retreats under the lee of the + revolving bookstand.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (sympathetically to the Colonel). Allow me. (Takes his wrist and + begins to count his pulse.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (looking up). Eh? (Withdraws his hand and rises rather crossly.) + No, Paramore: it's not my liver now: it's private business. (A chase now + begins between Julia and Charteris, all the more exciting to them because + the huntress and her prey must alike conceal the real object of their + movements from the others. Charteris first makes for the right hand door. + Julia immediately moves back to it, barring his path. He doubles back + round the bookstand, setting it whirling as he makes for the left door, + Julia crossing in pursuit of him. He is about to escape when he is cut off + by the return of Cuthbertson. He turns back and sees Julia close upon him. + There being nothing else for it, he bolts up into the recess to the left + of the fireplace.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Good morning, Miss Craven. (They shake hands.) Won't you join + us at lunch? Paramore's coming too. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Thanks: I shall be very pleased. (She goes up with affected + purposelessness towards the recess. Charteris, almost trapped in it, + crosses to the right hand recess by way of the fender, knocking down the + fire irons with a crash as he does so.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (who has crossed to the whirling bookcase and stopped it). What the + dickens are you doing there, Charteris? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Nothing. It's such a confounded room to get about in. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (maliciously). Yes, isn't it. (She is moving back to guard the right + hand door, when Cuthbertson appears at it.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. May I take you down? (He offers her his arm.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA. No, really: you know it's against the rules of the club to coddle + women in any way. Whoever is nearest to the door goes first. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Oh well, if you insist. Come, gentlemen: let us go to lunch + in the Ibsen fashion—the unsexed fashion. (He goes out on the left + followed by Paramore, laughing. Craven goes last. He turns at the door to + see whether Julia is coming, and stops when he sees she is not.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Come, Julia. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (with patronising affection). Yes, Daddy, dear, presently. + (Charteris is meanwhile stealing to the right hand door.) Don't wait for + me: I'll come in a moment. (The Colonel hesitates.) It's all right, Daddy. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (very gravely). Don't be long, my dear. (He goes out.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I'm off. (Makes a dash for the right hand door.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (darting at him and seizing his wrist). Aren't you coming? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. No. Unhand me Julia. (He tries to get away: she holds him.) If + you don't let me go, I'll scream for help. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (reproachfully). Leonard! (He breaks away from her.) Oh, how can you + be so rough with me, dear. Did you get my letter? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Burnt it—(she turns away, struck to the heart, and buries + her face in her hands)—along with hers. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (quickly turning again). Hers! Has she written to you? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Yes, to break off with me on your account. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (her eyes gleaming). Ah! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. You are pleased. Wretch! Now you have lost the last scrap of my + regard. (He turns to go, but is stopped by the return of Sylvia. Julia + turns away and stands pretending to read a paper which she picks up from + the table.) + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (offhandedly). Hallo, Charteris: how are you getting on? (She takes + his arm familiarly and walks down the room with him.) Have you seen Grace + Tranfield this morning? (Julia drops the paper and comes a step nearer to + listen.) You generally know where she is to be found. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I shall never know any more, Sylvia. She's quarrelled with me. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Sylvia! How often am I to tell you that I am not Sylvia at the + club? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I forgot. I beg your pardon, Craven, old chap (slaps her on the + shoulder). + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. That's better—a little overdone, but better. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Don't be a fool, Silly. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Remember, Julia, if you please, that here we are members of the + club, not sisters. I don't take liberties with you here on family grounds: + don't you take any with me. (She goes to the settee and resumes her former + place.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Quite right, Craven. Down with the tyranny of the elder sister! + </p> + <p> + JULIA. You ought to know better than to encourage a child to make herself + ridiculous, Leonard, even at my expense. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (seating himself on the edge of the table). Your lunch will be + cold, Julia. (Julia is about to retort furiously when she is checked by + the reappearance of Cuthbertson at the left hand door.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. What has become of you, Miss Craven? Your father is getting + quite uneasy. We're all waiting for you. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. So I have just been reminded, thank you. (She goes out angrily past + him, Sylvia looking round to see.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (looking first after her, then at Charteris). More + neurasthenia. (He follows her.) + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (jumping up on her knees on the settee and speaking over the back + of it). What's up, Charteris? Julia been making love to you? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (speaking to her over his shoulder). No. Blowing me up for + making love to Grace. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Serve you right. You are an awful devil for philandering. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (calmly). Do you consider it good club form to talk that way to + a man who might nearly be your father? + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (knowingly). Oh, I know you, my lad. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Then you know that I never pay any special attention to any + woman. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (thoughtfully). Do you know, Leonard, I really believe you. I don't + think you care a bit more for one woman than for another. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. You mean I don't care a bit less for one woman than another. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. That makes it worse. But what I mean is that you never bother + about their being only women: you talk to them just as you do to me or any + other fellow. That's the secret of your success. You can't think how sick + they get of being treated with the respect due to their sex. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Ah, if Julia only had your wisdom, Craven! (He gets off the + table with a sigh and perches himself reflectively on the stepladder.) + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. She can't take things easy, can she, old man? But don't you be + afraid of breaking her heart: she gets over her little tragedies. We found + that out at home when our great sorrow came. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. What was that? + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. I mean when we learned that poor papa had Paramore's disease. But + it was too late to inoculate papa. All they could do was to prolong his + life for two years more by putting him on a strict diet. Poor old boy! + they cut off his liquor; and he's not allowed to eat meat. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Your father appears to me to be uncommonly well. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Yes, you would think he was a great deal better. But the microbes + are at work, slowly but surely. In another year it will be all over. Poor + old Dad! it's unfeeling to talk about him in this attitude: I must sit + down properly. (She comes down from the settee and takes the chair near + the bookstand.) I should like papa to live for ever just to take the + conceit out of Paramore. I believe he's in love with Julia. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (starting up excitedly). In love with Julia! A ray of hope on + the horizon! Do you really mean it? + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. I should think I do. Why do you suppose he's hanging about the + club to-day in a beautiful new coat and tie instead of attending to his + patients? That lunch with Julia will finish him. He'll ask Daddy's consent + before they come back—I'll bet you three to one he will, in anything + you please. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Gloves? + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. No: cigarettes. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Done! But what does she think about it? Does she give him any + encouragement? + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Oh, the usual thing. Enough to keep any other woman from getting + him. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Just so. I understand. Now listen to me: I am going to speak as + a philosopher. Julia is jealous of everybody—everybody. If she saw + you flirting with Paramore she'd begin to value him directly. You might + play up a little, Craven, for my sake—eh? + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (rising). You're too awful, Leonard. For shame? However, anything + to oblige a fellow Ibsenite. I'll bear your affair in mind. But I think it + would be more effective if you got Grace to do it. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Think so? Hm! perhaps you're right. + </p> + <p> + PAGE BOY (outside as before). Dr. Paramore, Dr. Paramore, Dr. Paramore— + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. They ought to get that boy's voice properly cultivated: it's a + disgrace to the club. (She goes into the recess on Ibsen's left. The page + enters carrying the British Medical Journal.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (calling to the page). Dr. Paramore is in the dining room. + </p> + <p> + PAGE BOY. Thank you, sir. (He is about to go into the dining room when + Sylvia swoops on him.) + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Here: where are you taking that paper? It belongs to this room. + </p> + <p> + PAGE BOY. It's Dr. Paramore's particular orders, miss. The British Medical + Journal has always to be brought to him dreckly it comes. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. What cheek? Charteris: oughtn't we to stop this on principle? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Certainly not. Principle's the poorest reason I know for making + yourself nasty. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Bosh! Ibsen! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (to the page). Off with you, my boy: Dr. Paramore's waiting + breathless with expectation. + </p> + <p> + PAGE BOY (seriously). Indeed, sir. (He hurries off.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. That boy will make his way in this country. He has no sense of + humour. (Grace comes in. Her dress, very convenient and businesslike, is + made to please herself and serve her own purposes without the slightest + regard to fashion, though by no means without a careful concern for her + personal elegance. She enters briskly, like an habitually busy woman.) + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (running to her). Here you are at last Tranfield, old girl. I've + been waiting for you this last hour. I'm starving. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. All right, dear. (To Charteris.) Did you get my letter? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Yes. I wish you wouldn't write on those confounded blue letter + cards. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (to Grace). Shall I go down first and secure a table? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (taking the reply out of Grace's mouth). Do, old boy. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Don't be too long. (She goes into the dining room.) + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Well? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I'm afraid to face you after last night. Can you imagine a more + horrible scene? Don't you hate the very sight of me after it? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Oh, no. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Then you ought to. Ugh! it was hideous—an insult—an + outrage. A nice end to all my plans for making you happy—for making + you an exception to all the women who swear I have made them miserable! + </p> + <p> + GRACE (sitting down placidly). I am not at all miserable. I'm sorry; but I + shan't break my heart. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. No: yours is a thoroughbred heart: you don't scream and cry + every time it's pinched. That's why you are the only possible woman for + me. + </p> + <p> + GRACE (shaking her head). Not now. Never any more. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Never! What do you mean? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. What I say, Leonard. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Jilted again! The fickleness of women I love is only equaled by + the infernal constancy of the women who love me. Well, well! I see how it + is, Grace: you can't get over that horrible scene last night. Imagine her + saying I had kissed her within the last two days! + </p> + <p> + GRACE (rising eagerly). Was that not true? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. True! No: a thumping lie. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Oh, I'm so glad. That was the only thing that really hurt me. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Just why she said it. How adorable of you to care! My darling. + (He seizes her hands and presses them to his breast.) + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Remember! it's all broken off. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Ah yes: you have my heart in your hands. Break it. Throw my + happiness out of the window. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Oh, Leonard, does your happiness really depend on me? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (tenderly). Absolutely. (She beams with delight. A sudden + revulsion comes to him at the sight: he recoils, dropping her hands and + crying) Ah no: why should I lie to you? (He folds his arms and adds + firmly) My happiness depends on nobody but myself. I can do without you. + </p> + <p> + GRACE (nerving herself). So you shall. Thank you for the truth. Now <i>I</i> + will tell you the truth. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (unfolding his arms and again recoiling). No, please. Don't. As + a philosopher, it's my business to tell other people the truth; but it's + not their business to tell it to me. I don't like it: it hurts. + </p> + <p> + GRACE (quietly). It's only that I love you. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Ah! that's not a philosophic truth. You may tell me that as + often as you like. (He takes her in his arms.) + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Yes, Leonard; but I'm an advanced woman. (He checks himself and + looks at her in some consternation.) I'm what my father calls a New Woman. + (He lets her go and stares at her.) I quite agree with all your ideas. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (scandalized). That's a nice thing for a respectable woman to + say! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. I am quite in earnest about them too, though you are not; and I + will never marry a man I love too much. It would give him a terrible + advantage over me: I should be utterly in his power. That's what the New + Woman is like. Isn't she right, Mr. Philosopher? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. The struggle between the Philosopher and the Man is fearful, + Grace. But the Philosopher says you are right. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. I know I am right. And so we must part. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Not at all. You must marry some one else; and then I'll come + and philander with you. (Sylvia comes back.) + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (holding the door open). Oh, I say: come along. I'm starving. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. So am I. I'll lunch with you if I may. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. I thought you would. I've ordered soup for three. (Grace passes + out. Sylvia continues, to Charteris) You can watch Paramore from our + table: he's pretending to read the British Medical Journal; but he must be + making up his mind for the plunge: he looks green with nervousness. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Good luck to him. (He goes out, followed by Sylvia.) + </p> + <h3> + END OF ACT II. + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT III + </h2> + <p> + Still the library. Ten minutes later. Julia, angry and miserable, comes in + from the dining room, followed by Craven. She crosses the room + tormentedly, and throws herself into a chair. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (impatiently). What is the matter? Has everyone gone mad to-day? + What do you mean by suddenly getting up from the table and tearing away + like that? What does Paramore mean by reading his paper and not answering + when he's spoken to? (Julia writhes impatiently.) Come, come (tenderly): + won't my pet tell her own father what—(irritably) what the devil is + wrong with everybody? Do pull yourself straight, Julia, before Cuthbertson + comes. He's only paying the bill: he'll be here in a moment. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. I couldn't bear it any longer. Oh, to see them sitting there at + lunch together, laughing, chatting, making game of me! I should have + screamed out in another moment—I should have taken a knife and + killed her—I should have—(Cuthbertson appears with the + luncheon bill in his hand. He stuffs it into his waistcoat pocket as he + comes to them. He begins speaking the moment he enters.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. I'm afraid you've had a very poor lunch, Dan. It's + disheartening to see you picking at a few beans and drinking soda water. I + wonder how you live! + </p> + <p> + JULIA. That's all he ever takes, Mr. Cuthbertson, I assure you. He hates + to be bothered about it. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Where's Paramore? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Reading his paper, I asked him wasn't he coming; but he + didn't hear me. It's amazing how anything scientific absorbs him. Clever + man! Monstrously clever man! + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (pettishly). Oh yes, that's all very well, Jo; but it's not good + manners at table: he should shut up the shop sometimes. Heaven knows I am + only too anxious to forget his science, since it has pronounced my doom. + (He sits down with a melancholy air.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (compassionately). You mustn't think about that, Craven: + perhaps he was mistaken. (He sighs deeply and sits down.) But he is + certainly a very clever fellow. He thinks twice before he commits himself. + (They sit in silence, full of the gloomiest thoughts. Suddenly Paramore + enters, pale and in the utmost disorder, with the British Medical Journal + in his clenched hand. They rise in alarm. He tries to speak, but chokes, + clutches at his throat, and staggers. Cuthbertson quickly takes his chair + and places it behind Paramore, who sinks into it as they crowd about him, + Craven at his right shoulder, Cuthbertson on his left, and Julia behind + Craven.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. What's the matter, Paramore? + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Are you ill? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. No bad news, I hope? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (despairingly). The worst of news! Terrible news! Fatal news! My + disease— + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (quickly). Do you mean my disease? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (fiercely). I mean my disease—Paramore's disease—the + disease I discovered—the work of my life. Look here (pointing to the + B. M. J. with a ghastly expression of horror.) If this is true, it was all + a mistake: there is no such disease. (Cuthbertson and Julia look at one + another, hardly daring to believe the good news.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (in strong remonstrance). And you call this bad news! Now really, + Paramore— + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (cutting him short hoarsely). It's natural for you to think only + of yourself. I don't blame you: all invalids are selfish. Only a + scientific man can feel what I feel now. (Writhing under a sense of + intolerable injustice.) It's the fault of the wickedly sentimental laws of + this country. I was not able to make experiments enough—only three + dogs and a monkey. Think of that, with all Europe full of my professional + rivals—men burning to prove me wrong! There is freedom in France—enlightened + republican France. One Frenchman experiments on two hundred monkeys to + disprove my theory. Another sacrifices 36 pounds—three hundred dogs + at three francs apiece—to upset the monkey experiments. A third + proves them to be both wrong by a single experiment in which he gets the + temperature of a camel's liver 60 degrees below zero. And now comes this + cursed Italian who has ruined me. He has a government grant to buy animals + with, besides the run of the largest hospital in Italy. (With desperate + resolution) But I won't be beaten by any Italian. I'll go to Italy myself. + I'll re-discover my disease: I know it exists; I feel it; and I'll prove + it if I have to experiment on every mortal animal that's got a liver at + all. (He folds his arms and breathes hard at them.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (his sense of injury growing upon him). Am I to understand, + Paramore, that you took it on yourself to pass sentence of death—yes, + of Death—on me, on the strength of three dogs and an infernal + monkey? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (utterly contemptuous of Craven's narrow personal view of the + matter). Yes. That was all I could get a license for. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Now upon my soul, Paramore, I'm vexed at this. I don't wish to be + unfriendly; but I'm extremely vexed, really. Why, confound it, do you + realize what you've done? You've cut off my meat and drink for a year—made + me an object of public scorn—a miserable vegetarian and a + teetotaller. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (rising). Well, you can make up for lost time now. (Bitterly, + shewing Craven the Journal) There! you can read for yourself. The camel + was fed on beef dissolved in alcohol; and he gained weight under it. Eat + and drink as much as you please. (Still unable to stand without support, + he makes his way past Cuthbertson to the revolving bookcase and stands + there with his back to them, leaning on it with his head on his hand.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (grumbling). Oh yes, it's very easy for you to talk, Paramore. But + what am I to say to the Humanitarian societies and the Vegetarian + societies that have made me a Vice President? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (chuckling). Aha! You made a virtue of it, did you, Dan? + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (warmly). I made a virtue of necessity, Jo. No one can blame me. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (soothing him). Well, never mind, Daddy. Come back to the dining + room and have a good beefsteak. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (shuddering). Ugh! (Plaintively) No: I've lost my old manly taste + for it. My very nature's been corrupted by living on pap. (To Paramore.) + That's what comes of all this vivisection. You go experimenting on horses; + and of course the result is that you try to get me into condition by + feeding me on beans. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (curtly, without changing his position). Well, if they've done + you good, so much the better for you. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (querulously). That's all very well; but it's very vexing. You + don't half see how serious it is to make a man believe that he has only + another year to live: you really don't, Paramore: I can't help saying it. + I've made my will, which was altogether unnecessary; and I've been + reconciled to a lot of people I'd quarrelled with—people I can't + stand under ordinary circumstances. Then I've let the girls get round me + at home to an extent I should never have done if I'd had my life before + me. I've done a lot of serious thinking and reading and extra church + going. And now it turns out simple waste of time. On my soul, it's too + disgusting: I'd far rather die like a man when I said I would. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (as before). Perhaps you may. Your heart's shaky, if that's any + satisfaction to you. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (offended). You must excuse me, Paramore, if I say that I no longer + feel any confidence in your opinion as a medical man. (Paramore's eye + flashes: he straightens himself and listens.) I paid you a pretty stiff + fee for that consultation when you condemned me; and I can't say I think + you gave me value for it. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (turning and facing Craven with dignity). That's unanswerable, + Colonel Craven. I shall return the fee. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Oh, it's not the money; but I think you ought to realize your + position. (Paramore turns stiffly away. Craven follows him impulsively, + exclaiming remorsefully) Well, perhaps it was a nasty thing of me to + allude to it. (He offers Paramore his hand.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (conscientiously taking it). Not at all. You are quite in the + right, Colonel Craven. My diagnosis was wrong; and I must take the + consequences. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (holding his hand). No, don't say that. It was natural enough: my + liver is enough to set any man's diagnosis wrong. (A long handshake, very + trying to Paramore's nerves. Paramore then retires to the recess on + Ibsen's left, and throws himself on the divan with a half suppressed sob, + bending over the British Medical Journal with his head on his hands and + his elbows on his knees.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (who has been rejoicing with Julia at the other side of the + room). Well, let's say no more about it. I congratulate you, Craven, and + hope you may long be spared. (Craven offers his hand.) No, Dan: your + daughter first. (He takes Julia's hand gently and hands her across to + Craven, into whose arms she flies with a gush of feeling.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Dear old Daddy! + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Ah, is Julia glad that the old Dad is let off for a few years + more? + </p> + <p> + JULIA (almost crying). Oh, so glad: so glad! (Cuthbertson sobs audibly. + The Colonel is affected. Sylvia, entering from the dining room, stops + abruptly at the door on seeing the three. Paramore, in the recess, escapes + her notice.) + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Hallo! + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Tell her the news, Julia: it would sound ridiculous from me. (He + goes to the weeping Cuthbertson, and pats him consolingly on the + shoulder.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Silly: only think! Dad's not ill at all. It was only a mistake of + Dr. Paramore's. Oh, dear! (She catches Craven's left hand and stoops to + kiss it, his right hand being still on Cuthbertson's shoulder.) + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (contemptuously). I knew it. Of course it was nothing but eating + too much. I always said Paramore was an ass. (Sensation. Cuthbertson, + Craven and Julia turn in consternation.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (without malice). Never mind, Miss Craven. That is what is being + said all over Europe now. Never mind. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (a little abashed). I'm so sorry, Dr. Paramore. You must excuse a + daughter's feelings. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (huffed). It evidently doesn't make much difference to you, Sylvia. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. I'm not going to be sentimental over it, Dad, you may bet. (Coming + to Craven.) Besides, I knew it was nonsense all along. (Petting him.) Poor + dear old Dad! why should your days be numbered any more than any one + else's? (He pats her cheek, mollified. Julia impatiently turns away from + them.) Come to the smoking room, and let's see what you can do after + teetotalling for a year. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (playfully). Vulgar little girl! (He pinches her ear.) Shall we + come, Jo! You'll be the better for a pick-me-up after all this emotion. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. I'm not ashamed of it, Dan. It has done me good. (He goes up + to the table and shakes his fist at the bust over the mantelpiece.) It + would do you good too if you had eyes and ears to take it in. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (astonished). Who? + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Why, good old Henrik, of course. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (puzzled). Henrik? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (impatiently). Ibsen, man: Ibsen. (He goes out by the + staircase door followed by Sylvia, who kisses her hand to the bust as she + passes. Craven stares blankly after her, and then up at the bust. Giving + the problem up as insoluble, he shakes his head and follows them. Near the + door he checks himself and comes back.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (softly). By the way, Paramore?— + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (rousing himself with an effort). Yes? + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. You weren't in earnest that time about my heart, were you? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. Oh, nothing, nothing. There's a slight murmur—mitral + valves a little worn, perhaps; but they'll last your time if you're + careful. Don't smoke too much. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. What! More privations! Now really, Paramore, really— + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (rising distractedly). Excuse me: I can't pursue the subject. I—I— + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Don't worry him now, Daddy. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Well, well: I won't. (He comes to Paramore, who is pacing + restlessly up and down the middle of the room.) Come, Paramore, I'm not + selfish, believe me: I can feel for your disappointment. But you must face + it like a man. And after all, now really, doesn't this shew that there's a + lot of rot about modern science? Between ourselves, you know, it's + horribly cruel: you must admit that it's a deuced nasty thing to go + ripping up and crucifying camels and monkeys. It must blunt all the finer + feelings sooner or later. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (turning on him). How many camels and horses and men were ripped + up in that Soudan campaign where you won your Victoria Cross, Colonel + Craven? + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (firing up). That was fair fighting—a very different thing, + Paramore. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. Yes, Martinis and machine guns against naked spearmen. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (hotly). I took my chance with the rest, Dr. Paramore. I risked my + own life: don't forget that. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (with equal spirit). And I have risked mine, as all doctors do, + oftener than any soldier. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. That's true. I didn't think of that. I beg your pardon, Paramore: + I'll never say another word against your profession. But I hope you'll let + me stick to the good old-fashioned shaking up treatment for my liver—a + clinking run across country with the hounds. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (with bitter irony). Isn't that rather cruel—a pack of dogs + ripping up a fox? + </p> + <p> + JULIA (coming coaxingly between them). Oh, please don't begin arguing + again. Do go to the smoking room, Daddy: Mr. Cuthbertson will wonder what + has become of you. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Very well, very well: I'll go. But you're really not reasonable + to-day, Paramore, to talk that way of fair sport— + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Sh—sh (coaxing him toward the door). + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Well, well, I'm off. (He goes good-humoredly, pushed out by + Julia.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (turning at the door with her utmost witchery of manner). Don't look + so disappointed, Dr. Paramore. Cheer up. You've been most kind to us; and + you've done papa a lot of good. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (delighted, rushing over to her). How beautiful it is of you to + say that to me, Miss Craven! + </p> + <p> + JULIA. I hate to see any one unhappy. I can't bear unhappiness. (She runs + out, casting a Parthian glance at him as she flies. Paramore stands + enraptured, gazing after her through the glass door. Whilst he is thus + absorbed Charteris comes in from the dining room and touches him on the + arm.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (starting). Eh! What's the matter? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (significantly). Charming woman, isn't she, Paramore? (Looking + admiringly at him.) How have you managed to fascinate her? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. I! Do you really mean— (He looks at him; then recovers + himself and adds coldly.) Excuse me: this is a subject I do not care to + jest about. (He walks away from Charteris down the side of the room, and + sits down in an easy chair reading his Journal to intimate that he does + not wish to pursue the conversation.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (ignoring the hint and coolly taking a chair beside him). Why + don't you get married, Paramore? You know it's a scandalous thing for a + man in your profession to be single. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (shortly, still pretending to read). That's my own business, not + yours. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Not at all: it's pre-eminently a social question. You're going + to get married, aren't you? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. Not that I am aware of. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (alarmed). No! Don't say that. Why? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (rising angrily and rapping one of the SILENCE placards). Allow + me to call your attention to that. (He crosses to the easy chair near the + revolving bookstand, and flings himself into it with determined + hostility.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (following him, too deeply concerned to mind the rebuff). + Paramore: you alarm me more than I can say. You've been and muffed this + business somehow. I know perfectly well what you've been up to; and I + fully expected to find you a joyful accepted suitor. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (angrily). Yes, you have been watching me because you admire Miss + Craven yourself. Well, you may go in and win now. You will be pleased to + hear that I am a ruined man. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. You! Ruined! How? The turf? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (contemptuously). The turf!! Certainly not. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Paramore: if the loan of all I possess will help you over this + difficulty, you're welcome to it. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (rising in surprise). Charteris! I— (suspiciously.) Are you + joking? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Why on earth do you always suspect me of joking? I never was + more serious in my life. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (shamed by Charteris's generosity). Then I beg your pardon. I + thought the news would please you. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (deprecating this injustice to his good feeling). My dear fellow—! + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. I see I was wrong. I am really very sorry. (They shake hands.) + And now you may as well learn the truth. I had rather you heard it from me + than from the gossip of the club. My liver discovery has been—er—er—(he + cannot bring himself to say it). + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (helping him out). Confirmed? (Sadly.) I see: the poor Colonel's + doomed. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. No: on the contrary, it has been—er—called in + question. The Colonel now believes himself to be in perfectly good health; + and my friendly relations with the Cravens are entirely spoiled. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Who told him about it? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. I did, of course, the moment I read the news in this. (He shews + the Journal and puts it down on the bookstand.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Why, man, you've been a messenger of glad tidings! Didn't you + congratulate him? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (scandalised). Congratulate him! Congratulate a man on the worst + blow pathological science has received for the last three hundred years! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. No, no, no. Congratulate him on having his life saved. + Congratulate Julia on having her father spared. Swear that your discovery + and your reputation are as nothing to you compared with the pleasure of + restoring happiness to the household in which the best hopes of your life + are centred. Confound it, man, you'll never get married if you can't turn + things to account with a woman in these little ways. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (gravely). Excuse me; but my self-respect is dearer to me even + than Miss Craven. I cannot trifle with scientific questions for the sake + of a personal advantage. (He turns away coldly and goes toward the table.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Well, this beats me! The nonconformist conscience is bad + enough; but the scientific conscience is the very devil. (He follows + Paramore and puts his arm familiarly round his shoulder, bringing him back + again whilst he speaks.) Now look here, Paramore: I've got no conscience + in that sense at all: I loathe it as I loathe all the snares of idealism; + but I have some common humanity and common sense. (He replaces him in the + easy chair and sits down opposite him.) Come: what is a really scientific + theory?—a true theory, isn't it? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. No doubt. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. For instance, you have a theory about Craven's liver, eh? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. I still believe that to be a true theory, though it has been + upset for the moment. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. And you have a theory that it would be pleasant to be married + to Julia? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. I suppose so—in a sense. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. That theory also will be upset, probably, before you're a year + older. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. Always cynical, Charteris. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Never mind that. Now it's a perfectly damnable thing for you to + hope that your liver theory is true, because it amounts to hoping that + Craven will die an agonizing death. (This strikes Paramore as paradoxical; + but it startles him.) But it's amiable and human to hope that your theory + about Julia is right, because it amounts to hoping that she may live + happily ever after. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. I do hope that with all my soul—(correcting himself) I + mean with all my function of hoping. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Then, since both theories are equally scientific, why not + devote yourself, as a humane man, to proving the amiable theory rather + than the damnable one? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. But how? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I'll tell you. You think I'm fond of Julia myself. So I am; but + then I'm fond of everybody; so I don't count. Besides, if you try the + scientific experiment of asking her whether she loves me, she'll tell you + that she hates and despises me. So I'm out of the running. Nevertheless, + like you, I hope that she may be happy with all my—what did you call + your soul? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (impatiently). Oh, go on, go on: finish what you were going to + say. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (suddenly affecting complete indifference, and rising + carelessly). I don't know that I have anything more to say. If I were you + I should invite the Cravens to tea in honor of the Colonel's escape from a + horrible doom. By the way, if you've done with that British Medical + Journal, I should like to see how they've smashed your theory up. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (wincing as he also rises). Oh, certainly, if you wish it. I have + no objection. (He takes the Journal from the bookstand.) I admit that the + Italian experiments apparently upset my theory. But please remember that + it is doubtful—extremely doubtful—whether anything can be + proved by experiments on animals. (He hands Charteris the Journal.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (taking it). It doesn't matter: I don't intend to make any. (He + retires to the recess on Ibsen's right, picking up the step ladder as he + passes and placing it so that he is able to use it for a leg rest as he + settles himself to read on the divan with his back to the corner of the + mantelpiece. Paramore goes to the left hand door, and is about to leave + the library when he meets Grace entering.) + </p> + <p> + GRACE. How do you do, Dr. Paramore. So glad to see you. (They shake + hands.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. Thanks. Quite well, I hope? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Quite, thank you. You're looking overworked. We must take more care + of you, Doctor. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. You are very kind. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. It is you who are too kind—to your patients. You sacrifice + yourself. Have a little rest. Come and talk to me—tell me all about + the latest scientific discoveries, and what I ought to read to keep myself + up to date. But perhaps you're busy. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. No, not at all. Only too delighted. (They go into the recess on + Ibsen's left, and sit there chatting in whispers, very confidentially.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. How they all love a doctor! They can say what they like to him! + (Julia returns. He takes his feet down from the ladder and sits up.) Whew! + (Julia wanders down his side of the room, apparently looking for someone. + Charteris steals after her.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (in a low voice). Looking for me, Julia? + </p> + <p> + JULIA (starting violently). Oh! How you startled me! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Sh! I want to shew you something. Look! (He points to the pair + in the recess.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (jealously). That woman! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. My young woman, carrying off your young man. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. What do you mean? Do you dare insinuate— + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Sh—sh—sh! Don't disturb them. (Paramore rises; + takes down a book; and sits on a footstool at Grace's feet.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Why are they whispering like that? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Because they don't want anyone to hear what they are saying to + one another. (Paramore shews Grace a picture in the book. They both laugh + heartily over it.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA. What is he shewing her? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Probably a diagram of the liver. (Julia, with an exclamation of + disgust makes for the recess. Charteris catches her sleeve.) Stop: be + careful, Julia. (She frees herself by giving him a push which upsets him + into the easy chair; then crosses to the recess and stands looking down at + Grace and Paramore from the corner next the fireplace.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (with suppressed fury). You seem to have found a very interesting + book, Dr. Paramore. (They look up, astonished.) May I ask what it is? (She + stoops swiftly; snatches the book from Paramore; and comes down to the + table quickly to look at it whilst they rise in amazement.) Good Words! + (She flings it on the table and sweeps back past Charteris, exclaiming + contemptuously) You fool! (Paramore and Grace, meanwhile, come from the + recess; Paramore bewildered, Grace very determined.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (aside to Julia as he gets out of the easy chair). Idiot! She'll + have you turned out of the club for this. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (terrified). She can't—can she? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. What is the matter, Miss Craven? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (hastily). Nothing—my fault—a stupid, practical + joke. I beg your pardon and Mrs. Tranfield's. + </p> + <p> + GRACE (firmly). It is not your fault in the least, Mr. Charteris. Dr. + Paramore: will you oblige me by finding Sylvia Craven for me, if you can? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (hesitating). But— + </p> + <p> + GRACE. I want you to go now, if you please. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (succumbing). Certainly. (He bows and goes out by the staircase + door.) + </p> + <p> + GRACE. You are going with him, Charteris. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. You will not leave me here to be insulted by this woman, Mr. + Charteris. (She takes his arm as if to go with him.) + </p> + <p> + GRACE. When two ladies quarrel in this club, it is against the rules to + settle it when there are gentlemen present—especially the gentleman + they are quarrelling about. I presume you do not wish to break that rule, + Miss Craven. (Julia sullenly drops Charteris's arm. Grace turns to + Charteris and adds) Now! Trot off. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Certainly, certainly. (He follows Paramore ignominiously.) + </p> + <p> + GRACE (to Julia, with quiet peremptoriness). Now: what have you to say to + me? + </p> + <p> + JULIA (suddenly throwing herself tragically on her knees at Grace's feet). + Don't take him from me. Oh don't—don't be so cruel. Give him back to + me. You don't know what you're doing—what our past has been—how + I love him. You don't know— + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Get up; and don't be a fool. Suppose anyone comes in and sees you + in that ridiculous attitude! + </p> + <p> + JULIA. I hardly know what I'm doing. I don't care what I'm doing: I'm too + miserable. Oh, won't you listen to me? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Do you suppose I am a man to be imposed on by this sort of rubbish? + </p> + <p> + JULIA (getting up and looking darkly at her). You intend to take him from + me, then? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Do you expect me to help you to keep him after the way you have + behaved? + </p> + <p> + JULIA (trying her theatrical method in a milder form—reasonable and + impulsively goodnatured instead of tragic). I know I was wrong to act as I + did last night. I beg your pardon. I am sorry. I was mad. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Not a bit mad. You calculated to an inch how far you could go. When + he is present to stand between us and play out the scene with you, I count + for nothing. When we are alone you fall back on your natural way of + getting anything you want—crying for it like a baby until it is + given to you. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (with unconcealed hatred). You learnt this from him. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. I learnt it from yourself, last night and now. How I hate to be a + woman when I see, by you, what wretched childish creatures we are! Those + two men would cut you dead and have you turned out of the club if you were + a man and had behaved in such a way before them. But because you are only + a woman, they are forbearing, sympathetic, gallant—Oh, if you had a + scrap of self-respect, their indulgence would make you creep all over. I + understand now why Charteris has no respect for women. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. How dare you say that? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Dare! I love him. And I have refused his offer to marry me. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (incredulous but hopeful). You have refused! + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Yes: because I will not give myself to any man who has learnt how + to treat women from you and your like. I can do without his love, but not + without his respect; and it is your fault that I cannot have both. Take + his love then; and much good may it do you! Run to him and beg him to have + mercy on you and take you back. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Oh, what a liar you are! He loved me before he ever saw you—before + he ever dreamt of you, you pitiful thing. Do you think <i>I</i> need go + down on my knees to men to make them come to me? That may be your + experience, you creature with no figure: it is not mine. There are dozens + of men who would give their souls for a look from me. I have only to lift + my finger. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Lift it then; and see whether he will come. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. How I should like to kill you! I don't know why I don't. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Yes: you like to get out of your difficulties cheaply—at + other people's expense. It is something to boast of, isn't it, that dozens + of men would make love to you if you invited them? + </p> + <p> + JULIA (sullenly). I suppose it's better to be like you, with a cold heart + and a serpent's tongue. Thank Heaven, I have a heart: that is why you can + hurt me as I cannot hurt you. And you are a coward. You are giving him up + to me without a struggle. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Yes, it is for you to struggle. I wish you success. (She turns away + contemptuously and is going to the dining-room door when Sylvia enters on + the opposite side, followed by Cuthbertson and Craven, who come to Julia, + whilst Sylvia crosses to Grace.) + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Here I am, sent by the faithful Paramore. He hinted that I'd + better bring the elder members of the family too: here they are. What's + the row? + </p> + <p> + GRACE (quietly). Nothing, dear. There's no row. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (hysterically, tottering and stretching out her arms to Craven). + Daddy! + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (taking her in his arms). My precious! What's the matter? + </p> + <p> + JULIA (through her tears). She's going to have me expelled from the club; + and we shall all be disgraced. Can she do it, Daddy? + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Well, really, the rules of this club are so extraordinary that I + don't know. (To Grace.) May I ask, Mrs. Tranfield, whether you have any + complaint to make of my daughter's conduct? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Yes, Colonel Craven. I am going to complain to the committee. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. I knew you'd overdo it some day, Julia. (Craven, at a loss, looks + at Cuthbertson.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Don't look at me, Dan. Within these walls a father's + influence counts for nothing. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. May I ask the ground of complaint, Mrs. Tranfield? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Simply that Miss Craven is essentially a womanly woman, and, as + such, not eligible for membership. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. It's false. I'm not a womanly woman. I was guaranteed when I joined + just as you were. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. By Mr. Charteris, I think, at your own request. I shall call him as + a witness to your thoroughly womanly conduct just now in his presence and + Dr. Paramore's. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Cuthbertson: are they joking; or am I dreaming? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (grimly). It's real, Dan: you're awake. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (taking Craven's left arm and hugging it affectionately). Dear old + Rip Van Winkle! + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Well, Mrs. Tranfield, all I can say is that I hope you will + succeed in establishing your complaint, and that Julia may soon see the + last of this most outrageous institution. (Sylvia, still caressing his + arm, laughs at him; Charteris returns.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (at the door). May I come in? + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (releasing the Colonel). Yes: you're wanted here as a witness. + (Charteris comes in.) It's a bad case of womanliness. + </p> + <p> + GRACE (half aside to him, significantly). You understand. (Julia, watching + them jealously, leaves her father and gets close to Charteris. Grace adds + aloud) I shall expect your support before the committee. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. If you have a scrap of manhood you will take my part. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. But then I shall be expelled for being a manly man. Besides, + I'm on the committee myself; I can't act as judge and witness, too. You + must apply to Paramore: he saw it all. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Where is Dr. Paramore? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Just gone home. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (with sudden resolution). What is Dr. Paramore's number in Savile + Row? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Seventy-nine. (Julia goes out quickly by the staircase door, to + their astonishment. Charteris follows her to the door, which swings back + in his face, leaving him staring after her through, the glass. Sylvia runs + to Grace.) + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Grace: go after her. Don't let her get beforehand with Paramore. + She'll tell him the most heartbreaking stories about how she's been + treated, and get him round completely. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (floundering). Sylvia! Is that the way to speak of your sister, + miss? (Grace squeezes Sylvia's hand to console her, and sits down calmly. + Sylvia posts herself behind Grace's chair, leaning over the back to watch + the ensuing colloquy between the three men.) I assure you, Mrs. Tranfield, + Dr. Paramore has just invited us all to take afternoon tea with him; and + if my daughter has gone to his house, she is simply taking advantage of + his invitation to extricate herself from a very embarrassing scene here. + We're all going there. Come, Sylvia. (He turns to go, followed by + Cuthbertson.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (in consternation). Stop! (He gets between Craven and + Cuthbertson.) What hurry is there? Can't you give the man time? + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Time! What for? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (talking foolishly in his agitation). Well, to get a little + rest, you know—a busy professional man like that! He's not had a + moment to himself all day. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. But Julia's with him. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Well, no matter: she's only one person. And she ought to have + an opportunity of laying her case before him. As a member of the + committee, I think that's only just. Be reasonable, Craven: give him half + an hour. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (sternly). What do you mean by this, Charteris? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Nothing, I assure you. Only common consideration for poor + Paramore. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. You've some motive. Craven: I strongly advise that we go at + once. (He grasps the door handle.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (coaxingly). No, no. (He puts his hand persuasively on Craven's + arm, adding) It's not good for your liver, Craven, to rush about + immediately after lunch. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. His liver's cured. Come on. Craven. (He opens the door.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (catching Cuthbertson by the sleeve). Cuthbertson, you're mad. + Paramore's going to propose to Julia. We must give him time: he's not the + man to come to the point in three minutes as you or I would. (Turning to + Craven) Don't you see?—that will get me out of the difficulty we + were speaking of this morning—you and I and Cuthbertson. You + remember? + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Now, is this a thing to say plump out before everybody, Charteris? + Confound it, have you no decency? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (severely). None whatever. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (turning to Cuthbertson). No—don't be unkind, Cuthbertson. + Back me up. My future, her future, Mrs. Tranfield's future, Craven's + future, everybody's future depends on our finding Julia Paramore's + affianced bride when we go over to Savile Row. He's certain to propose if + you'll only give him time. You know you're a kindly and sensible man as + well as a deucedly clever one, Cuthbertson, in spite of all your nonsense. + Say a word for me. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. I'm quite willing to leave the decision to Cuthbertson; and I have + no doubt whatever as to what that decision will be. (Cuthbertson carefully + shuts the door, and comes back into the room with an air of weighty + reflection.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. I am now going to speak as a man of the world: that is, + without moral responsibility. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Quite so, Jo. Of course. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Therefore, though I have no sympathy whatever with + Charteris's views, I think we can do no harm by waiting—say ten + minutes or so. (He sits down.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (delighted). Ah, there's nobody like you after all, Cuthbertson, + when there's a difficult situation to be judged. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (deeply disappointed). Oh, well, Jo, if that is your decision, I + must keep my word and abide by it. Better sit down and make ourselves + comfortable, I suppose. (He sits also, under protest.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (fidgeting about). I can't sit down: I'm too restless. The fact + is, Julia has made me so nervous that I can't answer for myself until I + know her decision. Mrs. Tranfield will tell you what a time I've had + lately. Julia's really a most determined woman, you know. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (starting up). Well, upon my life! Upon my honor and conscience!! + Now really!!! I shall go this instant. Come on, Sylvia. Cuthbertson: I + hope you'll mark your sense of this sort of thing by coming on to + Paramore's with us at once. (He marches to the door.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (desperately). Craven: you're trifling with your daughter's + happiness. I only ask five minutes more. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Not five seconds, sir. Fie for shame, Charteris! (He goes out.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (to Charteris, as he passes him on his way to the door). + Bungler! (He follows Craven.) + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Serve you right, you duffer! (She follows Cuthbertson.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Oh, these headstrong old men! (To Grace) Nothing to be done now + but go with them and delay the Colonel as much as possible. So I'm afraid + I must leave you. + </p> + <p> + GRACE (rising). Not at all. Paramore invited me, too, when we were talking + over there. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (aghast). You don't mean to say you're coming! + </p> + <p> + GRACE. Most certainly. Do you suppose I will let that woman think I am + afraid to meet her? (Charteris sinks on a chair with a prolonged groan.) + Come: don't be silly: you'll not overtake the Colonel if you delay any + longer. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Why was I ever born, child of misfortune that I am! (He rises + despairingly.) Well, if you must come, you must. (He offers his arm, which + she takes.) By the way, what happened after I left you? + </p> + <p> + GRACE. I gave her a lecture on her behavior which she will remember to the + last day of her life. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (approvingly). That was right, darling. (He slips his arm round + her waist.) Just one kiss—to soothe me. + </p> + <p> + GRACE (complacently offering her cheek). Foolish boy! (He kisses her.) Now + come along. (They go out together.) + </p> + <h3> + END OF ACT III. + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT IV + </h2> + <p> + Sitting-room in Paramore's apartments in Savile Row. The darkly + respectable furniture is, so to speak, en suite with Paramore's frock coat + and cuffs. Viewing the room from the front windows, the door is seen in + the opposite wall near the left hand corner. Another door, a light, + noiseless partition one covered with a green baize, is in the right hand + wall toward the back, leading to Paramore's consulting room. The fireplace + is on the left. At the nearest corner of it a couch is placed at right + angles to the wall, settlewise. On the right the wall is occupied by a + bookcase, further forward than the green baize door. Beyond the door is a + cabinet of anatomical preparations, with a framed photograph of + Rembrandt's School of Anatomy hanging on the wall above it. In front, a + little to the right, a tea-table. + </p> + <p> + Paramore is seated in a round-backed chair, on castors, pouring out tea. + Julia sits opposite him, with her back to the fire. He is in high spirits: + she very downcast. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (handing her the cup he has just filled). There! Making tea is + one of the few things I consider myself able to do thoroughly well. Cake? + </p> + <p> + JULIA. No, thank you. I don't like sweet things. (She sets down the cup + untasted.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. Anything wrong with the tea? + </p> + <p> + JULIA. No, it's very nice. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. I'm afraid I'm a very bad entertainer. The fact is, I'm too + professional. I only shine in consultation. I almost wish you had + something the matter with you; so that you might call out my knowledge and + sympathy. As it is, I can only admire you, and feel how pleasant it is to + have you here. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (bitterly). And pet me, and say pretty things to me! I wonder you + don't offer me a saucer of milk at once? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (astonished). Why? + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Because you seem to regard me very much as if I were a Persian cat. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (in strong remonstrance). Miss Cra— + </p> + <p> + JULIA (cutting him short). Oh, you needn't protest. I'm used to it: It's + the only sort of attachment I seem always to inspire. (Ironically) You + can't think how flattering it is! + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. My dear Miss Craven, what a cynical thing to say! You! who are + loved at first sight by the people in the street as you pass. Why, in the + club I can tell by the faces of the men whether you have been lately in + the room or not. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (shrinking fiercely). Oh, I hate that look in their faces. Do you + know that I have never had one human being care for me since I was born? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. That's not true, Miss Craven. Even if it were true of your + father, and of Charteris, who loves you madly in spite of your dislike for + him, it is not true of me. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (startled). Who told you that about Charteris? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. Why, he himself. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (with deep, poignant conviction). He cares for only one person in + the world; and that is himself. There is not in his whole nature one + unselfish spot. He would not spend one hour of his real life with— + (a sob chokes her: she rises passionately, crying) You are all alike, + every one of you. Even my father only makes a pet of me. (She goes away to + the fireplace and stands with her back to him.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (following her humbly). I don't deserve this from you: indeed I + do not. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (rating him). Then why do you talk about me with Charteris, behind + my back? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. We said nothing disparaging of you. Nobody shall ever do that in + my presence. We spoke of the subject nearest our hearts. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. His heart! Oh, God, his heart! (She sits down on the couch and + hides her face.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (sadly). I am afraid you love him, for all that, Miss Craven. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (raising her head instantly). If he says that, he lies. If ever you + hear it said that I cared for him, contradict it: it is false. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (quickly advancing to her). Miss Craven: is the way clear for me + then? + </p> + <p> + JULIA (pettishly—losing interest in the conversation and looking + crossly into the fire). What do you mean? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (impetuously). You must see what I mean. Contradict the rumour of + your attachment to Charteris, not by words—it has gone too far for + that—but by becoming my wife. (Earnestly.) Believe me: it is not + merely your beauty that attracts me: (Julia, interested, looks up at him + quickly) I know other beautiful women. It is your heart, your sincerity, + your sterling reality, (Julia rises and gazes at him, breathless with a + new hope) your great gifts of character that are only half developed + because you have never been understood by those about you. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (looking intently at him, and yet beginning to be derisively + sceptical in spite of herself). Have you really seen all that in me? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. I have felt it. I have been alone in the world; and I need you, + Julia. That is how I have divined that you, also, are alone in the world. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (with theatrical pathos). You are right there. I am indeed alone in + the world. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (timidly approaching her). With you I should not be alone. And + you?—with me? + </p> + <p> + JULIA. You! (She gets quickly out of his reach, taking refuge at the + tea-table.) No, no. I can't bring myself— (She breaks off, + perplexed, and looks uneasily about her.) Oh, I don't know what to do. You + will expect too much from me. (She sits down.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. I have more faith in you than you have in yourself. Your nature + is richer than you think. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (doubtfully). Do you really believe that I am not the shallow, + jealous, devilish tempered creature they all pretend I am? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. I am ready to place my happiness in your hands. Does that prove + what I think of you? + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Yes: I believe you really care for me. (He approaches her eagerly: + she has a violent revulsion, and rises with her hand raised as if to beat + him off, crying) No, no, no, no. I cannot. It's impossible. (She goes + towards the door.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (looking wistfully after her). Is it Charteris? + </p> + <p> + JULIA (stopping and turning). Ah, you think that! (She comes back.) Listen + to me. If I say yes, will you promise not to touch me—to give me + time to accustom myself to the idea of our new relations? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. I promise most faithfully. I would not press you for the world. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Then—then—yes: I promise. (He is about to utter his + rapture; she will not have it.) Now, not another word of it. Let us forget + it. (She resumes her seat at the table.) Give me some more tea. (He + hastens to his former seat. As he passes, she puts her left hand on his + arm and says) Be good to me, Percy, I need it sorely. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (transported). You have called me Percy! Hurrah! (Charteris and + Craven come in. Paramore hastens to meet them, beaming.) Delighted to see + you here with me, Colonel Craven. And you, too, Charteris. Sit down. (The + Colonel sits down on the end of the couch.) Where are the others? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Sylvia has dragged Cuthbertson off into the Burlington Arcade + to buy some caramels. He likes to encourage her in eating caramels: he + thinks it's a womanly taste. Besides, he likes them himself. They'll be + here presently. (He strolls across to the cabinet and pretends to study + the Rembrandt photograph, so as to be as far out of Julia's reach as + possible.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Yes; and Charteris has been trying to persuade me that there's a + short cut between Cork Street and Savile Row somewhere in Conduit Street. + Now did you ever hear such nonsense? Then he said my coat was getting + shabby, and wanted me to go into Poole's and order a new one. Paramore: is + my coat shabby? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. Not that I can see. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. I should think not. Then he wanted to draw me into a dispute about + the Egyptian war. We should have been here quarter of an hour ago only for + his nonsense. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (still contemplating Rembrandt). I did my best to keep him from + disturbing you, Paramore. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (gratefully). You have come in the nick of time. Colonel Craven: + I have something very particular to say to you. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (springing up in alarm). In private, Paramore: now really it must + be in private. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (surprised). Of course. I was about to suggest my consulting + room: there's nobody there. Miss Craven: will you excuse me: Charteris + will entertain you until I return. (He leads the way to the green baize + door.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (aghast). Oh, I say, hadn't you better wait until the others + come? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (exultant). No need for further delay now, my best friend. (He + wrings Charteris's hand.) Will you come, Colonel? + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. At your service, Paramore: at your service. (Craven and Paramore + go into the consulting room. Julia turns her head and stares insolently at + Charteris. His nerves play him false: he is completely out of countenance + in a moment. She rises suddenly. He starts, and comes hastily forward + between the table and the bookcase. She crosses to that side behind the + table; and he immediately crosses to the opposite side in front of it, + dodging her.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (nervously). Don't, Julia. Now don't abuse your advantage. + You've got me here at your mercy. Be good for once; and don't make a + scene. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (contemptuously). Do you suppose I am going to touch you? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. No. Of course not. (She comes forward on her side of the table. + He retreats on his side of it. She looks at him with utter scorn; sweeps + across to the couch; and sits down imperially. With a great sigh of relief + he drops into Paramore's chair.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Come here. I have something to say to you. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Yes? (He rolls the chair a few inches towards her.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Come here, I say. I am not going to shout across the room at you. + Are you afraid of me? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Horribly. (He moves the chair slowly, with great misgiving, to + the end of the couch.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (with studied insolence). Has that woman told you that she has given + you up to me without an attempt to defend her conquest? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (whispering persuasively). Shew that you are capable of the same + sacrifice. Give me up, too. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Sacrifice! And so you think I'm dying to marry you, do you? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I am afraid your intentions have been honourable, Julia. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. You cad! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (with a sigh). I confess I am something either more or less than + a gentleman, Julia. You once gave me the benefit of the doubt. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Indeed! <i>I</i> never told you so. If you cannot behave like a + gentleman, you had better go back to the society of the woman who has + given you up—if such a cold-blooded, cowardly creature can be called + a woman. (She rises majestically; he makes his chair fly back to the + table.) I know you now, Leonard Charteris, through and through, in all + your falseness, your petty spite, your cruelty and your vanity. The place + you coveted has been won by a man more worthy of it. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (springing up, and coming close to her, gasping with eagerness). + What do you mean? Out with it. Have you accep— + </p> + <p> + JULIA. I am engaged to Dr. Paramore. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (enraptured). My own Julia! (He attempts to embrace her.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (recoiling—he catching her hands and holding them). How dare + you! Are you mad? Do you wish me to call Dr. Paramore? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Call everybody, my darling—everybody in London. Now I + shall no longer have to be brutal—to defend myself—to go in + fear of you. How I have looked forward to this day! You know now that I + don't want you to marry me or to love me: Paramore can have all that. I + only want to look on and rejoice disinterestedly in the happiness of + (kissing her hand) my dear Julia (kissing the other), my beautiful Julia. + (She tears her hands away and raises them as if to strike him, as she did + the night before at Cuthbertson's.) No use to threaten me now: I am not + afraid of those hands—the loveliest hands in the world. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. How have you the face to turn round like this after insulting and + torturing me! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Never mind, dearest: you never did understand me; and you never + will. Our vivisecting friend has made a successful experiment at last. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (earnestly). It is you who are the vivisector—a far crueller, + more wanton vivisector than he. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Yes; but then I learn so much more from my experiments than he + does! And the victims learn as much as I do. That's where my moral + superiority comes in. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (sitting down again on the couch with rueful humour). Well, you + shall not experiment on me any more. Go to your Grace if you want a + victim. She'll be a tough one. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (reproachfully sitting down beside her). And you drove me to + propose to her to escape from you! Suppose she had accepted me, where + should I be now? + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Where <i>I</i> am, I suppose, now that I have accepted Paramore. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. But I should have made Grace unhappy. (Julia sneers). However, + now I come to think of it, you'll make Paramore unhappy. And yet if you + refused him he would be in despair. Poor devil! + </p> + <p> + JULIA (her temper flashing up for a moment again). He is a better man than + you. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (humbly). I grant you that, my dear. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (impetuously). Don't call me your dear. And what do you mean by + saying that I shall make him unhappy? Am I not good enough for him? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (dubiously). Well, that depends on what you mean by good enough. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (earnestly). You might have made me good if you had chosen to. You + had a great power over me. I was like a child in your hands; and you knew + it. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (with comic acquiescence). Yes, my dear. That means that + whenever you got jealous and flew into a violent rage, I could always + depend on it's ending happily if I only waited long enough, and petted you + very hard all the time. When you had had your fling, and called the object + of your jealousy every name you could lay your tongue to, and abused me to + your heart's content for a couple of hours, then the reaction would come; + and you would at last subside into a soothing rapture of affection which + gave you a sensation of being angelically good and forgiving. Oh, I know + that sort of goodness! You may have thought on these occasions that I was + bringing out your latent amiability; but I thought you were bringing out + mine, and using up rather more than your fair share of it. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. According to you, then, I have no good in me! I am an utterly vile, + worthless woman. Is that it? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Yes, if you are to be judged as you judge others. From the + conventional point of view, there's nothing to be said for you, Julia—nothing. + That's why I have to find some other point of view to save my self-respect + when I remember how I have loved you. Oh, what I have learnt from you!—from + you, who could learn nothing from me! I made a fool of you; and you + brought me wisdom: I broke your heart; and you brought me joy: I made you + curse your womanhood; and you revealed my manhood to me. Blessings forever + and ever on my Julia's name! (With genuine emotion, he takes her hand to + kiss it again.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (snatching her hand away in disgust). Oh, stop talking that nasty + sneering stuff. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (laughingly appealing to the heavens). She calls it nasty + sneering stuff! Well, well: I'll never talk like that to you again, + dearest. It only means that you are a beautiful woman, and that we all + love you. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Don't say that: I hate it. It sounds as if I were a mere animal. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Hm! A fine animal is a very wonderful thing. Don't let us + disparage animals, Julia. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. That is what you really think me. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Come, Julia: you don't expect me to admire you for your moral + qualities, do you? (She turns and looks hard at him. He starts up + apprehensively and backs away from her. She rises and follows him up + slowly and intently.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (deliberately). I have seen you very much infatuated with this + depraved creature who has no moral qualities. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (retreating). Keep off, Julia. Remember your new obligations to + Paramore. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (overtaking him in the middle of the room). Never mind Paramore: + that is my business. (She grasps the lappels of his coat in her hands, and + looks fixedly at him.) Oh, if the people you talk so cleverly to could + only know you as I know you! Sometimes I wonder at myself for ever caring + for you. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (beaming at her). Only sometimes? + </p> + <p> + JULIA. You fraud! You humbug! You miserable little plaster saint! (He + looks delighted.) Oh! (In a paroxysm half of rage, half of tenderness, she + shakes him, growling over him like a tigress over her cub. Paramore and + Craven at this moment return from the consulting room, and are + thunderstruck at the spectacle.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (shouting, utterly scandalized). Julia!! (Julia releases Charteris, + but stands her ground disdainfully as they come forward, Craven on her + left, Paramore on her right.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. What's the matter? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Nothing, nothing. You'll soon get used to this, Paramore. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Now really, Julia, this is a very extraordinary way to behave. + It's not fair to Paramore. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (coldly). If Dr. Paramore objects he can break off our engagement. + (To Paramore) Pray don't hesitate. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (looking doubtfully and anxiously at her). Do you wish me to + break it off? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (alarmed). Nonsense! don't act so hastily. It was my fault. I + annoyed Miss Craven—insulted her. Hang it all, don't go and spoil + everything like this. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. This is most infernally perplexing. I can't believe that you + insulted Julia, Charteris. I've no doubt you annoyed her—you'd annoy + anybody; upon my soul you would—but insult!—now what do you + mean by that? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (very earnestly). Miss Craven; delicacy and sincerity I ask you + to be frank with me. What are the relations between you and Charteris? + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Ask him. (She goes to the fireplace, her back on them.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Certainly: I'll confess. I'm in love with Miss Craven—always + have been; and I've persecuted her with my addresses ever since I knew + her. It's been no use: she utterly despises me. A moment ago the spectacle + of a rival's happiness stung me to make a nasty, sneering speech; and she—well, + she just shook me a little, as you saw. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (chivalrously). I shall never forget that you helped me to win + her, Charteris. (Julia quickly, a spasm of fury in her face.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Sh! For Heaven's sake don't mention it. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. This is a very different story to the one you told Cuthbertson and + myself this morning. You'll excuse my saying that it sounds much more like + the the truth. Come: you were humbugging us, weren't you? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Ask Julia. (Paramore and Craven turn to Julia. Charteris + remains doggedly looking straight before him.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA. It's quite true. He has been in love with me; he has persecuted me; + and I utterly despise him. + </p> + <p> + GRAVEN. Don't rub it in, Julia: it's not kind. No man is quite himself + when he's crossed in love. (To Charteris.) Now listen to me, Charteris. + When I was a young fellow, Cuthbertson and I fell in love with the same + woman. She preferred Cuthbertson. I was taken aback: I won't deny it. But + I knew my duty; and I did it. I gave her up and wished Cuthbertson joy. He + told me this morning, when we met after many years, that he has respected + and liked me ever since for it. And I believe him and feel the better for + it. (Impressively.) Now, Charteris, Paramore and you stand to-day where + Cuthbertson and I stood on a certain July evening thirty-five years ago. + How are you going to take it? + </p> + <p> + JULIA (indignantly). How is he going to take it, indeed! Really, papa, + this is too much. If Mrs. Cuthbertson wouldn't have you, it may have been + very noble of you to make a virtue of giving her up, just as you made a + virtue of being a teetotaller when Percy cut off your wine. But he shan't + be virtuous over me. I have refused him; and if he doesn't like it he can—he + can— + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. I can lump it. Precisely. Craven: you can depend on me. I'll + lump it. (He moves off nonchalantly, and leans against the bookcase with + his hands in his pockets.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (hurt). Julia: you don't treat me respectfully. I don't wish to + complain; but that was not a becoming speech. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (bursting into tears and throwing herself into the large chair). Is + there anyone in the world who has any feeling for me—who does not + think me utterly vile? (Craven and Paramore hurry to her in the greatest + consternation.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (remorsefully). My pet: I didn't for a moment mean— + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Must I stand to be bargained for by two men—passed from one + to the other like a slave in the market, and not say a word in my own + defence? + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. But, my love— + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Oh, go away, all of you. Leave me. I—oh— (She gives way + to a passion of tears.) + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (reproachfully to Craven). You've wounded her cruelly, Colonel + Craven—cruelly. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. But I didn't mean to: I said nothing. Charteris: was I harsh? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. You forget the revolt of the daughters, Craven. And you + certainly wouldn't have gone on like that to any grown up woman who was + not your daughter. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Do you mean to say that I am expected to treat my daughter the + same as I would any other girl? + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. I should say certainly, Colonel Craven. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Well, dash me if I will. There! + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. If you take that tone, I have nothing more to say. (He crosses + the room with offended dignity and posts himself with his back to the + bookcase beside Charteris.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (with a sob). Daddy. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (turning solicitously to her). Yes, my love. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (looking up at him tearfully and kissing his hand). Don't mind them. + You didn't mean it, Daddy, did you? + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. No, no, my precious. Come: don't cry. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (to Charteris, looking at Julia with delight). How beautiful she + is! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (throwing up his hands). Oh, Lord help you, Paramore! (He leaves + the bookcase and sits at the end of the couch farthest from the fire. + Meanwhile Sylvia arrives.) + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (contemplating Julia). Crying again! Well, you are a womanly one! + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Don't worry your sister, Sylvia. You know she can't bear it. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. I speak for her good, Dad. All the world can't be expected to know + that she's the family baby. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. You will get your ears boxed presently, Silly. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Now, now, now, my dear children, really now! Come, Julia: put up + your handkerchief before Mrs. Tranfield sees you. She's coming along with + Jo. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (rising). That woman again! + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Another row! Go it, Julia! + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Hold your tongue, Sylvia. (He turns commandingly to Julia.) Now + look here, Julia. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Hallo! A revolt of the fathers! + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Silence, Charteris. (To Julia, unanswerably.) The test of a man or + woman's breeding is how they behave in a quarrel. Anybody can behave well + when things are going smoothly. Now you said to-day, at that iniquitous + club, that you were not a womanly woman. Very well: I don't mind. But if + you are not going to behave like a lady when Mrs. Tranfield comes into + this room, you've got to behave like a gentleman; or fond as I am of you, + I'll cut you dead exactly as I would if you were my son. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE (remonstrating). Colonel Craven— + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (cutting him short). Don't be a fool, Paramore. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (tearfully excusing herself). I'm sure, Daddy— + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Stop snivelling. I'm not speaking as your Daddy now: I'm speaking + as your commanding officer. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Good old Victoria Cross! (Craven turns sharply on her; and she + darts away behind Charteris, and presently seats herself on the couch, so + that she and Charteris are shoulder to shoulder, facing opposite ways. + Cuthbertson arrives with Grace, who remains near the door whilst her + father joins the others.) + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Ah, Jo, here you are. Now, Paramore, tell 'em the news. + </p> + <p> + PARAMORE. Mrs. Tranfield—Cuthbertson—allow me to introduce you + to my future wife. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (coming forward to shake hands with Paramore). My heartiest + congratulations! (Paramore goes to shake hands with Grace.) Miss Craven: + you will accept Grace's congratulations as well as mine, I hope. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. She will, Jo. (In a tone of command.) Now, Julia. (Julia slowly + rises.) + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. Now, Grace. (He conducts her to Julia's right; then posts + himself on the hearthrug, with his back to the fire, watching them. The + Colonel keeps guard on the other side.) + </p> + <p> + GRACE (speaking in a low voice to Julia alone). So you have shewn him that + you can do without him! Now I take back everything I said. Will you shake + hands with me? (Julia gives her hand painfully, with her face averted.) + They think this a happy ending, Julia—these men—our lords and + masters! (The two stand silent, hand in hand.) + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (leaning back across the couch, aside to Charteris). Has she really + chucked you? (He nods assent. She looks at him dubiously, and adds) I + expect you chucked her. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON. And now, Paramore, mind you don't stand any chaff from + Charteris about this. He's in the same predicament himself. He's engaged + to Grace. + </p> + <p> + JULIA (dropping Grace's hand, and speaking with breathless anguish, but + not violently). Again! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (rising hastily). Don't be alarmed. It's all off. + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (rising indignantly). What! You've chucked Grace too! What a shame! + (She goes to the other side of the room, fuming.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (following her and putting his hand soothingly on her shoulder). + She won't have me, old chap—that is (turning to the others) unless + Mrs. Tranfield has changed her mind again. + </p> + <p> + GRACE. No: we shall remain very good friends, I hope; but nothing would + induce me to marry you. (She goes to chair above the fireplace and sits + down with perfect composure.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Ah! (She sits down with a great sigh of relief.) + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (consoling Charteris). Poor old Leonard! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Yes: this is the doom of the philanderer. I shall have to go on + philandering now all my life. No domesticity, no fireside, no little ones, + nothing at all in Cuthbertson's line! Nobody will marry me—unless + you, Sylvia—eh? + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA. Not if I know it, Charteris. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (to them all). You see! + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (coming between Charteris and Sylvia). Now you really shouldn't + make a jest of these things: upon my life and soul you shouldn't, + Charteris. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (on the hearthrug). The only use he can find for sacred things + is to make a jest of them. That's the New Order. Thank Heaven, we belong + to the Old Order, Dan! + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Cuthbertson: don't be symbolic. + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (outraged). Symbolic! That is an accusation of Ibsenism. What + do you mean? + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Symbolic of the Old Order. Don't persuade yourself that you + represent the Old Order. There never was any Old Order. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. There I flatly contradict you and stand up for Jo. I'd no more + have behaved as you do when I was a young man than I'd have cheated at + cards. <i>I</i> belong to the Old Order. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. You're getting old, Craven; and you want to make a merit of it, + as usual. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Come, now, Charteris: you're not offended, I hope. (With a + conciliatory outburst.) Well, perhaps I shouldn't have said that about + cheating at cards. I withdraw it (offering his hand). + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (taking Craven's hand). No offence, my dear Craven: none in the + world. I didn't mean to shew any temper. But (aside, after looking round + to see whether the others are listening) only just consider!—the + spectacle of a rival's happiness! + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (aloud, decisively). Charteris: now you've got to behave like a + man. Your duty's plain before you. (To Cuthbertson.) Am I right, Jo? + </p> + <p> + CUTHBERTSON (firmly). You are, Dan. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN (to Charteris). Go straight up and congratulate Julia. And do it + like a gentleman, smiling. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS. Colonel: I will. Not a muscle shall betray the conflict within. + </p> + <p> + CRAVEN. Julia: Charteris has not congratulated you yet. He's coming to do + it. (Julia rises and fixes a dangerous look on Charteris.) + </p> + <p> + SYLVIA (whispering quickly behind Charteris as he is about to advance). + Take care. She's going to hit you. I know her. (Charteris stops and looks + cautiously at Julia, measuring the situation. They regard one another + steadfastly for a moment. Grace softly rises and gets close to Julia.) + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (whispering over his shoulder to Sylvia). I'll chance it. (He + walks confidently up to Julia.) Julia? (He proffers his hand.) + </p> + <p> + JULIA (exhausted, allowing herself to take it). You are right. I am a + worthless woman. + </p> + <p> + CHARTERIS (triumphant, and gaily remonstrating). Oh, why? + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Because I am not brave enough to kill you. + </p> + <p> + GRACE (taking her in her arms as she sinks, almost fainting, away from + him). Oh, no. Never make a hero of a philanderer. (Charteris, amused and + untouched, shakes his head laughingly. The rest look at Julia with + concern, and even a little awe, feeling for the first time the presence of + a keen sorrow.) + </p> + <h3> + CURTAIN. + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Philanderer, by George Bernard Shaw + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PHILANDERER *** + +***** This file should be named 5071-h.htm or 5071-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/7/5071/ + +Produced by Jim Tinsley + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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