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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b4395c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60167 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60167) diff --git a/old/60167-0.txt b/old/60167-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 92e5c3b..0000000 --- a/old/60167-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11648 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Three Plays, by Alan Alexander Milne - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Three Plays - -Author: Alan Alexander Milne - -Release Date: August 24, 2019 [EBook #60167] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE PLAYS *** - - - - -Produced by MWS, David Wilson and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - - - - -THREE PLAYS - - - - -BY THE SAME AUTHOR - - - THE DAY’S PLAY - THE HOLIDAY ROUND - ONCE A WEEK - ONCE ON A TIME - NOT THAT IT MATTERS - IF I MAY - FIRST PLAYS - SECOND PLAYS - THE SUNNY SIDE - MR. PIM - THE RED HOUSE MYSTERY - - - - -THREE PLAYS - -BY A. A. MILNE - - -LONDON - -CHATTO & WINDUS - -1923 - - - - -PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY -R. & R. CLARK, LTD., EDINBURGH - -ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - - - -To DAFF - -FOR MAKING THE FAIRY-BOOKS COME TRUE - - - - -Applications regarding Amateur Performances of the Plays in this -Volume should be addressed to Samuel French, Ltd., 26 Southampton -Street, Strand, London, W.C.2. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - THE GREAT BROXOPP 1 - THE DOVER ROAD 93 - THE TRUTH ABOUT BLAYDS 179 - - -_These plays are printed here in the order in which they were -written._ - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -I wanted not to write an introduction to these three plays, but -circumstances are too strong for me. Yet, after all, what is to be -said but, to the public, “Here they are; like them,” and, to the -critics, “Here they are; fall on them”? But apparently this is not -enough. I must think of something else. - -There was a happy time when I was a critic myself. I, too, have lived -in that Arcady. What nights were then! Red-letter nights when the play -was bad, and in one short hour, standing on the body of the dramatist, -I had delivered my funeral oration; black-letter nights when the play -was good, and it took six hours of solid pushing, myself concealed by -the fellow’s person, to place him fairly in the sun. The years slip -away. Yet even now I have something of my old style. Here, lest you -should think I am boasting, is my _Hamlet_. Yes, by the enterprise of -_The Saturday Review_, I was present on that historic first night. -For, lately, this paper stimulated its readers, with promise of -reward, to imagine themselves there as critics, and I brushed up my -old black doublet and went with the others. Interested, you know, in -this young provincial dramatist; hoping against hope that here at last -was the.... However, luckily the play was a bad one, and (proud am I -to say it) I won the prize. - - - HAMLET - - Mr. William Shakespeare, whose well-meaning little costume play - _Hamlet_ was given in London for the first time last week, bears - a name that is new to us, although we understand, or at least are - so assured by the management, that he has a considerable local - reputation in Warwickshire as a sonneteer. Why a writer of - graceful little sonnets should have the ambition, still less - conceive himself to have the ability, to create a tragic play - capable of holding the attention of a London audience for three - hours, we are unable to imagine. Merely to kill off seven (or was - it eight?) of the leading characters in a play is not to write a - tragedy. It is not thus that the great master-dramatists have - purged our souls with pity and with terror. Mr. Shakespeare, like - so many other young writers, mistakes violence for power, and, in - his unfortunate lighter moments, buffoonery for humour. The real - tragedy of last night was that a writer should so misunderstand - and misuse the talent given to him. - - For Mr. Shakespeare, one cannot deny, has talent. He has a certain - pleasing gift of words. Every now and then a neat line catches the - ear, as when Polonius (well played by Mr. Macready Jones) warns - his son that “borrowing often loses a man his friends,” or when - Hamlet himself refers to death as “a shuffling off of this mortal - toil.” But a succession of neat lines does not make a play. We - require something more. Our interest must be held throughout: not - by such well-worn stage devices as the appearance of a ghostly - apparition, who strikes terror into the hearts only of his - fellow-actors; not by comic clowning business at a grave-side; but - by the spiritual development of the characters. Mr. Shakespeare’s - characters are no more than mouthpieces for his rhythmic musings. - We can forgive a Prince of Denmark for soliloquising in blank - verse to the extent of fifty lines, recognising this as a - legitimate method of giving dignity to a royal pronouncement; but - what are we to say of a Captain of Infantry who patly finishes off - a broken line with the exact number of syllables necessary to - complete the _iambus_? Have such people any semblance to life at - all? Indeed, the whole play gives us the impression of having been - written to the order of a manager as a means of displaying this or - that “line” which, in the language of the day, he can “do just - now.” Soliloquies (unhampered by the presence of rivals) for the - popular star, a mad scene for the leading lady (in white), a ghost - for the electrician, a duel for the Academy-trained fencers, a - scene in dumb-show for the cinema-trained rank-and-file—our - author has provided for them all. No doubt there is money in it, - and a man must live. But frankly we prefer Mr. Shakespeare as a - writer of sonnets. - - -So much for Mr. Shakespeare. I differ from him (as you were about -to say) in that I prefer to see my plays printed, and he obviously -preferred to see his acted. People sometimes say to me: “How -beautifully Mary Brown played that part, and wasn’t John Smith’s -creation wonderful, and how tremendously grateful you must be.” She -did; it was; I am. The more I see of actors and actresses at -rehearsals (and it is only at rehearsals of your own plays that you -can see them at all, or learn anything of their art), by so much the -more do I admire, am I amazed by, their skill. There are heights and -depths and breadths and subtleties in acting, still more in producing, -of which the casual playgoer, even the regular playgoer if he only -sees the stage from the front, knows nothing. But the fact remains -that, to the author, the part must always seem better than the player. -That great actor John Smith may “create” the part of Yorick, but the -author created it first, and created it, to his own vision, every bit -as much in flesh and blood as did, later, the actor. You may read the -plays here, and say that this or the other character does not “live,” -meaning by this that you are unable to visualise him, unable to -imagine for yourself, granted the circumstance, a person so acting, so -reacting. Well—“If it be so, so it is, you know”; it is very easy not -to be a great artist; I have failed. But do not believe that, because -a character does not live for you, therefore it does not live for the -author. While we are writing, how can we help seeing the fellow? We -shut our eyes, and he is there; we open them, and he is there; we dip -our pen into the ink-pot, and he is waiting on the edge for us. We -shake him out on to the paper.... Ah, but now he is dead, you say. -Well, well, he lived a moment before. - -So when John Smith “creates” the character of Yorick, he creates him -in his own image—John Smith-Yorick; a great character, it may be, to -those who see him thus for the first time, but lacking something to us -who have lived with the other for months. For the other was plain -Yorick—and only himself could play him. Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him -well, a fellow of most excellent fancy. Would that you could know him -too! Well, you may find him in the printed page ... or you may not ... -but here only, if anywhere, is he to be found. - - A. A. M. - - - - -THE GREAT BROXOPP - -FOUR CHAPTERS IN HIS LIFE - - - - -CHARACTERS - - - Broxopp. - Nancy (_his wife_). - Jack (_his son_). - Sir Roger Tenterden. - Iris Tenterden. - Honoria Johns. - Ronald Derwent. - Norah Field. - Benham. - Mary. - Alice. - - * * * * * - -_The Scene is laid in the Broxopp home of the period._ - -_Twenty-four years pass between Act I. and Act II., eighteen months -between Act II. and Act III., and a year between Act III. and Act IV._ - - * * * * * - -The first performance of this play in London took place at the St. -Martin’s Theatre on March 6, 1923, with the following cast: - - _Nancy Broxopp_ Mary Jerrold. - _Mary_ Margaret Carter. - _Broxopp_ Edmund Gwenn. - _Benham_ J. H. Roberts. - _Alice_ Gwen Hubbard. - _Honoria Johns_ Marjorie Gabain. - _Jack Broxopp_ Ian Hunter. - _Iris Tenterden_ Faith Celli. - _Sir Roger Tenterden_ Dawson Milward. - _Norah Field_ Beatrix Thomson. - _Ronald Derwent_ Richard Bird. - - - - -THE GREAT BROXOPP - - - - -ACT I - - -SCENE: _The GREAT BROXOPP’S lodgings in Bloomsbury; a humble room in -late Victorian days, for BROXOPP has only just begun. He has been -married for six months, and we see NANCY (the dear) at work, while her -husband is looking for it. He is an advertising agent, in the days -when advertising agents did not lunch with peers and newspaper -proprietors. Probably he would prefer to call himself an “adviser to -men of business.” As we see from a large advertisement over the -sideboard—drawn and lettered by hand (NANCY’S)—he has been hoping to -advise SPENLOW on the best way to sell his suspenders. SPENLOW, we are -assured, “gives that natty appearance.” The comfort, says THE GREAT -ONE, in an inspired moment:_ - - “_The comfort is immense - With Spenlow’s great invention! - Other makes mean Suspense, - But Spenlow means Suspension!!_” - -_Many such inspirations decorate the walls—some accepted, some even -paid for—and NANCY is now making a fair copy of one of them._ - -_MARY, the Broxopps’ servant—NANCY thought they could do without one, -but the GREAT BROXOPP wanted to be called “Yes, sir,” and insisted on -it—well then, MARY comes in._ - - * * * * * - -NANCY (_without looking up_). Yes, Mary? - -MARY. It’s about the dinner, ma’am. - -NANCY (_with a sigh_). Yes, I was afraid it was. It isn’t a very nice -subject to talk about, is it, Mary? - -MARY. Well, ma’am, it has its awkwardness like. - -NANCY (_after a pause, but not very hopefully_). How is the joint -looking? - -MARY. Well, it’s past looking like anything very much. - -NANCY. Well, there’s the bone. - -MARY. Yes, there’s the bone. - -NANCY (_gaily_). Well, there we are, Mary. Soup. - -MARY. If you remember, ma’am, we had soup yesterday. - -NANCY (_wistfully_). Couldn’t you—couldn’t you squeeze it again, -Mary? - -MARY. It’s past squeezing, ma’am—in this world. - -NANCY. I was reading in a book the other day about two people who went -out to dinner one night—they always dine late in books, Mary—and -ordered a grilled bone. It seemed such a funny thing to have, when -they had everything else to choose from. I suppose _our_ bone——? - -MARY. Grilling wouldn’t do it no good, ma’am. - -NANCY. Well, I suppose we mustn’t blame it. It has been a good joint -to _us_. - -MARY. A good stayer, as you might say. - -NANCY. Yes. Well, I suppose we shall have to get another. - -MARY. Yes, ma’am. - -NANCY. Would you look in my purse? (_MARY goes to the sideboard and -opens the purse._) How much is there? - -MARY. Three coppers and two stamps, ma’am. - -NANCY. Oh! (_Determined to be brave_) Well, that’s fivepence. - -MARY. They are halfpenny stamps, ma’am. - -NANCY (_utterly undone_). Oh, Mary! What a very unfortunate morning -we’re having. (_Coaxingly_) Well, anyhow it’s fourpence, isn’t it? - -MARY. Yes, ma’am. - -NANCY. Well, now what can we get for fourpence? - -MARY (_stolidly_). A turkey. - -NANCY (_laughing with complete happiness_). Oh, Mary, don’t be so -gloomy about it. (_Collapsing into laughter again_) Let’s have two -turkeys—two tuppenny ones. - -MARY. It’s enough to make any one gloomy to see a nice gentleman like -Mr. Broxopp and a nice lady like yourself starving in a garret. - -NANCY. I don’t know what a garret is, but if this is one, I love -garrets. And we’re not starving; we’ve got fourpence. (_Becoming -practical again_) What about a nice chop? - -MARY. It isn’t much for two of you. - -NANCY. Three of us, Mary. - -MARY. Oh, I can do all right on bread and cheese, ma’am. - -NANCY. Well then, so can I. And Jim can have the chop. There! Now let -me get on with my work. (_Contemptuously to herself as she goes on -with her drawing_) Starving! And in a house _full_ of bread and -cheese! - -MARY. Mr. Broxopp is not the sort of gentleman to eat a chop while his -wife is only eating a bit of cheese. - -NANCY (_with love in her voice and eyes_). No, he isn’t! (_Proudly_) -Isn’t he a _fine_ man, Mary? - -MARY. Yes, he’s a real gentleman is Mr. Broxopp. It’s queer he doesn’t -make more money. - -NANCY. Well, you see, he’s an artist. - -MARY (_surprised_). An artist? Now that’s funny, I’ve never seen him -painting any of his pictures. - -NANCY. I don’t mean that sort of an artist. I mean he’s—— -(_Wrinkling her forehead_) Now, how did he put it yesterday? He likes -ideas for their own sake. He wants to educate the public up to them. -He doesn’t believe in pandering to the public for money. He’s in -advance of his generation—like all great artists. - -MARY (_hopefully_). Yes, ma’am. - -NANCY (_pointing to the advertisement of Spenlow’s suspenders_). Now, -there you see what I mean. Now that’s what the artist in Mr. Broxopp -feels that a suspender-advertisement _ought_ to be like. But -Mr. Spenlow doesn’t agree with him. Mr. Spenlow says it’s above the -public’s head. And so he’s rejected Jim’s work. That’s the worst of -trying to work for a man like Mr. Spenlow. He doesn’t understand -artists. Jim says that if _he_ saw an advertisement like that, he’d -buy ten pairs at once, even if he never wore anything but kilts. And -Jim says you can’t work for men like that, and one day he’ll write -advertisements for something of his own. - -MARY. Lor, ma’am! Well, I’ve often wondered myself if it was quite -decent for a gentleman like Mr. Broxopp to write about things that -aren’t spoken of in ordinary give-and-take conversation. But then—— - -NANCY (_with pretty dignity_). That is not the point, Mary. An artist -has no limitations of that sort. And—and you’re interrupting me at my -work. - -MARY (_going over to her and just touching her lightly on the -shoulder_). Bless you, dearie, you _are_ fond of him, aren’t you? - -NANCY. Oh, I just love him. (_Eagerly_) And he must have that chop to -himself, Mary, and I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll write him a -little note to say I’ve been invited out to dinner—and who do you -think is going to invite me? Why, you! And we’ll have our bread and -cheese together in the kitchen. Won’t that be fun? (_Suddenly looking -tragic_) Oh! - -MARY. What’s the matter, ma’am? - -NANCY. Why, perhaps he’ll go out again directly after dinner and then -I shan’t have seen him all day! (_After thinking it over_) No, Mary, I -shall have dinner with him. (_Firmly_) But I shall say I’m _not_ -hungry. (_There is a sound of whistling on the stairs._) Listen, -there’s Jim! Oh, Mary, go quickly! He hasn’t seen me for such a long -time and he’ll like to find me alone. - -MARY (_sympathetically_). _I_ know, ma’am. - - [_She goes out._ - - (_The GREAT BROXOPP comes in. He wears a tail-coat of the period, - a wide-awake hat, and a spreading blue tie—“The Broxopp tie” as - it is called in later years. He is twenty-five at this time, but - might be any age, an impetuous, enthusiastic, flamboyant, simple - creature; candid, generous; a gentleman, yet with no manners; an - artist, yet not without vulgarity. His beliefs are simple. He - believes in himself and NANCY; but mostly in himself._) - -BROXOPP. Nancy! - -NANCY. Jim! (_She flies into his arms._) - -BROXOPP (_releasing himself and looking at his watch_). Two hours and -twenty minutes since I kissed you, Nancy. - -NANCY. Is that all? It seems so much longer. - -BROXOPP (_comparing his watch with the clock_). You’re right; I’m a -little slow. It’s two hours and twenty-three minutes. I must have -another one. (_Has one._) - -NANCY. Oh, Jim, darling, it’s lovely having you back. But you’re -early, aren’t you? Tell me what’s been happening. - -BROXOPP (_trying to speak indifferently_). How do you know anything -has been happening? - -NANCY (_excitedly_). Then it _has_! I knew it had! I felt it. Tell me -quickly! (_With a sudden change_) No, don’t tell me quickly, tell me -very, very slowly. Begin from the very beginning when you left here -after breakfast. (_Pleadingly_) Only just tell me first that it _is_ -good news. - -BROXOPP (_with an air_). Madam, you see in front of you the Great -Broxopp. - -NANCY. Yes, but you’ve told me that every day since we’ve been -married. - -BROXOPP (_momentarily shaken, but quickly recovering_). But you -believed it! Say you believed it! - -NANCY. Of course I did. - -BROXOPP (_strutting about the room_). Aha, _she_ knew! She recognised -the Great Broxopp. (_Striking an attitude_) And now the whole world -will know. - -NANCY. Is it as wonderful as that? - -BROXOPP. It is, Nancy, it is! I have been singing all the way home. -(_Seriously_) Nancy, when we have lots of money I think I shall learn -to sing. An artist like myself requires to give expression to his -feelings in his great moments. Several people on the bus objected to -my singing. I’m afraid they were right. - -NANCY (_awed_). Are we going to have lots of money one day? Oh, quick, -tell me—but slowly right from the beginning. (_She arranges his chair -for him._) Or would you rather walk about, dear? - -BROXOPP (_sitting down_). Well, I shall probably have to walk about -directly, but—Where are _you_ going to sit? - -NANCY (_on the floor at his knees_). Here. - -BROXOPP (_earnestly_). Nancy, you must get me out of my habit of -sitting down before you are seated. It isn’t what a gentleman would -do. - -NANCY (_patting his hand_). It’s what a husband would do. That’s what -wives are for—to make their husbands comfy. - -BROXOPP. Well, dear, never hesitate to tell me any little thing you -notice about me. I never drop my aitches now, do I? - -NANCY (_smiling lovingly at him_). Never, darling. - -BROXOPP (_complacently_). Very few people could have got out of that -in a year. But then (_raising his hand with a gesture of pride_) -Broxopp is not like—— Dear me, have I been wearing my hat all the -time? - -NANCY. Yes, darling, I love you in your hat. - - (_A little upset, BROXOPP takes it off and throws it on the - floor._) - -BROXOPP (_pained_). Darling, you should have told me. - -NANCY. I love you so—just as you are. The Great Broxopp. Now then, -begin from the beginning. - -BROXOPP (_his confidence recovered_). Well, after breakfast—a -breakfast so enormous that, as I said to you at the time, I probably -shouldn’t require any dinner after it—— - -NANCY (_hastily_). Yes, darling, but I said it first, and I really -meant it. (_Carelessly_) I don’t know how it is, but somehow I feel I -shan’t be at all hungry for dinner to-day. - -BROXOPP. Nancy, what _is_ for dinner to-day? - -NANCY (_as though dinner were a small matter in that house_). Oh, -chops, bread and cheese and all that sort of thing. (_Eagerly_) But -never mind dinner now—go on telling me. - -BROXOPP. Nancy, look at me and tell me how many chops you have -ordered? - -NANCY (_bravely_). I thought perhaps one would be enough for you, -dear, as you weren’t very hungry, and not being hungry myself—— - -BROXOPP (_jumping up_). I thought so! The Great Broxopp to dine off -one chop! The Great Broxopp’s wife to dine off no chops! (_He leans -against the wall in a magnificent manner, and with a tremendous -flourish produces a five pound note_) Woman, buy five hundred chops! -(_Producing another five pound note with an even greater air_) Five -hundred tons of fried potatoes! (_Flourishing a third note_) Five -million bottles of tomato sauce! (_Thumping his heart_) That’s the -sort of man I am. - -NANCY. Jim! Have you earned all this? - -BROXOPP (_disparagingly_). Tut! That’s nothing to what is coming. - -NANCY. Fifteen pounds! (_Suddenly remembering_) Now what would you -_really_ like for dinner? - -BROXOPP (_going over to her and taking her hands_). Nancy, _you_ -believed in me all the time. It has been weary waiting for you, but -now—(_answering her question_) I think I should like a kiss. - -NANCY (_kissing him and staying very close_). Of course I believed in -you, my wonderful man. And now they’ll all believe in you. (_After a -pause_) Who believed the fifteen pounds? Was it Mr. Spenlow? - -BROXOPP. Spenlow? Bah! (_He strides across the room and tears down the -Spenlow advertisements._) Spenlow comes down—like his suspenders. -_Facilis descensus Spenlovi._ (_Dramatically_) I see the man Spenlow -begging his bread from door to door. I see his wife’s stockings -falling in swathes about her ankles. I see—— - -NANCY. Darling! - -BROXOPP. You’re quite right, dear. I’m being vulgar again. And worse -than that—uncharitable. When we are rich, we will ask the Spenlows -to stay with us. We will be kind to them; we will provide them with -suspenders. - -NANCY (_bringing him back to the point_). Jim! (_She holds up the -money._) You haven’t told me yet. - -BROXOPP (_carelessly_). Oh, that? That was from Fordyce. - -NANCY. The Fordyce cheap Restaurants? - -BROXOPP. The same. I had an inspiration this morning. I forced my way -into the office of the man Fordyce, and I took him on one side and -whispered winged words into his ear. I said (_dramatically_) “Fordyce -fills you for fivepence.” It will be all over London to-morrow. -“Fordyce fills you for fivepence.” What an arresting thought to a -hungry man! - -NANCY. Shall we have dinner there to-day, dear? - -BROXOPP. Good heavens, no! It is sufficient that I drag others into -his beastly eating-house. _We_ will dine on champagne, regally. - -NANCY. Darling, I know you are an artist and mustn’t be thwarted, -but—there’s the rent—and—and other days coming—and—— - -BROXOPP (_dropping into his chair again_). Nancy, come and sit on my -knee. (_With suppressed excitement_) Quick, while I’m sitting down. I -shall be wanting to walk about directly. This room is too small for -me. (_She comes to him._) Nancy, it has been a hard struggle for you, -I’m afraid. - -NANCY. I’ve loved it, Jim. - -BROXOPP. Well, that’s over now. Now the real fun is beginning. -(_Triumphantly_) Nancy, I’m on my own at last. Broxopp is on his own! -(_He puts her down impetuously and jumps up._) I look into the future -and what do I see? I see on every hoarding, I see on the side of every -omnibus, I see dotted among the fields along the great railway routes -these magic words: “BROXOPP’S BEANS FOR BABIES.” - -NANCY (_carried away_). Darling! - -BROXOPP. Yes! I have begun. And now the world will see what -advertisement can do in the hands of an artist. Broxopp’s Beans for -Babies! - -NANCY. But—(_timidly_) do babies like beans? - -BROXOPP (_confidently_). They will. I can make them like anything. I -can make them _cry_ for beans. They will lean out of their little -cradles and hold out their little hands and say: “Broxopp. I want -Broxopp. Give me my beans.” - -NANCY (_seeing them_). The darlings. (_Business-like_) Now tell me all -about it. - -BROXOPP (_really meaning to this time_). It began with—Ah, Nancy, it -began with _you_. I might have known it would. I owe it, like -everything else, to you. - -NANCY (_awed_). To me? - -BROXOPP. To you. It was the nail-brush. - -NANCY. The nail-brush? - -BROXOPP. Yes, you told me the other day to buy a nail-brush. (_Looking -at his fingers_) You were quite right. As you said, a gentleman is -known by his hands. I hadn’t thought of it before. Always tell me, -darling. Well, I went into a chemist’s. Fordyce had given me fifteen -guineas. I had the odd shillings in my pocket and I suddenly -remembered. There was a very nice gentlemanly young fellow behind the -counter, and as sometimes happens on these occasions, I got into -conversation with him. - -NANCY (_smiling to herself_). Yes, darling. - -BROXOPP. I told him something of my outlook on life. I spoke of the -lack of imagination which is the curse of this country, instancing the -man Spenlow as an example of the type with whom we artists had to -deal. He interrupted me to say that he had found it so, too. A patent -food which he had composed in his leisure moments—I broke in hastily. -“Tell me of your food,” I said. “Perhaps,” and I smote my breast, -“perhaps _I_ am the capitalist for whom you look.” - -NANCY. The five hundred pounds! - -BROXOPP. The five hundred pounds. The nest-egg which I had been -keeping for just such a moment. In a flash I saw that the moment had -come. - -NANCY (_a little frightened_). Then we shall never have that five -hundred pounds behind us again. - -BROXOPP. But think of the thousands we shall have in front of us! -Millions! - -NANCY. We seemed so safe with that in the bank. My little inheritance. -No, darling, I’m not disagreeing. I know you’re quite right. But I’m -just a little frightened. You see, I’m not so brave as you. - -BROXOPP. But you will be brave _with_ me? You believe in me? - -NANCY. Oh, yes, yes. (_Bravely_) Go on. - -BROXOPP (_going on_). He told me about his discovery. A food for -babies. Thomson’s Food for Babies, he called it. (_Scornfully_) No -wonder nobody would look at it. “The name you want on that food,” I -said, “is Broxopp.” Who is Thomson? Anybody. The next man you meet may -be Thomson. But there is only one Broxopp—the Great Broxopp. (_With -an inspired air_) Broxopp’s Beans for Babies! - -NANCY (_timidly_). I still don’t quite see why beans. - -BROXOPP. Nor did he, Nancy. “Mr. Thomson,” I said, “this is _my_ -business. _You_ go about inventing foods. Do I interfere with you? No. -I don’t say that we must have this, that, and the other in it. All I -do is to put it on the market and advertise it. And when I’m doing -that, don’t you interfere with _me_. Why beans? you say. Exactly! I -want the whole of England to ask that question. Beans for Babies—what -an absurd idea! Who _is_ this Broxopp? Once they begin talking like -that, I’ve got them. As for the food—make it up into bean shape and -let them dissolve it. Or no. Leave it as it is. They’ll talk about it -more that way. _Lucus a non lucendo._ Good-morning!” - -NANCY. What does _that_ mean? - -BROXOPP (_off-handedly_). It’s Latin, dear, for calling a thing black -because it’s white. Thomson understood; he’s an educated man, he’s not -like Spenlow. - -NANCY. And do we share the profits with Mr. Thomson? - -BROXOPP. He’ll have to take some, of course, because it’s his food. I -shall be generous to him, Nancy; don’t you be afraid of that. - -NANCY. I know you will, darling; that’s what I’m afraid of. - -BROXOPP (_carelessly_). We shall have an agreement drawn up. (_On fire -to begin._) It will be hard work for the first year. Every penny we -make will have to be used again to advertise it. (_Thumping the -table_) But I can do it! With you helping me, Nancy, I can do it. - -NANCY (_adoringly_). You can do it, my man. And oh! how proud I shall -be of helping you. - -BROXOPP. And the time will come when the world will be full of Broxopp -Babies! I look into the future and I see—millions of them! - -NANCY (_coming very close_). Jim, when I am all alone, then sometimes -I look into the future, too. - -BROXOPP (_indulgently_). And what do you see, Nancy? - -NANCY. Sometimes I seem to see _one_ little Broxopp baby. - -BROXOPP (_with a shout_). Nancy! You mean—— - -NANCY. Would you like to have a little one of your very own, Jim? - -BROXOPP. My darling! It only needed this! (_He takes her in his -arms._) - -NANCY. My husband! - -BROXOPP (_releasing her_). A Broxopp—to carry on the name! A little -Broxopp! Nancy, he shall be the first, the pioneer of all the Broxopp -Babies! (_Carried away_) I see him—everywhere—sitting in his little -vest—— - -NANCY (_seeing him too_). His little vest! - -BROXOPP. Holding out his little pudgy hand—— - -NANCY. His little pudgy hand! - -BROXOPP. And saying to all the world (_he hesitates, and a sudden -triumphant inspiration gives him the words_) “I am a Broxopp Baby—are -you?” - - (_They gaze eagerly into the future, BROXOPP seeing his million - babies, NANCY seeing her one._) - - - - -ACT II - - -SCENE: _A sitting-room in the GREAT BROXOPP’S house in Queen’s Gate. -Being the room in which he is generally interviewed, it is handsomely -furnished, as befits a commercial prince. The desk with the telephone -on it, the bookcase, the chairs and sofa, the mantelpiece are all -handsome. But what really attracts your eye is the large picture of -the baby, looking at you over the end of his cot, and saying: “I am a -Broxopp baby—are you?” At least, he says so on the posters; this is -the original, in a suitable gold frame, for which JACK BROXOPP sat -twenty-three years ago._ - -(_BENHAM, the new butler, is discovered answering the telephone._) - - * * * * * - -BENHAM (_at telephone_). Hello.... Mr. Broxopp is not here for the -moment, sir. Can I take a message?... To ring Mr. Morris up some time -this morning. Yes, sir.... Thank you, sir. (_He walks back to the door -and meets ALICE coming in._) - -ALICE. Oh, Mr. Benham, I was looking for you. There’s a young woman, -name of Johns, just come to see the master. Would you wish to show her -up yourself, Mr. Benham? You see we’re not used to a gentleman with us -downstairs. It’s all so new to us. When you were with His Grace—— - -BENHAM. Who is this young woman? - -ALICE (_giving card_). She comes from one of the newspapers. - -BENHAM (_reading_). “Miss Honoria Johns. Contributor to _The Queen_ -and other leading journals.” (_Contemptuously_) What does she want? An -interview? - -ALICE. She didn’t say, Mr. Benham, but I expect that’s what she wants. - -BENHAM. I’ll send her away. Bless you, I had to send hundreds of them -away when I was with His Grace. - -ALICE (_alarmed_). Oh, but I don’t think Mr. Broxopp would like that. - -BENHAM (_staggered_). Do you mean to say that he wants to be -interviewed? - -ALICE. Oh, I’m sure he does. But I suppose he’s gone to his office. Oh -no, he hasn’t, because there’s his hat. - -BENHAM (_scandalised_). His hat? Has he only got one hat? - -ALICE. Only one that he wears. What the papers call the “Broxopp hat.” - -BENHAM (_to Heaven_). If anybody had told me a year ago that I should -take service in a house where we only wore one hat—but there! God -moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform. - -ALICE. Oh, but it isn’t as if Mr. Broxopp was just an ordinary -gentleman. You mustn’t think that, Mr. Benham. - -BENHAM. You all make too much of your Mr. Broxopp, my girl. After all, -who is he? What’s his family? - -ALICE. Well, there’s only Mr. Jack, of course. - -BENHAM (_contemptuously_). Mr. Jack isn’t “family,” my girl. Mr. Jack -is “hissue.” Not but what Mr. Jack is very well in his way. Eton and -Oxford—I’ve nothing to say against that, though I happen to be -Cambridge myself. But who’s the family? Broxopp! There isn’t such a -family. - -ALICE. Well, but I’m sure he’s very rich, Mr. Benham. - -BENHAM. Rich, yes, but what does he _do_ with his money? Does he hunt -or shoot? Does he entertain? Has he got a country-house? - -ALICE (_sticking to it_). I’m sure you couldn’t find a nicer gentleman -than Sir Roger Tenterden who lives next door, and came to dinner here -only last Tuesday with his daughter. - -BENHAM. Tenterden? Ah, now that _is_ family, my girl. That’s the best -I’ve heard of your Mr. Broxopp as yet. But you mustn’t stand talking -here all the morning. Just go down and tell that young woman to wait -until I send for her. They’re used to waiting. - -ALICE. Yes, Mr. Benham. - - [_She goes out._ - -BENHAM (_picking up hat delicately and putting it down again_). One -hat—and what a hat! - - (_BROXOPP comes in. Very much the BROXOPP that we know, though his - hair, moustache, and beard are greying slightly, and his face is - more lined. He still wears a broad-tailed coat and a spreading - blue tie, though he probably pays more for them nowadays._) - -BROXOPP. Well, Benham, what is it? - -BENHAM. A gentleman rang up, your Grace—I beg your pardon—“Sir,” I -should have said. - -BROXOPP. Call me your Grace if it’s any comfort to you, Benham. - -BENHAM. Thank you, sir. - -BROXOPP. Settling down all right? - -BENHAM. I am quite comfortable, sir, thank you. - -BROXOPP. I’m afraid you feel that you have come down in the world? - -BENHAM. In a sense, yes, sir. - -BROXOPP. Well, you’ll have to climb up again, Benham, that’s all. Did -you ever read a little book—you can get it at all bookstalls—called -_Broxoppiana_? - -BENHAM. In a general way, sir, I read nothing later than Lord Lytton. - -BROXOPP (_genially_). Well, this is by Lord Broxopp—a few suggestive -thoughts that have occurred to me from time to time—with photograph. -On page 7 I say this: “Going there is better fun than getting there.” -I’ve got there, Benham. You’re just going there again. I envy you. - -BENHAM. Thank you, sir.... I wonder if I might take the liberty of -asking your advice, sir, in a matter of some importance to myself. - -BROXOPP. Why not? - -BENHAM. Thank you, sir. - -BROXOPP. What is it? You want to get married? - -BENHAM (_shocked_). Heaven forbid, sir. - -BROXOPP. Well, Benham, I’ve been married twenty-five years, and I’ve -never regretted it. - -BENHAM. I suppose one soon gets used to it, sir. What I wanted to take -your advice about, sir, was a little financial matter in which I am -interested. - -BROXOPP. Oh!... I’m not sure that you’re wise, Benham. - -BENHAM. Wise, sir? - -BROXOPP. In asking my advice about little financial matters. I lost -five thousand myself last month. - -BENHAM (_alarmed_). Not in West Africans, I trust, sir? - -BROXOPP. God knows what it was in. Jack said they were going up. - -BENHAM. I’m sure I’m sorry to hear it, sir. - -BROXOPP. You needn’t be. That sort of thing doesn’t worry me (_with a -snap of the fingers_) that much. I’d sooner lose five thousand on the -Stock Exchange than lose one customer who might have bought a five -shilling bottle of Broxopp’s Beans, and didn’t. You should speak to -Sir Roger the next time he comes to dinner. He’s gone into the City -lately, and I daresay he can put you on to a good thing. - -BENHAM. Thank you, sir. It would be very condescending of him. Would -you like me to brush your hat, sir? - -BROXOPP. I should like you to tell me who this gentleman was who rang -up. - -BENHAM. Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. A Mr. Morris. He wishes you to -communicate with him this morning, sir, if convenient. - -BROXOPP. Morris? Ridiculous fellow. All right, Benham. - -BENHAM. Thank you, sir. - - (_He picks up the hat and goes out as BROXOPP goes to the - telephone._) - -BROXOPP (_at telephone_). Central 99199 ... yes.... Is Mr. Morris in? -Broxopp speaking.... Yes.... Hullo, is that you, Mr. Morris? Broxopp -speaking.... Yes, I’ve got your letter.... Oh no, no, no, I don’t care -how good the offer is. I don’t want to sell.... Well, you see, I -happen to be interested in Broxopp’s Beans.... Yes, yes, of course, -but I mean artistically interested. It’s my work, Morris; it’s what I -live for. I am much too fond of it to want to share it with -anybody.... That’s final, Morris.... Well, look here, if your man is -as keen as all that to buy Broxopp’s Beans I’ll tell you what I’ll do. -(_He looks up at NANCY as she comes in, and nods affectionately to -her, and then goes on speaking down the telephone._) I’ll let him have -one of the large bottles for two and ninepence. Ha, ha, ha! (_Greatly -pleased with himself_) Good-bye, Mr. Morris. (_He puts back the -receiver, and says to NANCY_) Morris has a man who wants to buy -Broxopp’s Beans. I said I’d let him have one of the large bottles for -two and ninepence. Rather good, Nancy, wasn’t it? We must put it in -the next edition of _Broxoppiana_. (_Thoughtfully_) I’m not often -funny. (_He kisses her hand and leads her to the sofa._) - -NANCY. Dear one ... aren’t you going to the City this morning? - -BROXOPP (_on the sofa with her_). I don’t know. There’s not much to do -just now. Besides (_tapping his button-hole_), how could I go? - -NANCY (_getting up_). Oh, you baby. Have you been waiting for me to -put that in? (_She goes to a bowl of carnations and takes one out._) - -BROXOPP. Well, I couldn’t go without it, could I? Broxopp without his -pink carnation—what would they say in the City? And after you’d put -it in for me for twenty years, how could I put it in for myself? - -NANCY (_giving it the final touch_). There! - -BROXOPP (_looking from it to her with a satisfied smile_). Now, then, -give me a kiss, and perhaps I’ll go. - -NANCY. You’re only a boy still, Jim; much younger than Jack. - -BROXOPP. Oh, Jack’s just at the age when they’re oldest. He’ll grow -out of it. Now then, what about that kiss? - -NANCY. Keep young, Jim. (_She kisses him and he takes her in his -arms._) - - _Enter BENHAM noiselessly._ - -BENHAM (_addressing the ceiling_). I beg your pardon, sir. (_They -disengage hastily._) But there’s a young woman called from one of the -newspapers. I think she desires an interview for the journal with -which she is connected. Or something of that nature, sir. (_He hands -BROXOPP her card._) - -BROXOPP. Ah, yes. Well, show her up then. - -BENHAM. Yes, sir. - - [_He goes out._ - -BROXOPP (_indignantly_). What I say is this, Nancy. If a man can’t -kiss his own wife, on his own sofa, without being interrupted, he -isn’t living in a home at all; he’s living in an hotel. Now, I suppose -that the dignified gentleman who has just left us despises us from the -bottom of his heart. His Grace would never have been so vulgar as to -kiss his _own_ wife on the sofa. - -NANCY. It doesn’t matter very much, Jim, does it? And I expect we -shall get used to him. - -BROXOPP. I don’t know why we ever had the fellow—except that Master -Jack thought it went better with Eton and Oxford. Eton and Oxford—was -that your idea or mine? - -NANCY. Yours, dear. - -BROXOPP. Oh! Well, the only thing they taught him there was that his -father’s tie was the wrong shape. - -NANCY (_carried back as she looks up at the picture_). There never was -a better baby than Jack. - -BROXOPP (_looking at the picture too_). Yes, he used to like my tie in -those days. He was never so happy as when he was playing with it. -Funny how they change when they grow up. (_Looking at his watch_) What -are you doing this morning? - -NANCY (_getting up_). All right, darling. I’m going. I know you like -being alone for interviews. - -BROXOPP (_going to the door with her_). But you must come in, Nancy, -at the end. That went well last time. (_Quoting_) “Ah,” said -Mr. Broxopp, as a middle-aged but still beautiful woman glided into -the room, “here is my wife. My wife,” he went on, with a tender glance -at the still beautiful woman, “to whom I owe all my success.” As he -said these words—— - -NANCY. Oh, I expect this one won’t write that sort of rubbish. - -BROXOPP (_indignantly_). Rubbish? I don’t call that rubbish. - -NANCY. Well, then, nonsense, darling. Only—I rather like nonsense. - - (_NANCY goes out. Left alone, the GREAT BROXOPP gets ready. He - spreads out his tie, fingers his buttonhole, and sees that a - volume of Shakespeare is well displayed on a chair. Then he sits - down at his desk and is discovered by MISS JOHNS hard at it._) - -BENHAM (_announcing_). Miss Johns. - - (_BENHAM goes out, leaving MISS JOHNS behind; a nervous young - woman of about thirty, with pince-nez. But BROXOPP is being too - quick for her. He has whisked the receiver off, and is busy - saying, “Quite so,” and “Certainly, half a million bottles,” to - the confusion of the girl at the Exchange._) - -BROXOPP. Sit down, Miss Johns, won’t you? If you’ll excuse me just a -moment—(_Down the telephone_) Yes ... yes, C.O.D. of course.... -Good-bye. (_He replaces the receiver and turns to her._) Well, Miss -Johns, and what can I do for you? - -MISS JOHNS (_nervously_). You saw my card, Mr. Broxopp? - -BROXOPP. Did I? Then where did I put it? You’re from——? - -MISS JOHNS. Contributor to _The Queen_ and other leading journals. - -BROXOPP. Yes, yes, of course. (_Encouragingly_) And you—er—— - - (_He comes away from the desk, so that she can see him better. A - little dazzled, she turns away, looks round the room for - inspiration, and catches sight of the picture._) - -MISS JOHNS (_impulsively_). Oh, Mr. Broxopp, is that IT? - -BROXOPP (_proudly_). My boy Jack—Eton and Oxford—when he was a baby. -You’ve seen the posters, of course. - -MISS JOHNS. Who hasn’t, Mr. Broxopp? - -BROXOPP. I always say I owe half my success to Jack. He was the first -Broxopp baby—and now there are a million of them. I don’t know -whether—er—you——? - -MISS JOHNS (_coyly_). Oh, you flatter me, Mr. Broxopp. I’m afraid I -was born a little too soon. - -BROXOPP. A pity, a pity. But no doubt your relations—— - -MISS JOHNS. Oh yes, my nephews and nieces—they are all Broxopp -babies. And then I have always felt specially interested in Broxopp’s -Beans, Mr. Broxopp, because I live in (_archly_) Bloomsbury, -Mr. Broxopp. - -BROXOPP. Really? When my wife (_he looks towards the door in case she -should be choosing that very opportune moment to come in_), to whom I -owe all my success—when my wife and I were first married—— - -MISS JOHNS (_eagerly_). I know, Mr. Broxopp. You see, that’s what -makes me so interested. I live at Number 26, too, in the floor below. - -BROXOPP. Now, now, do you really? Well, I declare. That’s very -curious. - -MISS JOHNS. I’ve only been there the last few months. But the very -first thing they told me when I took the room was that _the_ -Mr. Broxopp had begun his career in that house. - -BROXOPP (_pleased_). Ah, they remember!... Yes, that was where I -began. There was a man called Thomson ... but you wouldn’t be -interested in _him_. He dropped out very soon. He had no faith. I -paid him well—I was too generous, my wife said. But it was worth it -to be alone. Ah, Miss Johns, you see me now in my beautiful home, -surrounded by pictures, books—(_He picks up the Shakespeare and reads -the title_) “The Works of Shakespeare” (_and puts it down -again_)—costly furniture—all that money can buy. And perhaps you -envy me. Yet I think I was happier in those old days at Bloomsbury -when I was fighting for my life.... Did you ever read a little book -called _Broxoppiana_? - -MISS JOHNS. Now, isn’t that funny, Mr. Broxopp? I bought it only last -Saturday when I was going down to my brother’s in the country. - -BROXOPP. Well, you may remember how I say, “Going there is better fun -than getting there.” It’s true, Miss Johns. - -MISS JOHNS (_proud of knowing it_). Didn’t Stevenson say something -like that? - -BROXOPP (_firmly_). Not in my hearing. - -MISS JOHNS. I mean _the_ Stevenson. I think he said, “To travel -hopefully is a better thing than to arrive.” - -BROXOPP. Yes—well, that’s another way of putting it. To travel -hopefully is a better thing than to arrive. So Stevenson found it out, -too, did he? Well, he was right.... All those years when I was -building up Broxopp’s Beans I was happy, really happy. I’m a fighter. -I like taking the public by the throat and making them look at me. -That’s over now. I’ve got ’em almost too tame. They come and eat the -Beans out of my hand. And though my success has given me something—a -comfortable home—servants to wait upon me—butlers and what not—the -best authors to read—(_he picks up the Shakespeare and puts it down -again_)—even a son from Eton and Oxford to gladden my old heart—yet -I miss something. I miss the struggle of those early days when my dear -wife and I (_he has another look at the door just in case_) set out -together hand in hand to beat the world. (_Sighing_) Ah, well! (_In a -business-like voice_) Now what can I tell you about myself, Miss -Johns? Pray, don’t be afraid of making any notes that you like. - -MISS JOHNS. I shall remember what you said, Mr. Broxopp, without -taking any notes. - -BROXOPP. Ah, well, you must please yourself about that. (_Looking at -his watch_) Now, then, I’m waiting for you. - -MISS JOHNS. I—— (_She hesitates._) - -BROXOPP (_kindly_). Perhaps you’re not used to interviewing? This is -the first time you’ve done it, eh? - -MISS JOHNS. Well, I don’t do it, as a rule. And I’m afraid—— - -BROXOPP. Well, perhaps I can help you with it. You must send me -your manuscript. My wife (_he looks at the door with a frown—what -has happened to her?_) to whom I owe so much, was my first -interviewer—ah, that was many years ago. She picked up a guinea for -it, but that wasn’t the important thing. It was the publicity. “A Talk -with one of our Commercial Princes”—I don’t suppose the Editor had -ever even heard of me. (_Chuckling_) Ah, but we bluffed him. Lord, how -we piled it on. “‘Tell me, Mr. Broxopp,’ I said—” that was my wife. -“Mr. Broxopp leant against his marble mantelpiece—” that was me—“and -fingered the well-known Broxopp tie—” (_indicating it_) same one as -this. “‘Ah, my dear boy,’ he said—” The dear boy was my wife, of -course—she signed herself N. R. Chillingham, her maiden name; you -women weren’t so popular on the Press in those days—we pretended she -was a man. “‘Ah, my dear boy,’ he said, and I shall never forget the -look which came over his rugged face—” my wife didn’t like rugged, -but I insisted; sounded more like a commercial prince—“‘there is only -one secret of success, and that is hard work.’” (_With a sigh_) Ah, -well, those days are over. Happy days! The world seems to have grown -up since then. (_Looking at his watch_) Well, Miss Johns? - -MISS JOHNS (_very nervous_). Mr. Broxopp, I don’t know how to tell -you. I didn’t really come to interview you at all to-day. - -BROXOPP (_staggered_). But your card—— - -MISS JOHNS. Oh, I am on the Press, and please, Mr. Broxopp, I shall -certainly write an article—perhaps two articles—about what you’ve -told me, and I do live in the house where you used to live, and I was -so interested in you, but—— (_She hesitates._) - -BROXOPP (_mollified by the two articles_). Well? - -MISS JOHNS (_making another effort_). You see, I used to live with my -brother in the country. And he has a small farm. And then I came to -London. And he has invented a chicken food and it is so good, and I -told him I’d ask you if—— You see, I felt that I knew you because of -where I lived—I wondered—(_Taking the plunge_) Mr. Broxopp, did you -ever think of doing anything besides Broxopp’s Beans? - -BROXOPP (_nodding to himself_). You wondered if I’d take up this food? -Put it on the market? Boom it? - -MISS JOHNS. Oh yes! - - (_He thinks it over and then shakes his head slowly._) - -BROXOPP. You’re too late, Miss Johns. - -MISS JOHNS. Oh, has somebody else—— - -BROXOPP. Twenty-four years too late. Now, if you’d come to me -twenty-four years ago—— - -MISS JOHNS. But I was only six then. (_Hastily_) I mean, about six. - -BROXOPP. Yes, if you’d come to me then—— (_Thoughtfully_) Broxopp’s -Beans for Brahmas—Yes, I would have made that go. But not now. It -wouldn’t be fair to the babies. I couldn’t do ’em both justice. (_More -to himself than to her_) You see, Broxopp’s Beans for Babies—it isn’t -just my living, it’s my whole life. - -MISS JOHNS (_getting up_). I’m afraid I oughtn’t to have mentioned it. - -BROXOPP. Oh, that’s all right. You’ll never get on if you don’t -mention things. (_Shaking hands_) Well, good-bye. Mind, I shall expect -to see that article—two, didn’t you say? And if there’s anything else -you want to know—— (_He stops beneath the picture on his way with -her to the door_) A pretty baby, wasn’t he? - -MISS JOHNS. Lovely! - -BROXOPP. Yes, my wife and I—— (_The door begins to open_) Ah, here -she is. (_He keeps his attention on the picture_) Nancy, we were just -looking—— Hullo, Jack! - -JACK (_coming in_). Sorry. Are you engaged? (_He sees them beneath -that beastly picture, and a look of resigned despair comes into his -face—he shrugs his shoulders._) - -BROXOPP (_to MISS JOHNS_). My boy Jack. Eton and Oxford. - - (_And he looks it, too—except perhaps for his hair, which is just - a little more in keeping with his artistic future than his - educational past._) - -MISS JOHNS (_now completely upset_). How do you do? It’s so nice to -see the—I mean, we were just looking—but I mustn’t keep you, -Mr. Broxopp—and thank you so much, and I’m so sorry that you—but of -course I quite understand. Good-bye! Good-bye! (_And she hurries -out._) - -JACK (_strolling towards the sofa_). Bit nervous, isn’t she? - -BROXOPP. You frightened her. - -JACK (_sitting down_). Fleet Street—and all that? - -BROXOPP. Yes. (_Looking round the room_) Where’s my hat? - -JACK. I say, you’re not going? - -BROXOPP. Must. Got to work, Jack. (_Looking at him mischievously_) -When are you going to begin? - -JACK (_airily_). Oh, as soon as I’ve got the studio fixed up. - -BROXOPP. You still want to be an artist? - -JACK. Well, dash it, I’ve only just begun wanting. You’ve had -twenty-five years of Broxopp’s Beans—and—and I suppose you still -want to go on, don’t you? - -BROXOPP (_smiling_). Well, that’s true. Where’s my hat? - -JACK. I say, never mind about that beastly hat. You’ve got to stay at -home this morning. I want to talk to you. - -BROXOPP (_looking up from his search_). Hullo, boy, what’s the matter? - -JACK. I say, do sit down—I keep losing sight of you. (_BROXOPP sits -down obediently._) That’s better. - -BROXOPP. Well? - -JACK (_defensively_). Well? - -BROXOPP. What’s happened? - -JACK. What do you mean—happened? - -BROXOPP. Well, what is it you want to tell me? - -JACK. I didn’t say I wanted to tell you anything. I just said, “Let’s -have a talk.” I don’t see why a father and a son shouldn’t have a -little talk together sometimes. - -BROXOPP. Neither do I, Jack. Only I thought perhaps it wasn’t done. -Bad form and all that. - -JACK. Oh, rot! - -BROXOPP. You see, I don’t want you to be ashamed of me. - -JACK (_uneasily_). I say, I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. - -BROXOPP. Oh, but I mean it. You see, I’m very proud of _you_, Jack. - -JACK (_with a smile_). You’re much prouder of your blessed beans, -aren’t you? Own up. - -BROXOPP. Well, you were born about the same time, but I’ve always had -more control over the beans. - -JACK (_nervously_). You know, I rather wonder sometimes, now that -we’ve decided that I’m not going into the business, that you don’t -chuck it yourself, and retire into the country. It’s worth a good bit, -I should think, if you did want to sell it. - -BROXOPP. Would you invest the money for me? - -JACK (_with a smile_). Well, I own I had a bit of rotten luck last -time, but I daresay I’d do it as well as you would. - -BROXOPP. That’s not saying much. I don’t profess to watch the markets. - -JACK. Neither do I, only young Archie happened to say that he’d heard -from a man whose uncle knew a fellow who—— Well, it just didn’t come -off, that’s all. But Sir Roger knows all about that sort of thing. -He’d do it for you. - -BROXOPP. Well, if I ever do want to sell it, I daresay I’ll consult -Sir Roger, but that won’t be for a long time yet. (_He gets up_) -Well—— - -JACK (jumping up hastily). No, look here, you mustn’t go yet. We’ve -only just begun to talk. (_Pushing him back into his chair_) That’s -right. - -BROXOPP (_good-humouredly_). Is this a conspiracy to keep me away from -the office, or what? - -JACK (_plunging at it_). Dad, you see before you the happiest man in -the world—— - -BROXOPP (_surprised_). Oh! - -JACK. Only, it’s dashed difficult. (_Having another shot_) What do you -think Mother’s doing at this moment? - -BROXOPP. Just what I’ve been wondering. I wanted her in here. - -JACK. Yes, well, she’s upstairs, introducing herself to her future -daughter-in-law. - -BROXOPP. Jack! Who? - -JACK. Iris Tenterden. (_But he can’t help being self-conscious about -it._) - -BROXOPP (_eagerly_). My dearest Jack! So that’s what you’ve been -trying to get out all this time! (_He comes forward with both hands -held out_) But I’m delighted! - -JACK (_more moved than he cares to show_). Thanks, Dad! - -BROXOPP (_pulling himself up humorously_). Tut, tut, I was forgetting. -(_Formally_) May I congratulate you, Mr. Broxopp? - -JACK (_smiling_). Silly old ass! - -BROXOPP (_sitting on the sofa with him_). But this is wonderful news. -Why aren’t you more excited? (_Apologetically_) I mean as excited as -Eton and Oxford will permit? - -JACK. You do like her? - -BROXOPP. Certainly. She has a way of—a way of——Well, I can’t put it -into words, Jack, but she’s the only one of your friends who has told -me frankly that she doesn’t like my tie. The others try to convey the -impression that I’m not wearing a tie at all—that I am in Holy -Orders, or if not in Holy Orders, have a very large beard which—— -(_He indicates with his hand how such a beard would completely cover -his tie._) - -JACK. Well, but your tie is a bit—well, _you_ know, I mean frankly, -isn’t it? - -BROXOPP (_smiling_). Yes, but so am I a bit—well, _you_ know, I mean -frankly, isn’t it? If I hadn’t been, you would never have gone to Eton -and Oxford. But don’t think I don’t like Iris. I do—immensely. Well, -if you’re as happy together as Nancy and I have been, you’ll do. -Twenty-five years, Jack, and I always say that—— - -JACK. Good old Dad. She’s a ripper, isn’t she? - -BROXOPP. She’ll do you a lot of good. But tell me more about it. When -did you first discover that she was—a ripper? - -JACK. Oh, months ago, but we only fixed it up at that dance last -night. I pushed round this morning to see Sir Roger and talk things -over. He’s coming round for a pow-wow directly. - -BROXOPP. My boy married! And it seems only yesterday that your mother -and I were just beginning to keep house together, and there was no -Jack at all. - -JACK. Well, of course, it seems longer ago than that to me. - -BROXOPP (_looking at the picture_). “I am a Broxopp baby, are you?” -Perhaps one of these days there may be—— - -JACK. Steady on, Dad. You’re not going to talk to Iris like that, I -hope. - -BROXOPP (_with a laugh_). I shall be strictly proper and respectable, -my boy. Not a word shall escape my lips of which you would disapprove. - -JACK. You know what I mean. When a young girl has only just got -engaged, you don’t want to start talking about—— - -BROXOPP. Say no more. And so Sir Roger is coming round too, is he? - -JACK. Yes. - -BROXOPP. What does _he_ say about it? - -JACK (_knowing that it’s got to come now_). Well, that’s just it. You -see Iris and I—I mean he and I—well, of course I always thought -so—I mean I don’t want you to think that Iris—though naturally she -agrees with me—well, we think, I mean I think—oh, thank the -Lord—here _is_ Iris. - - (_IRIS comes in with NANCY—tall, cool, confident, with something - of the boy in her; utterly honest and unafraid. But even if you - don’t like these qualities, you forgive her because she is - lovely._) - -NANCY. Jack’s told you, Jim? - -BROXOPP. Yes, the rascal. Iris! (_He holds out his hands to her._) - -IRIS (_taking them_). Daddy Broxopp! Bend down. (_He bends towards her -and she kisses him gently on the forehead._) There! You don’t mind -being called Daddy Broxopp? Nancy doesn’t mind; I mean being called -Nancy. I’ve been talking it over with her, and she’s going to let me -call her Nancy because she’s so young and pretty. - -BROXOPP (_enjoying it_). And I’m not young and pretty? - -IRIS. No, you’re middle-aged and Broxoppy. It’s a nice thing to be. - -BROXOPP (_taking her hands again_). Thank you for thinking her young -and pretty. - -NANCY. I don’t feel very young, with a big son wanting to get married. - -IRIS. He? He’s only a baby. (_She blows a kiss to the picture._) - -JACK (_resigned_). Oh, Lord! - -BROXOPP. Well, Iris, if you’re as happy together as Nancy and I have -been, you’ll do. Twenty-five years we have been married, and I always -say that if it hadn’t been for Nancy—— - -NANCY (_stopping him_). Yes, dear. - -IRIS. If it hadn’t been for Nancy, there wouldn’t have been a Jack for -me to marry. - -BROXOPP (_joining in the general laughter_). Well, that’s true. And -what does Sir Roger say about it? (_The laughter stops suddenly. JACK -and IRIS look at each other._) Hullo, he does say something about it? - -NANCY. I think we’d better sit down, darling, and—— - - (_She leads the way to the sofa. They sit down._) - -BROXOPP. Well, what is it? Jack’s been trying to get something out for -the last five minutes. - -IRIS. Jack, you’re a coward. I wasn’t. I told Nancy. - -JACK. Oh, all right then.... Look here, Dad, you’ll think me a beast -for what I’m going to say, but I want you and Mother to understand -that it’s not just a sudden idea put into my head by—(_he looks at -IRIS and goes on_) by Sir Roger, but it’s what I’ve felt for years. - -BROXOPP. Well? - - (_NANCY takes his hand and presses it._) - -JACK. Well, then—I’m—I’m—— (_From the heart_) Well, I’m simply -_fed up_ with Broxopp’s Beans. - -BROXOPP (_surprised_). But you haven’t had them since you were a baby. - -JACK (_seeing the opening_). Haven’t had them? Have I ever stopped -having them? Weren’t they rammed down my throat at school till I was -sick of them? Did they ever stop pulling my leg about them at Oxford? -Can I go anywhere without seeing that beastly poster—a poster of -me—me, if you please—practically naked—telling everybody that I -love my Beans. Don’t I see my name—Broxopp, Broxopp, -Broxopp—everywhere in every size of lettering—on every omnibus, -on every hoarding; spelt out in three colours at -night—B-R-O-X-O-P-P—until I can hardly bear the sight of it. Free -bottles given away on my birthday, free holidays for Broxopp mothers -to celebrate my coming of age! I’m not a man at all. I’m just a living -advertisement of Beans. - -BROXOPP (_quietly_). I think that’s putting it a little too strongly, -Jack. - - (_NANCY presses his hand and strokes it gently._) - -JACK. I know it is, but that’s how I’ve felt sometimes. Of course I -know that if it hadn’t been for Broxopp, I’d be sitting on a high -stool and lucky to earn thirty bob a week. But you must see my side of -it, Dad. I want to paint. How can any one called Broxopp be taken -seriously as an artist? How can I make any sort of name with all those -Beans and babies overshadowing me and keeping me out of the light? I -don’t say I’m ever going to be a great painter, but how do I stand a -chance as things are? “Have you seen the new Broxopp?” What’s that -going to mean to anybody? Not that I’ve painted a picture, but that -you’ve brought out a new-sized bottle, or a full strength for -Invalids, or something. - -BROXOPP. I think you exaggerate, Jack. - -JACK. I know I do. But you can’t get over it that it’s going to be -pretty rotten for me. It’s always been rotten for _me_—and now it’s -going to be rotten for Iris. - -BROXOPP. Is it, Iris? You’d tell me the truth, I know. - -IRIS. I want to marry Jack, Daddy Broxopp. But I don’t want to marry -the Beans. I told Nancy so. - -NANCY (_to BROXOPP_). I do understand, dear. - -JACK. I don’t want you to think that Iris put this into my head. It’s -always been there. - -IRIS (_frankly_). I expect I brought it out, though. - -BROXOPP. And what does Sir Roger say about it? - -JACK. Sir Roger says that his grandson is not going to have a name -that every Tom, Dick and Harry gapes at on the hoardings. - -IRIS. I ought to explain that Jack wants to marry _me_, not Father’s -way of expressing himself. I told Father so. - -JACK. Still, you do see his—well, our point of view? Don’t you, Dad? - -NANCY. Oh yes, dear. - -BROXOPP. Certainly, my boy. - -JACK (_relieved_). Good man. I thought you would. - -BROXOPP (_getting up_). The only thing I’m wondering is whether there -is any chance of your seeing mine. - -JACK (_surprised_). Yours? - -BROXOPP (_on his own hearth—THE GREAT BROXOPP—but speaking -quietly_). I was educated at a Board school, Iris—I daresay you’ve -noticed it. I used to drop my aitches—I don’t think you’ve noticed -that—Nancy got me out of it. I wear funny clothes—partly because it -is in keeping with the name I have made for myself; partly, I daresay, -because I’ve got no taste. But, you see, at fourteen, the age at which -Jack went to Eton, I was earning my own living. I took a resolve then. -I told myself that one day I would make my name of Broxopp famous. I -made it famous. My name; Broxopp. Well, that’s all. That’s my point of -view. But don’t think I don’t see yours. - - (_IRIS looks at him wonderingly and then goes over and sits by - NANCY’S side._) - -IRIS. You must be very, very proud of him. - -NANCY. I am, dear; he knows it. - -JACK (_miserably_). Well, of course, when you talk like that, you only -make me feel an utter beast. - -IRIS (_with a sigh_). The only thing is that the utter beast feeling -might pass off. Whereas the feeling about Broxopp’s Beans never will. -It’s a rotten thing to say, but I expect it’s true. - - (_There is a moment’s silence, broken by the arrival of SIR ROGER - TENTERDEN. He is a magnificent-looking man, with a military - moustache and tight-fitting black tail-coat with a light - waistcoat. His manner is superb—the sort of manner that can - borrow a thousand pounds from anybody and leave the creditor with - the feeling that he has had a favour conferred upon him. He is an - intense egotist, although his company does not always realise it._ - - _The three BROXOPPS are distinctly overawed by him; JACK, of - course, less than the other two._) - -BENHAM (_enjoying it_). Sir Roger Tenterden! - - [_Exit BENHAM._ - -TENTERDEN. How do you do, Mrs.—ah—Broxopp? (_Metaphorically they all -stand to attention._) - -NANCY. How do you do, Sir Roger? - -TENTERDEN. How do, Broxopp? Ah, Jack—Iris. - -NANCY. Where will you sit, Sir Roger? - -TENTERDEN. Don’t trouble, I beg you. (_The best chair is ready for -him._) I shall be all right here. (_He sits down._) You will forgive -me for intruding upon you in the morning, but having just heard the -great news—well, we must congratulate each other—eh, Mrs. Broxopp? -(_He smiles pleasantly at her._) - -NANCY (_smiling too_). Indeed, we must. - -BROXOPP (_flattered_). That’s very good of you, Sir Roger. I need -hardly say how delighted I am that Jack and—er—your Iris should -have—— - -TENTERDEN. Quite so, quite so. Well, they’ve fixed it up between -themselves without consulting _us_, Mrs. Broxopp—quite right too, eh, -Iris?—eh, Jack?—(_he gives them his pleasant smile_)—but we old -people must come in at the end and have our say. Eh, Broxopp? - -BROXOPP. Very glad to talk over anything you like, Sir Roger. Of -course, I should give Jack a suitable allowance—— - -TENTERDEN (_holding up a protesting hand_). Ah, well—that—I have no -doubt whatever—I, too, would see that my daughter—but all that can -be arranged later. That goes without saying. But naturally there are -also other matters which will require to be discussed. I don’t know if -Jack—— - -IRIS. You mean about the Beans? I told Daddy Broxopp. - -TENTERDEN (_blankly_). You told—ah? - -IRIS. Daddy Broxopp. - -BROXOPP (_with a proud smile_). What she is pleased to call me, Sir -Roger. - -TENTERDEN. Oh—ah—yes. Quite so. Well there, we all understand the -position. (_With his pleasant smile_) That clears the ground, doesn’t -it, Mrs. Broxopp? - -NANCY. It’s much better to have things out. - -TENTERDEN. You put it admirably. It was with that purpose that I came -round this morning. Jack had given me a hint of his feelings -and—well, naturally, I had my feelings, too. It is a matter which, -after all, concerns me very closely. - -BROXOPP (_puzzled_). Yes? - -TENTERDEN. Surely, my dear Broxopp! Iris’s child, Jack’s child, would -be—_my_ grandson! - -IRIS. Father always looks well ahead. They have to in the City—don’t -they, Father? - -TENTERDEN (_kindly_). My dear Iris, we have to do many things in the -City, as Mr. Broxopp knows—— - -BROXOPP. Oh, I know nothing of your part of the City. I’m not a -financier. It’s no good coming to _me_ for a good investment. - -TENTERDEN (_with a bow_). Then may I hope that you will come to me if -ever you should want one? - -BROXOPP (_taken aback_). Thank you. It’s very good of you, Sir Roger. - -TENTERDEN. Not at all. But I was saying that we need not talk about -the City now. In all walks of life we have to look ahead. And I have -to ask myself this, Mrs. Broxopp. Is “Roger Broxopp” a desirable name -for—my grandson? - -IRIS (_to JACK_). Father’s got as far as the christening now. I shall -have another baby directly. - -JACK (_miserably_). I wish he wouldn’t. - -BROXOPP. I see your point of view, Sir Roger. Don’t think that I don’t -see it. - -TENTERDEN (_bowing_). That is very generous of you. And I think it is -important. There is—ah—a poster to which my attention has naturally -been called, saying—ah—“I am a Broxopp baby, are you?” I think—— -(_He looks enquiringly at BROXOPP._) - -BROXOPP. That’s right, Sir Roger. I thought of that twenty-five years -ago. Do you remember, Nancy? - -NANCY (_pressing his hand_). I remember, Jim. - -TENTERDEN. An excellent poster for its purpose, I have no doubt, -Mrs. Broxopp. An excellent picture, no doubt, of Master Jack at that -age. (_He smiles at JACK._) But seeing that all babies are pretty much -alike—— - -NANCY (_quickly_). Oh no! - -TENTERDEN (_with a charming bow_). Who would contradict a woman on -such a question? Let me say rather that since, to the undiscerning -male, all babies are alike, there would be the danger, the very -serious danger, that people might suppose the words beneath the -picture to have been uttered by—(_he pauses dramatically_) my -grandson! - -IRIS. Roger Broxopp. - -TENTERDEN. Exactly. A Broxopp baby. (_To BROXOPP_) Of course I am -saying nothing against the food, which is, I am sure, admirably suited -for its purpose. I am merely looking at the matter in the interests -of—my grandson. - -BROXOPP. Quite so, Sir Roger, quite so. You see that, Nancy? - -NANCY. Oh yes, dear. - -TENTERDEN. Well, my friend Jack has been talking it over with me. I -think we agree that for Mr. Broxopp to retire from the business—and I -am sure he has well earned his rest after all these years of strenuous -work—for him to retire and settle down in the country, would not -altogether meet the case. The name of Broxopp would continue with the -business—one could not get away from it. (_To BROXOPP_) I think I am -right in saying that? - -BROXOPP. Undoubtedly, Sir Roger. The name _is_ the business. - -TENTERDEN. That was my view. So our friend Jack and I think that -something more must be done. A question merely of another name. He -has suggested, my dear Mrs. Broxopp (_with a bow_), your name, -Chillingham. - -BROXOPP. I don’t quite understand. - -TENTERDEN. Merely that you should start your new life—freed from the -cares of business—as—ah—Chillingham. - -BROXOPP. Oh! - -IRIS (_to herself_). Roger Chillingham. - -TENTERDEN (_charmingly to NANCY_). A name I should be proud for my -grandson to bear. I seem to remember a Chillingham in the Coldstream -with me years ago. Are yours military people? - -NANCY (_eagerly_). Oh yes! My father was a sergeant-major in the -Wiltshires. - -TENTERDEN (_bearing it gallantly_). Ah! A younger branch, no doubt. -But it is a good name, Chillingham. After all, why should the wife -always take the husband’s name? Eh, Mrs. Broxopp? Why should not the -husband take the wife’s, the son take the mother’s.... Jack -Chillingham to Iris Tenterden. And a handsome couple, are they not? I -shall be proud of my grandson. - -IRIS (_amused, as always, by her father_). Say something, Jack. A few -words of thanks. - -TENTERDEN. You agree with me, Jack? - -JACK (_mumbling_). I’ve been telling Father. - -BROXOPP. Of course, I quite see your point of view, Sir Roger. Don’t -think that I don’t see it perfectly. _You_ see it, don’t you, Nancy? - -NANCY. Oh yes, dear. I should be very proud for you to take my name. -Just as I was very proud to take yours. - -TENTERDEN. Charmingly put, Mrs. Broxopp. But alas! It is no longer -your husband’s name. He has been too generous with it. He has given it -to the world. That is what I have to think of—for my grandson. (_He -gets up_) Well, Mrs. Broxopp, I have to thank you for listening to me -so courteously, and I need not tell you how glad I am that we see eye -to eye in this matter. Broxopp, we must have a talk some day in the -City. And if I can be of any assistance to you in the matter of your -investments, or in any other particular, pray regard me as entirely at -your service. - -BROXOPP. It’s very good of you, Sir Roger. - -TENTERDEN. Not at all. Jack, you’re dining with us to-night, I -understand. If you can spare him, Mrs. Broxopp. Well, I must get along -to the City. Busy times just now. Good-bye, and again my apologies for -interrupting your morning. - -NANCY. Good-bye, Sir Roger. (_She rings the bell._) - -TENTERDEN. Then I shall be seeing you one of these days, Broxopp. -Good-bye! (_He goes beautifully out._) - - (_There is silence after he has gone. The BROXOPPS are a little - overwhelmed._ - - _Then BROXOPP goes over to the fireplace, and stands with his back - to it. In this position he feels more like himself._) - -BROXOPP. Well, Jack? - - (_JACK says nothing. IRIS goes over to NANCY and sits beside - her._) - -IRIS. He’s a little overwhelming, isn’t he? But you get used to -it—and then you aren’t overwhelmed. - -NANCY. Iris! - -IRIS. Nancy thinks I’m too modern. She’s afraid that when we go out -together, everybody will say, “What a very fast creature -Mrs. Broxopp’s elder sister is!” - -BROXOPP. Mrs. Chillingham’s elder sister, isn’t it? - -IRIS. So it is, Daddy Chillingham. - -JACK (_getting firmly to his feet_). Look here, Dad, if you don’t -change yours, I don’t change mine. But if you think you have given the -Beans a good run for their money, and you like to sell out and settle -down in the country as Chillingham, well, I’ll say thank you. Iris and -I have got precious little right to ask it, and Sir Roger has got no -right at all—— - -IRIS (_rising and protesting in the TENTERDEN manner_). Surely, my -dear Broxopp, I have a right to consider—my grandson! - -JACK. Shut up, Iris, for a moment—no right at all, but—but I’ll -thank you. Only I’m not going to be Chillingham while you and Mother -are Broxopp. I’ve made up my mind about that. - -IRIS. And I’m not going to be Tenterden while all of you are -Chillingham. I’ve made up my mind about that. - -BROXOPP. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t keep on the business as -Chillingham? - -JACK (_doubtfully_). N—no. - -IRIS. As long as you make Jack a good allowance. - -JACK. Shut up, Iris. - -IRIS. Well, that’s what it comes to, darling. We may as well be honest -about it. - -NANCY (_to IRIS_). Don’t make it too hard for him. And, of course, Jim -will make him an allowance until his painting brings him in enough for -both of you. - -BROXOPP (_after a pause_). Jack, does Eton and Oxford allow you to -kiss Iris sometimes? - -IRIS. _I_ allow him to. - -BROXOPP. Well, there’s an empty drawing-room upstairs. You will -probably be interrupted by a gentleman called Benham. But if you tell -him you aren’t married to each other, he won’t mind. - -JACK (_awkwardly_). Oh, it’s all right—very decent of you, but—— - -IRIS (_getting up and taking him firmly by the arm_). Come along. - -JACK. Yes, but hadn’t we better—— - -IRIS. Jack, do you really think Daddy Broxopp is being tactful? - -JACK. Well, of course it’s—— - -IRIS. Oh, my dear, we aren’t the only pair of lovers in the house. -Can’t you see that _they_ want to be alone? - -JACK (_stuttering_). Oh—oh! (_She leads him away._) - -BROXOPP (_smiling_). She’ll teach you a lot, my boy. - -IRIS (_stopping beneath the picture with the unwilling JACK_). -Good-bye, Baby Broxopp! - - (_She blows a kiss to it and they go out. BROXOPP goes over to - his wife and sits on the sofa with her. She takes his hand._) - -NANCY. Darling, do you mind very much? - -BROXOPP. I wonder if Jack’s painting is ever going to come to -anything. - -NANCY. He must find that out for himself, mustn’t he? We can’t help -him. - -BROXOPP. Iris is a fine girl; I like a girl who tells the truth. - -NANCY (_smiling to herself_). I don’t think you’d have liked her to -write your advertisements. - -BROXOPP (_chuckling_). Well done, Nancy. You’ve got me there. - -NANCY. Say you liked me doing them. - -BROXOPP (_gravely_). I liked you doing them. I’ve liked everything -you’ve ever done for me.... All the same, Nancy, we _were_ truthful. -Artistically truthful. An artist is a man who knows what to leave out. -Did I say that in _Broxoppiana_? (_Remembering suddenly that there -will never be another edition_) Oh, well, it doesn’t matter now. - -NANCY. You won’t mind very much? We’ve had our time. It’s Jack’s time -now. - -BROXOPP. Yes, we’ve had our time. Twenty-five years. After all, we’ve -had the best of the fun, Nancy. Sir Roger is quite right about the -name. It has been a handicap to Jack—I can see it now. It mustn’t be -a handicap to Jack’s son. - -NANCY. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t keep on with the business -if you like. - -BROXOPP (_doubtfully_). I don’t think Sir Roger—— - -NANCY. But it’s for _you_ to decide. - -BROXOPP (_jumping up_). No, I’ll do the thing handsomely! You didn’t -marry a baronet, Nancy, an old county name, but there’s a Broxopp way -as well as a Tenterden way. I do my things the Broxopp way, and the -Great Broxopp is not the man for half-measures. We’ll make a clean -sweep of it all. We’ll rest—you and I together in the -country—Mr. and Mrs. Chillingham. You’ve given me everything, you -won’t mind giving me your name? - -NANCY (_entranced by him_). Jim, you _are_ the Great Broxopp! - -BROXOPP (_entranced by himself_). I am! (_He takes her hands and lifts -her out of the sofa._) Propose to me, Nancy! - -NANCY (_shyly_). Jim, I love you; will you marry me and live with me -in the country and take my name? - -BROXOPP. I will. (_He kisses her, puts her back in the sofa and goes -to the telephone. It is good-bye now to the Beans._) Central 99199.... -Hullo, is Mr. Morris in? Broxopp speaking ... _Broxopp_ speaking.... -Good heavens, haven’t you ever heard the name of Broxopp before? For -the last time—(_he looks up at NANCY_) for the last time, -Nancy—(_down the telephone very firmly_) Broxopp speaking! - - - - -ACT III - - -SCENE: _The big hall in the country place which MR. CHILLINGHAM (né -BROXOPP) has bought. Through the open front doors can be seen a hint -of the drive and the park beyond. It was JACK who chose it, and he has -done the GREAT BROXOPP rather well; there was no such view from that -third floor in Bloomsbury._ - -_It is about four o’clock in the afternoon. Hidden away in a big -arm-chair sits NORAH FIELD, deep in a book. She is about twenty, wears -a very short tweed skirt and very serviceable country shoes, has very -decided opinions, and no hesitation at all about expressing them. -RONNY DERWENT comes in. RONNY is also twenty, but younger than NORAH, -and with no views on life other than that one’s hair ought to be kept -well down. Without seeing NORAH, he rings the bell, and lights a -cigarette while waiting for BENHAM to attend to him._ - - _Enter BENHAM_ - - * * * * * - -RONNY. Oh, I want a whisky and soda, please, Benham. - -BENHAM. Yes, sir. - -NORAH (_from her chair_). You don’t really want one, Ronny. - -RONNY. Good Lord! I didn’t know you were there. - -NORAH. Mr. Derwent won’t have a whisky and soda, Benham; you can get -him a glass of water if he’s thirsty. - -RONNY. Look here, Norah—— (_She looks at him, and he ends up -weakly_) Oh, very well. - -BENHAM. Will you have the glass of water, sir? - -RONNY (_sulkily_). No, thanks. - -BENHAM. Thank you, sir. - - [_BENHAM goes out._ - -RONNY. I didn’t know you were here, Norah. All the same, I don’t know -why I shouldn’t have a drink if I want one. - -NORAH. I can’t stand the way you children are always wanting to drink. -You’ve done nothing to make you thirsty. - -RONNY. If you knew a bit more, you’d know that it’s doing nothing that -makes you thirsty. Talk to me and I’ll struggle on without it. What -are you reading? - -NORAH. Nobody you’ve ever heard of, Ronny. A man called Meredith. - -RONNY. Oh! Any good? - -NORAH (_looking at him with a smile_). In his way. A different way -from the _Winning Post_, you know. - -RONNY (_wanting to be fair_). Oh, well, there’s no accounting for -tastes. Now, what do you think I found old man Chillingham reading -last night? - -NORAH (_returning to her book_). Don’t know. - -RONNY. _Broxoppiana_. Ever heard of it? - -NORAH. I’ve seen it on the bookstalls. - -RONNY. _Broxoppiana_. That’s the name of the heroine, I suppose. And -no better than she should be, if you ask _me_, because, when old man -Chillingham saw I was looking, he slipped the book into his pocket and -pretended to be very busy over another one. - -NORAH. And I suppose you looked over his shoulder and found out what -that one was too? - -RONNY. Well, if you want to know, I didn’t. I knew what it was -without looking over his shoulder. It was _The Science of Dry Fly -Fishing_. Old man Chillingham trying to be a sportsman in his old age. - -NORAH (_shutting her book_). I think you had better have that whisky -and soda, Ronny; at any rate, it will prevent you trying to discuss -your host with another of his guests. - -RONNY. Rot, old girl. Jack’s my host. - -NORAH. This is not Jack’s house. - -RONNY. Then why did Iris write to me as if it was? “Dear Ronny, do -come and spend a few days with us.—Yours sincerely, Iris -Chillingham.” How’s that, eh? - -NORAH (_patiently_). It is Mr. Chillingham’s house, but -Mrs. Chillingham has been away for a few weeks. So Iris is playing -hostess. I happened to mention that I had a disreputable little -boy-cousin called Ronald Derwent, and she very kindly—— - -RONNY. Not so much of it, Norah. I knew Iris before you did, and I -knew Jack as soon as you did. And if it’s old man Chillingham’s house, -all I can say is that old man Chillingham has got a pretty taste in -claret. - -NORAH. Really, Ronny, to hear you talk about claret, anybody would -think that you were grown up. Whereas we all know what you do with -your threepence a week every Saturday. Pear-drops, my lad, pear-drops. - -RONNY (_grimly_). Very well, Norah, you’ve done for yourself. - - (_He seizes a cushion and advances upon her. She jumps out of the - chair and runs to the other side of the hall, picking up a cushion - on the way._) - -NORAH. You’ll get your hair ruffled if you aren’t careful. - -RONNY. You’ll be lucky if you have any hair left by the time I’ve -finished with you. (_He hurls a cushion at her._) - -NORAH. Oh, rotten shot! - - (_He goes to the sofa to get more cushions, and dodges behind it - as she flings hers at him. They are interrupted by BENHAM, who is - crossing the hall with whisky and papers for SIR ROGER._) - -RONNY (_who is about to throw a cushion_). All right, Benham. You go -on. - -BENHAM (_politely_). After you, sir. (_The cushion whizzes past his -head at NORAH_) Thank you, sir. - - (_He goes on to the morning-room. By the time that he returns the - combatants have disappeared, leaving most of their ammunition - behind them. As he crosses by the window, BROXOPP is seen - approaching from the outside. BROXOPP is now the complete country - gentleman, with fishing outfit. But he looks unhappy in his new - clothes, and he is not the BROXOPP he was._) - -BROXOPP. Ah, Benham. - -BENHAM (_taking his things_). Any sport, sir? - -BROXOPP. No.... That is to say, _I_ didn’t have any. I can’t speak for -the fish. They may have enjoyed it. - -BENHAM. I’ve heard gentlemen say that it can be a very attractive -recreation, even when (_he looks into the obviously empty basket_)—as -in this case, sir. - -BROXOPP. To a man who really enjoys fishing—as I am told I do—no -doubt that is so. - -BENHAM. Yes, you’re quite an enthusiast, sir. - -BROXOPP. So they assure me, Benham. Golf is another pastime to -which—I understand—I am devoted. (_He looks in astonishment at the -disordered hall, with its overturned chairs and scattered cushions_) -Has anything been happening? - -BENHAM (_as he begins to restore the place to order_). Nothing at all -out of the way, sir. - -BROXOPP. Oh! - -BENHAM. Quite a feature of the best country-house life, sir, as you -might say. The younger members of the party are often extremely -partial to it. In this case, sir, Mr. Derwent and Miss Field were -letting off their high spirits with a few cushions. It brought back -the old castle days very pleasurably, sir. - -BROXOPP. Yes.... Yes.... They come back, the old days, don’t they, -Benham? - -BENHAM. They do, indeed, sir. - -BROXOPP (_with a sigh_). Yes. Mrs. Chillingham has not arrived yet, I -suppose? - -BENHAM. No, sir. Is she expected back this afternoon? - -BROXOPP. Of course she is. The 4.10. (_Looking at his watch_) I -suppose the train was late. Didn’t Mr. Jack tell you about sending in -the car? - -BENHAM. I have not had any instructions myself, sir, but no doubt he -informed Rogers. He was down at the stables after lunch with -Mr. Derwent. - -BROXOPP. Ah, yes.... Well, I’ll go and wash. (_He moves off._) - -BENHAM. Thank you, sir. - - [_He goes out._ - - (_BROXOPP is still in the hall, putting a cushion or two straight, - when RONNY comes back, his hair rather rumpled._) - -RONNY. Hullo! Any luck? - -BROXOPP (_wishing to be fair to the sport_). Compared with -yesterday—yes. - -RONNY. What happened yesterday? - -BROXOPP. I fell in. - -RONNY (_tittering_). Bad luck. I’m not frightfully keen on fishing -myself—I prefer golf. We’re having a foursome after tea; I expect -you’d rather practise by yourself, wouldn’t you? - -BROXOPP. Thank you, I shall not be playing golf after tea to-day. - -RONNY. I thought you were so frightfully keen. Jack said so. - -BROXOPP. Ah, well, Jack would know. But, you see, Mrs. Chillingham -will be here directly—— - -RONNY (_surprised_). Oh, is she coming back? - -BROXOPP (_nodding_). Yes. She has been away three weeks now, staying -in London with her sister. She’ll be glad to get back. She is very -fond of the country, you know. And this house. - -RONNY (_kindly_). Well, it isn’t half a bad place really. I don’t know -what the shooting’s like. - -BROXOPP. Very good, Jack’s friends tell me.... Well, I must go and -wash, if you will excuse me, Mr. Derwent. - -RONNY (_with a nod_). Righto. - - [_BROXOPP goes out._ - - (_RONNY lights a cigarette and goes across to the billiard-room - door and opens it._) - -RONNY. Good Lord, haven’t you finished yet? - -JACK (_from inside_). This very minute as ever is. - - (_IRIS and JACK come out together_) - -RONNY. Who won? - -IRIS. Jack gave me twenty-five and—— My dear Ronny, what _have_ you -been doing to your hair? - -RONNY (_looking at himself in the glass—horrified_). Good Lord, I -oughtn’t to be seen like this. - - [_He hurries out._ - -JACK. It’s all right, we won’t tell anybody. I suppose I was as young -as Ronny once, but it must have been a long time ago. (_He goes to the -bell and rings it_) Shall we have tea in here? - -IRIS. If you like. - -JACK. I suppose Dad isn’t back yet.... Oh, Lord! - -IRIS. What is it, darling? Have you been bad? - -JACK. I’m a blessed idiot. - - _Enter BENHAM._ - -BENHAM. Yes, sir? - -JACK. Benham, is any one meeting the 4.10? - -BENHAM. I have given no instructions in the matter myself, sir. - -IRIS. Jack, do you mean to say that nobody is meeting Nancy? - -JACK. Kick me if you like, darling. It’s my fault entirely. (_Looking -at his watch_) Send the car at once, Benham. It will probably be too -late, but it can bring the luggage along. - -BENHAM. Yes, sir. Rogers informs me that he only requires the level -five minutes when meeting trains—unhampered, as you might say. - -JACK (_to IRIS_). I’m afraid she’ll walk through the -woods, you know. (_To BENHAM_) We’ll have tea in here. - -BENHAM. Yes, sir. - [_Exit BENHAM._ - -IRIS. Jack, you _have_ been bad. - -JACK. After all, darling, it’s only a mile by the short way, and it’s -a jolly afternoon. There won’t be anything about it in the papers. - -IRIS (_shaking her head at him_). Oh, Jack! (_She sits on the arm of -his chair_) Jack, don’t you think it’s time we had a house of our own? -This has been very jolly for a few months, but—you _do_ want to get -started on your work, don’t you? - -JACK. Of course I do, sweetheart. Only, we can’t begin till we get the -studio, can we? - -IRIS. London’s full of studios, lazy one. - -JACK. Yes, but you don’t realise how important it is to an artist to -get the exact surroundings. Now that we’ve found _the_ studio in -_all_ London, and the man who’s in it happens to be leaving in six -months, it’s absurd to go looking about for another. It’s simply a -question of waiting. - -IRIS. Six months? - -JACK. Well, if we’re lucky, he might die suddenly.... You should read -your Bible more. Moses, or somebody, said that no husband ought to do -any work for a year after he’s married. I quite agree with him. -(_Playing with her hair_) Did I ever tell you that I much prefer your -hair to the stuff you see hanging in shop windows in Bond Street? - -IRIS (_softly_). Do you? - -JACK. It’s all fastened on quite naturally, isn’t it? - -IRIS. I think it must be. - -JACK. Wonderful hair.... Did I ever tell you that I like your eyes -much better than the ones you see lying about in fishmongers’ shops -next to the ice? - -IRIS (_smiling_). Do you? - -JACK. They’ve got so much more expression.... Did I ever tell you—— -Hullo, here’s tea. (_BENHAM comes in_) Has the car gone, Benham? - -BENHAM. Yes, sir. - -JACK. Good. Let’s hope the train’s late. - -BENHAM (_arranging the tea_). I’m afraid it is not very likely, sir. I -remember His Grace once commenting on the curious fact that, whenever -one particularly wished a train to be late, it was invariably -punctual. - -JACK. His Grace seems to have been a highly original thinker. - -BENHAM. Yes, sir, he was very well tolerated in the family. - -JACK. Well, this must seem rather a holiday for you after the -intellectual life at the Castle. You must make the most of it, -Benham. - -BENHAM. Thank you, sir. - -IRIS. Is Mr. Chillingham back yet? - -BENHAM. Yes, madam. He will be down directly. Sir Roger is engaged in -the morning-room, madam, with the financial papers, and will not -require tea. - -IRIS. Thank you. - -BENHAM. Thank you, madam. - [_He goes out._ - -IRIS. I wonder what Father’s up to now? - -JACK (_carelessly_). Losing Dad’s money for him, I expect. - -IRIS (_seriously_). Jack, you don’t really mean that? - -JACK (_laughing_). Of course not, darling. What’s the matter with -giving me some tea? We needn’t wait for Dad. (_To NORAH and RONNY as -they come in_) Come along. You’re just in time.... Ah, now you look -quite nice again, Ronny. - - (_They all sit round the tea-things._) - -IRIS. What had you been doing to him, Norah? - -NORAH. I told him he wasn’t grown-up yet, and he tried to prove he was -by throwing cushions at me. - -JACK. That’s a nasty one, Ronny. You’ll have to write to your -solicitors about that. - -RONNY. Now, look here, I don’t want any more of it, Norah. I’m older -than you, anyway. And Jack and Iris aren’t exactly bald yet.... What -about that foursome after tea? - -IRIS (_doubtfully_). Well, I’m not quite sure if I—— - -RONNY. If you’re thinking about Mr. Chillingham, he doesn’t want to -play. I asked him. - -IRIS (_relieved_). Oh well, then, that’s all right. He wants to wait -for Nancy, I expect. Bless them! - -NORAH. I’m not at all sure that I approve of this old-fashioned -sentiment about married life. - -JACK. I say, this is rather alarming. - - (_BROXOPP comes in, and stands waiting, awkwardly._) - -NORAH. Women will never be properly free—— - -RONNY (_offering plate_). Oh, Lord! have a bun! - -NORAH (_taking one_) ——until it is recognised that marriage—— - -JACK (_seeing BROXOPP_). Hullo, Dad, what luck? - -BROXOPP (_sitting in an uncomfortable chair a little way from the -table_). Ah, tea. - -JACK. Fish rising? - -BROXOPP. They may have risen, Jack, but if so they went back again. -(_Looking at his watch_) The train’s very late. She ought to have been -here by now. - -IRIS. There was some mistake about the car, dear. She will be here -directly. (_She gives BROXOPP his tea._) - -BROXOPP. Thank you, thank you. - -NORAH. I was just saying, Mr. Chillingham, that women will never be -properly free until it is recognised that marriage is only an -intellectual partnership in which both the contracting parties have -equal rights. Of course, I can hardly expect you to agree with me. - -BROXOPP (_looking blankly at her_). I’m afraid I—— - -RONNY. Agree with you? I should think not, indeed. If you knew a -little more about the world—— - -NORAH. My dear Ronny, the only world that _you_ know is bounded on the -north by Newmarket, on the south by the Savoy, on the east by the -Empire, and on the west by the _Winning Post_. - -IRIS. You’ll have to write to your solicitors again, Ronny. - -JACK. I say, Norah, you mustn’t say things like that without warning. -Must she, Dad? Bread and butter? (_He offers the plate to BROXOPP, who -takes a piece._) - -BROXOPP (_bewildered_). I’m afraid I hardly——Thank you. - -IRIS. Was that original, Norah? - -NORAH. Perfectly. Why not? I suppose Jack thinks that all the clever -things must be said by men. I don’t know what you feel about it, -Mr. Chillingham—— - -BROXOPP. I—er—— - -JACK. Then, all I can say is, that you must have bribed Ronny to lead -up to it. - -IRIS. They might go on at the Palladium as “Ronald and Norah,” Ronald -leaning over the piano in white gloves. - -JACK. Norah in a smile and shoulder-straps threatening to return to -Dixie. - -NORAH (_to BROXOPP_). This, Mr. Chillingham, is the marriage of -intellect on an equal basis, which I was advocating just now. - -BROXOPP. You—er—were advo——? - -JACK. Ronny, it’s _your_ turn to say something brilliant. - -RONNY. No, thanks, I’ll leave that to Norah’s husband. When they are -living in intellectual companionship together, they can fire off -epigrams at each other all day long. What a life! Don’t you agree with -me, Mr. Chillingham? Have another bun, won’t you? (_He takes one -himself._) - -BROXOPP. Miss Field was talking about the marriage of intellects. I -remember. (_To RONNY with the bun plate_) No, thank you. - -NORAH. Don’t eat too many, Ronny. We’ve got to beat them afterwards, -you know. You’re not playing, Mr. Chillingham? - -BROXOPP. No, I think I—— - -JACK. Beat us, indeed! I should like to see you do it. - -RONNY. Well, you will, Jack, old boy. - -IRIS (_to BROXOPP_). You’ll want to wait for Nancy; won’t you, dear? - -RONNY. Do play if you’d like to, you know. Of course, it will dish the -foursome rather. - -BROXOPP. Thank you, Mr. Derwent, but I shall be waiting for -Mrs. Chillingham. - -NORAH. I was saying just now, Mr. Chillingham, that I don’t altogether -approve of married people—— - -JACK. Help! She’s leading up to her epigram again. - -BROXOPP. Yes, Miss Field? You were saying——? - -RONNY. I say, don’t encourage her; we’ve had it all once. (_To IRIS, -as he gets up_) Are you ready? - -IRIS. I think so; aren’t we, Jack? (_To BROXOPP_) Will you have some -more tea, dear? - -BROXOPP. Not now, thank you, Iris. I’ll wait for Nancy. - -JACK (_finishing his tea_). I say, what’s the hurry? I’ve only just -begun. - -RONNY. Rot. Come on. - -IRIS (_getting up_). I’ll have half-a-crown on it, Norah. - -NORAH. Done. - -RONNY. You, too, Jack? - -JACK. Rather! - -RONNY. Good man! What about Mr. Chillingham? Care to bet against us? -I’ll give you five to four as you’re a friend. - -BROXOPP. No, I think not, thank you, Mr. Derwent. - -RONNY. Perhaps you’re wise. You wouldn’t have a chance. (_To the -others_) Come along. - -IRIS. Benham will make you some fresh tea, dear. Give Nancy a special -kiss from me. - -BROXOPP. Thank you, Iris, I will. - -NORAH (_at the door_). The whole question of kissing seems to me—— - -RONNY. Oh, come off it. (_He drags her away._) - -JACK. Cheer-oh, Dad! You and Mother might come along and watch us if -you’ve nothing better to do. (_To RONNY, in front_) All right, we’re -coming. - - [_They go out._ - - (_Left alone, BROXOPP rings the bell, and then sits down in rather - a bewildered way._) - - _BENHAM comes in._ - -BROXOPP. We shall want some fresh tea for Mrs. Chillingham when she -comes in. - -BENHAM. Yes, sir. I think I saw her just coming through the -rose-garden, sir. - -BROXOPP (_jumping up and going to the door_). Coming through the—you -don’t mean to say that—— Why, Nancy! (_He brings her in_) Benham, -get that fresh tea at once! - -BENHAM (_going to tea-table_). Yes, sir. - -NANCY. How are you, Benham? Isn’t it nice to be back! Yes, I should -like some tea, please. And you had better send the car for my luggage. - -BROXOPP. Your luggage? You don’t mean—— - -BENHAM. The car has gone, madam. - -NANCY. Ah, that’s right. - - [_BENHAM goes out._ - -BROXOPP (_horrified_). Nancy, you weren’t _met_? - -NANCY. No, darling. I suppose there was some mistake. - -BROXOPP (_throwing up his hands in despair_). I thought I could leave -that much to Jack. Well, let’s have a look at you. (_He holds her at -arms’ length_) And they forgot all about you! - -NANCY. Oh, but I enjoyed my walk, you know. The woods, Jim! You never -saw anything like them just now. - -BROXOPP. Oh, well, nothing matters now you’re here. (_He kisses her._) -Do you know Miss Norah Field, Nancy? - -NANCY. I expect she was at the wedding, wasn’t she? Iris told me she -wanted to ask her here. Is she nice? - -BROXOPP (_kissing her again_). She doesn’t approve of kissing. - -NANCY (_sitting down at the tea-table_). Perhaps she’s never tried. -(_Enter BENHAM._) Tea! how nice! You must have it with me, Jim. - -BROXOPP (_firmly_). I’m going to. - -BENHAM. Is there anything more, madam? - -NANCY. No, thank you. Are you quite well, Benham? - -BENHAM. Yes, thank you, madam. Pretty well, considering. - -NANCY. That’s right. - - [_BENHAM goes out._ - - (_As soon as they are alone NANCY blows BROXOPP a kiss, and then - pours out tea._) - -NANCY. Well, how has everybody been getting on without me? - -BROXOPP (_tapping his chest_). Me? - -NANCY. You, and everybody. I suppose Sir Roger is still here? - -BROXOPP. Oh yes. - -NANCY. Well, all of you. Have you been very lonely without me? - -BROXOPP. Very. - -NANCY. The one letter I had from Iris seemed to say that you were all -enjoying yourselves very much. What have _you_ been doing? You didn’t -tell me much about yourself. - -BROXOPP. Oh, fishing, golf—all the usual things. Talking to Jack and -his friends. (_Grimly_) They are wonderful talkers. - -NANCY (_proudly_). So are you, Jim. - -BROXOPP (_shaking his head_). The world is getting too quick for me. -When I talk I like to finish what I have to say. I never seem to have -a chance now.... But never mind about me. Tell me about yourself. -How’s old London looking? - -NANCY (_smiling_). Just the same.... Where do you think I was -yesterday? - -BROXOPP (_excitedly_). Broxopp’s? - -NANCY (_shaking her head_). No—but not far wrong. Bloomsbury way. - -BROXOPP. Number 26? - -NANCY. Yes! I happened to be that way, and I thought I’d go past the -door, and there was a board up on the third floor, so I went in and -asked to look over the rooms—pretended I was just married. There they -were, just the same—and I did wish you had been with me. - -BROXOPP (_with a laugh_). We’ve climbed a bit since those days. - -NANCY. We always knew we should, didn’t we? - -BROXOPP. And I began as an errand-boy at fourteen! Let Mr. Ronny -Derwent beat that if he can! - -NANCY. I’m sure Mr. Ronny Derwent couldn’t. - -BROXOPP (_casually_). And you didn’t happen to look in at Broxopp’s at -all? - -NANCY. Oh no. I don’t suppose anybody would have known me. - -BROXOPP (_eagerly_). Old Carter would—I suppose he’s still there. -They wouldn’t get rid of Carter. He always used to remember how you -came up the first day we opened the office, and I’d had lunch sent -in—do you remember?—and a bottle of champagne. The first champagne -you’d ever had—do you remember, Nancy?—and how frightened you were -when the cork came out? - -NANCY (_gently_). I remember, Jim. - -BROXOPP. I thought perhaps you might just have passed by outside—on -your way somewhere. (_Wistfully_) I suppose you still see the -same—the same advertisements everywhere? Have we—have they got any -new ones? - -NANCY. I didn’t notice any. - -BROXOPP (_nodding his head_). They can’t do better than the old ones. -(_After a pause_) Of course, there are new ideas—(_he gets up and -walks about_)—there was one I was thinking of this morning when I was -out—nothing to do with me now—I just happened to think of it. (_He -is carried away by it as he goes on_) I don’t know if you’ve ever seen -a man drawing on a film—you see a few lines first, which mean -nothing, and then gradually it begins to take shape. Well, you’d have -your posters like that—altering every week. A large poster with just -a few meaningless lines on it. Everybody would wonder what it meant. -They’d all talk about it. Next week a curve here and there, a bit of -shading somewhere. People get more and more interested. What is -coming? And so it goes on. And then, in the last week, the lines all -join together, some of them become writing, you see “BROXOPP’S”—— -(_He breaks off, pulls himself together, and says casually_) The idea -just came to me this morning when I was out. Of course, it’s nothing -to do with me now. (_He gives a little laugh and sits down again._) - -NANCY (_who has been listening raptly_). It’s a wonderful idea. - -BROXOPP (_pleased_). Not bad, is it? (_With an effort_) However, -that’s nothing to do with it, now. - -NANCY (_with a sigh_). No, not now. - -BROXOPP. And how did you leave Emily? - -NANCY. Oh, she was very well. She sent her love to you. - -BROXOPP. That’s good. And did you bring me an evening paper? - -NANCY (_smiling_). Of course I did. (_She takes it out of her bag_) -Knowing what a baby you are. - -BROXOPP (_apologetically_). There’s something about an evening -paper—— You know, Nancy, I think I miss my evening paper more than -anything. (_He opens it_) So much more happens in an evening paper. Of -course, this is an early edition.... And so Emily was well, was she? -That’s good. - -NANCY. They’d had rather a fright about their money. There was a -Building Society—I forget its name—all the advertisements said it -was a wonderful investment—— - -BROXOPP. They didn’t put their money into it? - -NANCY. They were just going to when—— - -BROXOPP. That’s all right. Because here you are—in the Stop Press -News. (_Reading_) “Great City Failure. Collapse of Excelsior Building -Society.” Was that the one? - -NANCY. Jim! (_Trying to remember_) Excelsior—no, I don’t think—— -Well, it doesn’t matter, because they didn’t put their money in, -anyhow. A friend warned them—— - -BROXOPP. Funny how everybody thinks he can make money in the City -without working for it. People used to say to me, “You’re a business -man.” I used to say, “I’m not a business man. I’m an artist. I have -large ideas. I _employ_ business men.” Same way I employ Sir Roger. He -knows; I don’t. I am above all that. - -NANCY. I’ve been thinking about Sir Roger. _Does_ he know? - -BROXOPP (_a little alarmed_). What do you mean, Nancy? - -NANCY. Of course, he’s quite honest, but I think sometimes we’ve been -rather foolish in letting him have so much to say in the investing of -your money. I suppose you keep an eye on things for yourself, Jim? - -BROXOPP (_hastily_). Yes, yes, of course I do.... He is a little -difficult to—er—I mean he _has_ rather a way with him, which—— But -I must certainly go into things with him. You’re quite right, Nancy. -I’m not going to let Sir Roger or any one else play ducks and drakes -with the money which _I_ earned. - -NANCY. The money on which we were going to retire so happily. - -BROXOPP (_with a sigh_). Yes! - -NANCY (_with a sigh_). Yes! (_They are silent for a little._) No more -anxieties, no more hard work. Just a happy, quiet life, all the day to -yourself, doing whatever you liked. - -BROXOPP (_less heartily_). Er—yes. Yes. - -NANCY. Fishing—— - -BROXOPP (_doing his best_). Yes. - -NANCY. Golf—— - -BROXOPP (_looking at her and looking away again_). Yes. - -NANCY. Talking to Jack’s friends—(_BROXOPP doesn’t exactly say -anything_) enjoying yourself from morning till night. - -BROXOPP. You, too, Nancy. A house always full of people—plenty of -servants to look after—bazaars to open—society—— - -NANCY (_with a sigh_). Yes! - - (_They are silent again. Then BROXOPP—sure that they are - alone—brings his chair a little nearer to Nancy’s._) - -BROXOPP. You know, Nancy, sometimes I have hoped—I mean, I have -thought—that perhaps Sir Roger—that perhaps he is being a little -reckless—a little foolish—that perhaps—— - -NANCY (_eagerly_). Oh, Jim! Do you think he is? - -BROXOPP. Supposing he came to me and said, “The fact is, Brox”—I mean -Chillingham—“the fact is, Chillingham, things haven’t turned out -quite as I expected, and—er—we have had losses.” I should say, -“That’s all right, Sir Roger, I don’t blame you; you have done your -best.” And even if it meant giving up the house, and—— - -NANCY. And the fishing, and the golf—— - -BROXOPP. Er—exactly. I shouldn’t reproach him. - -NANCY. No, dear. - -BROXOPP (_drawing his chair still closer and speaking eagerly_). -Suppose we found that we only had £1000 a year left—I mean after we’d -provided for Jack and Iris—— - -NANCY (_surprised_). A thousand? - -BROXOPP. Well, six hundred. I’m only supposing. Six hundred. Enough -for just a little house—well, where shall we say? I—I don’t think -the country, do you? - -NANCY. Well, of course, I _do_ like the country, Jim, but—— - -BROXOPP. The worst of the country is that people will come and stay -with you. One is never alone. - -NANCY. Yes.... And you _must_ have your evening paper. - -BROXOPP (_with a shrug_). Oh, well.... Now, I thought of a little -house, Streatham way, as it might be. You’re in touch with -everything—you get the papers—you have neighbours who don’t come and -live with you, but drop in when you want them—you can get to London -easily, and yet, at the same time—— Or Norwood, say. - -NANCY. Norwood, yes. - -BROXOPP. I daresay I should join the Borough Council. I’ve no doubt I -could give them a few ideas—— - -NANCY. Of course you could. - -BROXOPP. I daresay it isn’t often they have an artist on the Borough -Council. And then there would be a Norwood Literary and Debating -Society, no doubt. They might care about a lecture on modern methods -of advertising, or something of the sort—a reading from -_Broxoppiana_, maybe—one way and another there would be plenty to -occupy us. What do you say, Nancy? - -NANCY (_thoughtfully_). I think perhaps £800 a year would be safer. - -BROXOPP. Well, we should want a couple of servants, I suppose. You -could manage with a couple? - -NANCY. Oh yes! - -BROXOPP. Say £80 a year for the rent—with a bit of a garden—you’d -like that, wouldn’t you?—rates, taxes, say another—— - - (_But at this moment, when they are just moving into the house, - SIR ROGER comes in. In some confusion, the BROXOPPS get to their - feet._) - -TENTERDEN. Ah, Mrs. Chillingham, so you’re back! Welcome home! - -NANCY. How do you do, Sir Roger? - -TENTERDEN. A pleasant visit, I hope? - -NANCY. Very, thank you. But I’m glad to be home again. - -TENTERDEN. With so beautiful a house, who would not? - -BROXOPP. Oh, we’re very comfortable here—aren’t we, Nancy? - -NANCY. I’ve always liked the country.... Have you had tea, Sir Roger? - -TENTERDEN. Yes, yes, thank you, all I want. Been busy all day, -Mrs. Chillingham. A great nuisance, business, on a day like this. And -when there is so much that is attractive all around one. And there’s -your lucky husband—no cares at all—goes off fishing—— By the way, -Chillingham, what luck? - -BROXOPP (_carelessly_). Oh, about the usual.... Er—I was—er—wanting -to talk to you, Sir Roger, about—er— - -TENTERDEN. My dear friend, by all means. - -NANCY (_preparing to go_). Well, I must take off my things. And you -can talk business together. But don’t keep him too long, Sir Roger, -because I want him. - - (_TENTERDEN is moving politely to the door, but BROXOPP does not - move._) - -BROXOPP (_with a smile_). You’re my business partner, Nancy. I’ve no -secrets from you. If you don’t mind, Sir Roger? - -TENTERDEN. It is just as Mrs. Chillingham wishes. - -NANCY. You can always tell me afterwards, Jim. - -BROXOPP. Nonsense, we may want your help. (_To TENTERDEN_) I remember -once putting a little money into a mine, which a friend had spoken -well of. My wife was very much against it—do you remember, Nancy? She -said that it would be much safer in the bank. Well, she was quite -right. - -NANCY (_sitting down again_). Of course I was. (_With a smile of -remembrance_) But do you remember what fun we had watching the papers -to see whether it went up or down? - -BROXOPP. Yes ... it went down. - -TENTERDEN. Ah, what mine was that? - -BROXOPP. Oh, I really forget now. Some Welsh gold-mine, I believe. - -TENTERDEN. Yes. I think I could have given you a word of warning about -Welsh gold-mines, Chillingham, if you had consulted me. - -BROXOPP. This was long before we had the pleasure of knowing you, Sir -Roger. - -TENTERDEN. Ah, a pity, a pity! - -NANCY. That’s why we’re so glad to have your help now. I should never -have trusted Jim with all the money he got from Broxopp’s Beans. - -TENTERDEN (_wincing at the hated word_). All the money he—ah—retired -with. Yes. Well, I hope, Chillingham, I really hope that we shall be -able to do something for you before very long. - -BROXOPP. Well, I left it to you, Sir Roger. But naturally I like to -know how things are going on. How are those oil shares? - -TENTERDEN. Oil! Oil! Ah yes! Well, we have lost a little there. (_With -a charming smile_) You know how it is, Mrs. Chillingham. One loses a -little here, and picks up a little more there.... Yes, I have been -disappointed over the oil. - -NANCY. I always think that something safe, however little interest it -pays, is—is safest. - -TENTERDEN. Safer than losing it, my dear Mrs. Chillingham—all women -will agree with you there—but not so pleasant as winning a little -more. Your husband sold his business at an unfortunate time. Our hand -was forced; we had to sell; we had to take the price they offered. -Naturally your husband felt that a little speculation before -investing—— And had it come off—— - -BROXOPP (_sharply_). Had it come off, you say? - -TENTERDEN. Exactly. As you know, my dear Chillingham, one loses a -little here and picks up a little there. In the end, one finds that -one has picked up a good deal more than one has lost. If one knows the -ropes, Mrs. Chillingham. - -BROXOPP (_fiercely_). How much of my money have you lost? - -TENTERDEN (_gently_). I think, Chillingham, that that is hardly the -way to put it. I am not (_with a bow_) an absconding solicitor. - -NANCY. (_To JIM_) Dear one! - -BROXOPP. I beg your pardon, Sir Roger. But I understood—— - -TENTERDEN (_beautifully_). My dear Chillingham, of course, of course. -I will let you have a note of your investments this evening. Naturally -you will wish to conduct your business yourself in the future, or to -take other advice. - -NANCY. Oh, but I’m sure Jim didn’t mean to suggest—— - -TENTERDEN (_smiling_). That I was a knave? No, hardly. But that I was -a fool! Eh, Chillingham? Oh, I think so. I think so. - -BROXOPP (_very uncomfortably_). Sir Roger—you see—of course I -don’t—— - -TENTERDEN (_holding up his hand_). Please, please don’t say any more. -If anything, the apology should come from me. I have lost your money. -(_To NANCY, charmingly_) Yes, Mrs. Chillingham, a good deal of it. And -a good deal of my own, too. Fortunately I have already taken steps to -recover it. What we lose on the oil, we gain on—shall I say the -cocoanuts? - -NANCY (_prompting him_). Jim! “That’s all right, Sir Roger....” - -BROXOPP (_with an effort_). That’s all right, Sir Roger. I don’t blame -you. You have done your best. - -TENTERDEN (_amazed that there should have been any thought of blame_). -I’m afraid that I haven’t made myself clear. When I say cocoanuts—— - -NANCY. Sir Roger, has my husband lost much of his money? - -TENTERDEN. My dear Mrs. Chillingham, five minutes ago I should not -have used the word “lost” at all. It was just, if I may put it so, -the opening skirmish in a campaign. One does not say that a campaign -is lost because at the first few shots—— (_He shrugs his -shoulders._) - -NANCY. Yes, I understand.... And the cocoanuts——? - -TENTERDEN. A manner of speaking. Actually (_he beams at them both_) a -Building Society. Our motto is—Excelsior! - -BROXOPP (_jumping up_). The Excelsior? My money is in that? - -TENTERDEN. All, my dear Chillingham. And safe as—shall I say houses? -But, of course, whether you leave it there or not is now a matter for -your own judgment. Between ourselves, Mrs. Chillingham, I shall be -glad to be relieved of the responsibility. (_Looking through the -window_) Beautiful weather we’re having just now. The young people are -out enjoying themselves, I suppose? Golf, what? No cares, no -responsibilities—lucky young people! (_He gives them a pleasant nod -and goes out._) - - (_BROXOPP and NANCY stand looking at each other._) - -BROXOPP. Well, Nancy? - -NANCY. Well, Jim? - -BROXOPP (_with a bitter laugh_). Funny, isn’t it? - -NANCY (_smiling_). Well, it is rather. - -BROXOPP (_with a groan_). Funny! I said six hundred a year—you said -eight hundred—and now we shall have tuppence. - -NANCY. That’s what makes it rather funny. - -BROXOPP. Sir Roger’s a fool, but I’m a worse one to have trusted him. - -NANCY. There’ll be something left. - -BROXOPP. And yet—I daresay I’d do it again. There were those -Tenterdens and Jack. They wanted me to give up things for them—my -name, my home, my business. Well, I wasn’t going to give grudgingly. -Let them have it all, I said. Let Sir Roger play the fool with my -money, let Jack choose my house for me, let Iris fill it with her -friends. It was their show this time. That’s the way I have to do -things—the large way. It—it appeals to me somehow, Nancy. Well, you -know me—you married that sort of man. - -NANCY. I’m glad I married that sort of man. - -BROXOPP. And now he’s let you down. - -NANCY. There’ll be something left. We were just saying—— - -BROXOPP (_shaking his head_). There’s Jack to remember. We must give -him his chance—he may be a genius—my son—(_as an afterthought_) -your son—why not? - -NANCY. Yes, dear.... If we only had five hundred a year, it wouldn’t -be—I could make you comfortable—even four hundred—— - - (_She is already adding up the butcher’s bills, and the baker’s - bills, and the servant’s wages—only one servant ... when BROXOPP - breaks in on her thoughts._) - -BROXOPP. Nancy! - -NANCY. Yes, Jim. - -BROXOPP. I’m just over fifty. - -NANCY. Yes, Jim. - -BROXOPP. And you? - -NANCY. Just under fifty. - -BROXOPP. M’m.... A hundred between us. - -NANCY. I don’t feel that we’re a hundred, do you? - -BROXOPP. No. Still, there it is. Will you mind very much? - -NANCY. Mind what? - -BROXOPP. Beginning again at fifty? - -NANCY (_a little frightened now_). Do you mean—working again? - -BROXOPP. Yes. Looking for work again. Trying to earn a living again. -Will you mind very much? - -NANCY (_coming close_). N—no, dear. - -BROXOPP. Not frightened? - -NANCY (_coming closer_). N—no, dear. - -BROXOPP (_valiantly_). After all, what I have done, I can do! - -NANCY (_now much more bravely_). Yes, dear.... (_After a pause_) It -was funny my going into Number 26 this morning. - -BROXOPP. What? - -NANCY. The rooms at 26 are empty—our old rooms—I told you. - -BROXOPP (_eagerly_). Go back to them? - -NANCY. Well, there they are. - -BROXOPP (_dropping into a chair_). Beginning again at fifty.... It -will be a hard struggle. - -NANCY. Yes, dear. - - (_They are sitting side by side now, looking in front of them at - that struggle. He follows it in his mind.... There must be - something pleasing in the prospect of it, for the frown slowly - becomes a smile. Still smiling, he gives a sidelong glance at - NANCY. Curiously enough, she too is not altogether miserable. But - as their eyes meet they pull themselves together with a start, - and BROXOPP frowns heavily and speaks again._) - -BROXOPP. A hard struggle. - -NANCY (_sternly_). A hard struggle. - - (_Again they look in front of them at it, and again there seems to - be something in the prospect not unattractive. Once more their - eyes meet, but this time they do not try to hide from each other - what their hearts are saying. They are saying quite unmistakably, - “What fun!” Hand in hand they sit there, waiting for it to - begin._) - - - - -ACT IV - - -SCENE: _BROXOPP is back at No. 26. The room looks much the same as -it did those many years ago, but it has been improved by one or two -pieces of furniture saved from the wreck._ - -_The BROXOPPS are out, and SIR ROGER TENTERDEN is waiting for the -return of one of them. He is getting impatient. He looks at his watch -and decides that he can wait no longer. He picks up his hat, and is on -his way to the door, when NANCY comes in with some parcels in a string -bag._ - - * * * * * - -NANCY (_taken by surprise_). Oh, how you startled me!... Why, it’s Sir -Roger! - -TENTERDEN. I must apologise—— - -NANCY (_smiling_). So must I. I’ve been shopping. And it’s the maid’s -afternoon out. - -TENTERDEN (_a little blankly_). Oh—ah—yes. They told me down below -to come up and—ah—— - -NANCY. That’s right. I just went out to get some kidneys. (_She holds -up a parcel, and SIR ROGER shudders._) I haven’t bought kidneys for I -don’t know how many years; it feels quite strange. Do come and sit -down. How’s Iris? We haven’t seen her lately. (_She leads the way to -the table and puts the bag down on it._) - -TENTERDEN. Well, it was really about Iris that I ventured to come and -see you so informally, Mrs. Chillingham. I happened to have a -business appointment just across the road, and—ah—— - -NANCY. How nice of you! - -TENTERDEN. Is Iris quite well? - -NANCY. Oh, I think so. Jack seems to be very busy. We have a note from -him every now and then saying that they will come and see us when his -picture is finished. - -TENTERDEN. Ah! So he’s painting. Excellent. - -NANCY. They’ve a studio in St. John’s Wood. But surely Iris must have -told you? - -TENTERDEN. I assure you, Mrs. Chillingham, that Iris has not -condescended to communicate with me since—ah—— - -NANCY. Since we lost all our money. - -TENTERDEN. Since that very unfortunate Excelsior business. Upon my -word, I don’t know what the City is coming to nowadays. With so many -rogues about, it is almost impossible for a gentleman to make an -honest living. However, things have been looking up lately. (_Smiling -to himself_) Oh yes, looking up—decidedly. But then I knew they -would. I only wish, my dear Mrs. Chillingham, that your husband could -have been participating in my good fortune. - -NANCY. Well, we had no money left, you see. - -TENTERDEN (_holding up a hand_). Don’t think I am blaming your -husband. Pray don’t think that. I assure you, I quite understand. And -so Jack is painting? Making quite a good living by it, what? You -relieve my mind considerably, Mrs. Chillingham. I shall go away happy -now. I shouldn’t have liked to think that my daughter was -uncomfortable. What a thing it is to be born with such a gift! Lucky -Jack! And Mr. Chillingham, I trust, quite well? - -NANCY. Very well indeed, thank you. He hasn’t looked so well for a -long time. - -TENTERDEN. Excellent, excellent. And making his fortune again, I’ve no -doubt. I’m delighted to hear it. Well, Mrs. Chillingham, I must be -getting on. I am most relieved to hear your good news. Remember me to -your husband, please, and tell him that if, at any time, he wants a -good investment, I shall only be too delighted to be of any service. -No, don’t thank me. I should be only too glad to. It would be a -privilege. (_He shakes her warmly by the hand_) Good-bye, good-bye. - - [_He goes out magnificently._ - - (_As soon as she has recovered, NANCY takes off her hat and goes - to the table to work. She is drawing an advertisement for BROXOPP, - as we can see by the way she bites her pencil and frowns to - herself._ - - _A cheerful voice, singing a song without words, is heard outside, - and the GREAT ONE comes in. He is wearing the old sombrero—the - Broxopp hat—and (a novelty this) a pale grey tail-coat and - trousers. He carries two or three parcels in his hand._) - -BROXOPP. Nancy! - -NANCY (_jumping up_). Jim! - -BROXOPP. My darling! Just wait a moment till I put down these -parcels.... Now then! (_He holds out his arms and she comes to him. -After he has kissed her, he says solemnly_) I’ve thanked Heaven every -day since we’ve been here that I can kiss you now without being -observed by butlers. Another one! (_He kisses her again, and then -holds her at arms’ length_) All right? - -NANCY. Of course I am. - -BROXOPP (_taking off his hat_). I met Sir Roger just outside. - -NANCY. Did you speak to him? - -BROXOPP. I said “Hallo!” and he said, “Ah, Chillingham, Chillingham!” -Has he been here? - -NANCY. Just to ask after Iris and (_smiling_) to say how glad he was -that you were making your fortune again. - -BROXOPP. Did you tell him that I was making my fortune again? - -NANCY. He told himself. I didn’t say anything. - -BROXOPP. Well, it’s true. I’m going to. And what have _you_ been -doing? - -NANCY. Shopping. And—(_looking rather sadly at her drawing_)—and -Ajax. (_She sits down to it again._) - -BROXOPP. Ajax? - -NANCY. Ajax defying the lightning. - -BROXOPP (_pleased_). Ah, that was a good idea, wasn’t it? -(_Declaiming_) “Ajax defied the lightning. Why? Because he knew that -he was insured against fire with the West End Insurance Company.” -(_Going over to her work_) Have you been doing that for me? - -NANCY. Yes, darling, but I can’t get Ajax properly. He doesn’t look as -though he’s defying anything. - -BROXOPP (_looking at Ajax_). No, he doesn’t, does he? Yet what a touch -you had with suspenders in the old days! - -NANCY (_sadly_). I think suspenders must be easier than -Ajaxes—unless, perhaps, it’s because I’m getting old. - -BROXOPP (_indignantly_). Old? You get younger every day. - -NANCY. Of course, in a way it’s fun beginning all over again—— - -BROXOPP. Fun! It’s Life! Did you ever hear of a man called Stephenson? -He invented the first steam-engine. He said, “To travel hopefully is a -better thing than to arrive.” Just what I’ve always said myself. Going -there is better fun than getting there. We got there once, Nancy, and -now we are going there again. - -NANCY. But we’re twenty-five years older. - -BROXOPP. And twenty-five years wiser, and twenty-five years more in -love with each other. - -NANCY. Yes, but what I’m rather afraid of is that we’ve had—well, -fifteen years of _spending_ money, and—— - -BROXOPP. You needn’t be afraid. We’re going to have money to spend -again. But we’ll have the fun of making it again first. (_With an -air_) Madam, you see before you The Great Chillingham!... (_A little -hurt_) You don’t say anything. - -NANCY (_at her drawing again_). Darling! (_But how she would have -flown to him twenty-five years ago!_) - -BROXOPP. Perhaps it is as well. The Great Chillingham is not yet -before you. I spoke too soon. (_He begins to undo the parcels._) - -NANCY (_mechanically_). Yes, darling. - -BROXOPP. Wait! (_He opens the parcels—a Chillingham grey hat and a -Chillingham pink tie are disclosed_) Permit me, madam, to introduce to -you the Chillingham hat and the Chillingham tie! (_He holds them up._) - -NANCY (_wistfully_). There has never been more than one Broxopp baby! - -BROXOPP. This is not babyness; it’s business. I called on the Aquavim -people to-day—the Brain Tonic for Tired Workers. I announced that I -was willing to undertake the entire management and reconstruction of -their business for them. They declined. I then said that temporarily, -and until greater opportunities offered, I might be induced to -advertise their poison for them. They replied that they no longer -wrote their own advertisements; they were written for them by eminent -authors, actors, painters, soldiers, and statesmen, in exchange for a -few bottles and the publicity which it brought them. I said modestly -that, if it came to that, I myself was at one time not unknown in the -world of commerce. The manager looked at my card again, and regretted -that he could not seem to recall the name of Chillingham. That opened -my eyes, Nancy, and I decided that all the world should know (_putting -on the bowler hat and striking an attitude_) The Great Chillingham! -But you’ll see it better directly, when I’ve got the tie on. - -NANCY (_going to him_). Say you don’t regret Broxopp very much! - -BROXOPP. Does an artist regret selling a picture after he has painted -it? I made the name of Broxopp, and when I had made it, I sold it. Now -I’m going to make the name of Chillingham. I can make any name—with -you helping me, Nancy. - -NANCY (_hopefully_). Of course you can. (_Twenty-five years ago how -certain she would have been!_) Have you decided what we shall make the -name of Chillingham famous about? - -BROXOPP (_offhand_). Well, well, there’s no hurry. I shall find -something. I shall think of something directly. Don’t let us be in a -hurry. (_Taking off his hat and regarding it_) I think the new hat is -striking—don’t you? But keep the old one, Nancy. When the story of my -life comes to be written, the author may wish to see it personally. -Well, I’ll go and put the tie on.... But I was forgetting. Who do you -think I saw to-day? - -NANCY (_eagerly_). Not Jack? - -BROXOPP. Jack. - -NANCY. But why didn’t you tell me? How is he? How is he looking? - -BROXOPP. You’ll see for yourself directly. He and Iris are coming -round this afternoon. - -NANCY. How nice! Then I suppose his picture is finished. How is Iris? - -BROXOPP. He didn’t tell me anything, except that -he was coming. We were both of us in a hurry. Well, -I’ll go and put on this tie. On this day The Great -Chillingham was born. - [_BROXOPP goes out._ - - (_NANCY returns to Ajax, but she has hardly begun to do anything - to it when there is a gentle tap at the door._) - -NANCY. Come in! - -IRIS (_her head round the door_). May I come in? - -NANCY. Oh, Iris! And I’m not dressed or anything. (_She gets up._) - -IRIS. Well, I’m not very grand myself. (_Kissing her_) You look as -young as ever, Nancy. Is Jack here? - -NANCY. No. He’s coming, isn’t he? - -IRIS. He was going to meet me here. (_Looking round the room she says -sadly_) Oh, Nancy! - -NANCY. Why “Oh, Nancy!”? - -IRIS. To see you in this room—after what you’re accustomed to. - -NANCY (_smiling_). But I’m accustomed to this. This is where we lived -before Jack was born. - -IRIS. I know. And now Jack and I have brought you back to it.... Do -you forgive me? - -NANCY. I shan’t if you talk so foolishly. - -IRIS. You’ll never forgive Father, of course. Neither shall I. I told -him so. - -NANCY. Yes. I’m not sure that you ought to have.... You see, Jim -wasn’t happy at the Manor House. I thought at first that he might -manage to be, but he wasn’t. And now here we are, dear, and Jim is as -happy as can be. - -IRIS. And is Nancy? - -NANCY (_a little sadly_). Well, of course, I do love the country. -(_With a sudden smile_) But this is fun, you know. It’s like a second -honeymoon. - -IRIS. Oh, Nancy!... And how is Daddy Broxopp getting on? - -NANCY. Oh, we shall be all right. He’ll get hold of some idea soon. -Come and take off your hat. You mustn’t be a visitor. (_There is a -knock at the door_) There! That’s Jack! - - _Enter JACK._ - -JACK (_announcing himself_). The Return of the Prodigal! - -NANCY. Oh, Jack, how nice to see you again, dear! - -JACK (_kissing her_). How _are_ you, darling? You look remarkably -blooming. (_Shaking hands with IRIS_) How do you do, madam? - -IRIS. How do you do, sir? - -NANCY. Iris is just coming into my room. We won’t be long. - -JACK. Right. Where’s Dad? - -NANCY. He’ll be here in a moment. - -JACK. Good man. (_He opens the door for them. To IRIS_) You haven’t -broken the bad news yet? - -IRIS. No. - -NANCY. Jack! There’s nothing——? - -IRIS (_smiling_). It’s all right, dear. It’s only a little discovery -we’ve made. - -NANCY. There are plenty of discoveries to be made when you are poor. - - [_NANCY and IRIS go out together._ - - (_JACK wanders round the room and comes to the unfinished Ajax on - the table._) - -JACK (_catching sight of it_). Good heavens! who’s this? (_Looking at -it carefully_) It can’t be anybody at the Club. - - (_Enter BROXOPP, in hat and tie, with a terrific air. The GREAT - CHILLINGHAM! He pulls up at seeing only JACK._) - -BROXOPP. Hallo, boy. So you’ve come. - -JACK. Hallo, Dad. - -BROXOPP. Iris here? - -JACK. Yes, she’s in with mother. - -BROXOPP. How are you getting on? We haven’t seen much of you lately. - -JACK. Well, we’ve all been working so hard. (_Going up to him_) You’re -looking extraordinarily bright, Dad. (_He puts an arm affectionately -round his father’s shoulder and fingers the Chillingham tie_) Who’s -your lady friend? - -BROXOPP (_with dignity_). Have you never heard of the Chillingham tie, -boy? - -JACK. Never. Is that it? - -BROXOPP. It is. (_Simply_) It will be heard of one day. - -JACK (_smiling_). I’m sure it will. I can almost hear it now. -(_Patting him affectionately_) Dear old Dad—I’ve been a rotten son to -you, haven’t I? (_He drops into a chair._) - -BROXOPP (_considering it fairly_). No, I won’t say that, Jack. You -were a very good son to me when you were a baby. You did a lot for the -Broxopp business, and I used to like telling people in the City all -the funny little things you said. Besides, you made your mother very -happy. And then, when you were growing up, I used to enjoy talking -about my boy at Eton and my boy at Oxford. One way and another I’ve -got a good deal of happiness out of you. - -JACK. And then, when I was grown up, you suddenly found that I was a -selfish beast. - -BROXOPP. You can’t expect father and son to see things the same way. -One or the other has got to be selfish. It’s generally the father.... -Well, and how’s the picture? Finished? - -JACK. Wait till Iris comes in. We’ve decided to tell you our sad story -hand in hand. Besides, while we’ve got the chance, there’s something I -want you to tell _me_. - -BROXOPP. Well, what is it? - -JACK. Well, then—as man to man—how are you getting on? - -BROXOPP. As man to man, Jack, I am really happy again. - -JACK. Yes, I know, but I didn’t ask if you were happy. I asked you how -you were getting on. - -BROXOPP (_refusing to be cornered_). This is the life I like, my boy. -It’s harder than it was when I first began, but I made good once, and -I can do it again. (_Thumping the table_) I like doing it. - -JACK (_plaintively_). Yes, but you still haven’t told me how you are -getting on. - -BROXOPP. Don’t you worry about _me_. I’ll make my fortune again long -before you make yours with painting. - -JACK. Yes, you might well do that.... Look here, you gave me £500 a -year out of the wreck. Did you leave anything for yourself? - -BROXOPP. Of course I did. Don’t you worry about me. The moment will -come and I shall seize it. Just at present I am looking round. Don’t -you worry about _me_. - -JACK. Well, all I can say is you’re a sportsman, and good luck to you. - - _NANCY and IRIS come in._ - -IRIS. Hallo, Daddy Broxopp. - -BROXOPP (_kissing her_). Hallo, my girl. You haven’t called me that -for a long time. - -IRIS. I know. Let’s try and forget that. Are you going to forgive me? -She has. - -BROXOPP. Forgive you for what? - -IRIS. Well, for not having been an orphan for one thing. - -NANCY (_shaking her head at her with a smile_). Iris! - -IRIS. And for putting a lot of nonsense into Jack’s head, and making -an utter mess of things. - -JACK. My dear girl, any nonsense in my head came there of itself; it -wasn’t put in by you. - -IRIS. Well, there it was, anyhow. The fact is, Daddy Broxopp, we’ve -made a discovery in the last few months. - -BROXOPP. Hallo, what’s that? - -IRIS. Well, it’s rather important. Are you ready, Jack? (_Taking -JACK’S hand_) We have discovered—— - -JACK. Once, finally and for all—— - -IRIS. That Jack Chillingham—— - -JACK. _Né_ Broxopp—— - -IRIS. Cannot paint. - -JACK. He cannot paint. - -JACK and IRIS (_together_). He cannot, cannot paint. - -NANCY (_knowing what it feels like_). Oh, Jack, what a disappointment -for you! - -BROXOPP. How did you discover it, boy? - -JACK. By regarding my latest masterpiece in a dispassionate light. You -ought to have seen it, Dad. It was called “The First Meeting of -Henry V. with Katherine of France.” - -IRIS. I sat for Katherine. - -JACK. She also stood for Henry V. I wish you had seen her as Henry V.; -it would have been a surprise for you. - -IRIS. I was jolly good. - -JACK. It was going to be my Academy picture. That was why I chose -that subject. It was the dullest I could think of. Unfortunately, when -I had finished it, I regarded it in a dispassionate light, -and—(_frankly_) it was rotten. - -IRIS. Very rotten. - -JACK. Very, very rotten. - -NANCY. Oh, poor Jack! I understand how you must have felt. - -JACK. Well, then, we put our heads together. - -IRIS (_leaning her head against his_). Like this. - -JACK. And decided that we were taking your money under false -pretences. - -IRIS. Because, you see, he cannot paint. - -JACK. He cannot paint. - -JACK and IRIS (_together_). He cannot, cannot paint. - -BROXOPP. Well, what are you going to do, then? - -IRIS (_surprised_). Give you back your money, of course. - -BROXOPP. Don’t be silly. I didn’t mean that. What work are you going -to do? - -JACK (_wandering round the room_). Well, that’s rather the question. -Iris thought—(_He stops suddenly at the sight of his mother’s -drawing_) Oh, Lord, here’s this again. What on earth——? - -BROXOPP (_off-handedly_). Just a rough sketch for an advertisement—a -little idea of mine—Ajax defying the lightning—your mother was—— -Well, then, Jack, you—— - -JACK (_looking up at his mother reproachfully_). Mother, darling! - -NANCY. Oh, Jack, Ajaxes are so hard. - -JACK (_sitting down and picking up the pencil_). Oh, but—Iris, you’ll -have to stand for Ajax. Imagine Dad’s the lightning and defy him like -the dickens. (_Beginning to draw_) Right foot out a bit more. Hands -behind the back, I think. Keep the head well up—as though you thought -nothing of him. - -IRIS. Daddy Broxopp, I defy you. (_She gives a glance at JACK to make -sure he is not looking, blows a hasty kiss to BROXOPP, and hastily -resumes her defiant attitude._) - -JACK (_drawing_). You’d find yourself much safer with a model, Mother, -even for a rough sketch. You get so much more life into it. - -NANCY. Oh, Jack, I wish I could draw like that. - -IRIS. He isn’t bad, is he? - -JACK (_still at it_). Keep your head up.... I can’t draw—but when I -say I can’t draw, I don’t mean the same as when I say I can’t paint. -You see—Listen! - - (_A loud knocking is heard at the outer door._) - -IRIS (_nodding her head at BROXOPP_). That’s you, Daddy Broxopp. You -did the lightning so well that you’ve brought on the thunder. - -NANCY. Oh, I’d better go. The maid’s out. - -JACK (_getting up_). No, you don’t; I’ll go. It’s Dad’s lady -friend—I’ll bet you what you like—come to see his tie. Perhaps I can -buy her off on the mat. - - [_He goes out._ - -IRIS (_relaxing_). Well, I suppose he won’t want Ajax any more. (_She -goes over to look at the sketch_) Doesn’t he draw nicely? (_To -BROXOPP_) That squiggly bit is you. (_Looking from one to the other_) -No, I shouldn’t recognise you. - -BROXOPP (_picking up the sketch_). Yes, that’s the way to draw. (_To -NANCY_) All the same, darling, I shall never forget the way you drew -those suspenders in the old days. There was something about them—— - -_JACK and MISS JOHNS come in._ - -JACK (_protesting as he comes in_). Oh, but I assure you I remember -you perfectly. Mother, this is Miss Johns. You remember her, don’t -you? (_He doesn’t himself at all._) She was—er—in the old -days—don’t you remember——? - -NANCY (_holding out her hand_). How do you do, Miss Johns? It’s very -nice of you to come and see us now. (_Hopefully to BROXOPP_) Jim, you -remember Miss Johns? - -BROXOPP (_the only one who does, and he can’t place her for the -moment_). Delighted to see you again, Miss Johns. Of course, I -remember you perfectly. (_He looks at her with a puzzled expression._) - -MISS JOHNS. It’s very good of you to remember me, Mr. Broxopp—I mean -Chillingham. I can hardly expect you to. I only just came because I’m -your neighbour, and—(_looking round her awkwardly_)—but perhaps -you’d rather I—— - -BROXOPP. Oh, not at all. You know Jack’s wife, don’t you? (_They bow -to each other._) Sit down and tell us what you have been doing lately. - - (_She sits down. JACK wanders back to his sketch and IRIS goes - with him, looking over his shoulder as he touches it up._) - -MISS JOHNS. You know, I don’t believe you do remember me, -Mr. Broxopp—I beg your pardon, I mean Mr. Chillingham. - -BROXOPP (_grimly_). I don’t, but I’m going to. (_He looks at her with -a frown._) - -NANCY (_kindly, as MISS JOHNS is obviously getting uncomfortable under -BROXOPP’S gaze_). Darling one—— - -BROXOPP. Wait! (_Thumping his hand with his fist_) I’ve got it! -(_Pointing to her_) You interviewed me on that day—of course, I -remember you now. - -MISS JOHNS. Oh, Mr. Brox—Oh, how wonderful of you to remember when -you must have been interviewed so often. - -BROXOPP. Yes, but you were the last person to interview The Great -Broxopp. You heard that I had changed my name? - -MISS JOHNS. Oh, I was so sorry! I heard about it all, and how you—— - -BROXOPP. Oh, well, you mustn’t pity us too much. We’re quite happy -here, aren’t we, Nancy? - -NANCY. This is where we began, you know, Miss Johns. - -BROXOPP. Why, of course she knows. I remember your saying that you -lived on the floor below. And are you still on the same paper? - -MISS JOHNS. Yes, but—er—— (_She is obviously uncomfortable._) - -BROXOPP. But they don’t want an interview with The Great Chillingham? -(_With utter confidence_) They will, Miss Johns, they will. - -MISS JOHNS (_enthusiastically_). Oh, I’m sure they will. - -BROXOPP (_suddenly_). How’s your brother? - -MISS JOHNS (_very much flattered_). Oh, do you remember him? How -wonderful you are! - -BROXOPP (_struggling with his memories_). Yes—I remember. He had some -invention—what was it?—a Chicken Food, wasn’t it? - -MISS JOHNS. Yes, that was it. Fancy you remembering! - -BROXOPP. Oh, I have a wonderful memory. My wife would tell you. -(_Garrulously_) Yes, I remember your telling me about this food which -he had invented. You wanted me to take it up. I said—now, what was it -I said?—I said—— - -JACK (_looking up alertly_). What’s happened to that Chicken Food? - -MISS JOHNS. Er—nothing. He hadn’t the money—he didn’t know how—— - -BROXOPP (_still talking_). “Yes,” I said, “if you had come to me -twenty years earlier——” - -JACK (_sharply_). Where is your brother now? In the country? - -MISS JOHNS (_frightened_). Yes! - -JACK. Can you get him up to London? - -MISS JOHNS. Y—yes. I think—— - -IRIS (_excitedly_). Jack! - -BROXOPP. What is it, boy? - -JACK. How far away is it? Can you get him up at once? This evening? - -MISS JOHNS. I—I think—it’s in Surrey—— - -JACK. Send him a telegram now—don’t be afraid of a long one—I’m -paying for it. (_Taking out half-a-crown_) Here you are. (_Going with -her to the door_) That’s right, now, off you go. Remember, I’ve got to -see him to-night. Got that? Good! - - [_She goes out, overwhelmed._ - -NANCY (_the hostess_). Jack, dear! - -BROXOPP. What is it, boy? - -JACK. You said the moment would come. It has come. (_In the BROXOPP -manner_) Chillingham’s Cheese for Chickens! - -IRIS (_eagerly_). Yes, yes! What fun! - -BROXOPP. Are you suggesting that I should take up this food—patent -it—put it on the market? - -JACK. I—you—we—all of us. You’re in it, Iris? - -IRIS. Rather! - -BROXOPP. But—but—— - -JACK. Chillingham’s Cheese for Chickens. It’s the idea of a century. - -NANCY. But do chickens like cheese? - -IRIS (_firmly_). They’ve got to like this. - -BROXOPP (_doubtfully_). Yes, yes, why cheese, boy? - -JACK. Why not? - -BROXOPP. Er—well—— - -JACK. We’ll have a hen sitting on an enormous egg—this is where _I_ -come in, drawing the posters. Above, Chillingham’s Cheese for -Chickens. Underneath, Makes Hens Lay. - -BROXOPP. Does it make them lay? I thought Chicken Food only made -chickens grow. - -JACK (_grimly_). If we say that it makes them lay, it makes them lay. - -IRIS. It’s a question of faith, Daddy Broxopp. If the hen knows you -have faith in her, she will respond. She’s jolly well got to. - -JACK. That’s right. We’re not going to stand any nonsense from a Buff -Orpington. - -BROXOPP. Jack, are you serious about this? - -JACK (_surprised_). Serious? Good Lord, yes. - -BROXOPP (_nervously_). It’s a risk. What do you say, Nancy? - -NANCY. I’m used to risks, dear. - -JACK (_excitedly_). Of course it’s a risk. That’s what makes it such -fun. By Jove, to be really doing something at last! Makes Hens Lay! A -Poultry Farm in every back-garden! Eggs on every breakfast-table. -Chillingham eggs! - -IRIS. Chillingham and bacon for breakfast, Daddy Broxopp. - -BROXOPP (_shaking his head_). It’s a risk. It will want a lot of -capital. What do you say, Nancy? - -NANCY. We’ve got a little left. - -IRIS. There’s what you gave Jack. We can do it on that, can’t we? - -JACK. Of course we can. - -BROXOPP (_unnerved_). I—I must think it over. One wants to think -things over. There’s no hurry, after all. One naturally wants to -look round a little before deciding. _If_ we decide on this, Iris, -then—— - -JACK. Who was that fellow you were so keen on—came over from the -office when you were ill—young chap—wrote your letters for you—what -was his name? - -BROXOPP. Driver? - -JACK. Driver. That’s the chap. How can I get hold of him? Is he still -at the office? - -BROXOPP. They’d know his address, anyhow. - -JACK. He’s good, isn’t he? - -BROXOPP. Excellent. You remember, Nancy, my telling you that I was -going to promote him as soon as—— - -IRIS. What do you want him for? - -JACK. Business manager. Terribly keen. We must have somebody like -that.... What about offices? - -BROXOPP (_vaguely_). Offices? - -NANCY. We went to Pritchard the agents. In Victoria Street -somewhere—— - -JACK (_getting into his hat and coat_). That’s _your_ job, Iris. Get -orders for half-a-dozen—three to four rooms, I should think. Central. -We’d better make the stuff down at this chap’s place to start -with—enlarge whatever plant he’s got. I’ll go after Driver, while -you’re Pritcharding. - -IRIS (_getting her things together_). Right. Pritchard, Victoria -Street. What number? - -JACK. Telephone book at the chemist’s round the corner. - -IRIS. Righto. (_To NANCY_) Good-bye, dear. - -JACK (_to NANCY_). We shall have supper with you, dear, so see that -there’s some food. So will Miss Johns and her brother, probably. Food -for six at eight, say. But we’ll be back before that, I expect. So -long. (_He goes to the door._) - -IRIS. Good-bye, Daddy Broxopp. We’re making our fortune again. - -BROXOPP (_still bewildered_). Yes, but, Jack—Jack, you mustn’t—— - -JACK (_a last shout from the passage_). That’s all right, Dad, leave -it to me! - - (_The door slams. They are gone. BROXOPP and NANCY are alone - together. He is unhappy; she feels that he is unhappy. They sit - there, saying nothing...._) - -BROXOPP (_almost to himself_). What did I call myself? The Great -Chillingham. (_With a sad, disillusioned little laugh_) The Great -Chillingham! - -NANCY (_comforting him_). Darling! - -BROXOPP. I said that the moment would come. It came. I said that I -would seize it. (_He shrugs his shoulders._) - -NANCY. You were going to. Jack was too quick for you. - -BROXOPP. No. I was afraid.... I’m getting old.... I talk and I talk, -and then when the moment comes—(_Sadly_) The Great Chillingham! - -NANCY. You wanted to think it over—of course you did. - -BROXOPP. Was there ever a Great Broxopp? Or was it just a fluke, -Nancy, twenty-five years ago? - -NANCY. No, no! - -BROXOPP. Then why——? - -NANCY (_with a sigh_). It was twenty-five years ago. - -BROXOPP. Yes. Never again. On this day The Great Chillingham died. -(_He drops his head into his hands._) - -NANCY. But something else was born. (_He shakes his head._) (_She says -quietly_) Yes, Chillingham—and Son. - - (_Slowly he raises his head and looks at her. His eyes begin to - light up. He rises, slowly. There is a smile about his mouth now. - He is seeing himself as the Head of CHILLINGHAM AND SON. Look—he - is striking an attitude! All is saved. NANCY regards him fondly. - CHILLINGHAM AND SON._) - - - - -THE DOVER ROAD - -A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS - - - - -PEOPLE IN THE PLAY - - - THE HOUSE - - Dominic. - The Staff. - Mr. Latimer. - - - THE GUESTS - - Leonard. - Anne. - Eustasia. - Nicholas. - - * * * * * - -_The Scene is the reception-room of MR. LATIMER’S house, a little way -off the Dover Road._ - - * * * * * - -The first performance of this play in London took place at the Theatre -Royal, Haymarket, on June 7, 1922, with the following cast: - - _Dominic_ Allan Aynesworth. - _Mr. Latimer_ Henry Ainley. - _Leonard_ Nicholas Hannen. - _Anne_ Nancy Atkin. - _Eustasia_ Athene Seyler. - _Nicholas_ John Deverell. - - - - -THE DOVER ROAD - - - - -ACT I - - -_What MR. LATIMER prefers to call the reception-room of his house is -really the hall. You come straight into it through the heavy oak front -door. But this door is so well built, so well protected by a thick -purple curtain, and the room so well warmed by central heating, that -none of the usual disadvantages of a hall on a November night attaches -to it. Just now, of course, all the curtains are drawn, so that the -whole of this side of the hall is purple-hung. In the middle of the -room, a little to the right, is a mahogany table, clothless, laid for -three. A beautiful blue bowl, filled with purple anemones, helps, with -the silver and the old cut glass, to decorate it. Over the whole room -there is something of an Arabian-night-adventure air. In the daytime, -perhaps, it is an ordinary hall, furnished a trifle freakishly, but in -the night time one wonders what is going to happen next._ - -_DOMINIC, tall, stout, and grave, the major-domo of the house, in a -butler’s old-fashioned evening-dress, comes in. He stands looking at -the room to see that all is as it should be, then walks to the table -and gives a little touch to it here and there. He turns round and -waits a moment. The Staff materialises suddenly—two footmen and two -chambermaids. The men come from the left, the women from the right; -over their clothes, too, MR. LATIMER has been a little freakish. They -stand in a line._ - - * * * * * - -DOMINIC. The blue room in the east wing is ready? - -THE MEN. Yes, Mr. Dominic. - -DOMINIC. The white room in the west wing is ready? - -THE WOMEN. Yes, Mr. Dominic. - -DOMINIC. The procedure will be as before. - -THE FOUR. Yes, Mr. Dominic. - -DOMINIC. See to it that I have no fault to find. That will do. - - (_They go out. He looks at his watch and then follows the men. He - is hardly out of the room when a bell rings. He returns slowly, - draws the curtain from the front door, and opens it. LEONARD, in - fur-coat and cap, is seen standing outside. He is a big, well-made - man of about thirty-five—dark, with a little black tooth-brush - moustache. When the door opens he gets his first sight of the - interior of the room, and is evidently taken by surprise._) - -LEONARD. Oh—er—is this—er—an hotel? My chauffeur said—we’ve had -an accident, been delayed on the way—he said that we could put up -here. (_He turns round and calls_) Here, Saunders! This can’t be the -place. (_To DOMINIC_) Perhaps you could tell me—— - -ANNE (_from outside, invisible_). Saunders has gone, Leonard. - -LEONARD (_turning round_). Gone! What the devil——(_He plunges into -the darkness._) - -DOMINIC. Saunders was perfectly correct, my lord. This _is_ a sort of -hotel. - -ANNE (_getting out of the car, but still invisible_). He went off as -soon as you got out of the car. Leonard, are you sure——? - - (_She comes into the light; he is holding her arm. Pretty she is, - to the first sight; but what holds you is the mystery of her - youthfulness; her aloof, untouched innocence; her grave coolness; - her—well, we shall let her speak for herself. Just at present she - is a little upset by the happenings of the night._) - -DOMINIC. Saunders was perfectly correct, my lord. This _is_ a sort of -hotel. - -LEONARD (_puzzled_). What the devil’s happened to him? (_He looks out -into the darkness._) - -DOMINIC. Doubtless he has gone round to the garage to get the doors -open. Won’t your lordship—— - -LEONARD. You can put us up? Just for to-night. My—er—wife and -myself—— - -DOMINIC. If your lordship and her ladyship will come in—— (_He waits -for them._) - -LEONARD (_to ANNE_). It’s the best we can do, dear. I’m frightfully -sorry about it, but, after all, what difference—— - -ANNE (_giving him a look which means “Don’t talk like this in front of -hotel servants”_). I daresay it will be quite comfortable. It’s only -for one night. (_She comes in, followed by LEONARD._) - -DOMINIC. Thank you, my lady. - - (_He shuts and bolts the doors, then draws the curtains. There is - an air of finality about it. ANNE looks back at the noise of the - bolts going home with something of a start. They are locked in now - for good. LEONARD, his eye on the supper-table, is saying to - himself, “Dashed rummy sort of hotel.”_) - -DOMINIC. Allow me, my lady. (_He helps them off with their coats._) - -LEONARD. You can give us something to eat? - -ANNE. I don’t want anything, Leonard. - -LEONARD. Nonsense, dear. - -DOMINIC. Supper will be served in five minutes, my lord. - -ANNE (_suddenly_). Do you know who we are? - -DOMINIC. I have not that pleasure, my lady. - -ANNE. Then why do you call me “my lady”? - -LEONARD (_disliking a scene_). My dear! - -ANNE (_waving back LEONARD’S protesting arm_). No, Leonard. (_To -DOMINIC_) Well? - -DOMINIC. His lordship mentioned that your ladyship was his wife. - -ANNE. Y—yes.... Then you know _him_ by sight? - -LEONARD (_complacently_). Well, my dear, that need not surprise you. - -DOMINIC. I know his lordship’s rank, my lady. Not his lordship’s name. - -LEONARD (_surprised_). My rank? How the devil—— - -DOMINIC. Supper will be served in five minutes, my lady. (_He bows and -goes out._) - - (_There is silence for a little. They look at the table, at the - room, at each other. Then LEONARD says it aloud._) - -LEONARD. Dashed rummy sort of hotel! - -ANNE (_coming closer and holding his arm_). Leonard, I don’t like it. - -LEONARD. Pooh! Nonsense, dear. - -ANNE. It almost seems as though they had expected us. - -LEONARD (_laughing_). My dear child, how could they? In the ordinary -way we should have been at Dover—why, almost at Calais by this time. - -ANNE. I know. (_In distress_) Why aren’t we? - -LEONARD. The car—Saunders, a fool of a chauffeur—a series of -unfortunate accidents—— - -ANNE. Do you often have these unfortunate accidents, Leonard? - -LEONARD. My dear Anne, you aren’t suggesting that I’ve done this on -purpose! - -ANNE. No, no. (_She leaves him, and goes and sits down._) But why -to-night of all nights? - -LEONARD. Of course, it’s damned annoying missing the boat, but we can -get it to-morrow morning. We shall be in Paris to-morrow night. - -ANNE. To-morrow night—but that makes such a difference. I hate every -hour we spend together like this in England. - -LEONARD. Well, really, I don’t see why—— - -ANNE. You must take it that I do, Leonard. I told you from the first -that it was run-away or nothing with me; there was going to be no -intrigue, no lies and pretences and evasions. And somehow it seems -less—less sordid, if we begin our new life together in a new country. -(_With a little smile_) Perhaps the French for what we are doing is -not quite so crude as the English.... Yes, I know it’s absurd of me, -but there it is. - -LEONARD (_with a shrug_). Oh, well! (_Taking out his case_) Do you -mind a cigarette? - -ANNE (_violently_). Oh, why do men _always_ want to smoke, even up to -the moment when they’re going to eat? Can’t you breathe naturally for -five minutes? - -LEONARD (_sulkily, putting his case back_). I beg your pardon. - -ANNE. No, I beg yours. - -LEONARD. You’re all to bits. - -ANNE. Nerves, I suppose. - -LEONARD. Nonsense! My Anne with nerves? (_Bitterly_) Now if it had -been Eustasia—— - -ANNE (_coldly_). Really, Leonard, I think we had better leave your -wife out of the conversation. - -LEONARD. I beg your pardon. - -ANNE (_to herself_). Perhaps you’re right. In a crisis we are all -alike, we women. - -LEONARD (_going over to her_). No, damn it, I won’t have that. -It’s—it’s blasphemy. Anne, my darling——(_She stands up and he takes -her hands._) - -ANNE. Oh!... I _am_ different, aren’t I? - -LEONARD. Darling! - -ANNE. I’m not a bit like—like anybody else, am I, not even when I’m -cross? - -LEONARD. Darling! - -ANNE. And you do love me? - -LEONARD. Darling! (_He wants to kiss her, but she stops him._) - -ANNE. No. Now you’re going to smoke. (_She settles him in his chair, -takes a cigarette from his case, and puts it in his mouth_) I’ll light -it for you. Matches? (_She holds out her hand for them._) - -DOMINIC (_who has a way of being there when wanted_). Matches, my -lady. (_He hands them to her. They are both rather confused._) - -ANNE. Thank you. - -LEONARD (_annoyed_). Thanks. (_He gets up, takes the matches from -ANNE, and lights his cigarette. DOMINIC gives a professional touch to -the table and goes out._) Damn that fellow! - -ANNE (_smiling_). After all, darling, he thinks I’m your wife.... Or -don’t wives light their husband’s cigarettes? - -LEONARD. I believe you’re right, Anne. There’s something odd about -this place. - -ANNE. So _you_ feel it now? - -LEONARD. What did he mean by saying he knew my rank, but not my name? - -ANNE (_lightly_). Perhaps he looked inside your cap—like Sherlock -Holmes—and saw the embroidered coronet. - -LEONARD. How do you mean? There’s nothing inside my cap. - -ANNE. No, darling. That was a joke. (_He nods tolerantly._) - -LEONARD. And the table laid. Only one table. - -ANNE. Yes, but it’s for three. They didn’t expect _us_. - -LEONARD (_relieved_). So it is.... It’s probably a new idea in -hotels—some new stunt of Harrods—or what’s the fellow’s -name?—Lyons. A country-house hotel. By the way, what will you drink? - -DOMINIC (_there as usual_). Bollinger 1906, my lord. (_He has startled -them again._) Mr. Latimer will be down in two minutes, my lady. He -asks you to forgive him for not being here to receive you. - -LEONARD. Mr. Latimer? Who on earth’s Mr. Latimer? - -DOMINIC. If you would wish to be shown your room, my lady—— - -ANNE (_who has not taken her eyes off him_). No, thank you. - -LEONARD (_stepping forward_). Look here, my man, is this an hotel or -have we come to a private house by mistake? - -DOMINIC. A sort of hotel, my lord. I assure your lordship there is no -mistake. Thank you, my lady. - - [_He goes out._ - -ANNE (_laughing half-hysterically as she sits down_). Very original -man, Harrod. Or is it Lyons? - -LEONARD. Look here, I’m going to get to the bottom of this. (_He -starts after DOMINIC._) - -ANNE. Why bother? Mr. Latimer will be here in two minutes. - -LEONARD (_turning back_). Yes, but who the devil’s Mr. Latimer? - -ANNE (_with interest_). Leonard, do you always arrange something -fascinating like this when you elope? I think it’s so romantic of you. -But don’t you think that the mere running away is enough just at -first? Leaving the fogs and the frets of England, the weariness and -the coldness of it, and escaping together to the warm, blue, -sun-filled South—isn’t that romantic enough? Why drag in a mysterious -and impossible inn, a mysterious and impossible Mr. Latimer? You -should have kept them for afterwards; for the time when the poetry was -wearing out, and we were beginning to get used to each other. - -LEONARD. My dear girl, what _are_ you driving at? I say again—do you -really think that I _arranged_ all this? - -ANNE. Well, somebody did. - - (_The two Footmen and the two Chambermaids come in and take up - positions on each side of the table. They are followed by - DOMINIC._) - -DOMINIC. Mr. Latimer! - - (_MR. LATIMER comes in, looks at the visitors, goes off - absent-mindedly with DOMINIC and his Staff, and then comes - apologetically back again._) - -LATIMER. Good evening! - - (_He bows with an air; an airy gentleman, neither young nor old, - dressed rather fantastically as regards his tie and his - dinner-jacket and the flower in his button-hole, and enjoying - impishly every word of it._) - -LEONARD. Good evening. Er—— - -LATIMER (_confidentially_). You will forgive me for being announced in -my own house, but I find that it saves so much trouble. If I had just -come in and said, “I am Mr. Latimer,” then _you_ would have had to -say, “And I am—er—So-and-so, and this is—er——” Exactly. I mean we -can get on so much better without names. But of course—— - -LEONARD. You will excuse me, sir, but—— - -LATIMER (_going happily on_). But of course, as you were just going to -say, we must call each other _something_. (_Thoughtfully_) I think I -shall call you Leonard. There is something about you—forgive the -liberty—something Leonardish. (_With a very sweet smile to ANNE_) I -am sure you agree with me. - -ANNE. I am wondering whether this is really happening, or whether I am -dreaming it. - -LATIMER (_his back to LEONARD_). And Leonard isn’t wondering at all; -he is just tapping his forehead with a great deal of expression. - - (_LEONARD, who was doing this, stops in some confusion._) - -LEONARD (_coldly_). I think we have had enough of this, Mr. Latimer. I -was giving you the benefit of the doubt. If you are not mad, then I -will ask you for some other explanation of all this nonsense. - -LATIMER (_sniffing at the flower in his button-hole_). An impetuous -character, Leonard. It must be so obvious to everybody else in the -room that an explanation will be forthcoming. But why not a friendly -explanation following a friendly supper? - -ANNE. Are we your guests? - -LATIMER. Please. - -ANNE. Thank you. - -LATIMER. But there is still this question of names. Now we agreed -about Leonard—— - -ANNE (_looking at him fearlessly_). My name is Anne. - -LATIMER. Thank you, Miss Anne. - -LEONARD (_awkwardly_). Er—my wife. - -LATIMER. Then I am tempted to leave out the “Miss.” - -LEONARD (_annoyed again_). Look here—— - -LATIMER (_turning to him_). But there is nothing to look at if I do, -Leonard. (_The Staff comes in._) Ah, supper! Will you sit here, Anne? -(_He goes to the head of the table, and indicates the chair on the -right of him._) And you here, Leonard? (_The chair on the left._) -That’s right. (_They all sit down._) - - (_DOMINIC and the Staff serve the supper. Five of them, so things - go quickly._) - -LATIMER. “A little fish, a bird, a little sweet. Enough to drink, but -not too much to eat.” I composed that in my bath this morning. The -wine has been waiting for you since 1906. How different from the -turbot! ’Twas but yesterday it scarce had heard the name of Le-o-nard. -(_They are all served with fish, and the wine has been poured out._) -Dominic, dismiss the Staff. We would be alone. (_They are alone. He -rises, glass in hand_) My friends, I will give you a toast. (_He -raises his glass_) A Happy Ending! - -ANNE (_lifting her glass_). A Happy Ending! - -LATIMER. You don’t drink, Leonard. You would have the adventure end -unhappily, as is the way of the modern novel? - -LEONARD. I don’t understand the beginning of it, Mr. Latimer. I -don’t—you will forgive me for saying so—I don’t see how _you_ came -into it. Who _are_ you? - -ANNE. Our host, Leonard. - -LEONARD. So it seems, my dear. But in that case, how did we come here? -My chauffeur told us that this was an hotel—your man assured me, when -I asked, that it was an hotel, a sort of hotel. And now it seems that -we are in a private house. Moreover, we seem to have been expected. -And then again—if you will forgive me—it appears to be an unusual -kind of house. I tell you frankly that I don’t understand it. - -LATIMER. I see your difficulty, Leonard. - -LEONARD (_stiffly_). Nor am I accustomed to being called Leonard by a -perfect stranger. - -LATIMER. What you are saying for yourself is, “Who is this man -Latimer? Is he _known_? Is he in the Stud Book?—I mean Debrett. Is he -perhaps one of the Hammersmith Latimers, or does he belong to the -Ealing Branch?” - -ANNE (_calmly eating_). What does it matter? - -LATIMER. Yes, but then _you_ like the fish. Leonard doesn’t. - -LEONARD. I have no fault to find with the fish. You have an excellent -cook. - -LATIMER (_gravely bowing_). I beg your pardon, I thank you. (_DOMINIC -comes in._) His lordship likes the fish. - -DOMINIC. Thank you, sir. I will inform the cook. - - [_He goes out._ - -ANNE. When you are giving us your tiresome explanations after supper, -Mr. Latimer, I wish you would just add one more to them. - -LATIMER. But of course! - -ANNE. Your Mr. Dominic’s appearances are so apt. How is it done? - -LATIMER (_pulling down his cuff_). Yes, I’ll make a note of that. (_He -writes on it_) Dominic—Apt appearance of. - - _DOMINIC reappears._ - -LATIMER. Admit the bird, Dominic. - - [_DOMINIC goes out._ - -LEONARD (_rising stiffly_). I’m afraid we shall have to be getting on -now, Mr. Latimer.... Anne, dear.... We are much obliged for your -hospitality, but—er—I imagine we are not far from Dover—— - -LATIMER. On the Dover Road, certainly. - -LEONARD. Exactly. So if you would—er—have instructions given to my -chauffeur—er—— (_He hesitates as the Staff comes in._) - -LATIMER. Dominic, his lordship’s glass is empty. He wishes to drink my -health. - -DOMINIC. I beg your pardon, my lord. (_The glass is filled._) - -LATIMER. And while he is up, just find his lordship a more comfortable -chair. He has been a little uneasy on that one all through the fish. - -DOMINIC. I beg your pardon, my lord. (_The chair is changed._) - -LATIMER (_rising with his glass and drinking to LEONARD_). Your -happiness! (_He sits down, and LEONARD mechanically sits down too._) -Now for the bird. (_To ANNE_) I like these little ceremonies in -between the courses. Don’t you? - -ANNE. I’m liking my supper. - -LATIMER. I am so glad. (_As ANNE is helped_) I shot this bird myself. -(_He looks at it through his glass_) What is it, Dominic? - -DOMINIC. _Poulet en casserole_ with mushrooms, sir. - -LATIMER. _Poulet en casserole_ with mushrooms. I shot the -mushrooms.... A large help for his lordship, Dominic. (_To LEONARD_) -Let me introduce your chicken to you, Leonard. One of the -Buff-Orpingtons. I daresay you know the family. His mother was a -Wyandotte. He was just about to contract an alliance with one of the -Rock girls, the Plymouth Rocks, when the accident happened. - - (_They are alone again now, plates and glasses well filled. - LEONARD, who has been waiting impatiently for the Staff to go, - pushes back his chair and gets up._) - -LATIMER. Dear me! Not a third chair, surely? - -LEONARD. Now look here, Mr. Latimer, this farce has gone on long -enough. I do not propose to sit through a whole meal without some -further explanation. Either we have that explanation now, or -else—Anne, dear—or else we’ll be getting on our way. - -LATIMER (_thoughtfully_). Ah, but which is your way? - -LEONARD. Dover. My chauffeur seems to have got off the track a little, -but if you can put us on to the Dover Road—— - -LATIMER (_to himself_). The Dover Road! The Dover Road! A dangerous -road, my friends. And you’re travelling in the dark. - -LEONARD. Really, Mr. Latimer, that needn’t frighten us. - -ANNE (_putting her hand on his arm_). What do you mean? - -LATIMER. A strange road, Anne, for _you_. A new, untravelled road. - -LEONARD. Nonsense. She’s often been this way before. Haven’t you, -dear? - -ANNE (_shaking her head_). No.... But I’m not frightened, Mr. Latimer. - - (_There is silence for a little. Then DOMINIC appears noiselessly._) - -LATIMER. Dominic, supper is over. His lordship loved the chicken—too -well to eat it. He adored the mushrooms—in silence. Inform the cook. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. - -LATIMER (_offering his case to ANNE_). A cigarette? - -ANNE. No, thank you. - -LATIMER. You permit it? - -ANNE. Of course. - -LATIMER. Thank you. - -DOMINIC (_to LEONARD_). Cigar, my lord? - -LEONARD. Er—er—(_but they are good ones_)—thanks. - -LATIMER. Well, shall we——? - - (_They get up, and move into more comfortable chairs, LATIMER - talking._) - -LATIMER. Which chair would you like, Anne? There? (_She sits down._) -That’s right. Now then, Leonard, we want something especially -comfortable for you. You are a little finicky about chairs, if you -don’t mind my saying so.... What about _that_ one? Just try it and see -how you like it. (_LEONARD tries it, and sinks into it up to the -neck._) Yes, I think you will be happy there. And I shall sit here. -Now everything is ready. (_They are alone again._) - -LEONARD (_with as much dignity as is possible from that sort of -chair_). I am waiting, Mr. Latimer. - -LATIMER. I am waiting, Leonard, for your questions. - -ANNE. Let me begin with one. (_He turns to her._) Your table was laid -for three. For whom were the other two places intended? - -LATIMER. For yourself and Leonard. - -ANNE. You expected us? - -LATIMER. Yes. - -ANNE. How did you know we were coming? - -LATIMER. Saunders had his instructions to bring you. - -LEONARD (_starting up from his chair—or trying to_). Saunders! My -chauffeur! Do you mean to say—— - -LATIMER. Let me help you up, Leonard. You have the wrong chair again. -It is difficult to be properly indignant in that one. (_He helps him -into a sitting position_) That’s better. You were saying—— - -LEONARD. You mean to tell me that you had the audacity to bribe my -chauffeur? - -LATIMER. No, no, Leonard. What I mean is that _you_ had the -foolhardiness to bribe my friend Saunders to be your chauffeur. - -LEONARD. Upon my word—— - -ANNE. Who is Saunders? - -LATIMER. Saunders? He’s Joseph’s brother. Joseph was the gentleman in -orange. He helped you to fish. - -LEONARD (_out of the chair at last_). How dare you interfere in my -concerns in this way, sir! - -ANNE. Before you explain how you dare, Mr. Latimer, I should like to -know _why_ you are so interested in us. Who are you? - -LATIMER. No more than Mr. Latimer. It is a purely impersonal interest -which I take—and I take it just because you are going the Dover Road, -my dear, and it is a dangerous road for a young girl to travel. - -ANNE (_very cool, very proud_). I don’t think I asked you to be -interested in me. - -LATIMER. Nobody does, my dear. But I am. Very interested. In all my -fellow-travellers. It is my hobby. - -LEONARD. Anne! (_He means, “Let’s get out of this.” He makes a -movement to the front door._) - -LATIMER. The door is locked, Leonard. - -LEONARD (_bending over him and putting his face very close to -LATIMER’S_). Ah! Then I will give you one minute in which to open it. - - _DOMINIC has come in._ - -LATIMER. Dominic, his lordship’s face is just a little too close to -mine. Could you—thank you! (_LEONARD has started back on noticing -DOMINIC._) Coffee? Excellent. (_The Footmen are there with coffee._) - -ANNE. No, thank you. - -LEONARD. No, thanks. (_He sits on another chair._) - -LATIMER. No, thank you. By the way, Dominic, did you go round to the -Hospital this afternoon? - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. The young gentleman is getting on nicely. He was -able to take a little bread-and-milk this morning. - -LATIMER. Ah, I’m glad. Nothing solid yet? - -DOMINIC. No, sir. The jaw is still very tender. - - [_He goes out._ - -LATIMER (_to LEONARD_). He bumped it against my knuckles last week. An -impetuous young fellow. He was running away with—dear me, I forget -her name—I always forget names. I think he called her Pussy. She had -several children. (_Unconsciously he has shot his cuff, and sees -suddenly the note he has made_) What’s this? “Dominic—Apt appearance -of.” Ah, yes. (_He turns to ANNE_) It’s very simple. A little fad of -mine. There are bells everywhere in this room—in every chair, on the -table, in the floor; wherever I am, I can press a bell for Dominic. He -is always close at hand on reception-evenings. Yes. - -ANNE. That was a little warning which you were giving us just now? - -LATIMER (_apologetically_). Yes. I thought it better. Leonard is so -impetuous. Joseph and Jacob were both amateur champions in their day. -Dominic is a very heavy fall-er. He never has to fall on a man twice. -If all this is quite understood at the beginning, it makes it so much -easier. - -ANNE (_getting up_). Mr. Latimer, I assure you that this is not a -sudden freak of fancy, and that I know my own mind. I ask you, as a -gentleman, to open the door. - -LATIMER (_shaking his head_). I am afraid it is impossible, Anne. -(_She shrugs her shoulders and sits down._) - -LEONARD (_calm for the moment_). So we are kept here by force? - -LATIMER. Need we insist upon it? Let us rather say that you have -postponed your visit to France in order to spend a few days with a -friend. - -LEONARD. I prefer to say force. - -LATIMER (_with a bow_). I do not dictate your words to you. Your -movements for the moment, yes. So let us say “force.” - -LEONARD. We are prisoners, in fact? - -LATIMER. Within the limits of my house. - -LEONARD. And if my—my wife chooses to walk out of your front door -to-morrow morning, your—your fellow-conspirators would lay hands on -her and stop her? - -LATIMER. My dear Leonard, why should your—your wife want to walk out -of the front door to-morrow? What would she want to do in the garden -in November? Do be reasonable. - -LEONARD. Suppose she wished to walk to the nearest police-station? - -LATIMER (_to ANNE_). Do you? - -ANNE (_with a smile_). Could I? - -LATIMER. If you stood on Leonard’s shoulders you might just reach the -top of the wall.... Dominic tells me that they have lost the key of -the gates. Very careless of them. - -LEONARD. Well, I’m—— It’s monstrous! - -ANNE. Yes, but we can’t keep on saying that. Here we are apparently, -and here we have to stay. But I still want to know very much _why_ -Mr. Latimer has this great desire for our company. - -LEONARD. You have the advantage of me now, sir, but you will not -always have it. The time will come when I shall demand satisfaction -for this insult. - -LATIMER (_with an air—rising and bowing_). My lord! Letters addressed -to me at the Charing Cross Post Office will always be forwarded! - -LEONARD (_slightly upset_). This gross insult to myself and—er—my -wife. - -LATIMER. No, no, not your wife. - -LEONARD. How dare you! - -LATIMER (_in alarm_). Surely I haven’t made a mistake. (_To ANNE_) You -and he are running away together, aren’t you? - -LEONARD (_a step nearer_). Look here, sir—— - -ANNE. Oh, Leonard, what’s the good? We aren’t ashamed of it, are we? -Yes, Mr. Latimer, we are running away together. - -LATIMER. Of course! Why not? Leonard, _you_ aren’t ashamed of it, are -you? - -LEONARD. I object to this interference in my private affairs by a—— - -LATIMER. Yes, yes, but you’ve said all that. It’s interfering of me, -damnably interfering. But I am doing it because I want you both to be -happy. - -LEONARD. I can look after my own happiness. - -LATIMER. _And_ this lady’s? - -LEONARD. She is good enough to believe it. - -ANNE. I am not a child. Do you think I haven’t thought? The scandal, -the good name I am going to lose, the position of that other woman, I -have thought of all these things. - -LATIMER. There is one thing of which you haven’t thought, Anne. - -ANNE (_how young she is_). I am afraid you are old-fashioned. You are -going to talk to me of morality. - -LATIMER (_smiling_). Oh no, I wasn’t. - -ANNE (_not heeding him_). Living alone here, a bachelor, within these -high walls which keep the world out, you believe what the fairy-books -tell us, that once two people are married they live happy ever after. - -LATIMER. Oh, no, I don’t. - -ANNE. I am the wicked woman, coming between the happy husband and -wife, breaking up the happy home. Is that it, Mr. Latimer? - -LEONARD. Rubbish! The happy home! Why, this is my first real chance of -happiness. - -LATIMER. His first real chance of happiness! As he said when he -proposed to Eustasia. - -LEONARD (_upset_). What’s that? - -LATIMER (_to ANNE_). May I ask _you_ some questions now? - -ANNE. Yes? - -LATIMER. Eustasia will divorce him? - -LEONARD. We shall not defend the suit. - -LATIMER. And then you will marry Anne? - -LEONARD. Another insult. I shall not forget it. - -LATIMER. I beg your pardon. I simply wanted an answer. - -ANNE. He will marry me. - -LATIMER. I see. And then, as the fairy-books tell us, you will live -happy ever after? (_ANNE is silent._) - -LEONARD. I need hardly say that I shall do my best to—— - -LATIMER (_to ANNE_). And then, as the fairy-books tell us, you will -live happy ever after? (_ANNE is silent._) I live within my high walls -which keep the world out; I am old-fashioned, Anne. You are modern, -you know the world. You don’t believe the fairy-books, and yet—you -are going to live happy ever after? - -LEONARD. I don’t see what you’re driving at. - -LATIMER. Anne does. - -ANNE (_raising her eyes to his_). I take the risk, Mr. Latimer. - -LATIMER. But a big risk.... Oh, believe me, I am not so much out of -the world as you think. Should I have known all about you, should I -have brought you here, if I were? I know the world; I know the risks -of marriage. Marriage is an art—well, it’s a profession in itself. -(_Sharply_) And what are you doing? Marrying a man whose only -qualification for the profession is that he has tried it once, and -made a damned hash of it. - -LEONARD. Well, really, sir! - -LATIMER. Isn’t it true? - -LEONARD. Well—er—I admit my marriage has not been a happy one, but I -venture to say—well, I don’t wish to say anything against -Eustasia—— - -LATIMER. Go on. Life is too short for us to be gentlemen all the time. - -LEONARD (_explosively_). Well, then, I say that not even St. Michael -and all his angels could have made a success of it. I mean, not even -St. Michael. - -LATIMER. Yet you chose her. - -LEONARD. Er—well—— (_But he has nothing to say._) - -LATIMER (_after a pause_). Miss Anne, I am not being moral. You see, I -am a very rich man, and we know on good authority that it is difficult -for a very rich man to be a very good man. But being a very rich man I -try to spend my money so that it makes somebody else happy besides -myself. It’s the only happy way of spending money, isn’t it? And it’s -my hobby to prevent people—to try if I can prevent people—making -unhappy marriages.... It’s wonderful what power money gives you. -Nobody realises it, because nobody ever spends it save in the obvious -ways.... You may say that I should have prevented Leonard from -marrying Eustasia in the first place. I have done that sometimes. I -have asked two young people here—oh, properly chaperoned—and -guests, not prisoners as you are—two young people who thought that -they were in love, and I have tried to show each to the other in the -most unromantic light.... Sometimes the engagement has been broken -off. Sometimes they have married and—lived happy ever after.... But -mostly it is my hobby to concentrate on those second marriages into -which people plunge—with no parents now to restrain them—so much -more hastily even than they plunge into their first adventure. Yet how -much more carefully they should be considered, seeing that one at -least of the parties has already proved his utter ignorance of the art -of marriage.... And so, my dear friends, when I hear—and a rich man -has many means of hearing—when I hear that two people are taking the -Dover Road, as you were taking it to-night, I venture to stop them, -and say, in the words of the fairy-book, “Are you _sure_ you are going -to live happy ever after?” - -LEONARD. Your intentions may be good, but I can only repeat that your -interference is utterly unwarranted, and you are entirely mistaken as -to the power and authority which your money gives you. - -LATIMER. Authority, none. But power? (_He laughs_) Why, my dear -Leonard, if I offered you a hundred thousand pounds to go back to your -wife to-night, this lady would never see you again. - -LEONARD. Well, of all the damnable things to say—— - -LATIMER. How damnable the truth is! Think it over to-night, Leonard. -You are a poor man for your position—think of all the things you -could do with a hundred thousand pounds. Turn it over in your -mind—and then over and over again. A hundred thousand pounds. - - (_For a moment it seems as if LEONARD is beginning to turn it, but - ANNE interrupts._) - -ANNE (_scornfully_). Is this part of the treatment? Am I being shown -my lover when he is mercenary? - -LATIMER (_with a laugh_). Oh no! If that were part of my treatment, -there would be no marriages at all. Oh no, it isn’t a genuine offer. -(_To LEONARD_) It’s off, Leonard. You needn’t think it out any more. -(_LEONARD wakes up suddenly, a poor man._) Besides, you misunderstand -me. I don’t want to separate you by force—I have no right to. - -ANNE. But how modest suddenly! - -LATIMER (_with a bow and a smile_). Madam, I admire your spirit. - -ANNE. Leonard, I am receiving the attentions of another man. Beware of -jealousy.... All part of the treatment, Mr. Latimer? - -LATIMER. You’re splendid. (_Seriously_) But I meant what I said just -now. I am not preventing you from going the Dover Road, I am only -asking you to wait a few days and see how you get on. It may be that -you two are the perfect soul-mates; that your union has already been -decreed in Heaven and will be watched over by the angels. If so, -nobody will rejoice in your happiness more than I. I shall not say, -“You have no right to be happy together. Leonard must remain with his -lawfully-wedded Eustasia.” Believe me, I do not waste my money, my -time, my breath in upholding the sanctity of an unhappy marriage. I -was brought up in the sanctity of an unhappy marriage; even as a child -I knew all about it. (_Less seriously_) But oh, my dear Anne, let us -have a little common sense before we adventure marriage with a man who -is always making a mess of it. We know what Leonard is—how perfectly -hopeless as a husband. - -ANNE. I don’t think that is quite fair. - -LATIMER. Well, as far as we can tell. You’ve never made a happy -marriage yet, have you, Leonard? - -LEONARD (_sulkily_). I don’t want to say anything against Eustasia—— - -LATIMER. Good God, man, aren’t you shouting it all the time? Why else -are you here? But don’t try to pretend that it’s all Eustasia’s fault. - -LEONARD (_doubtfully_). Well—— - -LATIMER. Or that it will be all Anne’s fault _next_ year. - -LEONARD. What do you mean, next year? - -LATIMER. I beg your pardon. I should have said the year after next. -(_There is a little silence._) - -ANNE (_getting up_). I think I will go to bed. How long do you want us -to wait? - -LATIMER. Can you spare a week? You with so many years in front of you. - -ANNE (_deciding that the moment has come to put MR. LATIMER in his -place_). I have a father. I left him a note to say what I was doing. -We don’t see much of each other, but I thought it polite. -(_Triumphantly_) Does _that_ interfere with your plans at all? - -LATIMER (_smiling_). Not at all. There was a little mistake about the -delivery of that note. Your father is under the impression that you -are staying with friends—in Kent.... A great power, money. - -ANNE (_deciding, with dignity, that the moment has not come_). I -congratulate you on the perfection of your methods. Good night. - - (_DOMINIC is in the room._) - -LATIMER. Her ladyship will retire. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. - - [_He goes out._ - -LATIMER. Good night, Miss Anne. - -ANNE (_holding out her hand suddenly_). Without prejudice. - -LATIMER (_bending over it gallantly_). Ah, but you are prejudicing me -entirely. - - _A MAID comes in._ - -MAID. This way, my lady. - - (_She leads the way to a door on the right, and ANNE follows - her._) - -LATIMER (_pleasantly, to LEONARD_). And did _you_ leave a note for -_your_ father, Leonard? - -LEONARD. You ought to know. You appear to have your conspirators -everywhere. Saunders—and, I suppose, Anne’s maid—and God knows who -else. - -LATIMER. Money, Leonard, money. A pity you refused that hundred -thousand pounds. You could have bribed the Archbishop of Canterbury to -curse me.... Well, a week here won’t do either of you any harm. Have a -whisky and soda? - -LEONARD. I am not at all sure that I ought to drink in your house. - -LATIMER. You will be thirsty before you go. - -LEONARD (_hesitating_). Well—— - - (_A Footman appears with the whisky._) - -LATIMER. That’s right. Help yourself, won’t you? - -LEONARD (_helping himself_). Please understand that I do this, as I do -everything else in your house, under protest. - -LATIMER (_shooting his cuff and taking out his pencil_). Your protest -is noted. - -LEONARD (_returning to the too comfortable chair_). As I have already -said, your conduct is perfectly outrageous. (_He sinks into its -depths._) - -LATIMER. And as I have already said, you can’t do moral indignation -from that chair. Remember what happened to you last time. - -LEONARD. Perfectly outrageous. (_He drinks._) - -LATIMER. Have another cigar? - -LEONARD. I shall go to bed as soon as I have drunk this. (_He -drinks._) - -LATIMER. You wouldn’t care for a game of billiards first? - -LEONARD. I am not in the mood for billiards. - -LATIMER. By the way, we have another runaway couple here. But their -week of probation is just over. They expect to leave to-morrow. - -LEONARD. I am not interested in your earlier crimes. - -LATIMER. I think you would be interested in _this_ couple, Leonard. - -LEONARD. I assure you I am not. - -LATIMER. Ah! (_Picking up a review and settling himself_) Very good -article this month by Sidney Webb. You ought to read it. - -LEONARD. I am not interested in Sidney Webb. - -LATIMER. Breakfast is at ten o’clock. In here. - -LEONARD (_struggling out of his chair_). I shall eat it under protest. - -LATIMER. You’re off? Then I’ll say good night. - - (_DOMINIC and the two Footmen, JOSEPH and JACOB, have come in._) - -LEONARD (_stiffly_). Good night. - - (_He walks up to the door on the right. JACOB is in front of it. - LEONARD is pulled up at sight of him. DOMINIC indicates the door - on the left._) - -DOMINIC. _This_ way, my lord. - -LEONARD. Er—er—thank you. - - (_He goes out, followed by JOSEPH.... MR. LATIMER is alone with - Sidney Webb._) - - - - -ACT II - -_It is next morning. EUSTASIA, LEONARD’S wife (who should be sitting -patiently at home wondering when he will return), is having breakfast -with a harmless young man called NICHOLAS. She is what people who talk -like that call a “nice little thing,” near enough to thirty-five to -begin to wish it were twenty-five. At present she is making a good -deal of fuss over this dear boy NICHOLAS. Breakfast is practically -over. NICHOLAS, in fact, is wiping his mouth._ - - * * * * * - -EUSTASIA. Finished, darling? - -NICHOLAS. Yes, thank you, Eustasia. - -EUSTASIA. A little more toast? - -NICHOLAS. No, thank you, Eustasia. - -EUSTASIA. Just a little tiny teeny-weeny bit, if his Eustasia butters -it for him? - -NICHOLAS. No, thank you. I’ve really finished. - -EUSTASIA. Another cup of coffee? - -NICHOLAS (_with a sigh_). No, thank you, Eustasia. - -EUSTASIA. Just a little bit of a cup if his Eustasia pours it out for -her own Nicholas, and puts the sugar in with her own ickle fingers? - -NICHOLAS. No more coffee, thank you. - -EUSTASIA. Then he shall sit in a more comfy chair while he smokes his -nasty, horrid pipe, which he loves so much better than his Eustasia. -(_He gets up without saying anything._) He doesn’t really love it -better? - -NICHOLAS (_laughing uneasily_). Of course he doesn’t. - -EUSTASIA. Kiss her to show that he doesn’t. - -NICHOLAS (_doing it gingerly_). You baby! - -EUSTASIA. And now give me your pipe. (_He gives it to her reluctantly. -She kisses it and gives it back to him._) There! And she doesn’t -really think it’s a nasty, horrid pipe, and she’s ever so sorry she -said so.... Oh! (_She sees a dish of apples suddenly._) - -NICHOLAS. What is it? - -EUSTASIA. Nicholas never had an apple! - -NICHOLAS. Oh no, thanks, I don’t want one. - -EUSTASIA. Oh, but he must have an apple! It’s so good for him. An -apple a day keeps the doctor away. You _must_ keep the doctor away, -darling, else poor Eustasia will be miserable. - -NICHOLAS (_with an effort_). I’ve finished my breakfast. - -EUSTASIA. Not even if his Eustasia peels it for him? - -NICHOLAS. No, thank you. I assure you that I have had all I want. - -EUSTASIA. Sure? - -NICHOLAS. Quite sure, thank you. Where are you going to sit? - -EUSTASIA (_indicating the sofa_). Nicholas sit there and Eustasia sit -next to him. - -NICHOLAS (_without much enthusiasm_). Right. (_They sit down._) - -EUSTASIA. Shall Eustasia fill his pipe for him? (_She takes it._) - -NICHOLAS (_taking it back_). No, thank you. It is filled. (_They are -silent for a little, and at last he speaks uncomfortably_) -Er—Eustasia. - -EUSTASIA. Yes, darling. - -NICHOLAS. We’ve been here a week. - -EUSTASIA. Yes, darling. A wonderful, wonderful week. And now to-day we -leave this dear house where we have been so happy together, and go out -into the world together—— - -NICHOLAS (_who has not been listening to her_). A week. Except for the -first day, we have had all our meals alone together. - -EUSTASIA (_sentimentally_). Alone, Nicholas. - -NICHOLAS. Four meals a day—that’s twenty-four meals. - -EUSTASIA. Twenty-four! - -NICHOLAS. And at every one of those meals you have asked me at least -four times to have something more, when I had already said that I -didn’t want anything more; or, in other words, you have forced me to -say “No, thank you, Eustasia,” ninety-six times when there was -absolutely no need for it. - -EUSTASIA (_hurt_). Nicholas! - -NICHOLAS (_inexorably_). We are both young. I am twenty-six, you -are—— - -EUSTASIA (_hopefully_). Twenty-five. - -NICHOLAS (_looking at her quickly and then away again_). You are -twenty-five. If all goes well, we may look to have fifty years more -together. Say two thousand five hundred weeks. Multiply that by a -hundred, and we see that in the course of our joint lives you will, at -the present rate, force me to say “No, thank you, Eustasia,” two -hundred and fifty thousand times more than is necessary. (_He relights -his pipe._) - -EUSTASIA (_pathetically_). Nicholas! (_She applies her handkerchief._) - -NICHOLAS. I wondered if we couldn’t come to some arrangement about it. -That’s all. - -EUSTASIA. You’re cruel! Cruel! (_She sobs piteously._) - -NICHOLAS (_doggedly_). I just wondered if we couldn’t come to some -arrangement. - -EUSTASIA (_completely overcome_). Oh! Oh! Nicholas! My darling! - - (_NICHOLAS, his hands clenched, looks grimly in front of him. He - winces now and then at her sobs. He tries desperately hard not - to give way, but in the end they are too much for him._) - -NICHOLAS (_putting his arms round her_). Darling! Don’t! (_She goes on -sobbing._) There! There! I’m sorry. Nicholas is sorry. I oughtn’t to -have said it. Forgive me, darling. - -EUSTASIA (_between sobs_). It’s only because I love you so much, and -w-want you to be well. And you m-must eat. - -NICHOLAS. Yes, yes, Eustasia, I know. It is dear of you. - -EUSTASIA. Ask any d-doctor. He would say you m-must eat. - -NICHOLAS. Yes, darling. - -EUSTASIA. You m-must eat. - -NICHOLAS (_resignedly_). Yes, darling. - -EUSTASIA (_sitting up and wiping her eyes_). What’s a wife for, if it -isn’t to look after her husband when he’s ill, and to see that he -eats? - -NICHOLAS. All right, dear, we won’t say anything more about it. - -EUSTASIA. And when you had that horrid cold and were so ill, the first -day after we came here, I did look after you, didn’t I, Nicholas, and -take care of you and make you well again? - -NICHOLAS. You did, dear. Don’t think I am not grateful. You were very -kind. (_Wincing at the recollection_) Too kind. - -EUSTASIA. Not too kind, darling. I love looking after you, and doing -things for you, and taking care of you, and cosseting you. -(_Thoughtfully to herself_) Leonard was _never_ ill. - -NICHOLAS. Leonard? - -EUSTASIA. My husband. - -NICHOLAS. Oh!... I’d never thought of him as Leonard. I prefer not to -think about him. I’ve never seen him, and I don’t want to talk about -him. - -EUSTASIA. No, darling. _I_ don’t want to either. - -NICHOLAS. We’ve taken the plunge and—(_bravely_) and we’re not going -back on it. - -EUSTASIA (_surprised_). Darling! - -NICHOLAS. As a man of honour I—— Besides, you can’t go back now—I -mean I took you away, and—— Well, here we are. (_With -determination_) Here we are. - -EUSTASIA. Darling, you aren’t regretting? - -NICHOLAS (_hastily_). No, no! (_She takes out her handkerchief -ominously._) No, no, no! (_She begins to sob._) _No! No!_ (_He is -almost shouting._) Eustasia, listen! I love you! I’m _not_ regretting! -I’ve _never_ been so happy! (_She is sobbing tumultuously._) So happy, -Eustasia! I have never, never been so happy! _Can’t_ you hear? - -EUSTASIA (_throwing herself into his arms_). Darling! - -NICHOLAS. There, there! - -EUSTASIA (_drying her eyes_). Oh, Nicholas, you frightened me so! Just -for a moment I was afraid you were regretting. - -NICHOLAS. No, no! - -EUSTASIA. How right Mr. Latimer was! - -NICHOLAS (_with conviction_). He was indeed. - -EUSTASIA. How little we really knew of each other when you asked me to -come away with you! - -NICHOLAS. How little! - -EUSTASIA. But this week has shown us to each other as we really are. - -NICHOLAS. It has. - -EUSTASIA. And now I feel absolutely safe. We are ready to face the -world together, Nicholas. (_She sighs and leans back happily in his -arms._) - -NICHOLAS. Ready to face the world together. - - (_He has his pipe in his right hand, which is round her waist. Her - eyes are closed, her left hand, encircling his neck, holds his - left hand. He tries to bend his head down so as to get hold of his - pipe with his teeth. Several times he tries and just misses it. - Each time he pulls her a little closer to him, and she sighs - happily. At last he gets hold of it. He leans back with a gasp of - relief._) - -EUSTASIA (_still with her eyes closed_). What is it, darling? - -NICHOLAS. Nothing, Eustasia, nothing. Just happiness. - - (_But they are not to be alone with it for long, for MR. LATIMER - comes in._) - -LATIMER. Good morning, my friends, good morning. - - (_They move apart and NICHOLAS jumps up._) - -NICHOLAS. Oh, good morning. - -EUSTASIA. Good morning. - -LATIMER. So you are leaving me this morning and going on your way? - -NICHOLAS (_without enthusiasm_). Yes. - -EUSTASIA. But we shall never forget this week, dear Mr. Latimer. - -LATIMER. You have forgiven me for asking you to wait a little so as to -make sure? - -EUSTASIA. Oh, but you were so right! I was just saying so to Nicholas. -Wasn’t I, Nicholas? - -NICHOLAS. Yes. About a minute ago. About two minutes ago. - -LATIMER. And so now you are sure of yourselves? - -EUSTASIA. Oh, so sure, so very sure. Aren’t we, Nicholas? - -NICHOLAS. Absolutely sure. - -LATIMER. That’s right. (_Looking at his watch_) Well, I don’t want to -hurry you, but if you have any little things to do, the car will be -here in half an hour, and—— - -EUSTASIA. Half an hour? Oh, I must fly. (_She begins._) - -NICHOLAS (_not moving_). Yes, we must fly. - -LATIMER (_going to the door with EUSTASIA_). By the way, you will be -interested to hear that I had two other visitors last night. - -EUSTASIA (_stopping excitedly_). Mr. Latimer! You don’t mean -another—couple? - -LATIMER. Yes, another romantic couple. - -EUSTASIA. Oh, if I could but see them before we go! Just for a moment! -Just to reconcile them to this week of probation! To tell them what a -wonderful week it can be! - -LATIMER. You shall. I promise you that you shall. - -EUSTASIA. Oh, thank you, dear Mr. Latimer! - - (_He goes to the door with her. As he comes back, NICHOLAS is - coming slowly towards him._) - -NICHOLAS. I say? - -LATIMER. Yes? - -NICHOLAS (_thoughtfully_). I say, what would _you_—I -mean—supposing—— Because you see—I mean, it isn’t as if—— Of -course, _now_—— (_He looks at his watch and finishes up sadly_) Half -an hour. Well, I suppose I must be getting ready. (_He goes towards -the door._) - -LATIMER (_as he gets there_). Er—Nicholas. - -NICHOLAS. Yes? - -LATIMER. Just a moment. - -NICHOLAS (_coming back to him_). Yes? - - (_LATIMER takes him by the arm, and looks round the room to see - that they are alone._) - -LATIMER (_in a loud whisper_). Cheer up! - -NICHOLAS (_excitedly_). What? - - (_LATIMER has let go of his arm and moved away, humming casually - to himself. The light dies out of NICHOLAS’ eyes, and he shrugs - his shoulders despairingly._) - -NICHOLAS (_without any hope_). Well, I’ll go and get ready. - - [_He goes out._ - - (_DOMINIC comes in and begins to rearrange the breakfast-table._) - -LATIMER. Ah, good morning, Dominic. - -DOMINIC. Good morning, sir. A nicish morning it seems to be, sir. - -LATIMER. A very nicish morning. I have great hopes of the world -to-day. - -DOMINIC. I am very glad to hear it, sir. - -LATIMER. We must all do what we can, Dominic. - -DOMINIC. That’s the only way, isn’t it, sir? - -LATIMER. Great hopes, great hopes. - -DOMINIC (_handing him “The Times”_). The paper, sir. - -LATIMER. Thank you. (_He looks at the front page_). Any one married -this morning? Dear me, quite a lot. One, two, three, four ... ten. -Ten! Twenty happy people, Dominic! - -DOMINIC. Let us hope so, sir. - -LATIMER. Let us hope so.... By the way, how was his lordship this -morning? - -DOMINIC. A little depressed, sir. - -LATIMER. Ah! - -DOMINIC. There seems to have been some misunderstanding about his -luggage. A little carelessness on the part of somebody, I imagine, -sir. - -LATIMER. Dear me! Didn’t it come with him? - -DOMINIC. I’m afraid not, sir. - -LATIMER. Tut, tut, how careless of somebody. Can’t we lend him -anything? - -DOMINIC. Joseph offered to lend him a comb, sir—his own comb—a -birthday present last year, Joseph tells me. His lordship decided not -to avail himself of the offer. - -LATIMER. Very generous of Joseph, seeing that it was a birthday -present. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. Unfortunately Joseph had come down to the last -blade of his safety razor this morning. His lordship is rather upset -about the whole business, sir. - -LATIMER. Well, well, I daresay a little breakfast will do him good. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. Are you ready for breakfast now, sir? - - (_ANNE comes in. All this is rather fun. She is not so sure of - LEONARD now, but LEONARD doesn’t matter. Dover is a long way off. - Meanwhile this is fun. The jolly house, the excitement of not - knowing what will happen next; and MR. LATIMER—to be put in his - place._) - -LATIMER (_getting up and going to her_). Good morning, Anne. May I -hope that you slept well? - -ANNE. Very well, thank you. - -LATIMER. I am so glad.... All right, Dominic. - -DOMINIC. Thank you, sir. - - [_He goes out._ - -LATIMER. You are ready for breakfast? - -ANNE. Quite ready. But what about Leonard? - -LATIMER. Leonard? - -ANNE. I made sure that I was to have a practice breakfast with -Leonard this morning. I have been thinking of a few things to say up -in my room. - -LATIMER (_smiling_). Say them to me instead. - -ANNE. They are very wifely. (_She sits down._) - -LATIMER. But think what good practice. - -ANNE. Very well. (_At the cups_) Tea or coffee, darling? - -LATIMER. Oh no, that will never do. You know by now that I always have -coffee—half milk and three lumps of sugar. - -ANNE. Of course, how silly of me. (_She pours out the coffee._) - -LATIMER (_taking the covers off the dishes_). Omelette—fish—kidney -and bacon? - -ANNE. Now _you’re_ forgetting. - -LATIMER (_putting back the covers_). No, I’m remembering. Toast and -marmalade—isn’t that right? - -ANNE. Quite right, dear. - -LATIMER (_to himself_). I knew she would like marmalade. No wonder -that Leonard ran away with her. (_He puts the toast and marmalade -close to her._) - -ANNE. Your coffee, darling. - -LATIMER. Thank you, my love.... “My love” is very connubial, I think. - -ANNE. Delightfully so. Do go on. - -LATIMER. Er—I am sorry to see in the paper this morning—which I -glanced at, my precious, before you came down—— How do you like “My -precious”? - -ANNE. Wonderfully life-like. Are you sure you haven’t been married -before? - -LATIMER. Only once. Eustasia. You had not forgotten, Eustasia? - -ANNE. I am afraid I had. In fact, I had forgotten for the moment that -you were being Leonard. - -LATIMER (_bowing_). Thank you. I could wish no better compliment. - -ANNE (_laughing in spite of herself_). Oh, you’re too absurd. - -LATIMER (_in LEONARD’S manner_). Of course I don’t wish to say -anything against Eustasia—— - -ANNE. My dear Leonard, I really think we might leave your first wife -out of it. - -LATIMER. Yes, you want to get that off pat. You’ll have to say that a -good deal, I expect. Well, to resume. I am sorry to see in the paper -this morning that Beelzebub, upon whom I laid my shirt for the 2.30 -race at Newmarket yesterday—and incidentally your shirt too, -darling—came in last, some five minutes after the others had finished -the course.... Tut, tut, how annoying! - -ANNE. Oh, my poor darling! - -LATIMER. The word “poor” is well chosen. We are ruined. I shall have -to work. - -ANNE. You know what I _want_ you to do, Leonard? - -LATIMER. No, I have forgotten. - -ANNE (_seriously_). I should like to see you in the House of Lords, -taking your rightful place as a leader of men, making great speeches. - -LATIMER. My dear Anne! I may be a peer, but I am not a dashed -politician. - -ANNE (_wistfully_). I wish you were, Leonard. - -LATIMER. I will be anything you like, Anne. (_He leans towards her, -half-serious, half-mocking._) - -ANNE (_with a little laugh_). How absurd you are! Some more coffee? - -LATIMER (_passing his cup_). To which I answer, “A little more milk.” -Do you realise that this goes on for fifty years? - -ANNE. Well, and why not? - -LATIMER. Fifty years. A solemn thought. But do not let it mar our -pleasure in the meal that we are having together now. Let us continue -to talk gaily together. Tell me of any interesting dream you may have -had last night—any little adventure that befell you in the bath—any -bright thought that occurred to you as you were dressing. - -ANNE (_thoughtfully_). I had a very odd dream last night. - -LATIMER. I am longing to hear it, my love. - -ANNE. I dreamt that you and I were running away together, Leonard, and -that we lost our way and came to what we thought was an hotel. But it -was not an hotel. It was a very mysterious house, kept by a very -mysterious man called Mr. Latimer. - -LATIMER. How very odd. Latimer? Latimer? No, I don’t seem to have -heard of the fellow. - -ANNE. He told us that we were his prisoners. That we must stay in his -house a week before we went on our way again. That all the doors were -locked, and there were high walls round the garden, that the gates -from the garden were locked, so that we could not escape, and that we -must wait a week together in his house to see if we were really suited -to each other. - -LATIMER. My dear, what an extraordinary dream! - -ANNE. It _was_ only a dream, wasn’t it? - -LATIMER. Of course! What is there mysterious about this house? What is -there mysterious about this—er—Mr. Latimer? And as for any one being -kept prisoner—here—in this respectable England—why! - -ANNE. It is absurd, isn’t it? - -LATIMER. Quite ridiculous. - -ANNE (_getting up—now she will show him_). I thought it was. (_She -goes to the front door and turns the handle. To her surprise the door -opens. But MR. LATIMER mustn’t know that she is surprised._) You see, -I thought it was! (_She steps out into the garden._) You see, the -gates are open too! (_She comes back._) What an absurd dream to have -had! (_She sits down again._) - -LATIMER. There’s no accounting for dreams. I had an absurd one too -last night. - -ANNE. What was it? - -LATIMER. A lonely house. Father and daughter living together. Father -old, selfish, absorbed in his work. Daughter left to herself; her only -companion, books; knowing nothing of the world. A man comes into her -life—the first. He makes much of her. It is a new experience for the -daughter. She is grateful to him, so grateful, so very proud that she -means anything to him. He tells her when it is too late that he is -married; talks of an impossible wife; tells her that she is his real -mate. Let her come with him and see something of the world which she -has never known. She comes.... Dear me, what silly things one dreams! - -ANNE. Absurd things.... (_So he knows! He knows all about it! But she -will not be treated as a child. She will carry it off yet._) When can -we have the car? (_Now she is carrying it off._) - -LATIMER. The car? - -ANNE. Leonard’s car. - -LATIMER. You wish to continue the adventure? - -ANNE. Why not? - -LATIMER. Dear, dear! What a pity! (_Looking at his watch._) In -twenty-five minutes? - -ANNE. That will do nicely, thank you. - -LATIMER. We must let Leonard have a little breakfast first, if he is -to cross the Channel to-day. (_He gets up._) In twenty-five minutes -then. - -ANNE (_half holding out her hand_). I shall see you again? - -LATIMER (_bending over it_). If only to wish you Godspeed. - - (_She looks at him for a moment, and then turns and goes out. He - picks up his paper and settles with it in an arm-chair, his back - to the breakfast-table. LEONARD comes in. He is in a dirty, rather - disreputable, once white, bath-gown. His hair is unbrushed, his - cheeks—the cheeks of a dark man—unshaved and blue. He has a - horrible pair of bedroom slippers on his feet, above which, not - only his socks, but almost a hint of pantaloons, may be seen on - the way to the dressing-gown. He comes in nervously, and is - greatly relieved to find that the breakfast-table is empty. He - does not notice MR. LATIMER. On his way to the table he stops at a - mirror on the wall, and standing in front of it, tries to persuade - himself that his chin is not so bad after all. Then he pours - himself out some coffee, helps himself to a kipper and falls to - ravenously._) - -LATIMER. Ah, good morning, Leonard. - -LEONARD (_starting violently and turning round_). Good Lord! I didn’t -know you were there. - -LATIMER. You were so hungry.... I trust you slept well. - -LEONARD. Slept well! Of all the damned draughty rooms—— Yes, and -what about my luggage? - -LATIMER (_surprised_). Your luggage? - -LEONARD. Yes, never put on the car, your fellow, what’s ’is -name—Joseph says. - -LATIMER. Dear me, we must enquire into this. Lost your luggage? Dear -me, that’s a very unfortunate start for a honeymoon. That means bad -luck, Leonard. (_DOMINIC comes in._) Dominic, what’s this about his -lordship’s luggage? - -DOMINIC. Joseph tells me there must have been some misunderstanding -about it, sir. A little carelessness on the part of somebody, I -imagine, sir. - -LATIMER. Dear me! Didn’t it come with him? - -DOMINIC. I’m afraid not, sir. - -LATIMER. Tut, tut, how careless of somebody! Thank you, Dominic. - -DOMINIC. Thank you, sir. - - [_He goes out._ - -LATIMER. Lost your luggage. How excessively annoying! (_Anxiously_) My -dear Leonard, what is it? - -LEONARD (_whose face has been shaping for it for some seconds_) -A-tish-oo! - -LATIMER. At any rate I can find you a handkerchief. (_He does so. -LEONARD takes it just in time, and sneezes violently again._) - -LEONARD. Thank you. - -LATIMER. Not at all. That’s a very nasty cold you’ve got. How wise of -you to have kept on a dressing-gown. - -LEONARD. The only thing I had to put on. - -LATIMER. But surely you were travelling in a suit yesterday? I seem to -remember a brown suit. - -LEONARD. That fool of a man of yours—— - -LATIMER (_distressed_). You don’t mean to tell me——(_DOMINIC comes -in._) Dominic, what’s this about his lordship’s brown suit? - -DOMINIC. Owing to a regrettable misunderstanding, sir, his lordship’s -luggage—— - -LATIMER. Yes, but I’m not talking about his twenty-five other suits, I -mean the nice brown suit that he was wearing yesterday. It must be -somewhere. I remember noticing it. I remember—— (_He holds up his -hand_) Just a moment, Dominic—— - -LEONARD. A-tish-oo! - -LATIMER. I remember saying to myself, “What a nice brown suit Leonard -is wearing.” Well, where is it, Dominic? - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. I seem to remember the suit to which you are -referring. I regret to say that Joseph had an unfortunate accident -with it. - -LEONARD (_growling_). Damned carelessness. - -DOMINIC. Joseph was bringing back the clothes after brushing them, -sir, and happened to have them in his arms while bending over the bath -in order to test the temperature of the water for his lordship. A -little surprised by the unexpected heat of the water, Joseph -relinquished the clothes for a moment, and precipitated them into the -bath. - -LATIMER. Dear me, how extremely careless of Joseph! - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir, I have already reprimanded him. - -LEONARD. The fellow ought to be shot. - -LATIMER. You’re quite right, Leonard. Dominic, shoot Joseph this -morning. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. - -LATIMER. And see that his lordship’s suit is dried as soon as -possible. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. It is being dried now, sir. - -LATIMER. But it must be dried thoroughly, Dominic. His lordship has a -nasty cold, and—— - -LEONARD. A-tish-oo! - -LATIMER. A very nasty one. I’m afraid you are subject to colds, -Leonard? - -LEONARD. The first one I’ve ever had in my life. - -LATIMER. Do you hear that, Dominic? The first one he’s ever had in his -life. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. If you remember, sir, Mr. Nicholas, and one or two -other gentlemen who have slept there, caught a very nasty cold. Almost -looks as if there must be something the matter with the room. - -LEONARD. Damned draughtiest room—— - -LATIMER. Dear me! You should have told me of this before. We must have -the room seen to at once. And be sure that his lordship has a -different room to-night. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir; thank you, sir. - - [_He goes out._ - -LATIMER (_sympathetically_). My dear fellow, I am distressed beyond -words. But you know the saying, “Feed a cold, starve a fever.” You -must eat, you must eat. (_He pushes all the dishes round Leonard._) We -must be firm with this cold. We must suffocate it. (_Pressing more -dishes upon him._) You were quite right not to shave. The protection -offered by the beard, though small, is salutary. But I was -forgetting—perhaps your razor is lost too? - -LEONARD. Damned careless fellows! - -LATIMER. I must lend you mine. - -LEONARD (_feeling his chin_). I say, I wish you would. - -LATIMER. I will get it at once. Meanwhile, eat. No half measures with -this cold of yours. My poor fellow! - - (_He hurries out. Just as LEONARD is getting busy with his - breakfast again, ANNE comes in._) - -ANNE. Leonard, my dear! (_She observes him more thoroughly_) My _dear_ -Leonard! - -LEONARD (_his mouth full_). G’morning, Anne. - -ANNE (_coldly_). Good morning. - -LEONARD (_getting up, napkin in hand_). How are you this morning? (_He -comes towards her, wiping his mouth._) - -ANNE. No, please go on with your breakfast. (_In alarm_) What is it? - - (_His face assumes an agonized expression. He sneezes. ANNE - shudders._) - -LEONARD. Got a nasty cold. Can’t understand it. First I’ve ever had in -my life. - -ANNE. Do you sneeze like that much? - -LEONARD. Off and on. - -ANNE. Oh!... Hadn’t you better get on with your breakfast? - -LEONARD. Well, I will if you don’t mind. Good thing for a cold, isn’t -it? Eat a lot. - -ANNE. I really know very little about colds.... Do get on with your -breakfast. - -LEONARD (_going back_). Well, I will, if you don’t mind. You had -yours? - -ANNE. Yes. - -LEONARD. That’s right. (_Resuming it_) Did you have one of these -kippers? - -ANNE. No. - -LEONARD. Ah! A pity. I will say that for Latimer’s cook. She knows how -to do a kipper. Much more difficult than people think. - -ANNE. I really know very little about kippers. - -LEONARD. I have often wondered why somebody doesn’t invent one without -bones. (_He takes a mouthful._) Seeing what science can do -nowadays—— (_He stops. ANNE’S eye is on him. He says nothing, but -waves his hand for her to look the other way._) - -ANNE. What is it? (_He frowns fiercely and continues to wave. She -turns away coldly._) I beg your pardon. (_He removes a mouthful of -bones._) - -LEONARD (_cheerfully_). Right oh, darling.... After all, what do they -_want_ all these bones for? Other fish manage without them. (_He -continues his kipper._) - -ANNE. Leonard, when you can spare me a moment I should like to speak -to you. - -LEONARD (_eating_). My darling, all my time is yours. - -ANNE. I should like your undivided attention if I can have it. - -LEONARD. Fire away, darling, I’m listening. - -ANNE (_going up to him_). Have you finished your—kipper? (_She takes -the plate away_) What are you going to have next? - -LEONARD. Well—what do you recommend? - -ANNE (_taking off a cover_). Omelette? I don’t think it has any bones. - -LEONARD. What’s in that other dish? (_She takes off the cover._) -Kidneys? What are the kidneys like? - -ANNE. Well, you can see what they _look_ like. - -LEONARD. Did you try one? - -ANNE (_impatiently_). They’re delightful, I tried several. (_She helps -him_) There! Got the toast? Butter? Salt? What is it? - -LEONARD. Pepper. - -ANNE. Pepper—there. Now have you got everything? - -LEONARD. Yes, thank you, my dear. (_He picks up his knife and fork._) - -ANNE (_putting them down again_). Then before you actually begin, I -have something I want to say to you. - -LEONARD. You’re very mysterious. What is it? - -ANNE. There is nothing mysterious about it at all. It’s perfectly -plain and obvious. Only I do want you to grasp it. - -LEONARD. Well? (_He blows his nose. She waits for him to finish._) -Well? (_He is still flourishing his handkerchief. She waits patiently. -He puts it back in his pocket._) Well? - -ANNE. The car will be here in a quarter of an hour. - -LEONARD. The car? - -ANNE. The automobile. - -LEONARD. But whose? - -ANNE. Ours. More accurately, yours. - -LEONARD. But what for? - -ANNE (_patiently_). We are running away together, dear. You and I. It -had slipped your memory perhaps, but I assure you it is a fact. The -car will take us to Dover, and the boat will take us to Calais, and -the train will take us to the South of France. You and I, dear. When -you’ve finished your breakfast. - -LEONARD. But what about Latimer? - -ANNE. Just you and I, dear. Two of us only. The usual number. We shall -not take Mr. Latimer. - -LEONARD. My dear Anne, you seem quite to have forgotten that this -confounded fellow Latimer has got us prisoners here until he chooses -to let us go. (_With dignity_) _I_ have not forgotten. I eat his -kidneys now, but he shall hear from me afterwards. Damned -interference! - -ANNE. Have you been dreaming, Leonard? _Before_ all these kippers and -kidneys and things? - -LEONARD. Dreaming? - -ANNE. The car will be here in a quarter of an hour. Why not? It is -_your_ car. This is England; this is the twentieth century. We missed -the boat and spent the night here. We go on our way this morning. Why -not? - -LEONARD. Well, you know, I said last night it was perfectly ridiculous -for Latimer to talk that way. I mean, what has it got to do with -_him_? Just a bit of leg-pulling—that’s what I felt all the time. -Stupid joke. (_Picking up his knife and fork_) Bad taste too. - -ANNE. You did hear what I said, didn’t you? The car will be here in a -quarter of an hour. I don’t know how long it takes you to—(_she -glances him over_) to shave, and—and dress properly, and—and brush -your hair, but I fancy you ought to be thinking about it quite -seriously. (_Kindly_) You can have some more kidneys another time. - -LEONARD. B-but I can’t possibly go like this. - -ANNE. No, that’s what I say. - -LEONARD. I mean I haven’t got any luggage for one thing—and, with a -cold like this, I’m not at all sure—— - -ANNE. You’ve lost your luggage? - -LEONARD. Apparently it was left behind by—— - -ANNE (_with anger_). You let yourself be tricked and humiliated by -this Mr. Latimer, you let _me_ be humiliated, and then when I say -that, whatever happens, I won’t be humiliated, you—you lose your -luggage! - -LEONARD. _I_ didn’t lose it. It just happens to _be_ lost. - -ANNE. And you catch a cold! - -LEONARD. _I_ didn’t catch it. It caught _me_. - -ANNE. The—the humiliation of it!... And what do you propose to do -now? - -LEONARD. As soon as my luggage turns up, and I am well enough to -travel—— - -ANNE. Meanwhile you accept this man’s hospitality—— - -LEONARD. Under protest. (_Helping himself from the dish._) I shall -keep a careful account of everything that we have here—— - -ANNE. Well, that’s your third kidney; you’d better make a note of it. - -LEONARD (_with dignity_). As it happens I was helping myself to a -trifle more bacon.... As I say, I shall keep a careful account, and -send him a cheque for our board and lodging as soon as we have left -his roof. - -ANNE. Oh!... I had some coffee and one slice of toast and a little -marmalade. About a spoonful. And a cup of tea and two thin slices of -bread and butter upstairs. Oh, and I’ve had two baths. They’re extra, -aren’t they? A hot one last night and a cold one this morning. I -think that’s all. Except supper last night, and you wouldn’t let me -finish that, so I expect there’ll be a reduction.... You want a -note-book with one of those little pencils in it. - -LEONARD (_reproachfully_). I say, Anne, look here—— - -ANNE. Do go on with your breakfast. - -LEONARD. You’re being awfully unfair. How can we possibly go now? Why, -I haven’t even got a pair of trousers to put on. - -ANNE. You’re not going to say you’ve lost those too! - -LEONARD (_sulkily_). It’s not my fault. That fellow—What’s ’is -name—— - -ANNE (_wonderingly_). What made you ever _think_ that you could take -anybody to the South of France? Without any practice at all?... Now, -if you had been taking an aunt to Hammersmith—well, you might have -lost a bus or two ... and your hat might have blown off ... and you -would probably have found yourselves at Hampstead the first two or -three times ... and your aunt would have stood up the whole way ... -but still you might have got there eventually. I mean, it would be -worth trying—if your aunt was very anxious to get to Hammersmith. But -the South of France! My dear Leonard! It’s so audacious of you. - -LEONARD (_annoyed_). Now, look here, Anne—— - - (_MR. LATIMER comes in cheerily with shaving-pot, brush, - safety-razor, and towel._) - -LATIMER. Now then, Leonard, we’ll soon have you all right. (_He puts -the things down._) Ah, Anne! You don’t mind waiting while Leonard has -a shave? He wanted to grow a special beard for the Continent, but I -persuaded him not to. The French accent will be quite enough. -(_Picking up the razor_) Do you mind Wednesday’s blade? I used -Tuesday’s myself this morning. - -ANNE (_all sweetness in a moment_). Oh, Mr. Latimer, I find that we -shall not want the car after all. - -LATIMER. No? - -ANNE. No. Poor Leonard is hardly well enough to travel. I hope that by -to-morrow, perhaps—— But I am afraid that we must trespass on your -hospitality until then. I am so sorry. - -LATIMER. But I am charmed to have you. Let me tell your maid to -unpack. - -ANNE. Don’t trouble, thanks. I’ve got to take my hat off. (_Very -lovingly for LATIMER’S benefit_) I shan’t be a moment, Leonard -darling. - - (_She goes out, her chin in the air. She is still carrying it - off._) - -LATIMER. Now then, Leonard darling, to work. - -LEONARD (_picking up the things_). Thanks. - -LATIMER. But where are you going? - -LEONARD. Upstairs, of course. - -LATIMER. Is that wise? With a cold like yours? - -LEONARD. Damn it, I can’t shave down here. - -LATIMER. Oh, come, we mustn’t stand on ceremony when your life is at -stake. You were complaining only five minutes ago of the draught in -your room. Now, here we have a nice even temperature—— - -LEONARD. Well, there’s something in that. - -LATIMER. There’s everything in it. Of course you’ve never had a cold -before, so you don’t know, but any doctor will tell you how important -it is to stay in one room—with a nice even temperature. You mustn’t -dream of going upstairs. - -LEONARD (_surrendering_). Well—— - -LATIMER. That’s right. Got everything you want? There are plenty of -mirrors. Which period do you prefer? Queen Anne? - -LEONARD. It’s all right, thanks. - -LATIMER. Good. Then I’ll leave you to it. - - (_He goes out. Standing in front of a glass on the wall, LEONARD - applies the soap. His cheeks are just getting beautifully creamy - when NICHOLAS enters._) - -NICHOLAS. Hallo! - -LEONARD (_looking round_). Hallo! - -NICHOLAS. Shaving? - -LEONARD (_exasperated_). Well, what the devil did you think I was -doing? - -NICHOLAS. Shaving. (_He sits down. LEONARD gets on with the good -work._) - -LEONARD. A-tish-oo! - -NICHOLAS. Got a cold? - -LEONARD. Obviously. - -NICHOLAS (_sympathetically_). Horrid, sneezing when you’re all covered -with soap. - -LEONARD. Look here, I didn’t ask for your company, and I don’t want -your comments. - -NICHOLAS. Well, if it comes to that, I was here first, and I didn’t -ask you to shave in the hall. - -LEONARD (_with dignity_). There are reasons why it is necessary for me -to shave in the hall. - -NICHOLAS. Don’t bother to tell me. I know ’em. - -LEONARD. What do you mean? - -NICHOLAS. You’re the couple that arrived last night. - -LEONARD (_looking at him, thoughtfully_). And you’re the couple that -is leaving this morning. - -NICHOLAS. Exactly. - -LEONARD. Yes, but I don’t see—— - -NICHOLAS. You haven’t tumbled to it yet? - -LEONARD. Tumbled to what? - -NICHOLAS. The fact that a week ago there were reasons why it was -necessary for _me_ to shave in the hall. - -LEONARD. You!... You don’t mean—— - -NICHOLAS. Yes, I do. - -LEONARD. You lost your luggage? - -NICHOLAS. Yes. - -LEONARD. You woke up with a cold? - -NICHOLAS. Yes.... Horrid, sneezing when you’re all covered with soap. - -LEONARD (_excitedly_). I say, that fellow—what’s ’is name—didn’t -drop _your_ clothes in the bath? - -NICHOLAS. Oh, rather.... Damned smart chap, Latimer. - -LEONARD. Damned scoundrel. - -NICHOLAS. Oh no. He’s quite right. One learns a lot down here. - -LEONARD. I shall leave his house at once ... as soon as I have shaved. - -NICHOLAS. You still want to? (_LEONARD looks at him in surprise_) Oh, -well, you’ve hardly been here long enough, I suppose. - -LEONARD. What do you mean? Don’t _you_ want to any more? - -NICHOLAS. Latimer’s quite right, you know. One learns a lot down here. - -LEONARD (_shaving_). What about the lady? - -NICHOLAS. That’s the devil of it. - -LEONARD. My dear fellow, as a man of honour, you’re bound to go on. - -NICHOLAS. As a man of honour, ought I ever to have started? - -LEONARD (_little knowing_). Naturally I can’t give an opinion on that. - -NICHOLAS. No.... You want to be careful with that glass. The light -isn’t too good. I should go over it all again. - -LEONARD (_stiffly_). Thank you. I am accustomed to shaving myself. - -NICHOLAS. I was just offering a little expert advice. You needn’t take -it. - -LEONARD (_surveying himself doubtfully_). H’m, perhaps you’re right. -(_He lathers himself again. In the middle of it he stops and says_) -Curious creatures, women. - -NICHOLAS. Amazing. - -LEONARD. It’s a life’s work in itself trying to understand ’em. And -then you’re no further. - -NICHOLAS. A week told _me_ all I wanted to know. - -LEONARD. They’re so unexpected. - -NICHOLAS. So unreasonable. - -LEONARD. What was it the poet said about them? - -NICHOLAS. What didn’t he say? - -LEONARD. No, _you_ know the one I mean. How does it begin?... “O -woman, in our hours of ease——” - -NICHOLAS. “Uncertain, coy and hard to please.” - -LEONARD. That’s it. Well, I grant you _that_—— - -NICHOLAS. Grant it me! I should think you do! They throw it at you -with both hands. - -LEONARD. But in the next two lines he misses the point altogether. -When—what is it?—“When pain and anguish wring the brow”—— - -NICHOLAS (_with feeling_). “A ministering angel thou.” - -LEONARD. Yes, and it’s a lie. It’s simply a lie. - -NICHOLAS. My dear fellow, it’s the truest thing anybody ever said. -Only—only one gets too much of it. - -LEONARD. True? Nonsense! - -NICHOLAS. Evidently you don’t know anything about women. - -LEONARD (_indignantly_). _I!_ Not know anything about women! - -NICHOLAS. Well, you said yourself just now that you didn’t. - -LEONARD. I never said—— What I said—— - -NICHOLAS. If you did know anything about ’em, you’d know that there’s -nothing they like more than doing the ministering angel business. - -LEONARD. Ministering angel! - -NICHOLAS. Won’t you have a little more of this, and won’t you have a -little more of that, and how is the poor cold to-day, and—— - -LEONARD. You really think that women talk like that? - -NICHOLAS. How else do you think they talk? - -LEONARD. My dear fellow!... Why, I mean, just take my own case as an -example. Here am I, with a very nasty cold, the first I’ve ever had in -my life. I sit down for a bit of breakfast—not wanting it -particularly, but feeling that, for the sake of my health, I ought to -try and eat something. And what happens? - - (_LATIMER has come in during this speech. He stops and listens to - it._) - -LATIMER (_trying to guess the answer_). You eat too much. - -LEONARD (_turning round angrily_). Ah, so it’s you! You have come just -in time, Mr. Latimer. I propose to leave your house at once. - -LATIMER (_surprised_). Not like that? Not with a little bit of soap -behind the ear? (_LEONARD hastily wipes it._) The other ear. (_LEONARD -wipes that one_) That’s right. - -LEONARD. At once, sir. - -NICHOLAS. You’d better come with us. We’re just going. - -LEONARD. Thank you. - -LATIMER. Four of you. A nice little party. - - _ANNE comes in._ - -LEONARD. Anne, my dear, we are leaving the house at once. Are you -ready? - -ANNE. But—— - -EUSTASIA (_from outside_). Nich-o-las! - - (_LEONARD looks up in astonishment._) - -NICHOLAS (_gloomily_). Hallo! - -EUSTASIA. Where are you? - -NICHOLAS. Here! - - _EUSTASIA comes in._ - -EUSTASIA. Are you ready, darling? (_She stops on seeing them all, and -looks from one to the other. She sees her husband_) Leonard! - -NICHOLAS (_understanding_). Leonard! - -LEONARD. Eustasia! - -ANNE. Eustasia! - - (_They stare at each other—open-mouthed—all but MR. LATIMER. - MR. LATIMER has picked up “The Times,” and seems to have forgotten - that they are there...._) - -ANNE (_after hours and hours_). Oh, isn’t anybody going to say -anything? Mr. Latimer, while Leonard is thinking of something, you -might introduce me to his wife. - -LATIMER (_recalled suddenly from the leading article_). I beg your -pardon! Eustasia, this is Anne. - -ANNE. How do you do? (_Not that she minds._) - -EUSTASIA. How do you do? (_Nor she._) - -LATIMER. Leonard, this is Nicholas. - -NICHOLAS (_nodding_). We’ve met. Quite old friends. - -LEONARD (_indignantly_). I repudiate the friendship. We met under -false pretences. I—I—Well, upon my word, I don’t know _what_ to say. - -NICHOLAS. Then don’t say it, old boy. Here we all are, and we’ve got -to make the best of it. - -LEONARD. I—I—_a-tish-oo!_ - -EUSTASIA (_alarmed_). Leonard, you have a cold? - -NICHOLAS. A very nasty cold. - -ANNE (_coldly_). It will be better when he has finished his breakfast. - -LEONARD (_hurt_). I _have_ finished my breakfast. A long time ago. - -ANNE. I beg your pardon. (_She indicates the towel round his neck_) I -misunderstood. - -LEONARD (_pulling it away_). I’ve been shaving. - -EUSTASIA. But, Leonard dear, I don’t understand. I’ve never known you -ill before. - -LEONARD. I never have been ill before. But I am ill now. Very ill. And -nobody minds. Nobody minds at all. This fellow Latimer invaygles me -here— - -LATIMER. Inveegles. - -LEONARD. I shall pronounce it how I like. It is quite time I asserted -myself. I have been too patient. You invaygle me here and purposely -give me a cold. You—(_pointing accusingly to ANNE_)—are entirely -unmoved by my sufferings, instead of which you make fun of the very -simple breakfast which I had forced myself to eat. You—(_to -NICHOLAS_)—run away with my wife, at a time when I am ill and unable -to protect her, and you—(_to EUSTASIA_)—well, all I can say is that -you surprise me, Eustasia, you surprise me. I didn’t think you had it -in you. - -LATIMER. A masterly summing up of the case. Well, I hope you’re all -ashamed of yourselves. - -EUSTASIA. But, Leonard, how rash of you to _think_ of running away -with a cold like this. (_She goes up and comforts him_) You must take -care of yourself—Eustasia will take care of you and get you well. -Poor boy! He had a nasty, nasty cold, and nobody looked after him. -Mr. Latimer, I shall want some mustard, and hot water, and -eucalyptus. - -LATIMER. But of course! - -LEONARD (_to ANNE_). There you are! As soon as somebody who really -understands illness comes on the scene, you see what happens. Mustard, -hot water, eucalyptus—she has it all at her finger-ends. - - _Enter DOMINIC._ - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir? - -LATIMER. A small mustard and water for his lordship. - -EUSTASIA. It’s to put his feet in, not to drink. - -LATIMER. A large mustard and water. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. - -EUSTASIA. Hot water. - -DOMINIC. Yes, my lady. - -EUSTASIA. And if you have any eucalyptus—— - -DOMINIC. Yes, my lady; we got some in specially for his lordship. - -LATIMER. Did Mr. Nicholas absorb all the last bottle? - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. - -NICHOLAS (_with feeling_). I fairly lived on it. - -DOMINIC (_to EUSTASIA_). Is there anything else his lordship will -require? - -NICHOLAS. What about a mustard-plaster? - -LEONARD. Please mind your own business. - -EUSTASIA. No, I don’t think there’s anything else, thank you. - -NICHOLAS. Well, I call that very unfair. I had one. - -LEONARD (_asserting his rights as a husband_). Oh, did you? Well, in -that case, Eustasia, I certainly don’t see why—— - -LATIMER (_to DOMINIC_). Two mustard-plasters. We mustn’t grudge his -lordship anything. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. - - [_He retires._ - -EUSTASIA (_to LEONARD_). Now come over here, darling, away from the -door. (_She leads him to an arm-chair in the corner of the room_) Lean -on me. - -ANNE. Surely one can walk with a cold in the head! - -NICHOLAS. No, it’s very dangerous. - -LATIMER. Nicholas speaks as an expert. - -EUSTASIA (_settling LEONARD_). There! Is that comfy? - -LEONARD. Thank you, Eustasia. - -EUSTASIA. We’ll soon have you all right, dear. - -LEONARD (_pressing her hand_). Thank you. - -LATIMER (_after a little silence_). Well, as Nicholas said just now, -“Here we all are, and we’ve got to make the best of it.” What are we -all going to do? - -ANNE. Please leave me out of it. (_She is beaten, but that doesn’t -matter. The only thing that matters now is to get out of this horrible -house._) I can make my own arrangements. (_She gives them a cool -little bow as she goes out._) If you will excuse me. - - (_DOMINIC comes in with a clinical thermometer on a tray._) - -DOMINIC. I thought that her ladyship might require a thermometer for -his lordship’s temperature. - -EUSTASIA. Thank you. I think it would be safer just to take it. And I -wondered if we couldn’t just put this screen round his lordship’s -chair. - -DOMINIC. Certainly, my lady, one can’t be too careful. (_He helps her -with it._) - -EUSTASIA. Yes, that’s right. - -LATIMER (_to NICHOLAS_). Did _you_ have the screen? - -NICHOLAS. Oh, rather. - -LATIMER. And the thermometer? - -NICHOLAS. Yes.... Funny thing was I liked it just at first. I don’t -mean the actual thermometer, I mean all the fussing. - -LATIMER. It’s a wonderful invention, a cold in the head. It finds you -out. There’s nothing like it, Nicholas, nothing. - -EUSTASIA (_to DOMINIC_). Thank you. And you’re bringing the other -things? - -DOMINIC. Yes, my lady, as soon as ready. - - [_He goes out._ - -EUSTASIA. Thank you. (_To LEONARD_) Now, dear, under the tongue. (_She -puts it in his mouth._) - -LEONARD (_mumbling_). I don’t think I ever—— - -EUSTASIA. No, dear, don’t try to talk. - - (_And now it is the turn of NICHOLAS._) - -NICHOLAS (_coming close to LATIMER_). I say—— - -LATIMER. Well? - -NICHOLAS (_indicating the screen_). I say, not too loud. - -LATIMER (_in a whisper_). Well? - -NICHOLAS. Well, what about it? - -LATIMER. What about what? - -NICHOLAS. I mean, where do I come in? As a man of honour, oughtn’t I -to—er—— You see what I mean? Of course I want to do the right -thing. - -LATIMER. Naturally, my dear Nicholas. It’s what one expected of you. - -NICHOLAS. I thought that if I slipped away now, unostentatiously.... - -LATIMER. With just a parting word of farewell—— - -NICHOLAS. Well, that was what I was wondering. Would anything in the -nature of a farewell be in good taste? - -LATIMER. I see your point. - -NICHOLAS. Don’t think that I’m not just as devoted to Eustasia as ever -I was. - -LATIMER. But you feel that in the circumstances you could worship her -from afar with more propriety. - -NICHOLAS (_waving a hand at the screen_). Yes. You see, I had no idea -that they were so devoted. - -LATIMER. But their devotion may not last for ever. - -NICHOLAS. Exactly. That’s why I thought I’d slip away now. - -LATIMER. Oh, Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas! - -NICHOLAS (_a little offended_). Well, I don’t want to say anything -against Eustasia—— - -LATIMER. The house is full of people who don’t want to say anything -against Eustasia. - -NICHOLAS. But, you see—— Look out, here’s Miss Anne. - - _ANNE comes in._ - -LATIMER. Anne, you’re just in time. Nicholas wants your advice. - -NICHOLAS. I say, shut up! We can’t very well—— - -ANNE (_with all that is left of her dignity, but she is only a child -after all_). Mr. Latimer, I went upstairs to get my things and find my -way to the nearest railway station. But—but there is a reason why I -am not going after all. Just yet. I thought I’d better tell you. - -LATIMER. Were you really thinking of going? (_She nods._) I’m so glad -you’ve changed your mind. - -ANNE (_with a smile_). There are reasons why I had to. - -LATIMER. Bless them!... Nicholas, I believe she stayed just so that -she might help you. - -ANNE. What does Mr. Nicholas want? - -NICHOLAS. I say, it’s awfully good of you and all that, but this is -rather—I mean, it’s a question that a fellow ought to settle for -himself. - -LATIMER. What he means is, ought _he_ to get his things and find his -way to the nearest railway station? - -ANNE (_dismayed_). Oh no! - -LATIMER. There you are, Nicholas. - -NICHOLAS (_rather flattered_). Oh, well—well—— (_He looks at her -admiringly_) Well, perhaps you’re right. - -EUSTASIA (_the three minutes up_). There! (_She takes the thermometer -out and comes from behind the screen in order to get nearer the -light._) - -LATIMER. His temperature! This is an exciting moment in the history of -the House of Lords. (_He follows EUSTASIA to the window._) - -NICHOLAS (_to ANNE_). I say, do you really think I ought to stay? - -ANNE. Please, Mr. Nicholas, I want you to stay. - -NICHOLAS. Righto! then I’ll stay. - -LATIMER (_over EUSTASIA’S shoulder_). A hundred and nine. - -LEONARD (_putting his head round the screen_). I say, what ought it to -be? - -NICHOLAS. Ninety-eight. - -LEONARD. Good Lord! I’m dying! - -EUSTASIA. It’s just ninety-nine. A little over normal, Leonard, but -nothing to matter. - -LATIMER. _Ninety_-nine—so it is. I should never have forgiven myself -if it had been a hundred and nine. - -NICHOLAS (_coming up to LATIMER_). It’s all right, I’m going to. - -EUSTASIA (_surprised_). Going to? Going to what? - -NICHOLAS (_confused_). Oh, nothing. - -LATIMER. What he means is that he is going to be firm. He thinks we -all ought to have a little talk about things. Just to see where we -are. - -EUSTASIA. Well, things aren’t quite as they were, are they? If I’d -known that Leonard was ill—but I’ve seen so little of him lately. And -he’s _never_ been ill before! - -NICHOLAS. Of course we ought to know where we are. - -LATIMER. Yes. At present Leonard is behind that screen, which makes it -difficult to discuss things properly. Leonard, could you—— - -EUSTASIA. Oh, we mustn’t take any risks! But if we moved the screen a -little, and all sat up at that end of the room—— - -LATIMER. Delightful! - -NICHOLAS (_leading the way_). Sit here, Miss Anne, won’t you? - - (_They arrange themselves. LATIMER in the middle._) - -LATIMER. There! Now, are we all here?... We are. Then with your -permission, Ladies and Gentlemen, I will open the proceedings with a -short speech. - -NICHOLAS. Oh, I say, must you? - -LATIMER. Certainly. - -EUSTASIA (_to LEONARD_). Hush, dear. - -LEONARD. I didn’t say anything. - -EUSTASIA. No, but you were just going to. - -LATIMER (_severely_). Seeing that I refrained from making my speech -when Leonard had the thermometer in his mouth, the least he can do now -is to listen in silence. - -LEONARD. Well, I’m—— - -LATIMER. I resume.... By a fortunate concatenation of circumstances, -ladies and gentlemen—or, as more illiterate men would say, by a bit -of luck—two runaway couples have met under my roof. No need to -mention names. You can all guess for yourselves. But I call now—this -is the end of my speech, Leonard—I call now upon my noble friend on -the right to tell us just why he left the devoted wife by his side in -order to travel upon the Continent. - -LEONARD. Well, really—— - -LATIMER. Naturally Leonard does not wish to say anything against -Eustasia. Very creditable to him. But can it be that the devoted wife -by his side wishes to say anything against Leonard? - -EUSTASIA. You neglected me, Leonard, you know you did. And when I was -so ill—— - -LEONARD. My dear, you were _always_ ill. That was the trouble. - -LATIMER. And you were never ill, Leonard. _That_ was the trouble.... -You heartless ruffian! - -EUSTASIA (_to LEONARD_). Hush, dear. - -LATIMER. Why couldn’t you have had a cold sometimes? Why couldn’t you -have come home with a broken leg, or lost your money, or made a rotten -speech in the House of Lords? If she could never be sorry for _you_, -for whom else could she be sorry, except herself? (_To EUSTASIA_) I -don’t suppose he even lost his umbrella, did he? - -ANNE (_feeling that anything is possible to a man who mislays his -trousers_). Oh, he must have lost that. - -LATIMER. Eustasia, ladies and gentlemen, is one of those dear women, -those sweet women, those delightful women—(_aside to ANNE_)—stop me -if I’m overdoing it—those adorable women who must always cosset or be -cosseted. She couldn’t cosset Leonard; Leonard wouldn’t cosset her. -Hence—the Dover Road. - -EUSTASIA. How well you understand, Mr. Latimer! - -LATIMER. Enter, then, my friend Nicholas. (_Shaking his head at him_) -Oh, Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas! - -NICHOLAS (_uneasily_). What’s all that about? - -LATIMER. Anything you say will be used in evidence against you. -Proceed, my young friend. - -NICHOLAS. Well—well—well—I mean, there she was. - -LATIMER. Lonely. - -NICHOLAS. Exactly. - -LATIMER. Neglected by her brute of a husband—(_As LEONARD opens his -mouth_) fingers crossed, Leonard—who spent day and night rioting in -the House of Lords while his poor little wife cried at home. - -NICHOLAS. Well—— - -LATIMER. Then out spake bold Sir Nicholas—(_Aside to ANNE_) This was -also composed in my bath— - - Then out spake bold Sir Nicholas, - An Oxford man was he; - “Lo, I will write a note to-night - And ask her out to tea.” - -NICHOLAS. Well, you see—— - -LATIMER. I see, Nicholas.... And so here we all are. - -ANNE. Except me. - -LATIMER. I guessed at you, Anne. Did I guess right? - -ANNE (_meekly_). Yes. - -LATIMER. And so here we all are.... And what are we all going to do? -My house is at your disposal for as long as you wish. The doors are -open for those who wish to go.... Eustasia? - -EUSTASIA. My duty is to stay here—to look after my husband. - -LATIMER. Well, that settles Eustasia.... Anne? - -ANNE. Of necessity I must stay here—for the present. - -LATIMER. Well, that settles Anne.... Nicholas? - -NICHOLAS. I stay here too—(_looking at ANNE_) from choice. - -LATIMER. Well, that settles Nicholas.... Leonard? - - (_DOMINIC, followed by all the Staff, comes in, together with a - collection of mustard-baths, plasters, eucalyptus, etc., etc._) - -LATIMER (_looking round at the interruption_). Ah!... And this will -settle Leonard. - - (_It settles him._) - - - - -ACT III - - -_Three days later, and evening again. ANNE is busy with a pencil and -paper, an A.B.C., and her purse. She is trying to work out how much it -costs to go home, and subtracting three and fourpence ha’penny from -it. Having done this, she puts the paper, pencil, and purse in her -bag, returns the A.B.C. to its home, and goes towards the door. One -gathers that she has come to a decision._ - - * * * * * - -ANNE (_calling_). Nich-o-las! - -NICHOLAS (_from outside_). Hallo! - -ANNE. Where—are—you? - -NICHOLAS. Coming. (_He comes._) Just went upstairs to get a pipe. -(_Putting his hand to his pocket_) And now I’ve forgotten it. - - (_They go to the sofa together._) - -ANNE. Oh, Nicholas, how silly you are! (_She sits down._) - -NICHOLAS (_sitting close_). I don’t want to smoke, you know. - -ANNE. I thought men always did. - -NICHOLAS. Well, it depends what they’re doing. - - (_There is no doubt what he is doing. He is making love to ANNE, - the dog, and ANNE is encouraging him._) - -ANNE (_looking away_). Oh! - -NICHOLAS. I say, it has been rather jolly here the last three days, -don’t you think? - -ANNE. It _has_ been rather nice. - -NICHOLAS. We’ve sort of got so friendly. - -ANNE. We have, haven’t we? - -NICHOLAS. You’ve been awfully nice to me. - -ANNE. You’ve been nice to _me_. - -NICHOLAS. I should have gone, you know, if it hadn’t been for you. - -ANNE. I don’t know _what_ I should have done if you had gone. - -NICHOLAS. You did ask me to stay, didn’t you? - -ANNE. Yes, I couldn’t let you go. - -NICHOLAS. Do you know what you said? You said, “Please, Mr. Nicholas, -I want you to stay.” I shall always remember that. (_Fatuously to -himself_) “Please, Mr. Nicholas, I want you to stay.” I wonder what -made you think of saying that? - -ANNE. I wanted us to be friends. I wanted to get to know you; to make -you think of me as—as your friend. - -NICHOLAS. We _are_ friends, Anne, aren’t we? - -ANNE. I think we are now, Nicholas. - -NICHOLAS (_with a sentimental sigh_). Friends! - - (_ANNE looks at him, wondering if she shall risk it; then away - again; then summons up her courage and takes the plunge._) - -ANNE. Nicholas! - -NICHOLAS. Yes? - -ANNE (_timidly_). I—I want you to do something for me. - -NICHOLAS. Anything, Anne, anything. - -ANNE. I don’t know whether I ought to ask you. - -NICHOLAS. Of course you ought! - -ANNE. But you see, we _are_ friends—almost like brother and -sister—— - -NICHOLAS (_disappointed_). Well, I shouldn’t put it quite like -that—— - -ANNE. And I thought I might ask you—— - -NICHOLAS. Of course, Anne! You know I would do anything for you. - -ANNE. Yes.... Well—well—— (_In a rush_) Well, then, will you lend -me one pound two and sixpence till next Monday? - -NICHOLAS. Lend you——! - -ANNE. To-day’s Friday, I’ll send you the money off on Sunday. I -promise. Of course I know one oughtn’t to borrow from men, but you’re -different. Almost like a brother. I knew you would understand. - -NICHOLAS. But—but—I _don’t_ understand. - -ANNE (_ashamed_). You see, I—I only have three and fourpence -ha’penny. And it costs one pound five and twopence to get home. -(_Indignantly_) Oh, it’s a shame the way men always pay for us, and -then when we really want money we haven’t got any.... But I will pay -you back on Sunday. I have some money at home; I meant to have brought -it. - -NICHOLAS. But—but why do you suddenly—— - -ANNE. Suddenly? I’ve been wanting it ever since that first morning. I -went upstairs to get my hat, meaning to walk straight out of the -house—and then I looked in my purse and found—(_pathetically_) three -and fourpence ha’penny. What was I to do? - -NICHOLAS. Any one would have lent you anything. - -ANNE (_coldly_). Leonard, for instance? - -NICHOLAS (_thoughtfully_). Well ... no.... No. You couldn’t very well -have touched Leonard. But Latimer—— - -ANNE. Mr. Latimer! The man who had brought us here, locked us up here, -and started playing Providence to us—I was to go on my knees to _him_ -and say, “Please, dear Mr. Latimer, could you lend me one pound two -and sixpence, so that I may run away from your horrid house?” Really! - -NICHOLAS. Well, you seem to have been pretty friendly with him these -three days. - -ANNE. Naturally I am polite to a man when I am staying in his house. -That’s different. - -NICHOLAS. As a matter of fact, Latimer has been jolly decent. Anyway, -he has saved us both from making silly asses of ourselves. - -ANNE. And you think I am grateful to him for that?... Doesn’t _any_ -man understand _any_ woman? - -NICHOLAS (_annoyed_). Are you suggesting that _I_ don’t understand -women? - -ANNE. I’m suggesting that you should lend me one pound two shillings -and sixpence. - -NICHOLAS (_sulkily, feeling in his pockets_). Of course, if you’re in -such a confounded hurry to get away from here—— Do you mind all -silver? - -ANNE. Not at all. - -NICHOLAS. In such a confounded hurry to get away from here—— (_He -counts the money._) - -ANNE. Why ever should I want to stay? - -NICHOLAS. Well—well—— (_With a despairing shrug_) Oh, Lord!... Ten -shillings ... fourteen and six ... why should she want to stay! Why do -you think _I’m_ staying? - -ANNE (_wickedly_). Because you’re so fond of Mr. Latimer. He’s so -jolly decent. - -NICHOLAS (_looking at the money in his hand_). One pound two shillings -and sixpence. I suppose if I told you what I really thought about it -all, you’d get on your high horse again and refuse the money from -_me_. So I won’t tell you. Here you are. - -ANNE (_gently_). You didn’t think I was in love with you, Nicholas? -(_NICHOLAS looks uncomfortable._) In three days? Oh, Nicholas! - -NICHOLAS. Well—well, I don’t see—— (_He holds out the money. But -ANNE won’t take it on those terms._) - -ANNE. From a friend? - -NICHOLAS. From a friend. - -ANNE. Lent to a friend? - -NICHOLAS. Lent to a friend. - -ANNE (_taking it_). Thank you, Nicholas. (_She hurries out, clasping -the precious money. NICHOLAS will never see her again.... And then, -suddenly, her head comes round the door_) Thank you very much, -Nicholas! (_She is gone._) - -NICHOLAS. Well, I’m damned! - - (_He sits there gloomily, his legs stretched out, and regards his - shoes. So far as we can tell he goes on saying, “Well, I’m damned” - to himself. EUSTASIA and LEONARD come in. He is properly dressed - now, but still under EUSTASIA’S care, and she has his arm, as if - he were attempting a very difficult feat in walking across the - hall._) - -NICHOLAS (_looking round_). Hallo! (_Getting up_) Do you want to come -here? - -LEONARD (_hastily_). Don’t go, old boy, don’t go. Plenty of room for -us all. - -EUSTASIA. Thank you so much. Leonard is not very strong yet. His -temperature is up again to-day. (_To LEONARD_) You will be better on -the sofa, darling. (_Distantly to NICHOLAS_) I’m so sorry to trouble -you. - -NICHOLAS. Not at all. I was just going anyhow. - -LEONARD (_sitting on the sofa_). Oh, nonsense. Stay and talk to us. -Plenty of room for us all. - -NICHOLAS (_feeling in his pockets_). Got to get my pipe. Left it -upstairs, like an ass. - -LEONARD (_taking out his case_). Have a cigarette instead? - -NICHOLAS. Rather have a pipe, thanks. (_He makes for the door._) - -LEONARD (_anxiously_). But you’ll come back? - -NICHOLAS (_unwillingly_). Oh—er—righto. - - [_He goes out._ - -LEONARD. Come and keep us company. (_To EUSTASIA, who is tucking him -up_) Thanks, Eustasia, thanks. That’s quite all right. - -EUSTASIA. Another cushion for your back, darling? - -LEONARD. No, thanks. - -EUSTASIA. Quite sure? - -LEONARD. Quite sure, thanks. - -EUSTASIA. I can easily get it for you. - -LEONARD (_weakly_). Oh, very well. - -EUSTASIA. That’s right. (_Getting the cushion_) You must be -comfortable. Now, are you sure that’s all right? - -LEONARD. Quite all right, thank you. - -EUSTASIA. Sure, darling? Anything else you want, I can get it for you -at once. A rug over your knees? - -LEONARD. No, thank you, Eustasia. (_Now_ he _is saying it._) - -EUSTASIA. You wouldn’t like a hot-water bottle? - -LEONARD (_with a sigh_). No, thank you, Eustasia. - -EUSTASIA. You’ve only got to say, you know. Now shall we talk, or -would you like me to read to you? (_She settles down next to him._) - -LEONARD (_choosing the lesser evil_). I think read—no, I mean, -talk—no, read to me. - -EUSTASIA. It’s for you to say, darling. - -LEONARD (_his eyes closed_). Read to me, Eustasia. - -EUSTASIA (_opening her book_). We’ll go on from where we left off. We -didn’t get very far—I marked the place.... Yes, here we are. “... the -sandy deserts of Arabia and Africa.... 4.” And then there’s a little -footnote at the bottom; that’s how I remember it. (_Reading the -footnote_) “Tacit. Annal. l. ii., Dion Cassius l. lvi. p. 833, and the -speech of Augustus himself.” That doesn’t seem to mean much. “It -receives great light from the learned notes of his French translator, -M. Spanheim.” Well, that’s a good thing. Spanheim—sounds more like a -German, doesn’t it? Now are you sure you’re quite comfortable, dear? - -LEONARD (_his eyes closed_). Yes, thank you, Eustasia. - -EUSTASIA. Then I’ll begin. (_In her reading-aloud voice_) “Happily for -the repose of mankind, the moderate system recommended by the wisdom -of Augustus was adopted by the fears and vices of his immediate -successors. Engaged in the pursuit of pleasure or the exercise of -tyranny, the first Caesars seldom showed themselves to the armies or -to the provinces; nor were they disposed to suffer that those triumphs -which their indolence neglected should be usurped by the conduct and -valour of their lieutenants.” (_Speeding up_) “The military fame of a -subject was considered as an insolent invasion of the Imperial -prerogative; and it became the duty as well as interest of every Roman -General to guard the frontiers entrusted to his care”—(_recklessly_) -“without aspiring for conquests which might have proved no less fatal -to himself than to the vanquished barbarians.”... And then there’s -another little footnote. Perhaps it would be better if I read all the -little footnotes afterwards—what do you think, darling? Or shall we -take them as they come? - -LEONARD (_without opening his eyes_). Yes, dear. - -EUSTASIA. Very well. This is footnote 5. “Germanicus, Suetonius -Paulinus and Agricola”—(_she stumbles over the names_)—“were checked -and recalled in the course of their victories. Corbulo was put to -death.” Oh, what a shame! “Military merit, as it is admirably -expressed by Tacitus, was, in the strictest sense of the word——” -well, there are _two_ words, and they are both in Latin. I suppose -Tacitus wrote in Latin. But it doesn’t really matter, because it’s -only a little footnote. (_Anxiously_) Are you liking the book, -darling? - -LEONARD. Very much, dear. - -EUSTASIA. It’s nicely written, but I don’t think it’s very exciting. I -don’t think Mr. Latimer has a very good taste in books. I asked him to -recommend me something really interesting to read aloud, and he said -that the two most interesting books he knew were Carlyle’s _French -Revolution_ and—and—(_looking at the cover_) Gibbon’s _Roman -Empire_.... Fancy, there are four volumes of it and six hundred pages -in a volume. We’re at page 3 now. (_She reads a line or two to -herself._) Oh, now, this is rather interesting, because it’s all about -_us_. “The only accession which the Roman Empire received during the -first century of the Christian era was the province of Britain.” -Fancy! “The proximity of its situation to the coast of Gaul seemed to -invite their arms, the pleasing though doubtful intelligence of a -pearl fishery attracted their avarice.” And then there’s a little -footnote—I suppose that’s to say it was Whitstable. (_Getting to it_) -Oh no—“The British pearls proved, however, of little value, on -account of their dark and livid colour.” How horrid. “Tacitus -observes——” well, then, Tacitus says something again.... I _wish_ he -would write in English.... Now where was I? Something about the -pearls. Oh yes. “After a war of about forty years”—good -gracious!—“undertaken by the most stupid, maintained by the most -dissolute, and——” - - (_NICHOLAS returns with his pipe._) - -NICHOLAS. Oh, sorry, I’m interrupting. - -LEONARD (_waking up_). No, no. Eustasia was just reading to me. (_To -her_) You mustn’t tire yourself, dear. (_To NICHOLAS_) Stay and talk. - -NICHOLAS. What’s the book? Carlyle’s _French Revolution_? - -EUSTASIA (_primly_). Certainly not. (_Looking at the title again_) -Gibbon’s _Roman Empire_. - -NICHOLAS. Any good? - -EUSTASIA. Fascinating, isn’t it, Leonard? - -LEONARD. Very. - -NICHOLAS. You ought to try Carlyle, old chap. - -LEONARD. Is _he_ good? - -NICHOLAS (_who has had eight pages read aloud to him by EUSTASIA_). -Oh, topping. - -EUSTASIA (_looking at her watch_). Good gracious! I ought to be -dressing. - -LEONARD (_looking at his_). Yes, it _is_ about time. - -NICHOLAS (_looking at his_). Yes. - -EUSTASIA. Leonard, darling, I don’t think it would be safe for you to -change. Not to-night; to-morrow if you like. - -LEONARD. I say, look here, you said that last night. - -EUSTASIA. Ah, but your temperature has gone up again. - -NICHOLAS. I expect that’s only because the book was so exciting. - -LEONARD. Yes, that’s right. - -EUSTASIA. But I took his temperature _before_ I began reading. - -NICHOLAS. Perhaps yesterday’s instalment was still hanging about a -bit. - -EUSTASIA (_to LEONARD_). No, darling, not to-night. Just to please his -Eustasia. - -LEONARD (_sulkily_). All right. - -EUSTASIA. That’s a good boy. (_She walks to the door, NICHOLAS going -with her to open it._) And if he’s _very_ good, and Eustasia is _very_ -quick dressing, perhaps she’ll read him another little bit of that -nice book before dinner. - - [_She goes out._ - -LEONARD. I say, don’t go, old chap. You can change in five minutes. - -NICHOLAS. Righto. - - (_He comes back. There is silence for a little._) - -LEONARD. I say! - -NICHOLAS. Yes? - -LEONARD (_thinking better of it_). Oh, nothing. - -NICHOLAS (_after a pause_). Curious creatures, women. - -LEONARD. Amazing. - -NICHOLAS. They’re so unexpected. - -LEONARD. So unreasonable. - -NICHOLAS. Yes.... - -LEONARD (_suddenly_). I hate England at this time of year. - -NICHOLAS. So do I. - -LEONARD. Do you go South as a rule? - -NICHOLAS. As a rule. - -LEONARD. Monte? - -NICHOLAS. Sometimes. We _had_ thought—I half thought of Nice. - -LEONARD. Not bad. We were—I think I prefer Cannes myself. - -NICHOLAS. There’s not much in it. - -LEONARD. No.... (_After a pause_) Between ourselves, you know—quite -between ourselves—I’m about fed up with women. - -NICHOLAS. Absolutely. - -LEONARD. You are too? - -NICHOLAS. Rather. I should think so. - -LEONARD. They’re so dashed unreasonable. - -NICHOLAS. So unexpected.... - -LEONARD (_suddenly_). Had you booked your rooms? - -NICHOLAS. At Nice? Yes. - -LEONARD. So had I. - -NICHOLAS. At Cannes? - -LEONARD. Yes.... I say, what about it? - -NICHOLAS. Do you mean—— (_He waves a hand at the door._) - -LEONARD. Yes. - -NICHOLAS. Evaporating? - -LEONARD. Yes. Quite quietly, you know. - -NICHOLAS. Without ostentation. - -LEONARD. That’s it. - -NICHOLAS. It’s rather a scheme. And then we shouldn’t waste the rooms. -At least, only one set of them. I’ll tell you what. I’ll toss you -whether we go to Nice or Cannes. - -LEONARD. Right. (_He takes out a coin and tosses._) - -NICHOLAS. Tails. - -LEONARD (_uncovering the coin_). Heads. Do you mind coming to Cannes? - -NICHOLAS. Just as soon, really. When shall we go? To-morrow? - -LEONARD. Mightn’t get a chance to-morrow. Why not to-night? It seems a -pity to waste the opportunity. - -NICHOLAS. You mean while Eustasia’s dressing? - -LEONARD. The—er—opportunity. Sleep the night at Dover and cross -to-morrow morning. - -NICHOLAS. She’ll be after us. - -LEONARD. Nonsense. - -NICHOLAS. My dear man, you don’t know Eustasia. - -LEONARD. I don’t know Eustasia? Well! - -NICHOLAS (_with conviction_). She’ll be after you like a bird. You’ve -never seen Eustasia when she has got somebody ill to look after. - -LEONARD. I’ve never seen Eustasia? Well! - -NICHOLAS. My dear chap, you’ve only had three days of her; I’ve had -six.... Lord!... Look here. We shall have to—— - - _Enter LATIMER._ - -LATIMER. What, Leonard, all alone? - -NICHOLAS. I say, you’re the very man we want. - -LEONARD (_frowning_——). S’sh. - -LATIMER. Leonard, don’t “s’sh” Nicholas when he wants to speak to me. - -NICHOLAS (_to LEONARD_). It’s all right, old chap, Latimer is a -sportsman. - -LATIMER (_to LEONARD_). There! You see the sort of reputation I have -in the West End. (_To NICHOLAS_) What is it you want to do? Run away? - -LEONARD. Well—er—— - -NICHOLAS. I say, however did you guess? - -LATIMER. Leonard’s car has had steam up for the last twenty-four -hours, waiting for a word from its owner. - -LEONARD (_seeing the south of France_). By Jove! - -LATIMER. And you are going with him, Nicholas? - -NICHOLAS. Yes. Thought I might as well be getting on. Very grateful -and all that, but can’t stay here for ever. - -LATIMER (_wondering what has happened between NICHOLAS and ANNE_). So -you are going too! I thought—— Well! Nicholas is going too. - -LEONARD. I say, you do understand—I mean about—er—I mean, when I’m -quite well again—start afresh and all that. Cosset _her_ a bit. But -when you’re ill—or supposed to be ill—— Well, I mean, ask Nicholas. - -NICHOLAS. Oh, rather. - -LATIMER. My dear Leonard, why these explanations? Who am I to -interfere in other people’s matrimonial affairs? You and Nicholas are -going away—good-bye. (_He holds out his hand._) - -NICHOLAS. Yes, but what about Eustasia? She’s not going to miss the -chance of cosseting Leonard just when she is getting into it. She’ll -be after him like a bird. - -LATIMER. I see. So you want me to keep her here? - -NICHOLAS. That’s the idea, if you could. - -LATIMER. How can I keep her here if she doesn’t want to stay? - -LEONARD. Well, how do you keep _any_body here? - -LATIMER. Really, Leonard, I am surprised at you. By the charm of my -old-world courtesy and hospitality, of course. - -LEONARD. Oh! Well, I doubt if that keeps Eustasia. - -LATIMER (_shaking his head sadly_). I am afraid that that is only too -true. In fact, the more I think of it, the more I realise that there -is only one thing which will keep this devoted wife from her afflicted -and suffering husband. - -LEONARD and NICHOLAS. What? - - _DOMINIC comes in._ - -LATIMER. His lordship and Mr. Nicholas are leaving at once. His -lordship’s car will wait for them outside the gates. See that a bag is -packed for them. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. - -LATIMER. And come back when you’ve seen about that. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. - - [_He goes out._ - -LATIMER. The car can return for the rest of your luggage, and take it -over in the morning. - -NICHOLAS. Good! - -LEONARD. Er—thanks very much. (_Anxiously_) What were you going to -say about the only way of—er—— - -LATIMER. The only way of keeping this devoted wife from her afflicted -and suffering husband? - -LEONARD (_gruffly_). Yes. What is it? - -LATIMER. Somebody else must have a temperature. Somebody else must be -ill. Eustasia must have somebody else to cosset. - -NICHOLAS. I say, how awfully sporting of you! - -LATIMER. Sporting? - -NICHOLAS. To sacrifice yourself like that. - -LATIMER. I? You don’t think _I_ am going to sacrifice myself, do you? -No, no, it’s Dominic. - -DOMINIC (_coming in_). Yes, sir. - -LATIMER. Dominic, are you ever ill? - -DOMINIC. Never, sir, barring a slight shortness of the breath. - -LATIMER (_to the others_). That’s awkward. I don’t think you can -cosset a shortness of the breath. - -NICHOLAS (_to DOMINIC_). I say, you could pretend to be ill, couldn’t -you? - -DOMINIC. With what object, sir? - -NICHOLAS. Well—er—— - -LATIMER. Her ladyship is training to be a nurse. She has already cured -two very obstinate cases of nasal catarrh accompanied by debility and -a fluctuating temperature. If she brings one more case off -successfully, she earns the diploma and the gold medal of the Royal -Therapeutical Society. - -NICHOLAS. That’s right. - -DOMINIC. And you would wish me to be that third case, sir? - -NICHOLAS. That’s the idea. - -DOMINIC. And be cosseted back to health by her ladyship? - -LATIMER. Such would be your inestimable privilege. - -DOMINIC. I am sorry, sir. I must beg respectfully to decline. - -NICHOLAS. I say, be a sport. - -LEONARD (_awkwardly_). Of course we should—— Naturally you would -not—er—lose anything by—er—— - -LATIMER. His lordship wishes to imply that not only would your mental -horizon be widened during the period of convalescence, but that -material blessings would also flow. Isn’t that right, Leonard? - -NICHOLAS. A commission on the gold medal. Naturally. - -DOMINIC. I am sorry, sir. I am afraid I cannot see my way. - -NICHOLAS. I say—— - -LATIMER. Thank you, Dominic. - -DOMINIC. Thank you, sir. - - [_He goes out._ - -NICHOLAS. Well, that’s torn it. (_To LATIMER_) If you’re quite sure -that you wouldn’t like to have a go? It’s the chance of a lifetime to -learn all about the French Revolution. - -LATIMER. Well, well! Something must be done. (_He smiles suddenly_) -After all, why not? - -LEONARD (_eagerly_). You will? - -LATIMER. I will. - -NICHOLAS. I say—— - -LATIMER (_waving them off_). No, no. Don’t wait. Fly. - -LEONARD. Yes, we’d better be moving. Come on! - -NICHOLAS (_with a grin, as he goes_). There’s an awfully good bit in -the second chapter—— - -LATIMER (_holding up a finger_). Listen! I hear her coming. - -LEONARD. Good Lord! - - (_They fly._ - - _LATIMER, left alone, gives himself up to thought. What illness - shall he have? He rings one of his many bells, and DOMINIC comes - in._) - -LATIMER. Oh, Dominic. In consequence of your obstinate good-health, I -am going to sacrifice myself—I mean, I myself am going to embrace -this great opportunity of mental and spiritual development. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. Very good of you, I’m sure, sir. - -LATIMER. What sort of illness would you recommend? - -DOMINIC. How about a nice sprained ankle, sir? - -LATIMER. You think that would go well? - -DOMINIC. It would avoid any interference with the customary habits at -meal-time, sir. There’s a sort of monotony about bread-and-milk; no -inspiration about it, sir, whether treated as a beverage or as a -comestible. - -LATIMER. I hadn’t thought about bread-and-milk. - -DOMINIC. You’ll find that you will have little else to think about, -sir, if you attempt anything stomachic. Of course you could have the -usual nasty cold, sir. - -LATIMER. No, no, not that. Let us be original.... - -DOMINIC. How about Xerostomia, sir? Spelt with an x. - -LATIMER. Is that good? - -DOMINIC. Joseph tells me that his father has had it for a long time. - -LATIMER. Oh! Then perhaps we oughtn’t to deprive him of it. - -DOMINIC. I looked it up in the dictionary one Sunday afternoon, sir. -They describe it there as “an abnormal dryness of the mouth.” - -LATIMER. I said I wanted to be original, Dominic. - -DOMINIC. Quite so, sir. - - (_They both think in silence._) - -LATIMER. Perhaps I had better leave it to the inspiration of the -moment. - -EUSTASIA (_off_). Dominic! Dominic! - -DOMINIC. This appears to be the moment, sir. - -LATIMER. Quick. (_Bustling him off_) Don’t let her ladyship come in -for a moment. I must assume a recumbent position. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. - - [_He goes out._ - - (_LATIMER lies down at full length on the sofa and begins to - groan; putting a hand first on his stomach, then on his head, then - on his elbow. EUSTASIA does not come. He cautiously raises his - head; the room is empty._) - -LATIMER (_disappointedly_). Throwing it away! (_He hears footsteps, -and settles down again._) - - (_ANNE comes in, hat on, bag in hand. She is just at the door when - a groan reaches her. She stops. Another groan comes. She puts down - her bag and comes towards the sofa with an “Oh!” of anxiety._) - -LATIMER. Oh, my poor—er—head! (_He clasps it._) - -ANNE (_alarmed_). What is it? (_She kneels by him._) - -LATIMER. Oh, my—— (_Cheerfully_) Hallo, Anne, is it you? (_He sits -up._) - -ANNE (_still anxious_). Yes, what is it? - -LATIMER (_bravely_). Oh, nothing, nothing. A touch of neuralgia. - -ANNE. Oh!... You frightened me. - -LATIMER. Did I, Anne? I’m sorry. - -ANNE. You were groaning so. I thought—I didn’t know what had -happened.... (_Sympathetically_) Is it very bad? - -LATIMER. Not so bad as it sounded. - -ANNE (_taking off her gloves_). I know how bad it can be. Father has -it sometimes. Then I have to send it away. (_She has her gloves off -now_) May I try? - -LATIMER (_remorsefully_). Anne! - - (_She leans over from the back of him and begins to stroke his - forehead with the tips of her fingers. He looks up at her._) - -ANNE. Close your eyes. - -LATIMER. Ah, but I don’t want to now. - - (_She laughs without embarrassment._) - -ANNE. It will go soon. - -LATIMER. Not too soon.... - -ANNE (_laughing suddenly_). Aren’t faces funny when they’re upside -down? - -LATIMER. You have the absurdest little upside-down face that ever I -saw, Anne. - -ANNE (_happily_). Have I? - -LATIMER. Why do you wear a hat on your chin? (_She laughs._) Why do -you wear a hat? - -ANNE. I was going away. - -LATIMER. Without saying good-bye? - -ANNE (_ashamed_). I—I think so. - -LATIMER. Oh, Anne! - -ANNE (_hastily_). I should have written. - -LATIMER. A post-card! - -ANNE. A letter. - -LATIMER. With many thanks for your kind hospitality, yours sincerely. - -ANNE. Yours _very_ sincerely. - -LATIMER. P.S.—I shall never see you again. - -ANNE. P.S.—I shall never forget. - -LATIMER. Ah, but you _must_ forget.... - -ANNE (_after a pause_). Is it better? - -LATIMER (_lazily_). It is just the same. It will always be the same. -It is unthinkable that anything different should ever happen. In a -hundred years’ time we shall still be like this. You will be a little -tired, perhaps; your fingers will ache; but I shall be lying here, -quite, quite happy. - -ANNE. You shall have another minute—no more. - -LATIMER. Then I shall go straight to the chemist and ask for three -pennyworth of Anne’s fingers. (_They are silent for a little. Then she -stops and listens._) What is it? - -ANNE. I heard something. Whispers. - -LATIMER. Don’t look round. - - (_LEONARD and NICHOLAS, in hats and coats, creep cautiously in. - Very noiselessly, fingers to lips, they open the front door and - creep out._) - -ANNE. What was it? Was it—— - -LATIMER. An episode in your life. Over, buried, forgotten.... - -ANNE (_pleadingly_). It never really happened, did it? - -LATIMER. Of course not! We must have read about it somewhere—or was -it in a play? - -ANNE (_eagerly_). That was it! We were in a box together. - -LATIMER. Munching chocolates. (_With a sigh_) What a child she -was—that girl in the play—with her little, funny, grown-up airs! - - (_DOMINIC comes in, and stops suddenly on seeing them._) - -DOMINIC. Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. - -LATIMER. Go on, Anne. (_Happily_) I am having neuralgia, Dominic. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. A stubborn complaint, as I have heard, sir. - -LATIMER. Miss Anne is making me well.... What did you want? - -DOMINIC. Her ladyship says will you please excuse her if she is not -down to-night. - -LATIMER (_to ANNE_). Shall we excuse her if she is not down to-night? - -DOMINIC. The fact is, sir, that Joseph is taken ill suddenly, and—— - -LATIMER (_to himself_). I never thought of Joseph! - -ANNE. Oh, poor Joseph! What is it? - -DOMINIC. A trifling affection of the throat, but necessitating careful -attention, her ladyship says. - -LATIMER. Please tell her ladyship how very much I thank her for -looking after Joseph ... and tell Joseph how very sorry I am for him. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. - [_He goes out._ - -LATIMER. You can’t go now, Anne. You will have to stay and chaperone -Eustasia and me. (_She laughs and shakes her head._) Must you go? - -ANNE. Yes. - -LATIMER. Back to your father? - -ANNE. Yes. (_He looks at her. She is so very pretty; so brave._) - -LATIMER (_it must be somebody else speaking—he hardly recognises the -voice_). Let us say good-bye now. There is a magic in your fingers -which goes to my head, and makes me think ridiculous things. Let us -say good-bye now. - -ANNE (_taking his hand_). Good-bye! (_Impulsively_) I wish _you_ had -been my father. - - (_Then she goes out. And she has won, after all. For MR. LATIMER - stands there dumb, wondering what has happened. He walks across to - a mirror to have a look at himself. While he is there, DOMINIC - comes in to superintend the laying of the table._) - -LATIMER (_at the mirror_). Dominic, how old would you say I was? - -DOMINIC. More than that, sir. - -LATIMER (_with a sigh_). Yes, I’m afraid I am. And yet I look very -young. Sometimes I think I look too young. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. - -LATIMER. Miss Anne has just asked me to be her father. - -DOMINIC. Very considerate of her, I’m sure, sir. - -LATIMER. Yes.... To prevent similar mistakes in the future, I think I -shall wear a long white beard. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir. Shall I order one from the Stores? - -LATIMER. Please. - -DOMINIC. Thank you, sir.... Is Miss Anne leaving us, sir? - -LATIMER. Yes.... Don’t overdo the length, Dominic, and I like the -crinkly sort. - -DOMINIC. Yes, sir.... One of our most successful weeks on the whole, -if I may say so, sir. - -LATIMER (_thoughtfully_). Yes.... Well, well, we must all do what we -can, Dominic. - -DOMINIC. That’s the only way, isn’t it, sir? - - (_They stand looking at each other. Just for a moment DOMINIC is - off duty. That grave face relaxes; the eyes crease into a smile. - MR. LATIMER smiles back.... Very gently they begin to laugh - together; old friends; master and servant no longer. “Dear, dear! - These children!” says DOMINIC’S laugh. “How very amusing they are, - to be sure!” LATIMER’S laugh is a little rueful; a moment ago he, - too, was almost a child. Yet he laughs. “Good old DOMINIC!”_ - - _Suddenly the front-door bell rings. Instinctively they stiffen to - attention. They are on duty again. They turn and march off, - almost, as it were, saluting each other; MR. LATIMER to his - quarters, DOMINIC to his bolts and bars. He draws the curtains and - opens the big front door._) - -A MANLY VOICE. Oh, is this—er—an hotel? - -DOMINIC. A sort of hotel, your Grace. - -HIS GRACE (_coming in, a lady on his arm_). My chauffeur said—we’ve -had an accident—been delayed on the way—he said that—— - - (_Evidently another romantic couple. Let us leave them to - MR. LATIMER._) - - - - -THE TRUTH ABOUT BLAYDS - - - - -CHARACTERS - - - Oliver Blayds. - Isobel (_his younger daughter_). - Marion Blayds-Conway (_his elder daughter_). - William Blayds-Conway (_his son-in-law_). - Oliver Blayds-Conway } - Septima Blayds-Conway } (_his grandchildren_). - A. L. Royce. - Parsons. - - * * * * * - -_A room in OLIVER BLAYDS’ house in Portman Square._ - - * * * * * - -This play was first produced at the Globe Theatre on December 20, -1921, with the following cast: - - _Oliver Blayds_ Norman McKinnel. - _Isobel_ Irene Vanbrugh. - _Marion Blayds-Conway_ Irene Rooke. - _William Blayds-Conway_ Dion Boucicault. - _Oliver_ Jack Hobbs. - _Septima_ Faith Celli. - _A. L. Royce_ Ion Swinley. - _Parsons_ Ethel Wellesley. - - - - -ACT I - - -_A solid, handsomely-furnished room in a house in Portman -Square—solid round table, solid writing-desk, solid chairs and sofa, -with no air of comfort, but only of dignity. Over the fireplace is a -painting of OLIVER BLAYDS, also handsome and dignified.... OLIVER -BLAYDS-CONWAY, his young grandson, comes in with ROYCE, the latter a -clean-shaven man of forty, whose thick dark hair shows a touch of -grey. It is about three o’clock in the afternoon._ - - * * * * * - -OLIVER (_as he comes in_). This way. (_He holds the door open for -ROYCE._) - -ROYCE (_coming in_). Thanks. - -OLIVER. Some of the family will be showing up directly. Make yourself -comfortable. (_For himself, he does his best in one of the dignified -chairs._) - -ROYCE. Thanks. (_He looks round the room with interest, and sees the -picture over the fireplace_) Hallo, there he is. - -OLIVER. What? (_Bored_) Oh, the old ’un, yes. - -ROYCE (_reverently_). Oliver Blayds, the last of the Victorians. -(_OLIVER sighs and looks despairingly to Heaven._) I can’t take my hat -off because it’s off already, but I should like to. - -OLIVER. Good Lord, you don’t really feel like that, do you? - -ROYCE. Of course. Don’t you? - -OLIVER. Well, hardly. He’s my grandfather. - -ROYCE. True. (_Smiling_) All the same, there’s nothing in the Ten -Commandments about _not_ honouring your grandfather. - -OLIVER. Nothing about honouring ’em either. It’s left optional. Of -course, he’s a wonderful old fellow—ninety, and still going strong; -but—well, as I say, he’s my grandfather. - -ROYCE. I’m afraid, Conway, that even the fact of his being your -grandfather doesn’t prevent me thinking him a very great poet, a very -great philosopher, and a very great man. - -OLIVER (_interested_). I say, do you really mean that, or are you just -quoting from the Address you’ve come to present? - -ROYCE. Well, it’s in the Address, but then I wrote the Address, and -got it up. - -OLIVER. Yes, I know—you told me—“To Oliver Blayds on his ninetieth -birthday: Homage from some of the younger writers.” Very pretty of -them and all that, and the old boy will love it. But do they really -feel like that about him—that’s what interests me. I’ve always -thought of him as old-fashioned, early Victorian, and that kind of -thing. - -ROYCE. Oh, he is. Like Shakespeare. Early Elizabethan and that kind of -thing. - -OLIVER. Shakespeare’s different. I meant more like Longfellow.... -Don’t think I am setting up my opinion against yours. If you say that -Blayds’ poetry is as good as the best, I’ll take your word for it. -Blayds the poet, _you’re_ the authority. Blayds the grandfather, _I_ -am. - -ROYCE. All right, then, you can take my word for it that his best is -as good as the best. Simple as Wordsworth, sensuous as Tennyson, -passionate as Swinburne. - -OLIVER. Yes, but what about the modern Johnnies? The Georgians. - -ROYCE. When they’re ninety I’ll tell you. If I’m alive. - -OLIVER. Thanks very much. - - (_There is a short silence. ROYCE leaves the picture and comes - slowly towards the writing-table._) - -OLIVER (_shaking his head_). Oh, no! - -ROYCE (_turning round_). What? - -OLIVER. That’s not the table where the great masterpieces are written, -and that’s not the pen they are written with. - -ROYCE. My dear fellow—— - -OLIVER. Is there a pen there, by the way? - -ROYCE (_looking_). Yes. Yours? - -OLIVER. The family’s. You’ve no idea how difficult it is to keep pens -there. - -ROYCE. Why, where do they go to? - -OLIVER. The United States, mostly. Everybody who’s let in here makes -for the table sooner or later and pinches one of the pens. “Lands’ -sake, what a head,” they say, waving at the picture with their right -hand and feeling behind their back with the left; it’s wonderful to -see ’em. Tim, my sister—Tim and I glued a pen on to the tray once -when one of ’em was coming, and watched him clawing at it for about -five minutes, and babbling about the picture the whole time. I should -think he knew what the poet Blayds looked like by the time he got the -pen into his pocket. - -ROYCE (_going back to the picture_). Well, it’s a wonderful head. - -OLIVER. Yes, I will say that for the old boy, he does look like -somebody. - -ROYCE. When was this done? - -OLIVER. Oh, about eighteen years ago. - -ROYCE. Yes. That was about when I met him. - -OLIVER. You never told me you’d met him. Did you meet _me_ by any -chance? - -ROYCE. No. - -OLIVER. I was five then, and people who came to see Blayds the poet -patted the head of Blayds the poet’s grandson and said: “Are you going -to be a poet too, my little man, when you grow up?” - -ROYCE (_smiling_). And what did Blayds the poet’s grandson say? - -OLIVER. Urged on by Blayds the poet’s son-in-law, Blayds the poet’s -grandson offered to recite his grandfather’s well-known poem, “A -Child’s Thoughts on Waking.” I’m sorry you missed it, Royce, but it’s -no good asking for it now. - -ROYCE (_half to himself_). It was at Bournemouth. He was there with -his daughter. Not your mother, she would have been younger than that. - -OLIVER. You mean Aunt Isobel. - -ROYCE. Isobel, yes. (_After a little silence_) Isobel Blayds. Yes, -that was eighteen years ago. I was about your age. - -OLIVER. A fine handsome young fellow like me? - -ROYCE. Yes. - -OLIVER. Any grandfathers living? - -ROYCE. No. - -OLIVER. Lucky devil. But I don’t suppose you realised it. - -ROYCE. No, I don’t think I realised it. - -OLIVER (_thinking it out_). I suppose if I had a famous father I -shouldn’t mind so much. I should feel that it was partly my doing. I -mean that he wouldn’t have begun to be famous until I had been born. -But the poet Blayds was a world-wide celebrity long before I came on -the scene, and I’ve had it hanging over me ever since.... Why do you -suppose I am a member of the club? - -ROYCE. Well, why not? It’s a decent club. We are all very happy there. - -OLIVER. Yes, but why did they elect _me_? - -ROYCE. Oh, well, if we once began to ask ourselves that—— - -OLIVER. Not at all. The answer in your case is because A. L. Royce is -a well-known critic and a jolly good fellow. The answer in my case is -because there’s a B. in both. In other words, because there’s a Blayds -in Blayds-Conway. If my father had stuck to his William Conway when he -got married, I should never have been elected. Not at the age of -twenty-two, anyway. - -ROYCE. Then I’m very glad he changed his name. Because otherwise, it -seems, I might not have had the pleasure of meeting you. - -OLIVER. Oh, well, there’s always a something. But, compliments aside, -it isn’t much fun for a man when things happen to him just because of -the Blayds in Blayds-Conway. You know what I am doing now, don’t you? -I told you. - -ROYCE. Secretary to some politician, isn’t it? - -OLIVER. Yes. And why? Because of the Blayds in—— - -ROYCE. Oh, nonsense! - -OLIVER. It’s true. Do you think I want to be a private secretary to a -dashed politician? What’s a private secretary at his best but a -superior sort of valet? I wanted to be a motor engineer. Not allowed. -Why not? Because the Blayds in Blayds-Conway wouldn’t have been any -use. But politicians simply live on that sort of thing. - -ROYCE. What sort of thing? - -OLIVER. Giving people jobs because they’re the grandsons of somebody. - -ROYCE. Yes, I wonder if I was as cynical as you eighteen years ago. - -OLIVER. Probably not; there wasn’t a Grandfather Royce. By the way, -talking about being jolly good fellows and all that, have you noticed -that I haven’t offered you a cigarette yet? - -ROYCE. I don’t want to smoke. - -OLIVER. Well, that’s lucky. Smoking isn’t allowed in here. - -ROYCE (_annoyed by this_). Now look here, Conway, do you mind if I -speak plainly? - -OLIVER. Do. But just one moment before you begin. My name, -unfortunately, is _Blayds_-Conway. Call me Conway at the Club and I’ll -thank you for it. But if you call me Conway in the hearing of certain -members of my family, I’m afraid there will be trouble. Now what were -you going to say? - -ROYCE (_his annoyance gone_). Doesn’t matter. - -OLIVER. No, do go on, Mr. Blayds-Royce. - -ROYCE. Very well, Mr. Blayds-Conway. I am old enough to be—no, not -your grandfather—your uncle—and I want to say this. Oliver Blayds is -a very great man and also a very old man, and I think that while you -live in the house of this very great man, the inconveniences to which -his old age puts you, my dear Conway—— - -OLIVER. Blayds-Conway. - -ROYCE (_smiling_). Blayds-Conway, I’m sorry. - -OLIVER. Perhaps you’d better call me Oliver. - -ROYCE. Yes, I think I will. Well, then, Oliver—— - -OLIVER. Yes, but you’ve missed the whole point. The whole point is -that I don’t _want_ to live in his house. Do you realise that I’ve -never had a house I could call my own? I mean a house where I could -ask people. I brought you along this afternoon because you’d got -permission to come anyhow with that Address of yours. But I shouldn’t -have dared to bring anybody else along from the club. Here we all are, -and always have been, living not _our_ lives, but _his_ life. -Because—well, just because he likes it so. - -ROYCE (_almost to himself_). Yes ... yes.... I know. - -OLIVER. Well! - - (_And there is so much conviction behind it that ROYCE has nothing - to say. However, nothing is needed, for at this moment SEPTIMA - BLAYDS-CONWAY comes in, a fair-haired nineteen-year-old modern, - with no sentimental nonsense about her._) - -SEPTIMA. Hallo! - -OLIVER (_half getting out of his chair_). Hallo, Tim. Come and be -introduced. This is Mr. A. L. Royce. My sister, Septima. - -ROYCE (_surprised_). Septima? (_Mechanically he quotes_): - - “Septima, seventh dark daughter; - I saw her once where the black pines troop to the water— - A rock-set river that broke into bottomless pools—” - -SEPTIMA. Thank you very much, Mr. Royce. (_Holding out her hand to -OLIVER_) Noll, I’ll trouble you. - -OLIVER (_feeling in his pockets_). Damn! I did think, Royce—— (_He -hands her a shilling_) Here you are. - -SEPTIMA. Thanks. Thank you again, Mr. Royce. - -ROYCE. I’m afraid I don’t understand. - -SEPTIMA. It’s quite simple. I get a shilling when visitors quote -“Septima” at me, and Noll gets a shilling when they don’t. - -OLIVER (_reproachfully_). I did think that _you_ would be able to -control yourself, Royce. - -ROYCE (_smiling_). Sorry! My only excuse is that I never met any one -called Septima before, and that it came quite unconsciously. - -SEPTIMA. Oh, don’t apologise. I admire you immensely for it. It’s the -only fun I get out of the name. - -OLIVER. Septima Blayds-Conway, when you’re the only daughter, and fair -at that—I ask you. - -ROYCE (_defensively_). It’s a beautiful poem. - -SEPTIMA. Have you come to see Blayds the poet? - -ROYCE. Yes. - -OLIVER. One of the homage merchants. - -ROYCE. Miss Blayds-Conway, I appeal to you. - -SEPTIMA. Anything I can do in return for your shilling—— - -ROYCE. I have come here on behalf of some of my contemporaries, in -order to acquaint that very great man Oliver Blayds with the feelings -of admiration which we younger writers entertain for him. It appears -now that not only is Blayds a great poet and a great philosopher, but -also a—— - -OLIVER. Great-grandfather. - -ROYCE. But also a grandfather. Do you think you can persuade your -brother that Blayds’ public reputation as a poet is in no way affected -by his private reputation as a grandfather, and beg him to spare me -any further revelations? - -SEPTIMA. Certainly; I could do all that for ninepence, and you’d still -be threepence in hand. (_Sternly to OLIVER_) Blayds-Conway, young -fellow, have you been making r-revelations about your ger-rand-father? - -OLIVER. My dear girl, I’ve made no r-revelations whatever. What’s -upset him probably is that I refused to recite to him “A Child’s -Thoughts on Waking.” - -SEPTIMA. Did he pat your head and ask you to? - -ROYCE. No, he didn’t. - -SEPTIMA. Well, you needn’t be huffy about it, Mr. Royce. You would -have been in very good company. Meredith and Hardy have, and lots of -others. - -OLIVER. Well, anyway, I’ve never been kissed by Maeterlinck. - -SEPTIMA (_looking down coyly_). Mr. Royce, you have surprised my -secret, which I have kept hidden these seventeen years. -Maeterlinck—Maurice and I—— - -ROYCE. Revelations was not quite the word. What I should have said was -that I have been plunged suddenly, and a little unexpectedly, into an -unromantic, matter-of-fact atmosphere, which hardly suits the occasion -of my visit. On any other day—you see what I mean, Miss Septima. - -SEPTIMA. You’re quite right. This is not the occasion for persiflage. -Besides, we’re very proud of him really. - -ROYCE. I’m sure you are. - -SEPTIMA (_weightily_). You know, Noll, there are times when I think -that possibly we have misjudged Blayds. - -OLIVER. Blayds the poet or Blayds the man? - -SEPTIMA. Blayds the man. After all, Uncle Thomas was devoted to him, -and _he_ was rather particular. Wasn’t he, Mr. Royce? - -ROYCE. I don’t think I know your Uncle Thomas, do I? - -SEPTIMA. He wasn’t mine, he was mother’s. - -OLIVER. The Sage of Chelsea. - -ROYCE. Oh, Carlyle. Surely—— - -SEPTIMA. Mother called them all “uncle” in her day. - -ROYCE. Well, now, there you are. That’s one of the most charming -things about Oliver Blayds. He has always had a genius for friendship. -Read the lives and letters of all the great Victorians, and you find -it all the way. They loved him. They—— - -OLIVER (_striking up_). God save our gracious Queen! - -ROYCE (_with a good-humoured shrug_). Oh, well! - -SEPTIMA. Keep it for father and mother, Mr. Royce. We’re hopeless. -Shall I tell you why? - -ROYCE. Yes? - -SEPTIMA. When you were a child, did you ever get the giggles in -church? - -ROYCE. Almost always—when the Vicar wasn’t looking. - -SEPTIMA. There’s something about it, isn’t there—the solemnity of it -all—which starts you giggling? When the Vicar isn’t looking. - -ROYCE. Yes. - -SEPTIMA. Exactly. And that’s why _we_ giggle—when the Vicar isn’t -looking. - -MARION (_from outside_). Septima! - -OLIVER. And here comes the Vicar’s wife. - - (_MARION BLAYDS-CONWAY is fifty-five now. A dear, foolish woman, - who has never got over the fact that she is OLIVER BLAYDS’ - daughter, but secretly thinks that it is almost more wonderful - to be WILLIAM BLAYDS-CONWAY’S wife._) - -MARION. Oh, there you are. Why didn’t you—— (_She sees ROYCE_) Oh! - -OLIVER. This is Mr. A. L. Royce, Mother. - -MARION (_distantly_). How do you do? - -ROYCE. How do you do? - - (_There is an awkward silence._) - -MARION. You’ll excuse me a moment, Mr.—er—er—— - -OLIVER. Royce, Mother, A. L. Royce. - -MARION. Septima—— This is naturally rather a busy day, Mr.—er—— -We hardly expected—— (_She frowns at OLIVER, who ought to have -known better by this time._) Septima, I want you just a moment—Oliver -will look after his friend. I’m sure you’ll understand, Mr.—er—— - -ROYCE. Oh, quite. Of course. - -SEPTIMA. Mr. Royce has come to see Grandfather, Mother. - -MARION (_appalled_). To see Grandfather! - -ROYCE. I was hoping—Mr. Blayds-Conway was good enough to say—— - -MARION. I am afraid it is quite impossible. I am very sorry, but -really quite impossible. My son shouldn’t have held out hopes. - -OLIVER. He didn’t. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Mother. It’s -Father who invited him. - -ROYCE. I am here on behalf of certain of my contemporaries—— - -OLIVER. Homage from some of our younger writers—— - -ROYCE. Mr. Blayds was gracious enough to indicate that—— - -SEPTIMA (_in a violent whisper_). A. L. Royce, Mother! - -MARION. Oh! Oh, I beg your pardon. Why didn’t you tell me it was A. L. -Royce, Oliver? Of course! We wrote to you. - -ROYCE. Yes. - -MARION (_all hospitality_). How silly of me! You must forgive me, -Mr. Royce. Oliver ought to have told me. Grandfather—Mr. Blayds—will -be ready at three-thirty. The doctor was very anxious that Grandfather -shouldn’t see any one this year—outside the family, of course. I -couldn’t tell you how many people wrote asking if they could come -to-day. Presidents of Societies and that sort of thing. From all over -the world. Father did tell us. Do you remember, Septima? - -SEPTIMA. I’m afraid I don’t, Mother. I know I didn’t believe it. - -MARION (_to ROYCE_). Septima—after the poem, you know. “Septima, -seventh dark daughter——” (_And she would quote the whole of it, but -that her children interrupt._) - -OLIVER (_solemnly_). Don’t say you’ve never heard of it, Royce. - -SEPTIMA (_distressed_). I don’t believe he has. - -OLIVER (_encouragingly_). You must read it. I think you’d like it. - -MARION. It’s one of his best known. _The Times_ quoted it only last -week. We had the cutting. “Septima, seventh dark daughter——” It was -a favourite of my husband’s even before he married me. - -ROYCE. It has been a favourite of mine for many years. - -MARION. And many other people’s, I’m sure. We often get letters—Oh, -if you could see the letters we get! - -ROYCE. I wonder you don’t have a secretary. - -MARION (_with dignity_). My husband—Mr. Blayds-Conway—_is_ -Grandfather’s secretary. He was appointed to the post soon after he -married me. Twenty-five years ago. There is almost nothing he mightn’t -have done, but he saw where his duty lay, and he has devoted himself -to Grandfather—to Mr. Blayds—ever since. - -ROYCE. I am sure we are all grateful to him. - -MARION. Grandfather, as you know, has refused a Peerage more than -once. But I always say that if devotion to duty counts for anything, -William, my husband, ought to have been knighted long ago. Perhaps -when Grandfather has passed away—— But there! - -ROYCE. I was telling Oliver that I did meet Mr. Blayds once—and Miss -Blayds. Down at Bournemouth. She was looking after him. He wasn’t -very well at the time. - -MARION. Oh, Isobel, yes. A wonderful nurse. I don’t know what -Grandfather would do without her. - -ROYCE. She is still——? I thought perhaps she was married, or—— - -MARION. Oh, no! Isobel isn’t the marrying sort. I say that I don’t -know what Grandfather would do without her, but I might almost say -that I don’t know what she would do without Grandfather. (_Looking at -her watch_) Dear me, I promised Father that I would get those letters -off. Septima, dear, you must help me. Have you been round the house at -all, Mr. Royce? - -ROYCE. No, I’ve only just come. - -MARION. There are certain rooms which are shown to the public. Signed -photographs, gifts from Tennyson, Ruskin, Carlyle and many others. -Illuminated addresses and so on, all most interesting. Oliver, perhaps -you would show Mr. Royce—if it would interest you—— - -ROYCE. Oh, indeed, yes. - -MARION. Oliver! - -OLIVER (_throwing down the book he was looking at_). Right. (_He gets -up._) Come on, Royce. (_As they go out_) There’s one thing that I can -show you, anyway. - -ROYCE. What’s that? - -OLIVER (_violently_). My bedroom. We’re allowed to -smoke there. - - [_They go out._ - -MARION (_sitting down at the writing-table_). He seems a nice man. -About thirty-five, wouldn’t you say—or more? - -SEPTIMA. Forty. But you never can tell with men. (_She comes to the -table._) - -MARION (_getting to work_). Now those letters just want putting into -their envelopes. And _those_ want envelopes written for them. If you -will read out the addresses, dear—I think that will be the quickest -way—I will—— - -SEPTIMA (_thinking her own thoughts_). Mother! - -MARION. Yes, dear? (_Writing_) Doctor John Treherne. - -SEPTIMA. I want to speak to you. - -MARION. Do you mean about anything important? - -SEPTIMA. For me, yes. - -MARION. You haven’t annoyed your grandfather, I hope. - -SEPTIMA. It has nothing to do with Grandfather. - -MARION. Beechcroft, Bexhill-on-Sea. We’ve been so busy all day. -Naturally, being the Birthday. Couldn’t you leave it till to-morrow, -dear? - -SEPTIMA (_eagerly_). Rita Ferguson wants me to share rooms with her. -You know I’ve always wanted to, and now she’s just heard of some; -there’s a studio goes with it. On Campden Hill. - -MARION. Yes, dear. We’ll see what Grandfather says. - -SEPTIMA (_annoyed_). I said that this has nothing to do with -Grandfather. We’re talking about _me_. It’s no good trying to do -anything here, and—— - -MARION. There! I’ve written _Campden_ Hill; how stupid of me. -_Haverstock_ Hill. We’ll see what Grandfather says, dear. - -SEPTIMA (_doggedly_). It has nothing to do with Grandfather. - -MARION (_outraged_). Septima! - -SEPTIMA. “We’ll see what Grandfather says”—that has always been the -answer to everything in this house. - -MARION (_as sarcastically as she can, but she is not very good at -it_). You can hardly have forgotten who Grandfather is. - -SEPTIMA. I haven’t. - -MARION (_awed_). What was it the _Telegraph_ called him only this -morning? “The Supreme Songster of an Earlier Epoch.” (_Her own -father!_) - -SEPTIMA. I said that I hadn’t forgotten what Grandfather _is_. You’re -telling me what he _was_. He _is_ an old man of ninety. I’m twenty. -Anything that I do will affect him for at most five years. It will -affect me for fifty years. That’s why I say this has nothing to do -with Grandfather. - -MARION (_distressed_). Septima, sometimes you almost seem as if you -were irreligious. When you think who Grandfather is—and his birthday -too. (_Weakly_) You must talk to your father. - -SEPTIMA. That’s better. Father’s only sixty. - -MARION. You must talk to your father. He will see what Grandfather -says. - -SEPTIMA. And there we are—back again to ninety! It’s always the way. - -MARION (_plaintively_). I really don’t understand you children. You -ought to be proud of living in the house of such a great man. I don’t -know what Grandfather will say when he hears about it. (_Tearfully_) -The Reverend William Styles ... Hockley Vicarage ... Bishop Stortford. -(_And from every line she extracts some slight religious comfort._) - -SEPTIMA (_thoughtfully_). I suppose father would cut off my allowance -if I just went. - -MARION. Went? - -SEPTIMA. Yes. Would he? It would be beastly unfair, of course, but I -suppose he would. - -MARION (_at the end of her resources_). Septima, you’re _not_ to talk -like that. - -SEPTIMA. I think I’ll get Aunt Isobel to tackle Grandfather. She’s -only forty. Perhaps _she_ could persuade him. - -MARION. I won’t hear another word. And you had better tidy yourself -up. I will finish these letters myself. - -SEPTIMA (_going to the door_). Yes, I must go and tidy up. (_At the -door_) But I warn you, Mother, I mean to have it out this time. And if -Grandfather—— (_She breaks off as her father comes in_) Oh, Lord! -(_She comes back into the room, making way for him._) - - (_WILLIAM BLAYDS-CONWAY was obviously meant for the Civil Service. - His prim neatness, his gold pince-nez, his fussiness would be - invaluable in almost any Department. However, running BLAYDS is - the next best thing to running the Empire._) - -WILLIAM. What is this, Septima? Where are you going? - -SEPTIMA. Tidy myself up. - -WILLIAM. That’s right. And then you might help your mother to -entertain Mr. Royce until we send for him. Perhaps we might—wait a -moment—— - -MARION. Oh, have you seen Mr. Royce, William? He seems a nice young -man, doesn’t he? I’m sure Grandfather will like him. - -WILLIAM (_pontifically_). I still think that it was very unwise of us -to attempt to see anybody to-day. Naturally I made it clear to -Mr. Royce what a very unexpected departure this is from our usual -practice. I fancy that he realises the honour which we have paid to -the younger school of writers. Those who are knocking at the door, so -to speak. - -MARION. Oh, I’m sure he does. - -SEPTIMA (_to the ceiling_). Does anybody want me? - -WILLIAM. Wait a moment, please. (_He takes a key out of his pocket and -considers._) Yes.... Yes.... (_He gives the key to SEPTIMA_) You may -show Mr. Royce the autograph letter from Queen Victoria, on the -occasion of your grandmother’s death. Be very careful, please. I think -he might be allowed to take it in his hands—don’t you think so, -Marion?—but lock it up immediately afterwards, and bring me back the -key. - -SEPTIMA. Yes, Father. (_As she goes_) What fun he’s going to have! - -WILLIAM. Are those the letters? - -MARION. Yes, dear, I’ve nearly finished them. - -WILLIAM. They will do afterwards. (_Handing her a bunch of telegrams_) -I want you to sort these telegrams. Isobel is seeing about the -flowers? - -MARION. Oh, yes, sure to be, dear. How do you mean, sort them? - -WILLIAM. In three groups will be best. Those from societies or public -bodies, those from distinguished people, including Royalty—you will -find one from the Duchess there; her Royal Highness is very faithful -to us—and those from unknown or anonymous admirers. - -MARION. Oh, yes, I see, dear. (_She gets to work._) - -WILLIAM. He will like to know who have remembered him. I fancy that we -have done even better than we did on the eightieth birthday, and of -course the day is not yet over. (_He walks about the room importantly, -weighing great matters in his mind. This is his day._) - -MARION. Yes, dear. - -WILLIAM (_frowning anxiously_). What did we do last year about -drinking the health? Was it in here, or did we go to his room? - -MARION. He was down to lunch last year. Don’t you remember, dear? - -WILLIAM. Ah, yes, of course. Stupid of me. Yes, this last year has -made a great difference to him. He is breaking up, I fear. We cannot -keep him with us for many more birthdays. - -MARION. Don’t say that, dear. - -WILLIAM. Well, we can but do our best. - -MARION. What would you like to do, dear, about the health? - -WILLIAM. H’m. Let me think. (_He thinks._) - -MARION (_busy with the telegrams_). Some of these are a little -difficult. Do you think that Sir John and Lady Wilkins would look -better among the distinguished people including Royalty, or with the -unknown and anonymous ones? - -WILLIAM. Anybody doubtful is unknown. I only want a rough grouping. We -shall have a general acknowledgment in the _Times_. And oh, that -reminds me. I want an announcement for the late editions of the -evening papers. Perhaps you had better just take this down. You can -finish those afterwards. - -MARION. Yes, dear. (_She gets ready_) Yes, dear? - -WILLIAM (_after tremendous thought_). Oliver Blayds, ninety to-day. - -MARION (_writing_). Oliver Blayds, ninety to-day. - -WILLIAM. The veteran poet spent his ninetieth birthday—— - -MARION (_to herself_). The veteran poet—— - -WILLIAM. Passed his ninetieth birthday—that’s better—passed his -ninetieth birthday quietly, amid his family—— - -MARION. Amid his family—— - -WILLIAM. At his well-known house—residence—in Portman Square. (_He -stops suddenly. You thought he was just dictating, but his brain has -been working all the time, and he has come to a decision. He announces -it._) We will drink the health in here. See that there is an extra -glass for Mr. Royce. “In Portman Square”—have you got that? - -MARION. Yes, dear. - -WILLIAM. Mr. William Blayds-Conway, who courteously gave—granted our -representative an interview, informed us that the poet was in good -health—— It’s a pity you never learnt shorthand, Marion. - -MARION. I did try, dear. - -WILLIAM (_remembering that historic effort_). Yes, I know ... in good -health—— - -MARION. Good health—— - -WILLIAM. And keenly appreciative of the many tributes of affection -which he had received. - -MARION. Which he had received. - -WILLIAM. Among those who called during the day were—— - -MARION. Yes, dear? - -WILLIAM. Fill that in from the visitors’ book. (_He holds out his hand -for the paper_) How does that go? - -MARION (_giving it to him_). I wasn’t quite sure how many “p’s” there -were in appreciative. - -WILLIAM. Two. - -MARION. Yes, I thought two was safer. - -WILLIAM (_handing it back to her_). Yes, that’s all right. (_Bringing -out his keys_) I shall want to make a few notes while Mr. Royce is -being received. It may be that Oliver Blayds will say something worth -recording. One would like to get something if it were possible. (_He -has unlocked a drawer in the table and brought out his manuscript -book._) And see that that goes off now. I should think about eight -names. Say three Society, three Artistic and Literary, and two Naval, -Military and Political. (_Again you see his brain working.... He has -come to another decision. He announces it._) Perhaps two Society would -be enough. - -MARION. Yes, dear. (_Beginning to make for the door_) Will there be -anything else you’ll want? (_Holding out the paper_) After I’ve done -this? - -WILLIAM (_considering_). No ... no.... I’m coming with you. (_Taking -out his keys_) I must get the port. (_He opens the door for her, and -they go out together._) - - (_The room is empty for a moment, and then ISOBEL comes in. She is - nearly forty. You can see how lovely she was at twenty, but she - gave up being lovely eighteen years ago, said good-bye to ISOBEL, - and became just Nurse. If BLAYDS wants cheerfulness, she is - cheerful; if sympathy, sympathetic; if interest, interested. She - is off duty now, and we see at once how tired she is. But she has - some spiritual comfort, some secret pride to sustain her, and it - is only occasionally that the tiredness, the deadness, shows - through. She has flowers in her arms, and slowly, thoughtfully, - she decks the room for the great man. We see now for a moment that - she is much older than we thought; it is for her own ninetieth - birthday that she is decorating the room.... Now she has finished, - and she sits down, her hands in her lap, waiting, waiting - patiently.... Some thought brings a wistful smile to her mouth. - Yes, she must have been very lovely at twenty. Then ROYCE comes - in._) - -ROYCE. Oh, I beg your pardon. (_He sees who it is._) Oh! - -ISOBEL. It’s all right, I—— Are you waiting to see—— (_She -recognises him_) Oh! - - (_They stand looking at each other, about six feet apart, not - moving, saying nothing. Then very gently he begins to hum the - refrain of a waltz. Slowly she remembers._) - -ISOBEL. How long ago was it? - -ROYCE. Eighteen years. - -ISOBEL (_who has lived eighty years since then_). So little? - -ROYCE (_distressed_). Isobel! - -ISOBEL (_remembering his name now_). Austin. - -ROYCE. It comes back to you? - -ISOBEL. A few faded memories—and the smell of the pine woods. And -there was a band, wasn’t there? That was the waltz they played. _How_ -did it go? (_He gives her a bar or two again.... She nods_) Yes. (_She -whispers the tune to herself._) Why does that make me think of—— -Didn’t you cut your wrist? On the rocks? - -ROYCE. You remember? (_He holds out his wrist_) Look! - -ISOBEL (_nodding_). I knew that came into it. I tied it up for you. - -ROYCE (_sentimentally_). I have the handkerchief still. (_More -honestly_) Somewhere.... I know I have it. (_He tries to think where -it would be._) - -ISOBEL. There was a dog, wasn’t there? - -ROYCE. How well you remember. Rags. A fox terrier. - -ISOBEL (_doubtfully_). Yes? - -ROYCE. Or was that later? I had an Aberdeen before that. - -ISOBEL. Yes, that was it, I think. - -ROYCE. Thomas. - -ISOBEL (_smiling_). Thomas. Yes.... Only eighteen little years ago. -But what worlds away. Just give me that tune again. (_He gives it to -her, and the memories stir again._) You had a pipe you were very proud -of—with a cracked bowl—and a silver band to keep it together. What -silly things one remembers ... you’d forgotten it. - -ROYCE. I remember that pink cotton dress. - -ISOBEL. Eighty years ago. Or is it only eighteen? And now we meet -again. You married? I seem to remember hearing. - -ROYCE (_uncomfortably_). Yes. - -ISOBEL. I hope it was happy. - -ROYCE. No. We separated. - -ISOBEL. I am sorry. - -ROYCE. Was it likely it would be? - -ISOBEL (_surprised_). Was that all the chance of happiness you gave -her? - -ROYCE. You think I oughtn’t to have married? - -ISOBEL. Oh, my dear, who am I to order people’s lives? - -ROYCE. You ordered mine. - -ISOBEL (_ignoring this_). But you _have_ been happy? Marriage isn’t -everything. You have been happy in your work, in your books, in your -friends? - -ROYCE (_after thinking_). Yes, Isobel, on the whole, yes. - -ISOBEL. I’m glad.... (_She holds out her hand suddenly with a smile_) -How do you do, Mr. Royce? (_She is inviting him to step off the -sentimental footing._) - -ROYCE (_stepping off_). How do you do, Miss Blayds? It’s delightful to -meet you again. - -ISOBEL. Let’s sit down; shall we? (_They sit down together._) My -father will be coming in directly. You are here to see him, of course? - -ROYCE. Yes. Tell me about him—or rather about yourself. You are still -looking after him? - -ISOBEL. Yes. - -ROYCE. For eighteen years. - -ISOBEL. Nearly twenty altogether. - -ROYCE. And has it been worth it? - -ISOBEL. He has written wonderful things in those twenty years. Not -very much, but very wonderful. - -ROYCE. Yes, that has always been the miracle about him, the way he -has kept his youth. And the fire and spirit of youth. You have helped -him there. - -ISOBEL (_proudly_). Has it been worth it? - -ROYCE (_puzzled_). I don’t know. It’s difficult to say. The world -would think so; but I—naturally I am prejudiced. - -ISOBEL. Yes. - -ROYCE (_smiling_). You might have looked after _me_ for those eighteen -years. - -ISOBEL. Did you want it as much as he? (_As he protests_) No, I don’t -mean “want” it—need it? - -ROYCE. Well, that’s always the problem, isn’t it—whether the old or -the young have the better right to be selfish. We both needed you, in -different ways. You gave yourself to him, and he has wasted your life. -I don’t think _I_ should have wasted it. - -ISOBEL. I am proud to have helped him. No one will know. Everything -which he wrote will be his. Only _I_ shall know how much of it was -mine. Well, that’s something. Not wasted. - -ROYCE. Sacrificed. - -ISOBEL. Am I to regret that? - -ROYCE. Do you regret it? - -ISOBEL (_after considering_). When you asked me to marry you I—I -couldn’t. He was an old man then; he wanted me; I was everything to -him. Oh, he has had his friends, more friends than any man, but he had -to be the head of a family too, and without me—I’ve kept him alive, -active. He has sharpened his brains on me. (_With a shrug_) On whom -else? - -ROYCE. Yes, I understand that. - -ISOBEL. You wouldn’t have married me and come to live with us all, as -Marion and William have done? - -ROYCE. No, no, that’s death. - -ISOBEL. Yes, I knew you felt like that. But I couldn’t leave him. -(_ROYCE shrugs his shoulders unconvinced._) Oh, I _did_ love you then; -I _did_ want to marry you! But I couldn’t. He wasn’t just an ordinary -man—you must remember that, please. He was Blayds.... Oh, what are we -in the world for but to find beauty, and who could find it as he, and -who could help him as I? - -ROYCE. I was ready to wait. - -ISOBEL. Ah, but how could we? Until he died! Every day you would be -thinking, “I wonder how he is to-day,” and I should be knowing that -you were thinking that. Oh, horrible! Sitting and waiting for his -death. - -ROYCE (_thoughtfully, recognising her point of view_). Yes.... Yes.... -But if you were back now, knowing what you know, would you do it -again? - -ISOBEL. I think so. I think it has been worth it. It isn’t fair to ask -me. I’m glad now that I have given him those eighteen years, but -perhaps I should have been afraid of it if I had known it was to be as -long as that. It has been trying, of course—such a very old man in -body, although so young in mind—but it has not been for an old man -that I have done it; not for a selfish father; but for the glorious -young poet who has never grown up, and who wanted me. - -ROYCE (_looking into her soul_). But you have had your bad moments. - -ISOBEL (_distressed_). Oh, don’t! It isn’t fair. - - (_ROYCE, his eyes still on her, begins the refrain again._) - -ISOBEL (_smiling sadly_). Oh, no, Mr. Royce! That’s all over. I’m an -old woman now. - -ROYCE (_rather ashamed_). I’m sorry.... Yes, you’re older now. - -ISOBEL. Twenty and thirty-eight—there’s a world of difference between -them. - -ROYCE. I’m forty. - -ISOBEL (_smiling_). Don’t ask me to pity you. What’s forty to a man? - -ROYCE. You’re right. In fact I’m masquerading here to-day as one of -the younger writers. - -ISOBEL (_glad to be off the subject of herself_). Father likes to feel -that he is admired by the younger writers. So if you’ve brought all -their signatures with you, he’ll be pleased to see you, Mr. Royce. I -had better give you just one word of warning. Don’t be too hard on the -1863 volume. - -ROYCE. I shan’t even mention it. - -ISOBEL. But if _he_ does——? It has been attacked so much that he has -a sort of mother-love for it now, and even I feel protective towards -it, and want to say, “Come here, darling, nobody loves you.” Say -something kind if you can. Of course I know it isn’t his best, but -when you’ve been praised as much as he, the little praise which is -withheld is always the praise you want the most. - -ROYCE. How delightfully human that sounds. That is just what I’ve -always felt in my own small way. - - _WILLIAM comes fussily in._ - -WILLIAM. Is Mr. Royce——? Ah, there you are! (_Looking round the -room_) You’ve done the flowers, Isobel? That’s right. Well, Mr. Royce, -I hope they’ve been looking after you properly. - -ROYCE. Oh, yes, thanks. - -WILLIAM. That’s right. Isobel—(_he looks, in a statesmanlike way, at -his watch_)—in five minutes, shall we say? - -ISOBEL. Yes. - -WILLIAM. How is he just now? - -ISOBEL. He seems better to-day. - -WILLIAM. That’s right. We shall drink the health in here. - -ISOBEL. Very well. - [_She goes out._ - -WILLIAM. A little custom we have, Mr. Royce. - -ROYCE. Oh, yes. - -WILLIAM. We shall all wish him many happy returns of the day—you -understand that he isn’t dressed now until the afternoon—and then I -shall present you. After that, we shall all drink the health—you will -join us, of course. - -ROYCE (_smiling_). Certainly. - -WILLIAM. Then, of course, it depends how we are feeling. We may feel -in the mood for a little talk, or we may be too tired for anything -more than a few words of greeting. You have the Address with you? - -ROYCE. Yes. (_Looking about him_) At least I put it down somewhere. - -WILLIAM (_scandalised_). You put it down—somewhere! My dear Mr. Royce -(_he searches anxiously_)—at any moment now—— (_He looks at his -watch._) Perhaps I’d better—— (_A Maid comes in with the port and -glasses_) Parsons, have you seen a—— (_He makes vague rectangular -shapes with his hands._) - -ROYCE. Here it is. - -WILLIAM. Ah, that’s right. (_As the Maid puts the tray down_) Yes, -there, I think, Parsons. How many glasses have you brought? - -PARSONS. Seven, sir. - -WILLIAM. There should be six. One—two—three—— - -PARSONS (_firmly_). Madam said seven, sir. - -WILLIAM. Seven, yes, that’s right. When I ring the bell, you’ll tell -Miss Isobel that we are ready. - -PARSONS. Yes, sir. - - (_She goes out, making way for MARION, SEPTIMA, and OLIVER as - she does so._) - -WILLIAM. Ah, that’s right. Now then, let me see.... I think—— -Marion, will you sit here? Septima, you there. Oliver—Oliver, that’s -a very light suit you’re wearing. - -OLIVER. It’s a birthday, Father, not a funeral. - -WILLIAM (_with dignity_). Yes, but whose birthday? Well, it’s too late -now—you sit there. Mr. Royce, you sit next to me, so that I can take -you up. Now are we all ready? - -SEPTIMA (_wickedly_). Wait a moment. (_She blows her nose_) Right. - -WILLIAM. All ready? (_He rings the bell with an air._) - - (_There is a solemn silence of expectation. Then OLIVER shifts a - leg and catches his ankle against SEPTIMA’S chair._) - -OLIVER. Damn! Oo! (_He rubs his ankle._) - -WILLIAM (_in church_). S’sh! - - (_There is another solemn silence, and then the Maid opens the - door. BLAYDS, in an invalid chair, is wheeled in by ISOBEL. They - all stand up. With his long white beard, his still plentiful white - hair curling over his ears, OLIVER BLAYDS does indeed “look like - somebody.” Only his eyes, under their shaggy brows, are still - young. Indomitable spirit and humour gleam in them. With all the - dignity, majesty even, which he brings to the part, you feel that - he realises what great fun it is being OLIVER BLAYDS._) - -BLAYDS. Good-day to you all. - -MARION (_going forward and kissing his forehead_). Many happy returns -of the day, Father. - -BLAYDS. Thank you, Marion. Happy, I hope; many, I neither expect nor -want. - - (_WILLIAM, who is just going forward, stops for a moment to jot - this down on his shirt cuff. Then, beckoning to ROYCE to follow - him, he approaches._) - -WILLIAM. My heartiest congratulations, sir. - -BLAYDS. Thank you, William. When you are ninety, I’ll do as much for -you. - -WILLIAM (_laughing heartily_). Ha, ha! Very good, sir. May I present -Mr. A. L. Royce, the well-known critic? - -BLAYDS (_looking thoughtfully at ROYCE_). We have met before, -Mr. Royce? - -ROYCE. At Bournemouth, sir. Eighteen years ago. - -BLAYDS (_nodding_). Yes. I remember. - -WILLIAM. Wonderful, wonderful! - -BLAYDS (_holding out his hand_). Thank you for wasting your time now -on an old man. You must stay and talk to me afterwards. - -ROYCE. It’s very kind of you, sir. I—— - -WILLIAM. Just a moment, Mr. Royce. (_He indicates SEPTIMA and -OLIVER._) - -ROYCE. Oh, I beg your pardon. (_He steps on one side._) - -WILLIAM (_in a whisper_). Septima. - -SEPTIMA (_coming forward_). Congratulations, Grandfather. (_She bends -her head, and he kisses her._) - -BLAYDS. Thank you, my dear. I don’t know what I’ve done, but thank -you. - -OLIVER (_coming forward_). Congratulations, Grandfather. (_He bends -down and BLAYDS puts a hand on his head._) - -BLAYDS. Thank you, my boy, thank you. (_Wistfully_) I was your age -once. - - (_WILLIAM, who has been very busy pouring out port, now gets busy - distributing it. When they are all ready he holds up his glass._) - -WILLIAM. Are we all ready? (_They are._) Blayds! - -ALL. Blayds! (_They drink._) - -BLAYDS (_moved as always by this_). Thank you, thank you. (_Recovering -himself_) Is that the Jubilee port, William? - -WILLIAM. Yes, sir. - -BLAYDS (_looking wistfully at ISOBEL_). May I? - -ISOBEL. Yes, dear, if you like. William—— - -WILLIAM (_anxiously_). Do you think——? (_She nods, and he pours out -a glass._) Here you are, sir. - -BLAYDS (_taking it in rather a shaky hand_). Mr. Royce, I will drink -to you; and, through you, to all that eager youth which is seeking, -each in his own way, for beauty. (_He raises his glass._) May they -find it at the last! (_He drinks._) - -ROYCE. Thank you very much, sir. I shall remember. - -WILLIAM. Allow me, sir. (_He recovers BLAYDS’ glass._) Marion, you -have business to attend to? Oliver——? Septima——? - -MARION. Yes, dear. (_Cheerfully to BLAYDS_) We’re going now, -Grandfather. - -BLAYDS (_nodding_). I shall talk a little to Mr. Royce. - -MARION. That’s right, dear; don’t tire yourself. Come along, children. - - (_OLIVER comes along. SEPTIMA hesitates. She “means to have it out - this time.”_) - -SEPTIMA (_irresolutely_). Grandfather—— - -BLAYDS. Well? - -MARION. Come along, dear. - -SEPTIMA (_overawed by the majesty of BLAYDS_). Oh—all right. (_They -go. But she will certainly have it out next time._) - -WILLIAM (_in a whisper to ROYCE_). The Address? (_To BLAYDS_) -Mr. Royce has a message of congratulation from some of the younger -writers, which he wishes to present to you, sir. Mr. Royce—— - - (_ROYCE comes forward with it._) - -BLAYDS. It is very good of them. - -ROYCE (_doubtfully_). Shall I read it, sir? - -BLAYDS (_smiling_). The usual thing? - -ROYCE (_smiling too_). Pretty much. A little better than usual, I -hope, because I wrote it. - - (_WILLIAM is now at the writing-table, waiting hopefully for - crumbs._) - -BLAYDS (_holding out his hand_). Give it to me. And sit down, please. -Near me. I don’t hear too well. (_He takes the book and glances at -it._) Pretty. (_He glances at some of the names and says, with a -pleased smile_) I didn’t think they took any interest in an old man. -Isobel, you will read it to me afterwards, and tell me who they all -are? - -ISOBEL. Yes, dear. - -BLAYDS. Will that do, Mr. Royce? - -ROYCE. Of course, sir.... I should just like you to know, to have the -privilege of telling you here, and on this day, that every one of us -there has a very real admiration for your work and a very real -reverence for yourself. And we feel that, in signing, we have done -honour to ourselves, rather than honour to Blayds, whom no words of -ours can honour as his own have done. - -BLAYDS. Thank you.... You must read it to me, Isobel. (_He gives her -the book._) A very real admiration for _all_ my work, Mr. Royce? - -ROYCE. Yes, sir. - -BLAYDS. Except the 1863 volume? - -ROYCE. I have never regretted that, sir. - -BLAYDS (_pleased_). Ah! You hear, Isobel? - -ROYCE. I don’t say that it is my own favourite, but I could quite -understand if it were the author’s. There are things about it—— - -BLAYDS. Isobel, are you listening? - -ISOBEL (_smiling_). Yes, Father. - -ROYCE. Things outside your usual range, if I may say so—— - -BLAYDS (_nodding and chuckling_). You hear, Isobel? Didn’t I always -tell you? Well, well, we mustn’t talk any more about that.... William! - -WILLIAM (_jumping up_). Sir? - -BLAYDS. What are you doing? - -WILLIAM. Just finishing off a few letters, sir. - -BLAYDS. Would you be good enough to bring me my Sordello? - -WILLIAM. The one which Browning gave you, sir? - -BLAYDS. Of course. I wish to show Mr. Royce the inscription—(_to -ROYCE_)—an absurd one, all rhymes to Blayds. It will be in the -library somewhere; it may have got moved. - -WILLIAM. Certainly, sir. - -ISOBEL. Father—— - -BLAYDS (_holding up a hand to stop her_). Thank you, William. -(_William goes out._) You were saying, Isobel? - -ISOBEL. Nothing. I thought it was in your bedroom. I was reading to -you last night. - -BLAYDS (_sharply_). Of course it’s in my bedroom. But can’t I get my -own son-in-law out of the room if I want to? - -ISOBEL (_soothingly_). Of course, dear. It was silly of me. - -BLAYDS. My son-in-law, Mr. Royce, meditates after my death a little -book called “Blaydsiana.” He hasn’t said so, but I see it written all -over him. In addition, you understand, to the official life in two -volumes. There may be another one called “On the Track of Blayds in -the Cotswolds,” but I am not certain of this yet. (_He chuckles to -himself._) - -ISOBEL (_reproachfully_). Father! - -BLAYDS (_apologetically_). All right, Isobel. Mr. Royce won’t mind. - -ISOBEL (_smiling reluctantly_). It’s very unkind. - -BLAYDS. You never knew Whistler, Mr. Royce? - -ROYCE. No, sir; he was a bit before my time. - -BLAYDS. Ah, he was the one to say unkind things. But you forgave him -because he had a way with him. And there was always the hope that when -he had finished with _you_, he would say something still worse about -one of your friends. (_He chuckles to himself again._) I sent him a -book of mine once—which one was it, Isobel? - -ISOBEL. _Helen._ - -BLAYDS. _Helen_, yes. I got a postcard from him a few days later: -“Dear Oliver, rub it out and do it again.” Well, I happened to meet -him the next day, and I said that I was sorry I couldn’t take his -advice, as it was too late now to do anything about it. “Yes,” said -Jimmie, “as God said when he’d made Swinburne.” - -ISOBEL. You’ve heard that, Mr. Royce? - -ROYCE. No. Ought I to have? - -ISOBEL. It has been published. - -BLAYDS (_wickedly_). I told my son-in-law. Anything which I tell my -son-in-law is published. - -ISOBEL. I always say that father made it up. - -BLAYDS. You didn’t know Jimmie, my dear. There was nothing he couldn’t -have said. But a most stimulating companion. - -ROYCE. Yes, he must have been. - -BLAYDS. So was Alfred. He had a great sense of humour. All of us who -knew him well knew that. - -ROYCE. It is curious how many people nowadays regard Tennyson as -something of a prig, with no sense of humour. I always feel that his -association with Queen Victoria had something to do with it. A Court -poet is so very un-stimulating. - -BLAYDS. I think you’re right. It was a pity. (_He chuckles to himself. -ROYCE waits expectantly._) I went to Court once. - -ROYCE (_surprised_). You? - -BLAYDS (_nodding_). Yes, I went to Osborne to see the Queen. Alfred’s -doing I always suspected, but he wouldn’t own to it. (_He chuckles._) - -ISOBEL. Tell him about it, dear. - -BLAYDS. I had a new pair of boots. They squeaked. They squeaked all -the way from London to the Isle of Wight. The Queen was waiting for me -at the end of a long room. I squeaked in. I bowed. I squeaked my way -up to her. We talked. I was not allowed to sit down, of course; I just -stood shifting from one foot to the other—and squeaking. She said: -“Don’t you think Lord Tennyson’s poetry is very beautiful?” and I -squeaked and said, “Damn these boots!” A gentleman-in-waiting told me -afterwards that it was contrary to etiquette to start a new topic of -conversation with Royalty—so I suppose that that is why I have never -been asked to Court again. - -ISOBEL. It was your joke, Father, not the gentleman-in-waiting’s. -(_BLAYDS chuckles._) - -ROYCE. Yes, I’m sure of that. - -BLAYDS. Isobel knows all my stories.... When you’re ninety, they know -all your stories. - -ISOBEL. I like hearing them again, dear, and Mr. Royce hasn’t heard -them. - -BLAYDS. I’ll tell you one you _don’t_ know, Isobel. - -ISOBEL. Not you. - -BLAYDS. Will you bet? - -ISOBEL. It’s taking your money. - -BLAYDS. Mr. Royce will hold the stakes. A shilling. - -ISOBEL. You will be ruined. (_She takes out her purse._) - -BLAYDS (_childishly_). Have you got one for me too? - -ISOBEL (_taking out two_). One for you and one for me. Here you are, -Mr. Royce. - -ROYCE. Thank you. Both good ones? Right. - -BLAYDS. George Meredith told me this. Are you fond of cricket, -Mr. Royce? - -ROYCE. Yes, very. - -BLAYDS. So was Meredith, so was I.... A young boy playing for his -school. The important match of the year; he gets his colours only if -he plays—you understand? Just before the game began, he was sitting -in one of those—what do they call them?—deck chairs, when it -collapsed, his hand between the hinges. Three crushed fingers; no -chance of playing; no colours. At that age a tragedy; it seems that -one’s whole life is over. You understand? - -ROYCE. Yes. Oh, very well. - -BLAYDS. But if once the match begins with him, he has his colours, -whatever happens afterwards. So he decides to say nothing about the -fingers. He keeps his hand in his pocket; nobody has seen the -accident, nobody guesses. His side is in first. He watches—his hand -is in his pocket. When his turn comes to bat, he forces a glove over -the crushed fingers and goes to the wickets. He makes nothing—well, -that doesn’t matter; he is the wicket-keeper and has gone in last. But -he knows now that he can never take his place in the field; and he -knows, too, what an unfair thing he has done to his school to let them -start their game with a cripple. It is impossible now to confess.... -So, in between the innings, he arranges another accident with his -chair, and falls back on it, with his fingers—his already crushed -fingers this time—in the hinges. So nobody ever knew. Not until he -was a man, and it all seemed very little and far away. - -ISOBEL. What a horrible story! Give him the money, Mr. Royce. - -BLAYDS. Keep it for me, Isobel. (_ISOBEL takes it._) - -ROYCE. Is it true, sir? - -BLAYDS. So Meredith said. He told me. - -ROYCE. Lord, what pluck! I think I should have forgiven him for that. - -BLAYDS. Yes, an unfair thing to do; but having done it, he carried it -off in the grand manner. - -ISOBEL. To save himself. - -BLAYDS. Well, well. But he had qualities. Don’t you think so, -Mr. Royce? - -ROYCE. I do indeed. - - (_There is a silence. The excitement of the occasion has died - away, and you can almost see BLAYDS getting older._) - -BLAYDS (_after a pause_). I could tell you another story, Isobel, -which you don’t know.... Of another boy who carried it off. - -ISOBEL. Not now, dear. You mustn’t tire yourself. - -BLAYDS (_a very old man suddenly_). No, not now. But I shall tell you -one day. Yes, I shall have to tell you.... I shall have to tell you. - -ISOBEL (_quietly, to ROYCE_). I think perhaps—— - -ROYCE (_getting up_). It is very kind of you to have seen me, sir. I -mustn’t let you get tired of me. - -BLAYDS (_very tired_). Good-bye, Mr. Royce. He liked the 1863 volume, -Isobel. - -ISOBEL. Yes, Father. - -ROYCE. Good-bye, sir, and thank you; I shall always remember. - -ISOBEL (_in a whisper to ROYCE_). You can find your way out, can’t -you? I don’t like to leave him. - -ROYCE. Of course. I may see you again? - -ISOBEL (_her tragedy_). I am always here. - -ROYCE. Good-bye. - - [_He goes._ - -BLAYDS. Isobel, where are you? - -ISOBEL (_at his side again_). Here I am, dear. - -BLAYDS. How old did you say I was? - -ISOBEL. Ninety. - -BLAYDS. Ninety.... I’m tired. - -ISOBEL. It has been too much for you, dear. I oughtn’t to have let him -stay so long. You’d like to go to bed now, wouldn’t you? (_She walks -away to ring the bell._) - -BLAYDS (_a frightened child_). Where are you going? Don’t leave me. - -ISOBEL (_stopping_). Only to ring the bell, dear. - -BLAYDS. Don’t leave me. I want you to hold my hand. - -ISOBEL. Yes, dear. (_She holds it._) - -BLAYDS. Did you say I was ninety? There’s no going back at ninety. -Only forward—into the grave that’s waiting for you. So cold and -lonely there, Isobel. - -ISOBEL. I am always with you, dear. - -BLAYDS. Hold me tight. I’m frightened.... Did I tell you about the -boy—who carried it off? - -ISOBEL. Yes, dear, you told us. - -BLAYDS. No, not that boy—the other one. Are we alone, Isobel? - -ISOBEL. Yes, dear. - -BLAYDS. Listen, Isobel. I want to tell you—— - -ISOBEL. Tell me to-morrow, dear. - -BLAYDS (_in weak anger, because he is frightened_). There are no -to-morrows when you are ninety ... when you are ninety ... and they -have all left you ... alone. - -ISOBEL. Very well, dear. Tell me now. - -BLAYDS (_eagerly_). Yes, yes, come closer.... Listen, Isobel. (_He -draws her still closer and begins._) Isobel.... - - (_But we do not hear it until afterwards._) - - - - -ACT II - - -SCENE: _The same room a few days later._ - -_OLIVER comes in dressed in the deepest black, having just returned -from the funeral of OLIVER BLAYDS. He looks round the room, and then -up at the old gentleman who has now left it for ever, and draws his -first deep breath of freedom. Then, sitting at his ease on the sofa, -he takes out a cigarette and lights it._ - - * * * * * - -OLIVER (_blowing out smoke_). Ah! - - _SEPTIMA comes in._ - -SEPTIMA (_seeing the cigarette_). Hallo! - -OLIVER (_a little on the defensive_). Hallo! - -SEPTIMA. I think I’ll join you. Got one? - -OLIVER. I expect so. (_He offers her one._) - -SEPTIMA. Thanks. (_He lights it for her._) Thanks. (_She also takes -her first deep breath._) Well, that’s that. - -OLIVER. What did you think of it? - -SEPTIMA. It’s rather awful, isn’t it? I mean awe-inspiring. - -OLIVER. Yes. I don’t know why it should be. Did you cry? You looked -like it once or twice. - -SEPTIMA. Yes. Not because it was Grandfather. Not because it was -Oliver Blayds. But—just because. - -OLIVER. Because it was the last time. - -SEPTIMA. Yes.... I suppose that’s why one cries at weddings. Or -at—no, I’ve never been to a christening. - -OLIVER. You have. And I bet you cried. - -SEPTIMA. Oh, my own, yes.... - -OLIVER. Wonderful crowd of people. I don’t think I ever realised -before what a great man he was. - -SEPTIMA. No, one doesn’t.... - -OLIVER (_after a pause_). You know there’s a lot of rot talked about -death. - -SEPTIMA. A lot of rot talked about everything. - -OLIVER. Here was Oliver Blayds—the greatest man of his day—seen -everything, known everybody, ninety years old, honoured by all—and -then he goes out. Well! - -SEPTIMA. Nothing is here for tears, in fact. - -OLIVER. Not only nothing for tears, but everything for rejoicings. I -don’t understand these religious people. They’re quite certain that -there’s an after life, and that this life is only a preparation for -it—like a cold bath in the morning to the rest of the day. And yet -they are always the people who make the most fuss, and cover -themselves with black, and say, “Poor Grandfather!” ever after. Why -poor? He is richer than ever according to them. - -SEPTIMA. Can’t you _see_ Oliver Blayds in Heaven enjoying it all? What -poetry he would make of it! - -OLIVER. “A Child’s Thoughts on Waking”—eh? I’ve laughed at it, and -loathed it, but it was the real stuff, you know. What’s the -text—“Except ye be born again as a little child, ye shall not enter -into the kingdom of Heaven”—is that right? _His_ thoughts—on waking -in Heaven. - -SEPTIMA (_thoughtfully_). Septima Blayds-Conway. It’s rather a thing -to be, you know. - -OLIVER. I used to think once that, when the old boy died, I’d chuck -the Blayds and just be plain Oliver Conway. I’m beginning to think I -was wrong.... Oliver Blayds-Conway. - -SEPTIMA. The well-known statesman. Sorry—I mean engineer. - -OLIVER. Well, I wonder about that. - -SEPTIMA. What sort of wondering? - -OLIVER. Things will be a bit different now. I’m the only genuine -Blayds left—— - -SEPTIMA. Oh, indeed! - -OLIVER. You know what I mean—male Blayds. And it’s rather up to me -not to let the old man down. Oliver Blayds-Conway, M.P. There’s -something in it, you know. I was thinking about it in the church. Or -should I drop the Conway and just be Blayds? Or Conway Blayds and drop -the Oliver? It’s a bit of a problem. - -SEPTIMA. I shall keep the Blayds when I marry. Drop the Conway, of -course. - -OLIVER. It’s a dirty game, politics, but that’s all the more reason -why there should be some really good people in it. Irreproachable -people, I mean. Conway Blayds.... (_And the Duke of Devonshire, and so -forth_). - -SEPTIMA (_after a pause_). I wonder what Aunt Isobel wants to talk to -us all about. - -OLIVER. The old man’s last dying instructions or something. I was -rather hoping to get down to the Oval. I’ve got the day off. Bit of a -change to go to the Oval when you really _have_ buried your -grandfather. But perhaps I ought to be careful if I’m going in -seriously for politics. - -SEPTIMA. Noll, have you realised that it’s all going to be rather -interesting now? - -OLIVER. Of course it is. But why particularly? - -SEPTIMA. Father. - -OLIVER. You mean he’s lost his job. - -SEPTIMA. Yes. It’s terribly exciting when your father’s out of work. - -OLIVER. He’ll have more work than ever. He’ll write Blayds’ life. -That’ll take him years. - -SEPTIMA. Yes; but, don’t you see, he hasn’t any real standing now. Who -is he? Only Blayds’ late secretary. Whose house is this now, do you -think? - -OLIVER. Depends how the old man left it. - -SEPTIMA. Of course it does. But you can be quite sure he didn’t leave -it to father. I think it’s all going to be rather exciting. - -OLIVER. Well, you won’t be here to see it, my child. - -SEPTIMA. Why not? - -OLIVER. I thought you were going to live with that Ferguson girl. - -SEPTIMA. Not so sure now. There’s no hurry anyway. I think I’ll wait -here a bit, and see what happens. It’s all going to be so different. - -OLIVER. It is. (_He smiles at his thoughts._) - -SEPTIMA. What? - -OLIVER (_smiling broadly_). It’s just on the cards that it’s my house -now. (_Looking round the room._) I don’t think I shall let father -smoke in here. - -SEPTIMA. What fun that would be!... I hope he’s left Aunt Isobel -something. - -OLIVER. Yes, poor dear, she’s rather in the air, isn’t she? - -SEPTIMA. It’s funny how little we know _her_. - -OLIVER. We’ve hardly ever seen her, apart from the old man. I don’t -suppose there’s much to know. A born nurse, and that’s all there is to -it. - -SEPTIMA. Perhaps you’re right. - -OLIVER. I’m sure I am. - - _WILLIAM and MARION come on._ - -WILLIAM (_continuing a conversation which has obviously been going on -since BLAYDS died_). I say again, Oliver Blayds ought to have been -buried in the Abbey. The nation expected it. The nation had the right -to it. - -MARION. Yes, dear, but we couldn’t go against his own wish. His last -wish. - -WILLIAM. If it was his wish, why did he not express it to me? - -MARION. He told Isobel, dear. - -WILLIAM. So we are to believe. And of course I was careful to let the -public understand that this was so in my letter to the _Times_. But in -what circumstances did he express the wish? (_He suddenly realises -OLIVER’S cigarette and says sharply_) Oliver, you know quite well that -your grandfather—— (_But then he remembers where grandfather is._) - -OLIVER (_not understanding_). Yes? - -MARION. I think Father meant—of course Grandfather can’t see you -now—not to mind. - -WILLIAM. I should have thought your instinct would have told you that -this is hardly the moment, when Oliver Blayds is just laid to rest—— - -MARION. Your cigarette, dear. - -OLIVER. Oh! (_He throws it away._) Sorry, Mother, if you mind. I -didn’t think it would matter either way—now. - -MARION. That’s all right, dear. - -WILLIAM. As I was saying, in what circumstances did he express the -wish? - -MARION. What, dear? - -WILLIAM. On his death-bed, his faculties rapidly going, he may have -indicated preference for a simple ceremony. But certainly up to a few -weeks of his passing, although it was naturally a subject which I did -not care myself to initiate, he always gave me the impression that he -anticipated an interment in the Abbey. - -MARION. Yes, dear. I daresay I shall feel it more later, but just now -I like to think of him where he wanted to be himself. - -SEPTIMA. After all, Shakespeare isn’t buried in the Abbey. - -WILLIAM. I don’t think that that has anything to do with it, Septima. -I am not saying that the reputation of Oliver Blayds will suffer by -reason of his absence from the national Valhalla—he has built his own -monument in a thousand deathless lines; but speaking as an Englishman, -I say that the Abbey had a right to him. - -MARION. Well, it’s too late now, dear. - -WILLIAM. I shall speak to Isobel again; I still feel sure she was -mistaken. - -MARION. Very well, dear. But don’t worry her more than you need. I -feel rather uneasy about her. She has been so strange since he died. - -WILLIAM. She will be worried enough as it is. Of all the extraordinary -wills to make! - - (_OLIVER and SEPTIMA exchange glances._) - -OLIVER. Why, what’s he done? We were wondering about that. - -WILLIAM. Yes, yes, yes, you will know in good time, my boy. - -OLIVER. Why not now? This seems a very good time. - -SEPTIMA. Are we too young to be told? - -WILLIAM (_ignoring them_). Marion, don’t let me forget that message to -the public—returning thanks for their sympathy, and so on. (_Moving -to the desk._) We might draft that now. - -MARION. Yes, dear. - -SEPTIMA. Oliver was asking you about the will, Father. - -WILLIAM. Yes, yes, another time. Marion—— - -OLIVER. I suppose I am mentioned in it? - -WILLIAM. Of course, of course. - -OLIVER. To what extent? - - (_WILLIAM is too busy to answer._) - -SEPTIMA. Father, don’t be so childish. - -WILLIAM (_outraged_). Septima! - -MARION. Septima dear, you oughtn’t to talk to your father like that. - -WILLIAM (_with dignity_). I think you had better go to your room. - -SEPTIMA (_unmoved_). But that’s the whole point. Is it my room? -(_WILLIAM looks bewildered._) Or is it Oliver’s, or Mother’s, or Aunt -Isobel’s? - -OLIVER. I believe he has left everything to Aunt Isobel. - -MARION. Oh no, dear, he wouldn’t do that. He would never have -favourites. Share and share alike. - -SEPTIMA. Half for you and half for Aunt Isobel? - -MARION. Of course, dear. And all to you and Oliver after our death. -And something down to you now. I forget how much. (_To WILLIAM_) What -was it, dear? - -WILLIAM (_sulkily_). A thousand pounds each. - -OLIVER. Sportsman! What about you, Father? Do you get anything? - -MARION. Father gets a thousand too. - -SEPTIMA. Then why “of all the extraordinary wills——”? - -MARION. It’s because of Aunt Isobel being made sole executor—literary -executor too—isn’t that it, dear? - -WILLIAM (_mumbling_). Yes. - -OLIVER. Oho! Meaning that _she_ runs Blayds now? New editions, -biographies, unpublished fragments, and all the rest of it? - -MARION. Naturally she will leave it in Father’s hands. But, of course, -Father is a little hurt that Grandfather didn’t think of that for -himself. - -OLIVER. Oh, well, I don’t suppose it matters much. Then that’s why she -wants to see us all now. - - (_WILLIAM grunts assent; and stands up as ISOBEL comes in._) - -WILLIAM. Ah, here you are. - -ISOBEL. I’m sorry if I have kept you waiting. - -MARION. It’s all right, dear. - -WILLIAM. I was just telling Marion that I am more than ever convinced -that Oliver Blayds’ rightful resting-place was the Abbey. - -ISOBEL (_shaking her head wearily_). No. - -WILLIAM. I was saying to Marion, even if he expressed the wish in his -last moments for a quiet interment—— - -ISOBEL. He never expressed the wish, one way or the other. - -WILLIAM. My dear Isobel! You distinctly told us—— - -MARION. You did say, dear. - -ISOBEL. Yes, I owe you an apology about that. - -WILLIAM (_indignantly_). An apology! - -ISOBEL. There is something I have to tell you all. Will you please -listen, all of you? Won’t you sit down, William? (_They sit down._) - -MARION. What is it, dear? - -WILLIAM. You’ve been very mysterious these last few days. - -ISOBEL. I didn’t want to say anything until he had been buried. I -shall not be mysterious now; I shall be only too plain. - -SEPTIMA (_to OLIVER_). I say, what’s up? - - (_OLIVER shrugs his shoulders._) - -WILLIAM. Well? - -ISOBEL. I told you that Father didn’t want to be buried in the Abbey, -not because he had said so, but because it was quite impossible that -he should be buried in the Abbey. - -WILLIAM. Impossible! - -MARION. I’m sure the Dean would have been only—— - -ISOBEL. Impossible because he had done nothing to make him worthy of -that honour. - -WILLIAM. Well! - -OLIVER. Oh no, Aunt Isobel, you’re wrong there. I mean when you think -of some of the people—— - -ISOBEL. Will you listen to me, please? And ask any questions -afterwards. You may think I’m mad; I’m not.... I wish I were. - -WILLIAM. Well, what is it? - - (_She tells them; it is almost as if she were repeating a lesson - which she had learnt by heart. BLAYDS, you may be sure, made a - story of it when he told her—we seem to hear snatches of that - story now._) - -ISOBEL. Nearly seventy years ago there were two young men, boys -almost, twenty-three, perhaps, living together in rooms in Islington. -Both poor, both eager, ambitious, certain of themselves, very certain -of their destiny. But only one of them was a genius. He was a poet, -this one; perhaps the greater poet because he knew that he had not -long to live. The poetry came bubbling out of him, and he wrote it -down feverishly, quick, quick before the hand became cold and the -fingers could no longer write. That was all his ambition. He had no -thoughts of present fame; there was no time for it. He was content to -live unknown, so that when dead he might live for ever. His friend was -ambitious in a different way. He wanted the present delights of fame. -So they lived together there, one writing and writing, always writing; -the other writing and then stopping to think how famous he was going -to be, and envying those who were already famous, and then regretfully -writing again. A time came when the poet grew very ill, and lay in -bed, but still writing, but still hurrying, hurrying to keep pace with -the divine music in his brain. Then one day there was no more writing, -no more music. The poet was dead. (_She is silent for a little._) - -WILLIAM (_as her meaning slowly comes to him_). Isobel, what are you -saying? - -MARION. I don’t understand. Who was it? - -OLIVER. Good Lord! - -ISOBEL (_in the same quiet voice_). The friend was left—with the body -of the poet—and all that great monument which the dead man had raised -for himself. The poet had no friends but this one; no relations of -whom he had ever spoken or who claimed him now. He was dead, and it -was left to his friend to see that he won now that immortality for -which he had given his life.... His friend betrayed him. - -SEPTIMA. I say! - -WILLIAM. I _won’t_ believe it! It’s monstrous! - -MARION. I don’t understand. - -ISOBEL (_wearily_). One can see the temptation. There he was, this -young man of talent, of great ambition, and there were these works of -genius lying at his feet, waiting to be picked up—and fathered by -him. I suppose that, like every other temptation, it came suddenly. He -writes out some of the verses, scribbled down anyhow by the poet in -his mad hurry, and sends them to a publisher; one can imagine the -publisher’s natural acceptance of the friend as the true author, the -friend’s awkwardness in undeceiving him, and then his sudden -determination to make the most of the opportunity given him.... Oh, -one can imagine many things—but what remains? Always and always this. -That Oliver Blayds was not a poet; that he did not write the works -attributed to him; and that he betrayed his friend. (_She stops and -then says in an ordinary matter-of-fact voice_) That was why I thought -that he ought not to be buried in the Abbey. - -OLIVER. Good Lord! - -WILLIAM (_sharply_). Is this true, Isobel? - -ISOBEL. It isn’t the sort of story that I should make up. - -MARION. I don’t understand. (_To WILLIAM_) What is it? I don’t -understand. - -WILLIAM. Isobel is telling us that Oliver Blayds stole all his poetry -from another man. - -MARION. Stole it! - -WILLIAM. Passed it off as his own. - -MARION (_firmly to ISOBEL_). Oh no, dear, you must be wrong. Why -should Grandfather want to steal anybody else’s poetry when he wrote -so beautifully himself? - -SEPTIMA. That’s just the point, Mother. Aunt Isobel says that he -didn’t write anything himself. - -MARION. But there are the books with his name on them! - -ISOBEL. Stolen—from his friend. - -MARION (_shocked_). Isobel, how can you? Your own father! - -WILLIAM. I don’t believe it. I had the privilege of knowing Oliver -Blayds for nearly thirty years and I say that I don’t believe it. - -ISOBEL. I knew him for some time too. He was my father. - -WILLIAM. When did he tell you this? - -OLIVER. It’s a dashed funny thing that—— - -WILLIAM. If you will allow me, Oliver. I want to get to the bottom of -this. When did he tell you? - -ISOBEL. That last evening. His birthday. - -WILLIAM. How? Why? Why should he tell you? - -ISOBEL. He seemed frightened suddenly—of dying. I suppose he’d always -meant to tell somebody before he died. - -MARION. Why didn’t you tell us before, dear? - -WILLIAM (_holding up his hand_). Please. Let me. (_To ISOBEL_) Why -didn’t you tell us before? - -ISOBEL. I promised not to say anything until he was dead. Then I -thought I would wait until he was buried. - -MARION. You couldn’t have made a mistake? You couldn’t have -misunderstood him? - -ISOBEL (_smiling sadly_). No. - -WILLIAM. You say that this other man died—how many years ago? - -ISOBEL. Sixty, seventy. - -WILLIAM. Ah! (_Sarcastically_) And sixty years after he was dead he -was apparently still writing poetry for Oliver Blayds to steal? - -ISOBEL. He had already written it—sixty years ago—for Oliver Blayds -to steal. - -OLIVER. Good Lord! What a man! - -SEPTIMA. You mean that his last volume—— - -WILLIAM (_holding up his hand_). Please, Septima.... Take this last -volume published when he was over eighty. You say that everything -there had been written by this other man sixty years ago? - -ISOBEL. Yes. - -WILLIAM. And the manuscripts were kept by Oliver Blayds for sixty -years, written out again by him and published in his old age as his -own? - -ISOBEL. Yes. - -WILLIAM (_triumphantly_). And can you explain how it was that he -didn’t publish them earlier if he had had them in his possession all -those years? - -ISOBEL. He didn’t dare to. He was afraid of being left with nothing to -publish. He took care always to have something in reserve. And that’s -why everybody said how wonderfully vigorous and youthful his mind was -at eighty, how amazing that the spirit and fire of youth had remained -with him so long. Yes, it was the spirit and fire of youth, but of a -youth who died seventy years ago. - -OLIVER (_impressed_). Gad, you know, fancy the old chap keeping it up -like that. Shows how little one really knows people. I had no idea he -was such a sportsman. - -SEPTIMA. Such a liar. - -OLIVER. Same thing, sometimes. - -SEPTIMA. I call it perfectly disgusting. - -WILLIAM. Please, please! We shan’t arrive at the truth like that. (_To -ISOBEL_) You want me to understand that Oliver Blayds has never -written a line of his own poetry in his life? - -MARION. Why, Grandfather was always writing poetry. Even as a child I -remember—— - -SEPTIMA (_impatiently_). Mother, can’t you understand that the Oliver -Blayds we thought we knew never existed? - -MARION. But I was telling you, dear, that even as a child—— - -SEPTIMA (_to OLIVER_). It’s no good, she’s hopelessly muddled. - -WILLIAM. Yes, yes.... Do you wish me to understand—— - -ISOBEL. I wish you to know the truth. We’ve been living in a lie, all -of us, all our lives, and now at last we have found the truth. You -talk as if, for some reason, I wanted to spread slanders about Oliver -Blayds now that he is dead; as if in some way all this great lie were -my doing; as if it were no pain but a sort of a pleasure to me to find -out what sort of man my father really was. Ask me questions—I want -you to know everything; but don’t cross-examine me as if I were -keeping back the truth. - -WILLIAM (_upset and apologetic_). Quite so, quite so. It’s the truth -which we want. - -MARION. As Grandfather said so beautifully himself in his “Ode to -Truth”—What are the lines? - -SEPTIMA (_hopelessly_). Oh, Mother! - -MARION. Yes, and that was what I was going to say—could a man who -wrote so beautifully about Truth as Grandfather did tell lies and -deceive people as Isobel says he did? (_To ISOBEL_) I’m sure you must -have made a mistake, dear. - -OLIVER. You never told us—what was the other fellow’s name? - -WILLIAM. I am coming to that directly. What I am asking you now is -this. Did Oliver Blayds write no line of poetry himself at all? - -ISOBEL. He wrote the 1863 volume. - -WILLIAM (_staggered_). Oh! - -OLIVER. The wash-out? By Jove! Then _that_ explains it! - -ISOBEL. Yes, that explains it. He tried to tell himself that he was a -poet too; that he had only used the other man in order to give himself -a start. So he brought out a volume of his own poems. And then when -everybody said “Blayds is finished,” he went back hastily to his -friend and never ventured by himself again. And that explains why he -resented the criticism of that volume, why he was so pleased when it -was praised. It was all that he had written. - -WILLIAM (_defeated now_). Yes, that would explain it. (_To himself_) -Oliver Blayds!... - - (_They are all silent for a little._) - -SEPTIMA. Then he didn’t write “Septima.” - -OLIVER. Of course he didn’t. You’re illegitimate, old girl. - -SEPTIMA. Who did? - -ISOBEL. The other man’s name was Jenkins. - -SEPTIMA (_in disgust_). Christened after Jenkins! - -OLIVER. Oliver Jenkins-Conway, M.P. Good Lord! - -SEPTIMA. It will have to be Oliver Conway now. - -OLIVER (_gloomily_). Yes, I suppose so. But everybody will know. - -WILLIAM (_still fighting_). His friends, Isobel. The great friends he -had had. The stories he has told us about them—were those all lies -too? No, they couldn’t have been. I’ve seen them here myself. - -MARION. Why, I remember going to see Uncle Thomas once when I was a -little girl—Carlyle—Uncle Thomas I called him. - -OLIVER. Well, if it comes to that, _I_ can remember—— - -ISOBEL. Oh, the friends were there. They accepted him for what he -seemed to be, just as we did. He deceived them as cleverly as he -deceived us. - -WILLIAM. Tennyson, Browning, Swinburne—— - -ISOBEL (_bitterly_). Oh, he had his qualities. He talked well. There -were his books. Why should they doubt him? - -WILLIAM. Yes.... Yes. - - (_There is silence for a little._) - -MARION (_going over to ISOBEL and shaking her by the arm_). Is it -really true what you’ve been saying? - -ISOBEL. Oh, how I wish it weren’t. - -MARION (_to WILLIAM_). _Is_ it true? - -WILLIAM. He told her. She wouldn’t make it up. - -MARION. But there’s all that beautiful poetry. I’ve been brought up to -believe in it all my life. I’ve lived on it. And now you’ve taken it -away, and you’ve left—nothing. - -ISOBEL. Nothing. - -MARION (_quite lost_). I don’t understand. (_She goes back in a vague, -bewildered way to her chair...._) - -SEPTIMA (_defiantly_). The poetry is still there—and Jenkins. - -OLIVER (_shouting_). Shut up, Tim! - -SEPTIMA (_angrily_). Shut up about what? - -OLIVER. Jenkins. Don’t rub it in. It’s much worse for Mother than it -is for us. - -SEPTIMA. Oh, all right! But you don’t gain anything by not being frank -about it. - - (_The little storm dies down as suddenly as it began. There is - another silence._) - -OLIVER. Good Lord! I’ve just thought of something. (_They look at -him._) The money. - -WILLIAM. The money? - -OLIVER. All this. (_He indicates the room_) Who does it belong to? - -WILLIAM. According to the provisions of your Grandfather’s will—— - -OLIVER. Yes, but it wasn’t his to leave. - -WILLIAM. Not his to—— - -OLIVER. No, Jenkins. - -SEPTIMA. I thought we weren’t going to mention Mr. Jenkins. - -OLIVER. Shut up, Tim, that’s different. (_To the others_) All the -money comes from the books—at least I suppose it does—and the books -aren’t his, so the money isn’t either. - -WILLIAM (_turning in a bewildered way to ISOBEL_). Is that so? - -ISOBEL (_with a shrug_). I suppose so. - -WILLIAM. You say he had no family, this other man. - -ISOBEL. None who bothered about him. But there must be relations -somewhere. - -WILLIAM. We shall have to find that out. - -ISOBEL. Anyhow, as Oliver says, the money isn’t ours. (_Bitterly_) I -wouldn’t touch a penny. - -WILLIAM. Some of the money would be rightfully his. There was that one -volume anyhow. It may not have been praised, but it was bought. Then -there’s the question of his investments. It may prove that some of his -most profitable investments were made about that time—with that very -money. In which case, if it could be established—— - -ISOBEL (_indignantly_). Oh, how can you talk like that! As if it -mattered. It’s tainted money, all of it. - -WILLIAM. I think that is going too far. Very much too far. I -recognise, of course, that we have certain obligations towards the -relatives of this man—er—Jenkins. Obviously we must fulfil those -obligations. But when that is done—— - -MARION (_to ISOBEL_). We shall be generous, of course, dear, that’s -only fair. - -OLIVER. Yes, but what are you going to do if no relations turn up? - -WILLIAM (_turning doubtfully to ISOBEL_). Well, there is that, of -course. - -MARION. In that case we couldn’t do anything, could we, dear? - -ISOBEL. We could throw the money into the sea; we could bury it deep -in the ground; we could even give it away, Marion. - -WILLIAM. That’s going much too far. - -OLIVER. It’s rather a problem, you know. - -SEPTIMA. It isn’t a problem at all. May I speak for a moment? I really -think I have a right to say something. - -WILLIAM. Well? - -SEPTIMA. I want to say this. Oliver and I have been brought up in a -certain way to expect certain things. Oliver wanted to be an engineer; -he wasn’t allowed to, as Grandfather wanted him to go into politics. I -wanted to share a studio with a friend and try and get on with my -painting; I wasn’t allowed to, as Grandfather wanted me at home. -Perhaps if Oliver had been an engineer, he would have been doing well -by now. Perhaps if I had had my way, I might have been earning my -living by now. As it is, we have been brought up as the children and -grandchildren of rich people; I can’t earn my own living, and Oliver -is in a profession in which money means success. Aunt Isobel has been -telling us how a young man of Oliver’s age, seventy years ago, was -cheated out of his rights. Apparently she thinks that the best way now -of making up for that is to cheat Oliver and me out of our rights. I -don’t agree with her. - -OLIVER. Yes, there’s a good deal in that. Well done, Tim. - -ISOBEL. It’s hard on you, I know. But you are young; you still have -your lives in front of you, to make what you will of them. - -SEPTIMA. That’s what old people always say to people of our age, and -they seem to think that it excuses any injustice. - -MARION. Poor Grandfather! - -SEPTIMA. Yes, but I don’t see why it should be “Poor Oliver” and -“Poor Septima” too. Suppose any relation did turn up—(_to -WILLIAM_)—suppose they do, Father. Well, what will they all be? -Grand-nephews, or fifth cousins twice removed or something, who have -never heard of Jenkins, who never did anything _for_ Jenkins, and on -whose lives Jenkins has had no effect whatever. Is there any sort of -justice which says that they ought to have the money? But Noll and I -have given up a good deal for Oliver Blayds, and he owes us something. - -ISOBEL (_with ironic sadness_). Oh yes, you have given up a good deal -for Oliver Blayds. It ought to be paid back to you. - -WILLIAM (_still trying to be fair_). There’s another thing we must -remember. Even if this other man—— - -SEPTIMA. Jenkins. - -WILLIAM. Yes, even if he wrote all the books—always excepting the -1863 volume—even so, it was Oliver Blayds who arranged for their -publication. He could fairly claim, therefore, an agent’s commission -on all moneys received. Ten per cent. - -ISOBEL (_scornfully_). Oliver Blayds, the well-known commission agent! - -WILLIAM. Ten per cent of all moneys, therefore, is, in any case, -rightfully ours. - -MARION. Only ten per cent, dear. That seems very little. - -WILLIAM. I am working on a minimum basis. Isobel says, “Throw all the -money into the sea; it doesn’t belong to us.” I say no, that is going -too far. We have one volume which is certainly ours. We have the ten -per cent commission which is certainly ours. There may be other sums -due to us, such as the profits of certain of the investments. We can -look into the matter carefully at our leisure. The great point, I -take it, is that we want to be fair to the relatives of this man -Jenkins, but also fair to the relatives of Oliver Blayds, who, as -Septima points out, have at least done something to earn any money -that comes to them. - -MARION (_to ISOBEL_). We want to be fair to everybody, dear. - -SEPTIMA. Well, I think you are going to give the Jenkinses much too -much. What right have the Jenkinses got to _any_ of the money which -Grandfather made by investing? - -OLIVER. Well, it was Jenkins’ money which was invested. - -MARION. We shouldn’t like to think of them starving because we weren’t -quite fair. - -SEPTIMA. They let Jenkins starve. They didn’t worry about _him_. - -OLIVER. Of course they didn’t, they weren’t even born. - -WILLIAM. The whole question is extremely difficult. We may require an -arbitrator, or, at any rate, a qualified chartered accountant. - -MARION. Yes, that would be better, dear. To let somebody else decide -what is fair and what isn’t. - -ISOBEL (_in a low voice_). Oh, it’s horrible ... horrible. - -MARION. What, dear? - -ISOBEL. The way you talk—about the money. As if all that we had lost -was so much money. As if you could estimate the wrong that Oliver -Blayds did to his friend in the terms of money. I said the money was -tainted. It is. How can you bear to touch it? How can you bear to -profit by such a betrayal? - -SEPTIMA. That’s pure sentiment, Aunt Isobel. Quite apart from not -being reasonable, it isn’t even practical. Where are you going to -draw the line? If you’re going to throw the money away, then you’ve -got to throw the house away and everything in the house away—all our -clothes to begin with. Because everything—everything that belongs to -us owes itself to that betrayal of seventy years ago.... We should -look very funny, the five of us, walking out of the house to-morrow, -with nothing on, and starting life all over again. - -MARION. Septima, dear, I don’t think that’s quite—— - - (_SEPTIMA begins to laugh to herself at the picture of them._) - -OLIVER. That isn’t fair, Tim. An extreme case makes anything seem -absurd. (_Earnestly to ISOBEL_) You know, I do see what you mean and I -do sympathise. But even if we kept all the money, would that matter -very much? All this man Jenkins wanted was to leave an immortal name -behind him. You’ve just told us that nothing else interested him. -Jenkins—I don’t say it’s much of a name, but neither was Keats for -that matter. Well, Grandfather robbed him of that, and a damned shame -too, but now we are giving it back to him. So all that’s happened is -that he’s had seventy years less immortality than he expected. But he -can’t worry seriously about that, any more than Wordsworth can worry -because he was born two hundred years after Shakespeare. They are all -equally immortal. - -MARION (_to ISOBEL_). You see, dear, that’s quite fair to everybody. - -ISOBEL. One can’t argue about it; you feel it or you don’t. And I give -up my share of the money, so there should be plenty for all of you, -even after you have been “fair” to the others. - -WILLIAM (_who has felt ISOBEL’S scorn deeply_). Isobel! I don’t think -you can realise how much you have hurt me by your words. After the -first shock of your revelation it has been my one object to keep my -real feelings, my very deep feelings, under control. I suppose that -this revelation, this appalling revelation, has meant more to me than -to any one in this room. Put quite simply, it means the end of my life -work, the end of a career.... I think you know how I devoted myself to -Oliver Blayds—— - -MARION. Simply devoted himself, dear. - -WILLIAM. I gave up whatever other ambitions I may have had— - -MARION (_to the children_). I always said that Father could have done -anything. - -WILLIAM. —And I set myself from that day on to live for one thing -only, Oliver Blayds. It was a great pride to me to be his son-in-law, -a great pride to be his secretary, but the greatest pride of all was -the thought that I was helping others to know and to love, as I knew -and loved him, that very great poet, that very great man, Oliver -Blayds. You tell me now that he is—(_he snaps his fingers_)—nothing. -A hollow mask. (_His voice rises_) I think I have some right to be -angry; I think I have some right to bear resentment against this man -who has tricked me, who has been making a fool of me for all these -years. When I think of the years of labour which I have spent already -in getting the materials together for this great man’s life; when I -think how I have listened to him and taken down eagerly his every -word; when I think that to-morrow I am to be held up to the derision -of the world for the gullible fool I have shown myself to be, I think -I have a right to be angry. (_With a great effort he controls himself -and goes on more quietly_) But I have tried to control my feelings. I -have remembered that he was your father and Marion’s father, and I -have tried to control myself. To forget my own feelings, and to -consider only how best to clear up this wreckage that Oliver Blayds -has left behind. It is not for you to scorn me, me who have been the -chief one to suffer. - -MARION. Poor Father! (_She puts out a hand._) - -WILLIAM (_patting it_). That’s all right. I don’t want pity. I just -want Isobel to try to realise what it means to me. - -OLIVER. Yes, by Jove, it is a bit rough on the governor. - -SEPTIMA. Rough on all of us. - -MARION. But your father has suffered most. You must always remember -that. - -ISOBEL. Poor William! Yes, it is hard on you. Your occupation’s gone. - -WILLIAM. It is a terrible blow to us all, this dreadful news that you -have given us. But you can understand that to me it is absolutely -crushing. - -ISOBEL (_in a whisper_). And to me? (_They look at her in surprise._) -What has it been to me? - -WILLIAM. Well, as I was saying—— - -ISOBEL. You have enjoyed your life here, yes, every moment of it. If -you hadn’t been secretary to Oliver Blayds, you would have been -secretary to somebody else—it’s what you’re best fitted for. Yes, you -have lived your life; you have had interests, a hundred interests -every day to keep you active and eager.... (_Almost to herself_) But I -say, what of me? What has my life been? Look at me now—what am I?—a -wasted woman. I might have been a wife, a mother—with a man of my -own, children of my own, in my own home. Look at me now...! - -MARION. My dear, I never dreamt—— - -ISOBEL (_eighteen years away from them all_). He asked me to marry -him. Tall and straight and clean he was, and he asked me to marry him. -Ah, how happy we should have been together, he and I—should we not -have been happy? He asked me to marry him. - -MARION. Isobel! - -ISOBEL. Such a long time ago. I was young then, and pretty then, and -the world was very full then of beautiful things. I used to laugh -then—we laughed together—such a gay world it was all those years -ago. And he asked me to marry him.... (_In a hard voice_) I didn’t. I -sent him away. I said that I must stay with my father, Oliver Blayds, -the great poet. Yes, I was helping the great poet. (_With a bitter -laugh_) Helping!... And I sent my man away. - -SEPTIMA (_distressed_). Oh, don’t! - -ISOBEL. You thought I liked nursing. “A born nurse”—I can hear you -saying it. (_Fiercely it bursts out after all these years_) I hated -it! Do you know what it’s like nursing a sick old man—day after day, -night after night? And then year after year. Always a little older, a -little more difficult. Do you know what it is to live with an old man -when you are young, as I was young once, to live always with old age -and never with youth, and to watch your own youth gradually creeping -up to join his old age? Ah, but I was doing it for Blayds, for the -sake of his immortal poetry. (_She laughs—such a laugh_) And look -at me now, all wasted. The wife I might have been, the mother I might -have been. (_In a whisper_) How beautiful the world was, all those -years ago! - - (_They say nothing, for there is nothing to say. ISOBEL looks in - front of her, seeing nothing which they can see. Very gently they - go out, leaving her there with her memories...._) - - - - -ACT III - - -_Afternoon, three days later. ROYCE is at the desk, at work on a -statement for publication. He has various documents at hand, to which -he refers from time to time. OLIVER comes in._ - - * * * * * - -OLIVER. Hallo! - -ROYCE (_without looking up_). Hallo! - -OLIVER (_after waiting hopefully_). Very busy! (_He sits down._) - -ROYCE. Yes. - -OLIVER. Where is everybody? - -ROYCE. About somewhere. - -OLIVER. Oh!... I’ve been away for a couple of days. My chief made a -speech at Bradford. My God! Just for my benefit he dragged in a -reference to Oliver Blayds. Also “My God.” - -ROYCE (_realising suddenly that somebody is talking_). Oh! (_He goes -on with his work._) - -OLIVER. Yes, you seem quite excited about it. - -ROYCE. Sorry, but I’ve really got rather a lot to do, and not too much -time to do it in. - -OLIVER. Oh!... You won’t mind my asking, but are you living in the -house? - -ROYCE. Practically. For the last three days. - -OLIVER. Oh, I say, are you really? I was being sarcastic—as practised -by the best politicians. - -ROYCE. Don’t mention it. - -OLIVER. What’s happened? - -ROYCE. Miss Blayds asked me to help her. As you know, she is executor -to Blayds. Of course your father is helping too, but there’s a good -deal to be done. - -OLIVER. I see. (_Awkwardly_) I say, I suppose you—I mean has she—I -mean, what about—— - -ROYCE. Miss Blayds has told me. - -OLIVER. Oh! Nobody else yet? - -ROYCE. No. - -OLIVER. I’ve been rushing for the papers every morning expecting to -see something about it. - -ROYCE. We want to get everything in order first—the financial side of -it as well as the other—and then make a plain straightforward -statement of what has happened and what we propose to do. - -OLIVER. Yes, of course you can’t just write to _The Times_ and say: -“Dear Sir, Blayds’ poetry was written by Jenkins, Yours -faithfully.”... When will it be, do you think? - -ROYCE. We ought to have it ready by to-morrow. - -OLIVER. H’m.... Then I had better start looking for a job at once. - -ROYCE. Nonsense! - -OLIVER. It isn’t nonsense. What do you think my chief will want me -for, if I’m not Blayds the poet’s grandson? - -ROYCE. Your intrinsic qualities. - -OLIVER. I’m afraid they are not intrinsic enough in the present state -of the market. - -ROYCE. Well, you said you wanted to be a motor engineer—now’s your -chance. - -OLIVER. Helpful fellow, Royce. Now, as he says, is my chance. (_There -is a pause and then he says suddenly_) I say, what do _you_ think -about it all? - -ROYCE. What do you mean, think about it all? What is there to think? -One tries not to think. It’s—shattering. - -OLIVER. No, I don’t mean that. I mean—do you really think he did it? - -ROYCE. Did what? - -OLIVER. Did _it_. Did Jenkins. - -ROYCE. I don’t understand. Is there any doubt about it? - -OLIVER. Well, that’s just it.... The fact is, I had a brain-wave at -Bradford. - -ROYCE. Oh? - -OLIVER. Yes. Quite suddenly it flashed across me, and I said, “By -Jove! Of course! That’s it!” - -ROYCE. What’s what? - -OLIVER. He never did it! He just imagined it! It was all—what was the -word I used? - -ROYCE. Hallucination? - -OLIVER. Hallucination. (_He nods_) That’s the word. I wrote to Father -last night. I said, “Hallucination.” You can back it both ways, Royce, -and you won’t be far out. - -ROYCE. Yes, I can see how attractive the word must have looked—up at -Bradford. - -OLIVER. You don’t think it looks so well down here? - -ROYCE. I’m afraid not. - -OLIVER. Well, why not? Which is more probable, that Oliver Blayds -carried out this colossal fraud for more than sixty years, or that -when he was an old man of ninety his brain wobbled a bit, and he -started imagining things? - -ROYCE (_shaking his head regretfully_). No. - -OLIVER. It’s all very well to say “No.” Anybody can say “No.” As the -Old Man said yesterday, you refuse to face the facts, Royce. Look at -all the Will cases you see in the papers. Whenever an old gentleman -over seventy leaves his money to anybody but his loving nephews and -nieces, they always bring an action to prove that he can’t have been -quite right in the head when he died; and nine times out of ten they -win. Well, Blayds was ninety. - -ROYCE. Yes, but I thought he left you a thousand pounds. - -OLIVER. Well, I suppose that was a lucid interval.... Look here, _you_ -think it over seriously. I read a book once about a fellow who stole -another man’s novel. Perhaps Blayds read it too and got it mixed up. -Why not at that age? Or perhaps he was thinking of using the idea -himself. And turning it over and over in his mind, living with it, so -to speak, day and night, he might very easily begin to think that it -was something that had happened to himself. At his age. And then on -his death-bed, feeling that he must confess something—thoroughly -muddled, poor old fellow—well, you see how easily it might happen. -Hallucination. - -ROYCE (_regarding him admiringly_). You know, Oliver, I think you -underrate your intrinsic qualities as a politician. You mustn’t waste -yourself on engineering. - -OLIVER. Thanks very much. I suppose Father hasn’t mentioned the word -“hallucination” to you yet? - -ROYCE. No, not yet. - -OLIVER. Perhaps he hadn’t got my letter this morning. But it’s worth -thinking about, it is really. - -ROYCE (_hard at it again_). Yes, I am sure it is. - -OLIVER. You know—— - -ROYCE. You know, Oliver, I’m really very busy. - -OLIVER (_getting up_). Oh, all right. And I want a wash anyway. Is -Father in his study? - -ROYCE. Yes. Also very busy. If you really are going, I wish you’d see -if Miss Blayds could spare me a moment. - -OLIVER. Right. (_Turning to the door and seeing ISOBEL come in_) She -can. Hallo, Aunt Isobel! - -ISOBEL. I thought I heard your voice. Did you have an interesting -time? - -OLIVER. Rather! I was telling Royce. (_He takes her hand and pats it -kindly_) And I say, it’s all right. Quite all right. (_He kisses her -hand_) Believe me, it’s going to be absolutely all right. You see. -(_He pats her hand soothingly and goes out._) - -ISOBEL (_rather touched_). Dear boy! - -ROYCE. Yes, Oliver has a great future in politics. - -ISOBEL (_going to the sofa_). I’m tired. - -ROYCE. You’ve been doing too much. Sit down and rest a little. - -ISOBEL (_sitting_). No, go on. I shan’t disturb you? - -ROYCE. Talk to me. I’ve worked quite enough too. - -ISOBEL. Shall we be ready by to-morrow? - -ROYCE. I think so. - -ISOBEL. I want to be rid of it—to get it out of my head where it just -goes round and round. It will be a relief when the whole world knows. -(_With a little smile_) What a sensation for them! - -ROYCE. Yes. (_Also smiling_) Isn’t it funny how that comes in? - -ISOBEL. What? - -ROYCE. The excitement at the back of one’s mind when anything unusual -happens, however disastrous. - -ISOBEL (_smiling_). Did I sound very excited? - -ROYCE. You sounded alive for the first time. - -ISOBEL. These last two days have helped me. It has been a great -comfort to have you here. It was good of you to come. - -ROYCE. But of course I came. - -ISOBEL. I was looking up _Who’s Who_ for an address, and I went on to -your name—you know how one does. I hadn’t realised you were so famous -or so busy. It was good of you to come.... Your wife died? - -ROYCE (_surprised_). Yes. - -ISOBEL. I didn’t know. - -ROYCE. Ten years ago. Surely—— - -ISOBEL. Is there a special manner of a man whose wife died ten years -ago which I ought to have recognised? - -ROYCE (_laughing_). Well, no. But one always feels that a fact with -which one has lived for years must have impressed itself somehow on -others. - -ISOBEL. I didn’t know.... - -ROYCE (_suddenly_). I wish I could persuade you that you were quite -wrong not to take any of this money. - -ISOBEL. Am I “quite wrong”? - -ROYCE (_shaking his head_). No. That’s why it’s so hopeless my trying -to persuade you.... What are you going to do? - -ISOBEL (_rather sadly_). Aren’t I a “born nurse”? - -ROYCE. You tied my hand up once. - -ISOBEL (_smiling_). Well, there you are.... Oh, I daresay it’s just -pride, but somehow I can’t take the money. The others can; you were -right about that—I was wrong; but they have not been so near to him -as I have.... I thought the whole world was at an end at first. But -now—— - -ROYCE. But now you don’t. - -ISOBEL. No. I don’t know why. How hopeful we are. How—unbreakable. If -I were God, I should be very proud of Man. - -ROYCE. Let Him go on being proud of you. - -ISOBEL. Oh, I’m tough. You can’t be a nurse without being tough. I -shan’t break. - -ROYCE. And just a smile occasionally? - -ISOBEL (_smiling_). And even perhaps just a smile occasionally? - -ROYCE. Thank you. - - (_WILLIAM comes in fussily. But there is a suppressed air of - excitement about him. He has OLIVER’S letter in his hand._) - -WILLIAM. Isobel, there are two pass-books missing—two of the early -ones. I thought you had found them all. You haven’t seen them, -Mr. Royce? - -ROYCE. No, I’ve had nothing to do with them. - -WILLIAM. You found most of the early ones in the bottom drawer of his -desk, you told me. - -ISOBEL (_getting up_). I may have overlooked one; I’ll go and see. -There was a great deal of rubbish there. - -ROYCE. Can’t I? - -ISOBEL. Would you? You know where. Thank you so much. - -ROYCE (_going_). Right. - -WILLIAM. Thank you very much, Mr. Royce, I’m sorry to trouble you. - - (_There is a little silence after ROYCE is gone. ISOBEL is - thinking her own thoughts, not quite such unhappy ones now; - WILLIAM is nervous and excited. After much polishing of his - glasses he begins._) - -WILLIAM. Isobel, I have been thinking very deeply of late about this -terrible business. - -ISOBEL. Yes? - -WILLIAM (_going to the desk_). Is this the statement? - -ISOBEL. Is it? - -WILLIAM (_glancing over it_). Yes ... yes. I’ve been wondering if -we’ve been going too far. - -ISOBEL. About the money? - -WILLIAM. No, no. No, no, I wasn’t thinking about the money. - -ISOBEL. What, then? - -WILLIAM. Well.... Well.... I’m wondering.... Can we feel quite certain -that if we make this announcement—can we feel quite certain that we -are not—well—going too far? - -ISOBEL. You mean about the money? - -WILLIAM. No, no, no, no. - -ISOBEL. Then what else? I don’t understand. - -WILLIAM. Suppose—I only say suppose—it were not true. I mean, can we -be so certain that it _is_ true? You see, once we make this -announcement it is then too late. We cannot contradict it afterwards -and say that we have made a mistake. It is irrevocable. - -ISOBEL (_hardly able to believe it_). Are you suggesting that we -should—hush it up? - -WILLIAM. Now you are putting words into my mouth that I have not yet -used. I say that it has occurred to me, thinking things over very -earnestly, that possibly we are in too much of a hurry to believe this -story of—er—this Jenkins story. - -ISOBEL. You mean that I have invented it, dreamed it, imagined it——? - -WILLIAM. No, no, no, no, please. It would never occur to me to suggest -any such thing. What I do suggest as a possibility worth considering -is that Oliver Blayds—er—imagined it. - -ISOBEL. You mean he thought it was the other man’s poetry when it was -really his own? - -WILLIAM. You must remember that he was a very old man. I was saying to -Marion in this very room, talking over what I understood then to be -his last wish for a simple funeral, that the dying words of an old man -were not to be taken too seriously. Indeed, I used on that occasion -this actual phrase, “An old man, his faculties rapidly going.” I -repeat the phrase. I say again that an old man, his faculties rapidly -going, may have imagined this story. In short, it has occurred to me -that the whole thing may very well be—hallucination. - -ISOBEL (_looking at him fixedly_). Or self-deception. - -WILLIAM (_misunderstanding her_). Exactly. Well, in short, I suggest -there never was anybody called Jenkins. - -ISOBEL (_brightly—after a pause_). Wouldn’t it be nice? - -WILLIAM. One can understand how upon his death-bed a man feels the -need of confession, of forgiveness and absolution. It may well be that -Oliver Blayds, instinctively feeling this need, bared his soul to you, -not of some real misdeed of his own, but of some imaginary misdeed -with which, by who knows what association of ideas, his mind had -become occupied. - -ISOBEL. You mean he meant to confess to a murder or something, and got -muddled. - -WILLIAM. Heaven forbid that I should attribute any misdeed to so -noble, so knightly a man as Oliver Blayds. - -ISOBEL. Knightly? - -WILLIAM. I am of course assuming that this man Jenkins never existed. - -ISOBEL. Oh, you _are_ assuming that? - -WILLIAM. The more I think of it, the more plain it becomes to me that -we _must_ assume it. - -ISOBEL. Yes, I quite see that the more one thinks of it, the more—— -(_She indicates the rest of the sentence with her fingers._) - -WILLIAM. Well, what do you think of the suggestion? - -ISOBEL. It’s so obvious that I’m wondering why it didn’t occur to you -before. - -WILLIAM. The truth is I was stunned. - -ISOBEL. Oh yes. - -WILLIAM. And then, I confess, the fact of the 1863 volume seemed for -the moment conclusive. - -ISOBEL. But now it doesn’t? - -WILLIAM. I explain it now, as one always explained it when he was -alive. Every great poet has these lapses. - -ISOBEL. Oh! (_She is silent, looking at WILLIAM wonderingly, almost -admiringly._) - -WILLIAM (_after waiting for her comment_). Well? - -ISOBEL. What can I say, William, except again how nice it will be? No -scandal, no poverty, no fuss, and his life in two volumes just as -before. We are a little too late for the Abbey, but, apart from that, -everything is as nice as it can be. - -WILLIAM (_solemnly_). You have not mentioned the best thing of all, -Isobel. - -ISOBEL. What? - -WILLIAM (_looking up reverently at the picture_). That our faith in -him has not been misplaced. - - (_She wonders at him, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry._) - -ISOBEL. Oh!... oh!... (_But there are no words available._) - - _MARION comes in._ - -MARION (_excitedly_). Isobel, dear, have you heard? Have you heard the -wonderful news? - -ISOBEL (_turning to her blankly_). News? - -MARION. About the hallucination. I always felt that there must have -been some mistake. And now our faith has been justified—as faith -always is. It’s such a comfort to know. Really to know at last. Poor -dear Grandfather! He was so very old. I think sometimes we forget how -very old he was. And the excitement of that last day—his -birthday—and perhaps the glass of port. No wonder. - -WILLIAM (_shaking his head wisely_). Very strange, very strange, but, -as you say, not unexpected. One might almost have predicated some such -end. - -MARION. I shall never forgive myself for having doubted. (_To ISOBEL_) -I think Grandfather will forgive us, dear. I can’t help feeling that -wherever he is, he will forgive us. - -WILLIAM (_nodding_). Yes, yes.... I shall say nothing about it in the -book, of course—this curious lapse in his faculties at the last. - -MARION. Of course not, dear. - -WILLIAM. I shall merely—— - -ISOBEL. Then you won’t want that pass-book now? - -MARION. Pass-book? - -ISOBEL. Yes. You were going into the accounts, weren’t you, to see how -much—— - -WILLIAM. Oh—ah—yes, the Jenkins Fund. - -MARION. But of course there is no Jenkins now! So there can’t be a -Jenkins Fund. Such a comfort from every point of view. - -ISOBEL (_to WILLIAM_). You’re quite happy about the money, then? - -WILLIAM (_who obviously isn’t_). Er—yes—I.... That is to say, that, -while absolutely satisfied that this man Jenkins never existed, I—at -the same time—I—well, perhaps to be on the safe side—there are -certain charities.... As I say, there _are_ certain charities for -distressed writers, and so on, and perhaps one would feel—you see -what I mean. (_He goes to the desk._) - -ISOBEL. Yes. It’s what they call conscience-money, isn’t it? - -WILLIAM. But of course all that can be settled later. (_He picks up -ROYCE’S statement._) The main point is that this will not now be -wanted. (_He prepares to tear it in two._) - -ISOBEL (_fiercely_). No! Put that down! - - (_Startled he puts it down, and she snatches it up and holds it - close to her heart._) - -MARION. Isobel, dear! - -ISOBEL. It’s his, and you’re not to touch it! He has given his time to -it, and you’re not going to throw it away as if it were nothing. It’s -for _him_ to say. - -WILLIAM (_upset_). Really! I was only just—— - - _ROYCE comes in._ - -ROYCE (_excitedly_). I say! - -ISOBEL. Mr. Royce, we have some news for you. We have decided that the -man Jenkins never existed. Isn’t it nice? - -ROYCE. Never existed? - -ISOBEL. He was just an hallucination. (_To WILLIAM_) Wasn’t that the -word? - -ROYCE (_laughing_). Oh, I see. That’s rather funny. For what do you -think I’ve got here? (_He holds up a faded piece of paper._) Stuck in -this old pass-book. A letter from Jenkins! - -WILLIAM (_staggered_). O-o-o-o-oh! - -MARION (_bewildered_). It must be another Jenkins. Because we’ve just -decided that our one never lived. - -ISOBEL. What is it? What does it say? - -ROYCE (_reading_). “Dear Oliver, You have given me everything. I leave -you everything. Little enough, but it is yours. God bless you, dear -Oliver.” - -ISOBEL (_moved_). Oh! - -WILLIAM. Let me look. (_He takes it._) - -ISOBEL (_to herself_). All those years ago! - -WILLIAM. Yes, there’s no doubt of it. (_He gives the paper back to -ROYCE._) Wait! Let me think. (_He sits down, head in hands._) - -ROYCE. Well, that settles the money side of it, anyway. Whatever -should have been the other man’s came rightly to Oliver Blayds. - -ISOBEL. Except the immortality. - -ROYCE. Ah, yes. I say nothing of that. (_Going to the desk and picking -up his statement_) I shall have to rewrite this.... Well, the first -part can stand.... I’m glad we aren’t going to be bothered about -money. It would have been an impossible business to settle. - -WILLIAM (_triumphantly_). I’ve got it! - -MARION. What, dear? - -WILLIAM. Now I understand everything. - -ROYCE. What? - -WILLIAM. The 1863 volume. That always puzzled me. Always! Now, at -last, we have the true explanation. (_Dramatically_) The 1863 volume -was written by Jenkins! - - (_ISOBEL and ROYCE look at him in amazement; MARION in - admiration._) - -ROYCE (_to himself_). Poor old Jenkins. - -MARION. Of course I liked all Grandfather’s poetry. There was some of -it I didn’t understand, but I felt that _he_ knew—— - -WILLIAM. No, we can be frank now. The 1863 volume was bad. And now we -see why. He wished to give this dear dead friend of his a chance. I -can see these two friends—Oliver—and—er—— (_Going to ROYCE_) What -was Mr.—er—Jenkins’ other name? (_He reads it over ROYCE’S -shoulder_) Ah, yes, Willoughby—I can see that last scene when -Willoughby lay dying, and his friend Oliver stood by his side. I can -hear Willoughby lamenting that none of his poetry will ever be heard -now in the mouths of others—and Oliver’s silent resolve that in some -way, at some time, Willoughby’s work shall be given to the world. And -so in 1863, when his own position was firmly established, he issues -this little collection of his dead friend’s poetry, these few choicest -sheaves from poor Willoughby’s indiscriminate harvest, sheltering -them, as he hoped, from the storm of criticism with the mantle of his -own great name. A noble resolve, a chivalrous undertaking, but alas! -of no avail. - -ROYCE. You will say this in your life of Oliver Blayds? - -WILLIAM. I shall—er—hint at the doubtful authorship of the 1863 -volume; perhaps it would be better not to go into the matter too -fully. - -MARION (_to ISOBEL_). It would be much nicer, dear, if we didn’t refer -to any of the unhappy thoughts which we have all had about Grandfather -in the last few days. We know now that we never ought to have doubted. -He was—Grandfather. - -ISOBEL (_after a pause, to ROYCE_). Well? (_He shrugs his shoulders._) -Will you find the children? I think they ought to know this. - -ROYCE. Right. Do you want me to come back? - -ISOBEL. Please. (_He goes out. When he has gone she turns to WILLIAM_) -I am going to publish the truth about Oliver Blayds. - -MARION. But that’s what we all want to do, dear. - -WILLIAM. What do you mean by the truth? - -ISOBEL. What we all know to be the truth in our hearts. - -WILLIAM. I deny it. I deny it utterly. I am convinced that the -explanation which I have given is the true one. - -ISOBEL. Then I shall publish the explanation which he gave _me_. - -WILLIAM. Isobel, I should have thought that you, of all people, would -have wanted to believe in Oliver Blayds. - -ISOBEL. Wanted to! If only “wanting to” were the same as believing, -how easy life would be! - -MARION. It _is_ very nearly the same, dear. If you try very hard. I -have found it a great comfort. - -WILLIAM. I must beg you to reconsider your decision. I had the honour -of the friendship of Oliver Blayds for many years, and I tell you -frankly that I will not allow this slander of a dead man to pass -unchallenged. - -ISOBEL. Which dead man? - -WILLIAM (_a little upset_). This slander on Oliver Blayds. - -ISOBEL. It is not slander. I shall tell the truth about him. - -WILLIAM. Then I shall tell the truth about him too. - - (_ISOBEL turns away with a shrug, and sees SEPTIMA, ROYCE, and - OLIVER coming in._) - -ISOBEL. Thank you, Mr. Royce. Septima, Oliver—— - - (_She gives them the letter to read._) - -OLIVER (_after reading_). By Jove! Sportsman! I always said—— -(_Frankly_) No, I didn’t. - -SEPTIMA (_after reading_). Good. Well, that’s all right then. - -ISOBEL. We have been talking over what I told you the other day, and -your father now has a theory that it was the 1863 volume which was -written by this man, and that your grandfather in telling me the story -had got it into his head somehow—— - -WILLIAM. A very old man, his faculties rapidly going—— - -ISOBEL. Had muddled the story up. - -OLIVER (_brightening up_). Good for you, Father! I see! Of course! -Then it was hallucination after all? - -ISOBEL. You had discussed it before? - -OLIVER. Oh, rather! - -ISOBEL (_to SEPTIMA_). And you? - -OLIVER. I told Septima the idea. - -ISOBEL. And what does Septima say? - - (_They all turn to her._) - -SEPTIMA (_emphatically_). Rot! - -MARION (_shocked_). Septima! Your father! - -SEPTIMA. Well, you asked me what I said, and I’m telling you. Rot. -R-O-T. - -WILLIAM (_coldly_). Kindly explain yourself a little more lucidly. - -OLIVER. It’s all rot saying “rot”—— - -WILLIAM. One at a time, please. Septima? - -SEPTIMA. I think it’s rot, trying to deceive ourselves by making up a -story about Grandfather, just because we don’t like the one which he -told Aunt Isobel. What does it all matter anyhow? There’s the poetry, -and jolly good too, most of it. What does it matter when you’ve quoted -it, whether you add, “As Blayds nobly said” or “As Jenkins nobly -said”? It’s the same poetry. There was Grandfather. We all knew him -well, and we all had plenty of chances of making up our minds about -him. How can what he did seventy years ago, when he was another person -altogether, make any difference to our opinion of him? And then -there’s the money. I said that it ought to be ours, and it is ours. -Well, there we are. - -WILLIAM. You are quite content that your Aunt should publish, as she -proposes to, this story of—er—Willoughby Jenkins, which I am -convinced is a base libel on the reputation of Oliver Blayds? - -OLIVER. I say, Aunt Isobel, are you really going to? I mean do you -_still_ believe—— - -ISOBEL. I am afraid I do, Oliver. - -OLIVER. Good Lord! - -WILLIAM. Well—Septima? - -SEPTIMA. I am quite content with the truth. And if you want the truth -about Septima Blayds-Conway, it is that the truth about Blayds is not -really any great concern of hers. - -OLIVER. Well, that’s a pretty selfish way of looking at it. - -MARION. I don’t know what Grandfather would say if he could hear you. - -ISOBEL. Thank you, Septima. You’re honest anyhow. - -SEPTIMA. Well, of course. - -OLIVER. It’s all very well for _her_ to talk like that, but it’s a -jolly big concern of mine. If it comes out, I’m done. As a politician -anyway. - -ROYCE. What do _you_ believe, Oliver? - -OLIVER. I told you. Hallucination. At least it seems just as likely as -the other. And that being so, I think we ought to give it the benefit -of the doubt. What _is_ the truth about Blayds—I don’t know—— - -ISOBEL (_calmly_). I do, Oliver. - -WILLIAM (_sharply_). So do I. - -OLIVER. Well, I mean, there you are. Probably the truth lies somewhere -in between—— - -ROYCE (_with a smile, speaking almost unconsciously_). No, no, you -mustn’t waste yourself on engineering. (_Recovering himself with a -start_) I beg your pardon. - -OLIVER. Anyway, I’m with Father. I don’t think we ought to take the -risk of doing Oliver Blayds an injustice by saying anything about -this—this hallucination. - -WILLIAM. There is no question of risk. It’s a certainty. Come, Marion. -(_He leads the way to the door._) We have much to do. -(_Challengingly_) We have much work yet to do upon the life of this -great poet, this great and chivalrous gentleman, Oliver Blayds! - -MARION (_meekly_). Yes, dear. - - [_They go out._ - -OLIVER. Oh, Lord, a family row! I’m not sure that that isn’t -worse.... “Interviewed by our representative, Mr. Oliver Blayds-Conway -said that he preferred not to express an opinion.” I think that’s my -line. - -SEPTIMA. Yes, it would be. - -OLIVER. Well, I must go. (_Grandly_) We have much work yet to do.... -Coming, Tim? - -SEPTIMA (_getting up_). Yes. (_She goes slowly after him, hesitates, -and then comes back to ISOBEL. Awkwardly she touches her shoulder and -says_) Good luck! - - [_Then she goes out._ - - (_ROYCE and ISOBEL stand looking at each other. First he begins to - smile; then she. Suddenly they are both laughing._) - -ISOBEL. How absurd! - -ROYCE. I was afraid you wouldn’t appreciate it. Well, what are you -going to do? - -ISOBEL. What can I do but tell the world the truth? - -ROYCE. H’m! I wonder if the world will be grateful. - -ISOBEL. Does that matter? - -ROYCE. Yes, I think it does. I think you ought to feel that you are -benefiting somebody—other than yourself. - -ISOBEL (_with a smile_). I am hardly benefiting myself. - -ROYCE. Not materially, of course—but spiritually? Aren’t you just -easing your conscience? - -ISOBEL. I don’t see why the poor thing shouldn’t be eased. - -ROYCE. At the other people’s expense? - -ISOBEL. Oh, but no, Austin, no. I’m sure that’s wrong. Surely the -truth means more than that. Surely it’s an end in itself. The only -end. Call it Truth or call it Beauty, it’s all we’re here for. - -ROYCE. You know, the trouble is that the Truth about Blayds won’t seem -very beautiful. There’s your truth, and then there’s William’s truth, -too. To the public it will seem not so much like Beauty as like an -undignified family squabble. And William will win. His story can be -made to sound so much more likely than yours. No, it’s no good. You -can’t start another miserable Shakespeare-Bacon controversy. Because -that is what it would be in a few years. There would be no established -truth, but just a Jenkins’ theory. Hadn’t we better just leave him -with the poetry? - -ISOBEL. It seems so unfair that this poor dead boy should be robbed of -the immortality which he wanted. - -ROYCE. Hasn’t he got it? There are his works. Didn’t he have the -wonderful happiness and pain of writing them? How can you do anything -for him now? It’s just pure sentiment, isn’t it? - -ISOBEL (_meekly_). If you say so, sir. - -ROYCE (_laughing_). Am I lecturing? I’m sorry. - -ISOBEL. No, I don’t mind. And I expect you’re right. I can’t do -anything. (_After a pause_) Are one’s motives ever pure? - -ROYCE. One hopes so. One never knows. - -ISOBEL. I keep telling myself that I want the truth to prevail—but is -it only that? Or is it that I want to punish him?... He hurt me so. -All those years he was pretending that I helped him. And all the time -it was just a game to him. A game—and he was laughing. Do you wonder -that I was bitter? It was just a game to him. - -ROYCE. As he said, he carried it off. - -ISOBEL. Yes, he carried it off.... Even in those last moments he was -carrying it off. Just that. He was frightened at first—he was dying; -it was so lonely in the grave; there was no audience there; no one to -listen, to admire. Only God. Ah, but when he had begun his story, how -quickly he was the artist again! No fear now, no remorse. Just the -artist glorying in his story; putting all he knew into the telling of -it, making me see that dead boy whom he had betrayed so vividly that I -could have stretched out my hand to him and said, “Oh, my dear, I’m -sorry—I will make it all right for you.” Oh, he had his qualities, -Oliver Blayds. My father, yes; but somehow he never seemed that. A -great man; a little man; but never quite my father. - -ROYCE. A great man, I think. - -ISOBEL. Yes, he was a great man, and he did less hurt to the world -than most great men do. - -ROYCE (_picking up his statement_). Then I can tear up this? - -ISOBEL (_after a little struggle with herself_). Yes! Let us bury the -dead, and forget about them. (_He tears it up. She gives a sigh of -relief_) There! - -ROYCE (_coming to her_). Isobel! - -ISOBEL. Ah—but she’s dead too. Let’s forget about her. - -ROYCE. She is not dead. I have seen her. - -ISOBEL. When did you see her? - -ROYCE. To-day I have seen her. She peeped out for a moment, and was -gone. - -ISOBEL. She just peeped out to say good-bye to you. - -ROYCE (_shaking his head_). No. To say “How do you do” to me. - -ISOBEL. My dear, she died eighteen years ago, that child. - -ROYCE (_smiling_). Then introduce me to her mother. - -ISOBEL (_gravely, with a smile behind it_). Mr. Royce, let me -introduce you to my mother—thirty-eight, poor dear. (_Bowing_) How do -you do, Mr. Royce? I have heard my daughter speak of you. - -ROYCE. How do you do, Mrs. Blayds? I’m glad to meet you, because I -once asked your daughter to marry me. - -ISOBEL. Ah, don’t, don’t! - -ROYCE (_cheerfully_). Do you know what she said? She said, like all -properly brought up girls, “You must ask my mother.” So now I ask -her—“Isobel’s mother, will _you_ marry me?” - -ISOBEL. Oh! - -ROYCE. Isobel was quite right. I was too old for her. Look, I’m grey. -And then I’ve got a bit of rheumatism about me somewhere—I really -want a nurse. Isobel said you were a born nurse.... Isobel’s mother, -will you marry me? - -ISOBEL. I’m afraid to. I shall be so jealous. - -ROYCE. Jealous! Of whom? - -ISOBEL. Of that girl we call my daughter. You will always be looking -for her. You will think that I shan’t see; you will try to hide it -from me; but I shall see. Always you will be looking for her—and I -shall see. - -ROYCE. I shall find her. - -ISOBEL. No, it’s too late now. - -ROYCE (_confidently_). I shall find her. Not yet, perhaps; but some -day. Perhaps it will be on a day in April, when the primroses are out -between the wood-stacks, and there is a chatter of rooks in the tall -elms. Then, a child again, she will laugh for joy of the clean blue -morning, and I shall find her. And when I have found her, I shall -say—— - -ISOBEL (_gently_). Yes? - -ROYCE. I shall say, “Thank God, you are so like your mother—whom I -love.” - -ISOBEL. No, no, it can’t be true. - -ROYCE. It is true. (_Holding out his hands_) I want you—not her. - -ISOBEL. Oh, my dear! - - (_She puts out her hands to his. As he takes them, MARION comes in - hurriedly. Their hands drop, and they stand there, looking happily - at each other._) - -MARION. Isobel! I had to come and tell you how hurt William is. Dear, -don’t you think you _could_ believe—just for William’s sake—— - -ISOBEL (_gently_). It’s all right, dear. I am not going to say -anything. - -MARION (_eagerly_). You mean you believe? (_WILLIAM comes in, and she -rushes to him_) She believes! She believes! - - (_ISOBEL and ROYCE exchange a smile._) - -WILLIAM (_with satisfaction_). Ah! I am very glad to hear this. As -regards the biography. In the circumstances, since we are all agreed -as to the facts, I almost think we might record the story of Oliver -Blayds’ chivalrous attempt to assist his friend, definitely assigning -to Willoughby Jenkins the 1863 volume. (_He looks at them for -approval. MARION nods._) - -ISOBEL (_looking demurely at ROYCE and then back again_). Yes, -William. - -WILLIAM. I feel strongly, and I am sure you will agree with me, that -it is our duty to tell the _whole_ truth about that great man. (_Again -he looks to MARION for approval. She assents._) - -ISOBEL (_aside to ROYCE—enjoying it with him_). Do I still say, “Yes, -William”? (_He smiles and nods._) Yes, William. - - (_And so that is how the story will be handed down. But, as - SEPTIMA says, the poetry will still be there._) - - - - -_Printed in Great Britain by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh._ - - - - -Transcriber’s Note - - -Inconsistent hyphenation (buttonhole/button-hole, Good -morning/Good-morning, half-measures/half measures, postcard/post-card, -runaway/run-away, safety-razor/safety razor) and inconsistent spelling -(Hallo/Hullo) have been left as printed in the original. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Three Plays, by Alan Alexander Milne - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE PLAYS *** - -***** This file should be named 60167-0.txt or 60167-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/1/6/60167/ - -Produced by MWS, David Wilson and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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- } - span.pagenum { - border-top: thin solid silver; - border-bottom: thin solid silver; - display: inline; - visibility: visible; - position: absolute; - left: 1%; - } - div.publist, div.royalties, div.intro, div.play, div.act, div.finalact { - max-width: 40em; - } -} -/* overrides for epub */ -/* explicit overrides for styles defined in @media screen - because Kindle thinks it's a screen device */ -@media handheld { - body { - margin-left: 0; - margin-right: 0; - } - span.pagenum, hr.ww { - display: none; - visibility: hidden; - } -} - - /* XML end ]]>*/ - -</style> -</head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Three Plays, by Alan Alexander Milne - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Three Plays - -Author: Alan Alexander Milne - -Release Date: August 24, 2019 [EBook #60167] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE PLAYS *** - - - - -Produced by MWS, David Wilson and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - -</pre> - - - - -<hr class="ww" /> - - -<div class="halftitle"> - -<p class="fakeh2">THREE PLAYS<a name="png.001" id="png.001" href="#png.001"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>i<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></p> - -</div> - -<div class="publist"> - -<p class="noindent">BY THE SAME AUTHOR<a name="png.002" id="png.002" href="#png.002"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>ii<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></p> - - -<ul> -<li>THE DAY’S PLAY</li> -<li>THE HOLIDAY ROUND</li> -<li>ONCE A WEEK</li> -<li>ONCE ON A TIME</li> -<li>NOT THAT IT MATTERS</li> -<li>IF I MAY</li> -<li>FIRST PLAYS</li> -<li>SECOND PLAYS</li> -<li>THE SUNNY SIDE</li> -<li>MR. PIM</li> -<li>THE RED HOUSE MYSTERY</li> -</ul> - -</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1 title="Three Plays"><span id="maintitle">THREE PLAYS</span><a name="png.003" id="png.003" href="#png.003"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>iii<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><br - /><small>BY A. A. MILNE</small></h1> - - -<p class="published">LONDON<br - /><big>CHATTO & WINDUS</big><br - /><small>1923</small></p> - -</div> - -<div class="verso"> - -<p id="verso1"><a name="png.004" id="png.004" href="#png.004"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>iv<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY<br - />R. & R. CLARK, LTD., EDINBURGH</p> -<hr class="short" /> -<p id="verso2">ALL RIGHTS<br - />RESERVED</p> - -</div> - -<div class="dedication"> -<p><a name="png.005" id="png.005" href="#png.005"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>v<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><big class="smc">To DAFF</big><br - /><span class="allsc">FOR MAKING THE FAIRY-BOOKS COME TRUE</span></p> - -</div> - -<div class="royalties"> - -<p><a name="png.006" id="png.006" href="#png.006"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>vi<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>Applications regarding Amateur Performances -of the Plays in this Volume -should be addressed to Samuel French, -Ltd., 26 Southampton Street, Strand, -London, W.C.2.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="toc"> -<h2 title="Contents">CONTENTS<a name="png.007" id="png.007" href="#png.007"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>vii<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></h2> - - - -<table summary="Table of Contents"> -<tr><th> </th> <th>PAGE</th></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#png.015">THE GREAT BROXOPP</a></td> <td class="pg"> <a href="#png.015">1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#png.107">THE DOVER ROAD</a></td> <td class="pg"> <a href="#png.107">93</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#png.193">THE TRUTH ABOUT BLAYDS</a></td> <td class="pg"><a href="#png.193">179</a></td></tr> -</table> - - -<p><small><i>These plays are printed here in the order in<br - />which they were written.</i></small></p> - -</div> - -<div class="intro"> -<h2 title="Introduction">INTRODUCTION<a name="png.009" id="png.009" href="#png.009"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>ix<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></h2> - - - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smc">I wanted</span> not to write an introduction to these three -plays, but circumstances are too strong for me. Yet, -after all, what is to be said but, to the public, “Here -they are; like them,” and, to the critics, “Here they -are; fall on them”? But apparently this is not -enough. I must think of something else.</p> - -<p>There was a happy time when I was a critic myself. -I, too, have lived in that Arcady. What nights were -then! Red-letter nights when the play was bad, and -in one short hour, standing on the body of the dramatist, -I had delivered my funeral oration; black-letter nights -when the play was good, and it took six hours of solid -pushing, myself concealed by the fellow’s person, to -place him fairly in the sun. The years slip away. Yet -even now I have something of my old style. Here, -lest you should think I am boasting, is my <cite>Hamlet</cite>. -Yes, by the enterprise of <cite>The Saturday Review</cite>, I was -present on that historic first night. For, lately, this -paper stimulated its readers, with promise of reward, -to imagine themselves there as critics, and I brushed -up my old black doublet and went with the others. -Interested, you know, in this young provincial dramatist; -hoping against hope that here at last was the.... -<a name="png.010" id="png.010" href="#png.010"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>x<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>However, luckily the play was a bad one, and (proud -am I to say it) I won the prize.</p> - -<blockquote> -<h3 title="Hamlet, a review">HAMLET</h3> - -<p>Mr. William Shakespeare, whose well-meaning little -costume play <cite>Hamlet</cite> was given in London for the first -time last week, bears a name that is new to us, although -we understand, or at least are so assured by the management, -that he has a considerable local reputation in -Warwickshire as a sonneteer. Why a writer of graceful -little sonnets should have the ambition, still less conceive -himself to have the ability, to create a tragic -play capable of holding the attention of a London -audience for three hours, we are unable to imagine. -Merely to kill off seven (or was it eight?) of the leading -characters in a play is not to write a tragedy. It is -not thus that the great master-dramatists have purged -our souls with pity and with terror. Mr. Shakespeare, -like so many other young writers, mistakes violence -for power, and, in his unfortunate lighter moments, -buffoonery for humour. The real tragedy of last night -was that a writer should so misunderstand and misuse -the talent given to him.</p> - -<p>For Mr. Shakespeare, one cannot deny, has talent. -He has a certain pleasing gift of words. Every now -and then a neat line catches the ear, as when Polonius -(well played by Mr. Macready Jones) warns his son -that “borrowing often loses a man his friends,” or -when Hamlet himself refers to death as “a shuffling -off of this mortal toil.” But a succession of neat lines -does not make a play. We require something more. -<a name="png.011" id="png.011" href="#png.011"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>xi<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>Our interest must be held throughout: not by such -well-worn stage devices as the appearance of a ghostly -apparition, who strikes terror into the hearts only of -his fellow-actors; not by comic clowning business at -a grave-side; but by the spiritual development of -the characters. Mr. Shakespeare’s characters are no -more than mouthpieces for his rhythmic musings. -We can forgive a Prince of Denmark for soliloquising -in blank verse to the extent of fifty lines, recognising -this as a legitimate method of giving dignity to a royal -pronouncement; but what are we to say of a Captain -of Infantry who patly finishes off a broken line with -the exact number of syllables necessary to complete -the <i>iambus</i>? Have such people any semblance to life -at all? Indeed, the whole play gives us the impression -of having been written to the order of a manager as -a means of displaying this or that “line” which, in -the language of the day, he can “do just now.” Soliloquies -(unhampered by the presence of rivals) for the -popular star, a mad scene for the leading lady (in white), -a ghost for the electrician, a duel for the Academy-trained -fencers, a scene in dumb-show for the cinema-trained -rank-and-file—our author has provided for -them all. No doubt there is money in it, and a man -must live. But frankly we prefer Mr. Shakespeare -as a writer of sonnets.</p> - -</blockquote> - -<p>So much for Mr. Shakespeare. I differ from him -(as you were about to say) in that I prefer to see my -plays printed, and he obviously preferred to see his -acted. People sometimes say to me: “How beautifully -<a name="png.012" id="png.012" href="#png.012"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>xii<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>Mary Brown played that part, and wasn’t John -Smith’s creation wonderful, and how tremendously -grateful you must be.” She did; it was; I am. The -more I see of actors and actresses at rehearsals (and -it is only at rehearsals of your own plays that you can -see them at all, or learn anything of their art), by so -much the more do I admire, am I amazed by, their -skill. There are heights and depths and breadths and -subtleties in acting, still more in producing, of which -the casual playgoer, even the regular playgoer if -he only sees the stage from the front, knows nothing. -But the fact remains that, to the author, the part must -always seem better than the player. That great -actor John Smith may “create” the part of Yorick, -but the author created it first, and created it, to his -own vision, every bit as much in flesh and blood as did, -later, the actor. You may read the plays here, and -say that this or the other character does not “live,” -meaning by this that you are unable to visualise him, -unable to imagine for yourself, granted the circumstance, -a person so acting, so reacting. Well—“If it -be so, so it is, you know”; it is very easy not to be a -great artist; I have failed. But do not believe that, -because a character does not live for you, therefore it -does not live for the author. While we are writing, -how can we help seeing the fellow? We shut our eyes, -and he is there; we open them, and he is there; we -dip our pen into the ink-pot, and he is waiting on the -edge for us. We shake him out on to the paper.... -Ah, but now he is dead, you say. Well, well, he lived -a moment before.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><a name="png.013" id="png.013" href="#png.013"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>xiii<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>So when John Smith “creates” the character of -Yorick, he creates him in his own image—John Smith-Yorick; -a great character, it may be, to those who -see him thus for the first time, but lacking something -to us who have lived with the other for months. For -the other was plain Yorick—and only himself could play -him. Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well, a fellow of -most excellent fancy. Would that you could know -him too! Well, you may find him in the printed page -... or you may not ... but here only, if anywhere, -is he to be found.</p> - -<p id="AAM">A. A. M.</p> -</div> - -<div class="play"> -<h2 title="The Great Broxopp">THE GREAT BROXOPP<a name="png.015" id="png.015" href="#png.015"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>1<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><br - /><small>FOUR CHAPTERS IN HIS LIFE</small></h2> - - - - -<h3 title="Characters">CHARACTERS<a name="png.016" id="png.016" href="#png.016"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>2<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></h3> - - -<ul> -<li><span class="smc">Broxopp</span>.</li> -<li><span class="smc">Nancy</span> (<i>his wife</i>).</li> -<li><span class="smc">Jack</span> (<i>his son</i>).</li> -<li><span class="smc">Sir Roger Tenterden</span>.</li> -<li><span class="smc">Iris Tenterden</span>.</li> -<li><span class="smc">Honoria Johns</span>.</li> -<li><span class="smc">Ronald Derwent</span>.</li> -<li><span class="smc">Norah Field</span>.</li> -<li><span class="smc">Benham</span>.</li> -<li><span class="smc">Mary</span>.</li> -<li><span class="smc">Alice</span>.</li> -</ul> - -<hr class="third" /> - -<p><i>The Scene is laid in the Broxopp home of the period.</i></p> - -<p><i>Twenty-four years pass between Act I. and Act II., -eighteen months between Act II. and Act III., and a year -between Act III. and Act IV.</i></p> - -<hr class="third" /> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smc">The</span> first performance of this play in London took place -at the St. Martin’s Theatre on March 6, 1923, with -the following cast:</p> - -<table summary="Original production cast"> -<tr><td><i>Nancy Broxopp</i> </td><td class="smc">Mary Jerrold.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Mary</i> </td><td class="smc">Margaret Carter.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Broxopp</i> </td><td class="smc">Edmund Gwenn.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Benham</i> </td><td class="smc">J. H. Roberts.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Alice</i> </td><td class="smc">Gwen Hubbard.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Honoria Johns</i> </td><td class="smc">Marjorie Gabain.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Jack Broxopp</i> </td><td class="smc">Ian Hunter.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Iris Tenterden</i> </td><td class="smc">Faith Celli.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Sir Roger Tenterden</i> </td><td class="smc">Dawson Milward.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Norah Field</i> </td><td class="smc">Beatrix Thomson.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Ronald Derwent</i> </td><td class="smc">Richard Bird.</td></tr> -</table> - -</div> - -<div class="act"> -<p class="fakeh2">THE GREAT BROXOPP<a name="png.017" id="png.017" href="#png.017"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>3<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></p> - - - - - -<h3 title="Act I">ACT I</h3> - - -<div class="scena"> -<p><span class="smc">Scene</span>: <i>The <span class="role">GREAT BROXOPP’S</span> lodgings in Bloomsbury; -a humble room in late Victorian days, for <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> -has only just begun. He has been married for six -months, and we see</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>the dear</i>) <i>at work, while -her husband is looking for it. He is an advertising -agent, in the days when advertising agents did not -lunch with peers and newspaper proprietors. Probably -he would prefer to call himself an “adviser to men of -business.” As we see from a large advertisement -over the sideboard—drawn and lettered by hand</i> -(<span class="role">NANCY’S</span>)—<i>he has been hoping to advise <span class="role">SPENLOW</span> -on the best way to sell his suspenders. <span class="role">SPENLOW</span>, we -are assured, “gives that natty appearance.” The -comfort, says <span class="role">THE GREAT ONE</span>, in an inspired moment</i>:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div>“<i>The comfort is immense</i></div> -<div class="i1"><span class="ns"> </span><i>With Spenlow’s great invention!</i></div> -<div><i>Other makes mean Suspense,</i></div> -<div class="i1"><span class="ns"> </span><i>But Spenlow means Suspension!!</i>”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent"><i>Many such inspirations decorate the walls—some -accepted, some even paid for—and <span class="role">NANCY</span> is now -making a fair copy of one of them.</i></p> - -<p><i><span class="role">MARY</span>, the Broxopps’ servant—<span class="role">NANCY</span> thought they could -do without one, but the <span class="role">GREAT BROXOPP</span> wanted to be -<a name="png.018" id="png.018" href="#png.018"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>4<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>called “Yes, sir,” and insisted on it—well then, -<span class="role">MARY</span> comes in.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>without looking up</i>). Yes, Mary?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. It’s about the dinner, ma’am.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>with a sigh</i>). Yes, I was afraid it was. It -isn’t a very nice subject to talk about, is it, Mary?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. Well, ma’am, it has its awkwardness like.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>after a pause, but not very hopefully</i>). How is -the joint looking?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. Well, it’s past looking like anything very -much.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Well, there’s the bone.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. Yes, there’s the bone.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>gaily</i>). Well, there we are, Mary. Soup.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. If you remember, ma’am, we had soup -yesterday.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>wistfully</i>). Couldn’t you—couldn’t you squeeze -it again, Mary?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. It’s past squeezing, ma’am—in this world.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I was reading in a book the other day about -two people who went out to dinner one night—they -always dine late in books, Mary—and ordered a grilled -bone. It seemed such a funny thing to have, when -they had everything else to choose from. I suppose -<em>our</em> <span class="nw">bone——?</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. Grilling wouldn’t do it no good, ma’am.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Well, I suppose we mustn’t blame it. It -has been a good joint to <em>us</em>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. A good stayer, as you might say.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Yes. Well, I suppose we shall have to get -another.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. Yes, ma’am.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Would you look in my purse? (<i><span class="role">MARY</span> goes to -the sideboard and opens the purse.</i>) How much is there?</p> - -<p><a name="png.019" id="png.019" href="#png.019"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>5<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">MARY</span>. Three coppers and two stamps, ma’am.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh! (<i>Determined to be brave</i>) Well, that’s -fivepence.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. They are halfpenny stamps, ma’am.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>utterly undone</i>). Oh, Mary! What a very -unfortunate morning we’re having. (<i>Coaxingly</i>) Well, -anyhow it’s fourpence, isn’t it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. Yes, ma’am.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Well, now what can we get for fourpence?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span> (<i>stolidly</i>). A turkey.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>laughing with complete happiness</i>). Oh, Mary, -don’t be so gloomy about it. (<i>Collapsing into laughter -again</i>) Let’s have two turkeys—two tuppenny ones.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. It’s enough to make any one gloomy to see -a nice gentleman like Mr. Broxopp and a nice lady like -yourself starving in a garret.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I don’t know what a garret is, but if this -is one, I love garrets. And we’re not starving; we’ve -got fourpence. (<i>Becoming practical again</i>) What about -a nice chop?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. It isn’t much for two of you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Three of us, Mary.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. Oh, I can do all right on bread and cheese, -ma’am.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Well then, so can I. And Jim can have the -chop. There! Now let me get on with my work. -(<i>Contemptuously to herself as she goes on with her drawing</i>) -Starving! And in a house <em>full</em> of bread and cheese!</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. Mr. Broxopp is not the sort of gentleman to -eat a chop while his wife is only eating a bit of cheese.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>with love in her voice and eyes</i>). No, he isn’t! -(<i>Proudly</i>) Isn’t he a <em>fine</em> man, Mary?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. Yes, he’s a real gentleman is Mr. Broxopp. -It’s queer he doesn’t make more money.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Well, you see, he’s an artist.</p> - -<p><a name="png.020" id="png.020" href="#png.020"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>6<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">MARY</span> (<i>surprised</i>). An artist? Now that’s funny, I’ve -never seen him painting any of his pictures.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I don’t mean that sort of an artist. I mean -<span class="nw">he’s——</span> (<i>Wrinkling her forehead</i>) Now, how did he put -it yesterday? He likes ideas for their own sake. -He wants to educate the public up to them. He -doesn’t believe in pandering to the public for -money. He’s in advance of his generation—like all -great artists.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span> (<i>hopefully</i>). Yes, ma’am.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>pointing to the advertisement of Spenlow’s -suspenders</i>). Now, there you see what I mean. Now -that’s what the artist in Mr. Broxopp feels that a suspender-advertisement -<em>ought</em> to be like. But Mr. Spenlow doesn’t agree with him. Mr. Spenlow says -it’s above the public’s head. And so he’s rejected -Jim’s work. That’s the worst of trying to work for -a man like Mr. Spenlow. He doesn’t understand -artists. Jim says that if <em>he</em> saw an advertisement like -that, he’d buy ten pairs at once, even if he never wore -anything but kilts. And Jim says you can’t work for -men like that, and one day he’ll write advertisements -for something of his own.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. Lor, ma’am! Well, I’ve often wondered -myself if it was quite decent for a gentleman like -Mr. Broxopp to write about things that aren’t spoken of in -ordinary give-and-take conversation. But <span class="nw">then——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>with pretty dignity</i>). That is not the point, -Mary. An artist has no limitations of that sort. And—and -you’re interrupting me at my work.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span> (<i>going over to her and just touching her lightly -on the shoulder</i>). Bless you, dearie, you <em>are</em> fond of him, -aren’t you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh, I just love him. (<i>Eagerly</i>) And he -must have that chop to himself, Mary, and I’ll tell you -<a name="png.021" id="png.021" href="#png.021"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>7<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>what I’ll do. I’ll write him a little note to say I’ve -been invited out to dinner—and who do you think is -going to invite me? Why, you! And we’ll have our -bread and cheese together in the kitchen. Won’t -that be fun? (<i>Suddenly looking tragic</i>) Oh!</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARY</span>. What’s the matter, ma’am?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Why, perhaps he’ll go out again directly -after dinner and then I shan’t have seen him all day! -(<i>After thinking it over</i>) No, Mary, I shall have dinner -with him. (<i>Firmly</i>) But I shall say I’m <em>not</em> hungry. -(<i>There is a sound of whistling on the stairs.</i>) Listen, -there’s Jim! Oh, Mary, go quickly! He hasn’t seen -me for such a long time and he’ll like to find me alone.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">MARY</span> (<i>sympathetically</i>). <em>I</em> know, ma’am.</p> - -<p class="rt">[<i>She goes out.</i></p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>The</i> <span class="role">GREAT BROXOPP</span> <i>comes in. He wears a tail-coat -of the period, a wide-awake hat, and a -spreading blue tie—“The Broxopp tie” as it -is called in later years. He is twenty-five at -this time, but might be any age, an impetuous, -enthusiastic, flamboyant, simple creature; -candid, generous; a gentleman, yet with no -manners; an artist, yet not without vulgarity. -His beliefs are simple. He believes in himself -and</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span>; <i>but mostly in himself</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Nancy!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Jim! (<i>She flies into his arms.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>releasing himself and looking at his watch</i>). -Two hours and twenty minutes since I kissed you, -Nancy.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Is that all? It seems so much longer.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>comparing his watch with the clock</i>). You’re -right; I’m a little slow. It’s two hours and twenty-three -minutes. I must have another one. (<i>Has one.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh, Jim, darling, it’s lovely having you -<a name="png.022" id="png.022" href="#png.022"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>8<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>back. But you’re early, aren’t you? Tell me what’s -been happening.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>trying to speak indifferently</i>). How do you -know anything has been happening?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>excitedly</i>). Then it <em>has</em>! I knew it had! -I felt it. Tell me quickly! (<i>With a sudden change</i>) -No, don’t tell me quickly, tell me very, very slowly.<!-- punctuation invisible --> -Begin from the very beginning when you left here -after breakfast. (<i>Pleadingly</i>) Only just tell me first -that it <em>is</em> good news.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>with an air</i>). Madam, you see in front of -you the Great Broxopp.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Yes, but you’ve told me that every day since -we’ve been married.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>momentarily shaken, but quickly recovering</i>). -But you believed it! Say you believed it!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Of course I did.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>strutting about the room</i>). Aha, <em>she</em> knew! -She recognised the Great Broxopp. (<i>Striking an attitude</i>) -And now the whole world will know.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Is it as wonderful as that?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. It is, Nancy, it is! I have been singing -all the way home. (<i>Seriously</i>) Nancy, when we have -lots of money I think I shall learn to sing. An artist -like myself requires to give expression to his feelings -in his great moments. Several people on the bus -objected to my singing. I’m afraid they were right.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>awed</i>). Are we going to have lots of money -one day? Oh, quick, tell me—but slowly right from -the beginning. (<i>She arranges his chair for him.</i>) Or -would you rather walk about, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>sitting down</i>). Well, I shall probably have -to walk about directly, but—Where are <em>you</em> going -to sit?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>on the floor at his knees</i>). Here.</p> - -<p><a name="png.023" id="png.023" href="#png.023"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>9<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>earnestly</i>). Nancy, you must get me out -of my habit of sitting down before you are seated. -It isn’t what a gentleman would do.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>patting his hand</i>). It’s what a husband would -do. That’s what wives are for—to make their husbands -comfy.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, dear, never hesitate to tell me any -little thing you notice about me. I never drop my -aitches now, do I?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>smiling lovingly at him</i>). Never, darling.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>complacently</i>). Very few people could have -got out of that in a year. But then (<i>raising his hand -with a gesture of pride</i>) Broxopp is not <span class="nw">like——</span> Dear -me, have I been wearing my hat all the time?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Yes, darling, I love you in your hat.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>A little upset</i>, <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>takes it off and throws it -on the floor</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>pained</i>). Darling, you should have told me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I love you so—just as you are. The Great -Broxopp. Now then, begin from the beginning.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>his confidence recovered</i>). Well, after breakfast—a -breakfast so enormous that, as I said to you -at the time, I probably shouldn’t require any dinner -after <span class="nw">it——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>hastily</i>). Yes, darling, but I said it first, -and I really meant it. (<i>Carelessly</i>) I don’t know how -it is, but somehow I feel I shan’t be at all hungry for -dinner to-day.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Nancy, what <em>is</em> for dinner to-day?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>as though dinner were a small matter in that -house</i>). Oh, chops, bread and cheese and all that sort -of thing. (<i>Eagerly</i>) But never mind dinner now—go -on telling me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Nancy, look at me and tell me how many -chops you have ordered?</p> - -<p><a name="png.024" id="png.024" href="#png.024"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>10<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>bravely</i>). I thought perhaps one would be -enough for you, dear, as you weren’t very hungry, -and not being hungry <span class="nw">myself——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>jumping up</i>). I thought so! The Great -Broxopp to dine off one chop! The Great Broxopp’s -wife to dine off no chops! (<i>He leans against the wall -in a magnificent manner, and with a tremendous flourish -produces a five pound note</i>) Woman, buy five hundred -chops! (<i>Producing another five pound note with an even -greater air</i>) Five hundred tons of fried potatoes! -(<i>Flourishing a third note</i>) Five million bottles of tomato -sauce! (<i>Thumping his heart</i>) That’s the sort of man -I am.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Jim! Have you earned all this?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>disparagingly</i>). Tut! That’s nothing to -what is coming.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Fifteen pounds! (<i>Suddenly remembering</i>) -Now what would you <em>really</em> like for dinner?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>going over to her and taking her hands</i>). -Nancy, <em>you</em> believed in me all the time. It has been -weary waiting for you, but now—(<i>answering her question</i>) -I think I should like a kiss.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>kissing him and staying very close</i>). Of course -I believed in you, my wonderful man. And now -they’ll all believe in you. (<i>After a pause</i>) Who believed -the fifteen pounds? Was it Mr. Spenlow?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Spenlow? Bah! (<i>He strides across the -room and tears down the Spenlow advertisements.</i>) Spenlow -comes down—like his suspenders. <i>Facilis descensus -Spenlovi.</i> (<i>Dramatically</i>) I see the man Spenlow -begging his bread from door to door. I see his wife’s -stockings falling in swathes about her ankles. I <span class="nw">see——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Darling!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. You’re quite right, dear. I’m being -vulgar again. And worse than that—uncharitable. -<a name="png.025" id="png.025" href="#png.025"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>11<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>When we are rich, we will ask the Spenlows to stay -with us. We will be kind to them; we will provide -them with suspenders.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>bringing him back to the point</i>). Jim! (<i>She -holds up the money.</i>) You haven’t told me yet.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>carelessly</i>). Oh, that? That was from -Fordyce.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. The Fordyce cheap Restaurants?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. The same. I had an inspiration this -morning. I forced my way into the office of the man -Fordyce, and I took him on one side and whispered -winged words into his ear. I said (<i>dramatically</i>) -“Fordyce fills you for fivepence.” It will be all over -London to-morrow. “Fordyce fills you for fivepence.” -What an arresting thought to a hungry man!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Shall we have dinner there to-day, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Good heavens, no! It is sufficient that I -drag others into his beastly eating-house. <em>We</em> will dine -on champagne, regally.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Darling, I know you are an artist and mustn’t -be thwarted, but—there’s the rent—and—and other -days coming—<span class="nw">and——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>dropping into his chair again</i>). Nancy, come -and sit on my knee. (<i>With suppressed excitement</i>) -Quick, while I’m sitting down. I shall be wanting -to walk about directly. This room is too small for me. -(<i>She comes to him.</i>) Nancy, it has been a hard struggle -for you, I’m afraid.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I’ve loved it, Jim.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, that’s over now. Now the real fun -is beginning. (<i>Triumphantly</i>) Nancy, I’m on my own -at last. Broxopp is on his own! (<i>He puts her down -impetuously and jumps up.</i>) I look into the future and -what do I see? I see on every hoarding, I see on -the side of every omnibus, I see dotted among the -<a name="png.026" id="png.026" href="#png.026"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>12<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>fields along the great railway routes these magic words: -“BROXOPP’S BEANS FOR BABIES.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>carried away</i>). Darling!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Yes! I have begun. And now the world -will see what advertisement can do in the hands of an -artist. Broxopp’s Beans for Babies!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. But—(<i>timidly</i>) do babies like beans?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>confidently</i>). They will. I can make them -like anything. I can make them <em>cry</em> for beans. They -will lean out of their little cradles and hold out their -little hands and say: “Broxopp. I want Broxopp. -Give me my beans.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>seeing them</i>). The darlings. (<i>Business-like</i>) -Now tell me all about it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>really meaning to this time</i>). It began with—Ah, -Nancy, it began with <em>you</em>. I might have known -it would. I owe it, like everything else, to you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>awed</i>). To me?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. To you. It was the nail-brush.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. The nail-brush?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Yes, you told me the other day to buy a -nail-brush. (<i>Looking at his fingers</i>) You were quite -right. As you said, a gentleman is known by his hands. -I hadn’t thought of it before. Always tell me, darling. -Well, I went into a chemist’s. Fordyce had given me -fifteen guineas. I had the odd shillings in my pocket -and I suddenly remembered. There was a very nice -gentlemanly young fellow behind the counter, and as -sometimes happens on these occasions, I got into conversation -with him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>smiling to herself</i>). Yes, darling.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I told him something of my outlook on -life. I spoke of the lack of imagination which is the -curse of this country, instancing the man Spenlow as -an example of the type with whom we artists had to -<a name="png.027" id="png.027" href="#png.027"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>13<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>deal. He interrupted me to say that he had found it -so, too. A patent food which he had composed in his -leisure moments—I broke in hastily. “Tell me of -your food,” I said. “Perhaps,” and I smote my breast, -“perhaps <em>I</em> am the capitalist for whom you look.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. The five hundred pounds!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. The five hundred pounds. The nest-egg -which I had been keeping for just such a moment. In -a flash I saw that the moment had come.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>a little frightened</i>). Then we shall never have -that five hundred pounds behind us again.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. But think of the thousands we shall have -in front of us! Millions!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. We seemed so safe with that in the bank. -My little inheritance. No, darling, I’m not disagreeing. -I know you’re quite right. But I’m just a little -frightened. You see, I’m not so brave as you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. But you will be brave <em>with</em> me? You -believe in me?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh, yes, yes. (<i>Bravely</i>) Go on.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>going on</i>). He told me about his discovery. -A food for babies. Thomson’s Food for Babies, he -called it. (<i>Scornfully</i>) No wonder nobody would look -at it. “The name you want on that food,” I said, -“is Broxopp.” Who is Thomson? Anybody. The -next man you meet may be Thomson. But there is -only one Broxopp—the Great Broxopp. (<i>With an -inspired air</i>) Broxopp’s Beans for Babies!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>timidly</i>). I still don’t quite see why beans.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Nor did he, Nancy. “Mr. Thomson,” I -said, “this is <em>my</em> business. <em>You</em> go about inventing -foods. Do I interfere with you? No. I don’t say -that we must have this, that, and the other in it. All -I do is to put it on the market and advertise it. And -when I’m doing that, don’t you interfere with <em>me</em>. -<a name="png.028" id="png.028" href="#png.028"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>14<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>Why beans? you say. Exactly! I want the whole -of England to ask that question. Beans for Babies—what -an absurd idea! Who <em>is</em> this Broxopp? Once -they begin talking like that, I’ve got them. As for -the food—make it up into bean shape and let them -dissolve it. Or no. Leave it as it is. They’ll talk -about it more that way. <i>Lucus a non lucendo.</i> Good-morning!”<!-- hyphen clear in original --></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. What does <em>that</em> mean?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>off-handedly</i>). It’s Latin, dear, for calling -a thing black because it’s white. Thomson understood; -he’s an educated man, he’s not like Spenlow.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. And do we share the profits with Mr. Thomson?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. He’ll have to take some, of course, because -it’s his food. I shall be generous to him, Nancy; don’t -you be afraid of that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I know you will, darling; that’s what I’m -afraid of.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>carelessly</i>). We shall have an agreement -drawn up. (<i>On fire to begin.</i>) It will be hard work -for the first year. Every penny we make will have -to be used again to advertise it. (<i>Thumping the table</i>) -But I can do it! With you helping me, Nancy, I -can do it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>adoringly</i>). You can do it, my man. And -oh! how proud I shall be of helping you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. And the time will come when the world -will be full of Broxopp Babies! I look into the future -and I see—millions of them!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>coming very close</i>). Jim, when I am all alone, -then sometimes I look into the future, too.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>indulgently</i>). And what do you see, Nancy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Sometimes I seem to see <em>one</em> little Broxopp -baby.</p> - -<p><a name="png.029" id="png.029" href="#png.029"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>15<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>with a shout</i>). Nancy! You <span class="nw">mean——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Would you like to have a little one of your -very own, Jim?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. My darling! It only needed this! (<i>He -takes her in his arms.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. My husband!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>releasing her</i>). A Broxopp—to carry on -the name! A little Broxopp! Nancy, he shall be -the first, the pioneer of all the Broxopp Babies! -(<i>Carried away</i>) I see him—everywhere—sitting in his -little <span class="nw">vest——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>seeing him too</i>). His little vest!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Holding out his little pudgy <span class="nw">hand——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. His little pudgy hand!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. And saying to all the world (<i>he hesitates, -and a sudden triumphant inspiration gives him the words</i>) -“I am a Broxopp Baby—are you?”</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>They gaze eagerly into the future,</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>seeing -his million babies,</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span> <i>seeing her one</i>.)</p> - -</div> - - - -<div class="act"> -<h3 title="Act II">ACT II<a name="png.030" id="png.030" href="#png.030"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>16<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></h3> - - -<div class="scena"> -<p><span class="smc">Scene</span>: <i>A sitting-room in the</i> <span class="role">GREAT BROXOPP’S</span> <i>house in -Queen’s Gate. Being the room in which he is generally -interviewed, it is handsomely furnished, as befits -a commercial prince. The desk with the telephone -on it, the bookcase, the chairs and sofa, the mantelpiece -are all handsome. But what really attracts your eye -is the large picture of the baby, looking at you over -the end of his cot, and saying: “I am a Broxopp -baby—are you?” At least, he says so on the posters; -this is the original, in a suitable gold frame, for which</i> -<span class="role">JACK BROXOPP</span> <i>sat twenty-three years ago.</i></p> - -<p>(<span class="role">BENHAM</span>, <i>the new butler, is discovered answering the -telephone.</i>)</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>at telephone</i>). Hello.... Mr. Broxopp is -not here for the moment, sir. Can I take a message?... -To ring Mr. Morris up some time this morning. -Yes, sir.... Thank you, sir. (<i>He walks back to the -door and meets</i> <span class="role">ALICE</span> <i>coming in.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ALICE</span>. Oh, Mr. Benham, I was looking for you. -There’s a young woman, name of Johns, just come to -see the master. Would you wish to show her up -yourself, Mr. Benham? You see we’re not used to a -gentleman with us downstairs. It’s all so new to us. -When you were with His <span class="nw">Grace——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Who is this young woman?</p> - -<p><a name="png.031" id="png.031" href="#png.031"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>17<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ALICE</span> (<i>giving card</i>). She comes from one of the -newspapers.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>reading</i>). “Miss Honoria Johns. Contributor -to <cite>The Queen</cite> and other leading journals.” (<i>Contemptuously</i>) -What does she want? An interview?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ALICE</span>. She didn’t say, Mr. Benham, but I expect -that’s what she wants.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. I’ll send her away. Bless you, I had to -send hundreds of them away when I was with His -Grace.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ALICE</span> (<i>alarmed</i>). Oh, but I don’t think Mr. Broxopp -would like that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>staggered</i>). Do you mean to say that he -wants to be interviewed?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ALICE</span>. Oh, I’m sure he does. But I suppose he’s -gone to his office. Oh no, he hasn’t, because there’s -his hat.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>scandalised</i>). His hat? Has he only got -one hat?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ALICE</span>. Only one that he wears. What the papers -call the “Broxopp hat.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>to Heaven</i>). If anybody had told me a year -ago that I should take service in a house where we -only wore one hat—but there! God moves in a -mysterious way, His wonders to perform.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ALICE</span>. Oh, but it isn’t as if Mr. Broxopp was just -an ordinary gentleman. You mustn’t think that, Mr. Benham.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. You all make too much of your Mr. Broxopp, -my girl. After all, who is he? What’s his family?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ALICE</span>. Well, there’s only Mr. Jack, of course.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>contemptuously</i>). Mr. Jack isn’t “family,” -my girl. Mr. Jack is “hissue.” Not but what Mr. Jack -is very well in his way. Eton and Oxford—I’ve -nothing to say against that, though I happen to be -<a name="png.032" id="png.032" href="#png.032"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>18<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>Cambridge myself. But who’s the family? Broxopp! -There isn’t such a family.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ALICE</span>. Well, but I’m sure he’s very rich, Mr. Benham.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Rich, yes, but what does he <em>do</em> with his -money? Does he hunt or shoot? Does he entertain? -Has he got a country-house?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ALICE</span> (<i>sticking to it</i>). I’m sure you couldn’t find a -nicer gentleman than Sir Roger Tenterden who lives -next door, and came to dinner here only last Tuesday -with his daughter.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Tenterden? Ah, now that <em>is</em> family, my -girl. That’s the best I’ve heard of your Mr. Broxopp -as yet. But you mustn’t stand talking here all the -morning. Just go down and tell that young woman to -wait until I send for her. They’re used to waiting.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">ALICE</span>. Yes, Mr. Benham.</p> <p class="rt">[<i>She goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>picking up hat delicately and putting it down -again</i>). One hat—and what a hat!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>comes in. Very much the</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>that -we know, though his hair, moustache, and -beard are greying slightly, and his face is -more lined. He still wears a broad-tailed -coat and a spreading blue tie, though he probably -pays more for them nowadays.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, Benham, what is it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. A gentleman rang up, your Grace—I beg -your pardon—“Sir,” I should have said.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Call me your Grace if it’s any comfort -to you, Benham.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Thank you, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Settling down all right?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. I am quite comfortable, sir, thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I’m afraid you feel that you have come -down in the world?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. In a sense, yes, sir.</p> - -<p><a name="png.033" id="png.033" href="#png.033"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>19<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, you’ll have to climb up again, -Benham, that’s all. Did you ever read a little book—you -can get it at all bookstalls—called <cite>Broxoppiana</cite>?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. In a general way, sir, I read nothing later -than Lord Lytton.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>genially</i>). Well, this is by Lord Broxopp—a -few suggestive thoughts that have occurred to me -from time to time—with photograph. On page 7 I -say this: “Going there is better fun than getting -there.” I’ve got there, Benham. You’re just going -there again. I envy you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Thank you, sir.... I wonder if I might -take the liberty of asking your advice, sir, in a matter -of some importance to myself.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Why not?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Thank you, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. What is it? You want to get married?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>shocked</i>). Heaven forbid, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, Benham, I’ve been married twenty-five -years, and I’ve never regretted it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. I suppose one soon gets used to it, sir. -What I wanted to take your advice about, sir, was a -little financial matter in which I am interested.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh!... I’m not sure that you’re wise, -Benham.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Wise, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. In asking my advice about little financial -matters. I lost five thousand myself last month.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>alarmed</i>). Not in West Africans, I trust, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. God knows what it was in. Jack said -they were going up.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. I’m sure I’m sorry to hear it, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. You needn’t be. That sort of thing -doesn’t worry me (<i>with a snap of the fingers</i>) that much. -I’d sooner lose five thousand on the Stock Exchange -<a name="png.034" id="png.034" href="#png.034"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>20<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>than lose one customer who might have bought a five -shilling bottle of Broxopp’s Beans, and didn’t. You -should speak to Sir Roger the next time he comes to -dinner. He’s gone into the City lately, and I daresay -he can put you on to a good thing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Thank you, sir. It would be very condescending -of him. Would you like me to brush your -hat, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I should like you to tell me who this -gentleman was who rang up.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. A Mr. Morris. -He wishes you to communicate with him this morning, -sir, if convenient.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Morris? Ridiculous fellow. All right, -Benham.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Thank you, sir.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>He picks up the hat and goes out as</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>goes -to the telephone</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>at telephone</i>). Central 99199 ... yes.... -Is Mr. Morris in? Broxopp speaking.... Yes.... -Hullo, is that you, Mr. Morris? Broxopp speaking.... -Yes, I’ve got your letter.... Oh no, no, no, -I don’t care how good the offer is. I don’t want to -sell.... Well, you see, I happen to be interested -in Broxopp’s Beans.... Yes, yes, of course, but I -mean artistically interested. It’s my work, Morris; -it’s what I live for. I am much too fond of it to want -to share it with anybody.... That’s final, Morris.... -Well, look here, if your man is as keen as all that -to buy Broxopp’s Beans I’ll tell you what I’ll do. (<i>He -looks up at</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span> <i>as she comes in, and nods affectionately -to her, and then goes on speaking down the telephone</i>.) I’ll -let him have one of the large bottles for two and ninepence. -Ha, ha, ha! (<i>Greatly pleased with himself</i>) -Good-bye, Mr. Morris. (<i>He puts back the receiver, and</i> -<a name="png.035" id="png.035" href="#png.035"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>21<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><i>says to</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span>) Morris has a man who wants to buy -Broxopp’s Beans. I said I’d let him have one of the -large bottles for two and ninepence. Rather good, -Nancy, wasn’t it? We must put it in the next edition -of <cite>Broxoppiana</cite>. (<i>Thoughtfully</i>) I’m not often funny. -(<i>He kisses her hand and leads her to the sofa.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Dear one ... aren’t you going to the City -this morning?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>on the sofa with her</i>). I don’t know. There’s -not much to do just now. Besides (<i>tapping his button-hole</i>), -how could I go?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>getting up</i>). Oh, you baby. Have you been -waiting for me to put that in? (<i>She goes to a bowl of -carnations and takes one out.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, I couldn’t go without it, could I? -Broxopp without his pink carnation—what would they -say in the City? And after you’d put it in for me for -twenty years, how could I put it in for myself?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>giving it the final touch</i>). There!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>looking from it to her with a satisfied smile</i>). -Now, then, give me a kiss, and perhaps I’ll go.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. You’re only a boy still, Jim; much younger -than Jack.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh, Jack’s just at the age when they’re -oldest. He’ll grow out of it. Now then, what about -that kiss?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Keep young, Jim. (<i>She kisses him and he -takes her in his arms.</i>)</p> - -<p class="entrance"><i>Enter</i> <span class="role">BENHAM</span> <i>noiselessly</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>addressing the ceiling</i>). I beg your pardon, -sir. (<i>They disengage hastily.</i>) But there’s a young -woman called from one of the newspapers. I think -she desires an interview for the journal with which -she is connected. Or something of that nature, sir. -(<i>He hands</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>her card</i>.)</p> - -<p><a name="png.036" id="png.036" href="#png.036"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>22<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Ah, yes. Well, show her up then.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Yes, sir.</p> <p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>indignantly</i>). What I say is this, Nancy. -If a man can’t kiss his own wife, on his own sofa, without -being interrupted, he isn’t living in a home at all; -he’s living in an hotel. Now, I suppose that the dignified -gentleman who has just left us despises us from the -bottom of his heart. His Grace would never have been -so vulgar as to kiss his <em>own</em> wife on the sofa.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. It doesn’t matter very much, Jim, does it? -And I expect we shall get used to him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I don’t know why we ever had the fellow—except -that Master Jack thought it went better with -Eton and Oxford. Eton and Oxford—was that your -idea or mine?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Yours, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh! Well, the only thing they taught -him there was that his father’s tie was the wrong -shape.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>carried back as she looks up at the picture</i>). -There never was a better baby than Jack.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>looking at the picture too</i>). Yes, he used to -like my tie in those days. He was never so happy -as when he was playing with it. Funny how they -change when they grow up. (<i>Looking at his watch</i>) -What are you doing this morning?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>getting up</i>). All right, darling. I’m going. -I know you like being alone for interviews.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>going to the door with her</i>). But you must -come in, Nancy, at the end. That went well last time. -(<i>Quoting</i>) “Ah,” said Mr. Broxopp, as a middle-aged -but still beautiful woman glided into the room, “here -is my wife. My wife,” he went on, with a tender -glance at the still beautiful woman, “to whom I owe -all my success.” As he said these <span class="nw">words——</span></p> - -<p><a name="png.037" id="png.037" href="#png.037"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>23<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh, I expect this one won’t write that sort -of rubbish.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>indignantly</i>). Rubbish? I don’t call that -rubbish.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Well, then, nonsense, darling. Only—I -rather like nonsense.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">NANCY</span> <i>goes out. Left alone, the</i> <span class="role">GREAT BROXOPP</span> -<i>gets ready. He spreads out his tie, fingers -his buttonhole, and sees that a volume of -Shakespeare is well displayed on a chair. -Then he sits down at his desk and is discovered -by</i> <span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> <i>hard at it</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>announcing</i>). Miss Johns.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">BENHAM</span> <i>goes out, leaving</i> <span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> <i>behind; a -nervous young woman of about thirty, with -pince-nez. But</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>is being too quick for -her. He has whisked the receiver off, and is -busy saying, “Quite so,” and “Certainly, half -a million bottles,” to the confusion of the girl -at the Exchange.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Sit down, Miss Johns, won’t you? If -you’ll excuse me just a moment—(<i>Down the telephone</i>) -Yes ... yes, C.O.D. of course.... Good-bye. (<i>He -replaces the receiver and turns to her.</i>) Well, Miss Johns, -and what can I do for you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> (<i>nervously</i>). You saw my card, Mr. Broxopp?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Did I? Then where did I put it? You’re -<span class="nw">from——?</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. Contributor to <cite>The Queen</cite> and other -leading journals.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Yes, yes, of course. (<i>Encouragingly</i>) And -you—<span class="nw">er——</span></p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>He comes away from the desk, so that she can see -him better. A little dazzled, she turns away, -<a name="png.038" id="png.038" href="#png.038"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>24<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>looks round the room for inspiration, and -catches sight of the picture.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> (<i>impulsively</i>). Oh, Mr. Broxopp, is that IT?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>proudly</i>). My boy Jack—Eton and Oxford—when -he was a baby. You’ve seen the posters, of course.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. Who hasn’t, Mr. Broxopp?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I always say I owe half my success to -Jack. He was the first Broxopp baby—and now there -are a million of them. I don’t know whether—er—<span class="nw">you——?</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> (<i>coyly</i>). Oh, you flatter me, Mr. Broxopp. -I’m afraid I was born a little too soon.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. A pity, a pity. But no doubt your <span class="nw">relations——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. Oh yes, my nephews and nieces—they -are all Broxopp babies. And then I have always felt -specially interested in Broxopp’s Beans, Mr. Broxopp, -because I live in (<i>archly</i>) Bloomsbury, Mr. Broxopp.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Really? When my wife (<i>he looks towards -the door in case she should be choosing that very opportune -moment to come in</i>), to whom I owe all my success—when -my wife and I were first <span class="nw">married——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> (<i>eagerly</i>). I know, Mr. Broxopp. You -see, that’s what makes me so interested. I live at -Number 26, too, in the floor below.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Now, now, do you really? Well, I declare. -That’s very curious.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. I’ve only been there the last few months. -But the very first thing they told me when I took the -room was that <em>the</em> Mr. Broxopp had begun his career -in that house.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>pleased</i>). Ah, they remember!... Yes, -that was where I began. There was a man called -Thomson ... but you wouldn’t be interested in <em>him</em>. -He dropped out very soon. He had no faith. I paid -<a name="png.039" id="png.039" href="#png.039"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>25<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>him well—I was too generous, my wife said. But it -was worth it to be alone. Ah, Miss Johns, you see me -now in my beautiful home, surrounded by pictures, -books—(<i>He picks up the Shakespeare and reads the title</i>) -“The Works of Shakespeare” (<i>and puts it down again</i>)—costly -furniture—all that money can buy. And perhaps -you envy me. Yet I think I was happier in those old -days at Bloomsbury when I was fighting for my life.... -Did you ever read a little book called <cite>Broxoppiana</cite>?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. Now, isn’t that funny, Mr. Broxopp? -I bought it only last Saturday when I was going down -to my brother’s in the country.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, you may remember how I say, -“Going there is better fun than getting there.” It’s -true, Miss Johns.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> (<i>proud of knowing it</i>). Didn’t Stevenson -say something like that?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>firmly</i>). Not in my hearing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. I mean <em>the</em> Stevenson. I think he said, -“To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Yes—well, that’s another way of putting -it. To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive. -So Stevenson found it out, too, did he? Well, he was -right.... All those years when I was building up -Broxopp’s Beans I was happy, really happy. I’m a -fighter. I like taking the public by the throat and -making them look at me. That’s over now. I’ve got -’em almost too tame. They come and eat the Beans -out of my hand. And though my success has given -me something—a comfortable home—servants to wait -upon me—butlers and what not—the best authors to -read—(<i>he picks up the Shakespeare and puts it down again</i>)—even -a son from Eton and Oxford to gladden my old -heart—yet I miss something. I miss the struggle of -those early days when my dear wife and I (<i>he has another -<a name="png.040" id="png.040" href="#png.040"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>26<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>look at the door just in case</i>) set out together hand in -hand to beat the world. (<i>Sighing</i>) Ah, well! (<i>In a -business-like voice</i>) Now what can I tell you about myself, -Miss Johns? Pray, don’t be afraid of making any -notes that you like.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. I shall remember what you said, -Mr. Broxopp, without taking any notes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Ah, well, you must please yourself about -that. (<i>Looking at his watch</i>) Now, then, I’m waiting -for you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. <span class="nw">I——</span> (<i>She hesitates.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>kindly</i>). Perhaps you’re not used to interviewing? -This is the first time you’ve done it, eh?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. Well, I don’t do it, as a rule. And -I’m <span class="nw">afraid——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, perhaps I can help you with it. -You must send me your manuscript. My wife (<i>he -looks at the door with a frown—what has happened to her?</i>) -to whom I owe so much, was my first interviewer—ah, -that was many years ago. She picked up a guinea -for it, but that wasn’t the important thing. It was -the publicity. “A Talk with one of our Commercial -Princes”—I don’t suppose the Editor had ever even -heard of me. (<i>Chuckling</i>) Ah, but we bluffed him. -Lord, how we piled it on. “‘Tell me, Mr. Broxopp,’ -I said—” that was my wife. “Mr. Broxopp leant -against his marble mantelpiece—” that was me—“and -fingered the well-known Broxopp tie—” (<i>indicating -it</i>) same one as this. “‘Ah, my dear boy,’ -he said—” The dear boy was my wife, of course—she -signed herself N. R. Chillingham, her maiden -name; you women weren’t so popular on the Press in -those days—we pretended she was a man. “‘Ah, my -dear boy,’ he said, and I shall never forget the look -which came over his rugged face—” my wife didn’t -<a name="png.041" id="png.041" href="#png.041"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>27<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>like rugged, but I insisted; sounded more like a commercial -prince—“‘there is only one secret of success, -and that is hard work.’” (<i>With a sigh</i>) Ah, well, those -days are over. Happy days! The world seems to -have grown up since then. (<i>Looking at his watch</i>) Well, -Miss Johns?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> (<i>very nervous</i>). Mr. Broxopp, I don’t -know how to tell you. I didn’t really come to interview -you at all to-day.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>staggered</i>). But your <span class="nw">card——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. Oh, I am on the Press, and please, -Mr. Broxopp, I shall certainly write an article—perhaps -two articles—about what you’ve told me, and I do -live in the house where you used to live, and I was so -interested in you, <span class="nw">but——</span> (<i>She hesitates.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>mollified by the two articles</i>). Well?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> (<i>making another effort</i>). You see, I used -to live with my brother in the country. And he has -a small farm. And then I came to London. And he -has invented a chicken food and it is so good, and I -told him I’d ask you <span class="nw">if——</span> You see, I felt that I -knew you because of where I lived—I wondered—(<i>Taking the plunge</i>) Mr. Broxopp, did you ever think -of doing anything besides Broxopp’s Beans?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>nodding to himself</i>). You wondered if I’d -take up this food? Put it on the market? Boom it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. Oh yes!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>He thinks it over and then shakes his head slowly.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. You’re too late, Miss Johns.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. Oh, has somebody <span class="nw">else——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Twenty-four years too late. Now, if -you’d come to me twenty-four years <span class="nw">ago——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. But I was only six then. (<i>Hastily</i>) I -mean, about six.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Yes, if you’d come to me <span class="nw">then——</span> -<a name="png.042" id="png.042" href="#png.042"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>28<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>(<i>Thoughtfully</i>) Broxopp’s Beans for Brahmas—Yes, I -would have made that go. But not now. It wouldn’t -be fair to the babies. I couldn’t do ’em both justice. -(<i>More to himself than to her</i>) You see, Broxopp’s Beans -for Babies—it isn’t just my living, it’s my whole life.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> (<i>getting up</i>). I’m afraid I oughtn’t to -have mentioned it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh, that’s all right. You’ll never get on -if you don’t mention things. (<i>Shaking hands</i>) Well, -good-bye. Mind, I shall expect to see that article—two, -didn’t you say? And if there’s anything else you -want to <span class="nw">know——</span> (<i>He stops beneath the picture on his -way with her to the door</i>) A pretty baby, wasn’t he?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. Lovely!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Yes, my wife and <span class="nw">I——</span> (<i>The door begins -to open</i>) Ah, here she is. (<i>He keeps his attention on the -picture</i>) Nancy, we were just <span class="nw">looking——</span> Hullo, Jack!</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>coming in</i>). Sorry. Are you engaged? (<i>He -sees them beneath that beastly picture, and a look of resigned -despair comes into his face—he shrugs his shoulders.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>). My boy Jack. Eton and -Oxford.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>And he looks it, too—except perhaps for his hair, -which is just a little more in keeping with his -artistic future than his educational past.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> (<i>now completely upset</i>). How do you do? -It’s so nice to see the—I mean, we were just looking—but -I mustn’t keep you, Mr. Broxopp—and thank you so -much, and I’m so sorry that you—but of course I quite -understand. Good-bye! Good-bye! (<i>And she hurries out.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>strolling towards the sofa</i>). Bit nervous, isn’t she?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. You frightened her.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>sitting down</i>). Fleet Street—and all that?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Yes. (<i>Looking round the room</i>) Where’s -my hat?</p> - -<p><a name="png.043" id="png.043" href="#png.043"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>29<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">JACK</span>. I say, you’re not going?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Must. Got to work, Jack. (<i>Looking at -him mischievously</i>) When are you going to begin?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>airily</i>). Oh, as soon as I’ve got the studio -fixed up.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. You still want to be an artist?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Well, dash it, I’ve only just begun wanting. -You’ve had twenty-five years of Broxopp’s Beans—and—and -I suppose you still want to go on, don’t you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Well, that’s true. Where’s my hat?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. I say, never mind about that beastly hat. -You’ve got to stay at home this morning. I want to -talk to you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>looking up from his search</i>). Hullo, boy, -what’s the matter?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. I say, do sit down—I keep losing sight of you. -(<span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>sits down obediently</i>.) That’s better.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>defensively</i>). Well?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. What’s happened?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. What do you mean—happened?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, what is it you want to tell me?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. I didn’t say I wanted to tell you anything. I -just said, “Let’s have a talk.” I don’t see why a -father and a son shouldn’t have a little talk together -sometimes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Neither do I, Jack. Only I thought -perhaps it wasn’t done. Bad form and all that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Oh, rot!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. You see, I don’t want you to be ashamed -of me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>uneasily</i>). I say, I wish you wouldn’t talk -like that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh, but I mean it. You see, I’m very -proud of <em>you</em>, Jack.</p> - -<p><a name="png.044" id="png.044" href="#png.044"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>30<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">JACK</span> (<i>with a smile</i>). You’re much prouder of your -blessed beans, aren’t you? Own up.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, you were born about the same time, -but I’ve always had more control over the beans.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>nervously</i>). You know, I rather wonder sometimes, -now that we’ve decided that I’m not going into -the business, that you don’t chuck it yourself, and -retire into the country. It’s worth a good bit, I should -think, if you did want to sell it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Would you invest the money for me?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>with a smile</i>). Well, I own I had a bit of rotten -luck last time, but I daresay I’d do it as well as you -would.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. That’s not saying much. I don’t profess -to watch the markets.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Neither do I, only young Archie happened to -say that he’d heard from a man whose uncle knew a -fellow <span class="nw">who——</span> Well, it just didn’t come off, that’s all. -But Sir Roger knows all about that sort of thing. He’d -do it for you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, if I ever do want to sell it, I daresay -I’ll consult Sir Roger, but that won’t be for a long -time yet. (<i>He gets up</i>) <span class="nw">Well——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (jumping up hastily). No, look here, you mustn’t -go yet. We’ve only just begun to talk. (<i>Pushing -him back into his chair</i>) That’s right.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>good-humouredly</i>). Is this a conspiracy to -keep me away from the office, or what?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>plunging at it</i>). Dad, you see before you the -happiest man in the <span class="nw">world——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>surprised</i>). Oh!</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Only, it’s dashed difficult. (<i>Having another -shot</i>) What do you think Mother’s doing at this moment?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Just what I’ve been wondering. I wanted -her in here.</p> - -<p><a name="png.045" id="png.045" href="#png.045"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>31<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">JACK</span>. Yes, well, she’s upstairs, introducing herself to -her future daughter-in-law.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Jack! Who?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Iris Tenterden. (<i>But he can’t help being self-conscious -about it.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>eagerly</i>). My dearest Jack! So that’s -what you’ve been trying to get out all this time! (<i>He -comes forward with both hands held out</i>) But I’m delighted!</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>more moved than he cares to show</i>). Thanks, Dad!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>pulling himself up humorously</i>). Tut, tut, -I was forgetting. (<i>Formally</i>) May I congratulate you, -Mr. Broxopp?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Silly old ass!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>sitting on the sofa with him</i>). But this is -wonderful news. Why aren’t you more excited? -(<i>Apologetically</i>) I mean as excited as Eton and Oxford -will permit?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. You do like her?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Certainly. She has a way of—a way <span class="nw">of——</span> -Well, I can’t put it into words, Jack, but she’s the only -one of your friends who has told me frankly that she -doesn’t like my tie. The others try to convey the -impression that I’m not wearing a tie at all—that I am -in Holy Orders, or if not in Holy Orders, have a very -large beard <span class="nw">which——</span> (<i>He indicates with his hand how -such a beard would completely cover his tie.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Well, but your tie is a bit—well, <em>you</em> know, -I mean frankly, isn’t it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Yes, but so am I a bit—well, -<em>you</em> know, I mean frankly, isn’t it? If I hadn’t been, -you would never have gone to Eton and Oxford. But -don’t think I don’t like Iris. I do—immensely. Well, -if you’re as happy together as Nancy and I have been, -you’ll do. Twenty-five years, Jack, and I always say -<span class="nw">that——</span></p> - -<p><a name="png.046" id="png.046" href="#png.046"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>32<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">JACK</span>. Good old Dad. She’s a ripper, isn’t she?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. She’ll do you a lot of good. But tell -me more about it. When did you first discover that -she was—a ripper?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Oh, months ago, but we only fixed it up at -that dance last night. I pushed round this morning -to see Sir Roger and talk things over. He’s coming -round for a pow-wow directly.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. My boy married! And it seems only -yesterday that your mother and I were just beginning -to keep house together, and there was no Jack at all.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Well, of course, it seems longer ago than that -to me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>looking at the picture</i>). “I am a Broxopp -baby, are you?” Perhaps one of these days there -may <span class="nw">be——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Steady on, Dad. You’re not going to talk -to Iris like that, I hope.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>with a laugh</i>). I shall be strictly proper -and respectable, my boy. Not a word shall escape -my lips of which you would disapprove.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. You know what I mean. When a young girl -has only just got engaged, you don’t want to start -talking <span class="nw">about——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Say no more. And so Sir Roger is coming -round too, is he?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. What does <em>he</em> say about it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>knowing that it’s got to come now</i>). Well, that’s -just it. You see Iris and I—I mean he and I—well, -of course I always thought so—I mean I don’t want -you to think that Iris—though naturally she agrees -with me—well, we think, I mean I think—oh, thank -the Lord—here <em>is</em> Iris.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">IRIS</span> <i>comes in with</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span>—<i>tall, cool, confident, -<a name="png.047" id="png.047" href="#png.047"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>33<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>with something of the boy in her; utterly -honest and unafraid. But even if you don’t -like these qualities, you forgive her because -she is lovely.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Jack’s told you, Jim?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Yes, the rascal. Iris! (<i>He holds out his -hands to her.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>taking them</i>). Daddy Broxopp! Bend down. -(<i>He bends towards her and she kisses him gently on the -forehead.</i>) There! You don’t mind being called -Daddy Broxopp? Nancy doesn’t mind; I mean being -called Nancy. I’ve been talking it over with her, and -she’s going to let me call her Nancy because she’s so -young and pretty.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>enjoying it</i>). And I’m not young and pretty?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. No, you’re middle-aged and Broxoppy. It’s -a nice thing to be.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>taking her hands again</i>). Thank you for -thinking her young and pretty.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I don’t feel very young, with a big son -wanting to get married.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. He? He’s only a baby. (<i>She blows a kiss to -the picture.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>resigned</i>). Oh, Lord!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, Iris, if you’re as happy together as -Nancy and I have been, you’ll do. Twenty-five years -we have been married, and I always say that if it hadn’t -been for <span class="nw">Nancy——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>stopping him</i>). Yes, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. If it hadn’t been for Nancy, there wouldn’t -have been a Jack for me to marry.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>joining in the general laughter</i>). Well, that’s -true. And what does Sir Roger say about it? (<i>The -laughter stops suddenly.</i> <span class="role">JACK</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">IRIS</span> <i>look at each other</i>.) -Hullo, he does say something about it?</p> - -<p><a name="png.048" id="png.048" href="#png.048"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>34<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NANCY</span>. I think we’d better sit down, darling, <span class="nw">and——</span></p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>She leads the way to the sofa. They sit down.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, what is it? Jack’s been trying to -get something out for the last five minutes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Jack, you’re a coward. I wasn’t. I told -Nancy.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Oh, all right then.... Look here, Dad, -you’ll think me a beast for what I’m going to say, but -I want you and Mother to understand that it’s not just -a sudden idea put into my head by—(<i>he looks at</i> <span class="role">IRIS</span> -<i>and goes on</i>) by Sir Roger, but it’s what I’ve felt for -years.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well?</p> - -<p class="rt">(<span class="role">NANCY</span> <i>takes his hand and presses it</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Well, then—I’m—<span class="nw">I’m——</span> (<i>From the heart</i>) -Well, I’m simply <em>fed up</em> with Broxopp’s Beans.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>surprised</i>). But you haven’t had them since -you were a baby.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>seeing the opening</i>). Haven’t had them? Have -I ever stopped having them? Weren’t they rammed -down my throat at school till I was sick of them? Did -they ever stop pulling my leg about them at Oxford? -Can I go anywhere without seeing that beastly poster—a -poster of me—me, if you please—practically naked—telling -everybody that I love my Beans. Don’t I -see my name—Broxopp, Broxopp, Broxopp—everywhere -in every size of lettering—on every omnibus, -on every hoarding; spelt out in three colours at night—B-R-O-X-O-P-P—until -I can hardly bear the sight of -it. Free bottles given away on my birthday, free -holidays for Broxopp mothers to celebrate my coming -of age! I’m not a man at all. I’m just a living advertisement -of Beans.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>quietly</i>). I think that’s putting it a little -too strongly, Jack.</p> - -<p class="rt"><a name="png.049" id="png.049" href="#png.049"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>35<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>(<span class="role">NANCY</span> <i>presses his hand and strokes it gently</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. I know it is, but that’s how I’ve felt sometimes. -Of course I know that if it hadn’t been for -Broxopp, I’d be sitting on a high stool and lucky to -earn thirty bob a week. But you must see my side -of it, Dad. I want to paint. How can any one called -Broxopp be taken seriously as an artist? How can I -make any sort of name with all those Beans and babies -overshadowing me and keeping me out of the light? I -don’t say I’m ever going to be a great painter, but -how do I stand a chance as things are? “Have you -seen the new Broxopp?” What’s that going to mean -to anybody? Not that I’ve painted a picture, but that -you’ve brought out a new-sized bottle, or a full strength -for Invalids, or something.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I think you exaggerate, Jack.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. I know I do. But you can’t get over it that -it’s going to be pretty rotten for me. It’s always been -rotten for <em>me</em>—and now it’s going to be rotten for -Iris.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Is it, Iris? You’d tell me the truth, I -know.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. I want to marry Jack, Daddy Broxopp. But -I don’t want to marry the Beans. I told Nancy so.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>). I do understand, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. I don’t want you to think that Iris put this -into my head. It’s always been there.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>frankly</i>). I expect I brought it out, though.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. And what does Sir Roger say about it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Sir Roger says that his grandson is not going -to have a name that every Tom, Dick and Harry gapes -at on the hoardings.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. I ought to explain that Jack wants to marry -<em>me</em>, not Father’s way of expressing himself. I told -Father so.</p> - -<p><a name="png.050" id="png.050" href="#png.050"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>36<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">JACK</span>. Still, you do see his—well, our point of view? -Don’t you, Dad?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh yes, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Certainly, my boy.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>relieved</i>). Good man. I thought you would.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>getting up</i>). The only thing I’m wondering -is whether there is any chance of your seeing -mine.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>surprised</i>). Yours?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>on his own hearth</i>—<span class="role">THE GREAT BROXOPP</span>—<i>but -speaking quietly</i>). I was educated at a Board school, -Iris—I daresay you’ve noticed it. I used to drop my -aitches—I don’t think you’ve noticed that—Nancy -got me out of it. I wear funny clothes—partly because -it is in keeping with the name I have made for myself; -partly, I daresay, because I’ve got no taste. But, -you see, at fourteen, the age at which Jack went to -Eton, I was earning my own living. I took a resolve -then. I told myself that one day I would make my -name of Broxopp famous. I made it famous. My -name; Broxopp. Well, that’s all. That’s my point -of view. But don’t think I don’t see yours.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">IRIS</span> <i>looks at him wonderingly and then goes over -and sits by</i> <span class="role">NANCY’S</span> <i>side</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. You must be very, very proud of him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I am, dear; he knows it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>miserably</i>). Well, of course, when you talk -like that, you only make me feel an utter beast.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>with a sigh</i>). The only thing is that the utter -beast feeling might pass off. Whereas the feeling -about Broxopp’s Beans never will. It’s a rotten thing -to say, but I expect it’s true.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>There is a moment’s silence, broken by the arrival -of</i> <span class="role">SIR ROGER TENTERDEN</span>. <i>He is a magnificent-looking -man, with a military moustache and -<a name="png.051" id="png.051" href="#png.051"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>37<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>tight-fitting black tail-coat with a light waistcoat. -His manner is superb—the sort of -manner that can borrow a thousand pounds -from anybody and leave the creditor with the -feeling that he has had a favour conferred -upon him. He is an intense egotist, although -his company does not always realise it.</i></p> - -<p class="hang"><i>The three</i> <span class="role">BROXOPPS</span> <i>are distinctly overawed by -him</i>; <span class="role">JACK</span>, <i>of course, less than the other two</i>.)</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>enjoying it</i>). Sir Roger Tenterden!</p> - -<p class="rt">[<i>Exit</i> <span class="role">BENHAM</span>. </p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. How do you do, Mrs.—ah—Broxopp? -(<i>Metaphorically they all stand to attention.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. How do you do, Sir Roger?</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. How do, Broxopp? Ah, Jack—Iris.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Where will you sit, Sir Roger?</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Don’t trouble, I beg you. (<i>The best -chair is ready for him.</i>) I shall be all right here. (<i>He -sits down.</i>) You will forgive me for intruding upon -you in the morning, but having just heard the great -news—well, we must congratulate each other—eh, -Mrs. Broxopp? (<i>He smiles pleasantly at her.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>smiling too</i>). Indeed, we must.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>flattered</i>). That’s very good of you, Sir -Roger. I need hardly say how delighted I am that -Jack and—er—your Iris should <span class="nw">have——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Quite so, quite so. Well, they’ve fixed -it up between themselves without consulting <em>us</em>, -Mrs. Broxopp—quite right too, eh, Iris?—eh, Jack?—(<i>he -gives them his pleasant smile</i>)—but we old people must -come in at the end and have our say. Eh, Broxopp?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Very glad to talk over anything you like, -Sir Roger. Of course, I should give Jack a suitable -<span class="nw">allowance——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>holding up a protesting hand</i>). Ah, -<a name="png.052" id="png.052" href="#png.052"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>38<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>well—that—I have no doubt whatever—I, too, would see -that my daughter—but all that can be arranged later. -That goes without saying. But naturally there are -also other matters which will require to be discussed. -I don’t know if <span class="nw">Jack——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. You mean about the Beans? I told Daddy -Broxopp.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>blankly</i>). You told—ah?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Daddy Broxopp.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>with a proud smile</i>). What she is pleased -to call me, Sir Roger.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Oh—ah—yes. Quite so. Well there, -we all understand the position. (<i>With his pleasant -smile</i>) That clears the ground, doesn’t it, Mrs. Broxopp?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. It’s much better to have things out.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. You put it admirably. It was with that -purpose that I came round this morning. Jack had -given me a hint of his feelings and—well, naturally, I -had my feelings, too. It is a matter which, after all, -concerns me very closely.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>puzzled</i>). Yes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Surely, my dear Broxopp! Iris’s child, -Jack’s child, would be—<em>my</em> grandson!</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Father always looks well ahead. They have -to in the City—don’t they, Father?</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>kindly</i>). My dear Iris, we have to do -many things in the City, as Mr. Broxopp <span class="nw">knows——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh, I know nothing of your part of the -City. I’m not a financier. It’s no good coming to <em>me</em> -for a good investment.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>with a bow</i>). Then may I hope that you -will come to me if ever you should want one?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>taken aback</i>). Thank you. It’s very good -of you, Sir Roger.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Not at all. But I was saying that we -<a name="png.053" id="png.053" href="#png.053"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>39<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>need not talk about the City now. In all walks of life -we have to look ahead. And I have to ask myself this, -Mrs. Broxopp. Is “Roger Broxopp” a desirable name -for—my grandson?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">JACK</span>). Father’s got as far as the christening -now. I shall have another baby directly.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>miserably</i>). I wish he wouldn’t.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I see your point of view, Sir Roger. Don’t -think that I don’t see it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>bowing</i>). That is very generous of you. -And I think it is important. There is—ah—a poster -to which my attention has naturally been called, -saying—ah—“I am a Broxopp baby, are you?” I -<span class="nw">think——</span> (<i>He looks enquiringly at</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. That’s right, Sir Roger. I thought of -that twenty-five years ago. Do you remember, -Nancy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>pressing his hand</i>). I remember, Jim.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. An excellent poster for its purpose, I -have no doubt, Mrs. Broxopp. An excellent picture, -no doubt, of Master Jack at that age. (<i>He smiles at</i> -<span class="role">JACK</span>.) But seeing that all babies are pretty much -<span class="nw">alike——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>quickly</i>). Oh no!</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>with a charming bow</i>). Who would contradict -a woman on such a question? Let me say -rather that since, to the undiscerning male, all babies -are alike, there would be the danger, the very serious -danger, that people might suppose the words beneath -the picture to have been uttered by—(<i>he pauses -dramatically</i>) my grandson!</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Roger Broxopp.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Exactly. A Broxopp baby. (<i>To</i> -<span class="role">BROXOPP</span>) Of course I am saying nothing against the -food, which is, I am sure, admirably suited for its -<a name="png.054" id="png.054" href="#png.054"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>40<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>purpose. I am merely looking at the matter in the -interests of—my grandson.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Quite so, Sir Roger, quite so. You see -that, Nancy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh yes, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Well, my friend Jack has been talking -it over with me. I think we agree that for Mr. Broxopp -to retire from the business—and I am sure he has well -earned his rest after all these years of strenuous work—for -him to retire and settle down in the country, would -not altogether meet the case. The name of Broxopp -would continue with the business—one could not get -away from it. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>) I think I am right in -saying that?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Undoubtedly, Sir Roger. The name <em>is</em> -the business.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. That was my view. So our friend Jack -and I think that something more must be done. A -question merely of another name. He has suggested, -my dear Mrs. Broxopp (<i>with a bow</i>), your name, Chillingham.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I don’t quite understand.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Merely that you should start your new -life—freed from the cares of business—as—ah—Chillingham.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh!</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>to herself</i>). Roger Chillingham.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>charmingly to</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span>). A name I should -be proud for my grandson to bear. I seem to remember -a Chillingham in the Coldstream with me years ago. -Are yours military people?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>eagerly</i>). Oh yes! My father was a sergeant-major -in the Wiltshires.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>bearing it gallantly</i>). Ah! A younger -branch, no doubt. But it is a good name, Chillingham. -<a name="png.055" id="png.055" href="#png.055"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>41<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>After all, why should the wife always take the husband’s -name? Eh, Mrs. Broxopp? Why should not the -husband take the wife’s, the son take the mother’s.... -Jack Chillingham to Iris Tenterden. And a -handsome couple, are they not? I shall be proud of -my grandson.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>amused, as always, by her father</i>). Say something, -Jack. A few words of thanks.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. You agree with me, Jack?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>mumbling</i>). I’ve been telling Father.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Of course, I quite see your point of view, -Sir Roger. Don’t think that I don’t see it perfectly. -<em>You</em> see it, don’t you, Nancy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh yes, dear. I should be very proud for -you to take my name. Just as I was very proud to take -yours.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Charmingly put, Mrs. Broxopp. But -alas! It is no longer your husband’s name. He has -been too generous with it. He has given it to the world. -That is what I have to think of—for my grandson. -(<i>He gets up</i>) Well, Mrs. Broxopp, I have to thank you -for listening to me so courteously, and I need not tell -you how glad I am that we see eye to eye in this matter. -Broxopp, we must have a talk some day in the City. -And if I can be of any assistance to you in the matter -of your investments, or in any other particular, pray -regard me as entirely at your service.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. It’s very good of you, Sir Roger.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Not at all. Jack, you’re dining with -us to-night, I understand. If you can spare him, -Mrs. Broxopp. Well, I must get along to the City. Busy -times just now. Good-bye, and again my apologies -for interrupting your morning.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Good-bye, Sir Roger. (<i>She rings the bell.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Then I shall be seeing you one of -<a name="png.056" id="png.056" href="#png.056"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>42<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>these days, Broxopp. Good-bye! (<i>He goes beautifully -out.</i>)</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>There is silence after he has gone. The</i> <span class="role">BROXOPPS</span> -<i>are a little overwhelmed</i>.</p> - -<p class="hang"><i>Then</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>goes over to the fireplace, and stands -with his back to it. In this position he feels -more like himself.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, Jack?</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">JACK</span> <i>says nothing</i>. <span class="role">IRIS</span> <i>goes over to</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span> <i>and -sits beside her</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. He’s a little overwhelming, isn’t he? But -you get used to it—and then you aren’t overwhelmed.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Iris!</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Nancy thinks I’m too modern. She’s afraid -that when we go out together, everybody will say, -“What a very fast creature Mrs. Broxopp’s elder -sister is!”</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Mrs. Chillingham’s elder sister, isn’t it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. So it is, Daddy Chillingham.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>getting firmly to his feet</i>). Look here, Dad, if -you don’t change yours, I don’t change mine. But -if you think you have given the Beans a good run for -their money, and you like to sell out and settle down -in the country as Chillingham, well, I’ll say thank you. -Iris and I have got precious little right to ask it, and -Sir Roger has got no right at <span class="nw">all——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>rising and protesting in the</i> <span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> <i>manner</i>). -Surely, my dear Broxopp, I have a right to consider—my -grandson!</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Shut up, Iris, for a moment—no right at all, -but—but I’ll thank you. Only I’m not going to be -Chillingham while you and Mother are Broxopp. I’ve -made up my mind about that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. And I’m not going to be Tenterden while -<a name="png.057" id="png.057" href="#png.057"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>43<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>all of you are Chillingham. I’ve made up my mind -about that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t keep -on the business as Chillingham?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>doubtfully</i>). N—no.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. As long as you make Jack a good allowance.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Shut up, Iris.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Well, that’s what it comes to, darling. We -may as well be honest about it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">IRIS</span>). Don’t make it too hard for him.<!-- punctuation invisible --> -And, of course, Jim will make him an allowance until -his painting brings him in enough for both of you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>after a pause</i>). Jack, does Eton and Oxford -allow you to kiss Iris sometimes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. <em>I</em> allow him to.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, there’s an empty drawing-room -upstairs. You will probably be interrupted by a gentleman -called Benham. But if you tell him you aren’t -married to each other, he won’t mind.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>awkwardly</i>). Oh, it’s all right—very decent -of you, <span class="nw">but——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>getting up and taking him firmly by the arm</i>). -Come along.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Yes, but hadn’t we <span class="nw">better——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Jack, do you really think Daddy Broxopp is -being tactful?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Well, of course <span class="nw">it’s——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Oh, my dear, we aren’t the only pair of lovers -in the house. Can’t you see that <em>they</em> want to be alone?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>stuttering</i>). Oh—oh! (<i>She leads him away.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>smiling</i>). She’ll teach you a lot, my -boy.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>stopping beneath the picture with the unwilling</i> -<span class="role">JACK</span>). Good-bye, Baby Broxopp!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>She blows a kiss to it and they go out.</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> -<a name="png.058" id="png.058" href="#png.058"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>44<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><i>goes over to his wife and sits on the sofa with -her. She takes his hand.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Darling, do you mind very much?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I wonder if Jack’s painting is ever going -to come to anything.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. He must find that out for himself, mustn’t -he? We can’t help him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Iris is a fine girl; I like a girl who tells -the truth.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>smiling to herself</i>). I don’t think you’d have -liked her to write your advertisements.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>chuckling</i>). Well done, Nancy. You’ve -got me there.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Say you liked me doing them.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>gravely</i>). I liked you doing them. I’ve -liked everything you’ve ever done for me.... All -the same, Nancy, we <em>were</em> truthful. Artistically -truthful. An artist is a man who knows what to leave -out. Did I say that in <cite>Broxoppiana</cite>? (<i>Remembering -suddenly that there will never be another edition</i>) Oh, -well, it doesn’t matter now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. You won’t mind very much? We’ve had -our time. It’s Jack’s time now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Yes, we’ve had our time. Twenty-five -years. After all, we’ve had the best of the fun, Nancy. -Sir Roger is quite right about the name. It has been -a handicap to Jack—I can see it now. It mustn’t be a -handicap to Jack’s son.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t keep -on with the business if you like.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>doubtfully</i>). I don’t think Sir <span class="nw">Roger——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. But it’s for <em>you</em> to decide.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>jumping up</i>). No, I’ll do the thing handsomely! -You didn’t marry a baronet, Nancy, an old -county name, but there’s a Broxopp way as well as -<a name="png.059" id="png.059" href="#png.059"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>45<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>a Tenterden way. I do my things the Broxopp way, -and the Great Broxopp is not the man for half-measures. -We’ll make a clean sweep of it all. We’ll rest—you -and I together in the country—Mr. and Mrs. Chillingham. -You’ve given me everything, you won’t mind -giving me your name?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>entranced by him</i>). Jim, you <em>are</em> the Great -Broxopp!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>entranced by himself</i>). I am! (<i>He takes -her hands and lifts her out of the sofa.</i>) Propose to me, -Nancy!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>shyly</i>). Jim, I love you; will you marry me -and live with me in the country and take my name?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I will. (<i>He kisses her, puts her back in the -sofa and goes to the telephone. It is good-bye now to the -Beans.</i>) Central 99199.... Hullo, is Mr. Morris in? -Broxopp speaking ... <em>Broxopp</em> speaking.... Good -heavens, haven’t you ever heard the name of Broxopp -before? For the last time—(<i>he looks up at</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span>) -for the last time, Nancy—(<i>down the telephone very -firmly</i>) Broxopp speaking!</p> - -</div> - - - - -<div class="act"> -<h3 title="Act III">ACT III<a name="png.060" id="png.060" href="#png.060"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>46<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></h3> - - -<div class="scena"> -<p><span class="smc">Scene</span>: <i>The big hall in the country place which</i> -<span class="role">MR. CHILLINGHAM</span> (<i>né</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>) <i>has bought. Through -the open front doors can be seen a hint of the drive -and the park beyond. It was</i> <span class="role">JACK</span> <i>who chose it, and -he has done the</i> <span class="role">GREAT BROXOPP</span> <i>rather well; there -was no such view from that third floor in Bloomsbury</i>.</p> - -<p><i>It is about four o’clock in the afternoon. Hidden away in -a big arm-chair sits</i> <span class="role">NORAH FIELD</span>, <i>deep in a book. She -is about twenty, wears a very short tweed skirt and -very serviceable country shoes, has very decided opinions, -and no hesitation at all about expressing them.</i> <span class="role">RONNY -DERWENT</span> <i>comes in</i>. <span class="role">RONNY</span> <i>is also twenty, but younger -than</i> <span class="role">NORAH</span>, <i>and with no views on life other than that -one’s hair ought to be kept well down. Without seeing</i> -<span class="role">NORAH</span>, <i>he rings the bell, and lights a cigarette while -waiting for</i> <span class="role">BENHAM</span> <i>to attend to him</i>.</p> -</div> - -<p class="grandentrance"><i>Enter</i> <span class="role">BENHAM</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Oh, I want a whisky and soda, please, -Benham.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Yes, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span> (<i>from her chair</i>). You don’t really want one, -Ronny.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Good Lord! I didn’t know you were -there.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. Mr. Derwent won’t have a whisky and -<a name="png.061" id="png.061" href="#png.061"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>47<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>soda, Benham; you can get him a glass of water if -he’s thirsty.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Look here, <span class="nw">Norah——</span> (<i>She looks at him, and -he ends up weakly</i>) Oh, very well.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Will you have the glass of water, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span> (<i>sulkily</i>). No, thanks.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Thank you, sir.</p> <p class="rt">[<span class="role">BENHAM</span> <i>goes out</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. I didn’t know you were here, Norah. All -the same, I don’t know why I shouldn’t have a drink -if I want one.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. I can’t stand the way you children are always -wanting to drink. You’ve done nothing to make you -thirsty.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. If you knew a bit more, you’d know that it’s -doing nothing that makes you thirsty. Talk to me and -I’ll struggle on without it. What are you reading?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. Nobody you’ve ever heard of, Ronny. A -man called Meredith.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Oh! Any good?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span> (<i>looking at him with a smile</i>). In his way. A -different way from the <cite>Winning Post</cite>, you know.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span> (<i>wanting to be fair</i>). Oh, well, there’s no -accounting for tastes. Now, what do you think I found -old man Chillingham reading last night?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span> (<i>returning to her book</i>). Don’t know.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. <cite>Broxoppiana.</cite> Ever heard of it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. I’ve seen it on the bookstalls.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. <cite>Broxoppiana.</cite> That’s the name of the heroine, -I suppose. And no better than she should be, if you -ask <em>me</em>, because, when old man Chillingham saw I was -looking, he slipped the book into his pocket and pretended -to be very busy over another one.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. And I suppose you looked over his shoulder -and found out what that one was too?</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Well, if you want to know, I didn’t. I knew -<a name="png.062" id="png.062" href="#png.062"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>48<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>what it was without looking over his shoulder. It -was <cite>The Science of Dry Fly Fishing</cite>. Old man Chillingham -trying to be a sportsman in his old age.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span> (<i>shutting her book</i>). I think you had better -have that whisky and soda, Ronny; at any rate, it -will prevent you trying to discuss your host with another -of his guests.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Rot, old girl. Jack’s my host.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. This is not Jack’s house.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Then why did Iris write to me as if it was? -“Dear Ronny, do come and spend a few days with us.—Yours -sincerely, Iris Chillingham.” How’s that, eh?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span> (<i>patiently</i>). It is Mr. Chillingham’s house, but -Mrs. Chillingham has been away for a few weeks. So -Iris is playing hostess. I happened to mention that -I had a disreputable little boy-cousin called Ronald -Derwent, and she very <span class="nw">kindly——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Not so much of it, Norah. I knew Iris -before you did, and I knew Jack as soon as you did. -And if it’s old man Chillingham’s house, all I can say -is that old man Chillingham has got a pretty taste in -claret.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. Really, Ronny, to hear you talk about -claret, anybody would think that you were grown up. -Whereas we all know what you do with your threepence -a week every Saturday. Pear-drops, my lad, pear-drops.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span> (<i>grimly</i>). Very well, Norah, you’ve done for -yourself.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>He seizes a cushion and advances upon her. She -jumps out of the chair and runs to the other -side of the hall, picking up a cushion on the way.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. You’ll get your hair ruffled if you aren’t -careful.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. You’ll be lucky if you have any hair left by -<a name="png.063" id="png.063" href="#png.063"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>49<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>the time I’ve finished with you. (<i>He hurls a cushion -at her.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. Oh, rotten shot!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>He goes to the sofa to get more cushions, and -dodges behind it as she flings hers at him. -They are interrupted by</i> <span class="role">BENHAM</span>, <i>who is -crossing the hall with whisky and papers for</i> -<span class="role">SIR ROGER</span>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span> (<i>who is about to throw a cushion</i>). All right, -Benham. You go on.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>politely</i>). After you, sir. (<i>The cushion -whizzes past his head at</i> <span class="role">NORAH</span>) Thank you, sir.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>He goes on to the morning-room. By the time that -he returns the combatants have disappeared, -leaving most of their ammunition behind them. -As he crosses by the window,</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>is seen -approaching from the outside</i>. <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>is -now the complete country gentleman, with -fishing outfit. But he looks unhappy in his -new clothes, and he is not the</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>he was</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Ah, Benham.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>taking his things</i>). Any sport, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. No.... That is to say, <em>I</em> didn’t have any. -I can’t speak for the fish. They may have enjoyed it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. I’ve heard gentlemen say that it can be -a very attractive recreation, even when (<i>he looks into -the obviously empty basket</i>)—as in this case, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. To a man who really enjoys fishing—as I -am told I do—no doubt that is so.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Yes, you’re quite an enthusiast, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. So they assure me, Benham. Golf is -another pastime to which—I understand—I am devoted. -(<i>He looks in astonishment at the disordered hall, with its -overturned chairs and scattered cushions</i>) Has anything -been happening?</p> - -<p><a name="png.064" id="png.064" href="#png.064"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>50<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>as he begins to restore the place to order</i>). -Nothing at all out of the way, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Quite a feature of the best country-house -life, sir, as you might say. The younger members of -the party are often extremely partial to it. In this -case, sir, Mr. Derwent and Miss Field were letting off -their high spirits with a few cushions. It brought -back the old castle days very pleasurably, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Yes.... Yes.... They come back, the -old days, don’t they, Benham?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. They do, indeed, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>with a sigh</i>). Yes. Mrs. Chillingham has -not arrived yet, I suppose?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. No, sir. Is she expected back this afternoon?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Of course she is. The 4.10. (<i>Looking at -his watch</i>) I suppose the train was late. Didn’t -Mr. Jack tell you about sending in the car?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. I have not had any instructions myself, -sir, but no doubt he informed Rogers. He was down -at the stables after lunch with Mr. Derwent.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Ah, yes.... Well, I’ll go and wash. -(<i>He moves off.</i>)</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Thank you, sir.</p> <p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>is still in the hall, putting a cushion or -two straight, when</i> <span class="role">RONNY</span> <i>comes back, his hair -rather rumpled</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Hullo! Any luck?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>wishing to be fair to the sport</i>). Compared -with yesterday—yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. What happened yesterday?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I fell in.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span> (<i>tittering</i>). Bad luck. I’m not frightfully -keen on fishing myself—I prefer golf. We’re having -<a name="png.065" id="png.065" href="#png.065"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>51<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>a foursome after tea; I expect you’d rather practise -by yourself, wouldn’t you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Thank you, I shall not be playing golf -after tea to-day.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. I thought you were so frightfully keen. -Jack said so.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Ah, well, Jack would know. But, you -see, Mrs. Chillingham will be here <span class="nw">directly——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span> (<i>surprised</i>). Oh, is she coming back?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>nodding</i>). Yes. She has been away three -weeks now, staying in London with her sister. She’ll -be glad to get back. She is very fond of the country, -you know. And this house.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span> (<i>kindly</i>). Well, it isn’t half a bad place really. -I don’t know what the shooting’s like.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Very good, Jack’s friends tell me.... -Well, I must go and wash, if you will excuse me, Mr. Derwent.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">RONNY</span> (<i>with a nod</i>). Righto.</p> <p class="rt">[<span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>goes out</i>.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">RONNY</span> <i>lights a cigarette and goes across to the -billiard-room door and opens it</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Good Lord, haven’t you finished yet?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>from inside</i>). This very minute as ever is.</p> - -<p class="rt">(<span class="role">IRIS</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">JACK</span> <i>come out together</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Who won?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Jack gave me twenty-five <span class="nw">and——</span> My dear -Ronny, what <em>have</em> you been doing to your hair?</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">RONNY</span> (<i>looking at himself in the glass—horrified</i>). -Good Lord, I oughtn’t to be seen like this.</p> - -<p class="rt">[<i>He hurries out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. It’s all right, we won’t tell anybody. I suppose -I was as young as Ronny once, but it must have been -a long time ago. (<i>He goes to the bell and rings it</i>) Shall -we have tea in here?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. If you like.</p> - -<p><a name="png.066" id="png.066" href="#png.066"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>52<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">JACK</span>. I suppose Dad isn’t back yet.... Oh, Lord!</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. What is it, darling? Have you been bad?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. I’m a blessed idiot.</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><i>Enter</i> <span class="role">BENHAM</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Yes, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Benham, is any one meeting the 4.10?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. I have given no instructions in the matter -myself, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Jack, do you mean to say that nobody is meeting -Nancy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Kick me if you like, darling. It’s my fault -entirely. (<i>Looking at his watch</i>) Send the car at once, -Benham. It will probably be too late, but it can bring -the luggage along.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Yes, sir. Rogers informs me that he only -requires the level five minutes when meeting trains—unhampered, -as you might say.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">IRIS</span>). I’m afraid she’ll walk through the -woods, you know. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">BENHAM</span>) We’ll have tea in here.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Yes, sir.</p> <p class="rt">[<i>Exit</i> <span class="role">BENHAM</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Jack, you <em>have</em> been bad.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. After all, darling, it’s only a mile by the short -way, and it’s a jolly afternoon. There won’t be anything -about it in the papers.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>shaking her head at him</i>). Oh, Jack! (<i>She sits -on the arm of his chair</i>) Jack, don’t you think it’s time -we had a house of our own? This has been very jolly -for a few months, but—you <em>do</em> want to get started on -your work, don’t you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Of course I do, sweetheart. Only, we can’t -begin till we get the studio, can we?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. London’s full of studios, lazy one.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Yes, but you don’t realise how important it -is to an artist to get the exact surroundings. Now -<a name="png.067" id="png.067" href="#png.067"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>53<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>that we’ve found <em>the</em> studio in <em>all</em> London, and the man -who’s in it happens to be leaving in six months, it’s -absurd to go looking about for another. It’s simply a -question of waiting.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Six months?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Well, if we’re lucky, he might die suddenly.... -You should read your Bible more. Moses, or -somebody, said that no husband ought to do any work -for a year after he’s married. I quite agree with him. -(<i>Playing with her hair</i>) Did I ever tell you that I much -prefer your hair to the stuff you see hanging in shop -windows in Bond Street?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>softly</i>). Do you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. It’s all fastened on quite naturally, isn’t it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. I think it must be.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Wonderful hair.... Did I ever tell you that -I like your eyes much better than the ones you see -lying about in fishmongers’ shops next to the ice?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Do you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. They’ve got so much more expression.... -Did I ever tell <span class="nw">you——</span> Hullo, here’s tea. (<span class="role">BENHAM</span> -<i>comes in</i>) Has the car gone, Benham?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Yes, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Good. Let’s hope the train’s late.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>arranging the tea</i>). I’m afraid it is not very -likely, sir. I remember His Grace once commenting -on the curious fact that, whenever one particularly -wished a train to be late, it was invariably punctual.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. His Grace seems to have been a highly original -thinker.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Yes, sir, he was very well tolerated in the -family.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Well, this must seem rather a holiday for you -after the intellectual life at the Castle. You must -make the most of it, Benham.</p> - -<p><a name="png.068" id="png.068" href="#png.068"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>54<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BENHAM</span>. Thank you, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Is Mr. Chillingham back yet?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Yes, madam. He will be down directly. -Sir Roger is engaged in the morning-room, madam, -with the financial papers, and will not require tea.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Thank you.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Thank you, madam.</p> <p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. I wonder what Father’s up to now?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>carelessly</i>). Losing Dad’s money for him, I -expect.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>seriously</i>). Jack, you don’t really mean that?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>laughing</i>). Of course not, darling. What’s -the matter with giving me some tea? We needn’t -wait for Dad. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">NORAH</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">RONNY</span> <i>as they come in</i>) -Come along. You’re just in time.... Ah, now you -look quite nice again, Ronny.</p> - -<p class="rt">(<i>They all sit round the tea-things.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. What had you been doing to him, Norah?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. I told him he wasn’t grown-up yet, and he -tried to prove he was by throwing cushions at me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. That’s a nasty one, Ronny. You’ll have to -write to your solicitors about that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Now, look here, I don’t want any more of -it, Norah. I’m older than you, anyway. And Jack -and Iris aren’t exactly bald yet.... What about that -foursome after tea?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>doubtfully</i>). Well, I’m not quite sure if <span class="nw">I——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. If you’re thinking about Mr. Chillingham, -he doesn’t want to play. I asked him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>relieved</i>). Oh well, then, that’s all right. He -wants to wait for Nancy, I expect. Bless them!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. I’m not at all sure that I approve of this -old-fashioned sentiment about married life.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. I say, this is rather alarming.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>comes in, and stands waiting, awkwardly</i>.)</p> - -<p><a name="png.069" id="png.069" href="#png.069"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>55<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NORAH</span>. Women will never be properly <span class="nw">free——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span> (<i>offering plate</i>). Oh, Lord! have a bun!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span> (<i>taking one</i>) <span class="nw">——until</span> it is recognised that -<span class="nw">marriage——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>seeing</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>). Hullo, Dad, what luck?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>sitting in an uncomfortable chair a little way -from the table</i>). Ah, tea.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Fish rising?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. They may have risen, Jack, but if so they -went back again. (<i>Looking at his watch</i>) The train’s -very late. She ought to have been here by now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. There was some mistake about the car, dear. -She will be here directly. (<i>She gives</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>his tea</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Thank you, thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. I was just saying, Mr. Chillingham, that -women will never be properly free until it is recognised -that marriage is only an intellectual partnership in -which both the contracting parties have equal rights. -Of course, I can hardly expect you to agree with me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>looking blankly at her</i>). I’m afraid <span class="nw">I——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Agree with you? I should think not, -indeed. If you knew a little more about the <span class="nw">world——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. My dear Ronny, the only world that <em>you</em> -know is bounded on the north by Newmarket, on the -south by the Savoy, on the east by the Empire, and -on the west by the <cite>Winning Post</cite>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. You’ll have to write to your solicitors again, -Ronny.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. I say, Norah, you mustn’t say things like that -without warning. Must she, Dad? Bread and butter? -(<i>He offers the plate to</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>, <i>who takes a piece</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>bewildered</i>). I’m afraid I <span class="nw">hardly——</span> -Thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Was that original, Norah?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. Perfectly. Why not? I suppose Jack -<a name="png.070" id="png.070" href="#png.070"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>56<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>thinks that all the clever things must be said by men. I -don’t know what you feel about it, <span class="nw">Mr. Chillingham——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I—<span class="nw">er——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Then, all I can say is, that you must have -bribed Ronny to lead up to it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. They might go on at the Palladium as “Ronald -and Norah,” Ronald leaning over the piano in white -gloves.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Norah in a smile and shoulder-straps threatening -to return to Dixie.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>). This, Mr. Chillingham, is the -marriage of intellect on an equal basis, which I was -advocating just now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. You—er—were <span class="nw">advo——?</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Ronny, it’s <em>your</em> turn to say something brilliant.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. No, thanks, I’ll leave that to Norah’s husband. -When they are living in intellectual companionship -together, they can fire off epigrams at each other all -day long. What a life! Don’t you agree with me, -Mr. Chillingham? Have another bun, won’t you? -(<i>He takes one himself.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Miss Field was talking about the marriage -of intellects. I remember. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">RONNY</span> <i>with the bun -plate</i>) No, thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. Don’t eat too many, Ronny. We’ve got -to beat them afterwards, you know. You’re not -playing, Mr. Chillingham?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. No, I think <span class="nw">I——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Beat us, indeed! I should like to see you -do it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Well, you will, Jack, old boy.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>). You’ll want to wait for Nancy; -won’t you, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Do play if you’d like to, you know. Of -course, it will dish the foursome rather.</p> - -<p><a name="png.071" id="png.071" href="#png.071"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>57<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Thank you, Mr. Derwent, but I shall be -waiting for Mrs. Chillingham.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. I was saying just now, Mr. Chillingham, that -I don’t altogether approve of married <span class="nw">people——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Help! She’s leading up to her epigram again.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Yes, Miss Field? You were <span class="nw">saying——?</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. I say, don’t encourage her; we’ve had it -all once. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">IRIS</span>, <i>as he gets up</i>) Are you ready?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. I think so; aren’t we, Jack? (<i>To</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>) -Will you have some more tea, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Not now, thank you, Iris. I’ll wait for -Nancy.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>finishing his tea</i>). I say, what’s the hurry? -I’ve only just begun.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Rot. Come on.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>getting up</i>). I’ll have half-a-crown on it, Norah.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span>. Done.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. You, too, Jack?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Rather!</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Good man! What about Mr. Chillingham? -Care to bet against us? I’ll give you five to four as -you’re a friend.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. No, I think not, thank you, Mr. Derwent.</p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Perhaps you’re wise. You wouldn’t have a -chance. (<i>To the others</i>) Come along.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Benham will make you some fresh tea, dear. -Give Nancy a special kiss from me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Thank you, Iris, I will.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NORAH</span> (<i>at the door</i>). The whole question of kissing -seems to <span class="nw">me——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">RONNY</span>. Oh, come off it. (<i>He drags her away.</i>)</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">JACK</span>. Cheer-oh, Dad! You and Mother might -come along and watch us if you’ve nothing better to -do. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">RONNY</span>, <i>in front</i>) All right, we’re coming.</p> - -<p class="rt">[<i>They go out.</i></p> - -<p class="hang"><a name="png.072" id="png.072" href="#png.072"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>58<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>(<i>Left alone</i>, <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>rings the bell, and then sits -down in rather a bewildered way</i>.)</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><span class="role">BENHAM</span> <i>comes in</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. We shall want some fresh tea for -Mrs. Chillingham when she comes in.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Yes, sir. I think I saw her just coming -through the rose-garden, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>jumping up and going to the door</i>). Coming -through the—you don’t mean to say <span class="nw">that——</span> Why, -Nancy! (<i>He brings her in</i>) Benham, get that fresh -tea at once!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span> (<i>going to tea-table</i>). Yes, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. How are you, Benham? Isn’t it nice to -be back! Yes, I should like some tea, please. And -you had better send the car for my luggage.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Your luggage? You don’t <span class="nw">mean——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. The car has gone, madam.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Ah, that’s right.</p> <p class="rt">[<span class="role">BENHAM</span> <i>goes out</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>horrified</i>). Nancy, you weren’t <em>met</em>?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. No, darling. I suppose there was some -mistake.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>throwing up his hands in despair</i>). I thought -I could leave that much to Jack. Well, let’s have a -look at you. (<i>He holds her at arms’ length</i>) And they -forgot all about you!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh, but I enjoyed my walk, you know. The -woods, Jim! You never saw anything like them just -now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh, well, nothing matters now you’re -here. (<i>He kisses her.</i>) Do you know Miss Norah -Field, Nancy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I expect she was at the wedding, wasn’t -she? Iris told me she wanted to ask her here. Is -she nice?</p> - -<p><a name="png.073" id="png.073" href="#png.073"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>59<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>kissing her again</i>). She doesn’t approve of -kissing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>sitting down at the tea-table</i>). Perhaps she’s -never tried. (<i>Enter</i> <span class="role">BENHAM</span>.) Tea! how nice! You -must have it with me, Jim.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>firmly</i>). I’m going to.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Is there anything more, madam?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. No, thank you. Are you quite well, Benham?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BENHAM</span>. Yes, thank you, madam. Pretty well, -considering.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">NANCY</span>. That’s right.</p> <p class="rt">[<span class="role">BENHAM</span> <i>goes out</i>.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>As soon as they are alone</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span> <i>blows</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> -<i>a kiss, and then pours out tea</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Well, how has everybody been getting on -without me?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>tapping his chest</i>). Me?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. You, and everybody. I suppose Sir Roger -is still here?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Well, all of you. Have you been very lonely -without me?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Very.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. The one letter I had from Iris seemed to -say that you were all enjoying yourselves very much. -What have <em>you</em> been doing? You didn’t tell me much -about yourself.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh, fishing, golf—all the usual things. -Talking to Jack and his friends. (<i>Grimly</i>) They are -wonderful talkers.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>proudly</i>). So are you, Jim.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>shaking his head</i>). The world is getting -too quick for me. When I talk I like to finish what -I have to say. I never seem to have a chance now.... -But never mind about me. Tell me about yourself. -How’s old London looking?</p> - -<p><a name="png.074" id="png.074" href="#png.074"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>60<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Just the same.... Where do you -think I was yesterday?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>excitedly</i>). Broxopp’s?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>shaking her head</i>). No—but not far wrong. -Bloomsbury way.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Number 26?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Yes! I happened to be that way, and I -thought I’d go past the door, and there was a board -up on the third floor, so I went in and asked to look -over the rooms—pretended I was just married. There -they were, just the same—and I did wish you had been -with me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>with a laugh</i>). We’ve climbed a bit since -those days.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. We always knew we should, didn’t we?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. And I began as an errand-boy at fourteen! -Let Mr. Ronny Derwent beat that if he can!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I’m sure Mr. Ronny Derwent couldn’t.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>casually</i>). And you didn’t happen to look -in at Broxopp’s at all?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh no. I don’t suppose anybody would -have known me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>eagerly</i>). Old Carter would—I suppose -he’s still there. They wouldn’t get rid of Carter. He -always used to remember how you came up the first -day we opened the office, and I’d had lunch sent in—do -you remember?—and a bottle of champagne. The -first champagne you’d ever had—do you remember, -Nancy?—and how frightened you were when the cork -came out?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>gently</i>). I remember, Jim.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I thought perhaps you might just have -passed by outside—on your way somewhere. (<i>Wistfully</i>) -I suppose you still see the same—the same -advertisements everywhere? Have we—have they -got any new ones?</p> - -<p><a name="png.075" id="png.075" href="#png.075"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>61<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NANCY</span>. I didn’t notice any.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>nodding his head</i>). They can’t do better -than the old ones. (<i>After a pause</i>) Of course, there are -new ideas—(<i>he gets up and walks about</i>)—there was one -I was thinking of this morning when I was out—nothing -to do with me now—I just happened to think of it. -(<i>He is carried away by it as he goes on</i>) I don’t know if -you’ve ever seen a man drawing on a film—you see a -few lines first, which mean nothing, and then gradually -it begins to take shape. Well, you’d have your posters -like that—altering every week. A large poster with -just a few meaningless lines on it. Everybody would -wonder what it meant. They’d all talk about it. Next -week a curve here and there, a bit of shading somewhere. -People get more and more interested. What -is coming? And so it goes on. And then, in the last -week, the lines all join together, some of them become -writing, you see <span class="nw">“BROXOPP’S”——</span> (<i>He breaks off, -pulls himself together, and says casually</i>) The idea just -came to me this morning when I was out. Of course, -it’s nothing to do with me now. (<i>He gives a little laugh -and sits down again.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>who has been listening raptly</i>). It’s a wonderful -idea.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>pleased</i>). Not bad, is it? (<i>With an effort</i>) -However, that’s nothing to do with it, now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>with a sigh</i>). No, not now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. And how did you leave Emily?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh, she was very well. She sent her love -to you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. That’s good. And did you bring me an -evening paper?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Of course I did. (<i>She takes it out -of her bag</i>) Knowing what a baby you are.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>apologetically</i>). There’s something about -<a name="png.076" id="png.076" href="#png.076"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>62<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>an evening <span class="nw">paper——</span> You know, Nancy, I think I -miss my evening paper more than anything. (<i>He opens -it</i>) So much more happens in an evening paper. Of -course, this is an early edition.... And so Emily -was well, was she? That’s good.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. They’d had rather a fright about their -money. There was a Building Society—I forget its -name—all the advertisements said it was a wonderful -<span class="nw">investment——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. They didn’t put their money into it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. They were just going to <span class="nw">when——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. That’s all right. Because here you are—in -the Stop Press News. (<i>Reading</i>) “Great City Failure. -Collapse of Excelsior Building Society.” Was that the -one?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Jim! (<i>Trying to remember</i>) Excelsior—no, -I don’t <span class="nw">think——</span> Well, it doesn’t matter, because they -didn’t put their money in, anyhow. A friend warned -<span class="nw">them——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Funny how everybody thinks he can make -money in the City without working for it. People -used to say to me, “You’re a business man.” I used -to say, “I’m not a business man. I’m an artist. I -have large ideas. I <em>employ</em> business men.” Same way -I employ Sir Roger. He knows; I don’t. I am above -all that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I’ve been thinking about Sir Roger. <em>Does</em> -he know?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>a little alarmed</i>). What do you mean, -Nancy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Of course, he’s quite honest, but I think -sometimes we’ve been rather foolish in letting him -have so much to say in the investing of your money. -I suppose you keep an eye on things for yourself, -Jim?</p> - -<p><a name="png.077" id="png.077" href="#png.077"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>63<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>hastily</i>). Yes, yes, of course I do.... He -is a little difficult to—er—I mean he <em>has</em> rather a way -with him, <span class="nw">which——</span> But I must certainly go into -things with him. You’re quite right, Nancy. I’m -not going to let Sir Roger or any one else play ducks -and drakes with the money which <em>I</em> earned.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. The money on which we were going to retire -so happily.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>with a sigh</i>). Yes!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>with a sigh</i>). Yes! (<i>They are silent for a -little.</i>) No more anxieties, no more hard work. Just -a happy, quiet life, all the day to yourself, doing whatever -you liked.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>less heartily</i>). Er—yes. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. <span class="nw">Fishing——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>doing his best</i>). Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. <span class="nw">Golf——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>looking at her and looking away again</i>). Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Talking to Jack’s friends—(<span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>doesn’t -exactly say anything</i>) enjoying yourself from morning -till night.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. You, too, Nancy. A house always full -of people—plenty of servants to look after—bazaars -to open—<span class="nw">society——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>with a sigh</i>). Yes!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>They are silent again. Then</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>—<i>sure that -they are alone—brings his chair a little nearer -to Nancy’s</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. You know, Nancy, sometimes I have -hoped—I mean, I have thought—that perhaps Sir -Roger—that perhaps he is being a little reckless—a -little foolish—that <span class="nw">perhaps——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>eagerly</i>). Oh, Jim! Do you think he is?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Supposing he came to me and said, “The -fact is, Brox”—I mean Chillingham—“the fact is, -<a name="png.078" id="png.078" href="#png.078"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>64<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>Chillingham, things haven’t turned out quite as I -expected, and—er—we have had losses.” I should -say, “That’s all right, Sir Roger, I don’t blame you; -you have done your best.” And even if it meant -giving up the house, <span class="nw">and——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. And the fishing, and the <span class="nw">golf——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Er—exactly. I shouldn’t reproach him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. No, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>drawing his chair still closer and speaking -eagerly</i>). Suppose we found that we only had £1000 -a year left—I mean after we’d provided for Jack and -<span class="nw">Iris——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>surprised</i>). A thousand?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, six hundred. I’m only supposing. -Six hundred. Enough for just a little house—well, -where shall we say? I—I don’t think the country, -do you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Well, of course, I <em>do</em> like the country, Jim, -<span class="nw">but——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. The worst of the country is that people -will come and stay with you. One is never alone.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Yes.... And you <em>must</em> have your evening -paper.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>with a shrug</i>). Oh, well.... Now, I thought -of a little house, Streatham way, as it might be. You’re -in touch with everything—you get the papers—you -have neighbours who don’t come and live with you, -but drop in when you want them—you can get to -London easily, and yet, at the same <span class="nw">time——</span> Or Norwood, -say.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Norwood, yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I daresay I should join the Borough -Council. I’ve no doubt I could give them a few -<span class="nw">ideas——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Of course you could.</p> - -<p><a name="png.079" id="png.079" href="#png.079"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>65<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I daresay it isn’t often they have an artist -on the Borough Council. And then there would be a -Norwood Literary and Debating Society, no doubt.<!-- punctuation invisible --> -They might care about a lecture on modern methods -of advertising, or something of the sort—a reading -from <cite>Broxoppiana</cite>, maybe—one way and another there -would be plenty to occupy us. What do you say, -Nancy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>thoughtfully</i>). I think perhaps £800 a year -would be safer.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, we should want a couple of servants, -I suppose. You could manage with a couple?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh yes!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Say £80 a year for the rent—with a bit -of a garden—you’d like that, wouldn’t you?—rates, -taxes, say <span class="nw">another——</span></p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>But at this moment, when they are just moving into -the house</i>, <span class="role">SIR ROGER</span> <i>comes in. In some confusion, -the</i> <span class="role">BROXOPPS</span> <i>get to their feet</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Ah, Mrs. Chillingham, so you’re back! -Welcome home!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. How do you do, Sir Roger?</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. A pleasant visit, I hope?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Very, thank you. But I’m glad to be home -again.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. With so beautiful a house, who would -not?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh, we’re very comfortable here—aren’t -we, Nancy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I’ve always liked the country.... Have -you had tea, Sir Roger?</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Yes, yes, thank you, all I want. Been -busy all day, Mrs. Chillingham. A great nuisance, -business, on a day like this. And when there is so -much that is attractive all around one. And there’s -<a name="png.080" id="png.080" href="#png.080"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>66<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>your lucky husband—no cares at all—goes off <span class="nw">fishing——</span> By -the way, Chillingham, what luck?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>carelessly</i>). Oh, about the usual.... Er—I -was—er—wanting to talk to you, Sir Roger, about—er—</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. My dear friend, by all means.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>preparing to go</i>). Well, I must take off my -things. And you can talk business together. But -don’t keep him too long, Sir Roger, because I want -him.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> <i>is moving politely to the door, but</i> -<span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>does not move</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>with a smile</i>). You’re my business partner, -Nancy. I’ve no secrets from you. If you don’t mind, -Sir Roger?</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. It is just as Mrs. Chillingham wishes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. You can always tell me afterwards, Jim.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Nonsense, we may want your help. (<i>To</i> -<span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>) I remember once putting a little money -into a mine, which a friend had spoken well of. My -wife was very much against it—do you remember, -Nancy? She said that it would be much safer in the -bank. Well, she was quite right.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>sitting down again</i>). Of course I was. (<i>With a -smile of remembrance</i>) But do you remember what fun -we had watching the papers to see whether it went -up or down?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Yes ... it went down.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Ah, what mine was that?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh, I really forget now. Some Welsh -gold-mine, I believe.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Yes. I think I could have given you a -word of warning about Welsh gold-mines, Chillingham, -if you had consulted me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. This was long before we had the pleasure -of knowing you, Sir Roger.</p> - -<p><a name="png.081" id="png.081" href="#png.081"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>67<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Ah, a pity, a pity!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. That’s why we’re so glad to have your help -now. I should never have trusted Jim with all the -money he got from Broxopp’s Beans.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>wincing at the hated word</i>). All the money -he—ah—retired with. Yes. Well, I hope, Chillingham, -I really hope that we shall be able to do something -for you before very long.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, I left it to you, Sir Roger. But -naturally I like to know how things are going on. -How are those oil shares?</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Oil! Oil! Ah yes! Well, we have -lost a little there. (<i>With a charming smile</i>) You know -how it is, Mrs. Chillingham. One loses a little here, -and picks up a little more there.... Yes, I have -been disappointed over the oil.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I always think that something safe, however -little interest it pays, is—is safest.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Safer than losing it, my dear -Mrs. Chillingham—all women will agree with you there—but -not so pleasant as winning a little more. Your -husband sold his business at an unfortunate time. Our -hand was forced; we had to sell; we had to take -the price they offered. Naturally your husband felt -that a little speculation before <span class="nw">investing——</span> And had -it come <span class="nw">off——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>sharply</i>). Had it come off, you say?</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Exactly. As you know, my dear -Chillingham, one loses a little here and picks up a little -there. In the end, one finds that one has picked up a -good deal more than one has lost. If one knows the -ropes, Mrs. Chillingham.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>fiercely</i>). How much of my money have -you lost?</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>gently</i>). I think, Chillingham, that that -<a name="png.082" id="png.082" href="#png.082"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>68<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>is hardly the way to put it. I am not (<i>with a bow</i>) -an absconding solicitor.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">JIM</span>) Dear one!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I beg your pardon, Sir Roger. But I -<span class="nw">understood——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>beautifully</i>). My dear Chillingham, of -course, of course. I will let you have a note of your -investments this evening. Naturally you will wish -to conduct your business yourself in the future, or to -take other advice.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh, but I’m sure Jim didn’t mean to -<span class="nw">suggest——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>smiling</i>). That I was a knave? No, -hardly. But that I was a fool! Eh, Chillingham? -Oh, I think so. I think so.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>very uncomfortably</i>). Sir Roger—you see—of -course I <span class="nw">don’t——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>holding up his hand</i>). Please, please -don’t say any more. If anything, the apology should -come from me. I have lost your money. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span>, -<i>charmingly</i>) Yes, Mrs. Chillingham, a good deal of it. -And a good deal of my own, too. Fortunately I have -already taken steps to recover it. What we lose on -the oil, we gain on—shall I say the cocoanuts?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>prompting him</i>). Jim! “That’s all right, Sir -Roger....”</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>with an effort</i>). That’s all right, Sir Roger. -I don’t blame you. You have done your best.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>amazed that there should have been any -thought of blame</i>). I’m afraid that I haven’t made myself -clear. When I say <span class="nw">cocoanuts——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Sir Roger, has my husband lost much of -his money?</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. My dear Mrs. Chillingham, five minutes -ago I should not have used the word “lost” at all. It -<a name="png.083" id="png.083" href="#png.083"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>69<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>was just, if I may put it so, the opening skirmish in -a campaign. One does not say that a campaign is -lost because at the first few <span class="nw">shots——</span> (<i>He shrugs his -shoulders.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Yes, I understand.... And the <span class="nw">cocoanuts——?</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. A manner of speaking. Actually (<i>he -beams at them both</i>) a Building Society. Our motto -is—Excelsior!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>jumping up</i>). The Excelsior? My money -is in that?</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. All, my dear Chillingham. And safe -as—shall I say houses? But, of course, whether you -leave it there or not is now a matter for your own -judgment. Between ourselves, Mrs. Chillingham, I -shall be glad to be relieved of the responsibility. (<i>Looking -through the window</i>) Beautiful weather we’re having -just now. The young people are out enjoying themselves, -I suppose? Golf, what? No cares, no -responsibilities—lucky young people! (<i>He gives them -a pleasant nod and goes out.</i>)</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span> <i>stand looking at each other</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, Nancy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Well, Jim?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>with a bitter laugh</i>). Funny, isn’t it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Well, it is rather.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>with a groan</i>). Funny! I said six hundred -a year—you said eight hundred—and now we shall -have tuppence.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. That’s what makes it rather funny.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Sir Roger’s a fool, but I’m a worse one -to have trusted him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. There’ll be something left.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. And yet—I daresay I’d do it again. There -were those Tenterdens and Jack. They wanted me -<a name="png.084" id="png.084" href="#png.084"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>70<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>to give up things for them—my name, my home, my -business. Well, I wasn’t going to give grudgingly. -Let them have it all, I said. Let Sir Roger play the -fool with my money, let Jack choose my house for me, -let Iris fill it with her friends. It was their show this -time. That’s the way I have to do things—the large -way. It—it appeals to me somehow, Nancy. Well, -you know me—you married that sort of man.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I’m glad I married that sort of man.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. And now he’s let you down.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. There’ll be something left. We were just -<span class="nw">saying——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>shaking his head</i>). There’s Jack to remember. -We must give him his chance—he may be -a genius—my son—(<i>as an afterthought</i>) your son—why -not?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Yes, dear.... If we only had five hundred -a year, it wouldn’t be—I could make you comfortable—even -four <span class="nw">hundred——</span></p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>She is already adding up the butcher’s bills, and the -baker’s bills, and the servant’s wages—only one -servant ... when</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>breaks in on her -thoughts</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Nancy!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Yes, Jim.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I’m just over fifty.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Yes, Jim.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. And you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Just under fifty.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. M’m.... A hundred between us.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I don’t feel that we’re a hundred, do you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. No. Still, there it is. Will you mind -very much?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Mind what?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Beginning again at fifty?</p> - -<p><a name="png.085" id="png.085" href="#png.085"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>71<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>a little frightened now</i>). Do you mean—working -again?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Yes. Looking for work again. Trying -to earn a living again. Will you mind very much?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>coming close</i>). N—no, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Not frightened?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>coming closer</i>). N—no, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>valiantly</i>). After all, what I have done, I -can do!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>now much more bravely</i>). Yes, dear.... (<i>After -a pause</i>) It was funny my going into Number 26 this -morning.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. What?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. The rooms at 26 are empty—our old rooms—I -told you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>eagerly</i>). Go back to them?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Well, there they are.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>dropping into a chair</i>). Beginning again at -fifty.... It will be a hard struggle.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Yes, dear.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>They are sitting side by side now, looking in front -of them at that struggle. He follows it in his -mind.... There must be something pleasing -in the prospect of it, for the frown slowly -becomes a smile. Still smiling, he gives a sidelong -glance at</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span>. <i>Curiously enough, she -too is not altogether miserable. But as their -eyes meet they pull themselves together with a -start, and</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>frowns heavily and speaks -again</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. A hard struggle.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>sternly</i>). A hard struggle.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>Again they look in front of them at it, and again -there seems to be something in the prospect -not unattractive. Once more their eyes meet, -<a name="png.086" id="png.086" href="#png.086"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>72<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>but this time they do not try to hide from each -other what their hearts are saying. They are -saying quite unmistakably, “What fun!” -Hand in hand they sit there, waiting for it -to begin.</i>)</p> - -</div> - - - -<div class="finalact"> -<h3 title="Act IV">ACT IV<a name="png.087" id="png.087" href="#png.087"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>73<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></h3> - - -<div class="scena"> -<p><span class="smc">Scene</span>: <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>is back at No. 26. The room looks -much the same as it did those many years ago, but it -has been improved by one or two pieces of furniture -saved from the wreck.</i></p> - -<p><i>The</i> <span class="role">BROXOPPS</span> <i>are out, and</i> <span class="role">SIR ROGER TENTERDEN</span> <i>is waiting -for the return of one of them. He is getting impatient. -He looks at his watch and decides that he can wait no -longer. He picks up his hat, and is on his way to -the door, when</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span> <i>comes in with some parcels in -a string bag</i>.</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>taken by surprise</i>). Oh, how you startled -me!... Why, it’s Sir Roger!</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. I must <span class="nw">apologise——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>smiling</i>). So must I. I’ve been shopping. -And it’s the maid’s afternoon out.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>a little blankly</i>). Oh—ah—yes. They -told me down below to come up and—<span class="nw">ah——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. That’s right. I just went out to get some -kidneys. (<i>She holds up a parcel, and</i> <span class="role">SIR ROGER</span> <i>shudders</i>.) -I haven’t bought kidneys for I don’t know how many -years; it feels quite strange. Do come and sit down. -How’s Iris? We haven’t seen her lately. (<i>She leads -the way to the table and puts the bag down on it.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Well, it was really about Iris that I -ventured to come and see you so informally, -<a name="png.088" id="png.088" href="#png.088"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>74<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>Mrs. Chillingham. I happened to have a business appointment -just across the road, and—<span class="nw">ah——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. How nice of you!</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Is Iris quite well?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh, I think so. Jack seems to be very busy. -We have a note from him every now and then saying that -they will come and see us when his picture is finished.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Ah! So he’s painting. Excellent.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. They’ve a studio in St. John’s Wood. But -surely Iris must have told you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. I assure you, Mrs. Chillingham, that -Iris has not condescended to communicate with me -since—<span class="nw">ah——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Since we lost all our money.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Since that very unfortunate Excelsior -business. Upon my word, I don’t know what the City -is coming to nowadays. With so many rogues about, -it is almost impossible for a gentleman to make an -honest living. However, things have been looking -up lately. (<i>Smiling to himself</i>) Oh yes, looking up—decidedly. -But then I knew they would. I only wish, -my dear Mrs. Chillingham, that your husband could -have been participating in my good fortune.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Well, we had no money left, you see.</p> - -<p><span class="role">TENTERDEN</span> (<i>holding up a hand</i>). Don’t think I am -blaming your husband. Pray don’t think that. I -assure you, I quite understand. And so Jack is painting? -Making quite a good living by it, what? You -relieve my mind considerably, Mrs. Chillingham. I -shall go away happy now. I shouldn’t have liked to -think that my daughter was uncomfortable. What a -thing it is to be born with such a gift! Lucky Jack! -And Mr. Chillingham, I trust, quite well?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Very well indeed, thank you. He hasn’t -looked so well for a long time.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><a name="png.089" id="png.089" href="#png.089"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>75<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">TENTERDEN</span>. Excellent, excellent. And making his -fortune again, I’ve no doubt. I’m delighted to hear -it. Well, Mrs. Chillingham, I must be getting on. I -am most relieved to hear your good news. Remember -me to your husband, please, and tell him that if, at any -time, he wants a good investment, I shall only be too -delighted to be of any service. No, don’t thank me. -I should be only too glad to. It would be a privilege. -(<i>He shakes her warmly by the hand</i>) Good-bye, good-bye.</p> - -<p class="rt">[<i>He goes out magnificently.</i></p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>As soon as she has recovered</i>, <span class="role">NANCY</span> <i>takes off her -hat and goes to the table to work. She is -drawing an advertisement for</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>, <i>as we -can see by the way she bites her pencil and -frowns to herself</i>.</p> - -<p class="hang"><i>A cheerful voice, singing a song without words, is -heard outside, and the</i> <span class="role">GREAT ONE</span> <i>comes in. -He is wearing the old sombrero—the Broxopp -hat—and (a novelty this) a pale grey tail-coat -and trousers. He carries two or three -parcels in his hand.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Nancy!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>jumping up</i>). Jim!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. My darling! Just wait a moment till -I put down these parcels.... Now then! (<i>He holds -out his arms and she comes to him. After he has kissed -her, he says solemnly</i>) I’ve thanked Heaven every day -since we’ve been here that I can kiss you now without -being observed by butlers. Another one! (<i>He kisses -her again, and then holds her at arms’ length</i>) All -right?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Of course I am.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>taking off his hat</i>). I met Sir Roger just -outside.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Did you speak to him?</p> - -<p><a name="png.090" id="png.090" href="#png.090"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>76<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I said “Hallo!” and he said, “Ah, -Chillingham, Chillingham!” Has he been here?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Just to ask after Iris and (<i>smiling</i>) to say how -glad he was that you were making your fortune again.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Did you tell him that I was making my -fortune again?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. He told himself. I didn’t say anything.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, it’s true. I’m going to. And what -have <em>you</em> been doing?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Shopping. And—(<i>looking rather sadly at her -drawing</i>)—and Ajax. (<i>She sits down to it again.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Ajax?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Ajax defying the lightning.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>pleased</i>). Ah, that was a good idea, wasn’t -it? (<i>Declaiming</i>) “Ajax defied the lightning. Why? -Because he knew that he was insured against fire with -the West End Insurance Company.” (<i>Going over to -her work</i>) Have you been doing that for me?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Yes, darling, but I can’t get Ajax properly. -He doesn’t look as though he’s defying anything.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>looking at Ajax</i>). No, he doesn’t, does he? -Yet what a touch you had with suspenders in the old -days!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>sadly</i>). I think suspenders must be easier -than Ajaxes—unless, perhaps, it’s because I’m getting -old.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>indignantly</i>). Old? You get younger every -day.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Of course, in a way it’s fun beginning all -over <span class="nw">again——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Fun! It’s Life! Did you ever hear of -a man called Stephenson? He invented the first steam-engine. -He said, “To travel hopefully is a better -thing than to arrive.” Just what I’ve always said -myself. Going there is better fun than getting there. -<a name="png.091" id="png.091" href="#png.091"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>77<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>We got there once, Nancy, and now we are going there -again.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. But we’re twenty-five years older.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. And twenty-five years wiser, and twenty-five -years more in love with each other.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Yes, but what I’m rather afraid of is that -we’ve had—well, fifteen years of <em>spending</em> money, -<span class="nw">and——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. You needn’t be afraid. We’re going to -have money to spend again. But we’ll have the fun -of making it again first. (<i>With an air</i>) Madam, you see -before you The Great Chillingham!... (<i>A little hurt</i>) -You don’t say anything.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>at her drawing again</i>). Darling! (<i>But how -she would have flown to him twenty-five years ago!</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Perhaps it is as well. The Great Chillingham -is not yet before you. I spoke too soon. (<i>He -begins to undo the parcels.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>mechanically</i>). Yes, darling.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Wait! (<i>He opens the parcels—a Chillingham -grey hat and a Chillingham pink tie are disclosed</i>) -Permit me, madam, to introduce to you the Chillingham -hat and the Chillingham tie! (<i>He holds them -up.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>wistfully</i>). There has never been more than -one Broxopp baby!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. This is not babyness; it’s business. I -called on the Aquavim people to-day—the Brain Tonic -for Tired Workers. I announced that I was willing -to undertake the entire management and reconstruction -of their business for them. They declined. I then -said that temporarily, and until greater opportunities -offered, I might be induced to advertise their poison -for them. They replied that they no longer wrote -their own advertisements; they were written for them -<a name="png.092" id="png.092" href="#png.092"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>78<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>by eminent authors, actors, painters, soldiers, and -statesmen, in exchange for a few bottles and the -publicity which it brought them. I said modestly that, -if it came to that, I myself was at one time not unknown -in the world of commerce. The manager looked at my -card again, and regretted that he could not seem to -recall the name of Chillingham. That opened my -eyes, Nancy, and I decided that all the world should -know (<i>putting on the bowler hat and striking an attitude</i>) -The Great Chillingham! But you’ll see it better -directly, when I’ve got the tie on.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>going to him</i>). Say you don’t regret Broxopp -very much!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Does an artist regret selling a picture -after he has painted it? I made the name of Broxopp, -and when I had made it, I sold it. Now I’m going to -make the name of Chillingham. I can make any name—with -you helping me, Nancy.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>hopefully</i>). Of course you can. (<i>Twenty-five -years ago how certain she would have been!</i>) Have you -decided what we shall make the name of Chillingham -famous about?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>offhand</i>). Well, well, there’s no hurry. I -shall find something. I shall think of something -directly. Don’t let us be in a hurry. (<i>Taking off his -hat and regarding it</i>) I think the new hat is striking—don’t -you? But keep the old one, Nancy. When the -story of my life comes to be written, the author may -wish to see it personally. Well, I’ll go and put the tie -on.... But I was forgetting. Who do you think I -saw to-day?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>eagerly</i>). Not Jack?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Jack.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. But why didn’t you tell me? How is he? -How is he looking?</p> - -<p><a name="png.093" id="png.093" href="#png.093"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>79<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BROXOPP</span>. You’ll see for yourself directly. He and -Iris are coming round this afternoon.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. How nice! Then I suppose his picture is -finished. How is Iris?</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. He didn’t tell me anything, except that -he was coming. We were both of us in a hurry. Well, -I’ll go and put on this tie. On this day The Great -Chillingham was born.</p> <p class="rt">[<span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>goes out</i>.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">NANCY</span> <i>returns to Ajax, but she has hardly begun -to do anything to it when there is a gentle tap -at the door</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Come in!</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>her head round the door</i>). May I come in?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh, Iris! And I’m not dressed or anything. -(<i>She gets up.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Well, I’m not very grand myself. (<i>Kissing her</i>) -You look as young as ever, Nancy. Is Jack here?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. No. He’s coming, isn’t he?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. He was going to meet me here. (<i>Looking -round the room she says sadly</i>) Oh, Nancy!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Why “Oh, Nancy!”?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. To see you in this room—after what you’re -accustomed to.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>smiling</i>). But I’m accustomed to this. This is -where we lived before Jack was born.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. I know. And now Jack and I have brought -you back to it.... Do you forgive me?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I shan’t if you talk so foolishly.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. You’ll never forgive Father, of course. Neither -shall I. I told him so.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Yes. I’m not sure that you ought to have.... -You see, Jim wasn’t happy at the Manor House. I -thought at first that he might manage to be, but he -wasn’t. And now here we are, dear, and Jim is as -happy as can be.</p> - -<p><a name="png.094" id="png.094" href="#png.094"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>80<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">IRIS</span>. And is Nancy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>a little sadly</i>). Well, of course, I do love the -country. (<i>With a sudden smile</i>) But this is fun, you -know. It’s like a second honeymoon.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Oh, Nancy!... And how is Daddy Broxopp -getting on?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh, we shall be all right. He’ll get hold -of some idea soon. Come and take off your hat. You -mustn’t be a visitor. (<i>There is a knock at the door</i>) -There! That’s Jack!</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><i>Enter</i> <span class="role">JACK</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>announcing himself</i>). The Return of the Prodigal!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh, Jack, how nice to see you again, dear!</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>kissing her</i>). How <em>are</em> you, darling? You look -remarkably blooming. (<i>Shaking hands with</i> <span class="role">IRIS</span>) How -do you do, madam?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. How do you do, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Iris is just coming into my room. We -won’t be long.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Right. Where’s Dad?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. He’ll be here in a moment.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Good man. (<i>He opens the door for them. To</i> -<span class="role">IRIS</span>) You haven’t broken the bad news yet?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. No.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Jack! There’s <span class="nw">nothing——?</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>smiling</i>). It’s all right, dear. It’s only a little -discovery we’ve made.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">NANCY</span>. There are plenty of discoveries to be made -when you are poor.</p> <p class="rt">[<span class="role">NANCY</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">IRIS</span> <i>go out together</i>.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">JACK</span> <i>wanders round the room and comes to the -unfinished Ajax on the table</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>catching sight of it</i>). Good heavens! who’s this? -(<i>Looking at it carefully</i>) It can’t be anybody at the -Club.</p> - -<p class="hang"><a name="png.095" id="png.095" href="#png.095"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>81<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>(<i>Enter</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>, <i>in hat and tie, with a terrific air. -The</i> <span class="role">GREAT CHILLINGHAM</span>! <i>He pulls up at -seeing only</i> <span class="role">JACK</span>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Hallo, boy. So you’ve come.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Hallo, Dad.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Iris here?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Yes, she’s in with mother.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. How are you getting on? We haven’t -seen much of you lately.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Well, we’ve all been working so hard. (<i>Going -up to him</i>) You’re looking extraordinarily bright, Dad. -(<i>He puts an arm affectionately round his father’s shoulder -and fingers the Chillingham tie</i>) Who’s your lady -friend?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>with dignity</i>). Have you never heard of the -Chillingham tie, boy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Never. Is that it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. It is. (<i>Simply</i>) It will be heard of one day.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>smiling</i>). I’m sure it will. I can almost hear -it now. (<i>Patting him affectionately</i>) Dear old Dad—I’ve -been a rotten son to you, haven’t I? (<i>He drops into -a chair.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>considering it fairly</i>). No, I won’t say that, -Jack. You were a very good son to me when you were -a baby. You did a lot for the Broxopp business, and I -used to like telling people in the City all the funny -little things you said. Besides, you made your mother -very happy. And then, when you were growing up, I -used to enjoy talking about my boy at Eton and my -boy at Oxford. One way and another I’ve got a good -deal of happiness out of you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. And then, when I was grown up, you suddenly -found that I was a selfish beast.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. You can’t expect father and son to see -things the same way. One or the other has got to be -<a name="png.096" id="png.096" href="#png.096"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>82<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>selfish. It’s generally the father.... Well, and how’s -the picture? Finished?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Wait till Iris comes in. We’ve decided to -tell you our sad story hand in hand. Besides, while -we’ve got the chance, there’s something I want you -to tell <em>me</em>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, what is it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Well, then—as man to man—how are you -getting on?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. As man to man, Jack, I am really happy -again.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Yes, I know, but I didn’t ask if you were -happy. I asked you how you were getting on.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>refusing to be cornered</i>). This is the life I -like, my boy. It’s harder than it was when I first -began, but I made good once, and I can do it again. -(<i>Thumping the table</i>) I like doing it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>plaintively</i>). Yes, but you still haven’t told me -how you are getting on.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Don’t you worry about <em>me</em>. I’ll make my -fortune again long before you make yours with painting.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Yes, you might well do that.... Look here, -you gave me £500 a year out of the wreck. Did you -leave anything for yourself?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Of course I did. Don’t you worry about -me. The moment will come and I shall seize it. Just -at present I am looking round. Don’t you worry about -<em>me</em>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Well, all I can say is you’re a sportsman, -and good luck to you.</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><span class="role">NANCY</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">IRIS</span> <i>come in</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Hallo, Daddy Broxopp.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>kissing her</i>). Hallo, my girl. You haven’t -called me that for a long time.</p> - -<p><a name="png.097" id="png.097" href="#png.097"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>83<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">IRIS</span>. I know. Let’s try and forget that. Are you -going to forgive me? She has.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Forgive you for what?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Well, for not having been an orphan for one -thing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>shaking her head at her with a smile</i>). Iris!</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. And for putting a lot of nonsense into Jack’s -head, and making an utter mess of things.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. My dear girl, any nonsense in my head came -there of itself; it wasn’t put in by you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Well, there it was, anyhow. The fact is, -Daddy Broxopp, we’ve made a discovery in the last -few months.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Hallo, what’s that?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Well, it’s rather important. Are you ready, -Jack? (<i>Taking</i> <span class="role">JACK’S</span> <i>hand</i>) We have <span class="nw">discovered——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Once, finally and for <span class="nw">all——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. That Jack <span class="nw">Chillingham——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. <i>Né</i> <span class="nw">Broxopp——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Cannot paint.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. He cannot paint.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> and <span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>together</i>). He cannot, cannot paint.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>knowing what it feels like</i>). Oh, Jack, what a -disappointment for you!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. How did you discover it, boy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. By regarding my latest masterpiece in a dispassionate -light. You ought to have seen it, Dad. It -was called “The First Meeting of Henry V. with -Katherine of France.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. I sat for Katherine.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. She also stood for Henry V. I wish you had -seen her as Henry V.; it would have been a surprise -for you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. I was jolly good.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. It was going to be my Academy picture. That -<a name="png.098" id="png.098" href="#png.098"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>84<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>was why I chose that subject. It was the dullest I -could think of. Unfortunately, when I had finished it, -I regarded it in a dispassionate light, and—(<i>frankly</i>) -it was rotten.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Very rotten.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Very, very rotten.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh, poor Jack! I understand how you must -have felt.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Well, then, we put our heads together.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>leaning her head against his</i>). Like this.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. And decided that we were taking your money -under false pretences.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Because, you see, he cannot paint.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. He cannot paint.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> and <span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>together</i>). He cannot, cannot paint.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Well, what are you going to do, then?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>surprised</i>). Give you back your money, of -course.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Don’t be silly. I didn’t mean that. What -work are you going to do?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>wandering round the room</i>). Well, that’s rather -the question. Iris thought—(<i>He stops suddenly at the -sight of his mother’s drawing</i>) Oh, Lord, here’s this -again. What on <span class="nw">earth——?</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>off-handedly</i>). Just a rough sketch for an -advertisement—a little idea of mine—Ajax defying -the lightning—your mother <span class="nw">was——</span> Well, then, Jack, -<span class="nw">you——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>looking up at his mother reproachfully</i>). Mother, -darling!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh, Jack, Ajaxes are so hard.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>sitting down and picking up the pencil</i>). Oh, -but—Iris, you’ll have to stand for Ajax. Imagine -Dad’s the lightning and defy him like the dickens. -(<i>Beginning to draw</i>) Right foot out a bit more. Hands -<a name="png.099" id="png.099" href="#png.099"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>85<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>behind the back, I think. Keep the head well up—as -though you thought nothing of him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Daddy Broxopp, I defy you. (<i>She gives a -glance at</i> <span class="role">JACK</span> <i>to make sure he is not looking, blows a hasty -kiss to</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>, <i>and hastily resumes her defiant attitude</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>drawing</i>). You’d find yourself much safer with -a model, Mother, even for a rough sketch. You get -so much more life into it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh, Jack, I wish I could draw like that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. He isn’t bad, is he?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>still at it</i>). Keep your head up.... I can’t -draw—but when I say I can’t draw, I don’t mean the -same as when I say I can’t paint. You see—Listen!</p> - -<p class="rt">(<i>A loud knocking is heard at the outer door.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>nodding her head at</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>). That’s you, -Daddy Broxopp. You did the lightning so well that -you’ve brought on the thunder.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. Oh, I’d better go. The maid’s out.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>getting up</i>). No, you don’t; I’ll go. It’s Dad’s -lady friend—I’ll bet you what you like—come to see -his tie. Perhaps I can buy her off on the mat.</p> - -<p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>relaxing</i>). Well, I suppose he won’t want Ajax -any more. (<i>She goes over to look at the sketch</i>) Doesn’t -he draw nicely? (<i>To</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>) That squiggly bit is -you. (<i>Looking from one to the other</i>) No, I shouldn’t -recognise you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>picking up the sketch</i>). Yes, that’s the way -to draw. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span>) All the same, darling, I shall -never forget the way you drew those suspenders in -the old days. There was something about <span class="nw">them——</span></p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><span class="role">JACK</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> <i>come in</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>protesting as he comes in</i>). Oh, but I assure -you I remember you perfectly. Mother, this is Miss -<a name="png.100" id="png.100" href="#png.100"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>86<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>Johns. You remember her, don’t you? (<i>He doesn’t -himself at all.</i>) She was—er—in the old days—don’t -you <span class="nw">remember——?</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>holding out her hand</i>). How do you do, Miss -Johns? It’s very nice of you to come and see us now. -(<i>Hopefully to</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span>) Jim, you remember Miss -Johns?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>the only one who does, and he can’t place her -for the moment</i>). Delighted to see you again, Miss -Johns. Of course, I remember you perfectly. (<i>He -looks at her with a puzzled expression.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. It’s very good of you to remember me, -Mr. Broxopp—I mean Chillingham. I can hardly -expect you to. I only just came because I’m your -neighbour, and—(<i>looking round her awkwardly</i>)—but -perhaps you’d rather <span class="nw">I——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh, not at all. You know Jack’s wife, -don’t you? (<i>They bow to each other.</i>) Sit down and -tell us what you have been doing lately.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>She sits down.</i> <span class="role">JACK</span> <i>wanders back to his sketch -and</i> <span class="role">IRIS</span> <i>goes with him, looking over his shoulder -as he touches it up</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. You know, I don’t believe you do remember -me, Mr. Broxopp—I beg your pardon, I mean -Mr. Chillingham.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>grimly</i>). I don’t, but I’m going to. (<i>He -looks at her with a frown.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>kindly, as</i> <span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> <i>is obviously getting uncomfortable -under</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP’S</span> <i>gaze</i>). Darling <span class="nw">one——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Wait! (<i>Thumping his hand with his fist</i>) -I’ve got it! (<i>Pointing to her</i>) You interviewed me on -that day—of course, I remember you now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. Oh, Mr. Brox—Oh, how wonderful of -you to remember when you must have been interviewed -so often.</p> - -<p><a name="png.101" id="png.101" href="#png.101"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>87<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Yes, but you were the last person to interview -The Great Broxopp. You heard that I had -changed my name?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. Oh, I was so sorry! I heard about it -all, and how <span class="nw">you——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh, well, you mustn’t pity us too much. -We’re quite happy here, aren’t we, Nancy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. This is where we began, you know, Miss -Johns.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Why, of course she knows. I remember -your saying that you lived on the floor below. And -are you still on the same paper?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. Yes, but—<span class="nw">er——</span> (<i>She is obviously -uncomfortable.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. But they don’t want an interview with -The Great Chillingham? (<i>With utter confidence</i>) They -will, Miss Johns, they will.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> (<i>enthusiastically</i>). Oh, I’m sure they will.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>suddenly</i>). How’s your brother?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> (<i>very much flattered</i>). Oh, do you remember -him? How wonderful you are!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>struggling with his memories</i>). Yes—I remember. -He had some invention—what was it?—a -Chicken Food, wasn’t it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. Yes, that was it. Fancy you remembering!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Oh, I have a wonderful memory. My -wife would tell you. (<i>Garrulously</i>) Yes, I remember -your telling me about this food which he had invented. -You wanted me to take it up. I said—now, what was -it I said?—I <span class="nw">said——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>looking up alertly</i>). What’s happened to that -Chicken Food?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. Er—nothing. He hadn’t the money—he -didn’t know <span class="nw">how——</span></p> - -<p><a name="png.102" id="png.102" href="#png.102"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>88<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>still talking</i>). “Yes,” I said, “if you had -come to me twenty years <span class="nw">earlier——</span>”</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>sharply</i>). Where is your brother now? In the -country?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span> (<i>frightened</i>). Yes!</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Can you get him up to London?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. Y—yes. I <span class="nw">think——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>excitedly</i>). Jack!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. What is it, boy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. How far away is it? Can you get him up -at once? This evening?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MISS JOHNS</span>. I—I think—it’s in <span class="nw">Surrey——</span></p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">JACK</span>. Send him a telegram now—don’t be afraid -of a long one—I’m paying for it. (<i>Taking out half-a-crown</i>) -Here you are. (<i>Going with her to the door</i>) That’s -right, now, off you go. Remember, I’ve got to see him -to-night. Got that? Good!</p> <p class="rt">[<i>She goes out, overwhelmed.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>the hostess</i>). Jack, dear!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. What is it, boy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. You said the moment would come. It has -come. (<i>In the</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>manner</i>) Chillingham’s Cheese -for Chickens!</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>eagerly</i>). Yes, yes! What fun!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Are you suggesting that I should take up -this food—patent it—put it on the market?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. I—you—we—all of us. You’re in it, Iris?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Rather!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. But—<span class="nw">but——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Chillingham’s Cheese for Chickens. It’s the -idea of a century.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. But do chickens like cheese?</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>firmly</i>). They’ve got to like this.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>doubtfully</i>). Yes, yes, why cheese, boy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Why not?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Er—<span class="nw">well——</span></p> - -<p><a name="png.103" id="png.103" href="#png.103"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>89<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">JACK</span>. We’ll have a hen sitting on an enormous -egg—this is where <em>I</em> come in, drawing the posters. -Above, Chillingham’s Cheese for Chickens. Underneath, -Makes Hens Lay.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Does it make them lay? I thought -Chicken Food only made chickens grow.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>grimly</i>). If we say that it makes them lay, it -makes them lay.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. It’s a question of faith, Daddy Broxopp. If -the hen knows you have faith in her, she will respond. -She’s jolly well got to.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. That’s right. We’re not going to stand any -nonsense from a Buff Orpington.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Jack, are you serious about this?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>surprised</i>). Serious? Good Lord, yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>nervously</i>). It’s a risk. What do you say, -Nancy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. I’m used to risks, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>excitedly</i>). Of course it’s a risk. That’s what -makes it such fun. By Jove, to be really doing something -at last! Makes Hens Lay! A Poultry Farm -in every back-garden! Eggs on every breakfast-table. -Chillingham eggs!</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Chillingham and bacon for breakfast, Daddy -Broxopp.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>shaking his head</i>). It’s a risk. It will want -a lot of capital. What do you say, Nancy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. We’ve got a little left.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. There’s what you gave Jack. We can do it -on that, can’t we?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Of course we can.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>unnerved</i>). I—I must think it over. One -wants to think things over. There’s no hurry, after -all. One naturally wants to look round a little before -deciding. <em>If</em> we decide on this, Iris, <span class="nw">then——</span></p> - -<p><a name="png.104" id="png.104" href="#png.104"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>90<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">JACK</span>. Who was that fellow you were so keen on—came -over from the office when you were ill—young -chap—wrote your letters for you—what was his name?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Driver?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Driver. That’s the chap. How can I get -hold of him? Is he still at the office?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. They’d know his address, anyhow.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. He’s good, isn’t he?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Excellent. You remember, Nancy, my -telling you that I was going to promote him as soon -<span class="nw">as——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. What do you want him for?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Business manager. Terribly keen. We must -have somebody like that.... What about offices?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>vaguely</i>). Offices?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. We went to Pritchard the agents. In -Victoria Street <span class="nw">somewhere——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>getting into his hat and coat</i>). That’s <em>your</em> job, -Iris. Get orders for half-a-dozen—three to four rooms, -I should think. Central. We’d better make the stuff -down at this chap’s place to start with—enlarge whatever -plant he’s got. I’ll go after Driver, while you’re -Pritcharding.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span> (<i>getting her things together</i>). Right. Pritchard, -Victoria Street. What number?</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span>. Telephone book at the chemist’s round the -corner.</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Righto. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span>) Good-bye, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">NANCY</span>). We shall have supper with you, -dear, so see that there’s some food. So will Miss Johns -and her brother, probably. Food for six at eight, say. -But we’ll be back before that, I expect. So long. (<i>He -goes to the door.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">IRIS</span>. Good-bye, Daddy Broxopp. We’re making -our fortune again.</p> - -<p><a name="png.105" id="png.105" href="#png.105"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>91<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>still bewildered</i>). Yes, but, Jack—Jack, you -<span class="nw">mustn’t——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">JACK</span> (<i>a last shout from the passage</i>). That’s all right, -Dad, leave it to me!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>The door slams. They are gone.</i> <span class="role">BROXOPP</span> <i>and</i> -<span class="role">NANCY</span> <i>are alone together. He is unhappy; -she feels that he is unhappy. They sit there, -saying nothing....</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span> (<i>almost to himself</i>). What did I call myself? -The Great Chillingham. (<i>With a sad, disillusioned little -laugh</i>) The Great Chillingham!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>comforting him</i>). Darling!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. I said that the moment would come. It -came. I said that I would seize it. (<i>He shrugs his -shoulders.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. You were going to. Jack was too quick -for you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. No. I was afraid.... I’m getting old.... -I talk and I talk, and then when the moment -comes—(<i>Sadly</i>) The Great Chillingham!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. You wanted to think it over—of course you -did.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Was there ever a Great Broxopp? Or -was it just a fluke, Nancy, twenty-five years ago?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. No, no!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Then <span class="nw">why——?</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span> (<i>with a sigh</i>). It was twenty-five years ago.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BROXOPP</span>. Yes. Never again. On this day The -Great Chillingham died. (<i>He drops his head into his -hands.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NANCY</span>. But something else was born. (<i>He shakes -his head.</i>) (<i>She says quietly</i>) Yes, Chillingham—and -Son.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>Slowly he raises his head and looks at her. His -eyes begin to light up. He rises, slowly. -<a name="png.106" id="png.106" href="#png.106"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>92<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>There is a smile about his mouth now. He is -seeing himself as the Head of <span class="role">CHILLINGHAM -AND SON</span>. Look—he is striking an attitude! -All is saved. <span class="role">NANCY</span> regards him fondly</i>. -<span class="role">CHILLINGHAM AND SON</span>.)</p> - -</div> - - -<div class="play"> -<h2 title="The Dover Road">THE DOVER ROAD<a name="png.107" id="png.107" href="#png.107"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>93<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><br - /><small>A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS</small></h2> - - - - -<h3 title="People in the Play">PEOPLE IN THE PLAY<a name="png.108" id="png.108" href="#png.108"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>94<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></h3> - - - -<dl> -<dt title="">THE HOUSE</dt> - -<dd><span class="smc">Dominic</span>.</dd> -<dd><span class="smc">The Staff</span>.</dd> -<dd><span class="smc">Mr. Latimer</span>.</dd> - -<dt title="">THE GUESTS</dt> - -<dd><span class="smc">Leonard</span>.</dd> -<dd><span class="smc">Anne</span>.</dd> -<dd><span class="smc">Eustasia</span>.</dd> -<dd><span class="smc">Nicholas</span>.</dd> -</dl> - -<hr class="third" /> - -<p><i>The Scene is the reception-room of</i> <span class="role">MR. LATIMER’S</span> <i>house, -a little way off the Dover Road</i>.</p> - -<hr class="third" /> - -<p>The first performance of this play in London took -place at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket, on June 7, -1922, with the following cast:</p> - -<table summary="Original production cast"> -<tr><td><i>Dominic</i> </td><td class="smc">Allan Aynesworth.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Mr. Latimer</i> </td><td class="smc">Henry Ainley.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Leonard</i> </td><td class="smc">Nicholas Hannen.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Anne</i> </td><td class="smc">Nancy Atkin.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Eustasia</i> </td><td class="smc">Athene Seyler.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Nicholas</i> </td><td class="smc">John Deverell.</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<div class="act"> - -<p class="fakeh2">THE DOVER ROAD<a name="png.109" id="png.109" href="#png.109"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>95<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></p> - - - - - -<h3 title="Act I">ACT I</h3> - - -<div class="scena"> -<p><i>What</i> <span class="role">MR. LATIMER</span> <i>prefers to call the reception-room of -his house is really the hall. You come straight into -it through the heavy oak front door. But this door is -so well built, so well protected by a thick purple curtain, -and the room so well warmed by central heating, that -none of the usual disadvantages of a hall on a November -night attaches to it. Just now, of course, all the -curtains are drawn, so that the whole of this side of -the hall is purple-hung. In the middle of the room, -a little to the right, is a mahogany table, clothless, -laid for three. A beautiful blue bowl, filled with -purple anemones, helps, with the silver and the old -cut glass, to decorate it. Over the whole room there -is something of an Arabian-night-adventure air. In -the daytime, perhaps, it is an ordinary hall, furnished -a trifle freakishly, but in the night time one wonders -what is going to happen next.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>, <i>tall, stout, and grave, the major-domo of the -house, in a butler’s old-fashioned evening-dress, comes -in. He stands looking at the room to see that all is -as it should be, then walks to the table and gives a -little touch to it here and there. He turns round and -waits a moment. The Staff materialises suddenly—<a name="png.110" id="png.110" href="#png.110"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>96<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>two footmen and two chambermaids. The men come -from the left, the women from the right; over their -clothes, too</i>, <span class="role">MR. LATIMER</span> <i>has been a little freakish. -They stand in a line.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. The blue room in the east wing is ready?</p> - -<p><span class="role">THE MEN</span>. Yes, Mr. Dominic.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. The white room in the west wing is ready?</p> - -<p><span class="role">THE WOMEN</span>. Yes, Mr. Dominic.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. The procedure will be as before.</p> - -<p><span class="role">THE FOUR</span>. Yes, Mr. Dominic.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. See to it that I have no fault to find. -That will do.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>They go out. He looks at his watch and then -follows the men. He is hardly out of the -room when a bell rings. He returns slowly, -draws the curtain from the front door, and -opens it.</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>, <i>in fur-coat and cap, is -seen standing outside. He is a big, well-made -man of about thirty-five—dark, with a -little black tooth-brush moustache. When the -door opens he gets his first sight of the interior -of the room, and is evidently taken by surprise.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Oh—er—is this—er—an hotel? My -chauffeur said—we’ve had an accident, been delayed -on the way—he said that we could put up here. -(<i>He turns round and calls</i>) Here, Saunders! This can’t -be the place. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC</span>) Perhaps you could tell -<span class="nw">me——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>from outside, invisible</i>). Saunders has gone, -Leonard.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>turning round</i>). Gone! What the <span class="nw">devil——</span> -(<i>He plunges into the darkness.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Saunders was perfectly correct, my lord. -This <em>is</em> a sort of hotel.</p> - -<p><a name="png.111" id="png.111" href="#png.111"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>97<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>getting out of the car, but still invisible</i>). He -went off as soon as you got out of the car. Leonard, -are you <span class="nw">sure——?</span></p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>She comes into the light; he is holding her arm. -Pretty she is, to the first sight; but what holds -you is the mystery of her youthfulness; her -aloof, untouched innocence; her grave coolness; -her—well, we shall let her speak for -herself. Just at present she is a little upset -by the happenings of the night.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Saunders was perfectly correct, my lord. -This <em>is</em> a sort of hotel.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>puzzled</i>). What the devil’s happened to -him? (<i>He looks out into the darkness.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Doubtless he has gone round to the garage -to get the doors open. Won’t your <span class="nw">lordship——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. You can put us up? Just for to-night. -My—er—wife and <span class="nw">myself——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. If your lordship and her ladyship will -come <span class="nw">in——</span> (<i>He waits for them.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>). It’s the best we can do, dear. -I’m frightfully sorry about it, but, after all, what -<span class="nw">difference——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>giving him a look which means “Don’t talk like -this in front of hotel servants”</i>). I daresay it will be -quite comfortable. It’s only for one night. (<i>She comes -in, followed by</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Thank you, my lady.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>He shuts and bolts the doors, then draws the curtains. -There is an air of finality about it.</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span> -<i>looks back at the noise of the bolts going home -with something of a start. They are locked -in now for good.</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>, <i>his eye on the -supper-table, is saying to himself, “Dashed -rummy sort of hotel.”</i>)</p> - -<p><a name="png.112" id="png.112" href="#png.112"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>98<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Allow me, my lady. (<i>He helps them off -with their coats.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. You can give us something to eat?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I don’t want anything, Leonard.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Nonsense, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Supper will be served in five minutes, my -lord.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>suddenly</i>). Do you know who we are?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. I have not that pleasure, my lady.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Then why do you call me “my lady”?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>disliking a scene</i>). My dear!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>waving back</i> <span class="role">LEONARD’S</span> <i>protesting arm</i>). No, -Leonard. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC</span>) Well?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. His lordship mentioned that your ladyship -was his wife.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Y—yes.... Then you know <em>him</em> by sight?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>complacently</i>). Well, my dear, that need -not surprise you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. I know his lordship’s rank, my lady. Not -his lordship’s name.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>surprised</i>). My rank? How the <span class="nw">devil——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Supper will be served in five minutes, my -lady. (<i>He bows and goes out.</i>)</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>There is silence for a little. They look at the -table, at the room, at each other. Then</i> -<span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>says it aloud</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Dashed rummy sort of hotel!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>coming closer and holding his arm</i>). Leonard, -I don’t like it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Pooh! Nonsense, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. It almost seems as though they had expected -us.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>laughing</i>). My dear child, how could they? -In the ordinary way we should have been at Dover—why, -almost at Calais by this time.</p> - -<p><a name="png.113" id="png.113" href="#png.113"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>99<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ANNE</span>. I know. (<i>In distress</i>) Why aren’t we?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. The car—Saunders, a fool of a chauffeur—a -series of unfortunate <span class="nw">accidents——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Do you often have these unfortunate accidents, -Leonard?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. My dear Anne, you aren’t suggesting that -I’ve done this on purpose!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. No, no. (<i>She leaves him, and goes and sits -down.</i>) But why to-night of all nights?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Of course, it’s damned annoying missing -the boat, but we can get it to-morrow morning. We -shall be in Paris to-morrow night.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. To-morrow night—but that makes such a -difference. I hate every hour we spend together like -this in England.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Well, really, I don’t see <span class="nw">why——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. You must take it that I do, Leonard. I told -you from the first that it was run-away or nothing -with me; there was going to be no intrigue, no lies -and pretences and evasions. And somehow it seems -less—less sordid, if we begin our new life together in -a new country. (<i>With a little smile</i>) Perhaps the French -for what we are doing is not quite so crude as the -English.... Yes, I know it’s absurd of me, but -there it is.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>with a shrug</i>). Oh, well! (<i>Taking out his -case</i>) Do you mind a cigarette?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>violently</i>). Oh, why do men <em>always</em> want to -smoke, even up to the moment when they’re going to -eat? Can’t you breathe naturally for five minutes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>sulkily, putting his case back</i>). I beg your -pardon.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. No, I beg yours.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. You’re all to bits.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Nerves, I suppose.</p> - -<p><a name="png.114" id="png.114" href="#png.114"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>100<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LEONARD</span>. Nonsense! My Anne with nerves? -(<i>Bitterly</i>) Now if it had been <span class="nw">Eustasia——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>coldly</i>). Really, Leonard, I think we had -better leave your wife out of the conversation.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I beg your pardon.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>to herself</i>). Perhaps you’re right. In a crisis -we are all alike, we women.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>going over to her</i>). No, damn it, I won’t have -that. It’s—it’s blasphemy. Anne, my <span class="nw">darling——</span> -(<i>She stands up and he takes her hands.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Oh!... I <em>am</em> different, aren’t I?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Darling!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I’m not a bit like—like anybody else, am I, -not even when I’m cross?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Darling!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. And you do love me?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Darling! (<i>He wants to kiss her, but she -stops him.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. No. Now you’re going to smoke. (<i>She -settles him in his chair, takes a cigarette from his case, and -puts it in his mouth</i>) I’ll light it for you. Matches? -(<i>She holds out her hand for them.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span> (<i>who has a way of being there when wanted</i>). -Matches, my lady. (<i>He hands them to her. They are -both rather confused.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>annoyed</i>). Thanks. (<i>He gets up, takes the -matches from</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>, <i>and lights his cigarette.</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC</span> -<i>gives a professional touch to the table and goes out</i>.) Damn -that fellow!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>smiling</i>). After all, darling, he thinks I’m -your wife.... Or don’t wives light their husband’s -cigarettes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I believe you’re right, Anne. There’s -something odd about this place.</p> - -<p><a name="png.115" id="png.115" href="#png.115"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>101<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ANNE</span>. So <em>you</em> feel it now?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. What did he mean by saying he knew my -rank, but not my name?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>lightly</i>). Perhaps he looked inside your cap—like -Sherlock Holmes—and saw the embroidered -coronet.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. How do you mean? There’s nothing -inside my cap.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. No, darling. That was a joke. (<i>He nods -tolerantly.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. And the table laid. Only one table.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Yes, but it’s for three. They didn’t expect -<em>us</em>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>relieved</i>). So it is.... It’s probably a -new idea in hotels—some new stunt of Harrods—or -what’s the fellow’s name?—Lyons. A country-house -hotel. By the way, what will you drink?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span> (<i>there as usual</i>). Bollinger 1906, my lord. -(<i>He has startled them again.</i>) Mr. Latimer will be down -in two minutes, my lady. He asks you to forgive him -for not being here to receive you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Mr. Latimer? Who on earth’s Mr. Latimer?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. If you would wish to be shown your room, -my <span class="nw">lady——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>who has not taken her eyes off him</i>). No, thank -you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>stepping forward</i>). Look here, my man, -is this an hotel or have we come to a private house by -mistake?</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. A sort of hotel, my lord. I assure your -lordship there is no mistake. Thank you, my lady.</p> - -<p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>laughing half-hysterically as she sits down</i>). -Very original man, Harrod. Or is it Lyons?</p> - -<p><a name="png.116" id="png.116" href="#png.116"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>102<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LEONARD</span>. Look here, I’m going to get to the bottom -of this. (<i>He starts after</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC</span>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Why bother? Mr. Latimer will be here in -two minutes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>turning back</i>). Yes, but who the devil’s -Mr. Latimer?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>with interest</i>). Leonard, do you always arrange -something fascinating like this when you elope? I -think it’s so romantic of you. But don’t you think -that the mere running away is enough just at first? -Leaving the fogs and the frets of England, the weariness -and the coldness of it, and escaping together to -the warm, blue, sun-filled South—isn’t that romantic -enough? Why drag in a mysterious and impossible -inn, a mysterious and impossible Mr. Latimer? You -should have kept them for afterwards; for the time -when the poetry was wearing out, and we were beginning -to get used to each other.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. My dear girl, what <em>are</em> you driving at? -I say again—do you really think that I <em>arranged</em> all this?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Well, somebody did.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>The two Footmen and the two Chambermaids -come in and take up positions on each side of -the table. They are followed by</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC</span>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Mr. Latimer!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">MR. LATIMER</span> <i>comes in, looks at the visitors, goes off -absent-mindedly with</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>and his Staff, -and then comes apologetically back again</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Good evening!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>He bows with an air; an airy gentleman, neither -young nor old, dressed rather fantastically -as regards his tie and his dinner-jacket and the -flower in his button-hole, and enjoying impishly -every word of it.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Good evening. <span class="nw">Er——</span></p> - -<p><a name="png.117" id="png.117" href="#png.117"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>103<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>confidentially</i>). You will forgive me for being -announced in my own house, but I find that it saves -so much trouble. If I had just come in and said, “I -am Mr. Latimer,” then <em>you</em> would have had to say, -“And I am—er—So-and-so, and this is—<span class="nw">er——”</span> -Exactly. I mean we can get on so much better without -names. But of <span class="nw">course——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. You will excuse me, sir, <span class="nw">but——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>going happily on</i>). But of course, as you -were just going to say, we must call each other <em>something</em>. -(<i>Thoughtfully</i>) I think I shall call you Leonard. -There is something about you—forgive the liberty—something -Leonardish. (<i>With a very sweet smile to</i> -<span class="role">ANNE</span>) I am sure you agree with me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I am wondering whether this is really happening, -or whether I am dreaming it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>his back to</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>). And Leonard isn’t -wondering at all; he is just tapping his forehead with -a great deal of expression.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">LEONARD</span>, <i>who was doing this, stops in some -confusion</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>coldly</i>). I think we have had enough of -this, Mr. Latimer. I was giving you the benefit of -the doubt. If you are not mad, then I will ask you for -some other explanation of all this nonsense.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>sniffing at the flower in his button-hole</i>). An -impetuous character, Leonard. It must be so obvious -to everybody else in the room that an explanation will -be forthcoming. But why not a friendly explanation -following a friendly supper?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Are we your guests?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Please.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. But there is still this question of names. -Now we agreed about <span class="nw">Leonard——</span></p> - -<p><a name="png.118" id="png.118" href="#png.118"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>104<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>looking at him fearlessly</i>). My name is Anne.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Thank you, Miss Anne.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>awkwardly</i>). Er—my wife.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Then I am tempted to leave out the -“Miss.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>annoyed again</i>). Look <span class="nw">here——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>turning to him</i>). But there is nothing to -look at if I do, Leonard. (<i>The Staff comes in.</i>) Ah, -supper! Will you sit here, Anne? (<i>He goes to the -head of the table, and indicates the chair on the right of -him.</i>) And you here, Leonard? (<i>The chair on the -left.</i>) That’s right. (<i>They all sit down.</i>)</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>and the Staff serve the supper. Five of -them, so things go quickly.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. “A little fish, a bird, a little sweet. Enough -to drink, but not too much to eat.” I composed that -in my bath this morning. The wine has been waiting -for you since 1906. How different from the turbot! -’Twas but yesterday it scarce had heard the name of -Le-o-nard. (<i>They are all served with fish, and the wine -has been poured out.</i>) Dominic, dismiss the Staff. We -would be alone. (<i>They are alone. He rises, glass in -hand</i>) My friends, I will give you a toast. (<i>He raises -his glass</i>) A Happy Ending!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>lifting her glass</i>). A Happy Ending!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. You don’t drink, Leonard. You would -have the adventure end unhappily, as is the way of -the modern novel?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I don’t understand the beginning of it, -Mr. Latimer. I don’t—you will forgive me for saying -so—I don’t see how <em>you</em> came into it. Who <em>are</em> you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Our host, Leonard.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. So it seems, my dear. But in that case, -how did we come here? My chauffeur told us that this -was an hotel—your man assured me, when I asked, -<a name="png.119" id="png.119" href="#png.119"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>105<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>that it was an hotel, a sort of hotel. And now it seems -that we are in a private house. Moreover, we seem -to have been expected. And then again—if you will -forgive me—it appears to be an unusual kind of house. -I tell you frankly that I don’t understand it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I see your difficulty, Leonard.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>stiffly</i>). Nor am I accustomed to being -called Leonard by a perfect stranger.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. What you are saying for yourself is, “Who -is this man Latimer? Is he <em>known</em>? Is he in the -Stud Book?—I mean Debrett. Is he perhaps one of -the Hammersmith Latimers, or does he belong to the -Ealing Branch?”</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>calmly eating</i>). What does it matter?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Yes, but then <em>you</em> like the fish. Leonard -doesn’t.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I have no fault to find with the fish. You -have an excellent cook.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>gravely bowing</i>). I beg your pardon, I -thank you. (<span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>comes in</i>.) His lordship likes the -fish.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Thank you, sir. I will inform the cook.</p> - -<p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. When you are giving us your tiresome explanations -after supper, Mr. Latimer, I wish you would just -add one more to them.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. But of course!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Your Mr. Dominic’s appearances are so apt. -How is it done?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>pulling down his cuff</i>). Yes, I’ll make a -note of that. (<i>He writes on it</i>) Dominic—Apt appearance -of.</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>reappears</i>.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Admit the bird, Dominic.</p> - -<p class="rt">[<span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>goes out</i>.</p> - -<p><a name="png.120" id="png.120" href="#png.120"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>106<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>rising stiffly</i>). I’m afraid we shall have -to be getting on now, Mr. Latimer.... Anne, dear.... -We are much obliged for your hospitality, but—er—I -imagine we are not far from <span class="nw">Dover——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. On the Dover Road, certainly.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Exactly. So if you would—er—have instructions -given to my chauffeur—<span class="nw">er——</span> (<i>He hesitates -as the Staff comes in.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Dominic, his lordship’s glass is empty. -He wishes to drink my health.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. I beg your pardon, my lord. (<i>The glass -is filled.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. And while he is up, just find his lordship -a more comfortable chair. He has been a little uneasy -on that one all through the fish.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. I beg your pardon, my lord. (<i>The chair -is changed.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>rising with his glass and drinking to</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>). -Your happiness! (<i>He sits down, and</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>mechanically -sits down too</i>.) Now for the bird. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>) I -like these little ceremonies in between the courses. -Don’t you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I’m liking my supper.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I am so glad. (<i>As</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span> <i>is helped</i>) I shot -this bird myself. (<i>He looks at it through his glass</i>) What -is it, Dominic?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. <i>Poulet en casserole</i> with mushrooms, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. <i>Poulet en casserole</i> with mushrooms. I -shot the mushrooms.... A large help for his lordship, -Dominic. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>) Let me introduce your -chicken to you, Leonard. One of the Buff-Orpingtons. -I daresay you know the family. His mother was a -Wyandotte. He was just about to contract an alliance -with one of the Rock girls, the Plymouth Rocks, when -the accident happened.</p> - -<p class="hang"><a name="png.121" id="png.121" href="#png.121"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>107<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>(<i>They are alone again now, plates and glasses well -filled.</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>, <i>who has been waiting impatiently -for the Staff to go, pushes back his -chair and gets up</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Dear me! Not a third chair, surely?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Now look here, Mr. Latimer, this farce -has gone on long enough. I do not propose to sit -through a whole meal without some further explanation. -Either we have that explanation now, or else—Anne, -dear—or else we’ll be getting on our way.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>thoughtfully</i>). Ah, but which is your way?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Dover. My chauffeur seems to have got -off the track a little, but if you can put us on to the -Dover <span class="nw">Road——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>to himself</i>). The Dover Road! The Dover -Road! A dangerous road, my friends. And you’re -travelling in the dark.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Really, Mr. Latimer, that needn’t frighten -us.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>putting her hand on his arm</i>). What do you -mean?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. A strange road, Anne, for <em>you</em>. A new, -untravelled road.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Nonsense. She’s often been this way -before. Haven’t you, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>shaking her head</i>). No.... But I’m not -frightened, Mr. Latimer.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>There is silence for a little. Then</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>appears -noiselessly</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Dominic, supper is over. His lordship -loved the chicken—too well to eat it. He adored the -mushrooms—in silence. Inform the cook.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>offering his case to</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>). A cigarette?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. No, thank you.</p> - -<p><a name="png.122" id="png.122" href="#png.122"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>108<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LATIMER</span>. You permit it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Of course.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>). Cigar, my lord?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Er—er—(<i>but they are good ones</i>)—thanks.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Well, shall <span class="nw">we——?</span></p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>They get up, and move into more comfortable -chairs</i>, <span class="role">LATIMER</span> <i>talking</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Which chair would you like, Anne? -There? (<i>She sits down.</i>) That’s right. Now then, -Leonard, we want something especially comfortable -for you. You are a little finicky about chairs, if you -don’t mind my saying so.... What about <em>that</em> one? -Just try it and see how you like it. (<span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>tries it, -and sinks into it up to the neck</i>.) Yes, I think you will -be happy there. And I shall sit here. Now everything -is ready. (<i>They are alone again.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>with as much dignity as is possible from that -sort of chair</i>). I am waiting, Mr. Latimer.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I am waiting, Leonard, for your questions.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Let me begin with one. (<i>He turns to her.</i>) -Your table was laid for three. For whom were the -other two places intended?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. For yourself and Leonard.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. You expected us?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. How did you know we were coming?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Saunders had his instructions to bring -you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>starting up from his chair—or trying to</i>). -Saunders! My chauffeur! Do you mean to <span class="nw">say——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Let me help you up, Leonard. You have -the wrong chair again. It is difficult to be properly -indignant in that one. (<i>He helps him into a sitting -position</i>) That’s better. You were <span class="nw">saying——</span></p> - -<p><a name="png.123" id="png.123" href="#png.123"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>109<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LEONARD</span>. You mean to tell me that you had the -audacity to bribe my chauffeur?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. No, no, Leonard. What I mean is that -<em>you</em> had the foolhardiness to bribe my friend Saunders -to be your chauffeur.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Upon my <span class="nw">word——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Who is Saunders?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Saunders? He’s Joseph’s brother. Joseph -was the gentleman in orange. He helped you to fish.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>out of the chair at last</i>). How dare you -interfere in my concerns in this way, sir!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Before you explain how you dare, Mr. Latimer, -I should like to know <em>why</em> you are so interested in us. -Who are you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. No more than Mr. Latimer. It is a purely -impersonal interest which I take—and I take it just -because you are going the Dover Road, my dear, and -it is a dangerous road for a young girl to travel.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>very cool, very proud</i>). I don’t think I asked -you to be interested in me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Nobody does, my dear. But I am. Very -interested. In all my fellow-travellers. It is my hobby.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Anne! (<i>He means, “Let’s get out of -this.” He makes a movement to the front door.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. The door is locked, Leonard.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>bending over him and putting his face very -close to</i> <span class="role">LATIMER’S</span>). Ah! Then I will give you one -minute in which to open it.</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>has come in</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Dominic, his lordship’s face is just a little -too close to mine. Could you—thank you! (<span class="role">LEONARD</span> -<i>has started back on noticing</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC</span>.) Coffee? Excellent. -(<i>The Footmen are there with coffee.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. No, thank you.</p> - -<p><a name="png.124" id="png.124" href="#png.124"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>110<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LEONARD</span>. No, thanks. (<i>He sits on another chair.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. No, thank you. By the way, Dominic, -did you go round to the Hospital this afternoon?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir. The young gentleman is getting -on nicely. He was able to take a little bread-and-milk -this morning.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Ah, I’m glad. Nothing solid yet?</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. No, sir. The jaw is still very tender.</p> - -<p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>). He bumped it against my -knuckles last week. An impetuous young fellow. He -was running away with—dear me, I forget her name—I -always forget names. I think he called her Pussy. -She had several children. (<i>Unconsciously he has shot -his cuff, and sees suddenly the note he has made</i>) What’s -this? “Dominic—Apt appearance of.” Ah, yes. -(<i>He turns to</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>) It’s very simple. A little fad of -mine. There are bells everywhere in this room—in -every chair, on the table, in the floor; wherever I am, -I can press a bell for Dominic. He is always close at -hand on reception-evenings. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. That was a little warning which you were -giving us just now?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>apologetically</i>). Yes. I thought it better. -Leonard is so impetuous. Joseph and Jacob were -both amateur champions in their day. Dominic is a -very heavy fall-er. He never has to fall on a man -twice. If all this is quite understood at the beginning, -it makes it so much easier.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>getting up</i>). Mr. Latimer, I assure you that -this is not a sudden freak of fancy, and that I know -my own mind. I ask you, as a gentleman, to open -the door.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>shaking his head</i>). I am afraid it is impossible, -Anne. (<i>She shrugs her shoulders and sits down.</i>)</p> - -<p><a name="png.125" id="png.125" href="#png.125"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>111<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>calm for the moment</i>). So we are kept here -by force?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Need we insist upon it? Let us rather -say that you have postponed your visit to France in -order to spend a few days with a friend.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I prefer to say force.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>with a bow</i>). I do not dictate your words -to you. Your movements for the moment, yes. So -let us say “force.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. We are prisoners, in fact?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Within the limits of my house.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. And if my—my wife chooses to walk out -of your front door to-morrow morning, your—your -fellow-conspirators would lay hands on her and stop -her?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. My dear Leonard, why should your—your -wife want to walk out of the front door to-morrow? -What would she want to do in the garden in November? -Do be reasonable.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Suppose she wished to walk to the nearest -police-station?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>). Do you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>with a smile</i>). Could I?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. If you stood on Leonard’s shoulders you -might just reach the top of the wall.... Dominic -tells me that they have lost the key of the gates. Very -careless of them.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Well, <span class="nw">I’m——</span> It’s monstrous!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Yes, but we can’t keep on saying that. Here -we are apparently, and here we have to stay. But I -still want to know very much <em>why</em> Mr. Latimer has this -great desire for our company.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. You have the advantage of me now, sir, -but you will not always have it. The time will come -when I shall demand satisfaction for this insult.</p> - -<p><a name="png.126" id="png.126" href="#png.126"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>112<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>with an air—rising and bowing</i>). My lord! -Letters addressed to me at the Charing Cross Post -Office will always be forwarded!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>slightly upset</i>). This gross insult to myself -and—er—my wife.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. No, no, not your wife.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. How dare you!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>in alarm</i>). Surely I haven’t made a mistake. -(<i>To</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>) You and he are running away together, -aren’t you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>a step nearer</i>). Look here, <span class="nw">sir——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Oh, Leonard, what’s the good? We aren’t -ashamed of it, are we? Yes, Mr. Latimer, we are -running away together.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Of course! Why not? Leonard, <em>you</em> -aren’t ashamed of it, are you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I object to this interference in my private -affairs by <span class="nw">a——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Yes, yes, but you’ve said all that. It’s -interfering of me, damnably interfering. But I am -doing it because I want you both to be happy.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I can look after my own happiness.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. <em>And</em> this lady’s?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. She is good enough to believe it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I am not a child. Do you think I haven’t -thought? The scandal, the good name I am going to -lose, the position of that other woman, I have thought -of all these things.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. There is one thing of which you haven’t -thought, Anne.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>how young she is</i>). I am afraid you are old-fashioned. -You are going to talk to me of morality.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Oh no, I wasn’t.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>not heeding him</i>). Living alone here, a bachelor, -within these high walls which keep the world out, -<a name="png.127" id="png.127" href="#png.127"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>113<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>you believe what the fairy-books tell us, that once two -people are married they live happy ever after.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Oh, no, I don’t.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I am the wicked woman, coming between the -happy husband and wife, breaking up the happy home. -Is that it, Mr. Latimer?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Rubbish! The happy home! Why, this -is my first real chance of happiness.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. His first real chance of happiness! As he -said when he proposed to Eustasia.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>upset</i>). What’s that?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>). May I ask <em>you</em> some questions -now?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Yes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Eustasia will divorce him?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. We shall not defend the suit.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. And then you will marry Anne?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Another insult. I shall not forget it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I beg your pardon. I simply wanted an -answer.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. He will marry me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I see. And then, as the fairy-books tell -us, you will live happy ever after? (<span class="role">ANNE</span> <i>is silent</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I need hardly say that I shall do my best -<span class="nw">to——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>). And then, as the fairy-books tell -us, you will live happy ever after? (<span class="role">ANNE</span> <i>is silent</i>.) -I live within my high walls which keep the world out; -I am old-fashioned, Anne. You are modern, you -know the world. You don’t believe the fairy-books, -and yet—you are going to live happy ever after?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I don’t see what you’re driving at.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Anne does.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>raising her eyes to his</i>). I take the risk, Mr. Latimer.</p> - -<p><a name="png.128" id="png.128" href="#png.128"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>114<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LATIMER</span>. But a big risk.... Oh, believe me, I am -not so much out of the world as you think. Should I -have known all about you, should I have brought you -here, if I were? I know the world; I know the risks -of marriage. Marriage is an art—well, it’s a profession -in itself. (<i>Sharply</i>) And what are you doing? -Marrying a man whose only qualification for the profession -is that he has tried it once, and made a damned -hash of it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Well, really, sir!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Isn’t it true?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Well—er—I admit my marriage has not -been a happy one, but I venture to say—well, I don’t -wish to say anything against <span class="nw">Eustasia——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Go on. Life is too short for us to be -gentlemen all the time.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>explosively</i>). Well, then, I say that not -even St. Michael and all his angels could have made -a success of it. I mean, not even St. Michael.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Yet you chose her.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Er—<span class="nw">well——</span> (<i>But he has nothing to say.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>after a pause</i>). Miss Anne, I am not being -moral. You see, I am a very rich man, and we know -on good authority that it is difficult for a very rich man -to be a very good man. But being a very rich man I -try to spend my money so that it makes somebody else -happy besides myself. It’s the only happy way of -spending money, isn’t it? And it’s my hobby to prevent -people—to try if I can prevent people—making -unhappy marriages.... It’s wonderful what power -money gives you. Nobody realises it, because nobody -ever spends it save in the obvious ways.... You may -say that I should have prevented Leonard from marrying -Eustasia in the first place. I have done that sometimes. -I have asked two young people here—oh, -<a name="png.129" id="png.129" href="#png.129"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>115<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>properly chaperoned—and guests, not prisoners as you -are—two young people who thought that they were in -love, and I have tried to show each to the other in the -most unromantic light.... Sometimes the engagement -has been broken off. Sometimes they have -married and—lived happy ever after.... But mostly -it is my hobby to concentrate on those second marriages -into which people plunge—with no parents now to -restrain them—so much more hastily even than they -plunge into their first adventure. Yet how much more -carefully they should be considered, seeing that one -at least of the parties has already proved his utter -ignorance of the art of marriage.... And so, my dear -friends, when I hear—and a rich man has many means -of hearing—when I hear that two people are taking -the Dover Road, as you were taking it to-night, I venture -to stop them, and say, in the words of the fairy-book, -“Are you <em>sure</em> you are going to live happy ever after?”</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Your intentions may be good, but I can -only repeat that your interference is utterly unwarranted, -and you are entirely mistaken as to the power -and authority which your money gives you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Authority, none. But power? (<i>He -laughs</i>) Why, my dear Leonard, if I offered you a -hundred thousand pounds to go back to your wife -to-night, this lady would never see you again.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Well, of all the damnable things to <span class="nw">say——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. How damnable the truth is! Think it -over to-night, Leonard. You are a poor man for your -position—think of all the things you could do with a -hundred thousand pounds. Turn it over in your mind—and -then over and over again. A hundred thousand -pounds.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>For a moment it seems as if</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>is beginning -to turn it, but</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span> <i>interrupts.</i>)</p> - -<p><a name="png.130" id="png.130" href="#png.130"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>116<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>scornfully</i>). Is this part of the treatment? -Am I being shown my lover when he is mercenary?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>with a laugh</i>). Oh no! If that were part -of my treatment, there would be no marriages at all. -Oh no, it isn’t a genuine offer. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>) It’s off, -Leonard. You needn’t think it out any more. (<span class="role">LEONARD</span> -<i>wakes up suddenly, a poor man.</i>) Besides, you misunderstand -me. I don’t want to separate you by -force—I have no right to.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. But how modest suddenly!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>with a bow and a smile</i>). Madam, I admire -your spirit.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Leonard, I am receiving the attentions of -another man. Beware of jealousy.... All part of -the treatment, Mr. Latimer?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. You’re splendid. (<i>Seriously</i>) But I meant -what I said just now. I am not preventing you from -going the Dover Road, I am only asking you to wait -a few days and see how you get on. It may be that -you two are the perfect soul-mates; that your union -has already been decreed in Heaven and will be watched -over by the angels. If so, nobody will rejoice in your -happiness more than I. I shall not say, “You have -no right to be happy together. Leonard must remain -with his lawfully-wedded Eustasia.” Believe me, I do -not waste my money, my time, my breath in upholding -the sanctity of an unhappy marriage. I was brought -up in the sanctity of an unhappy marriage; even as a -child I knew all about it. (<i>Less seriously</i>) But oh, my -dear Anne, let us have a little common sense before -we adventure marriage with a man who is always -making a mess of it. We know what Leonard is—how -perfectly hopeless as a husband.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I don’t think that is quite fair.</p> - -<p><a name="png.131" id="png.131" href="#png.131"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>117<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LATIMER</span>. Well, as far as we can tell. You’ve never -made a happy marriage yet, have you, Leonard?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>sulkily</i>). I don’t want to say anything -against <span class="nw">Eustasia——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Good God, man, aren’t you shouting it -all the time? Why else are you here? But don’t try -to pretend that it’s all Eustasia’s fault.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>doubtfully</i>). <span class="nw">Well——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Or that it will be all Anne’s fault <em>next</em> -year.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. What do you mean, next year?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I beg your pardon. I should have said -the year after next. (<i>There is a little silence.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>getting up</i>). I think I will go to bed. How -long do you want us to wait?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Can you spare a week? You with so -many years in front of you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>deciding that the moment has come to put</i> -<span class="role">MR. LATIMER</span> <i>in his place</i>). I have a father. I left him a -note to say what I was doing. We don’t see much -of each other, but I thought it polite. (<i>Triumphantly</i>) -Does <em>that</em> interfere with your plans at all?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Not at all. There was a little -mistake about the delivery of that note. Your father -is under the impression that you are staying with -friends—in Kent.... A great power, money.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>deciding, with dignity, that the moment has not -come</i>). I congratulate you on the perfection of your -methods. Good night.</p> - -<p class="rt">(<span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>is in the room</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Her ladyship will retire.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir.</p> <p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Good night, Miss Anne.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>holding out her hand suddenly</i>). Without -prejudice.</p> - -<p><a name="png.132" id="png.132" href="#png.132"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>118<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>bending over it gallantly</i>). Ah, but you are -prejudicing me entirely.</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><i>A</i> <span class="role">MAID</span> <i>comes in</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MAID</span>. This way, my lady.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>She leads the way to a door on the right, and</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span> -<i>follows her</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>pleasantly, to</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>). And did <em>you</em> leave -a note for <em>your</em> father, Leonard?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. You ought to know. You appear to -have your conspirators everywhere. Saunders—and, I -suppose, Anne’s maid—and God knows who else.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Money, Leonard, money. A pity you -refused that hundred thousand pounds. You could -have bribed the Archbishop of Canterbury to curse me.... -Well, a week here won’t do either of you any -harm. Have a whisky and soda?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I am not at all sure that I ought to drink -in your house.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. You will be thirsty before you go.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>hesitating</i>). <span class="nw">Well——</span></p> - -<p class="rt">(<i>A Footman appears with the whisky.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. That’s right. Help yourself, won’t you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>helping himself</i>). Please understand that -I do this, as I do everything else in your house, under -protest.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>shooting his cuff and taking out his pencil</i>). -Your protest is noted.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>returning to the too comfortable chair</i>). As -I have already said, your conduct is perfectly outrageous. -(<i>He sinks into its depths.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. And as I have already said, you can’t do -moral indignation from that chair. Remember what -happened to you last time.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Perfectly outrageous. (<i>He drinks.</i>)</p> - -<p><a name="png.133" id="png.133" href="#png.133"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>119<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LATIMER</span>. Have another cigar?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I shall go to bed as soon as I have drunk -this. (<i>He drinks.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. You wouldn’t care for a game of billiards -first?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I am not in the mood for billiards.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. By the way, we have another runaway -couple here. But their week of probation is just over. -They expect to leave to-morrow.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I am not interested in your earlier crimes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I think you would be interested in <em>this</em> -couple, Leonard.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I assure you I am not.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Ah! (<i>Picking up a review and settling -himself</i>) Very good article this month by Sidney Webb. -You ought to read it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I am not interested in Sidney Webb.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Breakfast is at ten o’clock. In here.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>struggling out of his chair</i>). I shall eat it -under protest.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. You’re off? Then I’ll say good night.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>and the two Footmen</i>, <span class="role">JOSEPH</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">JACOB</span>, -<i>have come in</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>stiffly</i>). Good night.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>He walks up to the door on the right.</i> <span class="role">JACOB</span> <i>is -in front of it</i>. <span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>is pulled up at sight -of him</i>. <span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>indicates the door on the left</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. <em>This</em> way, my lord.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Er—er—thank you.<!-- punctuation invisible --></p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>He goes out, followed by</i> <span class="role">JOSEPH</span>.... <span class="role">MR.<!-- punctuation invisible --> -LATIMER</span> <i>is alone with Sidney Webb</i>.)</p> - -</div> - - - -<div class="act"> -<h3 title="Act II">ACT II<a name="png.134" id="png.134" href="#png.134"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>120<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></h3> - -<div class="scena"> -<p><i>It is next morning.</i> <span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>, <span class="role">LEONARD’S</span> <i>wife (who -should be sitting patiently at home wondering when -he will return), is having breakfast with a harmless -young man called</i> <span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. <i>She is what people -who talk like that call a “nice little thing,” near -enough to thirty-five to begin to wish it were twenty-five. -At present she is making a good deal of fuss -over this dear boy</i> <span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. <i>Breakfast is practically -over.</i> <span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>, <i>in fact, is wiping his mouth</i>.</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Finished, darling?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Yes, thank you, Eustasia.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. A little more toast?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. No, thank you, Eustasia.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Just a little tiny teeny-weeny bit, if his -Eustasia butters it for him?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. No, thank you. I’ve really finished.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Another cup of coffee?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>with a sigh</i>). No, thank you, Eustasia.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Just a little bit of a cup if his Eustasia -pours it out for her own Nicholas, and puts the sugar -in with her own ickle fingers?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. No more coffee, thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Then he shall sit in a more comfy chair -while he smokes his nasty, horrid pipe, which he -loves so much better than his Eustasia. (<i>He gets up -<a name="png.135" id="png.135" href="#png.135"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>121<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>without saying anything.</i>) He doesn’t really love it -better?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>laughing uneasily</i>). Of course he doesn’t.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Kiss her to show that he doesn’t.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>doing it gingerly</i>). You baby!</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. And now give me your pipe. (<i>He gives it -to her reluctantly. She kisses it and gives it back to him.</i>) -There! And she doesn’t really think it’s a nasty, -horrid pipe, and she’s ever so sorry she said so.... -Oh! (<i>She sees a dish of apples suddenly.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. What is it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Nicholas never had an apple!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Oh no, thanks, I don’t want one.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Oh, but he must have an apple! It’s so -good for him. An apple a day keeps the doctor away. -You <em>must</em> keep the doctor away, darling, else poor -Eustasia will be miserable.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>with an effort</i>). I’ve finished my breakfast.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Not even if his Eustasia peels it for him?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. No, thank you. I assure you that I have -had all I want.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Sure?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Quite sure, thank you. Where are you -going to sit?</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>indicating the sofa</i>). Nicholas sit there and -Eustasia sit next to him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>without much enthusiasm</i>). Right. (<i>They -sit down.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Shall Eustasia fill his pipe for him? (<i>She -takes it.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>taking it back</i>). No, thank you. It is filled. -(<i>They are silent for a little, and at last he speaks uncomfortably</i>) -Er—Eustasia.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Yes, darling.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. We’ve been here a week.</p> - -<p><a name="png.136" id="png.136" href="#png.136"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>122<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Yes, darling. A wonderful, wonderful -week. And now to-day we leave this dear house where -we have been so happy together, and go out into the -world <span class="nw">together——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>who has not been listening to her</i>). A week. -Except for the first day, we have had all our meals -alone together.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>sentimentally</i>). Alone, Nicholas.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Four meals a day—that’s twenty-four -meals.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Twenty-four!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. And at every one of those meals you -have asked me at least four times to have something -more, when I had already said that I didn’t -want anything more; or, in other words, you -have forced me to say “No, thank you, Eustasia,” -ninety-six times when there was absolutely no need -for it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>hurt</i>). Nicholas!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>inexorably</i>). We are both young. I am -twenty-six, you <span class="nw">are——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>hopefully</i>). Twenty-five.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>looking at her quickly and then away again</i>). -You are twenty-five. If all goes well, we may look -to have fifty years more together. Say two thousand -five hundred weeks. Multiply that by a hundred, and -we see that in the course of our joint lives you will, -at the present rate, force me to say “No, thank you, -Eustasia,” two hundred and fifty thousand times more -than is necessary. (<i>He relights his pipe.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>pathetically</i>). Nicholas! (<i>She applies her -handkerchief.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I wondered if we couldn’t come to some -arrangement about it. That’s all.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. You’re cruel! Cruel! (<i>She sobs piteously.</i>)</p> - -<p><a name="png.137" id="png.137" href="#png.137"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>123<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>doggedly</i>). I just wondered if we couldn’t -come to some arrangement.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>completely overcome</i>). Oh! Oh! Nicholas! -My darling!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>, <i>his hands clenched, looks grimly in -front of him. He winces now and then at -her sobs. He tries desperately hard not to -give way, but in the end they are too much -for him</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>putting his arms round her</i>). Darling! -Don’t! (<i>She goes on sobbing.</i>) There! There! I’m -sorry. Nicholas is sorry. I oughtn’t to have said it.<!-- punctuation invisible --> -Forgive me, darling.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>between sobs</i>). It’s only because I love you -so much, and w-want you to be well. And you m-must -eat.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Yes, yes, Eustasia, I know. It is dear -of you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Ask any d-doctor. He would say you -m-must eat.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Yes, darling.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. You m-must eat.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>resignedly</i>). Yes, darling.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>sitting up and wiping her eyes</i>). What’s -a wife for, if it isn’t to look after her husband when -he’s ill, and to see that he eats?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. All right, dear, we won’t say anything -more about it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. And when you had that horrid cold and -were so ill, the first day after we came here, I did look -after you, didn’t I, Nicholas, and take care of you and -make you well again?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. You did, dear. Don’t think I am not -grateful. You were very kind. (<i>Wincing at the recollection</i>) -Too kind.</p> - -<p><a name="png.138" id="png.138" href="#png.138"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>124<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Not too kind, darling. I love looking -after you, and doing things for you, and taking care -of you, and cosseting you. (<i>Thoughtfully to herself</i>) -Leonard was <em>never</em> ill.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Leonard?</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. My husband.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Oh!... I’d never thought of him as -Leonard. I prefer not to think about him. I’ve never -seen him, and I don’t want to talk about him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. No, darling. <em>I</em> don’t want to either.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. We’ve taken the plunge and—(<i>bravely</i>) -and we’re not going back on it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>surprised</i>). Darling!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. As a man of honour <span class="nw">I——</span> Besides, you -can’t go back now—I mean I took you away, <span class="nw">and——</span> Well, -here we are. (<i>With determination</i>) Here we are.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Darling, you aren’t regretting?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>hastily</i>). No, no! (<i>She takes out her handkerchief -ominously.</i>) No, no, no! (<i>She begins to sob.</i>) -<em>No! No!</em> (<i>He is almost shouting.</i>) Eustasia, listen! -I love you! I’m <em>not</em> regretting! I’ve <em>never</em> been -so happy! (<i>She is sobbing tumultuously.</i>) So happy, -Eustasia! I have never, never been so happy! <em>Can’t</em> -you hear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>throwing herself into his arms</i>). Darling!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. There, there!</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>drying her eyes</i>). Oh, Nicholas, you frightened -me so! Just for a moment I was afraid you were -regretting.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. No, no!</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. How right Mr. Latimer was!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>with conviction</i>). He was indeed.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. How little we really knew of each other -when you asked me to come away with you!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. How little!</p> - -<p><a name="png.139" id="png.139" href="#png.139"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>125<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. But this week has shown us to each other -as we really are.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. It has.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. And now I feel absolutely safe. We are -ready to face the world together, Nicholas. (<i>She sighs -and leans back happily in his arms.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Ready to face the world together.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>He has his pipe in his right hand, which is round -her waist. Her eyes are closed, her left hand, -encircling his neck, holds his left hand. He -tries to bend his head down so as to get hold -of his pipe with his teeth. Several times he -tries and just misses it. Each time he pulls her -a little closer to him, and she sighs happily. -At last he gets hold of it. He leans back with -a gasp of relief.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>still with her eyes closed</i>). What is it, -darling?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Nothing, Eustasia, nothing. Just happiness.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>But they are not to be alone with it for long, for</i> -<span class="role">MR. LATIMER</span> <i>comes in</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Good morning, my friends, good morning.</p> - -<p class="rt">(<i>They move apart and</i> <span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> <i>jumps up</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Oh, good morning.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Good morning.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. So you are leaving me this morning and -going on your way?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>without enthusiasm</i>). Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. But we shall never forget this week, dear -Mr. Latimer.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. You have forgiven me for asking you to -wait a little so as to make sure?</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Oh, but you were so right! I was just -saying so to Nicholas. Wasn’t I, Nicholas?</p> - -<p><a name="png.140" id="png.140" href="#png.140"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>126<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Yes. About a minute ago. About two -minutes ago.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. And so now you are sure of yourselves?</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Oh, so sure, so very sure. Aren’t we, -Nicholas?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Absolutely sure.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. That’s right. (<i>Looking at his watch</i>) Well, -I don’t want to hurry you, but if you have any little -things to do, the car will be here in half an hour, <span class="nw">and——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Half an hour? Oh, I must fly. (<i>She -begins.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>not moving</i>). Yes, we must fly.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>going to the door with</i> <span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>). By the -way, you will be interested to hear that I had two other -visitors last night.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>stopping excitedly</i>). Mr. Latimer! You -don’t mean another—couple?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Yes, another romantic couple.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Oh, if I could but see them before we go! -Just for a moment! Just to reconcile them to this -week of probation! To tell them what a wonderful -week it can be!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. You shall. I promise you that you shall.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Oh, thank you, dear Mr. Latimer!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>He goes to the door with her. As he comes back</i>, -<span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> <i>is coming slowly towards him</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I say?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Yes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>thoughtfully</i>). I say, what would <em>you</em>—I -mean—<span class="nw">supposing——</span> Because you see—I mean, it -isn’t as <span class="nw">if——</span> Of course, <span class="nw"><em>now</em>——</span> (<i>He looks at his -watch and finishes up sadly</i>) Half an hour. Well, I -suppose I must be getting ready. (<i>He goes towards -the door.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>as he gets there</i>). Er—Nicholas.</p> - -<p><a name="png.141" id="png.141" href="#png.141"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>127<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Yes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Just a moment.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>coming back to him</i>). Yes?</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">LATIMER</span> <i>takes him by the arm, and looks round -the room to see that they are alone</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>in a loud whisper</i>). Cheer up!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>excitedly</i>). What?</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">LATIMER</span> <i>has let go of his arm and moved away, -humming casually to himself. The light dies -out of</i> <span class="role">NICHOLAS’</span> <i>eyes, and he shrugs his -shoulders despairingly</i>.)</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>without any hope</i>). Well, I’ll go and get -ready.</p> <p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>comes in and begins to rearrange the -breakfast-table</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Ah, good morning, Dominic.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Good morning, sir. A nicish morning -it seems to be, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. A very nicish morning. I have great -hopes of the world to-day.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. I am very glad to hear it, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. We must all do what we can, Dominic.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. That’s the only way, isn’t it, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Great hopes, great hopes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span> (<i>handing him “The Times”</i>). The paper, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Thank you. (<i>He looks at the front page</i>). -Any one married this morning? Dear me, quite a -lot. One, two, three, four ... ten. Ten! Twenty -happy people, Dominic!</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Let us hope so, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Let us hope so.... By the way, how -was his lordship this morning?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. A little depressed, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Ah!</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. There seems to have been some misunderstanding -<a name="png.142" id="png.142" href="#png.142"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>128<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>about his luggage. A little carelessness on -the part of somebody, I imagine, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Dear me! Didn’t it come with him?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. I’m afraid not, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Tut, tut, how careless of somebody. -Can’t we lend him anything?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Joseph offered to lend him a comb, sir—his -own comb—a birthday present last year, Joseph -tells me. His lordship decided not to avail himself -of the offer.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Very generous of Joseph, seeing that it -was a birthday present.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir. Unfortunately Joseph had come -down to the last blade of his safety razor this morning.<!-- punctuation invisible --> -His lordship is rather upset about the whole business, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Well, well, I daresay a little breakfast -will do him good.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir. Are you ready for breakfast -now, sir?</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">ANNE</span> <i>comes in. All this is rather fun. She is -not so sure of</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>now, but</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span> -<i>doesn’t matter. Dover is a long way off. -Meanwhile this is fun. The jolly house, the -excitement of not knowing what will happen -next; and</i> <span class="role">MR. LATIMER</span>—<i>to be put in his -place</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>getting up and going to her</i>). Good morning, -Anne. May I hope that you slept well?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Very well, thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I am so glad.... All right, Dominic.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Thank you, sir.</p> <p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. You are ready for breakfast?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Quite ready. But what about Leonard?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Leonard?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I made sure that I was to have a practice -<a name="png.143" id="png.143" href="#png.143"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>129<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>breakfast with Leonard this morning. I have been -thinking of a few things to say up in my room.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Say them to me instead.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. They are very wifely. (<i>She sits down.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. But think what good practice.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Very well. (<i>At the cups</i>) Tea or coffee, darling?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Oh no, that will never do. You know -by now that I always have coffee—half milk and three -lumps of sugar.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Of course, how silly of me. (<i>She pours out -the coffee.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>taking the covers off the dishes</i>). Omelette—fish—kidney -and bacon?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Now <em>you’re</em> forgetting.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>putting back the covers</i>). No, I’m remembering. -Toast and marmalade—isn’t that right?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Quite right, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>to himself</i>). I knew she would like marmalade. -No wonder that Leonard ran away with her. -(<i>He puts the toast and marmalade close to her.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Your coffee, darling.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Thank you, my love.... “My love” is -very connubial, I think.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Delightfully so. Do go on.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Er—I am sorry to see in the paper this -morning—which I glanced at, my precious, before you -came <span class="nw">down——</span> How do you like “My precious”?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Wonderfully life-like. Are you sure you -haven’t been married before?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Only once. Eustasia. You had not forgotten, -Eustasia?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I am afraid I had. In fact, I had forgotten -for the moment that you were being Leonard.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>bowing</i>). Thank you. I could wish no -better compliment.</p> - -<p><a name="png.144" id="png.144" href="#png.144"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>130<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>laughing in spite of herself</i>). Oh, you’re too -absurd.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>in</i> <span class="role">LEONARD’S</span> <i>manner</i>). Of course I don’t -wish to say anything against <span class="nw">Eustasia——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. My dear Leonard, I really think we might -leave your first wife out of it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Yes, you want to get that off pat. You’ll -have to say that a good deal, I expect. Well, to -resume. I am sorry to see in the paper this morning -that Beelzebub, upon whom I laid my shirt for the -2.30 race at Newmarket yesterday—and incidentally -your shirt too, darling—came in last, some five minutes -after the others had finished the course.... Tut, -tut, how annoying!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Oh, my poor darling!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. The word “poor” is well chosen. We are -ruined. I shall have to work.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. You know what I <em>want</em> you to do, Leonard?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. No, I have forgotten.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>seriously</i>). I should like to see you in the -House of Lords, taking your rightful place as a leader -of men, making great speeches.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. My dear Anne! I may be a peer, but I -am not a dashed politician.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>wistfully</i>). I wish you were, Leonard.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I will be anything you like, Anne. (<i>He -leans towards her, half-serious, half-mocking.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>with a little laugh</i>). How absurd you are! -Some more coffee?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>passing his cup</i>). To which I answer, “A -little more milk.” Do you realise that this goes on for -fifty years?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Well, and why not?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Fifty years. A solemn thought. But do -not let it mar our pleasure in the meal that we are -<a name="png.145" id="png.145" href="#png.145"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>131<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>having together now. Let us continue to talk gaily -together. Tell me of any interesting dream you may -have had last night—any little adventure that befell -you in the bath—any bright thought that occurred to -you as you were dressing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>thoughtfully</i>). I had a very odd dream last -night.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I am longing to hear it, my love.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I dreamt that you and I were running away -together, Leonard, and that we lost our way and came -to what we thought was an hotel. But it was not an -hotel. It was a very mysterious house, kept by a very -mysterious man called Mr. Latimer.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. How very odd. Latimer? Latimer? No, -I don’t seem to have heard of the fellow.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. He told us that we were his prisoners. That -we must stay in his house a week before we went on -our way again. That all the doors were locked, and -there were high walls round the garden, that the gates -from the garden were locked, so that we could not -escape, and that we must wait a week together in his -house to see if we were really suited to each other.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. My dear, what an extraordinary dream!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. It <em>was</em> only a dream, wasn’t it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Of course! What is there mysterious -about this house? What is there mysterious about -this—er—Mr. Latimer? And as for any one being -kept prisoner—here—in this respectable England—why!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. It is absurd, isn’t it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Quite ridiculous.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>getting up—now she will show him</i>). I thought -it was. (<i>She goes to the front door and turns the handle. -To her surprise the door opens. But</i> <span class="role">MR. LATIMER</span> <i>mustn’t -know that she is surprised</i>.) You see, I thought it was! -<a name="png.146" id="png.146" href="#png.146"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>132<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>(<i>She steps out into the garden.</i>) You see, the gates are -open too! (<i>She comes back.</i>) What an absurd dream -to have had! (<i>She sits down again.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. There’s no accounting for dreams. I had -an absurd one too last night.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. What was it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. A lonely house. Father and daughter -living together. Father old, selfish, absorbed in his -work. Daughter left to herself; her only companion, -books; knowing nothing of the world. A man comes -into her life—the first. He makes much of her. It is -a new experience for the daughter. She is grateful -to him, so grateful, so very proud that she means anything -to him. He tells her when it is too late that he -is married; talks of an impossible wife; tells her that -she is his real mate. Let her come with him and see -something of the world which she has never known. -She comes.... Dear me, what silly things one -dreams!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Absurd things.... (<i>So he knows! He knows -all about it! But she will not be treated as a child. She -will carry it off yet.</i>) When can we have the car? (<i>Now -she is carrying it off.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. The car?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Leonard’s car.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. You wish to continue the adventure?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Why not?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Dear, dear! What a pity! (<i>Looking at -his watch.</i>) In twenty-five minutes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. That will do nicely, thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. We must let Leonard have a little breakfast -first, if he is to cross the Channel to-day. (<i>He -gets up.</i>) In twenty-five minutes then.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>half holding out her hand</i>). I shall see you -again?</p> - -<p><a name="png.147" id="png.147" href="#png.147"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>133<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>bending over it</i>). If only to wish you Godspeed.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>She looks at him for a moment, and then turns and -goes out. He picks up his paper and settles -with it in an arm-chair, his back to the breakfast-table.</i> -<span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>comes in. He is in a dirty, -rather disreputable, once white, bath-gown. His -hair is unbrushed, his cheeks—the cheeks of -a dark man—unshaved and blue. He has -a horrible pair of bedroom slippers on his -feet, above which, not only his socks, but almost -a hint of pantaloons, may be seen on the way -to the dressing-gown. He comes in nervously, -and is greatly relieved to find that the breakfast-table -is empty. He does not notice</i> <span class="role">MR. LATIMER</span>. -<i>On his way to the table he stops at a mirror -on the wall, and standing in front of it, tries -to persuade himself that his chin is not so bad -after all. Then he pours himself out some coffee, -helps himself to a kipper and falls to ravenously.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Ah, good morning, Leonard.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>starting violently and turning round</i>). Good -Lord! I didn’t know you were there.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. You were so hungry.... I trust you -slept well.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Slept well! Of all the damned draughty -<span class="nw">rooms——</span> Yes, and what about my luggage?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>surprised</i>). Your luggage?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Yes, never put on the car, your fellow, -what’s ’is name—Joseph says.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Dear me, we must enquire into this. Lost -your luggage? Dear me, that’s a very unfortunate -start for a honeymoon. That means bad luck, Leonard. -(<span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>comes in.</i>) Dominic, what’s this about his -lordship’s luggage?</p> - -<p><a name="png.148" id="png.148" href="#png.148"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>134<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Joseph tells me there must have been -some misunderstanding about it, sir. A little carelessness -on the part of somebody, I imagine, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Dear me! Didn’t it come with him?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. I’m afraid not, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Tut, tut, how careless of somebody! -Thank you, Dominic.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Thank you, sir.</p> <p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Lost your luggage. How excessively -annoying! (<i>Anxiously</i>) My dear Leonard, what is it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>whose face has been shaping for it for some -seconds</i>) A-tish-oo!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. At any rate I can find you a handkerchief. -(<i>He does so.</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>takes it just in time, and sneezes -violently again.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Not at all. That’s a very nasty cold -you’ve got. How wise of you to have kept on a dressing-gown.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. The only thing I had to put on.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. But surely you were travelling in a suit -yesterday? I seem to remember a brown suit.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. That fool of a man of <span class="nw">yours——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>distressed</i>). You don’t mean to tell <span class="nw">me——</span> -(<span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>comes in.</i>) Dominic, what’s this about his -lordship’s brown suit?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Owing to a regrettable misunderstanding, -sir, his lordship’s <span class="nw">luggage——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Yes, but I’m not talking about his twenty-five -other suits, I mean the nice brown suit that he -was wearing yesterday. It must be somewhere. I -remember noticing it. I <span class="nw">remember——</span> (<i>He holds -up his hand</i>) Just a moment, <span class="nw">Dominic——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. A-tish-oo!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I remember saying to myself, “What a -<a name="png.149" id="png.149" href="#png.149"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>135<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>nice brown suit Leonard is wearing.” Well, where is -it, Dominic?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir. I seem to remember the suit -to which you are referring. I regret to say that Joseph -had an unfortunate accident with it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>growling</i>). Damned carelessness.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Joseph was bringing back the clothes -after brushing them, sir, and happened to have them -in his arms while bending over the bath in order to -test the temperature of the water for his lordship. A -little surprised by the unexpected heat of the water, -Joseph relinquished the clothes for a moment, and -precipitated them into the bath.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Dear me, how extremely careless of -Joseph!</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir, I have already reprimanded -him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. The fellow ought to be shot.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. You’re quite right, Leonard. Dominic, -shoot Joseph this morning.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. And see that his lordship’s suit is dried -as soon as possible.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir. It is being dried now, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. But it must be dried thoroughly, Dominic. -His lordship has a nasty cold, <span class="nw">and——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. A-tish-oo!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. A very nasty one. I’m afraid you are -subject to colds, Leonard?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. The first one I’ve ever had in my life.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Do you hear that, Dominic? The first -one he’s ever had in his life.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir. If you remember, sir, -Mr. Nicholas, and one or two other gentlemen who have -slept there, caught a very nasty cold. Almost looks -<a name="png.150" id="png.150" href="#png.150"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>136<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>as if there must be something the matter with the -room.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Damned draughtiest <span class="nw">room——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Dear me! You should have told me of -this before. We must have the room seen to at once. -And be sure that his lordship has a different room -to-night.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir; thank you, sir.</p> <p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>sympathetically</i>). My dear fellow, I am -distressed beyond words. But you know the saying, -“Feed a cold, starve a fever.” You must eat, you -must eat. (<i>He pushes all the dishes round Leonard.</i>) -We must be firm with this cold. We must suffocate -it. (<i>Pressing more dishes upon him.</i>) You were quite -right not to shave. The protection offered by the -beard, though small, is salutary. But I was forgetting—perhaps -your razor is lost too?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Damned careless fellows!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I must lend you mine.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>feeling his chin</i>). I say, I wish you would.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I will get it at once. Meanwhile, eat. -No half measures with this cold of yours. My poor -fellow!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>He hurries out. Just as</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>is getting busy -with his breakfast again</i>, <span class="role">ANNE</span> <i>comes in</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Leonard, my dear! (<i>She observes him more -thoroughly</i>) My <em>dear</em> Leonard!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>his mouth full</i>). G’morning, Anne.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>coldly</i>). Good morning.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>getting up, napkin in hand</i>). How are you -this morning? (<i>He comes towards her, wiping his mouth.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. No, please go on with your breakfast. (<i>In -alarm</i>) What is it?</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>His face assumes an agonized expression. He -sneezes.</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span> <i>shudders</i>.)</p> - -<p><a name="png.151" id="png.151" href="#png.151"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>137<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LEONARD</span>. Got a nasty cold. Can’t understand it. -First I’ve ever had in my life.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Do you sneeze like that much?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Off and on.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Oh!... Hadn’t you better get on with -your breakfast?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Well, I will if you don’t mind. Good -thing for a cold, isn’t it? Eat a lot.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I really know very little about colds.... Do -get on with your breakfast.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>going back</i>). Well, I will, if you don’t mind. -You had yours?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. That’s right. (<i>Resuming it</i>) Did you have -one of these kippers?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. No.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Ah! A pity. I will say that for Latimer’s -cook. She knows how to do a kipper. Much more -difficult than people think.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I really know very little about kippers.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I have often wondered why somebody -doesn’t invent one without bones. (<i>He takes a mouthful.</i>) -Seeing what science can do <span class="nw">nowadays——</span> (<i>He stops.</i> -<span class="role">ANNE’S</span> <i>eye is on him. He says nothing, but waves his -hand for her to look the other way.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. What is it? (<i>He frowns fiercely and continues -to wave. She turns away coldly.</i>) I beg your pardon. -(<i>He removes a mouthful of bones.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>cheerfully</i>). Right oh, darling.... After -all, what do they <em>want</em> all these bones for? Other -fish manage without them. (<i>He continues his kipper.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Leonard, when you can spare me a moment -I should like to speak to you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>eating</i>). My darling, all my time is -yours.</p> - -<p><a name="png.152" id="png.152" href="#png.152"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>138<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ANNE</span>. I should like your undivided attention if I -can have it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Fire away, darling, I’m listening.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>going up to him</i>). Have you finished your—kipper? -(<i>She takes the plate away</i>) What are you going -to have next?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Well—what do you recommend?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>taking off a cover</i>). Omelette? I don’t think -it has any bones.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. What’s in that other dish? (<i>She takes -off the cover.</i>) Kidneys? What are the kidneys like?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Well, you can see what they <em>look</em> like.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Did you try one?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>impatiently</i>). They’re delightful, I tried several. -(<i>She helps him</i>) There! Got the toast? Butter? -Salt? What is it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Pepper.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Pepper—there. Now have you got everything?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Yes, thank you, my dear. (<i>He picks up -his knife and fork.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>putting them down again</i>). Then before you -actually begin, I have something I want to say to you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. You’re very mysterious. What is it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. There is nothing mysterious about it at all. -It’s perfectly plain and obvious. Only I do want you -to grasp it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Well? (<i>He blows his nose. She waits -for him to finish.</i>) Well? (<i>He is still flourishing his -handkerchief. She waits patiently. He puts it back in -his pocket.</i>) Well?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. The car will be here in a quarter of an hour.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. The car?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. The automobile.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. But whose?</p> - -<p><a name="png.153" id="png.153" href="#png.153"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>139<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ANNE</span>. Ours. More accurately, yours.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. But what for?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>patiently</i>). We are running away together, -dear. You and I. It had slipped your memory perhaps, -but I assure you it is a fact. The car will take us to -Dover, and the boat will take us to Calais, and the -train will take us to the South of France. You and I, -dear. When you’ve finished your breakfast.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. But what about Latimer?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Just you and I, dear. Two of us only. The -usual number. We shall not take Mr. Latimer.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. My dear Anne, you seem quite to have -forgotten that this confounded fellow Latimer has got -us prisoners here until he chooses to let us go. (<i>With -dignity</i>) <em>I</em> have not forgotten. I eat his kidneys now, -but he shall hear from me afterwards. Damned -interference!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Have you been dreaming, Leonard? <em>Before</em> -all these kippers and kidneys and things?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Dreaming?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. The car will be here in a quarter of an hour. -Why not? It is <em>your</em> car. This is England; this is -the twentieth century. We missed the boat and spent -the night here. We go on our way this morning. Why -not?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Well, you know, I said last night it was -perfectly ridiculous for Latimer to talk that way. I -mean, what has it got to do with <em>him</em>? Just a bit of -leg-pulling—that’s what I felt all the time. Stupid -joke. (<i>Picking up his knife and fork</i>) Bad taste too.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. You did hear what I said, didn’t you? The -car will be here in a quarter of an hour. I don’t know -how long it takes you to—(<i>she glances him over</i>) to -shave, and—and dress properly, and—and brush your -hair, but I fancy you ought to be thinking about it -<a name="png.154" id="png.154" href="#png.154"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>140<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>quite seriously. (<i>Kindly</i>) You can have some more -kidneys another time.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. B-but I can’t possibly go like this.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. No, that’s what I say.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I mean I haven’t got any luggage for one -thing—and, with a cold like this, I’m not at all <span class="nw">sure——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. You’ve lost your luggage?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Apparently it was left behind <span class="nw">by——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>with anger</i>). You let yourself be tricked and -humiliated by this Mr. Latimer, you let <em>me</em> be humiliated, -and then when I say that, whatever happens, -I won’t be humiliated, you—you lose your luggage!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. <em>I</em> didn’t lose it. It just happens to <em>be</em> lost.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. And you catch a cold!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. <em>I</em> didn’t catch it. It caught <em>me</em>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. The—the humiliation of it!... And what -do you propose to do now?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. As soon as my luggage turns up, and I -am well enough to <span class="nw">travel——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Meanwhile you accept this man’s <span class="nw">hospitality——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Under protest. (<i>Helping himself from the -dish.</i>) I shall keep a careful account of everything -that we have <span class="nw">here——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Well, that’s your third kidney; you’d better -make a note of it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>with dignity</i>). As it happens I was helping -myself to a trifle more bacon.... As I say, I shall -keep a careful account, and send him a cheque for -our board and lodging as soon as we have left his roof.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Oh!... I had some coffee and one slice -of toast and a little marmalade. About a spoonful. -And a cup of tea and two thin slices of bread and butter -upstairs. Oh, and I’ve had two baths. They’re -extra, aren’t they? A hot one last night and a cold -<a name="png.155" id="png.155" href="#png.155"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>141<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>one this morning. I think that’s all. Except supper -last night, and you wouldn’t let me finish that, so I -expect there’ll be a reduction.... You want a note-book -with one of those little pencils in it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>reproachfully</i>). I say, Anne, look <span class="nw">here——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Do go on with your breakfast.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. You’re being awfully unfair. How can -we possibly go now? Why, I haven’t even got a pair -of trousers to put on.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. You’re not going to say you’ve lost those too!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>sulkily</i>). It’s not my fault. That fellow—What’s -’is <span class="nw">name——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>wonderingly</i>). What made you ever <em>think</em> -that you could take anybody to the South of France? -Without any practice at all?... Now, if you had -been taking an aunt to Hammersmith—well, you might -have lost a bus or two ... and your hat might have -blown off ... and you would probably have found -yourselves at Hampstead the first two or three times -... and your aunt would have stood up the whole way -... but still you might have got there eventually. -I mean, it would be worth trying—if your aunt was -very anxious to get to Hammersmith. But the South -of France! My dear Leonard! It’s so audacious of you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>annoyed</i>). Now, look here, <span class="nw">Anne——</span></p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">MR. LATIMER</span> <i>comes in cheerily with shaving-pot, -brush, safety-razor, and towel</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Now then, Leonard, we’ll soon have you -all right. (<i>He puts the things down.</i>) Ah, Anne! -You don’t mind waiting while Leonard has a shave? -He wanted to grow a special beard for the Continent, -but I persuaded him not to. The French accent will -be quite enough. (<i>Picking up the razor</i>) Do you mind -Wednesday’s blade? I used Tuesday’s myself this -morning.</p> - -<p><a name="png.156" id="png.156" href="#png.156"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>142<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>all sweetness in a moment</i>). Oh, Mr. Latimer, I -find that we shall not want the car after all.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. No?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. No. Poor Leonard is hardly well enough to -travel. I hope that by to-morrow, <span class="nw">perhaps——</span> But I -am afraid that we must trespass on your hospitality -until then. I am so sorry.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. But I am charmed to have you. Let me -tell your maid to unpack.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Don’t trouble, thanks. I’ve got to take my -hat off. (<i>Very lovingly for</i> <span class="role">LATIMER’S</span> <i>benefit</i>) I shan’t -be a moment, Leonard darling.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>She goes out, her chin in the air. She is still -carrying it off.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Now then, Leonard darling, to work.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>picking up the things</i>). Thanks.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. But where are you going?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Upstairs, of course.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Is that wise? With a cold like yours?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Damn it, I can’t shave down here.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Oh, come, we mustn’t stand on ceremony -when your life is at stake. You were complaining -only five minutes ago of the draught in your room. -Now, here we have a nice even <span class="nw">temperature——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Well, there’s something in that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. There’s everything in it. Of course you’ve -never had a cold before, so you don’t know, but any -doctor will tell you how important it is to stay in one -room—with a nice even temperature. You mustn’t -dream of going upstairs.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>surrendering</i>). <span class="nw">Well——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. That’s right. Got everything you want? -There are plenty of mirrors. Which period do you -prefer? Queen Anne?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. It’s all right, thanks.</p> - -<p><a name="png.157" id="png.157" href="#png.157"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>143<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LATIMER</span>. Good. Then I’ll leave you to it.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>He goes out. Standing in front of a glass on -the wall,</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>applies the soap. His -cheeks are just getting beautifully creamy when</i> -<span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> <i>enters.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Hallo!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>looking round</i>). Hallo!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Shaving?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>exasperated</i>). Well, what the devil did you -think I was doing?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Shaving. (<i>He sits down.</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>gets -on with the good work.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. A-tish-oo!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Got a cold?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Obviously.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>sympathetically</i>). Horrid, sneezing when -you’re all covered with soap.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Look here, I didn’t ask for your company, -and I don’t want your comments.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Well, if it comes to that, I was here first, -and I didn’t ask you to shave in the hall.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>with dignity</i>). There are reasons why it -is necessary for me to shave in the hall.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Don’t bother to tell me. I know ’em.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. What do you mean?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. You’re the couple that arrived last night.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>looking at him, thoughtfully</i>). And you’re -the couple that is leaving this morning.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Exactly.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Yes, but I don’t <span class="nw">see——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. You haven’t tumbled to it yet?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Tumbled to what?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. The fact that a week ago there were -reasons why it was necessary for <em>me</em> to shave in the hall.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. You!... You don’t <span class="nw">mean——</span></p> - -<p><a name="png.158" id="png.158" href="#png.158"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>144<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Yes, I do.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. You lost your luggage?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. You woke up with a cold?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Yes.... Horrid, sneezing when you’re -all covered with soap.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>excitedly</i>). I say, that fellow—what’s ’is -name—didn’t drop <em>your</em> clothes in the bath?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Oh, rather.... Damned smart chap, -Latimer.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Damned scoundrel.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Oh no. He’s quite right. One learns a -lot down here.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I shall leave his house at once ... as -soon as I have shaved.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. You still want to? (<span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>looks at -him in surprise</i>) Oh, well, you’ve hardly been here long -enough, I suppose.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. What do you mean? Don’t <em>you</em> want to -any more?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Latimer’s quite right, you know. One -learns a lot down here.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>shaving</i>). What about the lady?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. That’s the devil of it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. My dear fellow, as a man of honour, -you’re bound to go on.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. As a man of honour, ought I ever to have -started?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>little knowing</i>). Naturally I can’t give an -opinion on that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. No.... You want to be careful with -that glass. The light isn’t too good. I should go -over it all again.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>stiffly</i>). Thank you. I am accustomed to -shaving myself.</p> - -<p><a name="png.159" id="png.159" href="#png.159"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>145<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I was just offering a little expert advice. -You needn’t take it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>surveying himself doubtfully</i>). H’m, perhaps -you’re right. (<i>He lathers himself again. In the middle -of it he stops and says</i>) Curious creatures, women.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Amazing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. It’s a life’s work in itself trying to understand -’em. And then you’re no further.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. A week told <em>me</em> all I wanted to know.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. They’re so unexpected.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. So unreasonable.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. What was it the poet said about them?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. What didn’t he say?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. No, <em>you</em> know the one I mean. How -does it begin?... “O woman, in our hours of -<span class="nw">ease——</span>”</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. “Uncertain, coy and hard to please.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. That’s it. Well, I grant you <span class="nw"><em>that</em>——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Grant it me! I should think you do! -They throw it at you with both hands.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. But in the next two lines he misses the -point altogether. When—what is it?—“When pain -and anguish wring the <span class="nw">brow——”</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>with feeling</i>). “A ministering angel thou.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Yes, and it’s a lie. It’s simply a lie.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. My dear fellow, it’s the truest thing anybody -ever said. Only—only one gets too much of it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. True? Nonsense!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Evidently you don’t know anything about -women.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>indignantly</i>). <em>I!</em> Not know anything about -women!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Well, you said yourself just now that -you didn’t.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I never <span class="nw">said——</span> What I <span class="nw">said——</span></p> - -<p><a name="png.160" id="png.160" href="#png.160"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>146<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. If you did know anything about ’em, -you’d know that there’s nothing they like more than -doing the ministering angel business.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Ministering angel!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Won’t you have a little more of this, -and won’t you have a little more of that, and how is -the poor cold to-day, <span class="nw">and——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. You really think that women talk like that?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. How else do you think they talk?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. My dear fellow!... Why, I mean, -just take my own case as an example. Here am I, -with a very nasty cold, the first I’ve ever had in my -life. I sit down for a bit of breakfast—not wanting -it particularly, but feeling that, for the sake of my -health, I ought to try and eat something. And what -happens?</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">LATIMER</span> <i>has come in during this speech. He -stops and listens to it.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>trying to guess the answer</i>). You eat too much.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>turning round angrily</i>). Ah, so it’s you! -You have come just in time, Mr. Latimer. I propose -to leave your house at once.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>surprised</i>). Not like that? Not with a -little bit of soap behind the ear? (<span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>hastily -wipes it</i>.) The other ear. (<span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>wipes that one</i>) -That’s right.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. At once, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. You’d better come with us. We’re just -going.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Four of you. A nice little party.</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><span class="role">ANNE</span> <i>comes in</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Anne, my dear, we are leaving the house -at once. Are you ready?</p> - -<p><a name="png.161" id="png.161" href="#png.161"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>147<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ANNE</span>. <span class="nw">But——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>from outside</i>). Nich-o-las!</p> - -<p class="rt">(<span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>looks up in astonishment</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>gloomily</i>). Hallo!</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Where are you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Here!</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> <i>comes in</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Are you ready, darling? (<i>She stops on -seeing them all, and looks from one to the other. She -sees her husband</i>) Leonard!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>understanding</i>). Leonard!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Eustasia!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Eustasia!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>They stare at each other—open-mouthed—all but</i> -<span class="role">MR. LATIMER</span>. <span class="role">MR. LATIMER</span> <i>has picked up -“The Times,” and seems to have forgotten -that they are there</i>....)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>after hours and hours</i>). Oh, isn’t anybody -going to say anything? Mr. Latimer, while Leonard is -thinking of something, you might introduce me to his -wife.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>recalled suddenly from the leading article</i>). -I beg your pardon! Eustasia, this is Anne.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. How do you do? (<i>Not that she minds.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. How do you do? (<i>Nor she.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Leonard, this is Nicholas.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>nodding</i>). We’ve met. Quite old friends.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>indignantly</i>). I repudiate the friendship. -We met under false pretences. I—I—Well, upon my -word, I don’t know <em>what</em> to say.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Then don’t say it, old boy. Here we all -are, and we’ve got to make the best of it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I—I—<em>a-tish-oo!</em></p> - -<p><a name="png.162" id="png.162" href="#png.162"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>148<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>alarmed</i>). Leonard, you have a cold?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. A very nasty cold.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>coldly</i>). It will be better when he has finished -his breakfast.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>hurt</i>). I <em>have</em> finished my breakfast. A -long time ago.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I beg your pardon. (<i>She indicates the towel -round his neck</i>) I misunderstood.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>pulling it away</i>). I’ve been shaving.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. But, Leonard dear, I don’t understand. -I’ve never known you ill before.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I never have been ill before. But I am -ill now. Very ill. And nobody minds. Nobody minds -at all. This fellow Latimer invaygles me here—</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Inveegles.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I shall pronounce it how I like. It is -quite time I asserted myself. I have been too patient. -You invaygle me here and purposely give me a cold. -You—(<i>pointing accusingly to</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>)—are entirely unmoved -by my sufferings, instead of which you make -fun of the very simple breakfast which I had forced -myself to eat. You—(<i>to</i> <span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>)—run away with my -wife, at a time when I am ill and unable to protect -her, and you—(<i>to</i> <span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>)—well, all I can say is that -you surprise me, Eustasia, you surprise me. I didn’t -think you had it in you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. A masterly summing up of the case. -Well, I hope you’re all ashamed of yourselves.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. But, Leonard, how rash of you to <em>think</em> -of running away with a cold like this. (<i>She goes up -and comforts him</i>) You must take care of yourself—Eustasia -will take care of you and get you well. Poor -boy! He had a nasty, nasty cold, and nobody looked -after him. Mr. Latimer, I shall want some mustard, -and hot water, and eucalyptus.</p> - -<p><a name="png.163" id="png.163" href="#png.163"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>149<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LATIMER</span>. But of course!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>). There you are! As soon as -somebody who really understands illness comes on -the scene, you see what happens. Mustard, hot water, -eucalyptus—she has it all at her finger-ends.</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><i>Enter</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. A small mustard and water for his lordship.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. It’s to put his feet in, not to drink.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. A large mustard and water.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Hot water.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, my lady.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. And if you have any <span class="nw">eucalyptus——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, my lady; we got some in specially -for his lordship.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Did Mr. Nicholas absorb all the last bottle?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>with feeling</i>). I fairly lived on it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>). Is there anything else his -lordship will require?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. What about a mustard-plaster?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Please mind your own business.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. No, I don’t think there’s anything else, -thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Well, I call that very unfair. I had -one.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>asserting his rights as a husband</i>). Oh, did -you? Well, in that case, Eustasia, I certainly don’t -see <span class="nw">why——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC</span>). Two mustard-plasters. We -mustn’t grudge his lordship anything.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir. </p><p class="rt">[<i>He retires.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>). Now come over here, darling, -<a name="png.164" id="png.164" href="#png.164"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>150<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>away from the door. (<i>She leads him to an arm-chair -in the corner of the room</i>) Lean on me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Surely one can walk with a cold in the -head!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. No, it’s very dangerous.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Nicholas speaks as an expert.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>settling</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>). There! Is that comfy?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Thank you, Eustasia.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. We’ll soon have you all right, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>pressing her hand</i>). Thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>after a little silence</i>). Well, as Nicholas said -just now, “Here we all are, and we’ve got to make -the best of it.” What are we all going to do?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Please leave me out of it. (<i>She is beaten, but -that doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters now is -to get out of this horrible house.</i>) I can make my own -arrangements. (<i>She gives them a cool little bow as she -goes out.</i>) If you will excuse me.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>comes in with a clinical thermometer on -a tray</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. I thought that her ladyship might require -a thermometer for his lordship’s temperature.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Thank you. I think it would be safer -just to take it. And I wondered if we couldn’t just -put this screen round his lordship’s chair.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Certainly, my lady, one can’t be too careful.<!-- punctuation invisible --> -(<i>He helps her with it.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Yes, that’s right.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>). Did <em>you</em> have the screen?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Oh, rather.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. And the thermometer?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Yes.... Funny thing was I liked it -just at first. I don’t mean the actual thermometer, -I mean all the fussing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. It’s a wonderful invention, a cold in the -<a name="png.165" id="png.165" href="#png.165"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>151<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>head. It finds you out. There’s nothing like it, -Nicholas, nothing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC</span>). Thank you. And you’re -bringing the other things?</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, my lady, as soon as ready.</p> - -<p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Thank you. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>) Now, dear, -under the tongue. (<i>She puts it in his mouth.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>mumbling</i>). I don’t think I <span class="nw">ever——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. No, dear, don’t try to talk.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>And now it is the turn of</i> <span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>coming close to</i> <span class="role">LATIMER</span>). I <span class="nw">say——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Well?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>indicating the screen</i>). I say, not too loud.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>in a whisper</i>). Well?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Well, what about it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. What about what?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I mean, where do I come in? As a man -of honour, oughtn’t I to—<span class="nw">er——</span> You see what I -mean? Of course I want to do the right thing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Naturally, my dear Nicholas. It’s what -one expected of you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I thought that if I slipped away now, -unostentatiously....</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. With just a parting word of <span class="nw">farewell——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Well, that was what I was wondering. -Would anything in the nature of a farewell be in good -taste?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I see your point.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Don’t think that I’m not just as devoted -to Eustasia as ever I was.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. But you feel that in the circumstances you -could worship her from afar with more propriety.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>waving a hand at the screen</i>). Yes. You -see, I had no idea that they were so devoted.</p> - -<p><a name="png.166" id="png.166" href="#png.166"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>152<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LATIMER</span>. But their devotion may not last for ever.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Exactly. That’s why I thought I’d slip -away now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Oh, Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>a little offended</i>). Well, I don’t want to -say anything against <span class="nw">Eustasia——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. The house is full of people who don’t want -to say anything against Eustasia.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. But, you <span class="nw">see——</span>Look out, here’s Miss -Anne.</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><span class="role">ANNE</span> <i>comes in</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Anne, you’re just in time. Nicholas wants -your advice.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I say, shut up! We can’t very <span class="nw">well——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>with all that is left of her dignity, but she is only -a child after all</i>). Mr. Latimer, I went upstairs to get -my things and find my way to the nearest railway -station. But—but there is a reason why I am not -going after all. Just yet. I thought I’d better tell you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Were you really thinking of going? (<i>She -nods.</i>) I’m so glad you’ve changed your mind.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>with a smile</i>). There are reasons why I had to.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Bless them!... Nicholas, I believe she -stayed just so that she might help you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. What does Mr. Nicholas want?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I say, it’s awfully good of you and all -that, but this is rather—I mean, it’s a question that a -fellow ought to settle for himself.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. What he means is, ought <em>he</em> to get his -things and find his way to the nearest railway station?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>dismayed</i>). Oh no!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. There you are, Nicholas.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>rather flattered</i>). Oh, well—<span class="nw">well——</span> (<i>He -looks at her admiringly</i>) Well, perhaps you’re right.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>the three minutes up</i>). There! (<i>She takes -<a name="png.167" id="png.167" href="#png.167"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>153<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>the thermometer out and comes from behind the screen in -order to get nearer the light.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. His temperature! This is an exciting -moment in the history of the House of Lords. (<i>He -follows</i> <span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> <i>to the window</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>). I say, do you really think I -ought to stay?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Please, Mr. Nicholas, I want you to stay.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Righto! then I’ll stay.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>over</i> <span class="role">EUSTASIA’S</span> <i>shoulder</i>). A hundred and -nine.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>putting his head round the screen</i>). I say, -what ought it to be?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Ninety-eight.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Good Lord! I’m dying!</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. It’s just ninety-nine. A little over normal, -Leonard, but nothing to matter.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. <em>Ninety</em>-nine—so it is. I should never have -forgiven myself if it had been a hundred and nine.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>coming up to</i> <span class="role">LATIMER</span>). It’s all right, I’m -going to.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>surprised</i>). Going to? Going to what?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>confused</i>). Oh, nothing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. What he means is that he is going to be -firm. He thinks we all ought to have a little talk about -things. Just to see where we are.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Well, things aren’t quite as they were, -are they? If I’d known that Leonard was ill—but I’ve -seen so little of him lately. And he’s <em>never</em> been ill -before!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Of course we ought to know where we are.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Yes. At present Leonard is behind that -screen, which makes it difficult to discuss things properly. -Leonard, could <span class="nw">you——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Oh, we mustn’t take any risks! But if -<a name="png.168" id="png.168" href="#png.168"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>154<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>we moved the screen a little, and all sat up at that end -of the <span class="nw">room——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Delightful!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>leading the way</i>). Sit here, Miss Anne, -won’t you?</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>They arrange themselves.</i> <span class="role">LATIMER</span> <i>in the middle</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. There! Now, are we all here?... We -are. Then with your permission, Ladies and Gentlemen, -I will open the proceedings with a short speech.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Oh, I say, must you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Certainly.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>). Hush, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I didn’t say anything.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. No, but you were just going to.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>severely</i>). Seeing that I refrained from -making my speech when Leonard had the thermometer -in his mouth, the least he can do now is to listen in -silence.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Well, <span class="nw">I’m——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I resume.... By a fortunate concatenation -of circumstances, ladies and gentlemen—or, as -more illiterate men would say, by a bit of luck—two -runaway couples have met under my roof. No need -to mention names. You can all guess for yourselves. -But I call now—this is the end of my speech, Leonard—I -call now upon my noble friend on the right to tell -us just why he left the devoted wife by his side in -order to travel upon the Continent.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Well, <span class="nw">really——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Naturally Leonard does not wish to say -anything against Eustasia. Very creditable to him. -But can it be that the devoted wife by his side wishes -to say anything against Leonard?</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. You neglected me, Leonard, you know -you did. And when I was so <span class="nw">ill——</span></p> - -<p><a name="png.169" id="png.169" href="#png.169"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>155<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LEONARD</span>. My dear, you were <em>always</em> ill. That was -the trouble.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. And you were never ill, Leonard. <em>That</em> -was the trouble.... You heartless ruffian!</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>). Hush, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Why couldn’t you have had a cold sometimes? -Why couldn’t you have come home with a -broken leg, or lost your money, or made a rotten speech -in the House of Lords? If she could never be sorry -for <em>you</em>, for whom else could she be sorry, except herself? -(<i>To</i> <span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>) I don’t suppose he even lost his -umbrella, did he?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>feeling that anything is possible to a man who -mislays his trousers</i>). Oh, he must have lost that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Eustasia, ladies and gentlemen, is one of -those dear women, those sweet women, those delightful -women—(<i>aside to</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>)—stop me if I’m overdoing -it—those adorable women who must always cosset or -be cosseted. She couldn’t cosset Leonard; Leonard -wouldn’t cosset her. Hence—the Dover Road.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. How well you understand, Mr. Latimer!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Enter, then, my friend Nicholas. (<i>Shaking -his head at him</i>) Oh, Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas! Oh, -Nicholas!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>uneasily</i>). What’s all that about?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Anything you say will be used in evidence -against you. Proceed, my young friend.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Well—well—well—I mean, there she was.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Lonely.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Exactly.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Neglected by her brute of a husband—(<i>As</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>opens his mouth</i>) fingers crossed, Leonard—who -spent day and night rioting in the House of Lords -while his poor little wife cried at home.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. <span class="nw">Well——</span></p> - -<p><a name="png.170" id="png.170" href="#png.170"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>156<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LATIMER</span>. Then out spake bold Sir Nicholas—(<i>Aside -to</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>) This was also composed in my bath—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div>Then out spake bold Sir Nicholas,</div> -<div class="i1"><span class="ns"> </span>An Oxford man was he;</div> -<div>“Lo, I will write a note to-night</div> -<div class="i1"><span class="ns"> </span>And ask her out to tea.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Well, you <span class="nw">see——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I see, Nicholas.... And so here we all are.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Except me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I guessed at you, Anne. Did I guess -right?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>meekly</i>). Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. And so here we all are.... And what -are we all going to do? My house is at your disposal -for as long as you wish. The doors are open for those -who wish to go.... Eustasia?</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. My duty is to stay here—to look after -my husband.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Well, that settles Eustasia.... Anne?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Of necessity I must stay here—for the present.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Well, that settles Anne.... Nicholas?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I stay here too—(<i>looking at</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>) from -choice.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Well, that settles Nicholas.... Leonard?</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">DOMINIC</span>, <i>followed by all the Staff, comes in, together -with a collection of mustard-baths, plasters, -eucalyptus, etc., etc.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>looking round at the interruption</i>). Ah!... -And this will settle Leonard.</p> - -<p class="grandentrance">(<i>It settles him.</i>)</p> - -</div> - - - -<div class="finalact"> -<h3 title="Act III">ACT III<a name="png.171" id="png.171" href="#png.171"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>157<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></h3> - - -<div class="scena"> -<p><i>Three days later, and evening again.</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span> <i>is busy with -a pencil and paper, an A.B.C., and her purse. She -is trying to work out how much it costs to go home, -and subtracting three and fourpence ha’penny from -it. Having done this, she puts the paper, pencil, -and purse in her bag, returns the A.B.C. to its home, -and goes towards the door. One gathers that she -has come to a decision.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>calling</i>). Nich-o-las!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>from outside</i>). Hallo!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Where—are—you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Coming. (<i>He comes.</i>) Just went upstairs -to get a pipe. (<i>Putting his hand to his pocket</i>) And now -I’ve forgotten it.</p> - -<p class="rt">(<i>They go to the sofa together.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Oh, Nicholas, how silly you are! (<i>She sits -down.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>sitting close</i>). I don’t want to smoke, you -know.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I thought men always did.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Well, it depends what they’re doing.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>There is no doubt what he is doing. He is making -love to</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>, <i>the dog, and</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span> <i>is encouraging -him</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>looking away</i>). Oh!</p> - -<p><a name="png.172" id="png.172" href="#png.172"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>158<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I say, it has been rather jolly here the -last three days, don’t you think?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. It <em>has</em> been rather nice.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. We’ve sort of got so friendly.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. We have, haven’t we?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. You’ve been awfully nice to me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. You’ve been nice to <em>me</em>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I should have gone, you know, if it hadn’t -been for you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I don’t know <em>what</em> I should have done if you -had gone.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. You did ask me to stay, didn’t you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Yes, I couldn’t let you go.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Do you know what you said? You said, -“Please, Mr. Nicholas, I want you to stay.” I shall -always remember that. (<i>Fatuously to himself</i>) “Please, -Mr. Nicholas, I want you to stay.” I wonder what made -you think of saying that?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I wanted us to be friends. I wanted to get -to know you; to make you think of me as—as your -friend.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. We <em>are</em> friends, Anne, aren’t we?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I think we are now, Nicholas.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>with a sentimental sigh</i>). Friends!</p> - -<p class="hang"> -(<span class="role">ANNE</span> <i>looks at him, wondering if she shall risk it; -then away again; then summons up her -courage and takes the plunge</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Nicholas!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Yes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>timidly</i>). I—I want you to do something for me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Anything, Anne, anything.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I don’t know whether I ought to ask you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Of course you ought!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. But you see, we <em>are</em> friends—almost like -brother and <span class="nw">sister——</span></p> - -<p><a name="png.173" id="png.173" href="#png.173"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>159<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>disappointed</i>). Well, I shouldn’t put it -quite like <span class="nw">that——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. And I thought I might ask <span class="nw">you——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Of course, Anne! You know I would do -anything for you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Yes.... Well—<span class="nw">well——</span> (<i>In a rush</i>) Well, -then, will you lend me one pound two and sixpence -till next Monday?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Lend <span class="nw">you——!</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. To-day’s Friday, I’ll send you the money off -on Sunday. I promise. Of course I know one oughtn’t -to borrow from men, but you’re different. Almost like -a brother. I knew you would understand.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. But—but—I <em>don’t</em> understand.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>ashamed</i>). You see, I—I only have three and -fourpence ha’penny. And it costs one pound five and -twopence to get home. (<i>Indignantly</i>) Oh, it’s a shame -the way men always pay for us, and then when we -really want money we haven’t got any.... But I -will pay you back on Sunday. I have some money at -home; I meant to have brought it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. But—but why do you <span class="nw">suddenly——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Suddenly? I’ve been wanting it ever since -that first morning. I went upstairs to get my hat, -meaning to walk straight out of the house—and then -I looked in my purse and found—(<i>pathetically</i>) three -and fourpence ha’penny. What was I to do?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Any one would have lent you anything.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>coldly</i>). Leonard, for instance?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>thoughtfully</i>). Well ... no.... No. -You couldn’t very well have touched Leonard. But -<span class="nw">Latimer——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Mr. Latimer! The man who had brought -us here, locked us up here, and started playing Providence -to us—I was to go on my knees to <em>him</em> and say, -<a name="png.174" id="png.174" href="#png.174"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>160<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>“Please, dear Mr. Latimer, could you lend me one -pound two and sixpence, so that I may run away from -your horrid house?” Really!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Well, you seem to have been pretty -friendly with him these three days.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Naturally I am polite to a man when I am -staying in his house. That’s different.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. As a matter of fact, Latimer has been -jolly decent. Anyway, he has saved us both from -making silly asses of ourselves.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. And you think I am grateful to him for -that?... Doesn’t <em>any</em> man understand <em>any</em> woman?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>annoyed</i>). Are you suggesting that <em>I</em> don’t -understand women?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I’m suggesting that you should lend me one -pound two shillings and sixpence.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>sulkily, feeling in his pockets</i>). Of course, -if you’re in such a confounded hurry to get away from -<span class="nw">here——</span> Do you mind all silver?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Not at all.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. In such a confounded hurry to get away -from <span class="nw">here——</span> (<i>He counts the money.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Why ever should I want to stay?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Well—<span class="nw">well——</span> (<i>With a despairing shrug</i>) -Oh, Lord!... Ten shillings ... fourteen and six -... why should she want to stay! Why do you -think <em>I’m</em> staying?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>wickedly</i>). Because you’re so fond of -Mr. Latimer. He’s so jolly decent.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>looking at the money in his hand</i>). One -pound two shillings and sixpence. I suppose if I told -you what I really thought about it all, you’d get on -your high horse again and refuse the money from <em>me</em>. -So I won’t tell you. Here you are.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>gently</i>). You didn’t think I was in love with -<a name="png.175" id="png.175" href="#png.175"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>161<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>you, Nicholas? (<span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> <i>looks uncomfortable</i>.) In -three days? Oh, Nicholas!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Well—well, I don’t <span class="nw">see——</span> (<i>He holds -out the money. But</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span> <i>won’t take it on those -terms</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. From a friend?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. From a friend.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Lent to a friend?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Lent to a friend.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>taking it</i>). Thank you, Nicholas. (<i>She hurries -out, clasping the precious money.</i> <span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> <i>will never see -her again.... And then, suddenly, her head comes round -the door</i>) Thank you very much, Nicholas! (<i>She is gone.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Well, I’m damned!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>He sits there gloomily, his legs stretched out, and -regards his shoes. So far as we can tell he -goes on saying, “Well, I’m damned” to -himself.</i> <span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>come in. He -is properly dressed now, but still under</i> -<span class="role">EUSTASIA’S</span> <i>care, and she has his arm, as if -he were attempting a very difficult feat in -walking across the hall</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>looking round</i>). Hallo! (<i>Getting up</i>) Do -you want to come here?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>hastily</i>). Don’t go, old boy, don’t go. -Plenty of room for us all.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Thank you so much. Leonard is not -very strong yet. His temperature is up again to-day. -(<i>To</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>) You will be better on the sofa, darling. -(<i>Distantly to</i> <span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>) I’m so sorry to trouble you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Not at all. I was just going anyhow.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>sitting on the sofa</i>). Oh, nonsense. Stay -and talk to us. Plenty of room for us all.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>feeling in his pockets</i>). Got to get my pipe. -Left it upstairs, like an ass.</p> - -<p><a name="png.176" id="png.176" href="#png.176"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>162<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>taking out his case</i>). Have a cigarette -instead?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Rather have a pipe, thanks. (<i>He makes -for the door.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>anxiously</i>). But you’ll come back?</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>unwillingly</i>). Oh—er—righto.</p> - -<p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Come and keep us company. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>, -<i>who is tucking him up</i>) Thanks, Eustasia, thanks. That’s -quite all right.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Another cushion for your back, darling?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. No, thanks.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Quite sure?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Quite sure, thanks.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. I can easily get it for you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>weakly</i>). Oh, very well.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. That’s right. (<i>Getting the cushion</i>) You -must be comfortable. Now, are you sure that’s all right?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Quite all right, thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Sure, darling? Anything else you want, -I can get it for you at once. A rug over your knees?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. No, thank you, Eustasia. (<i>Now <em>he</em> is saying -it</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. You wouldn’t like a hot-water bottle?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>with a sigh</i>). No, thank you, Eustasia.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. You’ve only got to say, you know. Now -shall we talk, or would you like me to read to you? -(<i>She settles down next to him.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>choosing the lesser evil</i>). I think read—no, -I mean, talk—no, read to me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. It’s for you to say, darling.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>his eyes closed</i>). Read to me, Eustasia.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>opening her book</i>). We’ll go on from where -we left off. We didn’t get very far—I marked the -place.... Yes, here we are. “... the sandy -<a name="png.177" id="png.177" href="#png.177"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>163<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>deserts of Arabia and Africa.... 4.” And then -there’s a little footnote at the bottom; that’s how I -remember it. (<i>Reading the footnote</i>) “Tacit. Annal. -l. ii., Dion Cassius l. lvi. p. 833, and the speech of -Augustus himself.” That doesn’t seem to mean much. -“It receives great light from the learned notes of his -French translator, M. Spanheim.” Well, that’s a good -thing. Spanheim—sounds more like a German, doesn’t -it? Now are you sure you’re quite comfortable, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>his eyes closed</i>). Yes, thank you, Eustasia.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Then I’ll begin. (<i>In her reading-aloud -voice</i>) “Happily for the repose of mankind, the moderate -system recommended by the wisdom of Augustus -was adopted by the fears and vices of his immediate -successors. Engaged in the pursuit of pleasure or the -exercise of tyranny, the first Caesars seldom showed -themselves to the armies or to the provinces; nor -were they disposed to suffer that those triumphs which -their indolence neglected should be usurped by the conduct -and valour of their lieutenants.” (<i>Speeding up</i>) -“The military fame of a subject was considered as an -insolent invasion of the Imperial prerogative; and it -became the duty as well as interest of every Roman -General to guard the frontiers entrusted to his care”—(<i>recklessly</i>) -“without aspiring for conquests which -might have proved no less fatal to himself than to the -vanquished barbarians.”... And then there’s another -little footnote. Perhaps it would be better if I read -all the little footnotes afterwards—what do you think, -darling? Or shall we take them as they come?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>without opening his eyes</i>). Yes, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Very well. This is footnote 5. “Germanicus, -Suetonius Paulinus and Agricola”—(<i>she -stumbles over the names</i>)—“were checked and recalled -in the course of their victories. Corbulo was put to -<a name="png.178" id="png.178" href="#png.178"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>164<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>death.” Oh, what a shame! “Military merit, as it is -admirably expressed by Tacitus, was, in the strictest -sense of the <span class="nw">word——”</span> well, there are <em>two</em> words, and -they are both in Latin. I suppose Tacitus wrote in -Latin. But it doesn’t really matter, because it’s only -a little footnote. (<i>Anxiously</i>) Are you liking the book, -darling?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Very much, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. It’s nicely written, but I don’t think it’s -very exciting. I don’t think Mr. Latimer has a very -good taste in books. I asked him to recommend me -something really interesting to read aloud, and he said -that the two most interesting books he knew were -Carlyle’s <cite>French Revolution</cite> and—and—(<i>looking at the -cover</i>) Gibbon’s <cite>Roman Empire</cite>.... Fancy, there are -four volumes of it and six hundred pages in a volume. -We’re at page 3 now. (<i>She reads a line or two to herself.</i>) -Oh, now, this is rather interesting, because it’s all -about <em>us</em>. “The only accession which the Roman -Empire received during the first century of the Christian -era was the province of Britain.” Fancy! “The -proximity of its situation to the coast of Gaul seemed -to invite their arms, the pleasing though doubtful -intelligence of a pearl fishery attracted their avarice.” -And then there’s a little footnote—I suppose that’s -to say it was Whitstable. (<i>Getting to it</i>) Oh no—“The -British pearls proved, however, of little value, on -account of their dark and livid colour.” How horrid. -“Tacitus <span class="nw">observes——”</span> well, then, Tacitus says -something again.... I <em>wish</em> he would write in English.... -Now where was I? Something about the pearls. -Oh yes. “After a war of about forty years”—good -gracious!—“undertaken by the most stupid, maintained -by the most dissolute, <span class="nw">and——”</span></p> - -<p class="rt">(<span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> <i>returns with his pipe</i>.)</p> - -<p><a name="png.179" id="png.179" href="#png.179"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>165<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Oh, sorry, I’m interrupting.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>waking up</i>). No, no. Eustasia was just -reading to me. (<i>To her</i>) You mustn’t tire yourself, -dear. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>) Stay and talk.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. What’s the book? Carlyle’s <cite>French -Revolution</cite>?</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>primly</i>). Certainly not. (<i>Looking at the -title again</i>) Gibbon’s <cite>Roman Empire</cite>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Any good?</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Fascinating, isn’t it, Leonard?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Very.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. You ought to try Carlyle, old chap.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Is <em>he</em> good?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>who has had eight pages read aloud to him -by</i> <span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>). Oh, topping.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>looking at her watch</i>). Good gracious! I -ought to be dressing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>looking at his</i>). Yes, it <em>is</em> about time.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>looking at his</i>). Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Leonard, darling, I don’t think it would -be safe for you to change. Not to-night; to-morrow if -you like.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I say, look here, you said that last night.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. Ah, but your temperature has gone up -again.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I expect that’s only because the book -was so exciting.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Yes, that’s right.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. But I took his temperature <em>before</em> I began -reading.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Perhaps yesterday’s instalment was still -hanging about a bit.</p> - -<p><span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>). No, darling, not to-night. -Just to please his Eustasia.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>sulkily</i>). All right.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><a name="png.180" id="png.180" href="#png.180"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>166<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">EUSTASIA</span>. That’s a good boy. (<i>She walks to the door</i>, -<span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> <i>going with her to open it</i>.) And if he’s <em>very</em> -good, and Eustasia is <em>very</em> quick dressing, perhaps she’ll -read him another little bit of that nice book before -dinner.</p> <p class="rt">[<i>She goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I say, don’t go, old chap. You can change -in five minutes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Righto.</p> - -<p class="rt">(<i>He comes back. There is silence for a little.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I say!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Yes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>thinking better of it</i>). Oh, nothing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>after a pause</i>). Curious creatures, women.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Amazing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. They’re so unexpected.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. So unreasonable.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Yes....</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>suddenly</i>). I hate England at this time -of year.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. So do I.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Do you go South as a rule?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. As a rule.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Monte?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Sometimes. We <em>had</em> thought—I half -thought of Nice.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Not bad. We were—I think I prefer -Cannes myself.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. There’s not much in it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. No.... (<i>After a pause</i>) Between ourselves, -you know—quite between ourselves—I’m about -fed up with women.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Absolutely.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. You are too?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Rather. I should think so.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. They’re so dashed unreasonable.</p> - -<p><a name="png.181" id="png.181" href="#png.181"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>167<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. So unexpected....</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>suddenly</i>). Had you booked your rooms?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. At Nice? Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. So had I.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. At Cannes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Yes.... I say, what about it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Do you <span class="nw">mean——</span> (<i>He waves a hand at -the door.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Evaporating?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Yes. Quite quietly, you know.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Without ostentation.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. That’s it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. It’s rather a scheme. And then we -shouldn’t waste the rooms. At least, only one set of -them. I’ll tell you what. I’ll toss you whether we -go to Nice or Cannes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Right. (<i>He takes out a coin and tosses.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Tails.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>uncovering the coin</i>). Heads. Do you mind -coming to Cannes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Just as soon, really. When shall we go? -To-morrow?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Mightn’t get a chance to-morrow. Why -not to-night? It seems a pity to waste the opportunity.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. You mean while Eustasia’s dressing?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. The—er—opportunity. Sleep the night at -Dover and cross to-morrow morning.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. She’ll be after us.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Nonsense.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. My dear man, you don’t know Eustasia.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I don’t know Eustasia? Well!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>with conviction</i>). She’ll be after you like -a bird. You’ve never seen Eustasia when she has -got somebody ill to look after.</p> - -<p><a name="png.182" id="png.182" href="#png.182"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>168<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LEONARD</span>. I’ve never seen Eustasia? Well!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. My dear chap, you’ve only had three days -of her; I’ve had six.... Lord!... Look here. -We shall have <span class="nw">to——</span></p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><i>Enter</i> <span class="role">LATIMER</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. What, Leonard, all alone?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I say, you’re the very man we want.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> <span class="nw">(<i>frowning</i>——).</span> S’sh.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Leonard, don’t “s’sh” Nicholas when he -wants to speak to me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>). It’s all right, old chap, -Latimer is a sportsman.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">LEONARD</span>). There! You see the sort -of reputation I have in the West End. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>) -What is it you want to do? Run away?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Well—<span class="nw">er——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I say, however did you guess?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Leonard’s car has had steam up for the -last twenty-four hours, waiting for a word from its -owner.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>seeing the south of France</i>). By Jove!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. And you are going with him, Nicholas?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Yes. Thought I might as well be getting -on. Very grateful and all that, but can’t stay here -for ever.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>wondering what has happened between</i> <span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> -<i>and</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>). So you are going too! I <span class="nw">thought——</span> Well! -Nicholas is going too.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. I say, you do understand—I mean about—er—I -mean, when I’m quite well again—start afresh -and all that. Cosset <em>her</em> a bit. But when you’re ill—or -supposed to be <span class="nw">ill——</span> Well, I mean, ask Nicholas.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Oh, rather.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. My dear Leonard, why these explanations? -<a name="png.183" id="png.183" href="#png.183"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>169<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>Who am I to interfere in other people’s matrimonial -affairs? You and Nicholas are going away—good-bye. -(<i>He holds out his hand.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Yes, but what about Eustasia? She’s -not going to miss the chance of cosseting Leonard -just when she is getting into it. She’ll be after him -like a bird.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I see. So you want me to keep her -here?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. That’s the idea, if you could.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. How can I keep her here if she doesn’t -want to stay?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Well, how do you keep <em>any</em>body here?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Really, Leonard, I am surprised at you. -By the charm of my old-world courtesy and hospitality, -of course.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Oh! Well, I doubt if that keeps Eustasia.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>shaking his head sadly</i>). I am afraid that -that is only too true. In fact, the more I think of it, -the more I realise that there is only one thing which -will keep this devoted wife from her afflicted and -suffering husband.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> and <span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. What?</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>comes in</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. His lordship and Mr. Nicholas are leaving -at once. His lordship’s car will wait for them outside -the gates. See that a bag is packed for them.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. And come back when you’ve seen about -that.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir. </p><p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. The car can return for the rest of your -luggage, and take it over in the morning.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Good!</p> - -<p><a name="png.184" id="png.184" href="#png.184"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>170<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LEONARD</span>. Er—thanks very much. (<i>Anxiously</i>) What -were you going to say about the only way of—<span class="nw">er——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. The only way of keeping this devoted -wife from her afflicted and suffering husband?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>gruffly</i>). Yes. What is it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Somebody else must have a temperature. -Somebody else must be ill. Eustasia must have somebody -else to cosset.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I say, how awfully sporting of you!</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Sporting?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. To sacrifice yourself like that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I? You don’t think <em>I</em> am going to sacrifice -myself, do you? No, no, it’s Dominic.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span> (<i>coming in</i>). Yes, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Dominic, are you ever ill?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Never, sir, barring a slight shortness of -the breath.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>to the others</i>). That’s awkward. I don’t -think you can cosset a shortness of the breath.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC</span>). I say, you could pretend to -be ill, couldn’t you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. With what object, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Well—<span class="nw">er——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Her ladyship is training to be a nurse. -She has already cured two very obstinate cases of nasal -catarrh accompanied by debility and a fluctuating -temperature. If she brings one more case off successfully, -she earns the diploma and the gold medal of the -Royal Therapeutical Society.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. That’s right.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. And you would wish me to be that third -case, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. That’s the idea.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. And be cosseted back to health by her -ladyship?</p> - -<p><a name="png.185" id="png.185" href="#png.185"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>171<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">LATIMER</span>. Such would be your inestimable privilege.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. I am sorry, sir. I must beg respectfully -to decline.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I say, be a sport.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>awkwardly</i>). Of course we <span class="nw">should——</span> Naturally -you would not—er—lose anything by—<span class="nw">er——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. His lordship wishes to imply that not only -would your mental horizon be widened during the -period of convalescence, but that material blessings -would also flow. Isn’t that right, Leonard?</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. A commission on the gold medal. -Naturally.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. I am sorry, sir. I am afraid I cannot see -my way.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I <span class="nw">say——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Thank you, Dominic.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Thank you, sir. </p><p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. Well, that’s torn it. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">LATIMER</span>) If -you’re quite sure that you wouldn’t like to have a go? -It’s the chance of a lifetime to learn all about the French -Revolution.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Well, well! Something must be done. -(<i>He smiles suddenly</i>) After all, why not?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span> (<i>eagerly</i>). You will?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I will.</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>. I <span class="nw">say——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>waving them off</i>). No, no. Don’t wait. -Fly.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Yes, we’d better be moving. Come on!</p> - -<p><span class="role">NICHOLAS</span> (<i>with a grin, as he goes</i>). There’s an awfully -good bit in the second <span class="nw">chapter——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>holding up a finger</i>). Listen! I hear her -coming.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LEONARD</span>. Good Lord!</p> - -<p class="hang"><a name="png.186" id="png.186" href="#png.186"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>172<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>(<i>They fly.</i></p> - -<p class="hang"><span class="role">LATIMER</span>, <i>left alone, gives himself up to thought. -What illness shall he have? He rings one of -his many bells, and</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>comes in</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Oh, Dominic. In consequence of your -obstinate good-health, I am going to sacrifice myself—I -mean, I myself am going to embrace this great opportunity -of mental and spiritual development.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir. Very good of you, I’m sure, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. What sort of illness would you recommend?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. How about a nice sprained ankle, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. You think that would go well?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. It would avoid any interference with the -customary habits at meal-time, sir. There’s a sort of -monotony about bread-and-milk; no inspiration about -it, sir, whether treated as a beverage or as a comestible.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I hadn’t thought about bread-and-milk.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. You’ll find that you will have little else to -think about, sir, if you attempt anything stomachic. -Of course you could have the usual nasty cold, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. No, no, not that. Let us be original....</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. How about Xerostomia, sir? Spelt with an x.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Is that good?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Joseph tells me that his father has had it -for a long time.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Oh! Then perhaps we oughtn’t to deprive -him of it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. I looked it up in the dictionary one Sunday -afternoon, sir. They describe it there as “an abnormal -dryness of the mouth.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. I said I wanted to be original, Dominic.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Quite so, sir.</p> - -<p class="rt">(<i>They both think in silence.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Perhaps I had better leave it to the inspiration -of the moment.</p> - -<p><a name="png.187" id="png.187" href="#png.187"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>173<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">EUSTASIA</span> (<i>off</i>). Dominic! Dominic!</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. This appears to be the moment, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Quick. (<i>Bustling him off</i>) Don’t let her ladyship -come in for a moment. I must assume a recumbent -position.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir. </p><p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">LATIMER</span> <i>lies down at full length on the sofa and -begins to groan; putting a hand first on his -stomach, then on his head, then on his elbow</i>. -<span class="role">EUSTASIA</span> <i>does not come. He cautiously raises -his head; the room is empty.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>disappointedly</i>). Throwing it away! (<i>He -hears footsteps, and settles down again.</i>)</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">ANNE</span> <i>comes in, hat on, bag in hand. She is just -at the door when a groan reaches her. She -stops. Another groan comes. She puts down -her bag and comes towards the sofa with an -“Oh!” of anxiety.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Oh, my poor—er—head! (<i>He clasps it.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>alarmed</i>). What is it? (<i>She kneels by him.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Oh, <span class="nw">my——</span> (<i>Cheerfully</i>) Hallo, Anne, is -it you? (<i>He sits up.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>still anxious</i>). Yes, what is it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>bravely</i>). Oh, nothing, nothing. A touch -of neuralgia.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Oh!... You frightened me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Did I, Anne? I’m sorry.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. You were groaning so. I thought—I didn’t -know what had happened.... (<i>Sympathetically</i>) Is it -very bad?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Not so bad as it sounded.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>taking off her gloves</i>). I know how bad it can -be. Father has it sometimes. Then I have to send -it away. (<i>She has her gloves off now</i>) May I try?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>remorsefully</i>). Anne!</p> - -<p class="hang"><a name="png.188" id="png.188" href="#png.188"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>174<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>(<i>She leans over from the back of him and begins -to stroke his forehead with the tips of her -fingers. He looks up at her.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Close your eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Ah, but I don’t want to now.</p> - -<p class="rt">(<i>She laughs without embarrassment.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. It will go soon.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Not too soon....</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>laughing suddenly</i>). Aren’t faces funny when -they’re upside down?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. You have the absurdest little upside-down -face that ever I saw, Anne.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>happily</i>). Have I?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Why do you wear a hat on your chin? -(<i>She laughs.</i>) Why do you wear a hat?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I was going away.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Without saying good-bye?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>ashamed</i>). I—I think so.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Oh, Anne!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>hastily</i>). I should have written.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. A post-card!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. A letter.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. With many thanks for your kind hospitality, -yours sincerely.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Yours <em>very</em> sincerely.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. P.S.—I shall never see you again.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. P.S.—I shall never forget.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Ah, but you <em>must</em> forget....</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>after a pause</i>). Is it better?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>lazily</i>). It is just the same. It will always -be the same. It is unthinkable that anything different -should ever happen. In a hundred years’ time we -shall still be like this. You will be a little tired, -perhaps; your fingers will ache; but I shall be lying -here, quite, quite happy.</p> - -<p><a name="png.189" id="png.189" href="#png.189"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>175<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ANNE</span>. You shall have another minute—no more.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Then I shall go straight to the chemist -and ask for three pennyworth of Anne’s fingers. (<i>They -are silent for a little. Then she stops and listens.</i>) What -is it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. I heard something. Whispers.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Don’t look round.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">LEONARD</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">NICHOLAS</span>, <i>in hats and coats, creep -cautiously in. Very noiselessly, fingers to -lips, they open the front door and creep out.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. What was it? Was <span class="nw">it——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. An episode in your life. Over, buried, -forgotten....</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>pleadingly</i>). It never really happened, did -it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Of course not! We must have read about -it somewhere—or was it in a play?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>eagerly</i>). That was it! We were in a box -together.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Munching chocolates. (<i>With a sigh</i>) What -a child she was—that girl in the play—with her little, -funny, grown-up airs!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>comes in, and stops suddenly on seeing -them</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Oh, I beg your pardon, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Go on, Anne. (<i>Happily</i>) I am having -neuralgia, Dominic.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir. A stubborn complaint, as I have -heard, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Miss Anne is making me well.... What -did you want?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Her ladyship says will you please excuse -her if she is not down to-night.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">ANNE</span>). Shall we excuse her if she is -not down to-night?</p> - -<p><a name="png.190" id="png.190" href="#png.190"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>176<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">DOMINIC</span>. The fact is, sir, that Joseph is taken ill -suddenly, <span class="nw">and——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>to himself</i>). I never thought of Joseph!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Oh, poor Joseph! What is it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. A trifling affection of the throat, but -necessitating careful attention, her ladyship says.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Please tell her ladyship how very much I -thank her for looking after Joseph ... and tell Joseph -how very sorry I am for him.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir. </p><p class="rt">[<i>He goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. You can’t go now, Anne. You will have -to stay and chaperone Eustasia and me. (<i>She laughs -and shakes her head.</i>) Must you go?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Back to your father?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span>. Yes. (<i>He looks at her. She is so very pretty; -so brave.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>it must be somebody else speaking—he hardly -recognises the voice</i>). Let us say good-bye now. There is a -magic in your fingers which goes to my head, and makes -me think ridiculous things. Let us say good-bye now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ANNE</span> (<i>taking his hand</i>). Good-bye! (<i>Impulsively</i>) -I wish <em>you</em> had been my father.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>Then she goes out. And she has won, after all. -For</i> <span class="role">MR. LATIMER</span> <i>stands there dumb, wondering -what has happened. He walks across to a -mirror to have a look at himself. While he -is there</i>, <span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>comes in to superintend the -laying of the table</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>at the mirror</i>). Dominic, how old would -you say I was?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. More than that, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>with a sigh</i>). Yes, I’m afraid I am. And -yet I look very young. Sometimes I think I look too -young.</p> - -<p><a name="png.191" id="png.191" href="#png.191"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>177<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Miss Anne has just asked me to be her -father.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Very considerate of her, I’m sure, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Yes.... To prevent similar mistakes in -the future, I think I shall wear a long white beard.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir. Shall I order one from the Stores?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Please.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Thank you, sir.... Is Miss Anne leaving -us, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span>. Yes.... Don’t overdo the length, -Dominic, and I like the crinkly sort.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. Yes, sir.... One of our most successful -weeks on the whole, if I may say so, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">LATIMER</span> (<i>thoughtfully</i>). Yes.... Well, well, we -must all do what we can, Dominic.</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. That’s the only way, isn’t it, sir?</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>They stand looking at each other. Just for a -moment</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>is off duty. That grave face -relaxes; the eyes crease into a smile.</i> -<span class="role">MR. LATIMER</span> <i>smiles back.... Very gently they -begin to laugh together; old friends; master -and servant no longer. “Dear, dear! These -children!” says</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC’S</span> <i>laugh. “How -very amusing they are, to be sure!”</i> <span class="role">LATIMER’S</span> -<i>laugh is a little rueful; a moment ago -he, too, was almost a child. Yet he laughs. -“Good old</i> <span class="role">DOMINIC</span>!”</p> - -<p class="hang"><i>Suddenly the front-door bell rings. Instinctively -they stiffen to attention. They are on duty -again. They turn and march off, almost, as it -were, saluting each other</i>; <span class="role">MR. LATIMER</span> <i>to his -quarters</i>, <span class="role">DOMINIC</span> <i>to his bolts and bars. He -draws the curtains and opens the big front -door.</i>)</p> - -<p><a name="png.192" id="png.192" href="#png.192"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>178<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">A MANLY VOICE</span>. Oh, is this—er—an hotel?</p> - -<p><span class="role">DOMINIC</span>. A sort of hotel, your Grace.</p> - -<p><span class="role">HIS GRACE</span> (<i>coming in, a lady on his arm</i>). My chauffeur -said—we’ve had an accident—been delayed on the -way—he said <span class="nw">that——</span></p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>Evidently another romantic couple. Let us leave -them to</i> <span class="role">MR. LATIMER</span>.)</p> - -</div> - - - -<div class="play"> -<h2 title="The Truth about Blayds">THE TRUTH ABOUT BLAYDS<a name="png.193" id="png.193" href="#png.193"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>179<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></h2> - - - - - -<h3 title="Characters">CHARACTERS<a name="png.194" id="png.194" href="#png.194"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>180<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></h3> - - -<ul> -<li><span class="smc">Oliver Blayds</span>.</li> -<li><span class="smc">Isobel</span> (<i>his younger daughter</i>).</li> -<li><span class="smc">Marion Blayds-Conway</span> (<i>his elder daughter</i>).</li> -<li><span class="smc">William Blayds-Conway</span> (<i>his son-in-law</i>).</li> -<li><span class="bloksmc">Oliver Blayds-Conway<br - />Septima Blayds-Conway</span> <big>}</big> <span class="mid">(<i>his grandchildren</i>).</span></li> -<li><span class="smc">A. L. Royce</span>.</li> -<li><span class="smc">Parsons</span>.</li> -</ul> - -<hr class="third" /> - -<p><i>A room in</i> <span class="role">OLIVER BLAYDS’</span> <i>house in Portman Square</i>.</p> - -<hr class="third" /> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smc">This</span> play was first produced at the Globe Theatre on -December 20, 1921, with the following cast:</p> - -<table summary="Original production cast"> -<tr><td><i>Oliver Blayds</i> </td><td class="smc">Norman McKinnel.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Isobel</i> </td><td class="smc">Irene Vanbrugh.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Marion Blayds-Conway</i> </td><td class="smc">Irene Rooke.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>William Blayds-Conway</i> </td><td class="smc">Dion Boucicault.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Oliver</i> </td><td class="smc">Jack Hobbs.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Septima</i> </td><td class="smc">Faith Celli.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>A. L. Royce</i> </td><td class="smc">Ion Swinley.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Parsons</i> </td><td class="smc">Ethel Wellesley.</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<div class="act"> - -<h3 title="Act I">ACT I<a name="png.195" id="png.195" href="#png.195"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>181<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></h3> - - -<div class="scena"> -<p><i>A solid, handsomely-furnished room in a house in Portman -Square—solid round table, solid writing-desk, solid chairs -and sofa, with no air of comfort, but only of dignity. -Over the fireplace is a painting of</i> <span class="role">OLIVER BLAYDS</span>, -<i>also handsome and dignified</i>.... <span class="role">OLIVER BLAYDS-CONWAY</span>, -<i>his young grandson, comes in with</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span>, -<i>the latter a clean-shaven man of forty, whose thick -dark hair shows a touch of grey. It is about three -o’clock in the afternoon.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>as he comes in</i>). This way. (<i>He holds the -door open for</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>coming in</i>). Thanks.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Some of the family will be showing up -directly. Make yourself comfortable. (<i>For himself, -he does his best in one of the dignified chairs.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Thanks. (<i>He looks round the room with -interest, and sees the picture over the fireplace</i>) Hallo, -there he is.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. What? (<i>Bored</i>) Oh, the old ’un, yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>reverently</i>). Oliver Blayds, the last of the -Victorians. (<span class="role">OLIVER</span> <i>sighs and looks despairingly to -Heaven</i>.) I can’t take my hat off because it’s off already, -but I should like to.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Good Lord, you don’t really feel like that, -do you?</p> - -<p><a name="png.196" id="png.196" href="#png.196"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>182<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ROYCE</span>. Of course. Don’t you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Well, hardly. He’s my grandfather.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. True. (<i>Smiling</i>) All the same, there’s nothing -in the Ten Commandments about <em>not</em> honouring your -grandfather.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Nothing about honouring ’em either. It’s -left optional. Of course, he’s a wonderful old fellow—ninety, -and still going strong; but—well, as I say, he’s -my grandfather.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I’m afraid, Conway, that even the fact of -his being your grandfather doesn’t prevent me thinking -him a very great poet, a very great philosopher, and -a very great man.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>interested</i>). I say, do you really mean that, -or are you just quoting from the Address you’ve come -to present?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Well, it’s in the Address, but then I wrote -the Address, and got it up.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Yes, I know—you told me—“To Oliver -Blayds on his ninetieth birthday: Homage from some -of the younger writers.” Very pretty of them and all -that, and the old boy will love it. But do they really -feel like that about him—that’s what interests me. -I’ve always thought of him as old-fashioned, early -Victorian, and that kind of thing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Oh, he is. Like Shakespeare. Early Elizabethan -and that kind of thing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Shakespeare’s<!-- original reads "Shakepeare’s" --> different. I meant more like -Longfellow.... Don’t think I am setting up my -opinion against yours. If you say that Blayds’ poetry -is as good as the best, I’ll take your word for it. Blayds -the poet, <em>you’re</em> the authority. Blayds the grandfather, -<em>I</em> am.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. All right, then, you can take my word for -it that his best is as good as the best. Simple as -<a name="png.197" id="png.197" href="#png.197"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>183<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>Wordsworth, sensuous as Tennyson, passionate as -Swinburne.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Yes, but what about the modern Johnnies? -The Georgians.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. When they’re ninety I’ll tell you. If I’m alive.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Thanks very much.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>There is a short silence.</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span> <i>leaves the picture -and comes slowly towards the writing-table</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>shaking his head</i>). Oh, no!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>turning round</i>). What?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. That’s not the table where the great masterpieces -are written, and that’s not the pen they are -written with.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. My dear <span class="nw">fellow——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Is there a pen there, by the way?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>looking</i>). Yes. Yours?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. The family’s. You’ve no idea how difficult -it is to keep pens there.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Why, where do they go to?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. The United States, mostly. Everybody -who’s let in here makes for the table sooner or later -and pinches one of the pens. “Lands’ sake, what a -head,” they say, waving at the picture with their right -hand and feeling behind their back with the left; it’s -wonderful to see ’em. Tim, my sister—Tim and I -glued a pen on to the tray once when one of ’em was -coming, and watched him clawing at it for about five -minutes, and babbling about the picture the whole time. -I should think he knew what the poet Blayds looked -like by the time he got the pen into his pocket.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>going back to the picture</i>). Well, it’s a wonderful -head.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Yes, I will say that for the old boy, he does -look like somebody.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. When was this done?</p> - -<p><a name="png.198" id="png.198" href="#png.198"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>184<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">OLIVER</span>. Oh, about eighteen years ago.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes. That was about when I met him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. You never told me you’d met him. Did -you meet <em>me</em> by any chance?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. No.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. I was five then, and people who came to see -Blayds the poet patted the head of Blayds the poet’s -grandson and said: “Are you going to be a poet too, -my little man, when you grow up?”</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>smiling</i>). And what did Blayds the poet’s -grandson say?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Urged on by Blayds the poet’s son-in-law, -Blayds the poet’s grandson offered to recite his grandfather’s -well-known poem, “A Child’s Thoughts on -Waking.” I’m sorry you missed it, Royce, but it’s no -good asking for it now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>half to himself</i>). It was at Bournemouth. -He was there with his daughter. Not your mother, -she would have been younger than that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. You mean Aunt Isobel.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Isobel, yes. (<i>After a little silence</i>) Isobel -Blayds. Yes, that was eighteen years ago. I was -about your age.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. A fine handsome young fellow like me?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Any grandfathers living?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. No.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Lucky devil. But I don’t suppose you -realised it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. No, I don’t think I realised it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>thinking it out</i>). I suppose if I had a famous -father I shouldn’t mind so much. I should feel that -it was partly my doing. I mean that he wouldn’t -have begun to be famous until I had been born. But -the poet Blayds was a world-wide celebrity long before -<a name="png.199" id="png.199" href="#png.199"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>185<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>I came on the scene, and I’ve had it hanging over me -ever since.... Why do you suppose I am a member -of the club?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Well, why not? It’s a decent club. We are -all very happy there.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Yes, but why did they elect <em>me</em>?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Oh, well, if we once began to ask ourselves -<span class="nw">that——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Not at all. The answer in your case is -because A. L. Royce is a well-known critic and a jolly -good fellow. The answer in my case is because there’s -a B. in both. In other words, because there’s a Blayds -in Blayds-Conway. If my father had stuck to his -William Conway when he got married, I should never -have been elected. Not at the age of twenty-two, -anyway.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Then I’m very glad he changed his name. -Because otherwise, it seems, I might not have had the -pleasure of meeting you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Oh, well, there’s always a something. But, -compliments aside, it isn’t much fun for a man when -things happen to him just because of the Blayds in -Blayds-Conway. You know what I am doing now, -don’t you? I told you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Secretary to some politician, isn’t it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Yes. And why? Because of the Blayds -<span class="nw">in——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Oh, nonsense!</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. It’s true. Do you think I want to be a -private secretary to a dashed politician? What’s a -private secretary at his best but a superior sort of valet? -I wanted to be a motor engineer. Not allowed. Why -not? Because the Blayds in Blayds-Conway wouldn’t -have been any use. But politicians simply live on that -sort of thing.</p> - -<p><a name="png.200" id="png.200" href="#png.200"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>186<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ROYCE</span>. What sort of thing?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Giving people jobs because they’re the -grandsons of somebody.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes, I wonder if I was as cynical as you -eighteen years ago.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Probably not; there wasn’t a Grandfather -Royce. By the way, talking about being jolly good -fellows and all that, have you noticed that I haven’t -offered you a cigarette yet?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I don’t want to smoke.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Well, that’s lucky. Smoking isn’t allowed -in here.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>annoyed by this</i>). Now look here, Conway, -do you mind if I speak plainly?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Do. But just one moment before you -begin. My name, unfortunately, is <em>Blayds</em>-Conway. -Call me Conway at the Club and I’ll thank you for it. -But if you call me Conway in the hearing of certain -members of my family, I’m afraid there will be trouble. -Now what were you going to say?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>his annoyance gone</i>). Doesn’t matter.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. No, do go on, Mr. Blayds-Royce.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Very well, Mr. Blayds-Conway. I am old -enough to be—no, not your grandfather—your uncle—and -I want to say this. Oliver Blayds is a very great -man and also a very old man, and I think that while -you live in the house of this very great man, the inconveniences -to which his old age puts you, my dear -<span class="nw">Conway——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Blayds-Conway.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Blayds-Conway, I’m sorry.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Perhaps you’d better call me Oliver.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes, I think I will. Well, then, <span class="nw">Oliver——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Yes, but you’ve missed the whole point. -The whole point is that I don’t <em>want</em> to live in his house. -<a name="png.201" id="png.201" href="#png.201"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>187<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>Do you realise that I’ve never had a house I could call -my own? I mean a house where I could ask people. -I brought you along this afternoon because you’d got -permission to come anyhow with that Address of yours. -But I shouldn’t have dared to bring anybody else along -from the club. Here we all are, and always have been, -living not <em>our</em> lives, but <em>his</em> life. Because—well, just -because he likes it so.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>almost to himself</i>). Yes ... yes.... I know.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Well!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>And there is so much conviction behind it that -<span class="role">ROYCE</span> has nothing to say. However, nothing -is needed, for at this moment <span class="role">SEPTIMA BLAYDS-CONWAY</span> -comes in, a fair-haired nineteen-year-old -modern, with no sentimental nonsense -about her</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Hallo!</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>half getting out of his chair</i>). Hallo, Tim. -Come and be introduced. This is Mr. A. L. Royce. -My sister, Septima.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>surprised</i>). Septima? (<i>Mechanically he quotes</i>):</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="i1"><span class="ns"> </span>“Septima, seventh dark daughter;</div> -<div>I saw her once where the black pines troop to the <span class="nw">water—</span></div> -<div>A rock-set river that broke into bottomless <span class="nw">pools—”</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Thank you very much, Mr. Royce. (<i>Holding -out her hand to</i> <span class="role">OLIVER</span>) Noll, I’ll trouble you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>feeling in his pockets</i>). Damn! I did think, -<span class="nw">Royce——</span> (<i>He hands her a shilling</i>) Here you are.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Thanks. Thank you again, Mr. Royce.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I’m afraid I don’t understand.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. It’s quite simple. I get a shilling when -visitors quote “Septima” at me, and Noll gets a shilling -when they don’t.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>reproachfully</i>). I did think that <em>you</em> would -be able to control yourself, Royce.</p> - -<p><a name="png.202" id="png.202" href="#png.202"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>188<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Sorry! My only excuse is that I -never met any one called Septima before, and that -it came quite unconsciously.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Oh, don’t apologise. I admire you immensely -for it. It’s the only fun I get out of the -name.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Septima Blayds-Conway, when you’re the -only daughter, and fair at that—I ask you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>defensively</i>). It’s a beautiful poem.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Have you come to see Blayds the poet?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. One of the homage merchants.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Miss Blayds-Conway, I appeal to you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Anything I can do in return for your -<span class="nw">shilling——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I have come here on behalf of some of my -contemporaries, in order to acquaint that very great -man Oliver Blayds with the feelings of admiration -which we younger writers entertain for him. It -appears now that not only is Blayds a great poet and -a great philosopher, but also <span class="nw">a——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Great-grandfather.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. But also a grandfather. Do you think you -can persuade your brother that Blayds’ public reputation -as a poet is in no way affected by his private reputation -as a grandfather, and beg him to spare me any -further revelations?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Certainly; I could do all that for ninepence, -and you’d still be threepence in hand. (<i>Sternly -to</i> <span class="role">OLIVER</span>) Blayds-Conway, young fellow, have you been -making r-revelations about your ger-rand-father?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. My dear girl, I’ve made no r-revelations -whatever. What’s upset him probably is that I refused -to recite to him “A Child’s Thoughts on Waking.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Did he pat your head and ask you to?</p> - -<p><a name="png.203" id="png.203" href="#png.203"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>189<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ROYCE</span>. No, he didn’t.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Well, you needn’t be huffy about it, -Mr. Royce. You would have been in very good company. -Meredith and Hardy have, and lots of others.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Well, anyway, I’ve never been kissed by -Maeterlinck.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>looking down coyly</i>). Mr. Royce, you have -surprised my secret, which I have kept hidden these -seventeen years. Maeterlinck—Maurice and <span class="nw">I——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Revelations was not quite the word. What -I should have said was that I have been plunged -suddenly, and a little unexpectedly, into an unromantic, -matter-of-fact atmosphere, which hardly suits the -occasion of my visit. On any other day—you see what -I mean, Miss Septima.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. You’re quite right. This is not the occasion -for persiflage. Besides, we’re very proud of him -really.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I’m sure you are.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>weightily</i>). You know, Noll, there are -times when I think that possibly we have misjudged -Blayds.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Blayds the poet or Blayds the man?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Blayds the man. After all, Uncle Thomas -was devoted to him, and <em>he</em> was rather particular. -Wasn’t he, Mr. Royce?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I don’t think I know your Uncle Thomas, -do I?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. He wasn’t mine, he was mother’s.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. The Sage of Chelsea.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Oh, Carlyle. <span class="nw">Surely——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Mother called them all “uncle” in her day.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Well, now, there you are. That’s one of -the most charming things about Oliver Blayds. He has -always had a genius for friendship. Read the lives -<a name="png.204" id="png.204" href="#png.204"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>190<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>and letters of all the great Victorians, and you find it -all the way. They loved him. <span class="nw">They——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>striking up</i>). God save our gracious Queen!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>with a good-humoured shrug</i>). Oh, well!</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Keep it for father and mother, Mr. Royce. -We’re hopeless. Shall I tell you why?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. When you were a child, did you ever get -the giggles in church?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Almost always—when the Vicar wasn’t -looking.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. There’s something about it, isn’t there—the -solemnity of it all—which starts you giggling? -When the Vicar isn’t looking.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Exactly. And that’s why <em>we</em> giggle—when -the Vicar isn’t looking.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>from outside</i>). Septima!</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. And here comes the Vicar’s wife.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">MARION BLAYDS-CONWAY</span> <i>is fifty-five now. A dear, -foolish woman, who has never got over the -fact that she is</i> <span class="role">OLIVER BLAYDS’</span> <i>daughter, but -secretly thinks that it is almost more wonderful -to be</i> <span class="role">WILLIAM BLAYDS-CONWAY’S</span> <i>wife</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Oh, there you are. Why didn’t <span class="nw">you——</span> (<i>She -sees</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span>) Oh!</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. This is Mr. A. L. Royce, Mother.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>distantly</i>). How do you do?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. How do you do?</p> - -<p class="rt">(<i>There is an awkward silence.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. You’ll excuse me a moment, Mr.—er—<span class="nw">er——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Royce, Mother, A. L. Royce.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. <span class="nw">Septima——</span> This is naturally rather a -busy day, Mr.—<span class="nw">er——</span> We hardly <span class="nw">expected——</span> (<i>She -<a name="png.205" id="png.205" href="#png.205"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>191<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>frowns at</i> <span class="role">OLIVER</span>, <i>who ought to have known better by this -time</i>.) Septima, I want you just a moment—Oliver -will look after his friend. I’m sure you’ll understand, -Mr.—<span class="nw">er——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Oh, quite. Of course.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Mr. Royce has come to see Grandfather, -Mother.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>appalled</i>). To see Grandfather!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I was hoping—Mr. Blayds-Conway was good -enough to <span class="nw">say——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. I am afraid it is quite impossible. I am -very sorry, but really quite impossible. My son -shouldn’t have held out hopes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. He didn’t. You’re barking up the wrong -tree, Mother. It’s Father who invited him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I am here on behalf of certain of my <span class="nw">contemporaries——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Homage from some of our younger -<span class="nw">writers——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Mr. Blayds was gracious enough to indicate -<span class="nw">that——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>in a violent whisper</i>). A. L. Royce, Mother!</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Oh! Oh, I beg your pardon. Why didn’t -you tell me it was A. L. Royce, Oliver? Of course! -We wrote to you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>all hospitality</i>). How silly of me! You -must forgive me, Mr. Royce. Oliver ought to have -told me. Grandfather—Mr. Blayds—will be ready at -three-thirty. The doctor was very anxious that Grandfather -shouldn’t see any one this year—outside the -family, of course. I couldn’t tell you how many people -wrote asking if they could come to-day. Presidents of -Societies and that sort of thing. From all over the -world. Father did tell us. Do you remember, Septima?</p> - -<p><a name="png.206" id="png.206" href="#png.206"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>192<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. I’m afraid I don’t, Mother. I know I -didn’t believe it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span>). Septima—after the poem, you -know. “Septima, seventh dark <span class="nw">daughter——”</span> (<i>And -she would quote the whole of it, but that her children interrupt.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>solemnly</i>). Don’t say you’ve never heard -of it, Royce.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>distressed</i>). I don’t believe he has.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>encouragingly</i>). You must read it. I think -you’d like it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. It’s one of his best known. <cite>The Times</cite> -quoted it only last week. We had the cutting. -“Septima, seventh dark <span class="nw">daughter——”</span> It was a -favourite of my husband’s even before he married me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. It has been a favourite of mine for many -years.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. And many other people’s, I’m sure. We -often get letters—Oh, if you could see the letters we -get!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I wonder you don’t have a secretary.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>with dignity</i>). My husband—Mr. Blayds-Conway—<em>is</em> -Grandfather’s secretary. He was appointed -to the post soon after he married me. Twenty-five -years ago. There is almost nothing he mightn’t have -done, but he saw where his duty lay, and he has devoted -himself to Grandfather—to Mr. Blayds—ever since.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I am sure we are all grateful to him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Grandfather, as you know, has refused a -Peerage more than once. But I always say that if -devotion to duty counts for anything, William, my -husband, ought to have been knighted long ago. -Perhaps when Grandfather has passed <span class="nw">away——</span> But -there!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I was telling Oliver that I did meet -Mr. Blayds once—and Miss Blayds. Down at Bournemouth. -<a name="png.207" id="png.207" href="#png.207"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>193<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>She was looking after him. He wasn’t very -well at the time.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Oh, Isobel, yes. A wonderful nurse. I -don’t know what Grandfather would do without her.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. She is <span class="nw">still——?</span> I thought perhaps she -was married, <span class="nw">or——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Oh, no! Isobel isn’t the marrying sort. I -say that I don’t know what Grandfather would do -without her, but I might almost say that I don’t know -what she would do without Grandfather. (<i>Looking at -her watch</i>) Dear me, I promised Father that I would -get those letters off. Septima, dear, you must help me. -Have you been round the house at all, Mr. Royce?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. No, I’ve only just come.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. There are certain rooms which are shown -to the public. Signed photographs, gifts from Tennyson, -Ruskin, Carlyle and many others. Illuminated -addresses and so on, all most interesting. Oliver, -perhaps you would show Mr. Royce—if it would interest -<span class="nw">you——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Oh, indeed, yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Oliver!</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>throwing down the book he was looking at</i>). -Right. (<i>He gets up.</i>) Come on, Royce. (<i>As they go -out</i>) There’s one thing that I can show you, anyway.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. What’s that?</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>violently</i>). My bedroom. We’re allowed to -smoke there.</p> <p class="rt">[<i>They go out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>sitting down at the writing-table</i>). He seems -a nice man. About thirty-five, wouldn’t you say—or -more?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Forty. But you never can tell with men. -(<i>She comes to the table.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>getting to work</i>). Now those letters just -want putting into their envelopes. And <em>those</em> want -<a name="png.208" id="png.208" href="#png.208"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>194<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>envelopes written for them. If you will read out the -addresses, dear—I think that will be the quickest way—I -<span class="nw">will——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>thinking her own thoughts</i>). Mother!</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Yes, dear? (<i>Writing</i>) Doctor John -Treherne.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. I want to speak to you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Do you mean about anything important?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. For me, yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. You haven’t annoyed your grandfather, -I hope.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. It has nothing to do with Grandfather.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Beechcroft, Bexhill-on-Sea. We’ve been so -busy all day. Naturally, being the Birthday. Couldn’t -you leave it till to-morrow, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>eagerly</i>). Rita Ferguson wants me to share -rooms with her. You know I’ve always wanted to, -and now she’s just heard of some; there’s a studio -goes with it. On Campden Hill.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Yes, dear. We’ll see what Grandfather says.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>annoyed</i>). I said that this has nothing to -do with Grandfather. We’re talking about <em>me</em>. It’s -no good trying to do anything here, <span class="nw">and——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. There! I’ve written <em>Campden</em> Hill; how -stupid of me. <em>Haverstock</em> Hill. We’ll see what Grandfather -says, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>doggedly</i>). It has nothing to do with Grandfather.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>outraged</i>). Septima!</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. “We’ll see what Grandfather says”—that -has always been the answer to everything in this house.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>as sarcastically as she can, but she is not very -good at it</i>). You can hardly have forgotten who Grandfather -is.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. I haven’t.</p> - -<p><a name="png.209" id="png.209" href="#png.209"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>195<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">MARION</span> (<i>awed</i>). What was it the <cite>Telegraph</cite> called him -only this morning? “The Supreme Songster of an -Earlier Epoch.” (<i>Her own father!</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. I said that I hadn’t forgotten what Grandfather -<em>is</em>. You’re telling me what he <em>was</em>. He <em>is</em> an -old man of ninety. I’m twenty. Anything that I do -will affect him for at most five years. It will affect -me for fifty years. That’s why I say this has nothing -to do with Grandfather.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>distressed</i>). Septima, sometimes you almost -seem as if you were irreligious. When you think who -Grandfather is—and his birthday too. (<i>Weakly</i>) You -must talk to your father.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. That’s better. Father’s only sixty.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. You must talk to your father. He will -see what Grandfather says.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. And there we are—back again to ninety! -It’s always the way.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>plaintively</i>). I really don’t understand you -children. You ought to be proud of living in the -house of such a great man. I don’t know what Grandfather -will say when he hears about it. (<i>Tearfully</i>) -The Reverend William Styles ... Hockley Vicarage -... Bishop Stortford. (<i>And from every line she extracts -some slight religious comfort.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>thoughtfully</i>). I suppose father would cut -off my allowance if I just went.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Went?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Yes. Would he? It would be beastly -unfair, of course, but I suppose he would.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>at the end of her resources</i>). Septima, you’re -<em>not</em> to talk like that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. I think I’ll get Aunt Isobel to tackle -Grandfather. She’s only forty. Perhaps <em>she</em> could -persuade him.</p> - -<p><a name="png.210" id="png.210" href="#png.210"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>196<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">MARION</span>. I won’t hear another word. And you had -better tidy yourself up. I will finish these letters -myself.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>going to the door</i>). Yes, I must go and tidy -up. (<i>At the door</i>) But I warn you, Mother, I mean to -have it out this time. And if <span class="nw">Grandfather——</span> (<i>She -breaks off as her father comes in</i>) Oh, Lord! (<i>She comes -back into the room, making way for him.</i>)</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">WILLIAM BLAYDS-CONWAY</span> <i>was obviously meant -for the Civil Service. His prim neatness, his -gold pince-nez, his fussiness would be invaluable -in almost any Department. However, -running</i> <span class="role">BLAYDS</span> <i>is the next best thing to running -the Empire</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. What is this, Septima? Where are you -going?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Tidy myself up.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. That’s right. And then you might help -your mother to entertain Mr. Royce until we send for -him. Perhaps we might—wait a <span class="nw">moment——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Oh, have you seen Mr. Royce, William? -He seems a nice young man, doesn’t he? I’m sure -Grandfather will like him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>pontifically</i>). I still think that it was very -unwise of us to attempt to see anybody to-day. Naturally -I made it clear to Mr. Royce what a very unexpected -departure this is from our usual practice. I fancy that -he realises the honour which we have paid to the younger -school of writers. Those who are knocking at the door, -so to speak.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Oh, I’m sure he does.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>to the ceiling</i>). Does anybody want me?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Wait a moment, please. (<i>He takes a key -out of his pocket and considers.</i>) Yes.... Yes.... -(<i>He gives the key to</i> <span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>) You may show Mr. Royce -<a name="png.211" id="png.211" href="#png.211"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>197<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>the autograph letter from Queen Victoria, on the -occasion of your grandmother’s death. Be very careful, -please. I think he might be allowed to take it in -his hands—don’t you think so, Marion?—but lock it up -immediately afterwards, and bring me back the key.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Yes, Father. (<i>As she goes</i>) What fun he’s -going to have!</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Are those the letters?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Yes, dear, I’ve nearly finished them.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. They will do afterwards. (<i>Handing her a -bunch of telegrams</i>) I want you to sort these telegrams. -Isobel is seeing about the flowers?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Oh, yes, sure to be, dear. How do you -mean, sort them?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. In three groups will be best. Those from -societies or public bodies, those from distinguished -people, including Royalty—you will find one from the -Duchess there; her Royal Highness is very faithful to -us—and those from unknown or anonymous admirers.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Oh, yes, I see, dear. (<i>She gets to work.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. He will like to know who have remembered -him. I fancy that we have done even better than we -did on the eightieth birthday, and of course the day -is not yet over. (<i>He walks about the room importantly, -weighing great matters in his mind. This is his day.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Yes, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>frowning anxiously</i>). What did we do last -year about drinking the health? Was it in here, or -did we go to his room?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. He was down to lunch last year. Don’t -you remember, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Ah, yes, of course. Stupid of me. Yes, -this last year has made a great difference to him. He -is breaking up, I fear. We cannot keep him with us -for many more birthdays.</p> - -<p><a name="png.212" id="png.212" href="#png.212"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>198<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">MARION</span>. Don’t say that, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Well, we can but do our best.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. What would you like to do, dear, about -the health?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. H’m. Let me think. (<i>He thinks.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>busy with the telegrams</i>). Some of these are -a little difficult. Do you think that Sir John and Lady -Wilkins would look better among the distinguished -people including Royalty, or with the unknown and -anonymous ones?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Anybody doubtful is unknown. I only -want a rough grouping. We shall have a general -acknowledgment in the <cite>Times</cite>. And oh, that reminds -me. I want an announcement for the late editions of -the evening papers. Perhaps you had better just take -this down. You can finish those afterwards.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Yes, dear. (<i>She gets ready</i>) Yes, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>after tremendous thought</i>). Oliver Blayds, -ninety to-day.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>writing</i>). Oliver Blayds, ninety to-day.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. The veteran poet spent his ninetieth -<span class="nw">birthday——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>to herself</i>). The veteran <span class="nw">poet——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Passed his ninetieth birthday—that’s better—passed -his ninetieth birthday quietly, amid his -<span class="nw">family——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Amid his <span class="nw">family——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. At his well-known house—residence—in -Portman Square. (<i>He stops suddenly. You thought -he was just dictating, but his brain has been working all -the time, and he has come to a decision. He announces it.</i>) -We will drink the health in here. See that there is -an extra glass for Mr. Royce. “In Portman Square”—have -you got that?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Yes, dear.</p> - -<p><a name="png.213" id="png.213" href="#png.213"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>199<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Mr. William Blayds-Conway, who courteously -gave—granted our representative an interview, -informed us that the poet was in good <span class="nw">health——</span> It’s a -pity you never learnt shorthand, Marion.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. I did try, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>remembering that historic effort</i>). Yes, I -know ... in good <span class="nw">health——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Good <span class="nw">health——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. And keenly appreciative of the many -tributes of affection which he had received.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Which he had received.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Among those who called during the day -<span class="nw">were——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Yes, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Fill that in from the visitors’ book. (<i>He -holds out his hand for the paper</i>) How does that go?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>giving it to him</i>). I wasn’t quite sure how -many “p’s” there were in appreciative.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Two.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Yes, I thought two was safer.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>handing it back to her</i>). Yes, that’s all right. -(<i>Bringing out his keys</i>) I shall want to make a few notes -while Mr. Royce is being received. It may be that -Oliver Blayds will say something worth recording. -One would like to get something if it were possible. -(<i>He has unlocked a drawer in the table and brought out -his manuscript book.</i>) And see that that goes off now. -I should think about eight names. Say three Society, -three Artistic and Literary, and two Naval, Military -and Political. (<i>Again you see his brain working.... -He has come to another decision. He announces it.</i>) Perhaps -two Society would be enough.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Yes, dear. (<i>Beginning to make for the door</i>) -Will there be anything else you’ll want? (<i>Holding -out the paper</i>) After I’ve done this?</p> - -<p><a name="png.214" id="png.214" href="#png.214"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>200<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>considering</i>). No ... no.... I’m coming -with you. (<i>Taking out his keys</i>) I must get the port. -(<i>He opens the door for her, and they go out together.</i>)</p> - -<p class="hang"> -(<i>The room is empty for a moment, and then</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span> -<i>comes in. She is nearly forty. You can see -how lovely she was at twenty, but she gave -up being lovely eighteen years ago, said good-bye -to</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>, <i>and became just Nurse. If</i> -<span class="role">BLAYDS</span> <i>wants cheerfulness, she is cheerful; -if sympathy, sympathetic; if interest, interested. -She is off duty now, and we see at -once how tired she is. But she has some -spiritual comfort, some secret pride to sustain -her, and it is only occasionally that the tiredness, -the deadness, shows through. She has flowers -in her arms, and slowly, thoughtfully, she -decks the room for the great man. We see -now for a moment that she is much older -than we thought; it is for her own ninetieth -birthday that she is decorating the room</i>.... -<i>Now she has finished, and she sits down, her -hands in her lap, waiting, waiting patiently</i>.... -<i>Some thought brings a wistful smile to -her mouth. Yes, she must have been very -lovely at twenty. Then</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span> <i>comes in</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Oh, I beg your pardon. (<i>He sees who it is.</i>) -Oh!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. It’s all right, <span class="nw">I——</span> Are you waiting to -<span class="nw">see——</span> (<i>She recognises him</i>) Oh!</p> - -<p class="hang"> -(<i>They stand looking at each other, about six feet -apart, not moving, saying nothing. Then -very gently he begins to hum the refrain of -a waltz. Slowly she remembers.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. How long ago was it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Eighteen years.</p> - -<p><a name="png.215" id="png.215" href="#png.215"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>201<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>who has lived eighty years since then</i>). So little?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>distressed</i>). Isobel!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>remembering his name now</i>). Austin.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. It comes back to you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. A few faded memories—and the smell of -the pine woods. And there was a band, wasn’t there? -That was the waltz they played. <em>How</em> did it go? (<i>He -gives her a bar or two again.... She nods</i>) Yes. (<i>She -whispers the tune to herself.</i>) Why does that make me -think <span class="nw">of——</span> Didn’t you cut your wrist? On the -rocks?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. You remember? (<i>He holds out his wrist</i>) -Look!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>nodding</i>). I knew that came into it. I tied -it up for you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>sentimentally</i>). I have the handkerchief still. -(<i>More honestly</i>) Somewhere.... I know I have it. -(<i>He tries to think where it would be.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. There was a dog, wasn’t there?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. How well you remember. Rags. A fox -terrier.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>doubtfully</i>). Yes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Or was that later? I had an Aberdeen -before that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes, that was it, I think.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Thomas.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Thomas. Yes.... Only eighteen -little years ago. But what worlds away. Just give -me that tune again. (<i>He gives it to her, and the memories -stir again.</i>) You had a pipe you were very proud of—with -a cracked bowl—and a silver band to keep -it together. What silly things one remembers ... -you’d forgotten it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I remember that pink cotton dress.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Eighty years ago. Or is it only eighteen? -<a name="png.216" id="png.216" href="#png.216"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>202<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>And now we meet again. You married? I seem to -remember hearing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>uncomfortably</i>). Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I hope it was happy.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. No. We separated.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I am sorry.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Was it likely it would be?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>surprised</i>). Was that all the chance of happiness -you gave her?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. You think I oughtn’t to have married?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Oh, my dear, who am I to order people’s -lives?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. You ordered mine.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>ignoring this</i>). But you <em>have</em> been happy? -Marriage isn’t everything. You have been happy in -your work, in your books, in your friends?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>after thinking</i>). Yes, Isobel, on the whole, -yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I’m glad.... (<i>She holds out her hand suddenly -with a smile</i>) How do you do, Mr. Royce? (<i>She -is inviting him to step off the sentimental footing.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>stepping off</i>). How do you do, Miss Blayds? -It’s delightful to meet you again.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Let’s sit down; shall we? (<i>They sit down -together.</i>) My father will be coming in directly. You -are here to see him, of course?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes. Tell me about him—or rather about -yourself. You are still looking after him?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. For eighteen years.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Nearly twenty altogether.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. And has it been worth it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. He has written wonderful things in those -twenty years. Not very much, but very wonderful.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes, that has always been the miracle about -<a name="png.217" id="png.217" href="#png.217"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>203<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>him, the way he has kept his youth. And the fire and -spirit of youth. You have helped him there.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>proudly</i>). Has it been worth it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>puzzled</i>). I don’t know. It’s difficult to say. -The world would think so; but I—naturally I am -prejudiced.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>smiling</i>). You might have looked after <em>me</em> -for those eighteen years.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Did you want it as much as he? (<i>As he -protests</i>) No, I don’t mean “want” it—need it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Well, that’s always the problem, isn’t it—whether -the old or the young have the better right to -be selfish. We both needed you, in different ways. -You gave yourself to him, and he has wasted your life. -I don’t think <em>I</em> should have wasted it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I am proud to have helped him. No one -will know. Everything which he wrote will be his. -Only <em>I</em> shall know how much of it was mine. Well, -that’s something. Not wasted.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Sacrificed.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Am I to regret that?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Do you regret it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>after considering</i>). When you asked me to -marry you I—I couldn’t. He was an old man then; -he wanted me; I was everything to him. Oh, he has -had his friends, more friends than any man, but he -had to be the head of a family too, and without me—I’ve -kept him alive, active. He has sharpened his -brains on me. (<i>With a shrug</i>) On whom else?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes, I understand that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. You wouldn’t have married me and come to -live with us all, as Marion and William have done?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. No, no, that’s death.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes, I knew you felt like that. But I -<a name="png.218" id="png.218" href="#png.218"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>204<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>couldn’t leave him. (<span class="role">ROYCE</span> <i>shrugs his shoulders unconvinced</i>.) -Oh, I <em>did</em> love you then; I <em>did</em> want to -marry you! But I couldn’t. He wasn’t just an -ordinary man—you must remember that, please. He -was Blayds.... Oh, what are we in the world for -but to find beauty, and who could find it as he, and -who could help him as I?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I was ready to wait.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Ah, but how could we? Until he died! -Every day you would be thinking, “I wonder how he -is to-day,” and I should be knowing that you were -thinking that. Oh, horrible! Sitting and waiting for -his death.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>thoughtfully, recognising her point of view</i>). -Yes.... Yes.... But if you were back now, knowing -what you know, would you do it again?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I think so. I think it has been worth it. -It isn’t fair to ask me. I’m glad now that I have given -him those eighteen years, but perhaps I should have -been afraid of it if I had known it was to be as long -as that. It has been trying, of course—such a very -old man in body, although so young in mind—but it -has not been for an old man that I have done it; not -for a selfish father; but for the glorious young poet -who has never grown up, and who wanted me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>looking into her soul</i>). But you have had your -bad moments.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>distressed</i>). Oh, don’t! It isn’t fair.</p> - -<p class="hang"> -(<span class="role">ROYCE</span>, <i>his eyes still on her, begins the refrain again</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>smiling sadly</i>). Oh, no, Mr. Royce! That’s -all over. I’m an old woman now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>rather ashamed</i>). I’m sorry.... Yes, you’re -older now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Twenty and thirty-eight—there’s a world of -difference between them.</p> - -<p><a name="png.219" id="png.219" href="#png.219"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>205<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ROYCE</span>. I’m forty.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Don’t ask me to pity you. What’s -forty to a man?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. You’re right. In fact I’m masquerading here -to-day as one of the younger writers.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>glad to be off the subject of herself</i>). Father -likes to feel that he is admired by the younger writers. -So if you’ve brought all their signatures with you, he’ll -be pleased to see you, Mr. Royce. I had better give -you just one word of warning. Don’t be too hard on -the 1863 volume.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I shan’t even mention it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. But if <em>he</em> <span class="nw">does——?</span> It has been attacked -so much that he has a sort of mother-love for it now, -and even I feel protective towards it, and want to say, -“Come here, darling, nobody loves you.” Say something -kind if you can. Of course I know it isn’t his -best, but when you’ve been praised as much as he, the -little praise which is withheld is always the praise you -want the most.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. How delightfully human that sounds. That -is just what I’ve always felt in my own small way.</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"> -<span class="role">WILLIAM</span> <i>comes fussily in</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Is <span class="nw">Mr. Royce——?</span> Ah, there you are! -(<i>Looking round the room</i>) You’ve done the flowers, -Isobel? That’s right. Well, Mr. Royce, I hope -they’ve been looking after you properly.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Oh, yes, thanks.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. That’s right. Isobel—(<i>he looks, in a statesmanlike -way, at his watch</i>)—in five minutes, shall we -say?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. How is he just now?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. He seems better to-day.</p> - -<p><a name="png.220" id="png.220" href="#png.220"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>206<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">WILLIAM</span>. That’s right. We shall drink the health -in here.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Very well.</p> <p class="rt">[<i>She goes out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. A little custom we have, Mr. Royce.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Oh, yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. We shall all wish him many happy returns -of the day—you understand that he isn’t dressed now -until the afternoon—and then I shall present you. -After that, we shall all drink the health—you will join -us, of course.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Certainly.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Then, of course, it depends how we are -feeling. We may feel in the mood for a little talk, or -we may be too tired for anything more than a few -words of greeting. You have the Address with you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes. (<i>Looking about him</i>) At least I put it -down somewhere.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>scandalised</i>). You put it down—somewhere! -My dear Mr. Royce (<i>he searches anxiously</i>)—at -any moment <span class="nw">now——</span> (<i>He looks at his watch.</i>) -Perhaps I’d <span class="nw">better——</span> (<i>A Maid comes in with the port -and glasses</i>) Parsons, have you seen <span class="nw">a——</span> (<i>He makes -vague rectangular shapes with his hands.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Here it is.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Ah, that’s right. (<i>As the Maid puts the -tray down</i>) Yes, there, I think, Parsons. How many -glasses have you brought?</p> - -<p><span class="role">PARSONS</span>. Seven, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. There should be six. One—two—<span class="nw">three——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">PARSONS</span> (<i>firmly</i>). Madam said seven, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Seven, yes, that’s right. When I ring the -bell, you’ll tell Miss Isobel that we are ready.</p> - -<p><span class="role">PARSONS</span>. Yes, sir.</p> - -<p class="hang"> -(<i>She goes out, making way for</i> <span class="role">MARION</span>, <span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>, -<i>and</i> <span class="role">OLIVER</span> <i>as she does so</i>.)</p> - -<p><a name="png.221" id="png.221" href="#png.221"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>207<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Ah, that’s right. Now then, let me see.... -I <span class="nw">think——</span> Marion, will you sit here? Septima, -you there. Oliver—Oliver, that’s a very light suit -you’re wearing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. It’s a birthday, Father, not a funeral.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>with dignity</i>). Yes, but whose birthday? -Well, it’s too late now—you sit there. Mr. Royce, -you sit next to me, so that I can take you up. Now -are we all ready?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>wickedly</i>). Wait a moment. (<i>She blows -her nose</i>) Right.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. All ready? (<i>He rings the bell with an air.</i>)</p> - -<p class="hang"> -(<i>There is a solemn silence of expectation. Then</i> -<span class="role">OLIVER</span> <i>shifts a leg and catches his ankle -against</i> <span class="role">SEPTIMA’S</span> <i>chair</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Damn! Oo! (<i>He rubs his ankle.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>in church</i>). S’sh!</p> - -<p class="hang"> -(<i>There is another solemn silence, and then the Maid -opens the door.</i> <span class="role">BLAYDS</span>, <i>in an invalid chair, -is wheeled in by</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. <i>They all stand up. -With his long white beard, his still plentiful -white hair curling over his ears</i>, <span class="role">OLIVER BLAYDS</span> -<i>does indeed “look like somebody.” Only -his eyes, under their shaggy brows, are still -young. Indomitable spirit and humour gleam -in them. With all the dignity, majesty even, -which he brings to the part, you feel that he -realises what great fun it is being</i> <span class="role">OLIVER -BLAYDS</span>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Good-day to you all.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>going forward and kissing his forehead</i>). -Many happy returns of the day, Father.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Thank you, Marion. Happy, I hope; -many, I neither expect nor want.</p> - -<p class="hang"> -(<span class="role">WILLIAM</span>, <i>who is just going forward, stops for -<a name="png.222" id="png.222" href="#png.222"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>208<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>a moment to jot this down on his shirt cuff. -Then, beckoning to</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span> <i>to follow him, he -approaches</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. My heartiest congratulations, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Thank you, William. When you are ninety, -I’ll do as much for you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>laughing heartily</i>). Ha, ha! Very good, -sir. May I present Mr. A. L. Royce, the well-known -critic?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>looking thoughtfully at</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span>). We have met -before, Mr. Royce?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. At Bournemouth, sir. Eighteen years ago.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>nodding</i>). Yes. I remember.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Wonderful, wonderful!</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>holding out his hand</i>). Thank you for wasting -your time now on an old man. You must stay and -talk to me afterwards.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. It’s very kind of you, sir. <span class="nw">I——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Just a moment, Mr. Royce. (<i>He indicates</i> -<span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">OLIVER</span>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Oh, I beg your pardon. (<i>He steps on one side.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>in a whisper</i>). Septima.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>coming forward</i>). Congratulations, Grandfather. -(<i>She bends her head, and he kisses her.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Thank you, my dear. I don’t know what -I’ve done, but thank you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>coming forward</i>). Congratulations, Grandfather. -(<i>He bends down and</i> <span class="role">BLAYDS</span> <i>puts a hand on his -head</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Thank you, my boy, thank you. (<i>Wistfully</i>) -I was your age once.</p> - -<p class="hang"> -(<span class="role">WILLIAM</span>, <i>who has been very busy pouring out -port, now gets busy distributing it. When -they are all ready he holds up his glass.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Are we all ready? (<i>They are.</i>) Blayds!</p> - -<p><a name="png.223" id="png.223" href="#png.223"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>209<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ALL</span>. Blayds! (<i>They drink.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>moved as always by this</i>). Thank you, thank -you. (<i>Recovering himself</i>) Is that the Jubilee port, -William?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Yes, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>looking wistfully at</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>). May I?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes, dear, if you like. <span class="nw">William——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>anxiously</i>). Do you <span class="nw">think——?</span> (<i>She nods, -and he pours out a glass.</i>) Here you are, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>taking it in rather a shaky hand</i>). Mr. Royce, I -will drink to you; and, through you, to all that eager -youth which is seeking, each in his own way, for beauty. -(<i>He raises his glass.</i>) May they find it at the last! (<i>He -drinks.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Thank you very much, sir. I shall remember.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Allow me, sir. (<i>He recovers</i> <span class="role">BLAYDS’</span> <i>glass</i>.) -Marion, you have business to attend to? <span class="nw">Oliver——?</span> -<span class="nw">Septima——?</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Yes, dear. (<i>Cheerfully to</i> <span class="role">BLAYDS</span>) We’re -going now, Grandfather.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>nodding</i>). I shall talk a little to Mr. Royce.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. That’s right, dear; don’t tire yourself. -Come along, children.</p> - -<p class="hang"> -(<span class="role">OLIVER</span> <i>comes along</i>. <span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> <i>hesitates</i>. <i>She -“means to have it out this time.”</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>irresolutely</i>). <span class="nw">Grandfather——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Well?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Come along, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>overawed by the majesty of</i> <span class="role">BLAYDS</span>). Oh—all -right. (<i>They go. But she will certainly have it out next time.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>in a whisper to</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span>). The Address? (<i>To</i> -<span class="role">BLAYDS</span>) Mr. Royce has a message of congratulation -from some of the younger writers, which he wishes to -present to you, sir. <span class="nw">Mr. Royce——</span></p> - -<p class="rt"> -(<span class="role">ROYCE</span> <i>comes forward with it</i>.)</p> - -<p><a name="png.224" id="png.224" href="#png.224"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>210<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BLAYDS</span>. It is very good of them.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>doubtfully</i>). Shall I read it, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>smiling</i>). The usual thing?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>smiling too</i>). Pretty much. A little better -than usual, I hope, because I wrote it.</p> - -<p class="hang"> -(<span class="role">WILLIAM</span> <i>is now at the writing-table, waiting hopefully -for crumbs</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>holding out his hand</i>). Give it to me. And -sit down, please. Near me. I don’t hear too well. -(<i>He takes the book and glances at it.</i>) Pretty. (<i>He -glances at some of the names and says, with a pleased smile</i>) -I didn’t think they took any interest in an old man. -Isobel, you will read it to me afterwards, and tell me -who they all are?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Will that do, Mr. Royce?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Of course, sir.... I should just like you to -know, to have the privilege of telling you here, and on -this day, that every one of us there has a very real admiration -for your work and a very real reverence for -yourself. And we feel that, in signing, we have done -honour to ourselves, rather than honour to Blayds, -whom no words of ours can honour as his own have done.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Thank you.... You must read it to me, -Isobel. (<i>He gives her the book.</i>) A very real admiration -for <em>all</em> my work, Mr. Royce?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Except the 1863 volume?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I have never regretted that, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>pleased</i>). Ah! You hear, Isobel?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I don’t say that it is my own favourite, but -I could quite understand if it were the author’s. There -are things about <span class="nw">it——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Isobel, are you listening?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Yes, Father.</p> - -<p><a name="png.225" id="png.225" href="#png.225"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>211<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ROYCE</span>. Things outside your usual range, if I may -say <span class="nw">so——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>nodding and chuckling</i>). You hear, Isobel? -Didn’t I always tell you? Well, well, we mustn’t talk -any more about that.... William!</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>jumping up</i>). Sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. What are you doing?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Just finishing off a few letters, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Would you be good enough to bring me my -Sordello?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. The one which Browning gave you, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Of course. I wish to show Mr. Royce the -inscription—(<i>to</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span>)—an absurd one, all rhymes to -Blayds. It will be in the library somewhere; it may -have got moved.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Certainly, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. <span class="nw">Father——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>holding up a hand to stop her</i>). Thank you, -William. (<i>William goes out.</i>) You were saying, -Isobel?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Nothing. I thought it was in your bedroom. -I was reading to you last night.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>sharply</i>). Of course it’s in my bedroom. But -can’t I get my own son-in-law out of the room if I want -to?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>soothingly</i>). Of course, dear. It was silly of -me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. My son-in-law, Mr. Royce, meditates after -my death a little book called “Blaydsiana.” He hasn’t -said so, but I see it written all over him. In addition, -you understand, to the official life in two volumes. -There may be another one called “On the Track of -Blayds in the Cotswolds,” but I am not certain of this -yet. (<i>He chuckles to himself.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>reproachfully</i>). Father!</p> - -<p><a name="png.226" id="png.226" href="#png.226"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>212<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>apologetically</i>). All right, Isobel. Mr. Royce -won’t mind.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>smiling reluctantly</i>). It’s very unkind.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. You never knew Whistler, Mr. Royce?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. No, sir; he was a bit before my time.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Ah, he was the one to say unkind things. -But you forgave him because he had a way with him. -And there was always the hope that when he had -finished with <em>you</em>, he would say something still worse -about one of your friends. (<i>He chuckles to himself again.</i>) -I sent him a book of mine once—which one was it, -Isobel?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. <em>Helen.</em></p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. <em>Helen</em>, yes. I got a postcard from him a -few days later: “Dear Oliver, rub it out and do it -again.” Well, I happened to meet him the next day, -and I said that I was sorry I couldn’t take his advice, -as it was too late now to do anything about it. “Yes,”<!-- punctuation invisible --> -said Jimmie, “as God said when he’d made Swinburne.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. You’ve heard that, Mr. Royce?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. No. Ought I to have?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. It has been published.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>wickedly</i>). I told my son-in-law. Anything -which I tell my son-in-law is published.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I always say that father made it up.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. You didn’t know Jimmie, my dear. There -was nothing he couldn’t have said. But a most stimulating -companion.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes, he must have been.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. So was Alfred. He had a great sense of -humour. All of us who knew him well knew that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. It is curious how many people nowadays -regard Tennyson as something of a prig, with no sense -of humour. I always feel that his association with -<a name="png.227" id="png.227" href="#png.227"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>213<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>Queen Victoria had something to do with it. A Court -poet is so very un-stimulating.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. I think you’re right. It was a pity. (<i>He -chuckles to himself.</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span> <i>waits expectantly</i>.) I went to -Court once.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>surprised</i>). You?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>nodding</i>). Yes, I went to Osborne to see the -Queen. Alfred’s doing I always suspected, but he -wouldn’t own to it. (<i>He chuckles.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Tell him about it, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. I had a new pair of boots. They squeaked. -They squeaked all the way from London to the Isle of -Wight. The Queen was waiting for me at the end -of a long room. I squeaked in. I bowed. I squeaked -my way up to her. We talked. I was not allowed to -sit down, of course; I just stood shifting from one foot -to the other—and squeaking. She said: “Don’t you -think Lord Tennyson’s poetry is very beautiful?” and -I squeaked and said, “Damn these boots!” A gentleman-in-waiting -told me afterwards that it was contrary -to etiquette to start a new topic of conversation with -Royalty—so I suppose that that is why I have never -been asked to Court again.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. It was your joke, Father, not the gentleman-in-waiting’s. -(<span class="role">BLAYDS</span> <i>chuckles</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes, I’m sure of that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Isobel knows all my stories.... When -you’re ninety, they know all your stories.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I like hearing them again, dear, and -Mr. Royce hasn’t heard them.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. I’ll tell you one you <em>don’t</em> know, Isobel.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Not you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Will you bet?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. It’s taking your money.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Mr. Royce will hold the stakes. A shilling.</p> - -<p><a name="png.228" id="png.228" href="#png.228"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>214<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ISOBEL</span>. You will be ruined. (<i>She takes out her -purse.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>childishly</i>). Have you got one for me too?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>taking out two</i>). One for you and one for me. -Here you are, Mr. Royce.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Thank you. Both good ones? Right.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. George Meredith told me this. Are you -fond of cricket, Mr. Royce?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes, very.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. So was Meredith, so was I.... A young -boy playing for his school. The important match of -the year; he gets his colours only if he plays—you -understand? Just before the game began, he was -sitting in one of those—what do they call them?—deck -chairs, when it collapsed, his hand between the hinges. -Three crushed fingers; no chance of playing; no -colours. At that age a tragedy; it seems that one’s -whole life is over. You understand?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes. Oh, very well.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. But if once the match begins with him, he -has his colours, whatever happens afterwards. So he -decides to say nothing about the fingers. He keeps his -hand in his pocket; nobody has seen the accident, nobody -guesses. His side is in first. He watches—his -hand is in his pocket. When his turn comes to bat, he -forces a glove over the crushed fingers and goes to -the wickets. He makes nothing—well, that doesn’t -matter; he is the wicket-keeper and has gone in last. -But he knows now that he can never take his place in -the field; and he knows, too, what an unfair thing he -has done to his school to let them start their game with -a cripple. It is impossible now to confess.... So, -in between the innings, he arranges another accident -with his chair, and falls back on it, with his fingers—his -already crushed fingers this time—in the hinges. -<a name="png.229" id="png.229" href="#png.229"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>215<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>So nobody ever knew. Not until he was a man, and it -all seemed very little and far away.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. What a horrible story! Give him the -money, Mr. Royce.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Keep it for me, Isobel. (<span class="role">ISOBEL</span> <i>takes it</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Is it true, sir?</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. So Meredith said. He told me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Lord, what pluck! I think I should have -forgiven him for that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Yes, an unfair thing to do; but having done -it, he carried it off in the grand manner.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. To save himself.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Well, well. But he had qualities. Don’t -you think so, Mr. Royce?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I do indeed.</p> - -<p class="hang"> -(<i>There is a silence. The excitement of the occasion -has died away, and you can almost see</i> <span class="role">BLAYDS</span> -<i>getting older</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>after a pause</i>). I could tell you another -story, Isobel, which you don’t know.... Of another -boy who carried it off.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Not now, dear. You mustn’t tire yourself.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>a very old man suddenly</i>). No, not now. But -I shall tell you one day. Yes, I shall have to tell you.... -I shall have to tell you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>quietly, to</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span>). I think <span class="nw">perhaps——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>getting up</i>). It is very kind of you to have -seen me, sir. I mustn’t let you get tired of me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>very tired</i>). Good-bye, Mr. Royce. He liked -the 1863 volume, Isobel.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes, Father.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Good-bye, sir, and thank you; I shall always -remember.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>in a whisper to</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span>). You can find your -way out, can’t you? I don’t like to leave him.</p> - -<p><a name="png.230" id="png.230" href="#png.230"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>216<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ROYCE</span>. Of course. I may see you again?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>her tragedy</i>). I am always here.</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Good-bye.</p> <p class="rt">[<i>He goes.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Isobel, where are you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>at his side again</i>). Here I am, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. How old did you say I was?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Ninety.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Ninety.... I’m tired.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. It has been too much for you, dear. I -oughtn’t to have let him stay so long. You’d like to -go to bed now, wouldn’t you? (<i>She walks away to ring -the bell.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>a frightened child</i>). Where are you going? -Don’t leave me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>stopping</i>). Only to ring the bell, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Don’t leave me. I want you to hold my -hand.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes, dear. (<i>She holds it.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Did you say I was ninety? There’s no -going back at ninety. Only forward—into the grave -that’s waiting for you. So cold and lonely there, -Isobel.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I am always with you, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Hold me tight. I’m frightened.... Did -I tell you about the boy—who carried it off?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes, dear, you told us.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. No, not that boy—the other one. Are we -alone, Isobel?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span>. Listen, Isobel. I want to tell <span class="nw">you——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Tell me to-morrow, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>in weak anger, because he is frightened</i>). There -are no to-morrows when you are ninety ... when -you are ninety ... and they have all left you ... -alone.</p> - -<p><a name="png.231" id="png.231" href="#png.231"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>217<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Very well, dear. Tell me now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">BLAYDS</span> (<i>eagerly</i>). Yes, yes, come closer.... Listen, -Isobel. (<i>He draws her still closer and begins.</i>) Isobel....</p> - -<p class="rt">(<i>But we do not hear it until afterwards.</i>)</p> - -</div> - - - - -<div class="act"> -<h3 title="Act II">ACT II<a name="png.232" id="png.232" href="#png.232"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>218<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></h3> - -<div class="scena"> -<p><span class="smc">Scene</span>: <i>The same room a few days later.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> <i>comes in dressed in the deepest black, having just -returned from the funeral of</i> <span class="role">OLIVER BLAYDS</span>. <i>He -looks round the room, and then up at the old gentleman -who has now left it for ever, and draws his first deep -breath of freedom. Then, sitting at his ease on the -sofa, he takes out a cigarette and lights it.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>blowing out smoke</i>). Ah!</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> <i>comes in</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>seeing the cigarette</i>). Hallo!</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>a little on the defensive</i>). Hallo!</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. I think I’ll join you. Got one?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. I expect so. (<i>He offers her one.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Thanks. (<i>He lights it for her.</i>) Thanks. -(<i>She also takes her first deep breath.</i>) Well, that’s that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. What did you think of it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. It’s rather awful, isn’t it? I mean awe-inspiring.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Yes. I don’t know why it should be. Did -you cry? You looked like it once or twice.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Yes. Not because it was Grandfather. -Not because it was Oliver Blayds. But—just because.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Because it was the last time.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Yes.... I suppose that’s why one cries -<a name="png.233" id="png.233" href="#png.233"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>219<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>at weddings. Or at—no, I’ve never been to a christening.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. You have. And I bet you cried.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Oh, my own, yes....</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Wonderful crowd of people. I don’t think -I ever realised before what a great man he was.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. No, one doesn’t....</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>after a pause</i>). You know there’s a lot of rot -talked about death.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. A lot of rot talked about everything.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Here was Oliver Blayds—the greatest man -of his day—seen everything, known everybody, ninety -years old, honoured by all—and then he goes out. -Well!</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Nothing is here for tears, in fact.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Not only nothing for tears, but everything -for rejoicings. I don’t understand these religious -people. They’re quite certain that there’s an after life, -and that this life is only a preparation for it—like a -cold bath in the morning to the rest of the day. And -yet they are always the people who make the most -fuss, and cover themselves with black, and say, “Poor -Grandfather!” ever after. Why poor? He is richer -than ever according to them.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Can’t you <em>see</em> Oliver Blayds in Heaven -enjoying it all? What poetry he would make of it!</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. “A Child’s Thoughts on Waking”—eh? -I’ve laughed at it, and loathed it, but it was the real -stuff, you know. What’s the text—“Except ye be born -again as a little child, ye shall not enter into the kingdom -of Heaven”—is that right? <em>His</em> thoughts—on -waking in Heaven.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>thoughtfully</i>). Septima Blayds-Conway. It’s -rather a thing to be, you know.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. I used to think once that, when the old boy -<a name="png.234" id="png.234" href="#png.234"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>220<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>died, I’d chuck the Blayds and just be plain Oliver -Conway. I’m beginning to think I was wrong.... -Oliver Blayds-Conway.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. The well-known statesman. Sorry—I mean -engineer.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Well, I wonder about that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. What sort of wondering?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Things will be a bit different now. I’m the -only genuine Blayds <span class="nw">left——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Oh, indeed!</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. You know what I mean—male Blayds. And -it’s rather up to me not to let the old man down. Oliver -Blayds-Conway, M.P. There’s something in it, you -know. I was thinking about it in the church. Or -should I drop the Conway and just be Blayds? Or -Conway Blayds and drop the Oliver? It’s a bit of a -problem.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. I shall keep the Blayds when I marry. -Drop the Conway, of course.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. It’s a dirty game, politics, but that’s all the -more reason why there should be some really good -people in it. Irreproachable people, I mean. Conway -Blayds.... (<i>And the Duke of Devonshire, and so -forth</i>).</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>after a pause</i>). I wonder what Aunt Isobel -wants to talk to us all about.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. The old man’s last dying instructions or -something. I was rather hoping to get down to the -Oval. I’ve got the day off. Bit of a change to go to -the Oval when you really <em>have</em> buried your grandfather. -But perhaps I ought to be careful if I’m going -in seriously for politics.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Noll, have you realised that it’s all going -to be rather interesting now?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Of course it is. But why particularly?</p> - -<p><a name="png.235" id="png.235" href="#png.235"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>221<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Father.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. You mean he’s lost his job.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Yes. It’s terribly exciting when your -father’s out of work.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. He’ll have more work than ever. He’ll -write Blayds’ life. That’ll take him years.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Yes; but, don’t you see, he hasn’t any -real standing now. Who is he? Only Blayds’ late -secretary. Whose house is this now, do you think?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Depends how the old man left it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Of course it does. But you can be quite -sure he didn’t leave it to father. I think it’s all going -to be rather exciting.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Well, you won’t be here to see it, my -child.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Why not?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. I thought you were going to live with that -Ferguson girl.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Not so sure now. There’s no hurry anyway. -I think I’ll wait here a bit, and see what -happens. It’s all going to be so different.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. It is. (<i>He smiles at his thoughts.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. What?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>smiling broadly</i>). It’s just on the cards that -it’s my house now. (<i>Looking round the room.</i>) I don’t -think I shall let father smoke in here.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. What fun that would be!... I hope he’s -left Aunt Isobel something.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Yes, poor dear, she’s rather in the air, isn’t -she?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. It’s funny how little we know <em>her</em>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. We’ve hardly ever seen her, apart from the -old man. I don’t suppose there’s much to know. A -born nurse, and that’s all there is to it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Perhaps you’re right.</p> - -<p><a name="png.236" id="png.236" href="#png.236"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>222<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">OLIVER</span>. I’m sure I am.</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">MARION</span> <i>come on</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>continuing a conversation which has obviously -been going on since</i> <span class="role">BLAYDS</span> <i>died</i>). I say again, Oliver -Blayds ought to have been buried in the Abbey. The -nation expected it. The nation had the right to it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Yes, dear, but we couldn’t go against his -own wish. His last wish.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. If it was his wish, why did he not express -it to me?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. He told Isobel, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. So we are to believe. And of course I -was careful to let the public understand that this was -so in my letter to the <cite>Times</cite>. But in what circumstances -did he express the wish? (<i>He suddenly realises</i> -<span class="role">OLIVER’S</span> <i>cigarette and says sharply</i>) Oliver, you know -quite well that your <span class="nw">grandfather——</span> (<i>But then he -remembers where grandfather is.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>not understanding</i>). Yes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. I think Father meant—of course Grandfather -can’t see you now—not to mind.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I should have thought your instinct would -have told you that this is hardly the moment, when -Oliver Blayds is just laid to <span class="nw">rest——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Your cigarette, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Oh! (<i>He throws it away.</i>) Sorry, Mother, -if you mind. I didn’t think it would matter either way—now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. That’s all right, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. As I was saying, in what circumstances did -he express the wish?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. What, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. On his death-bed, his faculties rapidly -going, he may have indicated preference for a simple -<a name="png.237" id="png.237" href="#png.237"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>223<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>ceremony. But certainly up to a few weeks of his -passing, although it was naturally a subject which I did -not care myself to initiate, he always gave me the -impression that he anticipated an interment in the -Abbey.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Yes, dear. I daresay I shall feel it more -later, but just now I like to think of him where he -wanted to be himself.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. After all, Shakespeare isn’t buried in the -Abbey.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I don’t think that that has anything to -do with it, Septima. I am not saying that the reputation -of Oliver Blayds will suffer by reason of his absence -from the national Valhalla—he has built his own -monument in a thousand deathless lines; but speaking -as an Englishman, I say that the Abbey had a right to -him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Well, it’s too late now, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I shall speak to Isobel again; I still feel -sure she was mistaken.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Very well, dear. But don’t worry her -more than you need. I feel rather uneasy about her. -She has been so strange since he died.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. She will be worried enough as it is. Of all -the extraordinary wills to make!</p> - -<p class="rt">(<span class="role">OLIVER</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> <i>exchange glances</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Why, what’s he done? We were wondering -about that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Yes, yes, yes, you will know in good time, -my boy.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Why not now? This seems a very good -time.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Are we too young to be told?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>ignoring them</i>). Marion, don’t let me forget -that message to the public—returning thanks for their -<a name="png.238" id="png.238" href="#png.238"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>224<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>sympathy, and so on. (<i>Moving to the desk.</i>) We might -draft that now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Yes, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Oliver was asking you about the will, -Father.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Yes, yes, another time. <span class="nw">Marion——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. I suppose I am mentioned in it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Of course, of course.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. To what extent?</p> - -<p class="rt">(<span class="role">WILLIAM</span> <i>is too busy to answer</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Father, don’t be so childish.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>outraged</i>). Septima!</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Septima dear, you oughtn’t to talk to your -father like that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>with dignity</i>). I think you had better go to -your room.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>unmoved</i>). But that’s the whole point. Is it -my room? (<span class="role">WILLIAM</span> <i>looks bewildered</i>.) Or is it Oliver’s, -or Mother’s, or Aunt Isobel’s?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. I believe he has left everything to Aunt -Isobel.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Oh no, dear, he wouldn’t do that. He -would never have favourites. Share and share alike.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Half for you and half for Aunt Isobel?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Of course, dear. And all to you and Oliver -after our death. And something down to you now. -I forget how much. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">WILLIAM</span>) What was it, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>sulkily</i>). A thousand pounds each.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Sportsman! What about you, Father? -Do you get anything?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Father gets a thousand too.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Then why “of all the extraordinary -<span class="nw">wills——”?</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. It’s because of Aunt Isobel being made sole -executor—literary executor too—isn’t that it, dear?</p> - -<p><a name="png.239" id="png.239" href="#png.239"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>225<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>mumbling</i>). Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Oho! Meaning that <em>she</em> runs Blayds now? -New editions, biographies, unpublished fragments, and -all the rest of it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Naturally she will leave it in Father’s hands. -But, of course, Father is a little hurt that Grandfather -didn’t think of that for himself.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Oh, well, I don’t suppose it matters much. -Then that’s why she wants to see us all now.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">WILLIAM</span> <i>grunts assent; and stands up as</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span> -<i>comes in</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Ah, here you are.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I’m sorry if I have kept you waiting.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. It’s all right, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I was just telling Marion that I am more -than ever convinced that Oliver Blayds’ rightful resting-place -was the Abbey.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>shaking her head wearily</i>). No.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I was saying to Marion, even if he expressed -the wish in his last moments for a quiet <span class="nw">interment——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. He never expressed the wish, one way or -the other.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. My dear Isobel! You distinctly told -<span class="nw">us——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. You did say, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes, I owe you an apology about that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>indignantly</i>). An apology!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. There is something I have to tell you all. -Will you please listen, all of you? Won’t you sit down, -William? (<i>They sit down.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. What is it, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. You’ve been very mysterious these last -few days.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I didn’t want to say anything until he had -<a name="png.240" id="png.240" href="#png.240"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>226<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>been buried. I shall not be mysterious now; I shall -be only too plain.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">OLIVER</span>). I say, what’s up?</p> - -<p class="rt">(<span class="role">OLIVER</span> <i>shrugs his shoulders</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Well?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I told you that Father didn’t want to be -buried in the Abbey, not because he had said so, but -because it was quite impossible that he should be buried -in the Abbey.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Impossible!</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. I’m sure the Dean would have been <span class="nw">only——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Impossible because he had done nothing to -make him worthy of that honour.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Well!</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Oh no, Aunt Isobel, you’re wrong there. I -mean when you think of some of the <span class="nw">people——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Will you listen to me, please? And ask any -questions afterwards. You may think I’m mad; I’m -not.... I wish I were.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Well, what is it?</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>She tells them; it is almost as if she were repeating -a lesson which she had learnt by heart.</i> <span class="role">BLAYDS</span>, -<i>you may be sure, made a story of it when he told -her—we seem to hear snatches of that story now</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Nearly seventy years ago there were two -young men, boys almost, twenty-three, perhaps, living -together in rooms in Islington. Both poor, both eager, -ambitious, certain of themselves, very certain of their -destiny. But only one of them was a genius. He was -a poet, this one; perhaps the greater poet because he -knew that he had not long to live. The poetry came -bubbling out of him, and he wrote it down feverishly, -quick, quick before the hand became cold and the fingers -could no longer write. That was all his ambition. He -had no thoughts of present fame; there was no time for -<a name="png.241" id="png.241" href="#png.241"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>227<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>it. He was content to live unknown, so that when dead -he might live for ever. His friend was ambitious in a -different way. He wanted the present delights of -fame. So they lived together there, one writing and -writing, always writing; the other writing and then -stopping to think how famous he was going to be, and -envying those who were already famous, and then -regretfully writing again. A time came when the poet -grew very ill, and lay in bed, but still writing, but still -hurrying, hurrying to keep pace with the divine music -in his brain. Then one day there was no more writing, -no more music. The poet was dead. (<i>She is silent for a -little.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>as her meaning slowly comes to him</i>). Isobel, -what are you saying?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. I don’t understand. Who was it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Good Lord!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>in the same quiet voice</i>). The friend was left—with -the body of the poet—and all that great monument -which the dead man had raised for himself. The -poet had no friends but this one; no relations of whom -he had ever spoken or who claimed him now. He was -dead, and it was left to his friend to see that he won -now that immortality for which he had given his life.... -His friend betrayed him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. I say!</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I <em>won’t</em> believe it! It’s monstrous!</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. I don’t understand.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>wearily</i>). One can see the temptation. There -he was, this young man of talent, of great ambition, -and there were these works of genius lying at his feet, -waiting to be picked up—and fathered by him. I -suppose that, like every other temptation, it came -suddenly. He writes out some of the verses, scribbled -down anyhow by the poet in his mad hurry, and sends -<a name="png.242" id="png.242" href="#png.242"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>228<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>them to a publisher; one can imagine the publisher’s -natural acceptance of the friend as the true author, the -friend’s awkwardness in undeceiving him, and then his -sudden determination to make the most of the opportunity -given him.... Oh, one can imagine many -things—but what remains? Always and always this. -That Oliver Blayds was not a poet; that he did not -write the works attributed to him; and that he betrayed -his friend. (<i>She stops and then says in an ordinary -matter-of-fact voice</i>) That was why I thought that he -ought not to be buried in the Abbey.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Good Lord!</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>sharply</i>). Is this true, Isobel?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. It isn’t the sort of story that I should make -up.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. I don’t understand. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">WILLIAM</span>) What is -it? I don’t understand.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Isobel is telling us that Oliver Blayds stole -all his poetry from another man.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Stole it!</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Passed it off as his own.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>firmly to</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>). Oh no, dear, you must -be wrong. Why should Grandfather want to steal anybody -else’s poetry when he wrote so beautifully himself?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. That’s just the point, Mother. Aunt -Isobel says that he didn’t write anything himself.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. But there are the books with his name on -them!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Stolen—from his friend.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>shocked</i>). Isobel, how can you? Your own -father!</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I don’t believe it. I had the privilege of -knowing Oliver Blayds for nearly thirty years and I -say that I don’t believe it.</p> - -<p><a name="png.243" id="png.243" href="#png.243"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>229<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I knew him for some time too. He was my -father.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. When did he tell you this?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. It’s a dashed funny thing <span class="nw">that——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. If you will allow me, Oliver. I want to -get to the bottom of this. When did he tell you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. That last evening. His birthday.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. How? Why? Why should he tell you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. He seemed frightened suddenly—of dying. -I suppose he’d always meant to tell somebody before -he died.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Why didn’t you tell us before, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>holding up his hand</i>). Please. Let me. -(<i>To</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>) Why didn’t you tell us before?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I promised not to say anything until he was -dead. Then I thought I would wait until he was -buried.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. You couldn’t have made a mistake? You -couldn’t have misunderstood him?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>smiling sadly</i>). No.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. You say that this other man died—how -many years ago?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Sixty, seventy.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Ah! (<i>Sarcastically</i>) And sixty years after -he was dead he was apparently still writing poetry for -Oliver Blayds to steal?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. He had already written it—sixty years ago—for -Oliver Blayds to steal.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Good Lord! What a man!</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. You mean that his last <span class="nw">volume——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>holding up his hand</i>). Please, Septima.... -Take this last volume published when he was over -eighty. You say that everything there had been -written by this other man sixty years ago?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><a name="png.244" id="png.244" href="#png.244"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>230<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">WILLIAM</span>. And the manuscripts were kept by Oliver -Blayds for sixty years, written out again by him and -published in his old age as his own?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>triumphantly</i>). And can you explain how -it was that he didn’t publish them earlier if he had -had them in his possession all those years?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. He didn’t dare to. He was afraid of being -left with nothing to publish. He took care always to -have something in reserve. And that’s why everybody -said how wonderfully vigorous and youthful his mind -was at eighty, how amazing that the spirit and fire -of youth had remained with him so long. Yes, it was -the spirit and fire of youth, but of a youth who died -seventy years ago.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>impressed</i>). Gad, you know, fancy the old -chap keeping it up like that. Shows how little one -really knows people. I had no idea he was such a -sportsman.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Such a liar.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Same thing, sometimes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. I call it perfectly disgusting.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Please, please! We shan’t arrive at the -truth like that. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>) You want me to understand -that Oliver Blayds has never written a line of his -own poetry in his life?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Why, Grandfather was always writing -poetry. Even as a child I <span class="nw">remember——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>impatiently</i>). Mother, can’t you understand -that the Oliver Blayds we thought we knew never -existed?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. But I was telling you, dear, that even as a -<span class="nw">child——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">OLIVER</span>). It’s no good, she’s hopelessly -muddled.</p> - -<p><a name="png.245" id="png.245" href="#png.245"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>231<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Yes, yes.... Do you wish me to <span class="nw">understand——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I wish you to know the truth. We’ve been -living in a lie, all of us, all our lives, and now at last -we have found the truth. You talk as if, for some -reason, I wanted to spread slanders about Oliver Blayds -now that he is dead; as if in some way all this great -lie were my doing; as if it were no pain but a sort of -a pleasure to me to find out what sort of man my -father really was. Ask me questions—I want you to -know everything; but don’t cross-examine me as if I -were keeping back the truth.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>upset and apologetic</i>). Quite so, quite so. -It’s the truth which we want.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. As Grandfather said so beautifully himself -in his “Ode to Truth”—What are the lines?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>hopelessly</i>). Oh, Mother!</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Yes, and that was what I was going to -say—could a man who wrote so beautifully about Truth -as Grandfather did tell lies and deceive people as -Isobel says he did? (<i>To</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>) I’m sure you must -have made a mistake, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. You never told us—what was the other -fellow’s name?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I am coming to that directly. What I -am asking you now is this. Did Oliver Blayds write -no line of poetry himself at all?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. He wrote the 1863 volume.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>staggered</i>). Oh!</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. The wash-out? By Jove! Then <em>that</em> explains -it!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes, that explains it. He tried to tell himself -that he was a poet too; that he had only used the -other man in order to give himself a start. So he -brought out a volume of his own poems. And then -<a name="png.246" id="png.246" href="#png.246"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>232<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>when everybody said “Blayds is finished,” he went back -hastily to his friend and never ventured by himself -again. And that explains why he resented the criticism -of that volume, why he was so pleased when it -was praised. It was all that he had written.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>defeated now</i>). Yes, that would explain it. -(<i>To himself</i>) Oliver Blayds!...</p> - -<p class="rt">(<i>They are all silent for a little.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Then he didn’t write “Septima.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Of course he didn’t. You’re illegitimate, -old girl.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Who did?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. The other man’s name was Jenkins.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>in disgust</i>). Christened after Jenkins!</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Oliver Jenkins-Conway, M.P. Good Lord!</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. It will have to be Oliver Conway now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>gloomily</i>). Yes, I suppose so. But everybody -will know.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>still fighting</i>). His friends, Isobel. The -great friends he had had. The stories he has told us -about them—were those all lies too? No, they couldn’t -have been. I’ve seen them here myself.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Why, I remember going to see Uncle -Thomas once when I was a little girl—Carlyle—Uncle -Thomas I called him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Well, if it comes to that, <em>I</em> can <span class="nw">remember——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Oh, the friends were there. They accepted -him for what he seemed to be, just as we did. He -deceived them as cleverly as he deceived us.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Tennyson, Browning, <span class="nw">Swinburne——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>bitterly</i>). Oh, he had his qualities. He talked -well. There were his books. Why should they doubt -him?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Yes.... Yes.</p> - -<p class="rt">(<i>There is silence for a little.</i>)</p> - -<p><a name="png.247" id="png.247" href="#png.247"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>233<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">MARION</span> (<i>going over to</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span> <i>and shaking her by the arm</i>). -Is it really true what you’ve been saying?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Oh, how I wish it weren’t.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">WILLIAM</span>). <em>Is</em> it true?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. He told her. She wouldn’t make it up.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. But there’s all that beautiful poetry. I’ve -been brought up to believe in it all my life. I’ve lived -on it. And now you’ve taken it away, and you’ve left—nothing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Nothing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>quite lost</i>). I don’t understand. (<i>She goes -back in a vague, bewildered way to her chair....</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>defiantly</i>). The poetry is still there—and -Jenkins.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>shouting</i>). Shut up, Tim!</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>angrily</i>). Shut up about what?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Jenkins. Don’t rub it in. It’s much worse -for Mother than it is for us.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Oh, all right! But you don’t gain anything -by not being frank about it.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>The little storm dies down as suddenly as it began. -There is another silence.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Good Lord! I’ve just thought of something. -(<i>They look at him.</i>) The money.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. The money?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. All this. (<i>He indicates the room</i>) Who does -it belong to?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. According to the provisions of your Grandfather’s -<span class="nw">will——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Yes, but it wasn’t his to leave.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Not his <span class="nw">to——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. No, Jenkins.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. I thought we weren’t going to mention -Mr. Jenkins.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Shut up, Tim, that’s different. (<i>To the -<a name="png.248" id="png.248" href="#png.248"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>234<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>others</i>) All the money comes from the books—at least -I suppose it does—and the books aren’t his, so the money -isn’t either.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>turning in a bewildered way to</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>). Is -that so?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>with a shrug</i>). I suppose so.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. You say he had no family, this other man.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. None who bothered about him. But there -must be relations somewhere.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. We shall have to find that out.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Anyhow, as Oliver says, the money isn’t -ours. (<i>Bitterly</i>) I wouldn’t touch a penny.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Some of the money would be rightfully his. -There was that one volume anyhow. It may not have -been praised, but it was bought. Then there’s the -question of his investments. It may prove that some -of his most profitable investments were made about -that time—with that very money. In which case, if -it could be <span class="nw">established——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>indignantly</i>). Oh, how can you talk like that! -As if it mattered. It’s tainted money, all of it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I think that is going too far. Very much -too far. I recognise, of course, that we have certain -obligations towards the relatives of this man—er—Jenkins. -Obviously we must fulfil those obligations. -But when that is <span class="nw">done——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>). We shall be generous, of course, -dear, that’s only fair.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Yes, but what are you going to do if no -relations turn up?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>turning doubtfully to</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>). Well, there is -that, of course.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. In that case we couldn’t do anything, could -we, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. We could throw the money into the sea; we -<a name="png.249" id="png.249" href="#png.249"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>235<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>could bury it deep in the ground; we could even give it -away, Marion.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. That’s going much too far.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. It’s rather a problem, you know.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. It isn’t a problem at all. May I speak for -a moment? I really think I have a right to say something.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Well?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. I want to say this. Oliver and I have been -brought up in a certain way to expect certain things. -Oliver wanted to be an engineer; he wasn’t allowed to, -as Grandfather wanted him to go into politics. I -wanted to share a studio with a friend and try and get -on with my painting; I wasn’t allowed to, as Grandfather -wanted me at home. Perhaps if Oliver had -been an engineer, he would have been doing well by -now. Perhaps if I had had my way, I might have -been earning my living by now. As it is, we have been -brought up as the children and grandchildren of rich -people; I can’t earn my own living, and Oliver is in -a profession in which money means success. Aunt -Isobel has been telling us how a young man of Oliver’s -age, seventy years ago, was cheated out of his rights. -Apparently she thinks that the best way now of making -up for that is to cheat Oliver and me out of our rights. -I don’t agree with her.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Yes, there’s a good deal in that. Well done, -Tim.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. It’s hard on you, I know. But you are -young; you still have your lives in front of you, to make -what you will of them.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. That’s what old people always say to -people of our age, and they seem to think that it excuses -any injustice.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Poor Grandfather!</p> - -<p><a name="png.250" id="png.250" href="#png.250"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>236<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Yes, but I don’t see why it should be -“Poor Oliver” and “Poor Septima” too. Suppose any -relation did turn up—(<i>to</i> <span class="role">WILLIAM</span>)—suppose they do, -Father. Well, what will they all be? Grand-nephews, -or fifth cousins twice removed or something, who have -never heard of Jenkins, who never did anything <em>for</em> -Jenkins, and on whose lives Jenkins has had no effect -whatever. Is there any sort of justice which says that -they ought to have the money? But Noll and I have -given up a good deal for Oliver Blayds, and he owes us -something.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>with ironic sadness</i>). Oh yes, you have given -up a good deal for Oliver Blayds. It ought to be paid -back to you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>still trying to be fair</i>). There’s another thing -we must remember. Even if this other <span class="nw">man——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Jenkins.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Yes, even if he wrote all the books—always -excepting the 1863 volume—even so, it was -Oliver Blayds who arranged for their publication. He -could fairly claim, therefore, an agent’s commission on -all moneys received. Ten per cent.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>scornfully</i>). Oliver Blayds, the well-known -commission agent!</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Ten per cent of all moneys, therefore, is, -in any case, rightfully ours.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Only ten per cent, dear. That seems very -little.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I am working on a minimum basis. Isobel -says, “Throw all the money into the sea; it doesn’t belong -to us.” I say no, that is going too far. We have -one volume which is certainly ours. We have the ten -per cent commission which is certainly ours. There -may be other sums due to us, such as the profits of -certain of the investments. We can look into the -<a name="png.251" id="png.251" href="#png.251"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>237<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>matter carefully at our leisure. The great point, I -take it, is that we want to be fair to the relatives of this -man Jenkins, but also fair to the relatives of Oliver -Blayds, who, as Septima points out, have at least -done something to earn any money that comes to -them.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>). We want to be fair to everybody, -dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Well, I think you are going to give the -Jenkinses much too much. What right have the Jenkinses -got to <em>any</em> of the money which Grandfather made -by investing?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Well, it was Jenkins’ money which was invested.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. We shouldn’t like to think of them starving -because we weren’t quite fair.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. They let Jenkins starve. They didn’t -worry about <em>him</em>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Of course they didn’t, they weren’t even -born.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. The whole question is extremely difficult. -We may require an arbitrator, or, at any rate, a qualified -chartered accountant.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Yes, that would be better, dear. To let -somebody else decide what is fair and what isn’t.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>in a low voice</i>). Oh, it’s horrible ... horrible.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. What, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. The way you talk—about the money. As -if all that we had lost was so much money. As if you -could estimate the wrong that Oliver Blayds did to -his friend in the terms of money. I said the money -was tainted. It is. How can you bear to touch it? -How can you bear to profit by such a betrayal?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. That’s pure sentiment, Aunt Isobel. Quite -apart from not being reasonable, it isn’t even practical. -<a name="png.252" id="png.252" href="#png.252"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>238<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>Where are you going to draw the line? If you’re going -to throw the money away, then you’ve got to throw the -house away and everything in the house away—all our -clothes to begin with. Because everything—everything -that belongs to us owes itself to that betrayal of seventy -years ago.... We should look very funny, the five -of us, walking out of the house to-morrow, with nothing -on, and starting life all over again.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Septima, dear, I don’t think that’s <span class="nw">quite——</span></p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> <i>begins to laugh to herself at the picture of -them</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. That isn’t fair, Tim. An extreme case -makes anything seem absurd. (<i>Earnestly to</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>) -You know, I do see what you mean and I do sympathise. -But even if we kept all the money, would -that matter very much? All this man Jenkins wanted -was to leave an immortal name behind him. You’ve -just told us that nothing else interested him. Jenkins—I -don’t say it’s much of a name, but neither was -Keats for that matter. Well, Grandfather robbed him -of that, and a damned shame too, but now we are giving -it back to him. So all that’s happened is that he’s -had seventy years less immortality than he expected. -But he can’t worry seriously about that, any more than -Wordsworth can worry because he was born two -hundred years after Shakespeare. They are all equally -immortal.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>). You see, dear, that’s quite fair -to everybody.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. One can’t argue about it; you feel it or you -don’t. And I give up my share of the money, so there -should be plenty for all of you, even after you have -been “fair” to the others.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>who has felt</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL’S</span> <i>scorn deeply</i>). Isobel! -I don’t think you can realise how much you have hurt -<a name="png.253" id="png.253" href="#png.253"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>239<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>me by your words. After the first shock of your -revelation it has been my one object to keep my real -feelings, my very deep feelings, under control. I -suppose that this revelation, this appalling revelation, -has meant more to me than to any one in this room. -Put quite simply, it means the end of my life work, -the end of a career.... I think you know how I devoted -myself to Oliver <span class="nw">Blayds——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Simply devoted himself, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I gave up whatever other ambitions I may -have <span class="nw">had—</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>to the children</i>). I always said that Father -could have done anything.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. —And I set myself from that day on to -live for one thing only, Oliver Blayds. It was a great -pride to me to be his son-in-law, a great pride to be his -secretary, but the greatest pride of all was the thought -that I was helping others to know and to love, as I -knew and loved him, that very great poet, that very -great man, Oliver Blayds. You tell me now that he -is—(<i>he snaps his fingers</i>)—nothing. A hollow mask. -(<i>His voice rises</i>) I think I have some right to be angry; -I think I have some right to bear resentment against -this man who has tricked me, who has been making -a fool of me for all these years. When I think of the -years of labour which I have spent already in getting -the materials together for this great man’s life; when -I think how I have listened to him and taken down -eagerly his every word; when I think that to-morrow -I am to be held up to the derision of the world for the -gullible fool I have shown myself to be, I think I have -a right to be angry. (<i>With a great effort he controls -himself and goes on more quietly</i>) But I have tried to -control my feelings. I have remembered that he was -your father and Marion’s father, and I have tried to -<a name="png.254" id="png.254" href="#png.254"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>240<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>control myself. To forget my own feelings, and to -consider only how best to clear up this wreckage that -Oliver Blayds has left behind. It is not for you to -scorn me, me who have been the chief one to suffer.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Poor Father! (<i>She puts out a hand.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>patting it</i>). That’s all right. I don’t want -pity. I just want Isobel to try to realise what it means -to me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Yes, by Jove, it is a bit rough on the governor.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Rough on all of us.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. But your father has suffered most. You -must always remember that.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Poor William! Yes, it is hard on you. -Your occupation’s gone.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. It is a terrible blow to us all, this dreadful -news that you have given us. But you can understand -that to me it is absolutely crushing.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>in a whisper</i>). And to me? (<i>They look at her -in surprise.</i>) What has it been to me?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Well, as I was <span class="nw">saying——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. You have enjoyed your life here, yes, every -moment of it. If you hadn’t been secretary to Oliver -Blayds, you would have been secretary to somebody -else—it’s what you’re best fitted for. Yes, you have -lived your life; you have had interests, a hundred interests -every day to keep you active and eager.... -(<i>Almost to herself</i>) But I say, what of me? What has -my life been? Look at me now—what am I?—a -wasted woman. I might have been a wife, a mother—with -a man of my own, children of my own, in my own -home. Look at me now...!</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. My dear, I never <span class="nw">dreamt——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>eighteen years away from them all</i>). He asked -me to marry him. Tall and straight and clean he was, -and he asked me to marry him. Ah, how happy we -<a name="png.255" id="png.255" href="#png.255"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>241<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>should have been together, he and I—should we not -have been happy? He asked me to marry him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Isobel!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Such a long time ago. I was young then, -and pretty then, and the world was very full then of -beautiful things. I used to laugh then—we laughed -together—such a gay world it was all those years ago. -And he asked me to marry him.... (<i>In a hard voice</i>) -I didn’t. I sent him away. I said that I must stay -with my father, Oliver Blayds, the great poet. Yes, -I was helping the great poet. (<i>With a bitter laugh</i>) -Helping!... And I sent my man away.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>distressed</i>). Oh, don’t!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. You thought I liked nursing. “A born -nurse”—I can hear you saying it. (<i>Fiercely it bursts out -after all these years</i>) I hated it! Do you know what it’s -like nursing a sick old man—day after day, night after -night? And then year after year. Always a little -older, a little more difficult. Do you know what it is to -live with an old man when you are young, as I was young -once, to live always with old age and never with youth, -and to watch your own youth gradually creeping up to -join his old age? Ah, but I was doing it for Blayds, for -the sake of his immortal poetry. (<i>She laughs—such a -laugh</i>) And look at me now, all wasted. The wife I -might have been, the mother I might have been. (<i>In a -whisper</i>) How beautiful the world was, all those years -ago!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>They say nothing, for there is nothing to say.</i> -<span class="role">ISOBEL</span> <i>looks in front of her, seeing nothing which -they can see. Very gently they go out, leaving -her there with her memories....</i>)</p> - -</div> - - - -<div class="finalact"> -<h3 title="Act III">ACT III<a name="png.256" id="png.256" href="#png.256"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>242<span class="ns">]</span></span></a></h3> - - -<div class="scena"> -<p><i>Afternoon, three days later.</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span> <i>is at the desk, at work -on a statement for publication. He has various documents -at hand, to which he refers from time to time.</i> -<span class="role">OLIVER</span> <i>comes in</i>.</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Hallo!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>without looking up</i>). Hallo!</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>after waiting hopefully</i>). Very busy! (<i>He sits -down.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Where is everybody?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. About somewhere.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Oh!... I’ve been away for a couple of -days. My chief made a speech at Bradford. My -God! Just for my benefit he dragged in a reference -to Oliver Blayds. Also “My God.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>realising suddenly that somebody is talking</i>). -Oh! (<i>He goes on with his work.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Yes, you seem quite excited about it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Sorry, but I’ve really got rather a lot to do, -and not too much time to do it in.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Oh!... You won’t mind my asking, but -are you living in the house?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Practically. For the last three days.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Oh, I say, are you really? I was being -sarcastic—as practised by the best politicians.</p> - -<p><a name="png.257" id="png.257" href="#png.257"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>243<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ROYCE</span>. Don’t mention it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. What’s happened?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Miss Blayds asked me to help her. As you -know, she is executor to Blayds. Of course your -father is helping too, but there’s a good deal to be done.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. I see. (<i>Awkwardly</i>) I say, I suppose you—I -mean has she—I mean, what <span class="nw">about——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Miss Blayds has told me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Oh! Nobody else yet?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. No.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. I’ve been rushing for the papers every -morning expecting to see something about it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. We want to get everything in order first—the -financial side of it as well as the other—and then -make a plain straightforward statement of what has -happened and what we propose to do.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Yes, of course you can’t just write to <i>The -Times</i> and say: “Dear Sir, Blayds’ poetry was written -by Jenkins, Yours faithfully.”... When will it be, -do you think?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. We ought to have it ready by to-morrow.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. H’m.... Then I had better start looking -for a job at once.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Nonsense!</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. It isn’t nonsense. What do you think my -chief will want me for, if I’m not Blayds the poet’s -grandson?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Your intrinsic qualities.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. I’m afraid they are not intrinsic enough in -the present state of the market.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Well, you said you wanted to be a motor -engineer—now’s your chance.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Helpful fellow, Royce. Now, as he says, -is my chance. (<i>There is a pause and then he says suddenly</i>) -I say, what do <em>you</em> think about it all?</p> - -<p><a name="png.258" id="png.258" href="#png.258"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>244<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ROYCE</span>. What do you mean, think about it all? -What is there to think? One tries not to think. It’s—shattering.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. No, I don’t mean that. I mean—do you -really think he did it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Did what?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Did <em>it</em>. Did Jenkins.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I don’t understand. Is there any doubt about -it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Well, that’s just it.... The fact is, I had -a brain-wave at Bradford.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Oh?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Yes. Quite suddenly it flashed across me, -and I said, “By Jove! Of course! That’s it!”</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. What’s what?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. He never did it! He just imagined it! It -was all—what was the word I used?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Hallucination?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Hallucination. (<i>He nods</i>) That’s the word. -I wrote to Father last night. I said, “Hallucination.” -You can back it both ways, Royce, and you won’t be -far out.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes, I can see how attractive the word must -have looked—up at Bradford.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. You don’t think it looks so well down -here?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I’m afraid not.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Well, why not? Which is more probable, -that Oliver Blayds carried out this colossal fraud for -more than sixty years, or that when he was an old -man of ninety his brain wobbled a bit, and he started -imagining things?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>shaking his head regretfully</i>). No.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. It’s all very well to say “No.” Anybody -can say “No.” As the Old Man said yesterday, you -<a name="png.259" id="png.259" href="#png.259"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>245<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>refuse to face the facts, Royce. Look at all the Will -cases you see in the papers. Whenever an old gentleman -over seventy leaves his money to anybody but his -loving nephews and nieces, they always bring an action -to prove that he can’t have been quite right in the head -when he died; and nine times out of ten they win. -Well, Blayds was ninety.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes, but I thought he left you a thousand -pounds.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Well, I suppose that was a lucid interval.... -Look here, <em>you</em> think it over seriously. I read a -book once about a fellow who stole another man’s novel. -Perhaps Blayds read it too and got it mixed up. Why -not at that age? Or perhaps he was thinking of using -the idea himself. And turning it over and over in his -mind, living with it, so to speak, day and night, he might -very easily begin to think that it was something that had -happened to himself. At his age. And then on his -death-bed, feeling that he must confess something—thoroughly -muddled, poor old fellow—well, you see -how easily it might happen. Hallucination.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>regarding him admiringly</i>). You know, Oliver, -I think you underrate your intrinsic qualities as a -politician. You mustn’t waste yourself on engineering.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Thanks very much. I suppose Father hasn’t -mentioned the word “hallucination” to you yet?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. No, not yet.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Perhaps he hadn’t got my letter this morning. -But it’s worth thinking about, it is really.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>hard at it again</i>). Yes, I am sure it is.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. You <span class="nw">know——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. You know, Oliver, I’m really very busy.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>getting up</i>). Oh, all right. And I want a -wash anyway. Is Father in his study?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes. Also very busy. If you really are -<a name="png.260" id="png.260" href="#png.260"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>246<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>going, I wish you’d see if Miss Blayds could spare me -a moment.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Right. (<i>Turning to the door and seeing</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span> -<i>come in</i>) She can. Hallo, Aunt Isobel!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I thought I heard your voice. Did you -have an interesting time?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Rather! I was telling Royce. (<i>He takes -her hand and pats it kindly</i>) And I say, it’s all right. -Quite all right. (<i>He kisses her hand</i>) Believe me, it’s -going to be absolutely all right. You see. (<i>He pats her -hand soothingly and goes out.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>rather touched</i>). Dear boy!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes, Oliver has a great future in politics.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>going to the sofa</i>). I’m tired.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. You’ve been doing too much. Sit down and -rest a little.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>sitting</i>). No, go on. I shan’t disturb you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Talk to me. I’ve worked quite enough too.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Shall we be ready by to-morrow?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I think so.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I want to be rid of it—to get it out of my -head where it just goes round and round. It will be -a relief when the whole world knows. (<i>With a little -smile</i>) What a sensation for them!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes. (<i>Also smiling</i>) Isn’t it funny how that -comes in?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. What?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. The excitement at the back of one’s mind -when anything unusual happens, however disastrous.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Did I sound very excited?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. You sounded alive for the first time.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. These last two days have helped me. It -has been a great comfort to have you here. It was -good of you to come.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. But of course I came.</p> - -<p><a name="png.261" id="png.261" href="#png.261"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>247<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I was looking up <cite>Who’s Who</cite> for an address, -and I went on to your name—you know how one does. -I hadn’t realised you were so famous or so busy. It was -good of you to come.... Your wife died?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>surprised</i>). Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I didn’t know.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Ten years ago. <span class="nw">Surely——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Is there a special manner of a man whose -wife died ten years ago which I ought to have recognised?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>laughing</i>). Well, no. But one always feels -that a fact with which one has lived for years must have -impressed itself somehow on others.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I didn’t know....</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>suddenly</i>). I wish I could persuade you that -you were quite wrong not to take any of this money.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Am I “quite wrong”?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>shaking his head</i>). No. That’s why it’s so -hopeless my trying to persuade you.... What are -you going to do?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>rather sadly</i>). Aren’t I a “born nurse”?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. You tied my hand up once.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Well, there you are.... Oh, I -daresay it’s just pride, but somehow I can’t take the -money. The others can; you were right about that—I -was wrong; but they have not been so near to him -as I have.... I thought the whole world was at an -end at first. But <span class="nw">now——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. But now you don’t.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. No. I don’t know why. How hopeful we -are. How—unbreakable. If I were God, I should -be very proud of Man.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Let Him go on being proud of you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Oh, I’m tough. You can’t be a nurse without -being tough. I shan’t break.</p> - -<p><a name="png.262" id="png.262" href="#png.262"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>248<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ROYCE</span>. And just a smile occasionally?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>smiling</i>). And even perhaps just a smile -occasionally?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Thank you.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">WILLIAM</span> <i>comes in fussily. But there is a suppressed -air of excitement about him. He has</i> <span class="role">OLIVER’S</span> -<i>letter in his hand</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Isobel, there are two pass-books missing—two -of the early ones. I thought you had found them -all. You haven’t seen them, Mr. Royce?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. No, I’ve had nothing to do with them.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. You found most of the early ones in the -bottom drawer of his desk, you told me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>getting up</i>). I may have overlooked one; I’ll -go and see. There was a great deal of rubbish there.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Can’t I?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Would you? You know where. Thank you -so much.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>going</i>). Right.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Thank you very much, Mr. Royce, I’m -sorry to trouble you.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>There is a little silence after</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span> <i>is gone</i>. <span class="role">ISOBEL</span> -<i>is thinking her own thoughts, not quite such unhappy -ones now</i>; <span class="role">WILLIAM</span> <i>is nervous and excited. -After much polishing of his glasses he begins.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Isobel, I have been thinking very deeply -of late about this terrible business.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>going to the desk</i>). Is this the statement?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Is it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>glancing over it</i>). Yes ... yes. I’ve been -wondering if we’ve been going too far.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. About the money?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. No, no. No, no, I wasn’t thinking about -the money.</p> - -<p><a name="png.263" id="png.263" href="#png.263"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>249<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ISOBEL</span>. What, then?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Well.... Well.... I’m wondering.... -Can we feel quite certain that if we make this announcement—can -we feel quite certain that we are not—well—going -too far?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. You mean about the money?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. No, no, no, no.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Then what else? I don’t understand.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Suppose—I only say suppose—it were not -true. I mean, can we be so certain that it <em>is</em> true? -You see, once we make this announcement it is then -too late. We cannot contradict it afterwards and say -that we have made a mistake. It is irrevocable.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>hardly able to believe it</i>). Are you suggesting -that we should—hush it up?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Now you are putting words into my mouth -that I have not yet used. I say that it has occurred -to me, thinking things over very earnestly, that possibly -we are in too much of a hurry to believe this -story of—er—this Jenkins story.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. You mean that I have invented it, dreamed -it, imagined <span class="nw">it——?</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. No, no, no, no, please. It would never -occur to me to suggest any such thing. What I do -suggest as a possibility worth considering is that Oliver -Blayds—er—imagined it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. You mean he thought it was the other man’s -poetry when it was really his own?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. You must remember that he was a very -old man. I was saying to Marion in this very room, -talking over what I understood then to be his last wish -for a simple funeral, that the dying words of an old man -were not to be taken too seriously. Indeed, I used -on that occasion this actual phrase, “An old man, his -faculties rapidly going.” I repeat the phrase. I say -<a name="png.264" id="png.264" href="#png.264"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>250<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>again that an old man, his faculties rapidly going, may -have imagined this story. In short, it has occurred -to me that the whole thing may very well be—hallucination.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>looking at him fixedly</i>). Or self-deception.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>misunderstanding her</i>). Exactly. Well, in -short, I suggest there never was anybody called Jenkins.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>brightly—after a pause</i>). Wouldn’t it be nice?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. One can understand how upon his death-bed -a man feels the need of confession, of forgiveness -and absolution. It may well be that Oliver Blayds, instinctively -feeling this need, bared his soul to you, not -of some real misdeed of his own, but of some imaginary -misdeed with which, by who knows what association -of ideas, his mind had become occupied.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. You mean he meant to confess to a murder -or something, and got muddled.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Heaven forbid that I should attribute any -misdeed to so noble, so knightly a man as Oliver -Blayds.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Knightly?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I am of course assuming that this man -Jenkins never existed.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Oh, you <em>are</em> assuming that?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. The more I think of it, the more plain it -becomes to me that we <em>must</em> assume it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes, I quite see that the more one thinks of -it, the <span class="nw">more——</span> (<i>She indicates the rest of the sentence -with her fingers.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Well, what do you think of the suggestion?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. It’s so obvious that I’m wondering why it -didn’t occur to you before.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. The truth is I was stunned.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Oh yes.</p> - -<p><a name="png.265" id="png.265" href="#png.265"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>251<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">WILLIAM</span>. And then, I confess, the fact of the 1863 -volume seemed for the moment conclusive.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. But now it doesn’t?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I explain it now, as one always explained -it when he was alive. Every great poet has these -lapses.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Oh! (<i>She is silent, looking at</i> <span class="role">WILLIAM</span> <i>wonderingly, -almost admiringly</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>after waiting for her comment</i>). Well?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. What can I say, William, except again how -nice it will be? No scandal, no poverty, no fuss, and -his life in two volumes just as before. We are a little -too late for the Abbey, but, apart from that, everything -is as nice as it can be.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>solemnly</i>). You have not mentioned the -best thing of all, Isobel.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. What?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>looking up reverently at the picture</i>). That our -faith in him has not been misplaced.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>She wonders at him, not knowing whether to laugh -or to cry.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Oh!... oh!... (<i>But there are no words -available.</i>)</p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><span class="role">MARION</span> <i>comes in</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>excitedly</i>). Isobel, dear, have you heard? -Have you heard the wonderful news?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>turning to her blankly</i>). News?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. About the hallucination. I always felt that -there must have been some mistake. And now our -faith has been justified—as faith always is. It’s such -a comfort to know. Really to know at last. Poor -dear Grandfather! He was so very old. I think -sometimes we forget how very old he was. And the -excitement of that last day—his birthday—and perhaps -the glass of port. No wonder.</p> - -<p><a name="png.266" id="png.266" href="#png.266"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>252<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>shaking his head wisely</i>). Very strange, very -strange, but, as you say, not unexpected. One might -almost have predicated some such end.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. I shall never forgive myself for having -doubted. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>) I think Grandfather will forgive -us, dear. I can’t help feeling that wherever he -is, he will forgive us.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>nodding</i>). Yes, yes.... I shall say nothing -about it in the book, of course—this curious lapse in -his faculties at the last.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Of course not, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I shall <span class="nw">merely——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Then you won’t want that pass-book now?</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Pass-book?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes. You were going into the accounts, -weren’t you, to see how <span class="nw">much——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Oh—ah—yes, the Jenkins Fund.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. But of course there is no Jenkins now! -So there can’t be a Jenkins Fund. Such a comfort -from every point of view.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">WILLIAM</span>). You’re quite happy about the -money, then?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>who obviously isn’t</i>). Er—yes—I.... That -is to say, that, while absolutely satisfied that this man -Jenkins never existed, I—at the same time—I—well, -perhaps to be on the safe side—there are certain -charities.... As I say, there <em>are</em> certain charities -for distressed writers, and so on, and perhaps one would -feel—you see what I mean. (<i>He goes to the desk.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes. It’s what they call conscience-money, -isn’t it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. But of course all that can be settled later. -(<i>He picks up</i> <span class="role">ROYCE’S</span> <i>statement</i>.) The main point is that -this will not now be wanted. (<i>He prepares to tear it in -two.</i>)</p> - -<p><a name="png.267" id="png.267" href="#png.267"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>253<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>fiercely</i>). No! Put that down!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>Startled he puts it down, and she snatches it up and -holds it close to her heart.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Isobel, dear!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. It’s his, and you’re not to touch it! He has -given his time to it, and you’re not going to throw it -away as if it were nothing. It’s for <em>him</em> to say.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>upset</i>). Really! I was only <span class="nw">just——</span></p> - -<p class="grandentrance"><span class="role">ROYCE</span> <i>comes in</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>excitedly</i>). I say!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Mr. Royce, we have some news for you. -We have decided that the man Jenkins never existed. -Isn’t it nice?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Never existed?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. He was just an hallucination. (<i>To</i> <span class="role">WILLIAM</span>) -Wasn’t that the word?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>laughing</i>). Oh, I see. That’s rather funny. -For what do you think I’ve got here? (<i>He holds up a -faded piece of paper.</i>) Stuck in this old pass-book. A -letter from Jenkins!</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>staggered</i>). O-o-o-o-oh!</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>bewildered</i>). It must be another Jenkins. -Because we’ve just decided that our one never lived.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. What is it? What does it say?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>reading</i>). “Dear Oliver, You have given me -everything. I leave you everything. Little enough, -but it is yours. God bless you, dear Oliver.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>moved</i>). Oh!</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Let me look. (<i>He takes it.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>to herself</i>). All those years ago!</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Yes, there’s no doubt of it. (<i>He gives the -paper back to</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span>.) Wait! Let me think. (<i>He sits -down, head in hands.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Well, that settles the money side of it, anyway. -<a name="png.268" id="png.268" href="#png.268"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>254<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>Whatever should have been the other man’s -came rightly to Oliver Blayds.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Except the immortality.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Ah, yes. I say nothing of that. (<i>Going to -the desk and picking up his statement</i>) I shall have to -rewrite this.... Well, the first part can stand.... -I’m glad we aren’t going to be bothered about money. -It would have been an impossible business to settle.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>triumphantly</i>). I’ve got it!</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. What, dear?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Now I understand everything.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. What?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. The 1863 volume. That always puzzled -me. Always! Now, at last, we have the true explanation. -(<i>Dramatically</i>) The 1863 volume was written by -Jenkins!</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">ISOBEL</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span> <i>look at him in amazement</i>; -<span class="role">MARION</span> <i>in admiration</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>to himself</i>). Poor old Jenkins.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Of course I liked all Grandfather’s poetry. -There was some of it I didn’t understand, but I felt -that <em>he</em> <span class="nw">knew——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. No, we can be frank now. The 1863 -volume was bad. And now we see why. He wished -to give this dear dead friend of his a chance. I can -see these two friends—Oliver—and—<span class="nw">er——</span> (<i>Going to</i> -<span class="role">ROYCE</span>) What was Mr.—er—Jenkins’ other name? -(<i>He reads it over</i> <span class="role">ROYCE’S</span> <i>shoulder</i>) Ah, yes, Willoughby—I -can see that last scene when Willoughby lay dying, -and his friend Oliver stood by his side. I can hear -Willoughby lamenting that none of his poetry will ever -be heard now in the mouths of others—and Oliver’s -silent resolve that in some way, at some time, Willoughby’s -work shall be given to the world. And so in 1863, -when his own position was firmly established, he issues -<a name="png.269" id="png.269" href="#png.269"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>255<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>this little collection of his dead friend’s poetry, these -few choicest sheaves from poor Willoughby’s indiscriminate -harvest, sheltering them, as he hoped, from -the storm of criticism with the mantle of his own great -name. A noble resolve, a chivalrous undertaking, but -alas! of no avail.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. You will say this in your life of Oliver -Blayds?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I shall—er—hint at the doubtful authorship -of the 1863 volume; perhaps it would be better -not to go into the matter too fully.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>). It would be much nicer, dear, -if we didn’t refer to any of the unhappy thoughts -which we have all had about Grandfather in the last -few days. We know now that we never ought to have -doubted. He was—Grandfather.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>after a pause, to</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span>). Well? (<i>He shrugs his -shoulders.</i>) Will you find the children? I think they -ought to know this.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Right. Do you want me to come back?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Please. (<i>He goes out. When he has gone she -turns to</i> <span class="role">WILLIAM</span>) I am going to publish the truth -about Oliver Blayds.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. But that’s what we all want to do, dear.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. What do you mean by the truth?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. What we all know to be the truth in our -hearts.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I deny it. I deny it utterly. I am convinced -that the explanation which I have given is the -true one.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Then I shall publish the explanation which -he gave <em>me</em>.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Isobel, I should have thought that you, -of all people, would have wanted to believe in Oliver -Blayds.</p> - -<p><a name="png.270" id="png.270" href="#png.270"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>256<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Wanted to! If only “wanting to” were -the same as believing, how easy life would be!</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. It <em>is</em> very nearly the same, dear. If you -try very hard. I have found it a great comfort.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I must beg you to reconsider your decision. -I had the honour of the friendship of Oliver Blayds for -many years, and I tell you frankly that I will not allow -this slander of a dead man to pass unchallenged.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Which dead man?</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>a little upset</i>). This slander on Oliver Blayds.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. It is not slander. I shall tell the truth about -him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Then I shall tell the truth about him too.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">ISOBEL</span> <i>turns away with a shrug, and sees</i> <span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>, -<span class="role">ROYCE</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="role">OLIVER</span> <i>coming in</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Thank you, Mr. Royce. Septima, <span class="nw">Oliver——</span></p> - -<p class="rt">(<i>She gives them the letter to read.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>after reading</i>). By Jove! Sportsman! I -always <span class="nw">said——</span> (<i>Frankly</i>) No, I didn’t.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>after reading</i>). Good. Well, that’s all right -then.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. We have been talking over what I told you -the other day, and your father now has a theory that -it was the 1863 volume which was written by this man, -and that your grandfather in telling me the story had -got it into his head <span class="nw">somehow——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. A very old man, his faculties rapidly -<span class="nw">going——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Had muddled the story up.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span> (<i>brightening up</i>). Good for you, Father! I -see! Of course! Then it was hallucination after all?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. You had discussed it before?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Oh, rather!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>). And you?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. I told Septima the idea.<!-- punctuation invisible --></p> - -<p><a name="png.271" id="png.271" href="#png.271"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>257<span class="ns">]</span></span></a><span - class="role">ISOBEL</span>. And what does Septima say?</p> - -<p class="rt">(<i>They all turn to her.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>emphatically</i>). Rot!</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>shocked</i>). Septima! Your father!</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Well, you asked me what I said, and I’m -telling you. Rot. R-O-T.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>coldly</i>). Kindly explain yourself a little -more lucidly.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. It’s all rot saying <span class="nw">“rot”——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. One at a time, please. Septima?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. I think it’s rot, trying to deceive ourselves -by making up a story about Grandfather, just because -we don’t like the one which he told Aunt Isobel. What -does it all matter anyhow? There’s the poetry, and -jolly good too, most of it. What does it matter when -you’ve quoted it, whether you add, “As Blayds nobly -said” or “As Jenkins nobly said”? It’s the same -poetry. There was Grandfather. We all knew him -well, and we all had plenty of chances of making up -our minds about him. How can what he did seventy -years ago, when he was another person altogether, make -any difference to our opinion of him? And then there’s -the money. I said that it ought to be ours, and it is -ours. Well, there we are.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. You are quite content that your Aunt -should publish, as she proposes to, this story of—er—Willoughby -Jenkins, which I am convinced is a base -libel on the reputation of Oliver Blayds?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. I say, Aunt Isobel, are you really going to? -I mean do you <em>still</em> <span class="nw">believe——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I am afraid I do, Oliver.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Good Lord!</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. Well—Septima?</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. I am quite content with the truth. And -if you want the truth about Septima Blayds-Conway, -<a name="png.272" id="png.272" href="#png.272"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>258<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>it is that the truth about Blayds is not really any great -concern of hers.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Well, that’s a pretty selfish way of looking -at it.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. I don’t know what Grandfather would say -if he could hear you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Thank you, Septima. You’re honest anyhow.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Well, of course.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. It’s all very well for <em>her</em> to talk like that, -but it’s a jolly big concern of mine. If it comes out, -I’m done. As a politician anyway.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. What do <em>you</em> believe, Oliver?</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. I told you. Hallucination. At least it -seems just as likely as the other. And that being so, -I think we ought to give it the benefit of the doubt. -What <em>is</em> the truth about Blayds—I don’t <span class="nw">know——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>calmly</i>). I do, Oliver.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>sharply</i>). So do I.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Well, I mean, there you are. Probably the -truth lies somewhere in <span class="nw">between——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>with a smile, speaking almost unconsciously</i>). -No, no, you mustn’t waste yourself on engineering. -(<i>Recovering himself with a start</i>) I beg your pardon.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Anyway, I’m with Father. I don’t think -we ought to take the risk of doing Oliver Blayds an -injustice by saying anything about this—this hallucination.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. There is no question of risk. It’s a certainty. -Come, Marion. (<i>He leads the way to the door.</i>) -We have much to do. (<i>Challengingly</i>) We have much -work yet to do upon the life of this great poet, this great -and chivalrous gentleman, Oliver Blayds!</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>meekly</i>). Yes, dear.</p> - -<p class="rt">[<i>They go out.</i></p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Oh, Lord, a family row! I’m not sure that -<a name="png.273" id="png.273" href="#png.273"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>259<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>that isn’t worse.... “Interviewed by our representative, -Mr. Oliver Blayds-Conway said that he -preferred not to express an opinion.” I think that’s -my line.</p> - -<p><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span>. Yes, it would be.</p> - -<p><span class="role">OLIVER</span>. Well, I must go. (<i>Grandly</i>) We have much -work yet to do.... Coming, Tim?</p> - -<p class="closeup"><span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> (<i>getting up</i>). Yes. (<i>She goes slowly after him, -hesitates, and then comes back to</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. <i>Awkwardly she -touches her shoulder and says</i>) Good luck!</p> - -<p class="rt">[<i>Then she goes out.</i></p> - -<p class="hang">(<span class="role">ROYCE</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">ISOBEL</span> <i>stand looking at each other. -First he begins to smile; then she. Suddenly -they are both laughing.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. How absurd!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I was afraid you wouldn’t appreciate it. -Well, what are you going to do?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. What can I do but tell the world the truth?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. H’m! I wonder if the world will be grateful.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Does that matter?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Yes, I think it does. I think you ought to -feel that you are benefiting somebody—other than -yourself.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>with a smile</i>). I am hardly benefiting myself.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Not materially, of course—but spiritually? -Aren’t you just easing your conscience?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I don’t see why the poor thing shouldn’t be -eased.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. At the other people’s expense?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Oh, but no, Austin, no. I’m sure that’s -wrong. Surely the truth means more than that. -Surely it’s an end in itself. The only end. Call it -Truth or call it Beauty, it’s all we’re here for.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. You know, the trouble is that the Truth -about Blayds won’t seem very beautiful. There’s your -<a name="png.274" id="png.274" href="#png.274"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>260<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>truth, and then there’s William’s truth, too. To the -public it will seem not so much like Beauty as like an -undignified family squabble. And William will win. -His story can be made to sound so much more likely -than yours. No, it’s no good. You can’t start another -miserable Shakespeare-Bacon controversy. Because -that is what it would be in a few years. There would -be no established truth, but just a Jenkins’ theory. -Hadn’t we better just leave him with the poetry?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. It seems so unfair that this poor dead boy -should be robbed of the immortality which he wanted.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Hasn’t he got it? There are his works. -Didn’t he have the wonderful happiness and pain of -writing them? How can you do anything for him -now? It’s just pure sentiment, isn’t it?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>meekly</i>). If you say so, sir.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>laughing</i>). Am I lecturing? I’m sorry.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. No, I don’t mind. And I expect you’re -right. I can’t do anything. (<i>After a pause</i>) Are one’s -motives ever pure?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. One hopes so. One never knows.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I keep telling myself that I want the truth -to prevail—but is it only that? Or is it that I want to -punish him?... He hurt me so. All those years -he was pretending that I helped him. And all the time -it was just a game to him. A game—and he was -laughing. Do you wonder that I was bitter? It was -just a game to him.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. As he said, he carried it off.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes, he carried it off.... Even in those -last moments he was carrying it off. Just that. He -was frightened at first—he was dying; it was so lonely -in the grave; there was no audience there; no one to -listen, to admire. Only God. Ah, but when he had -begun his story, how quickly he was the artist again! -<a name="png.275" id="png.275" href="#png.275"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>261<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>No fear now, no remorse. Just the artist glorying in -his story; putting all he knew into the telling of it, -making me see that dead boy whom he had betrayed -so vividly that I could have stretched out my hand to -him and said, “Oh, my dear, I’m sorry—I will make -it all right for you.” Oh, he had his qualities, Oliver -Blayds. My father, yes; but somehow he never -seemed that. A great man; a little man; but never -quite my father.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. A great man, I think.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Yes, he was a great man, and he did less hurt -to the world than most great men do.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>picking up his statement</i>). Then I can tear up -this?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>after a little struggle with herself</i>). Yes! Let -us bury the dead, and forget about them. (<i>He tears it -up. She gives a sigh of relief</i>) There!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>coming to her</i>). Isobel!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Ah—but she’s dead too. Let’s forget about -her.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. She is not dead. I have seen her.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. When did you see her?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. To-day I have seen her. She peeped out -for a moment, and was gone.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. She just peeped out to say good-bye to you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>shaking his head</i>). No. To say “How do you -do” to me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. My dear, she died eighteen years ago, that -child.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>smiling</i>). Then introduce me to her mother.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>gravely, with a smile behind it</i>). Mr. Royce, -let me introduce you to my mother—thirty-eight, poor -dear. (<i>Bowing</i>) How do you do, Mr. Royce? I have -heard my daughter speak of you.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. How do you do, Mrs. Blayds? I’m glad -<a name="png.276" id="png.276" href="#png.276"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>262<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>to meet you, because I once asked your daughter to -marry me.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Ah, don’t, don’t!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>cheerfully</i>). Do you know what she said? -She said, like all properly brought up girls, “You must -ask my mother.” So now I ask her—“Isobel’s mother, -will <em>you</em> marry me?”</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Oh!</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Isobel was quite right. I was too old for -her. Look, I’m grey. And then I’ve got a bit of -rheumatism about me somewhere—I really want a -nurse. Isobel said you were a born nurse.... Isobel’s -mother, will you marry me?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. I’m afraid to. I shall be so jealous.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. Jealous! Of whom?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Of that girl we call my daughter. You will -always be looking for her. You will think that I shan’t -see; you will try to hide it from me; but I shall see. -Always you will be looking for her—and I shall see.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I shall find her.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. No, it’s too late now.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span> (<i>confidently</i>). I shall find her. Not yet, -perhaps; but some day. Perhaps it will be on a day -in April, when the primroses are out between the wood-stacks, -and there is a chatter of rooks in the tall elms. -Then, a child again, she will laugh for joy of the clean -blue morning, and I shall find her. And when I have -found her, I shall <span class="nw">say——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>gently</i>). Yes?</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. I shall say, “Thank God, you are so like your -mother—whom I love.”</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. No, no, it can’t be true.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ROYCE</span>. It is true. (<i>Holding out his hands</i>) I want -you—not her.</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span>. Oh, my dear!</p> - -<p class="hang"><a name="png.277" id="png.277" href="#png.277"><span class="pagenum"><span - class="ns">[</span>263<span class="ns">]</span></span></a>(<i>She puts out her hands to his. As he takes them</i>, -<span class="role">MARION</span> <i>comes in hurriedly. Their hands drop, -and they stand there, looking happily at each -other.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span>. Isobel! I had to come and tell you how -hurt William is. Dear, don’t you think you <em>could</em> -believe—just for William’s <span class="nw">sake——</span></p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>gently</i>). It’s all right, dear. I am not going -to say anything.</p> - -<p><span class="role">MARION</span> (<i>eagerly</i>). You mean you believe? (<span class="role">WILLIAM</span> -<i>comes in, and she rushes to him</i>) She believes! She -believes!</p> - -<p class="rt">(<span class="role">ISOBEL</span> <i>and</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span> <i>exchange a smile</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span> (<i>with satisfaction</i>). Ah! I am very glad to -hear this. As regards the biography. In the circumstances, -since we are all agreed as to the facts, I almost -think we might record the story of Oliver Blayds’ -chivalrous attempt to assist his friend, definitely assigning -to Willoughby Jenkins the 1863 volume. (<i>He looks -at them for approval.</i> <span class="role">MARION</span> <i>nods</i>.)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>looking demurely at</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span> <i>and then back again</i>). -Yes, William.</p> - -<p><span class="role">WILLIAM</span>. I feel strongly, and I am sure you will agree -with me, that it is our duty to tell the <em>whole</em> truth about -that great man. (<i>Again he looks to</i> <span class="role">MARION</span> <i>for approval. -She assents.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="role">ISOBEL</span> (<i>aside to</i> <span class="role">ROYCE</span>—<i>enjoying it with him</i>). Do I -still say, “Yes, William”? (<i>He smiles and nods.</i>) Yes, -William.</p> - -<p class="hang">(<i>And so that is how the story will be handed down. -But, as</i> <span class="role">SEPTIMA</span> <i>says, the poetry will still be -there</i>.)</p> - - -<p id="printed"><small><i>Printed in Great Britain by</i> - <span class="smc">R. & R. Clark, Limited</span>, <i>Edinburgh</i>.</small></p> - -</div> - - - - -<div class="tnote"> -<h2>Transcriber’s Note</h2> - -<p>Inconsistent hyphenation (buttonhole/button-hole, -Good morning/Good-morning, -half-measures/half measures, -postcard/post-card, -runaway/run-away, -safety-razor/safety razor) -and inconsistent spelling -(Hallo/Hullo) have been left as printed in the original.</p> - -</div> - - -<hr class="ww" /> - - - - - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Three Plays, by Alan Alexander Milne - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE PLAYS *** - -***** This file should be named 60167-h.htm or 60167-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/1/6/60167/ - -Produced by MWS, David Wilson and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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