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diff --git a/78748-0.txt b/78748-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..17abead --- /dev/null +++ b/78748-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11975 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78748 *** + + + + +Transcriber’s Note: Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: +_italics_. + + + + + FOUR PLAYS + + + + + PLAYS BY A. A. MILNE + + · + + FIRST PLAYS + + _Containing_:--Wurzel-Flummery; The Lucky One; + The Boy comes Home; Belinda; The Red Feathers. + _Sixth Impression._ + + + SECOND PLAYS + + _Containing_:--Make-Believe; Mr. Pim Passes By; + The Camberley Triangle; The Romantic Age; The + Stepmother. _Sixth Impression._ + + + THREE PLAYS + + _Containing_:--The Great Broxopp; The Dover + Road; The Truth about Blayds. + _Second Impression._ + + CR. 8VO; UNIFORM; 7s. 6d. NET EACH. + + + + + FOUR PLAYS + + BY A. A. MILNE + + + LONDON + CHATTO & WINDUS + 1926 + + + + + Applications regarding Amateur Performances of these Plays should + be addressed to Samuel French, Ltd., 26 Southampton Street, + W.C.2. Applications for other rights to Curtis Brown, Ltd., 6 + Henrietta Street, W.C.2. + + + Printed in Great Britain: all rights reserved + + + + + CONTENTS + + + PAGE + TO HAVE THE HONOUR 1 + ACT I 3 + ACT II 33 + ACT III 62 + + ARIADNE, OR BUSINESS FIRST 87 + ACT I 89 + Scene 1 89 + Scene 2 102 + ACT II 114 + ACT III 136 + + PORTRAIT OF A GENTLEMAN IN SLIPPERS 159 + + SUCCESS 179 + ACT I 181 + ACT II 212 + Scene 1 212 + Scene 2 232 + ACT III 238 + Scene 1 238 + Scene 2 253 + + + + + TO HAVE THE HONOUR + + A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS + + + + + CHARACTERS + + + SIMON BATTERSBY. + ANGELA (_his daughter_). + JENNIFER. + PARLOURMAID. + CAPTAIN HOLT. + ETHEL HOLT. + MRS. FAITHFULL. + IMOGEN FAITHFULL. + DOCTOR AINSLIE. + PRINCE MICHAEL. + JAMES OLIVER. + + +_The living-room in Simon Battersby’s cottage, Wych Trentham._ + + ACT I. Before dinner. + ACT II. After dinner. + ACT III. Next morning. + + +This play was first produced by Sir Gerald du Maurier at Wyndham’s +Theatre on April 22, 1924, with the following cast: + + _Simon Battersby_ H. O. NICHOLSON. + _Angela_ FAITH CELLI. + _Jennifer_ MADGE TITHERADGE. + _Captain Holt_ BASIL LODER. + _Ethel Holt_ UNA VENNING. + _Mrs. Faithfull_ GRACE LANE. + _Imogen_ JOAN CLEMENT SCOTT. + _Dr. Ainslie_ ERIC STANLEY. + _Prince Michael_ GERALD DU MAURIER. + _James Oliver_ GEORGE PENN. + _Parlourmaid_ DORIS COOPER. + + + + + ACT I + + + _The Scene is the Living-room in the country cottage of the_ + BATTERSBYS _(father and daughter), a room of oak-beams, + distempered walls and lattice windows. At the back, between the + windows is a door, wide open to the garden. There is a door on + the right which leads to the other inhabited parts of the house. + Along the left side of the room a staircase ascends easily, to + meet at right angles a low gallery from which bedrooms may be + reached. The door on the left of the gallery is that of_ ANGELA’S + _room. To the right the gallery leads to_ BATTERSBY’S _room and + the bathroom. Underneath the stairs is a “glory-hole” with a + curtain across it._ + + _It is nearly 8 o’clock on a warm evening in May. Being summer + time it is still full daylight, and no attempt has been made to + pretend otherwise. The women’s dresses must take their chance. + Time enough to light up after dinner, particularly as electricity + has not yet discovered Wych Trentham._ + + ANGELA, _aged 18, half-dressed, in rather a casual wrap, + cigarette-holder in mouth, is moving about the room with a slow, + indifferent grace, which is much too charming to be a physical + attribute only. Her indolence, both of voice and movement, is + part of herself; she has the air--odd, and therefore attractive, + on such a youthful prettiness--of living in another world, with a + faint smile for this one. At present she is tidying up the room + for her dinner-party; not with any sort of fussiness; but in the + care-free manner of one to whom it has occurred casually in the + middle of her dressing that Royalty may be here at any moment, + and that her father’s dog-bitten slippers may be in any corner of + the room. While we watch her, she stoops down and collects one + from underneath the sofa; looks thoughtfully about, moves a chair + and discloses the other one. She takes the pair and drops them in + the glory-hole. Then she speaks, raising her voice a little._ + +ANGELA. Are you out of the bath, Father? + + (_She goes on tidying: old newspapers now._ BATTERSBY _opens the + door of his bedroom and looks out_.) + +BATTERSBY. In a sense, yes, dear. I was just going in. + +ANGELA (_to herself_). Good Heavens! + +BATTERSBY. I’m very quick. (_His head begins to go back._) + +ANGELA. You’ve put the wine out? (_Silence._ BATTERSBY’S _head stops +its movement_.) Oh Lord, he hasn’t. + +BATTERSBY (_firmly, as he comes out, tying his dressing-gown_). I +_am_ putting the wine out. (_He comes down the stairs; a man of about +50, tall and bearded. In a towelled bath-gown and bedroom slippers +he is unconventionally dressed for the dining-room, but you feel +that he would always be a little like that. He has a quick, nervous +way of talking, as if he were communing, rather apologetically, with +himself._) And the cigars. (_He goes into the glory-hole._) + +ANGELA (_resigned_). Anyway, everybody knows we’re always late in +this house. + +BATTERSBY (_coming out with two boxes of cigars_). _He_ wouldn’t know. + +ANGELA. Well, he will after to-night. + +BATTERSBY. That’s true.... There are only four of the good cigars +left. + +ANGELA. Surely he won’t want more than four? + +BATTERSBY. One requires a certain margin.... And then there are the +others. This secretary fellow, Holt, and the Doctor, isn’t it? Five +with me. + +ANGELA. I can’t have my medical attendant puffing cigars in a +hygienic house like this. + +BATTERSBY. He’d prefer his pipe, in any case. So, if Holt has one of +the cheaper brand, and the secretary and I have one good one each, +that will leave two for the Prince. (_He puts the four Coronas on top +of a broken box of cheaper ones._) I shall tell Holt that the lower +ones are nuttier. What about the wine? Champagne, I suppose. + +ANGELA (_thoughtfully_). Emily broke the corkscrew the last time we +had champagne. I wonder if we’ve got another. + +BATTERSBY. That was an inferior brand. I have some better than that. + +ANGELA. She’d better make a popping noise as she takes the cork +out--to be on the safe side. Have you got enough? + +BATTERSBY. A dozen. + +ANGELA. Half a bottle each, and seven and a half bottles for the +Prince. That ought to be all right. + +BATTERSBY. My dear, you’re looking forward to seeing him again just +as much as I am. (_Opening an empty box_) I suppose you’ve got some +cigarettes. + +ANGELA. Some.... A Prince seems much more natural in the South of +France. You sit next to him at lunch, and he’s like anybody else. In +England you feel a snob to be meeting him at all. + +BATTERSBY. He invited himself. _We_ didn’t ask him. + +ANGELA. I don’t say I _am_ a snob. I say I _feel_ a snob. + +BATTERSBY. Pooh! What’s a Prince? + +ANGELA. And I don’t say I _feel_ undressed, I _am_ undressed. (_She +pulls her wrap round her, and strolls upstairs._) Go and tell Emily +about the champagne. + +BATTERSBY. Prince Michael Robolski of Neo-Slavonia--there are +hundreds like that all over Europe. Penny plain, twopence coloured. + +ANGELA (_on the stairs_). Yes, but only one in Wych Trentham. So we +must make the most of him. (_She goes into her room._) + +BATTERSBY (_mumbling to himself_). What’s a Prince in this democratic +age? (_He goes kitchenwards._) + + (_The room is empty for a moment, and then_ JENNIFER _appears at + the garden door. She is 30, and so overflowing with vitality that + some of it has got into her figure, and led to the word “buxom” + being used. But she is tall enough, and big enough, mentally and + physically, to carry it off with an air. She enjoys her world; + she enjoys herself. It is jolly being_ JENNIFER.... _Nobody is + about, so she announces herself._) + +JENNIFER (_loudly_). _How_ do you do? So good of you to come. +(_Shyly_) So kind of you to ask me. + +ANGELA (_off_). Oh, is that you, darling? + +JENNIFER. Yes. At least it was yesterday. It’s Jennifer. + +ANGELA (_appearing in the gallery_). You’re early, aren’t you? + +JENNIFER. I haven’t really come yet. Am I dining? + +ANGELA. Of course. Life and soul of the party. + +JENNIFER. That’s a comfort. I just stepped across to make sure. +Last time, you remember, you sent me away and told me to come in +afterwards. Luckily I had a little cold beef in the house. But +there’s something about sitting down to cold beef and pickles in +diamonds and a dress with no back to it----Well, I just stepped +across to make sure. And now I’ll step back again. + +ANGELA. Oh, stop now you’re here! + + (_She disappears into her room for a moment, but_ JENNIFER + _doesn’t realise that she is gone_.) + +JENNIFER. Good gracious, no! And be introduced to the Prince with a +crowd of others? Never on your life! I shall make a late but superb +entry. All the men will look at me, and say, “Thank God, now we can +eat”; and all the women will look at me and say (quite correctly), +“She came late on purpose, how like her”; and the Prince will look at +me, with a sudden reviving interest in what he had feared would be a +very dull evening, and he’ll say, “_Chère Madame_”--Or does he talk +English? (_There is no answer. She realises that she is alone._) Have +I been soliloquising all this time? + +ANGELA (_coming out_). Sorry. What did you say? + +JENNIFER. My last words, when solitude descended upon me, were, “Does +he talk English?” + +ANGELA. Perfectly. (_She comes slowly downstairs, still smoking._) + +JENNIFER. You should have mentioned it in your invitation. We’ve all +been rubbing up our _Easy French in Six Lessons_. Well, then, the +Prince will say, “Ah, dear Lady, this was indeed worth waiting for.” +No, that isn’t very good. Well--anyhow--he’ll look at me. And there’s +more of me to look at every day. + +ANGELA. It is ridiculous of you to pretend that you’re fat. Why do +you? + +JENNIFER. I don’t. No woman pretends she’s fat. But every woman +over thirty is afraid. On her thirtieth birthday she starts looking +at herself in the glass, and saying, “Is it, or is it not?” And a +morning comes when she says, “I wonder.” I said it this morning. I +say, where _is_--wherever it is? + +ANGELA. Neo-Slavonia? I don’t know. (_With a wave of her cigarette_) +Down at the bottom on the right, I suppose. Somewhere. + +JENNIFER. They make geography so quickly nowadays that I can’t keep +up with it. + +ANGELA. A sort of buffer-state. (_She gives_ JENNIFER _her +ear-rings_.) There’s a dear. I shall make a mess of my hair. + +JENNIFER (_fixing them_). If one has never heard of a country, one +always calls it “a sort of buffer-state.” “Miss Angela Battersby +was wearing the family drops.” It must be difficult to feel very +patriotic about a country which is only used so as to prevent two +other countries from getting at each other.... Other ear. + +ANGELA (_turning round_). It’s never difficult to feel very patriotic. + +JENNIFER. True. At least it’s never difficult to feel how very +unpatriotic other people are.... My buffer, ’tis of thee!... Is he +very good-looking? + +ANGELA. Not bad. + +JENNIFER. And, to get down to my own class, what’s the secretary +like?... There! + +ANGELA (_looking at herself in the glass_). Thanks.... We haven’t +seen him. The Prince wrote to say that he was in London. Could +he--and so on? I said, Delighted. Then he wrote that he and his +secretary were at the Bull at Medenham. Could they--and so forth? I +said, Of course. I suppose he’s a sort of courier, equerry, orderly, +or whatever you call it. I must go and finish myself. (_She goes._) + +JENNIFER. Well, speaking as a widow with no desire to marry again, I +wish you luck. + +ANGELA (_smiling mysteriously at her from half-way up the stairs_). +Don’t be vulgar, Jennifer. + +JENNIFER. I like being vulgar. It suits my shape. Anyhow, darling, +promise that I shall be the first to hear. + +ANGELA. You’re sure to be, I should think. You’re quite capable of +hiding behind a tree, and listening. (_She goes into her room._) + +JENNIFER (_complacently_). I am. (_Surveying herself_) And thank you +for “tree,” darling. I was afraid you were going to say “bush” or +“clump.” (_Going._) About another quarter-of-an-hour, do you think, +for my entry? (ANGELA _calls out something_.) What? + +ANGELA (_putting her head out_). You haven’t got any French mustard, +have you? + +JENNIFER (_doubtfully_). _With_ French mustard, you think? + +ANGELA. I knew I’d forgotten something. + +JENNIFER. I’ll bring some round, if you like. + +ANGELA (_retiring_). Do. + +JENNIFER. I will. + + (_At which moment_ BATTERSBY _comes back from the cellar_.) + +BATTERSBY. Hallo, Jennifer, good-evening. + +JENNIFER. Good-evening, Simon. (_Reproachfully_) You never told me it +was court dress! + +BATTERSBY. What? Oh! (_Looking at himself_) Just going to have a +bath. You couldn’t be much sweller than you are, could you? + +JENNIFER (_anxiously_). Much--what? + +BATTERSBY. Much more grand. + +JENNIFER (_re-assured_). Oh! Just for a moment I----Well, a train and +feathers. + +BATTERSBY. He isn’t really royalty, you know. Neo-Slavonia is only---- + +JENNIFER (_nodding_). A sort of buffer-state. + +BATTERSBY. Exactly. And though, I understand, he’s related to the +reigning house---- + +JENNIFER. There’s no chance of Angela being a queen. + +ANGELA (_from her bedroom_). Send that woman away, Father. And for +goodness’ sake, get dressed. + +BATTERSBY. It’s Jennifer, dear. + +ANGELA. It sounded like Mrs. Bulger. + +JENNIFER. It is, darling. + +BATTERSBY (_throwing up his hands_). If only it weren’t! _Why_ +did.... I mean, _why_ don’t.... (_He shudders._) + +JENNIFER (_innocently_). Don’t you like my name? + +BATTERSBY. It’s a horrible name. + +JENNIFER. I love it. Jennifer Bulger, widow of the late General James +Bulger, C.B. It’s sweet. + +BATTERSBY. It may have been all right for _him_--we never knew +him--but for _you_! Jennifer! + +JENNIFER. No, no, you mustn’t propose in your dressing-gown. + +ANGELA (_off_). Is Father proposing _again_? + +BATTERSBY (_shouting_). This is not a proposal. It’s an æsthetic +impulse. (_To_ JENNIFER) I want you to have a name which becomes you. +You ought to be Jennifer Battersby, even at the cost of marrying _me_. + +JENNIFER. Dear Simon, nice Simon. You know you don’t mean it. + +BATTERSBY. I mean it, every time.... But I must admit that I’m always +a little relieved when you refuse me. + +JENNIFER. Dear Simon, of course you are. + +ANGELA (_looking out_). Oh, _come_ on, Father! + +JENNIFER (_soothingly_). I won’t marry you. + +BATTERSBY. Yes, but I don’t think you must marry anybody else. +Promise me that you won’t marry the Prince without my permission. + +JENNIFER. Good gracious, that’s two of us after him already! +(_Firmly_) I promise nothing, but that I shall enjoy myself to-night. + +BATTERSBY. You always do. That’s why you’re so adorable. + +ANGELA (_from the gallery_). Give him a smile, Jennifer, and get rid +of him. + +JENNIFER (_laughing happily_). I do like Battersbys. There’s +something about them.... _Au revoir!_ (_She waves and is gone._) + + (BATTERSBY _at last goes up to his bath_.) + +ANGELA. Hurry up, darling. + +BATTERSBY (_impressively_). Have you ever seen forked lightning +playing over water? That’s me in my bath. (_He disappears._) + + (ANGELA _remains on the gallery, as_ EMILY, _the parlourmaid, + comes in with a tray of cocktails_.) + +ANGELA. Are those the cocktails, Emily? + +EMILY. Yes, miss. + +ANGELA. Good. (_She comes slowly downstairs, still smoking._) + +EMILY. Ellen says I was to remind you about the French mustard, miss. + +ANGELA. Mrs. Bulger is bringing some round. (_She takes a cocktail._) + +EMILY. Thank you, miss. (_Nervously_) Do I say, “Your Royal +Highness,” miss? + +ANGELA. I really don’t know. (_Drinking_) “Your Highness,” I should +think. But don’t overdo it. + +EMILY. Thank you, miss. + +ANGELA. He won’t throw anything at you, if you’re wrong. (_Finishing +her drink, and giving_ EMILY _the glass_) You’d better take this out. +(_She goes back to her room._) + +EMILY. Yes, miss. + + [_She goes out._ + + (ROBERT _and_ ETHEL HOLT _come in. He, a thick-set young + soldier, is just over 30, she just under. He is a very serious + young man, of a sort of determined intellectuality. Nothing + escapes him. Even the lightest remark made by another requires + thinking out. She is a bright helpmeet for such a man, the best + of wives; with, like most wives, more intelligence than appears + on the surface, and enough character to look after herself._) + +ETHEL (_brightly_). Why, we’re the first! + +ROBERT (_feeling his chin_). I might have gone over it again, after +all. + +ETHEL. Better early than late. Particularly with royalty. + +ROBERT. Hardly royalty, dear. Neo-Slavonia ... one of these small +buffer-states which have sprung up since the Armistice. All +Mittel-Europa---- + +ETHEL. (_loudly_). We’re here, Angela! Are we very early? (_To_ +ROBERT) Yes, dear. + +ROBERT. All Mittel-Europa---- + +ANGELA (_off_). Hallo! Is that the Holts? + +ETHEL. You did say eight, didn’t you? + +ANGELA (_her head visible_). Did I? We’re a bit late, I expect. Do +you want to take anything off? + +ETHEL. No, thank you, dear. + +ROBERT. All Mittel-Europa---- + +ANGELA. Have a drink, Robert. + +ROBERT. Thanks. + +ANGELA. Cigarettes. (_A leather case sails into the room._) Sorry. + +ETHEL (_picking it up_). Thank you, dear. + +ROBERT. All Mittel-Europa----(_Holding out drink_) Will you have one, +Ethel? + +ETHEL. I don’t think so. Well, perhaps I will. No, later, I think. +(_She feels that she would like Royalty to see her drinking +one._) I’ll keep the Prince company. (_She laughs a little +self-consciously._) Cigarette? + +ROBERT. No, thanks. (_He drinks._) + +ETHEL. I don’t think I will either. What were you saying about all +Mittel-Europa, dear? + +ROBERT (_drinking_). All Mittel-Europa is in a state of flux just now. + +ETHEL (_wearing her intelligent face_). I suppose so. Naturally. The +War, of course. And the Peace. + +ROBERT. The old Empires are splitting up--disintegrating. A sort of +de-centralisation is going on. And so you get these small states +coming into a precarious existence. Almost literally a case of “Here +to-day and gone to-morrow.” + +ETHEL. You must talk it over with the Prince--if he talks English, +as I suppose he does. They all do, don’t they? I love listening to a +good talk. Men talk so well, I always think.... They say he’s very +good-looking. + +ROBERT. In many cases, of course, these little states have a +connected history of their own. Centuries ago, before they were +absorbed into some ramshackle empire, they had their own court and +customs. You would probably find that they had never quite lost their +individuality. + +ETHEL. Individuality is the great thing, isn’t it? Oh, did you find +out whether we said Sir or Your Highness or Prince? + +ROBERT. I shall say Sir, of course. You’d better not say anything. + +ETHEL. Yes, that’s best, isn’t it? + + (ANGELA _still in her wrap, empty cigarette-holder in her mouth, + comes down the stairs_.) + +ANGELA. Can I have my cigarettes? + +ROBERT (_standing to attention_). Good-evening. + +ETHEL (_brightly_). How _are_ you, dear? Here you are. (_She goes, +case in hand, to kiss her._) + +ANGELA (_taking the case and avoiding the kiss_). Thanks. + +ETHEL (_with a little laugh_). We were just wondering what one called +your Prince. + +ANGELA (_putting in a cigarette_). As long as you don’t call him _my_ +Prince, I don’t mind what you call him. I’ve only met him once. + +ROBERT. Oh, is that so? Monte Carlo, wasn’t it? (_He strikes a match +for her._) + +ANGELA. Thanks.... That village above Mentone--what’s its name? +Gorbio. We went there one day. With a party. Sort of picnic. He was +one of them. + +ETHEL (_with the air of one who knows Gorbio well_). Oh, yes. + +ANGELA (_strolling upstairs again_). Shan’t be long. + + (_They watch her go._) + +ETHEL (_as soon as it is safe_). Well, if you ask _me_, I should say +that Miss Angela Battersby must have made good use of that one day. + +ROBERT (_uncomfortably, feeling that this is rather bad form_). Oh, I +don’t know. + +ETHEL. I mean it quite nicely, of course. I can quite see the +attraction. She’s so very British, isn’t she? That would always +attract a foreigner. + +ROBERT (_wondering if his country is being insulted_). British? + +ETHEL. That air of “Oh, is that _you_?” + +ROBERT. I don’t see that that’s British exactly. I should call it the +individual rather than the type. + +ETHEL. You know what I mean. (_With sudden inspiration_) “I’m Angela +Battersby, take it or leave it.” There!--that’s what I mean. I think +it’s rather attractive. + +ROBERT (_frowning_). But why British? + +ETHEL. Well, that’s rather what Englishmen say. + +ROBERT (_wrestling_). H’m!... I see what you mean.... In a +way--yes.... I suppose we do. (_He looks at her with an admiration +that would be flattering if it were not surprised._) Now what made +you think of that? + +ETHEL. Oh, I’m not such a fool as you think. + +ROBERT. I have never thought so for a moment. Women often have +surprising intuitions.... “I am an Englishman, take it or leave it.” +That’s good, Ethel. I must tell the Prince that. + +ETHEL (_eagerly_). You will say I said it, won’t you? + +ROBERT. My dear, of course. + +ETHEL (_taking his arm_). Dear old boy! Let’s go into the garden. +It’s nicer outside. + +ROBERT (_coming_). You’re quite right, Ethel. We do. + +ETHEL. Do what? + +ROBERT. That’s why so many foreigners---- + +ETHEL (_as they approach the door_). Mrs. Faithfull--I didn’t know +_she_ was coming. + + (_But she is. For here they are at the door--the Queen of Wych + Trentham, and her only child_, IMOGEN. MRS. FAITHFULL, _short + and square, with the absolute assurance of a woman of 55 who has + to her credit the achievements of wifehood and motherhood, and + can therefore speak with authority on all subjects, exercises + her prerogatives benignly. Practically all it comes to is that + she expects the host to take her in. At present she is very + much a mother to_ IMOGEN, _who at 18_, ANGELA’S _age, is a dumb + school-girl in the royal presence, and a precocious one in her + absence_.) + +ETHEL (_brightly_). Good-evening. Angela’s still dressing. We’re +early, so we’re just going into the garden. (_Which explains the +whole thing._) + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Good-evening, Ethel. Good-evening, Captain Holt. + +ROBERT. Good-evening. (_To_ IMOGEN) How are _you_, Miss Faithfull? + + (IMOGEN _smiles shyly_.) + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Very well, thank you, Captain Holt. + +ETHEL (_to_ IMOGEN). What a sweet dress, dear. (IMOGEN _looks +modest_.) + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Pink suits us. We always try to keep to pink. + +ANGELA (_off_). Is that you, Mrs. Faithfull? Do you want to take +anything off, or would you rather have a cocktail? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. I will just come up for a moment, I think. (_To_ +IMOGEN) You can keep that shawl on, dear, for the present. It suits +you. (_She goes up the stairs._) + +ANGELA (_off_). Robert, give Imogen a cigar or a drink or something. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_firmly_). No, thank you, Captain Holt. (_She goes +into_ ANGELA’S _room_.) + +ETHEL (_to_ IMOGEN). Come into the garden with us. It’s cooler there. + +ROBERT (_with glass_). Sure you won’t? + +IMOGEN (_to_ ETHEL). Have _you_ had one? + +ETHEL. No, I don’t think just yet, perhaps. + +IMOGEN. Oh! (_She takes the drink._) Then I will. And Mother will +count and think it’s your glass. (_Drinking_) I don’t like the taste +_very_ much, do you? I suppose you get used to it. I say, aren’t you +excited about the Prince? Do you think he’s a real Prince? Do you +think he’s in love with Angela? (_She drinks again._) I don’t think I +like this very much. + +ROBERT (_holding out his hand_). I shouldn’t drink it if you don’t +like it. + +IMOGEN (_before letting go of the glass_). Would _you_ leave half of +yours, Mrs. Holt? + +ETHEL. I might. I do sometimes. + +IMOGEN. Oh, then that’s all right. (_To_ ROBERT) Thank you. (_To_ +ETHEL) Do we curtsey? + +ETHEL (_who hadn’t thought of this_). Oh, no! I don’t----(_Panic._) + +IMOGEN. I’ve been practising. Up in my room. (_She gives us +one._) It looks jolly, doesn’t it? I’ve been doing it in front of +the glass--mostly in a nightie. (_She gives us another, not so +successful._) It’s easier in a nightie. + +ETHEL. Oh, but Robert has just been explaining. Neo-Slavonia is +only---- + +ROBERT. A sort of buffer-state. + +IMOGEN. Mother says you just call him Prince Michael. I like “Sire” +better, don’t you? You’ve never met him, have you? I believe he’s +awfully good-looking. + +ROBERT. It isn’t like an English Prince, you know, Miss Faithfull. +You know, in Europe, “Prince” is just a title like Duke or Count. +That is to say---- + +ETHEL. Oh, is that so, Robert? + +IMOGEN. Let’s go into the garden, shall we? I won’t smoke a +cigarette, but if _you_ would, Mrs. Holt, and blow the smoke in my +hair, Mother will think I’ve been smoking, and then you’ll be able to +tell her afterwards that I haven’t. + +ETHEL (_her arm round_ IMOGEN). Come on, you funny girl. (_They go +out_, ROBERT _still holding forth_.) + +ROBERT (_following_). This Prince Michael, you know, is probably not +of the Royal Family--such as it is. A distant connection, perhaps, +but---- + + [_They are gone._ + + (MRS. FAITHFULL _and_ ANGELA _appear in the gallery_.) + +ANGELA (_as they come downstairs_). Have a cocktail, won’t you? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Thank you. + + (_She comes down_; ANGELA _after her, still undressed, still + smoking_.) + +ANGELA. Help yourself. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_helping herself_). He talks English, of course? + +ANGELA. Oh, yes. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. That’s a comfort. About how old, would you say? + +ANGELA. Thirty-five. Forty. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh, as old as that? Good-looking? + +ANGELA. All right. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Who else are coming? + +ANGELA. Dr. Ainslie. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_disapproving_). Oh! + +ANGELA. Jennifer. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_disapproving in a different way_). Ah!... There’s +something about her which would appeal to a foreigner, don’t you +think? + +ANGELA. Why to a foreigner, particularly? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Her figure is a little--foreign, don’t you think? + +ANGELA (_indifferently_). Is it? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. What sort of stays does she wear--if any? In my young +days when stays _were_ stays, you either had a ridge across the back +or you hadn’t. Nowadays, there’s nothing to tell you whether they +wear them or they don’t. + +ANGELA. We’ll ask her at dinner to-night. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Not in front of Imogen, dear, if you don’t mind. + +ANGELA. Doesn’t she know about them? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. She’s looking sweet to-night, don’t you think? I’m +sure the Prince will think so. A little English wild rose. And have +_you_ a pretty dress for us? + +ANGELA. Same old blue. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_relieved_). Ah!... But it suits you very well, dear. + +ANGELA. It’s had long enough to get used to me. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Still, if the Prince has never seen it---- + +BATTERSBY (_off_). Angela! + +ANGELA. Hallo! + +BATTERSBY. May I wear my old coat and a soft shirt? + +ANGELA. Why ever not? + +BATTERSBY. Holt will have a white waistcoat, I suppose? + +ANGELA (_to_ MRS. FAITHFULL). Had he? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh, yes! (_Loudly_) Yes, Mr. Battersby. + +BATTERSBY. Oh, is that you, Mrs. Faithfull? Sorry I’m not ready. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_a little primly_). It’s quite all right, thank you. + +BATTERSBY. Well, then, Angela, if Holt has a white waistcoat, and +I have a soft shirt, and Ainslie has an ordinary tail-coat with a +stethoscope in it, the Prince is bound to be all right, _whatever_ he +wears. + +ANGELA. The perfect host. + +BATTERSBY (_loudly_). What? + +ANGELA. Soft shirt, darling. + +BATTERSBY. Good! Shan’t be a moment, Mrs. Faithfull. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. That’s all right, thank you. Angela is looking +after me.... I always think Mr. Battersby looks so artistic in his +velvet coat.... Of course this is quite an informal visit of Prince +Michael’s. + +ANGELA. Naturally. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Did you see much of him at Monte? + +ANGELA. We met him. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. And he said, could he come and see you when he was in +England? + +ANGELA. He did say something about it, I believe. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. They often say it, but they don’t always come. + +ANGELA (_sympathetically_). Don’t they? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Well, of course, I don’t encourage it for Imogen. Not +abroad. You never know Who _is_ Who. + +ANGELA. As long as they’re amusing---- + +MRS. FAITHFULL. The amusing ones are never Who. You can depend on +that. + +ANGELA. Then we’re in for a dull evening. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh, a Prince is different. Prince Michael----(_Very +carelessly_) We just call him Prince Michael, I suppose. An informal +visit, naturally. I told Imogen, yes--he is sure to be interesting. +(_Vaguely_) All Europe just now, I think. New groupings of +nationalities. One so rarely hears the real truth. I am told that we +are much nearer to another world-war than we think. The Prince must +tell us. I suppose Neo-Slavonia _is_ pro-Ally? + +ANGELA. Are there any allies now? They’re fond of the English, I +believe. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh, well, that’s a good thing. + + (_They are interrupted by_ JENNIFER.) + +JENNIFER (_at the open door_). French mustard. Don’t tell me I ought +to have gone to the back door with it. + +ANGELA. Oh, thanks. (_She puts the mustard on the table, and calls +out._) Emily! + +JENNIFER (_to_ MRS. FAITHFULL). Good-evening, dear. What a charming +dress! (_To_ ANGELA) May I go back and change mine? + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_pleased_). We must do what we can when there are so +many pretty young ones round us. + +JENNIFER (_with a charming, modest laugh_). Oh, how sweet----(_The +laugh stops suddenly. In which group is she included? She says +solemnly_) Yes. We must. + +ANGELA (_indicating cocktail_). Have one? + +JENNIFER. My dear, I daren’t. + +ANGELA. You _are_ absurd. + +EMILY (_coming in_). Yes, miss? + +ANGELA (_nodding at it_). Mustard. + + [EMILY _takes it and goes out_. + +JENNIFER (_resigned_). I suppose I shan’t see _that_ again. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Angela was just telling me that the Neo-Slavonians +are very fond of the English. + +JENNIFER. Yes, Gladstone or somebody said something in 1874 which +they have never quite forgotten ... but which I have. + +ANGELA. What sort of thing? + +JENNIFER. Legitimate aspirations ... which _although_ ... _yet_ ... +in the not far-distant future----_You_ know how they talk. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_nodding profoundly_). It is curious to think that if +Mr. Gladstone had never said--whatever exactly it was--fifty years +ago, Prince Michael mightn’t have been dining here to-night. + +JENNIFER. And if Mr. Faithfull had never said “I love you” +twenty-five years ago, Imogen mightn’t have been dining here to-night. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_stiffly_). That doesn’t strike me as so curious. + +JENNIFER. Still, it is interesting. Angela, darling, if you don’t get +dressed, nobody will be dining here to-night. + +ANGELA (_lounging off_). I’m just ready. (_She goes up._) The others +are in the garden. + +JENNIFER. I saw a pretty pink butterfly on the lawn. I suppose that +was Imogen. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_absently_). Yes, we always wear pink in the evening. + +JENNIFER (_suddenly_). Isn’t it funny that there aren’t any pink +butterflies? I’d never thought of it before. Reds and yellows and +blues and browns and purples, but no pinks. I wonder why? + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_who doesn’t wonder why_). We shall know one day, I +daresay. + +JENNIFER. I’d rather know now, because I’m sure to forget later +on. There will be so many questions to ask when we get to Heaven. +(_Childishly_) What’s your first one? I’ll tell you what mine is. I +shall say, “Now, _what_ about all those stars? What were they there +for?” + + (MRS. FAITHFULL _feels uncomfortably that there is nothing + about this in the Church of England Services, and gets back to + butterflies_.) + +MRS. FAITHFULL. The General must have seen many beautiful butterflies +in India. + +JENNIFER. He didn’t talk about them. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_coming to the point_). What did happen at Monte, do +you know? + +JENNIFER (_at a loss_). Monty? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Between Angela and the Prince. + +JENNIFER. Oh--Monte! I always call it Carlo.... Did anything happen? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. She evidently made a great impression. Of course +nothing could ever----Still, in these democratic days, I +suppose----She hasn’t said anything to _you_? + +JENNIFER. She told me not to be vulgar when I hinted that---- + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_stiffly_). There is a vulgar way and another way, no +doubt, of making these enquiries. + +JENNIFER (_cheerfully_). Yes, mine was the vulgar way. (_With an +air_) But, after all, are we not women? The moment they meet, shall +we not know if “soft eyes look love to eyes which speak again”? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh, one always knows, of course. + +JENNIFER (_romantically_). + + “And she was only seventeen, + Nor child, nor woman, but between-- + And oh! the love light in her een!” + +But if the light be not there, I shall wish _Imogen_ luck, and I +don’t care how vulgar anybody calls me. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_deprecating, but pleased_). Oh, Imogen is only a +baby. + +JENNIFER. As old as Angela. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_firmly_). Not in the sight of Heaven. + +JENNIFER (_to herself_). That will be another thing to ask about when +I get there.... (_To_ MRS. FAITHFULL) Of course we must remember that +the Prince’s prospects are not necessarily confined to Wych Trentham. +He may decide to marry _out_ of the village. + + (DR. AINSLIE _is at the door. At 50 he has a sense of humour + which the ladies call “so satirical”; and, in his own words, + he can “stand anything but shams,” by which he means Religion, + Royalty and other politenesses much esteemed in Wych Trentham. + Some people call him a cynic, without quite knowing what it + means, and they all say that “it is a great pity he never + married.”_) + +AINSLIE. Do I come in, or do I go to the front door and get announced +in style? + +JENNIFER. Which do you generally do? + +AINSLIE (_sarcastically_). I don’t generally have the honour of +meeting a Prince. Good-evening, Mrs. Faithfull. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_coldly_). Good-evening. + +AINSLIE. Outwardly calm, but with beating hearts, and murmuring a few +French phrases to ourselves, we await the arrival of His Highness. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_to_ JENNIFER). Is Imogen outside, dear? I think I’ll +go to her. + +AINSLIE (_making way for her_). She is the one in pink. (MRS. +FAITHFULL _goes out haughtily_.) That woman doesn’t like me. + +JENNIFER (_consolingly_). But the next doctor is a long way off. + +AINSLIE. Oh, professionally, I have no anxiety. But she doesn’t like +me. Do you know why? + +JENNIFER. Your diffident manner? + +AINSLIE. I told her that she was bringing Imogen up badly. + +JENNIFER. Speaking as a doctor, or as a--bachelor? + +AINSLIE. As a substitute for the Vicar. (_Indicating the drinks_) Are +these for me? + +JENNIFER. Some of them. (_He goes to the table, and holds up one._) +No, thank you. + +AINSLIE (_drinking_). I said: “You are robbing Imogen of her youth.” +Look at all the other jolly little girls you see about. They drink, +and they smoke, and they swear, and they read improper books, and +they’re very clever and cynical, and we say, “Bless their dear little +hearts! Youth, youth! I was as young as that once.” I tell you, +Jennifer, it brings tears into my eyes sometimes, to see them so +young and so pleased with themselves, and to think that they will +have to grow up. But Imogen will marry and settle down before she has +had any youth at all. + +JENNIFER (_smiling_). I fancy that Imogen is deeper than you think. +When she is away from her mother---- + +AINSLIE. Deep! But that’s what I’m saying! She’s as deep as you or +I. She has no business to be deep at her age. Deep! She’s probably +romantic, and all sorts of nice elderly things like that. I daresay +she’s told herself stories about this ridiculous Prince of yours. +Just as _you_ have. (_He drinks and says firmly_) I don’t know about +anybody else, but I do not propose to call him “Sir.” + +JENNIFER. “Nobody asked you, Sir, she said.... Sir, she said.”... +Sir, _she_ said--unlike the doctor of Wych Trentham. + +AINSLIE. _And_ I shall talk English. + +JENNIFER (_disappointedly_). Oh!... Couldn’t you say a few words in +medical Latin now and then? + +AINSLIE. That reminds me. Is there an Established Church in +Neo-Slavonia? + +JENNIFER. Good gracious, what a question to ask a lone widow woman +suddenly! + +AINSLIE. It’s a new country, so it may still be free from the +shackles of ecclesiasticism. + +JENNIFER. Will this be the general trend of the conversation this +evening? Because, if so, I should like to go back for my cigarette +cards. + +AINSLIE (_warming to it_). No country with an Established Church has +any claim to be considered civilised. But the fools won’t see it. + +JENNIFER (_soothingly_). They never do, do they? I don’t believe they +try. (_Very soothingly_) Shall I put your glass down for you, or hold +your hobby-horse while you dismount? + +AINSLIE (_with a laugh_). All right, I’ll spare you the rest. (_He +pats her hand affectionately._) + + (ANGELA _comes down, dressed at last_.) + +ANGELA. Hallo! + +AINSLIE (_shaking hands_). Good-evening. Produce your Prince. + +ANGELA. Isn’t he here? + +AINSLIE. He’s looking for the red carpet. Have you got a red carpet? +I came in through the garden. The village band ought to be playing +the Neo-Slavonian National Anthem. Why isn’t it? This party is being +run very badly. + + (BATTERSBY _comes down from his bedroom, as the others return + from the garden_.) + +BATTERSBY. Hallo, Doctor. (_He beckons him on one side._) I say, +we’re a cigar short. You’d rather have a pipe, wouldn’t you? + +AINSLIE. Even if I wouldn’t, I should smoke it to-night, as an +assertion of my Republican principles. + +BATTERSBY. Excellent. Could you also assert your medical principles, +and tell Holt that any one of the four big cigars on the top of the +box would undoubtedly be fatal to him? + +AINSLIE. Do I speak as one who knows Holt’s constitution, or as one +who knows the cigars? + +BATTERSBY. I don’t mind which way you put it, as long as you frighten +him. + + (ANGELA _and_ JENNIFER _have been greeting the others_. AINSLIE + _now joins them_.) + +ANGELA. Well, we may as well sit down. I don’t know how long he’s +going to be. (_To_ MRS. FAITHFULL) Come along. + + (_They sit on the sofa together._ ETHEL _and_ IMOGEN, _assisted + by the men, find seats_. JENNIFER _stands by the open door, + where she is joined by_ BATTERSBY.) + +MRS. FAITHFULL. He’s driving over, I suppose. + +ANGELA. I suppose so. + + (_There is an awkward silence._) + +ETHEL (_breaking it_). One, two, three.... I was just counting, +making sure we weren’t going to be thirteen. + +AINSLIE. Why? (_To_ ANGELA) Have you got only twelve plates? + +ETHEL. I don’t care what you say, Dr. Ainslie, there _is_ something +in it. + +AINSLIE. Folly. + +ROBERT (_seriously_). I’ve known some funny things happen, Ainslie. +In the war. + +AINSLIE. Even in a war nothing would happen which could be so funny +as the superstitious man’s Theory of the Universe. Particularly if he +also professed to be a religious man. + +ANGELA. Well, nothing funny is going to happen to-night, because +we’re only ten. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_looking round the room_). Ten? + +ANGELA. There’s a sort of secretary person coming with him. Name of +Oliver. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh! Hasn’t he any other name? + +ANGELA. James. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_at a loss_). Oh! + +AINSLIE. J. Oliver or O. James? Or doesn’t he mind? + +ANGELA. J. Oliver. He’s driving him over, much to the disappointment +of the cook, who hoped for a real chauffeur. + +AINSLIE. With the latest royal scandal to communicate. + + (_There is another awkward silence._) + +ETHEL (_breaking it_). Mr. Oliver’s a soldier, I suppose. (_To_ +ROBERT) I wonder if you’ll know him. + +ROBERT. There was an Oliver in the Middlesex Regiment--Second +Battalion. + + (_Another silence. But_ ETHEL _is determined to make the party + go_.) + +ETHEL. Was he nice? + +ROBERT. Oh, all right. I hardly knew him. + + (_Silence._) + +ETHEL (_trying again_). I wonder if that’s the one. + +ROBERT. Hardly likely, I should think. + + (_Silence._) + +ETHEL (_a last effort_). Oh, I don’t know, he might be. + + (_The conversation, which never promised much, has now abandoned + hope. There is another long silence._) + +MRS. FAITHFULL } {I wonder if there’s any chance---- + }(_simultaneously_).{ +ROBERT } {You don’t know if he plays---- + +ROBERT } { + }(_simultaneously_).{I beg your pardon. +MRS. FAITHFULL } { + + (_Each waits for the other._) + +ROBERT. Please! + +MRS. FAITHFULL. I was only wondering how long he was to be in the +neighbourhood. Did he say anything about that? + +ANGELA. No. + +AINSLIE. It depends how charming we are to-night. + + (_Everybody waits for_ ROBERT.) + +ETHEL (_after a pause_). What were _you_ going to say, dear? + +ROBERT. Nothing. I wondered if we might rope him in for the match on +Saturday. + +ETHEL. He wouldn’t play cricket, would he? It’s such an English game, +isn’t it? + +ROBERT. I just wondered. He was at an English school, wasn’t he? + +ANGELA. I think so. + +ETHEL. Oh! I didn’t know. That makes a difference, doesn’t it? + + (_Another silence._) + +BATTERSBY (_from the window, where he has been talking to_ JENNIFER). +I don’t believe he’s coming, dear. + +ANGELA (_calmly_). Then he’ll miss a very good dinner. + +AINSLIE. Good! + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_the authority_). Naturally Royalty must arrive last. + +ETHEL. I suppose so. (_To_ ROBERT) Oh, I meant to ask you, Robert, +what happened when that German Prince dined in your Mess? (_Hurriedly +to the others_) Before the war, of course. + +JENNIFER (_at the door_). S’sh. + + (_She takes a step into the garden. They all listen._) + +MRS. FAITHFULL. I think I hear his car. + +JENNIFER (_looking in_). He comes! + + (_She disappears, but they are not noticing her. All, save_ + ANGELA, _have become self-conscious. There is a strained silence. + They feel at their clothes to make sure they are all right._ + MRS. FAITHFULL _touches up_ IMOGEN. ANGELA, _at ease, is still + smoking_.) + +EMILY (_announcing_). Prince Michael Robolski, Mr. Oliver. + + (_They come in. The_ PRINCE _is a man of 40, with an upturned + moustache, pleasant-looking, active in body and mind. He speaks + with a very slight foreign accent, and wears a coloured ribbon + in the lapel of his coat._ OLIVER _is a very young Englishman, + smooth, round-faced, and rather obviously new to his job_.) + +ANGELA (_getting up gracefully_). Hallo! Nice to see you again. + +PRINCE (_bending over her hand_). Mademoiselle! But this is +delightful! May I present my good friend who takes care of me, Mr. +Oliver? + +ANGELA (_to_ OLIVER). How do you do? (_They shake hands._) + +BATTERSBY (_coming forward_). Very glad to see you again, Prince +Michael. + +PRINCE (_shaking hands with him_). But how kind of you to have me in +your house. + +BATTERSBY (_hand out to_ OLIVER). How do you do? Find the way all +right? + +OLIVER. Oh yes, rather, thank you, sir. + +ANGELA (_to the_ PRINCE). Now then, come along.... This is Mrs. +Faithfull. + +PRINCE (_holding out his hand_). Madame! + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_curtseying_). How do you do? + +ANGELA. And Miss Faithfull. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. May I present my little girl, Imogen, to Your +Highness? + +PRINCE (_holding out his hand, and smiling_). How do you do, Miss +Imogen? + + (IMOGEN _nearly swoons_.) + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Imogen, dear! I am afraid, Prince Michael, that my +little girl is rather shy. + +PRINCE (_charmingly_). But we are all friends here, are we not? + + (_He takes her hand._) + +IMOGEN (_in a faint whisper_). How do you do? + + (MRS. FAITHFULL _administers first aid_.) + +ANGELA. Dr. Ainslie. + +PRINCE (_smiling_). The Champion of the Established Church? + +ANGELA. He’s a Republican, really. + +AINSLIE. Angela has been telling tales out of school. + +PRINCE (_holding out his hand_). Still we shake hands, do we not? + +AINSLIE (_shaking it, and smiling_). Without prejudice. + +PRINCE. Oh, but perfectly. (_To_ ANGELA) You see, I remember what you +tell me. (_He comes to the_ HOLTS.) And this would be--you tell me +of them----The soldier with the pretty wife----(_To_ ETHEL) Pardon, +madame, but she did say so. And now I see for myself. + +ANGELA. Captain and Mrs. Holt. + +PRINCE. Holt! But of course. + + (_They shake hands._) + +ETHEL (_blushing_). How do you do? + +ROBERT (_bravely, like a soldier_). How do you do, sir? + + (OLIVER _has been following with_ BATTERSBY.) + +ANGELA. But where’s Jennifer? + + (_They all look round in bewilderment._) + +PRINCE. That would be Madame Boulager, the General’s widow.... And +that’s all Princes are good for in these times, is it not so, Doctor? +Remembering. + +ANGELA. Well, come and have a drink. + +PRINCE. Mademoiselle thinks of everything. (_He takes a cocktail, and +looks round the room._) So this is where my friends the Battersbys +live? + +ANGELA. You like it? + +PRINCE. How can I not like it? It is yourselves. I bow to the flowers +as I come through the garden: “Miss Angela, we meet again.” I shake +hands with the front door, and say, “Battersby, how well you are +looking.” (_Indicating the gallery_) Mademoiselle stands up there +sometimes. (ANGELA _nods_.) And looks down on the little children +playing below. I can see her. (_Raising his glass to the room_) I +drink to you. (_He drinks._) And Mademoiselle is here also. (_To +his cocktail_) “How do you do, Miss Angela?” (_He picks up a second +glass._) But you must drink too. + +EMILY (_announcing_). Mrs. Bulger! + + (JENNIFER _sweeps superbly in_.) + +JENNIFER (_to_ ANGELA, _who comes to meet her_). Darling, I’m so +sorry I’m late. Do forgive me! (_She kisses her._) + +ANGELA (_smiling and releasing herself_). Come along. Prince Michael, +this is my friend, Jennifer. + + (JENNIFER’S _smile changes suddenly into an expression of + amazement. She stares at the_ PRINCE, _who smiles pleasantly back + at her. Then with an effort she gains control of herself._) + +JENNIFER (_slowly_). How do you do, Prince Michael? + +PRINCE (_with a friendly smile_). How do you do? (_He has a glass in +each hand, and he looks whimsically from one to the other of them._) +You will forgive me? + +JENNIFER (_with a sudden laugh_). I think I’ll have one too. + + (_He gives her one. They drink, their eyes on each other._) + +EMILY. Dinner is served. + + + + + ACT II + + + _The women have had their coffee in the dining-room, and + now--10:30 nearly--they are all coming back together, talking as + they come._ + +PRINCE. I assure you, Miss Battersby, that absence of ceremony is +what most I like. I should have been desolated if you had deserted us. + +AINSLIE. You get enough ceremonial, I expect. + +PRINCE. Those wearisome Court dinners! (_He shudders._) So long as +the women are there--charming! + +JENNIFER. Whoever the women are? + + (_They gradually find themselves seats, instinctively grouping + themselves round the_ PRINCE.) + +PRINCE. Whoever the women are. But when they leave us----! + +BATTERSBY. Stuffy political talk, eh? + +PRINCE (_nodding_). So wearisome. + +ANGELA. I can’t stand politics at any price. + +PRINCE. Nor I. When the women are there, we talk of many things. But +when the men are left alone with their wine and their cigars, and +one of our great statesmen move his chair next to mine, and in a low +voice begin to tell me of the little dancer he has discovered--(_he +makes a gesture of boredom_)--no; I, too, cannot stand politics. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_hastily_). Yes, I suppose dancing is as much a +national pastime with you as with the Russians. + +PRINCE. As with all nations. + +JENNIFER. I feel that I want to ask Prince Michael a great deal about +his country. (_She looks meaningly at him._) And about himself. + +PRINCE (_returning her look_). I am at your service, madame. + +JENNIFER. Suppose we begin like the geography books. Chief +industries. Exports and imports. + +ETHEL (_brightly_). They always asked that, didn’t they? + +PRINCE. Since the Peace Conference our chief industry has been +fighting. + +ROBERT (_nodding professionally_). Ah! Quite so, sir. + +PRINCE. A European War is an impossibility just now. The big +countries dislike each other so much that there are no Allies, and +without Allies, how can you have a really good war? So we little +countries--how do you say?--keep the pot boiling. Our season opens +in March. If we declare war first, we export soldiers. If the enemy +declares war first, we import them. At the close of the season, in +October, we export journalists, and import Boundary Commissioners. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Most interesting. Your literature, of course, we are +all getting to know. + +PRINCE (_pleased_). Indeed? Our famous poet-dramatist, Tushkin--you +read him? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Naturally. + + (_There is a general murmur of assent._) + +PRINCE (_looking at them admiringly_). So you all know him? Excellent. + +BATTERSBY. Is he popular in your country? + +PRINCE. He is considered highly immoral. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_unhappily_). Oh! I should hardly---- + +AINSLIE. In this country immoral plays are only allowed on Sundays. + +PRINCE. Oh? In that case Tushkin would certainly be limited to Easter +Sunday. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_hastily_). Really, really, really! (_To_ IMOGEN) +What is it, dear? Yes.... Yes, I’m sure you could. My little girl +wants to ask you, Prince Michael--is that a Neo-Slavonian order which +you are wearing? + +PRINCE. But certainly. Our Order of the Leopard. First Class. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh yes, of course. + +ROBERT. A military order, sir? + +PRINCE. A general order--according to the class, you understand. +There are seven classes altogether. + +ETHEL. Oh yes! + +PRINCE. The First Class for members of the blood royal; however +distinguished, or, as in my case, undistinguished. (_Murmurs of +dissent._) I thank you! The Second Class for distinguished statesmen, +diplomats and so forth. The Third Class for those eminent in war. Our +famous Generals. + +ROBERT. And Admirals. Quite so, sir. + +PRINCE. It is, I assure you, not so much lack of gallantry as lack of +a coast-line which prevents us from having equally famous Admirals. + +ROBERT (_red_). Of course. I was forgetting. + +PRINCE. The Fourth Class is for our Bankers, our Financial Geniuses, +our great employers of Labour. Your Mr. Harrod would be a Leopard of +the Fourth Class. Our Fifth Class for the professional men who have +achieved eminence--lawyers, doctors and the like. And the Sixth Class +for the men of science. _Voilà!_ + +MRS. FAITHFULL. But you said seven classes, Prince Michael. + +PRINCE (_carelessly_). Oh, the Seventh Class is just for writers, +painters and composers. I had forgotten them. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh, yes! + +IMOGEN (_nervously_). Ma--may---- + +MRS. FAITHFULL. S’sh, dear! + +PRINCE. You were saying, Miss Imogen? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. How kind of you, Prince Michael! You wanted to ask +the Prince, dear? + +IMOGEN (_with a rush_). Wh--which is the top class? + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_pained_). Really! + +PRINCE. The artists last, as in England. We are great admirers of the +English. + +AINSLIE. You don’t follow us in having an Established Church, I hope? + +PRINCE (_laughing_). Ah, that Established Church! + + (_They all laugh._) + +JENNIFER (_suddenly_). He shan’t be laughed at!... Well, Prince +Michael? + +PRINCE. In Neo-Slavonia we have what you would call a “good form” +church, just as you have here, but it has no authority--except, no +doubt, with Heaven. + +AINSLIE. Good! + +JENNIFER. So you are great admirers of the English, Prince Michael? + +PRINCE. Who is not? + +BATTERSBY. A good many, I’m afraid. + +PRINCE. That air of--how shall I describe it? + +ROBERT (_coughing_). I am an Englishman--take it or leave it. + +PRINCE. Excellent, excellent! + +ETHEL (_reproachfully_). Robert! + +PRINCE. That is how England goes about the world. No wonder she is +loved. And America, she says, “I am an American--gee! isn’t that +great?” And France, the most insular country in the world, France +says, “_Moi, je suis français--pardon!_” + +JENNIFER. And the Neo-Slavonian? + +PRINCE. He says, “I talk about myself too much.” (_He makes a +movement as if to get up._) + +ANGELA (_getting up_). Let’s go into the garden, shall we? (_To_ +PRINCE) Or would you rather play Bridge? + +PRINCE. I can play Bridge anywhere. (_Looking at_ JENNIFER) Only here +can I talk to your friends. (_He looks at_ ANGELA, _who smiles and +understands_.) + +ANGELA (_to_ MRS. FAITHFULL). Come along, then. + + (_They lead the way._) + +ETHEL (_to_ IMOGEN). Are you coming, dear? + + (_They go out together. The men wait for_ JENNIFER.) + +JENNIFER. Don’t wait for me. I have a shawl upstairs. (_She moves +slowly as if to get it._) + +BATTERSBY. Right. + +PRINCE. May I not wait, madame? + +JENNIFER. But how kind of you, Prince Michael! + +BATTERSBY. That’s right, Prince Michael. Bring her along. (_He +shepherds the others out._) + + (JENNIFER, _three stairs up, and the_ PRINCE, _in the middle of + the room, stand waiting until the others can no longer be heard_.) + +PRINCE (_moving towards it_). Shall I close the door? + +JENNIFER (_mockingly_). As Your Highness pleases. + + (_He smiles, and comes back._) + + (JENNIFER _comes down the stairs, and stands two or three yards + away, looking at him_.) + +JENNIFER. Well, Michael? + +PRINCE (_smiling_). Well, Jennifer? (_He has no foreign accent now._) + +JENNIFER. So you’ve come back to me at last. + +PRINCE. Yes. + +JENNIFER. Four years, isn’t it? + +PRINCE. About that. + +JENNIFER. You’re getting on in the world. + +PRINCE. Aren’t I? + +JENNIFER. Fancy! A real Prince! + +PRINCE. But of a very small country. + +JENNIFER. When I last saw you, you were plain Michael Brown of +Hammersmith. + +PRINCE (_nodding_). Yes. And you were beautiful Mrs. Michael Brown of +West Kensington. + +JENNIFER (_laughing_). Oh, Michael, what am I going to do about +you?... May I sit down, Your Highness? + +PRINCE (_arranging a chair for her_). The wife always takes the +husband’s rank and precedence. Your chair, Princess. + +JENNIFER (_sitting down_). I thought perhaps ours was a morganatic +marriage. + +PRINCE. There are no morganatic marriages in Neo-Slavonia. + +JENNIFER. Ah, now tell me. I’ve been longing to ask you all the +evening--only it sounded so absurd. _Is_ there such a country as +Neo-Slavonia? + +PRINCE (_shocked_). Good heavens, no! You don’t suggest that I’m a +common impostor, do you? + +JENNIFER. I wondered. Aren’t you? + +PRINCE (_with dignity_). Certainly not. + +JENNIFER. I’m glad. + +PRINCE. Besides, where would be the fun? I’m an inventor. + +JENNIFER. I see. + +PRINCE. I invented the small buffer-state of Neo-Slavonia. I invented +all of it. Its name, its people, its customs, its orders and its +literature. I then gave myself the title of Prince in that country. +Who but I had the right to bestow that title? Whom more worthy of it +than myself could I find? + +JENNIFER (_nodding_). Prince Michael Robulski. + +MICHAEL. Rob_o_lski. In Neo-Slavonia the termination “-ulski” is now +obsolete. + +JENNIFER. I must try to remember. + +PRINCE. It’s a jolly little country. You must let me show it to you +one day. + +JENNIFER. Thank you. But would it be quite proper for us to go about +together? + +PRINCE. Proper? + +JENNIFER. The late General James Bulger--C.B.--was very +old-fashioned. I don’t think he would like his widow----How do they +regard these things in your country? + +PRINCE. Ah, now tell me. I have been longing to ask you all the +evening--only it sounded so absurd. Was there ever a General James +Bulger--C.B.? + +JENNIFER (_shocked_). Good heavens, no! You don’t suggest that I’m a +common bigamist, do you? + +PRINCE. I wondered. Aren’t you? + +JENNIFER (_with dignity_). Certainly not. + +PRINCE. I’m glad. + +JENNIFER. Besides, where would be the fun? I’m an inventor. + +PRINCE. I see. + +JENNIFER. I invented a big, red-faced soldier called Bulger. I +invented all of him. I invented his rank and his orders, and his +medals. I then married him. Who but I had any right to consider +myself his wife? + +PRINCE. True. You know, I had an uneasy feeling---- + +JENNIFER. That I had married _again_? + +PRINCE. Well, you might have thought I was dead. + +JENNIFER (_sweetly_). Even that mightn’t make me want a _second_ +husband. + +PRINCE (_acknowledging the hit_). I suppose not. Then why drag in +Bulger? + +JENNIFER (_after a little silence_). Michael! + +PRINCE. Yes? + +JENNIFER. Did you ever wonder what had happened to me after you left +me so suddenly? + +PRINCE. Often. + +JENNIFER. You remembered that you _had_ got a wife somewhere? + +PRINCE. Of course.... Did you ever wonder what had happened to _me_? + +JENNIFER (_carelessly_). Sometimes. + +PRINCE. You had your own money, so I knew you wouldn’t starve. + +JENNIFER (_nodding_). And eating is the great thing in life, isn’t it? + +PRINCE (_lightly_). I’ve thought so once or twice in the last four +years. + +JENNIFER (_thoughtfully_). I don’t know how it is, but if people ask +after your husband, and you say, “Oh, he left me a year or two ago; I +don’t know why; we were rather on edge after the war, and he couldn’t +find a job, and I suppose he suddenly got sick of me,” it never +sounds----I don’t know how it is, but it never----Well, you know, +Michael, I thought I could think of something more respectable than +that. So when I came down here, where nobody knew me, I announced +that my husband had left me for the only reason which a loving, +dutiful, high-minded husband, such as yourself, could have for +leaving a loving, dutiful, delightful wife--such as me. He had died. + +PRINCE (_nodding_). And by the terms of the will which he made on his +death-bed, had changed his name to Bulger. + +JENNIFER (_smiling_). Well--_that_----! You see, I wanted him to be a +soldier. + +PRINCE. Good Heavens, hadn’t you had enough of soldiers? Wasn’t I one +for four years, if it comes to that? + +JENNIFER. Oh, my dear, not one of those rough, amateur, _fighting_ +soldiers! A real peace-time soldier! All clean, and in a nice red +coat, and covered with medals! A professional soldier! + +PRINCE. The sort to whom we give the Order of the Leopard, Third +Class, in Neo-Slavonia? + +JENNIFER. Exactly! A soldier. A General. A C.B. It’s very respectable +to be a General’s widow. + +PRINCE. But you can be a General without being called James Bulger. +In Neo-Slavonia----I beg your pardon, I keep forgetting. But I’m sure +that you can be a General without being called James Bulger. + +JENNIFER (_eagerly_). Not as I saw him. Not this one. General James +Bulger, C.B. Can’t _you_ see him? + +PRINCE (_nodding_). I can hear him. + +JENNIFER. You don’t know what a comfort the thought of him has been. +In many a difficulty I have asked myself, “Now, what would the +General have said?”--and then I’ve remembered, “Not in front of the +Vicar.” + +PRINCE. A fine soldier. One of the old breed. My only objection to +him is that he had no business to go handing his name about like that. + +JENNIFER. But the name has been a great comfort too. (_Shyly_) You +may have noticed that I have become a little--a little----Or have I +not? + +PRINCE (_emphatically_). Not a day! + +JENNIFER. I wasn’t referring to days so much. + +PRINCE (_emphatically_). Not an inch! + +JENNIFER (_excitedly_). Really? Michael! How Neo-Slavonia has +improved you! But to English eyes there does seem to be a----a +tendency----Well, the name has been a great help. Because when +people are told, “I want you to come and meet my dear friend Mrs. +Bulger,” they come expecting the worst, and when they see me, they +say--(_imitating them_)--“Oh, but how--I didn’t--I had no idea!”--and +any little--tendency--becomes an added charm, as though, in my kindly +way, I were humouring the name.... Do you understand? + +PRINCE. Perfectly. + +JENNIFER. And another advantage of it is that it makes them all call +me Jennifer so quickly. I like that. I’m a friendly soul. + +PRINCE. The men too? + +JENNIFER (_sweetly_). Why not? + +PRINCE. I am thinking of the General. You remember how old-fashioned +he was. I don’t think _he_ would have liked it. + +JENNIFER. Why, his last words were, “Jennifer, Jennifer!” + +PRINCE. One doesn’t want one’s last words broadcast. What did he die +of, by the way? + +JENNIFER. One of those Indian frontier skirmishes. + +PRINCE. What was a real General doing, getting mixed up dangerously +in one of those? + +JENNIFER. It wasn’t in the danger-zone. At least, not officially. +(_In a whisper, after a glance to see that they are alone_) A +soda-water bottle burst just as he was opening it. (_In her natural +voice_) I always call it “a stray bullet.” + +PRINCE (_smiling_). You’ve been taking a risk, haven’t you? Who’s +that heavy fellow who’s here to-night---- + +JENNIFER. Captain Holt? + +PRINCE. He must have been in India. He might make inquiries--I +daresay he reads back numbers of the Army List on Sunday afternoons. + +JENNIFER. Well, but it was all settled before he came. Anyway, I +don’t see why he should doubt me. He hasn’t got a suspicious nature +like yours. + +PRINCE. If you had consulted _me_, I should have recommended a nice +quiet death near Woking. + +JENNIFER (_shaking her head_). No. That wouldn’t have done. You see, +at first--just at first--I didn’t want----You see, I thought my +husband might come back to me. So I didn’t want to be too definite +about his death. I wanted to leave a loophole of explanation. He +had been left for dead, captured by the advancing enemy, escaped, +lost his memory, perhaps.... So that if he _had_ turned up one +day----(_She pauses._) + +PRINCE. Yes? + +JENNIFER (_gaily_). Then I shouldn’t have seemed quite such an +impostor. + +PRINCE. Inventor. + +JENNIFER (_agreeing_). Inventor. + +PRINCE (_after a pause_). And now, after four years, he _has_ come +back? + +JENNIFER (_surprised_). Who? + +PRINCE. Your husband. + +JENNIFER. Good gracious, no! Prince Michael Rob----No, don’t tell me. +That’s the obsolete one--Prince Michael Robolski of Neo-Slavonia, +wishing to renew his acquaintance and--(_smiling sweetly_)--shall I +say “further his suit”?--with the charming Miss Angela Battersby, is +paying a short, a _very_ short visit, to Wych Trentham. + +PRINCE. I don’t see why _very_ short. + +JENNIFER. Well, you see, my dear Prince, at any moment I may discover +the exact position on the map of Neo-Slavonia. + +PRINCE. Yes, but why this passion for accurate geography suddenly? + +JENNIFER. Because I am fond of Angela Battersby. And I won’t let you +make a fool of her. + +PRINCE. Ah, now I do see your point. But I think that, however +short my visit, I should feel it my duty--the Neo-Slavonians are +notoriously a polite race--to say good-bye to--Captain Holt. + +JENNIFER. (_thoughtfully_). Oh! + +PRINCE. I have taken a sudden liking to the studious Captain. I can’t +let you make a fool of him. + +JENNIFER (_smiling_). Yes, I see your point too.... I’m afraid, +Michael, we’re both impostors. + +PRINCE. Not impostors: inventors, creators. I wish you would see the +difference. We have given an idea to the world. At least I have. To +the people I meet, Neo-Slavonia is now as much a real country as +Jugo-Slavia or Lithuania. Well, that’s _my_ doing. + +JENNIFER. I see. And when did the great idea come to you? + +PRINCE (_smiling reflectively_). It was forced on me. Really it +wasn’t my fault.... It was at Monte Carlo. + +JENNIFER (_interested_). Where you were looking for work? + +PRINCE. I’d given up looking for work. I’d had enough of that in +England after the war. I was looking for money. Much more fun. + +JENNIFER. I’ve been told that there’s quite a lot in Monte Carlo. Any +luck? + +PRINCE. Fairish.... Well, you know what the South of France is like. +Stiff with potty Royalties from God knows where. (_With a sudden +laugh_) I say, it is funny to be talking English again; I mean the +real English that the English talk.... Well, I was lunching with +some people I’d never met before, as you do out there, and rather a +stupid girl, trying to make conversation, and feeling around for my +name, asked me what I did. I said I didn’t do anything; and she said, +“I suppose you’re a Prince.” And I said, “Yes, yes”--just as you’d +say, “Yes, yes,” if anybody asked you in the Temple if you were a +barrister, and you weren’t really listening. + +JENNIFER. That wasn’t Angela? + +PRINCE. Oh no, Miss Battersby was much later, when I was generally +accepted as a Prince. It was surprising how quickly I was committed +to it. (_Proudly_) Of course, as soon as I saw how things were going, +I insisted on the Neo-Slavonia. I wasn’t going to be an ordinary +impostor. + +JENNIFER. And did nobody know that there wasn’t such a place? + +PRINCE. Nobody. You see, I looked at it this way. At the Peace +Conference there was nothing to prevent the Big Four creating a new +buffer-state called Neo-Slavonia. Was there? + +JENNIFER. No. + +PRINCE. Well, now, if they _had_ created it, it was certain that one +or two of them wouldn’t have known where it was. + +JENNIFER. Absolutely. + +PRINCE. So I thought, “If they wouldn’t know, I don’t see why anybody +else should want to.” You see what I mean? + +JENNIFER. Perfectly. + +PRINCE. Of course, I worked up the local colour gradually. At one +time it was a very near thing whether it had a sea-coast or not; but +I felt it was rather dangerous. What do you think? + +JENNIFER (_gravely_). Oh yes, I think a sea-coast would have been +rather dangerous. + +PRINCE. Of course, we have a certain amount of local water-borne +traffic on the--the Danube. I fancy it’s the Danube. + +JENNIFER. Oh, Michael, you ought to know that! + +PRINCE. I find it easier to remember when I am using a slight +Neo-Slavonian accent. Plain Michael Brown was never much good at +geography. + +JENNIFER. Nor so popular, I suppose. + +PRINCE. Oh, no. You get a very good time as a Prince. There’s a lot +of hospitality going about. + +JENNIFER. And a lot of credulity, too. + +PRINCE (_smiling_). Yes, fellow-inventor, there is.... If you say +anything dogmatically enough, the other man is always a little +doubtful of himself.... You’d be surprised how many literary +authorities--critics and such like--have agreed with me in thinking +that Tushkin should have been given the Nobel prize instead of his +more popular fellow-countryman, Gregorovitch. I’ll lay a thousand to +eight that there’s not one person in the world who could give you a +complete list of the Nobel prize-winners. My own theory is that every +other year they invent the name and stick to the money. + +JENNIFER (_shaking her head at him_). Oh, Michael! And did none of +that hospitality lodge in your throat? + +PRINCE. My dear Jennifer, why should it? If I got fifteen shillings +worth of food and drink, didn’t I give fifteen shillings worth of +entertainment in return for it? Ask your friends which they prefer: +a dinner where they’ll meet a fifteen-shilling Prince, or a dinner +where they’ll have to listen to a hundred-guinea violinist. They’d +vote for me every time. The professional Prince. + +JENNIFER. And that’s how you’ve been living lately? + +PRINCE. Well, I’ve had tips, you know. + +JENNIFER (_interested_). Ten-franc notes under the napkin? + +PRINCE. Not quite so crude as that. Tips about stocks and horses. + +JENNIFER. Oh, I see. + +PRINCE. If you are high enough up, and supposed not to want it, you +can always get plenty of help in making money. I’ve done pretty well +this last year. In fact, almost well enough to be able to afford to +look for work again. + +JENNIFER. Then, on the whole, we needn’t have been too anxious about +each other? + +PRINCE. We needn’t. You’ve had your income to yourself, and lived +beautifully in the country; and I’ve had my freedom, and lived---- + +JENNIFER. Like a Prince---- + +PRINCE. Like a man, anyway, in the open world. And the bickerings of +Hammersmith are gone for ever. + +JENNIFER (_after a pause_). And now what? + +PRINCE. Well, what? + +JENNIFER. Is it Your Highness’s pleasure to come back to me? + +PRINCE. Good heavens, no! + + (JENNIFER _looks surprised_.) + +JENNIFER. Oh!... I just wanted to know. + +PRINCE (_smiling_). I can only come back if General Bulger’s widow +invites me. + +JENNIFER (_laughing_). My dear Michael! if I invite you! Oh, my dear +Michael! (_She is laughing again._) + +PRINCE (_undisturbed_). You laugh as adorably as ever. + +JENNIFER. Bless the man, now he’s going to make love to me! + +PRINCE. To a Neo-Slavonian what more delightful way of spending an +evening? + +JENNIFER. Well, I’d sooner you did it to me than to Angela. I won’t +have any of that, I warn you, Michael. + +PRINCE (_shaking a finger at her_). Oh, Mrs. Bulger, Mrs. Bulger, +think of your flirtations at--Simla, was it? + +JENNIFER. You come to England at the risk of being exposed as an +impostor---- + +PRINCE. An inventor. + +JENNIFER. ----just so as to get another glimpse of her. Was that +necessary? I say again, I am fond of Angela. + +PRINCE. And she is fond of Jennifer. + +JENNIFER. In her non-committal way, I think so. + +PRINCE (_becoming very foreign suddenly_). Ah, this angel, this +Angela! She is not so non-committal away from your English fogs. She +expand! She talk!... She speak to me of her friends. She speak much +of her great friend, Jennifer. Jennifer? I say. Jennifer? What a +beautiful name! Tell me of this lady with the so beautiful name! She +tell me. It is Madame Boulager. Boulager--one of your great English +families. I am intrigued. I am--how do you say it?--agog. Tell me of +this Madame Boulager, I say. Your Angela tell me. But it is not until +she say one thing that I know for certain who Madame Boulager is. + +JENNIFER (_clapping her hands eagerly_). Go on, what did she say +about me? + +PRINCE. She said, “Jennifer goes about as if she is singing to +herself, ‘Isn’t it fun being Jennifer?’” Then I knew. And I said +suddenly, but in our Neo-Slavonian tongue, so that I didn’t give +myself away (_he appears to be clearing his throat and sneezing +simultaneously_)--which means, “By Jove! It’s my Jenny!” + +JENNIFER (_carried away_). Oh, Michael! And was it? I mean--go on. + +PRINCE. That’s all. I came, I saw, I was re-conquered. (_Holding out +his hand_) How do you do, Mrs. Brown? + + (_You could see that_ JENNIFER _was a little touched by this + recital, but the prodigal is not going to be welcomed home so + quickly as he thinks. He may have been a Prince in Monte Carlo, + but he is not going to have his own way so easily in England._) + +JENNIFER (_drawing her hand away_). Michael, I don’t know what to +think about you--but I think you had better go back to Neo-Slavonia +... or where you will. + +PRINCE. Must I? + +JENNIFER. Well, obviously you can’t stay here. + +PRINCE. Why not? + +JENNIFER. What as? Prince Michael? My first husband? My future +husband? Ridiculous. It’s much too difficult. + +PRINCE (_eagerly_). Never mind the difficulties. I can manage that +all right. That’s where the fun comes in. If you want me to stay, I +stay. + +JENNIFER (_laughing at his assurance_). If I want you to! Why should +I want you to? + + (_No Prince could stand that laughter from a woman._) + +PRINCE (_quickly_). If I decide to stay, I stay. + +JENNIFER (_sparkling_). Is that a threat? + +PRINCE. A statement. + +JENNIFER (_dangerously_). Take care, Michael. + +PRINCE (_equally dangerously_). Take care, Jennifer. + +JENNIFER. If you challenge me, I take it up. + +PRINCE. Shall I give you the same warning? (_With a sudden smile_) Or +shall I just say, “What do you want me to do?” + +JENNIFER. Whatever you please, except stay here, where you will do +nobody any good. + +PRINCE. And if I disobey? + +JENNIFER. Then, very reluctantly, I shall explain to my friends the +exact position on the map of Europe of Neo-Slavonia. + +PRINCE. And the exact position on the map of Asia of General Bulger’s +body? + +JENNIFER. If necessary. (_She smiles sweetly at him._) My friends +will not be hard on me when they hear that my husband was a scamp of +whose name and identity I did not wish to be reminded. + +PRINCE (_approvingly_). Yes, that’s a good card to play. Well done, +Jennifer. (_Smiling_) But I also--I play cards. + +JENNIFER. Play them in Monte Carlo. It’s safer. + +PRINCE. You are afraid that I have too many hearts in my hand? + +JENNIFER (_laughing, but a little nervously_). Not mine, my dear +Michael. + +PRINCE (_nodding_). Not the Queen. Well, we shall see. Your orders +are that I go back to London to-morrow--and then, if I please, to the +devil. + +JENNIFER (_quickly_). No, no, Michael, I didn’t say that. + +PRINCE. On my way to London to-morrow, is it permitted that I look in +here just to say good-bye to my hostess? + +JENNIFER. You can say good-bye to-night. + +PRINCE. In Neo-Slavonia----(JENNIFER _laughs, and he waits for her to +finish_.) + +JENNIFER. I beg your pardon. + +PRINCE (_unperturbed_). In Neo-Slavonia we have a custom that, on the +morning after hospitality, one pays a formal visit to one’s hostess +in order to render thanks. Is it permitted? + +JENNIFER (_reluctantly_). Well, if you must. You can have till twelve +to-morrow. After that, if you are still here---- + +PRINCE (_boyishly_). Say “_Noon_ to-morrow.” It sounds more +thrilling, and it avoids misapprehension. + +JENNIFER (_laughing_). Noon, then.... But I mean it. + +PRINCE (_nodding_). I shall be ready for you. (_Carelessly_) I +have till noon, then.... If I don’t see you again alone--good-bye, +Jennifer. + +JENNIFER (_half tender, half amused, wondering what he is up to_). +Good-bye, Michael. (_She holds out her hand, but he is not looking._) + +PRINCE. Just do something for me, will you? + +JENNIFER (_eagerly_). Yes? + +PRINCE (_casually_). Tell young Oliver--he’s outside somewhere--that +I want him. He will have to see about the car--and I shall have other +arrangements to make. Good-bye. + +JENNIFER (_after waiting a moment for some sign from him_). Good-bye. + + [_She goes out._ + + (_Left alone, the_ PRINCE _looks at his watch. Then he lights a + cigarette and walks up and down thinking._ OLIVER _comes in_.) + +OLIVER. You wanted me, sir? + + (_The_ PRINCE _nods, and looks at him for a little without + speaking_.) + +PRINCE. The time has come for us to part, Oliver. + +OLIVER (_anxiously_). Aren’t you satisfied with me, sir? + +PRINCE. Entirely satisfied. You write my letters, you drive my car, +you order my breakfast, and all the time you look--how do you say +it?--as innocent as a baby. But it was a temporary engagement, was it +not? + +OLIVER. Yes, sir. I quite understood that. But there is another three +weeks to go. + +PRINCE. I engage you for the month, I give you the month’s salary. +It is enough. Now I ask you to do one little thing more for me--and +then my orders are that you go back to your Cornwall, is it, and have +three weeks holiday. Is that understood? + +OLIVER. Yes, sir. It’s very kind of you. + +PRINCE. This is the last thing. I want you to go now, quietly--can +you get your hat and coat without seeing anybody?-- + +OLIVER. I expect so, sir. + +PRINCE. I will say your adieux for you. Go very quietly, take the +car, drive back to--what is it? + +OLIVER. Medenham. + +PRINCE. To the hotel, yes. Stay the night there yourself--pay my bill +in the morning--how much?--and then go off to Cornwall. + +OLIVER (_reckoning it on his fingers_). Four pound ten, sir, would +see it easily. + +PRINCE (_giving him a note_). Give the change to anybody you like. +That is all.... You understand? + +OLIVER. Yes, sir. Are you staying here, sir? + +PRINCE (_smiling_). That we shall see. (_Holding out his hand_) +Good-bye. + +OLIVER (_shaking it_). Good-bye, sir. (_Awkwardly_) I’m sorry that +you----If ever another time you should want----I mean, I owe you +three weeks---- + +PRINCE (_hurrying him out_). I will remember. + +OLIVER. I’m afraid I feel rather a fraud, sir. + +PRINCE (_with a last push_). I, too, Oliver.... Good luck to you. + + (OLIVER _goes. And only just in time, for_ ANGELA _comes in from + the garden_.) + +ANGELA. Well? + +PRINCE. Miss Battersby, I could kiss your hand for the delightful +evening I have had, were it not that---- + +ANGELA (_amused_). What? + +PRINCE. That I would rather shake it in your English way. + +ANGELA (_holding out her hand_). Just as you like. + +PRINCE (_pressing it_). I thank you. She is adorable. + +ANGELA. Jennifer? I knew you’d like her. + +PRINCE (_romantically_). I love her. + +ANGELA (_carelessly_). I did tell you she was a widow? + +PRINCE. The widow of a gallant General in your army. She tell me +herself. + +ANGELA. She has a little money of her own. + +PRINCE (_promptly_). Five hundred a year. She tell me +her----(_Hastily_) I mean, I guess it. + +ANGELA. About that, I suppose. I can’t do it into--marks, is it, in +your country? + +PRINCE (_smiling_). Mademoiselle, I perceive that you are a +match-maker. But it would not be necessary to do it into marks. Did I +marry, I should not go back to Neo-Slavonia. + +ANGELA. If Jennifer married, she wouldn’t leave Wych Trentham. She’s +much too fond of it. + +PRINCE (_a little taken aback_). Oh!... And all your other friends, +they are not likely to be leaving it? + +ANGELA. Why should they? + +PRINCE. There will be a match-maker one day for Mademoiselle, perhaps? + +ANGELA (_shaking her head_). I’ve got somebody to look after. Anyway, +I’m not the marrying sort. + +PRINCE (_smiling_). Mademoiselle, that is a challenge to Cupid which +in the whole history of the world has never yet been refused. I shall +dance at your wedding within a year.... Do you dance at weddings in +this country? + +ANGELA. Oh, Lord, at everything. + +PRINCE. Then I dance. And the next year at Miss Imogen’s. + +ANGELA. Oh, Imogen, yes. + +PRINCE (_thinking_). Miss Imogen. So dead when Madame her mother is +there, so alive when she is alone. + +ANGELA (_surprised_). I didn’t know you’d seen her alone? + +PRINCE. I know the type. It would be amusing to see if I am right. Is +it permitted? + +ANGELA. Permitted? It has been waited for all evening. (_Going to the +door_) I’ll send her. + + [_She goes out._ + +PRINCE. Mademoiselle is too kind. + + (_As soon as he is alone he feels in his pocket, and brings out a + bunch of letters, and a note-case. He selects a letter and some + notes, and goes to the desk, where he puts them into an envelope + which he addresses to himself._ IMOGEN _comes in, accompanied as + far as the door by her mother_.) + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_giving her the last touches_). There!... Perhaps +just a little----Yes. (_In a whisper_) “Your Highness” at first, and +then “Prince Michael.” (_She vanishes._) + +IMOGEN (_coming in_). Hallo! + +PRINCE (_getting up hastily_). Miss Imogen! How kind of you! + +IMOGEN. I say, do you know, I must tell you, before you came I said I +didn’t believe you were a real Prince at all. Wasn’t it cheek? + +PRINCE. It was very natural, Mademoiselle. + +IMOGEN. I say, you’re not really going to-night, and never coming +back again, are you? + +PRINCE. It depends to some extent on yourself, Miss Imogen. + +IMOGEN (_giggling_). I say! Oughtn’t you to kiss my hand when you say +things like that? + +PRINCE (_taking her hand_). Will you do something for me? + +IMOGEN. Rather! Anything! (_He kisses her hand._) Oo! Could it be +something really wicked, so that I can tell Mother afterwards that +it was the Prince who asked me to do it? (_Giggling_) Oh, think of +Mother’s face! + +PRINCE. Alas, it is not really wicked. + +IMOGEN (_dashed_). Oh! + +PRINCE (_quickly_). But it is a secret. Between you and me. For +evermore! + +IMOGEN. Oo, that’s all right! What is it? + +PRINCE. This is a very great secret. I cannot even explain to _you_ +what it means. Not yet. You must take me on trust. + +IMOGEN (_remembering that last novel_). To the death, Prince Michael. + +PRINCE (_touched_). You dear! (_He holds up the letter._) I want this +letter delivered here to-morrow morning. At five minutes to twelve. +It is addressed to myself. Can you give it to one of your village +boys to-morrow to bring up to the house? + +IMOGEN. Rather! + +PRINCE. If he is asked where it comes from, he is to say that a +gentleman gave it to him. + +IMOGEN (_eagerly_). Righto. I understand. + +PRINCE. At five minutes to twelve exactly.... You will give +him something? (_He takes out a handful of money and selects +half-a-crown._) + +IMOGEN (_laughing_). Oo, I say! Half-a-crown! He’d suspect something +at once. Sixpence. + +PRINCE. You are a better conspirator than I. Sixpence. (_He gives it +and the letter to her._) + +IMOGEN. ’Kyou. (_She puts the letter down her dress in the approved +manner. See Chapter XIV._) + +PRINCE. In return, I give you the highest reward your country has to +offer. “Imogen, you’re a sportsman.” (_He holds out his hand._ IMOGEN +_takes it, and is completely carried away_.) + +IMOGEN. My Prince! (_All funny suddenly_) Oo, I say, I believe I’m +going to cry. (_Winking to keep the tears back_) A hanky, quick! (_He +gives his to her. She blows her nose loudly, and dabs at her eyes._) + +PRINCE. Better? + +IMOGEN (_nodding_). ’M. I say, I’ve ruined your hanky. I’ll have to +send it on to you. You’ll tell me where, won’t you? + +PRINCE. That’s all right. + +IMOGEN. Honestly I didn’t do it just to----(_Reluctantly_) Well, +I suppose I _could_ have used my own. But I really was crying. +(_Instinctively feeling the Presence in the neighbourhood_) Look out, +here’s Mother. + +PRINCE (_in a whisper_). Five minutes to twelve! + +IMOGEN (_in a whisper_). Right! + +PRINCE (_aloud_). And you are fond of lawn tennis? + +IMOGEN. Oh yes, Prince Michael! + + MRS. FAITHFULL _comes in_. + +PRINCE (_bowing_). Madame! + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Ah, Prince Michael, how kind of you to be taking an +interest in my little girl. I hope she has been behaving nicely. + +PRINCE. I give her what you call the good-conduct prize. The +testimonial and the lucky sixpence. (_He laughs._) + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_extremely amused_). How delightful! We shall always +remember, shan’t we, Imogen? (IMOGEN _nods shyly_) I do hope, Prince +Michael, that what Mrs. Bulger has been telling me is not true? + +PRINCE (_anxiously_). What she has been telling you? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. That you are going back to your own country, almost +at once. + +PRINCE (_relieved_). Ah!... So she tells you that. Well, it is +“Perhaps” and “Perhaps not.” + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Well, that gives us a little hope, doesn’t it, Imogen? + + (IMOGEN _smiles shyly_.) + +PRINCE. My head (_touching it_) say “You’d better go.” My +heart (_touching it_) say “Don’t go!” My soul (_feeling for it +vaguely_)--where _is_ my soul?--My soul say “You ought to go.”... +They are still arguing. I wait for the verdict. + +MRS. FAITHFULL (_laughing_). How amusing! We must remember that, +mustn’t we, Imogen? + +PRINCE (_looking at his watch_). And my watch says, “You _must_ go.” +But he means only “Back to your hotel.” + + (ANGELA _and_ BATTERSBY, JENNIFER _and the_ HOLTS _are coming + in_.) + +ANGELA. Who _must_ go? + +JENNIFER. All of us, dear, I expect. + +PRINCE. It is I, Miss Angela. I have a long way to go. You are all +together here, at home. + +BATTERSBY. Well, have a whisky first. + +ROBERT (_looking at his watch_). By jove, yes. + +PRINCE (_to_ BATTERSBY). Thank you. Now where is my good Oliver? + +ETHEL. Mr. Oliver was out with all of us. + +BATTERSBY (_looking round the room_). That’s funny. Where is Oliver? + +ROBERT. He and Ainslie have gone off somewhere, I expect. (_He goes +to the door._) + +ANGELA. Dr. Ainslie has gone. (_To the_ PRINCE) He asked me to make +his apologies. A message came for him. + +BATTERSBY (_bringing whisky to the_ PRINCE). Thank God I’m not a +doctor. Help yourself, Holt. + +ROBERT. Thanks. (_He goes to the table_) Mrs. Faithfull? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. A little lemonade, please. + +PRINCE. Thank you. (_He takes his whisky from_ BATTERSBY.) + +JENNIFER (_slowly and clearly_). I sent Mr. Oliver in to you about +ten minutes ago, Prince Michael. + +PRINCE (_amazed_). To me here? (_His glass stops in mid-air._) + +JENNIFER. Yes. (_She looks at him, wondering._) + +PRINCE. But what an extraordinary thing! + +ANGELA. He’s probably gone to see about the car. + +PRINCE. Ah, yes! No doubt. (_He drinks._) + +BATTERSBY. I’ll tell him. + +PRINCE. Pray don’t trouble. He will be here directly. + +BATTERSBY. It’s all right. + + [_He is gone._ + +ROBERT (_to the_ PRINCE). He can call to him from the end of the +lawn, sir. You left the car in the road, sir, I suppose, sir? + +PRINCE (_anxiously_). Yes. It would be safe there? + +ANGELA. Oh, Lord, yes. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. We are a very unsophisticated little colony here, +Prince Michael. + +JENNIFER. Well, we don’t steal, anyway. + +PRINCE (_raising his glass to her_). Only hearts. + + (_She turns away._) + +ANGELA. I say, do help yourselves, all of you. Isn’t there any +lemonade? + +PRINCE. What can I get you? + +ANGELA. No, thanks. Jennifer? + +JENNIFER (_her eyes on the_ PRINCE). No, thank you, dear. + +ROBERT (_to_ IMOGEN). What about you, Miss Faithfull? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Just a little lemonade, please. + +ROBERT. Right. (_He goes for it._) + +BATTERSBY (_coming in at the door_). I say, the car isn’t there! + +ETHEL. Not there? + +ANGELA. It must be. + +BATTERSBY. Well, it isn’t. + + (HOLT _clicks his heels in front of the_ PRINCE, _and goes out + briskly, with the determination to see this thing through_.) + +JENNIFER (_looking at the_ PRINCE). What an extraordinary thing! + + (_He catches her eye, there is a look of understanding between + them, and he turns away._) + +PRINCE. Your lanes are narrow. He is turning round, perhaps. + +ETHEL. Yes, that’s it, I expect. + +BATTERSBY. He wouldn’t have to go as far as that. I should have heard +the engine. + +PRINCE. My good Oliver, I hope nothing has happened to him. + +MRS. FAITHFULL. He has been very quiet all evening. I suppose--have +you had him long? + +PRINCE. You think he is--how do you call it?--a fraud? + +JENNIFER. Fraud, humbug, impostor--we have various words for it. +(_Again they exchange glances._) + +PRINCE. But my Oliver! So innocent-looking! + +IMOGEN (_suddenly_). Bolshevists! + + (_They all turn quickly to her, and she subsides into her + lemonade._) + +BATTERSBY. Well, it’s very odd. + + HOLT _comes in_. + +ROBERT. The car isn’t there, sir. + +BATTERSBY (_a little ironically_). Thank you, Holt. + +ANGELA. Well, that’s that. He has run away, your Oliver. + +PRINCE (_smiling_). Then I walk away. Is it not so? + +ANGELA. Nonsense, you can’t walk. We can put you up. + +JENNIFER (_sweetly_). The Doctor could drive you to your hotel in his +car. + +PRINCE (_with pretended eagerness_). Ah! + +ANGELA. He’s out in it. + +PRINCE (_with pretended disappointment_). Oh! (_He winks at_ +JENNIFER.) + +ANGELA. Father can sleep in the studio. He often does, don’t you, +Father? (_She rings._) + +BATTERSBY. Yes, dear, yes. (_To the_ PRINCE) I should say, “Yes, +dear, yes,” in any case, of course, but it does happen to be true in +this case. I have a camp bed there. + +PRINCE. You are too kind. But I have never slept in a studio. I +should like the experience. + +ANGELA. Father is much more---- + + EMILY _comes in_. + +PRINCE (_holding up his hand_). Please! It will give less trouble. + +ANGELA. Just as you like. (_To_ EMILY) Make up the bed in the studio +for Prince Michael. + +EMILY. Yes, miss. + + [_She goes out._ + +MRS. FAITHFULL. We have a spare room, dear. I’m sure if Prince +Michael---- + +ETHEL. So have we. We should be only---- + +JENNIFER (_sweetly_). Captain Holt also has a motor-bicycle. + +PRINCE (_to_ HOLT). Ah! + +ROBERT. Not running just now, unfortunately. + +PRINCE. Oh! (_Again he catches_ JENNIFER’S _eye_.) Then I am afraid, +dear Miss Battersby, that I must trespass---- + +ANGELA. Of course. That’s settled. + +PRINCE (_to_ MRS. FAITHFULL _and_ ETHEL). And thank you, ladies, for +your great kindness. I shall always remember it. + +JENNIFER (_suddenly_). I must be going. + +ANGELA. Oh, must you? + +JENNIFER (_to the_ PRINCE). I shall not see you again, Prince +Michael---- + +ANGELA. Oh, look in in the morning and say good-bye. + +JENNIFER. I’m afraid the Prince will have gone before I can manage +it. I shall be rather busy up till--noon. Good-bye, Prince Michael. + +PRINCE (_taking her hand and bowing over it_). It is always allowed +one to hope. I shall give myself what comfort I can by saying, “_Au +revoir_, Mrs. Bulger.” (_He kisses her hand._) + +JENNIFER (_kissing her hand to them_). Good-night, everybody. (_They +all say “Good-night.”_) (_To_ ANGELA) Good-bye, darling. It’s been so +delightful. + +ANGELA. Good-bye. + + (_She and her father withdraw a little from the others, and + discuss the question of pyjamas for the_ PRINCE.) + +JENNIFER (_with a meaning eye on the_ PRINCE). I shall be round +about--noon. + + (_The_ PRINCE _bows in understanding. With a wave she is gone._) + + (_The_ FAITHFULLS _and the_ HOLTS _immediately surround the_ + PRINCE.) + +MRS. FAITHFULL. We shall never let you go now, Prince. + +ROBERT. No, look here, you must stop and play on Saturday. Do you +bowl? + +MRS. FAITHFULL. Our little party on Thursday--a few friends---- + +ETHEL (_to_ PRINCE). I don’t know if you’re fond of fishing---- + + (_They have their backs to_ JENNIFER, _who is looking through + the open window. The_ PRINCE _raises his glass to her mockingly, + triumphantly. She shakes her fist at him, as the curtain comes + down._) + + + + + ACT III + + + _It is 11.30 next morning._ ANGELA _is at the writing-desk, busy + with a few letters_. IMOGEN _appears noiselessly at the window. + She looks round the room, and then disappears again._ BATTERSBY + _comes in from the dining-room_. + +BATTERSBY. We all seem very late this morning. Has the Prince _had_ +breakfast? + +ANGELA. I sent it round to the studio. I thought he’d prefer a +Continental one. + +BATTERSBY. Probably the one thing he looked forward to was a welter +of eggs and bacon. You’ve given him quite a wrong idea of our old +English customs. + +ANGELA. He can have eggs and bacon for lunch, if he’s very keen. Have +you seen him? + +BATTERSBY. I borrowed him a razor from Ainslie, and I also took him +some clothes. + +ANGELA. Clothes----I forgot about that. + +BATTERSBY. I don’t say he’ll be beautiful, but he’ll be decent. + +ANGELA. You’d better send over for his bag, and find out about the +Oliver man. + +BATTERSBY. I suggested it, but he asked me to wait. He’s a little +uncertain about his plans. He said something about a letter.... I +suppose the post _has_ come? + +ANGELA. Yes. + +BATTERSBY (_without much hope_). Nothing for me, I suppose? + +ANGELA. No. + +BATTERSBY. I thought not. The number of people who sit down every +morning and say “I don’t think I’ll write to Battersby to-day” is +positively startling. There must be well over forty million of ’em in +England alone. + +ANGELA. He couldn’t get a letter here anyway. + +BATTERSBY. The Prince? I should be very much annoyed if he did. It +would be very disconcerting if a man who stayed here accidentally for +one night got a letter, and I who have stayed here on purpose for +years and years got none.... I suppose the paper hasn’t come? + +ANGELA. No, not yet. I’ll speak to Lumley. He’s getting slack again. + +BATTERSBY. There ought to be _some_ method of getting in touch with +the outside world. How would it be to have _The Times_ sent down by +post every day, and then it wouldn’t matter if the Lumley boy were +going for a whistle in this direction or not? + +ANGELA. If you like, dear. + +BATTERSBY. Besides, it would give the postman more respect for me, if +he saw my name now and then. I met him in the garden yesterday as he +was bringing up the letters. There were three for you, two for Emily, +four for cook and a seed-catalogue for James. I passed it off with a +careless laugh, but I could see what he was thinking (_He looks over +his shoulder, and sees her writing_).... Give my love to whoever it +is, and say that I should dearly appreciate a post-card---- + +ANGELA. It’s Debenham and Freebody. + +BATTERSBY (_unmoved_). ----from either of them. + + (_The_ PRINCE _comes in. He is wearing an old coat and a pair of + white flannel trousers of_ BATTERSBY’S. _He has shaved off his + moustache._) + +PRINCE. Good morning to you. What a charming day! + +BATTERSBY. Good morning, Prince. + +ANGELA (_getting up_). Oh, good morning. I do hope you slept well, +and all that? + +PRINCE. The bed couldn’t have been more comfortable.... I had +forgotten that there were so many birds in the country. + +ANGELA. We’re used to them, of course. + +BATTERSBY. But the silly things don’t realise it, and go on just the +same. (_The_ PRINCE _turns to him_) Hallo! I say! I hope that that +razor---- + +PRINCE (_nodding_). It was carried away. It has shaved the good +doctor so often, that before I knew what had happened---- + +BATTERSBY. We must tell Ainslie. As a scientific man, he’ll be +interested. + +ANGELA. I like it. It makes you look more English. + +PRINCE. That was why I did it, Mademoiselle. The only compliment to +your country I could think of so early in the morning. The birds were +whistling and singing, the sun was shining, and I said to myself, “I +love England! I shall stay here for ever. I shall be an Englishman.” +So I had what you call the clean shave. + +BATTERSBY (_fingering his beard_). It isn’t _absolutely_ essential. + +PRINCE (_with a bow_). The full beard or nothing, as in your +English navy. (_With a gesture at_ BATTERSBY’S) If only it had been +possible--(_regretfully_)--but there was no time. + +BATTERSBY (_in a whisper_). You see, dear, he would have liked eggs +and bacon. + +PRINCE. So now I am an Englishman.... I think of calling myself Brown. + +ANGELA (_smiling_). Prince Brown. + +PRINCE. Or shall I give myself the honourable, if not strictly +beautiful, title of Mister? + +BATTERSBY. What would Neo-Slavonia say to that? + +PRINCE. Well, that’s the question. + +ANGELA. Will the country go to pieces without you? + +PRINCE (_solemnly_). I fear it might.... But don’t let me interrupt +your letters, Mademoiselle. I shall be quite happy with the paper. +(_He picks it up._) + +BATTERSBY. It’s a piece of yesterday’s, I’m afraid. + +PRINCE. I shall be quite happy with a piece of yesterday’s paper. + +BATTERSBY. There’s a small boy called Lumley whose duty it is to +forget to bring the paper every day. He is amazingly reliable. So I +generally go down about this time and fetch it for myself. If you +don’t mind---- + +ANGELA. Go on, Father. You’ll never be happy till you’ve seen it. + +BATTERSBY (_with dignity_). To some women the fact that anybody +should be interested in activities outside his own household will +always be one of the more impenetrable mysteries. (_He goes out with +an air._) + +PRINCE. Miss Battersby is interested, however. + +ANGELA. In some things. + +PRINCE. In some people. + +ANGELA (_smiling_). In two people.... (_Looking at her watch_) You +won’t go till she comes? + +PRINCE. I will stay until then, if I may. (_He also looks at his +watch, and then says, a little anxiously_) This little boy of whom +Mr. Battersby talks---- + +ANGELA. Lumley? + +PRINCE. Yes. He is unreliable? + +ANGELA. Very, I’m afraid. + +PRINCE. You ask him to do something, and he goes off bird’s-nesting, +or fishing? + +ANGELA. Rather like that. + +PRINCE. However, there are perhaps other little boys in the village +not so unreliable? + +ANGELA. I expect they’re all pretty much the same. + +PRINCE. Oh!... (_We have another momentary glimpse of_ IMOGEN _at the +window_).... But I mustn’t interrupt you. This piece of yesterday’s +paper is full of good things. + +ANGELA (_addressing the envelope_). I’ve just finished. + + (AINSLIE _appears at the door_.) + +AINSLIE. May I come in? + +ANGELA (_over her shoulder_). Hallo! Come in. + +AINSLIE. Good morning. Good morning, Prince Michael. + +PRINCE. Good morning, doctor. Still here, you see. + +AINSLIE. I was sorry to have to hurry off last night, and so, hearing +what had happened, I thought I would look in and make my apologies +and good-byes this morning. + +PRINCE. How charming of you. (_Smiling_) And a Republican, too! + +AINSLIE. My manners are without prejudice to my convictions. + +ANGELA. We’re hoping that perhaps it won’t be good-bye just yet. + +AINSLIE. Oh, I’m glad. Jennifer gave me to understand that I should +just have time to catch the Prince before he went. + +PRINCE. How thoughtful of Mrs. Bulger. + +ANGELA (_getting up, letters in hand_). You won’t fight if I leave +you alone for a moment? + +PRINCE (_feeling_ AINSLIE’S _biceps_). No. I promise. + +ANGELA. As long as you don’t whistle the Neo-Slavonian national +anthem, or anything provocative like that, he’ll be all right. + + [_She goes out._ + +AINSLIE. I’m afraid I shouldn’t recognise it.... (_Awkwardly_) I +don’t know the etiquette, but may I lean against a table or something? + +PRINCE (_solemnly_). I think I should lean first. (_He does so_) +There! + +AINSLIE (_leaning too_). Thank you. (_He begins to fill his pipe_) +You won’t mind my saying that I wish I hadn’t met you? + +PRINCE. If you won’t mind my asking why. + +AINSLIE. I like keeping my prejudices intact. Are you the only Prince +with a sense of humour, or have I been wrong all these years? + +PRINCE. Isn’t it against all medical etiquette for a doctor to be +wrong? + +AINSLIE. There you are! You’ve no business to say things like that. +(_Preparing to light his pipe_) Do we smoke? + +PRINCE. We smoke. (_He picks up one of_ BATTERSBY’S _pipes, and holds +it in his hand until_ AINSLIE’S _pipe is alight. Then he solemnly +puts it down again._) + +AINSLIE. Thank you.... Curious thing about that young Oliver. Have +you heard any more this morning? + +PRINCE. We are sending over to the hotel for news. We may hear +something at any moment. (_He looks at his watch._) + +AINSLIE. I suppose you knew all about him? + +PRINCE. Does one ever know all about anybody? + +AINSLIE. I was thinking of his medical record. + +PRINCE (_tapping his head_). He had an accident a few years ago. + +AINSLIE. Ah! Concussion? + +PRINCE. I imagine so. A stray bullet--on the Indian frontier, I +understand. Such an accident might cause complete loss of memory and +so forth, I suppose? + +AINSLIE. Undoubtedly. + +PRINCE. Thank you. (_Pretending to hand him money_) Your fee. + +AINSLIE (_laughing_). Will you appoint me court doctor? + +PRINCE. Gladly. + +AINSLIE. I shall look forward to it. Meanwhile there’s a good deal to +do in the village. Do we move? + +PRINCE. We move. (_They move towards the door._) + +AINSLIE. I’m glad that we’re not losing you just yet. (_Looking into +the garden_) You weren’t playing hide-and-seek in the garden just +before I came? + +PRINCE. No, Mr. Battersby had one or two things to do. + +AINSLIE. I thought I saw----But I daresay it was nothing. _Au +revoir_, then. + + [_He goes out._ + +PRINCE. _Au revoir._ + + (_He settles down to his paper...._ IMOGEN _appears again, and + seeing that he is alone, whistles cautiously. He takes no notice. + She whistles again--and again._) + +IMOGEN (_in a loud whisper_). I say! + +PRINCE (_looking round_). Hallo!... Miss Imogen! (_He gets up._) + +IMOGEN. Are you alone? + +PRINCE. Utterly. (_He comes to her._) + +IMOGEN. I say, you’ve shaved off your moustache! + +PRINCE (_feeling his face_). So I have. + +IMOGEN. May I come in? + +PRINCE. May I conduct you in? (_He gives her his hand and leads her +in._) + +IMOGEN (_giggling_). I say, what fun! + +PRINCE (_smiling_). Isn’t it? + +IMOGEN. You and me. + +PRINCE. Us.... Was that you whistling? + +IMOGEN. Yes. + +PRINCE. It wasn’t you whistling outside the studio this morning from +about four o’clock till nine? + +IMOGEN. Not as long as that. I did whistle a bit. + +PRINCE. Yes.... Now tell me. You did what I asked you? + +IMOGEN. Rather! That’s why I wanted to see you. Just to tell you I +had. + +PRINCE. Good! + +IMOGEN. The boy is going to bring it up in about five minutes. That’s +right, isn’t it? + +PRINCE. Perfect.... It isn’t a boy called Lumley, I suppose? + +IMOGEN. Yes, it is. Why? + +PRINCE. Oh, nothing.... You’re sure you can trust him? + +IMOGEN. I’m sure I _can’t_ trust him. And I told him so. And I’m +going to watch him do it, and he doesn’t get the sixpence until I’ve +seen him do it. + +PRINCE (_admiringly_). What an ally to have! (_He holds out his +hand_) Shake! + +IMOGEN (_shaking it_). Oh, I say! (_Shyly_) I say? + +PRINCE (_anxiously_). You aren’t going to cry again? (_She shakes her +head._) Well? + +IMOGEN. That sixpence you gave me to give him. + +PRINCE (_anxiously_). It was a good one? + +IMOGEN. Oo, rather! But would you mind if I gave him another one of +my own instead? (_Shyly_) Because ... because.... + +PRINCE (_smiling_). I wish you would, Imogen. And the other will be +your lucky sixpence? + +IMOGEN (_nodding_). ’M. And you’re not going now, are you? + +PRINCE. I think now I shall be able to stay. + +IMOGEN. Is that why you shaved? So your enemies shouldn’t know you? + +PRINCE. Something like that. It’s a symbol. + +IMOGEN. Of what? + +PRINCE. Victory, I hope.... + +IMOGEN (_suddenly_). What’s that? + +PRINCE. What was it? + + (_They listen._) + +IMOGEN. I must fly. At any moment we might be discovered alone +together. + +PRINCE. True. And there is also Lumley’s boy to be watched. + +IMOGEN. Oo, I say, I’d forgotten him. Good-bye, Prince Michael! (_He +holds out his hand. Romantically she goes on one knee and kisses it. +Then she goes off--crying again._) + +PRINCE. The darling! (_He returns to his paper.... And soon_ JENNIFER +_is at the door_.) + +PRINCE (_without looking round_). _I_ make it five minutes to twelve. + +JENNIFER. So you _are_ still here? + +PRINCE (_getting up_). You gave me till noon. + +JENNIFER. How did you know it was me? + +PRINCE. What a silly question to ask! Of course I knew it was you! +(_He turns to her._) + +JENNIFER. Michael! + +PRINCE. What? + +JENNIFER. Nothing. Why did you--(_with a wave of the hand_)--do that? + +PRINCE. Do what? + +JENNIFER. Shave your moustache. + +PRINCE. I didn’t. That wasn’t _my_ moustache. It was Prince Michael +Robolski’s. + +JENNIFER (_eagerly_). You mean you’ve told Angela? She knows? + +PRINCE. That I’m an--inventor? + +JENNIFER. That you--yes. That we’re both inventors. + +PRINCE. My dear Jennifer, how could I? Think how awkward it would be +for all of you! The things you all said to me last night! I couldn’t +be so cruel. + +JENNIFER. Then go away now--and nobody need ever know. + +PRINCE (_like a small boy_). But I don’t _want_ to go! I like Wych +Trentham. I like Mr. Battersby. I like Miss Angela. I like the +Doctor. I like Miss Faithfull.... I like Jennifer. + +JENNIFER. One or the other, Michael. + +PRINCE. The Doctor has just been up to say good-bye to me. The poor +man was in tears. I daresay you met Miss Faithfull. She has just +been up to say good-bye to me. The poor girl was in hysterics. Mr. +Battersby, struggling with his emotions, lent me these trousers. He +has now gone to buy me a paper. They all love me. + +JENNIFER. Everybody loves a Prince. + +PRINCE. Except Jennifer. + +JENNIFER. They won’t love plain Michael Brown. + +PRINCE. And yet he is a very lovable man really. + +JENNIFER. Well, do you go or stay? + +PRINCE (_smiling_). I’ll toss you for it. Heads I stay, tails I +remain. (_He tosses_) It’s tails. I remain. I remain, yours very +sincerely, Michael Robolski. + +JENNIFER. Then I tell Angela. + + (ANGELA _comes in, a letter in her hand_.) + +ANGELA. Hallo, darling!... Where’s the doctor? + +PRINCE. Gone. We embraced, and I gave him the Order of the Leopard, +Fifth Class. + +ANGELA. I’ve got a hundred things to do, so I’ll leave you to amuse +each other. (_To the_ PRINCE) You’re staying to lunch, aren’t you? + +PRINCE (_with a look at_ JENNIFER). Please. + +ANGELA. Good. (_To_ JENNIFER) You’d better, too, darling. + +JENNIFER. Angela, dear, wait a moment. + +PRINCE (_looking at his watch_). I make it _two_ minutes to twelve. +(_To_ JENNIFER) I beg your pardon, I thought you asked me the time. + +ANGELA. What is it? I really _am_ busy. (_To the_ PRINCE) Oh, this +letter has just come for you. + +PRINCE (_relieved_). Ah! Thank you. Is it permitted? + +ANGELA. Of course. (_The_ PRINCE _opens his letter._) + +JENNIFER. Wait a moment, dear. There’s something I’ve got to tell you. + +ANGELA. Exciting? + +JENNIFER. It is rather. + +PRINCE (_who is reading his letter_). Pardon! You would wish me to +withdraw? + +JENNIFER. I would wish you to stay. + +PRINCE (_bowing_). May I just----(_he indicates the letter, and +finishes it_) Good! (_He takes a deep breath_) At last! (_To_ +JENNIFER) Now I am at your service, Madame. + +JENNIFER. Angela, Prince Michael---- + +PRINCE. Just a moment, if I may interrupt you. You called me Prince +Michael. I cannot leave you under that misapprehension any longer. +Miss Battersby! My lips at last are unsealed. (_In his English +voice_) I am _not_ Prince Michael! + +ANGELA (_casually_). Why not? + +PRINCE (_with dignity_). I am trying to explain. (_Tapping his +letter_) At last I am at liberty to speak. I owe you the most sincere +apology. You thought you were entertaining Prince Michael Robolski of +Neo-Slavonia last night. In a sense you were. But it was not I. + +ANGELA. What do you mean? + +PRINCE. I was only the humble secretary. He who called himself James +Oliver was the real Prince. + +JENNIFER. Oh! + +PRINCE. You are surprised? + +JENNIFER (_recovering_). Just for the moment. + +ANGELA. So you’re an Englishman after all? + +PRINCE. Certainly. Three months ago the Prince engaged me as his +secretary. I asked him what were my duties. He said, “To grow a +moustache and listen.” For a month I grew a moustache and listened, +while he talked to me about Neo-Slavonia. In the end I felt that I +knew the country even better than he did. Then he said, “Now if we go +to a place where we are both unknown, can you pretend to be Prince +Michael, while I pretend to be his secretary?” + +ANGELA. Why? + +PRINCE (_not knowing_). Why? + +JENNIFER. Yes, why? + +PRINCE. Why? That was what I said. Why? He gave reasons, political +reasons, which would sound stupid to you if I repeated them now, but +to one who understood Neo-Slavonian politics as I did, were very, +very--er, very. + +ANGELA. Where was this? + +PRINCE. Where was it? + +JENNIFER. Yes, where was it? + +PRINCE. Where was it?... In a little seaport town called Bratsk. +The--Cromer of Neo-Slavonia. + +ANGELA. But I thought Neo-Slavonia had no coast-line. + +JENNIFER (_eagerly_). Yes! + +PRINCE (_reproachfully_). One small pier and a group of +bathing-machines do not constitute a coast-line. + +ANGELA. I beg your pardon. + +JENNIFER. Silly of us. + +ANGELA. Well? + +PRINCE. We went to Monte Carlo--I as the Prince, he as my secretary. +Every now and then he would disappear. It was not my business to +follow him. I am engaged to grow a moustache, not to search for +footprints. One day he takes me to England. “Very soon now,” he says, +“we shall be able to reveal the truth.” + +ANGELA (_smiling_). And so, very soon now, you are going to? + +PRINCE (_with dignity_). I am doing it at this moment. He gives me +permission in this letter. (_He taps the letter_) He also gives me my +wages--(_he holds up the notes_)--instead of a month’s notice. I am +my own master again.... And out of a job. + +ANGELA. And that’s that? + +PRINCE (_with a sigh of mental exhaustion_). That, roughly speaking, +is that. + +ANGELA. Well, I’m glad one of you was the Prince. I don’t know what +Mrs. Faithfull would say if there had never been a Prince at all. + +JENNIFER. There wasn’t. + +PRINCE. Ha! + +ANGELA. How do you mean, darling? + +JENNIFER. There is no such country as Neo-Slavonia. + +PRINCE. Ha again. + +ANGELA (_calmly_). Darling, how _can_ you know that? + +JENNIFER. Have you ever seen it on the map? + +ANGELA. Have you ever seen Czecho-Slovakia on the map? + +PRINCE (_aside_). Or Maida Vale. + +ANGELA. Or Maida Vale? + +JENNIFER. No. + +ANGELA. Well! + +PRINCE. Well! + +JENNIFER. Well, I wasn’t certain either. So this morning I +telegraphed to a friend in the Foreign Office. + +ANGELA. But would _he_ know? + +PRINCE. How could _he_ know? + +JENNIFER (_displaying telegram_). Here is his answer. (_She gives it +to Angela_) I said, “Where is Neo-Slavonia?” He replies---- + +ANGELA (_reading_). “Never heard of it.” Well, of course, it mightn’t +be in his department. (_Handing back the telegram_) I don’t think +that that’s conclusive. + +PRINCE. I don’t think that’s at all conclusive. + +JENNIFER. My dear, I _know_ that there isn’t such a country. + +ANGELA. I don’t see how you _can_ know. + +PRINCE. I don’t see how any one can _know_. + +ANGELA. You might suspect. (_To_ PRINCE) What do _you_ think? + +PRINCE (_automatically_). What do _you_ think? I mean, What do _I_ +think? + +ANGELA. Well? + +PRINCE (_after thought_). I believe Mrs. Bulger is right. + +JENNIFER. Thank you. + +ANGELA. But how---- + +PRINCE. I believe that he had made it all up. + +ANGELA. But I thought you said you had actually been in Neo-Slavonia +with him? + +JENNIFER. Bratsk--the local Cromer. + +PRINCE (_with dignity_). You go to a town--how do you know who the +town belongs to? If he says it is a Neo-Slavonian town, why should I +doubt him? I am engaged as a secretary, not as a Fellow of the Royal +Geographical Society. (_To_ ANGELA). Yes, the more I think about +it, the more I feel that he made it all up. (_Triumphantly_) And +that’s why he disappeared so suddenly last night--without even saying +good-bye. He saw that Mrs. Bulger was suspicious. (_Sadly_) Yes, I +feel sure now that the Prince was an impostor. Don’t you agree with +me, Mrs. Bulger? + +JENNIFER. Entirely. + +PRINCE (_to_ ANGELA). You see, Mrs. Bulger agrees with me entirely. +I wonder what his game was. It may have been just pure love of +adventure. I shouldn’t care to think too hardly of him.... Miss +Battersby, how can I apologise for having brought this on you? + +ANGELA. Mr. Oliver, it has been a privilege to listen to you. + +JENNIFER. Oliver? (_To the_ PRINCE _with a friendly smile_) Of +course! Oliver. + +PRINCE (_puzzled_). Oliver? + +JENNIFER. Your name. You changed names with the Prince. + +PRINCE (_recovering gallantly_). Not names. Identities. + +ANGELA. Why not names? + +JENNIFER. Why not names? + +PRINCE (_wondering_). Well---- + +ANGELA. You took his--why didn’t he take yours? + +JENNIFER. Why didn’t he take yours? + +PRINCE. This is really rather embarrassing. + +JENNIFER (_catching his eye_). Yes, I can see how embarrassing it is. + +PRINCE (_suddenly_). Can you? Well, if you can’t now, you will +directly. Miss Battersby, the Prince refused to take my name. He +said, “No, I cannot take that horrible name.” + +ANGELA. Why? + +PRINCE (_impressively_). Because my name is--Bulger! + +JENNIFER (_staggered_). Oh! + +PRINCE. You are surprised again? + +JENNIFER. Just for another moment. + +PRINCE BULGER (_to_ JENNIFER). I have sometimes wondered if we are +relations? (_To_ ANGELA). You remember how interested I was when you +first told me your friend’s name? I wondered then. + +ANGELA. Jennifer’s husband was a General in the Indian Army. + +PRINCE (_eagerly_). Really? How odd! Not James? + +JENNIFER (_weakly_). James. + +PRINCE. How very curious! + +ANGELA. Did you know him? + +PRINCE. I _am_ James Bulger of the Indian Army. + +JENNIFER. No, no! + +PRINCE (_quickly_). Or am I not? You see, Miss Battersby, I was +knocked out rather badly in a small frontier skirmish--by a stray +bullet--left for dead, captured by the advancing enemy. When I came +to myself, my memory had gone. I remembered nothing. Not even my own +identity. A flask in my possession with the name James Bulger on it +and the simple inscription “Presented by a few old friends of the +Hammersmith Temperance Association” was my only clue. But was it +my own flask, or had James Bulger lent it to me? I shall never be +certain. For at times I have had a curious feeling that my real name +is--(_he looks at_ JENNIFER)--Brown. + +ANGELA. It sounds very likely. A lot of people are called Brown. + +PRINCE. Is that so? (_To_ JENNIFER) In that case you must permit me +to return your husband’s flask to you. + +JENNIFER (_weakly_). Thank you. You haven’t it on you? + +PRINCE. And if you will be so very kind as to talk to me a little +about him, it may be that you will strike some responsive chord in my +memory, and set it vibrating. + +ANGELA (_getting up_). That’s a good idea. And when you’re quite +certain who you’re going to be, you must let me know. Anyway, you’ll +stay to lunch? I think you’ve earned it. + +PRINCE. It is charming of you to have me. + +ANGELA (_graciously_). Not at all. The excitement is ours. + + [_She goes out._ + +JENNIFER. Well, Michael? (_She sits down._) + +PRINCE (_triumphantly_). Well, Jennifer? (_He sits next to her. She +turns away, and he turns away. They talk, back to back._) + +JENNIFER (_reluctantly_). You’re very clever. + +PRINCE. Aren’t I? + +JENNIFER. Naturally you’ve had a good deal of practice. + +PRINCE. Naturally. + +JENNIFER. I suppose you feel you’ve gained something by it all? + +PRINCE. Lunch--anyway. If I had let myself be exposed by you, I +shouldn’t have had lunch. + +JENNIFER. Oh, if you’re as hungry as that---- + +PRINCE. I am afraid you haven’t realised the extraordinary delicacy +with which I have handled the matter? + +JENNIFER. I hadn’t, no. + +PRINCE. You see, I wasn’t sure what you wanted. Did you want to go on +being the wife of General Bulger? If so, here I am, your long-lost +husband, Bulger, miraculously restored to you. Did you want to +confess the truth, that you are really Mrs. Michael Brown? Here am +I, the only original Michael Brown. Or do you want to marry again, +and try another name? Here am I, still at your service, prepared to +remember that my name is--whatever you most fancy. (_Proudly_) Very +few people could have been as tactful as that. + +JENNIFER. But how considerate of you! + +PRINCE (_modestly_). I am that sort of man. + +JENNIFER. You seem to have provided for everything. + +PRINCE. I tried to. + +JENNIFER. And yet there was one possibility you overlooked. + +PRINCE. Good Heavens, what? + +JENNIFER. In your extraordinary delicacy you didn’t allow for the +fact that I might want to be left alone. + +PRINCE (_looking at his watch_). For how long? + +JENNIFER (_a little crossly_). What do you mean, for how long? When a +woman says that she wants to be left alone, you don’t ask her for how +long. + +PRINCE. Why not? + +JENNIFER. I don’t know why not. One doesn’t. It’s a ridiculous +question. Naturally, I mean that I want to be left alone for ever. + +PRINCE. I see. You mean till you’re about ninety. + +JENNIFER. No, I don’t. I wasn’t thinking about being ninety. + +PRINCE. Good! Then what about eighty-nine? Suppose I drop in on your +eighty-ninth birthday---- + +JENNIFER. I shall not be at home. + +PRINCE. Not if I came in the afternoon--with a few flowers? + +JENNIFER (_coldly_). I want to be left alone. + +PRINCE. By me--or by everybody? + +JENNIFER. By you. By everybody in the way you’re talking about. I +don’t propose to marry again. + +PRINCE (_gently_). It was I who was proposing. + +JENNIFER. Then I am not open to offers of marriage. + +PRINCE. Well, if you won’t marry again, will you live with either of +your two previous husbands? + +JENNIFER. No. + +PRINCE. You refuse? + +JENNIFER. Absolutely. + +PRINCE. You’re very difficult to please. + +JENNIFER. No, I’m not. I’m very easy to please. I only want you to go +away. + +PRINCE (_reproachfully_). After all the trouble I’ve taken? + +JENNIFER. Go away. + +PRINCE. It is a little hard on a man ... who has been travelling for +years ... in an unknown country ... to come back to his wife, and to +find that--like Penelope ... no, not like Penelope ... well, it’s a +little hard. + +JENNIFER. I should keep Penelope out of it, if I were you. + +PRINCE. I was trying to. + +JENNIFER. When Ulysses left her, he did at least give her some idea +when he was coming back. + +PRINCE. But what a wrong idea! “Back at Christmas,” he said +cheerfully, and it was twenty years before he saw her again. + +JENNIFER. She knew what he was doing, anyhow. + +PRINCE. Rescuing Helen, the most beautiful creature in the world. +That would be a great comfort to any woman. + +JENNIFER. I don’t want to argue about it. + +PRINCE. I went away in a much better cause than Ulysses. If you had +read the right sort of stories when you were young you would have +realised that, metaphorically speaking, you and I were in a sledge, +pursued by a pack of wolves over the snowy steppes of Siberia. Ivan +Ivanovitch, our faithful Cossack driver, flogs the fast-wearying +horses; from time to time I empty my revolver into the advancing +hordes and force them to stop and eat each other; all to no purpose. +And then, when I make the supreme sacrifice by hurling myself into +the midst of the ravening pack, what happens? I am blamed because I +left the sledge suddenly, and forgot to say, “Back on the 25th.” + +JENNIFER. I don’t think that that is a perfect parallel. + +PRINCE. According to Einstein there are no perfect parallels. But +I’m doing my best. (_He gets up_) I’m doing my best. (_She looks +away_) Jenny! (_She has her hand to her ear, arranging the hair above +it. He seizes her wrist--and then suddenly talks down her ear, as +if it were a telephone, using her hand as the receiver_) Hallo, is +that the exchange? I want Jenny. One in a million ... Jenny, one in +one double 0, double 0, double 0.... Yes.... Hallo, Jenny, is that +you?... Guess!... No.... No.... I say, what swell people you know!... +Shall I tell you?... Michael.... Don’t you remember Michael? The ugly +fellow who was always grousing because he couldn’t get a job.... Yes. +Casual sort of fellow.... It’s him ... he.... Oh, much the same.... +I suppose you wouldn’t let him come down to your village, and just +_look_ at you occasionally.... Oh, I don’t know. He could sit behind +you at church or something.... Oh, don’t you? Then it’s quite time +you did.... You _wouldn’t_ care about it?... Oh!... Oh, I just +wondered. I expect you’re right. (_He hangs up the receiver and walks +away, whistling carelessly, to the writing-desk, where he sits down +and begins to write._) + +JENNIFER (_after watching him for a little_). What are you doing? + +PRINCE. Making my will, and leaving everything to you, of course. + +JENNIFER. Oh, are you shooting yourself? + +PRINCE. Obviously. + +JENNIFER. I thought you made a will when we first got married. + +PRINCE (_annoyed_). Can’t I do it again if I want to? + +JENNIFER. Of course. But I thought I got the money anyhow? Even if +you died--what’s the word? Rather a horrid one---- + +PRINCE. “Suddenly.” + +JENNIFER. Intestate. (_To herself as if commenting on a man who has +died of this unfortunate complaint_) So painful, poor fellow! + +PRINCE (_fiercely_). Good heavens, if a man can’t make a remorseful +will just before shooting himself, life becomes utterly impossible. + +JENNIFER. I beg your pardon. + +PRINCE. I’m sorry. Naturally I am a little on edge. + +JENNIFER (_after a pause--to herself_). _Four_ “s’s” in “possessed.” +Some people only put three. + +PRINCE. In my last moments I propose to allow myself perfect liberty +in the matter. + +JENNIFER (_after a pause_). Which would be the best solicitor to go +to? My own or yours? + +PRINCE. I leave that to you. (_Looking upwards_) I shall never meet +either of them again.... (_Looking downwards_) At least, I hope not. + +JENNIFER (_after a pause_). Michael! + +PRINCE. H’sh, h’sh! + +JENNIFER. Michael! + + (_He doesn’t answer. She trills like a telephone bell._) + +PRINCE. Damn that telephone. (_She rings again_) Oh, Lord! (_He gets +up and goes to her, putting his left hand to her mouth, and her right +hand to his ear._) + +JENNIFER. Hallo!... Hallo!... Oh, is that Prince Michael of +Neo-Slavonia?... Yes! However did you guess?... Really?... A little +bit older and fatter.... What?... Oh, how sweet of you!... You can +tell from the voice? Michael, how clever of you!... Well, you’ll see +for yourself.... Yes, that’s what I wanted to say.... Just before you +shoot yourself.... Oh, well, you must ask me.... I don’t know. I +haven’t decided.... All right, I’ll wait for you. Good-bye. + + (_She kisses his hand. He kisses hers._) + +PRINCE. Well, Jenny? + +JENNIFER. Well, Mike? + +PRINCE. I’ve come back. + +JENNIFER. So it seems. + +PRINCE. What about it? + +JENNIFER. I don’t know. + +PRINCE. Shall we try? + +JENNIFER (_nodding_). If you like. + +PRINCE. Thank you, Jenny. + +JENNIFER. It’s an experiment, of course. + +PRINCE. Isn’t that the most fun? + +JENNIFER. You’re an adventurer at heart, you know. + +PRINCE. You too, Jennifer. + +JENNIFER (_smiling_). I suppose I am. + +PRINCE. Adventurers, both. + +JENNIFER. I suppose any morning I may wake up and find that you’ve +gone off to be the Prince of some imaginary country. + +PRINCE. And any afternoon I may wake up to find that you’ve run off +with some imaginary General. + +JENNIFER. Yes, we’ve got to remember that. + +PRINCE. Yes.... + +JENNIFER. Michael? + +PRINCE. Jennifer. + +JENNIFER. I think we’ll keep an atlas in the house. + +PRINCE (_nodding_). And an Army List. + +JENNIFER. And some day, perhaps, I shall come upon you looking +wistfully at that atlas, wondering where Neo-Slavonia is. + +PRINCE. And some day, perhaps, I shall find you fluttering the pages +of that Army List, and wondering which General most wants a widow. + +JENNIFER. And when that happens to either of us, then one will know +that the other one---- + +PRINCE. Wants a little holiday. + +JENNIFER. So they’ll say to each other quite casually, “Oh, are _you_ +off?” + +PRINCE. And off they’ll go. + +JENNIFER. And then when they’ve been away long enough---- + +PRINCE. Not four years this time---- + +JENNIFER. Only a little while---- + +PRINCE. They’ll try to find each other again. + +JENNIFER. And they will have so much to tell each other---- + +PRINCE. That they will never be bored. + +JENNIFER. It might work that way. + +PRINCE. It might. + +JENNIFER (_holding out her hands_). Worth trying, Michael? + +PRINCE (_taking them_). Worth trying, Jennifer. + + (_As they stand there_, BATTERSBY _bursts in with the paper, + obviously excited._) + +BATTERSBY. I say! I say! I say! Just as well I went to get the paper. + +PRINCE (_vaguely, dropping_ JENNIFER’S _hands_). The paper? + +BATTERSBY (_showing the place_). Look here, Prince! There! (_They +take the paper and look at it together_) I say, Angela! (_He hurries +off to her._) I say! Angela!... + +PRINCE (_reading_). Sudden Revolution in----Neo-Slavonia! (_He stares +blankly at her._) + +JENNIFER. But you said there wasn’t! + +PRINCE. There isn’t! I invented it. + +JENNIFER (_pointing to paper._) But there must be! + +PRINCE (_nodding_). There must be. (_Sadly_) Jennifer, Jennifer, I +thought I was a creator, and I’m just an ordinary impostor after all. + +JENNIFER (_very soothingly_). Never mind, darling. Better luck next +time! + + (_Angela is at the door, a cigarette in her mouth, a cocktail in + her hand._) + +ANGELA (_regarding them with an indulgent smile_). Come along, +children! + + (_Hand in hand, they walk past her, the children, and go out.... + She follows them._) + + + + + ARIADNE, OR BUSINESS FIRST + + A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS + + + + + CHARACTERS + + ARIADNE WINTER. + JOHN WINTER (_her husband_). + MARY (_maid_). + HECTOR CHADWICK. + HESTER CHADWICK (_his wife_). + JANET INGLEBY. + HORACE MELDRUM. + + +SCENE: _Drawing-room of John Winter’s house in the provincial town of +Melchester._ + + ACT I. Friday. + + _Scene_ 1: Before dinner. + + _Scene_ 2: Three hours later. + + ACT II. Saturday. Late afternoon. + + ACT III. Monday. Between tea and dinner. + + +The first performance of this play in London took place at the +Theatre Royal, Haymarket, on April 22, 1925, with the following cast: + + _John Winter_ ION SWINLEY. + _Ariadne_ FAY COMPTON. + _Hector Chadwick_ JOHN DEVERELL. + _Hester Chadwick_ LOUISE HAMPTON. + _Janet Ingleby_ JOYCE KENNEDY. + _Horace Meldrum_ ALLAN AYNESWORTH. + _Mary_ BARBARA EVEREST. + + + + + ACT I + + + SCENE 1 + + _The drawing-room of the Winters’ house in Melchester. Like so + many other rooms in England, it is a mixture of styles--the John + style and the Ariadne style. The fireplace and mantelpiece, with + its presentation clock and twin vases, is pure_ JOHN. _Probably + he insisted on the clock; and_ ARIADNE, _realising that the + mantelpiece was now hopeless, encouraged him to put some of the + other presents there. The pictures are_ JOHN, _including the + hand-painted water-colour of an unexpected part of Switzerland, + given by a grateful lady-client, for whom he has appeared in the + county court. There are one or two early_ JOHN _pieces among the + furniture and easily recognisable by their ugliness; not that his + taste is bad, but simply that a drawing-room requires so much + furniture, and if an aunt or a sister or a foreclosed mortgage + has provided a proportion of it, it is folly to waste good money + in buying the same things over again. For to_ JOHN _all money is + good money; to be sought, to be won, and not to be thrown away_. + ARIADNE _doesn’t like throwing it away, but she likes exchanging + it for beautiful things, and here and there she has managed to do + this. She also likes comfort, and there is a chair for_ JOHN _and + a sofa for herself which, to some of the Melchester ladies, seem + almost indecently easy for a drawing-room._ + + _On a small table there is a big bowl of roses, with a note + tucked in the middle of them. We shall hear more about these._ + + _The room is in darkness, for it is after seven on an autumn + evening._ + + ARIADNE _comes in and turns on the light. She is a happy young + woman with a sense of humour which finds itself well exercised in + Melchester. Just at the moment she is in the middle of a quarrel + with her husband, and she carries on her face the lingering + afterglow of their last heated remarks to each other. Probably + the afterglow is more pronounced on_ JOHN’S _face; we shall see + directly_. ARIADNE _would be coolly ironical, for the most part. + She walks round the room, takes the note from the roses, shrugs + her shoulders at the writing, and puts it back again; then picks + up the evening paper from a table, and sinks into the sofa._ + + JOHN _follows. Undoubtedly he is ruffled, but he is not going + to show it. As one of the leading solicitors of Melchester it + is his business to control his feelings. But though his keen, + intelligent, clean-shaven face may be a mask to his clients_, + ARIADNE _can read every word of it. She gives him a look, and + smiles to herself._ + +JOHN (_looking at his watch_). Plenty of time. I thought I was +going to be late. (_He compares his watch with the clock on the +mantelpiece_) H’m. Fast again. (_He puts the hand of the clock five +minutes back_) I shall have to have it seen to. + +ARIADNE (_not looking up from her paper_). Oh, don’t do that. + +JOHN. They wouldn’t keep it long. + +ARIADNE (_with an ironical look at the clock_). I wasn’t thinking of +that. + +JOHN. Well, what? + +ARIADNE. It must be so nice always putting things right--and knowing +you’re right yourself. + +JOHN (_with restraint_). I put my watch right by the Town Hall. +That’s how I know. + +ARIADNE. The Town Hall puts all the watches right. How satisfactory +for it. + +JOHN (_ignoring this_). Anything in the paper? + +ARIADNE. And the watches put all the presentation clocks right. And +the kitchen clock takes its time from this one, so however wrong you +are, there’s always some one you can tell. + +JOHN. I am afraid this is too subtle for me. Anything in the paper? + +ARIADNE (_offering it to him_). Want it? + +JOHN (_taking it_). Sure you’re finished with it? + +ARIADNE. Actually, no; but speaking as a wife, “Yes, John.” + +JOHN (_opening it_). I don’t suppose there is much in it anyway. + +ARIADNE. Not enough for two, apparently. We might take in another +copy of it. + +JOHN. My dear Ariadne, what a ridiculous suggestion! + +ARIADNE. Why? + +JOHN. Two copies of the same paper! + +ARIADNE. Twenty-six shillings a year, that’s all. + +JOHN. Why throw away good money? + +ARIADNE. But money, even if it’s good money, is meant to be thrown +away. + +JOHN. Not on wanton extravagance like that. + +ARIADNE. Surely if you get pleasure and profit from it, that’s +enough. If I pick up the paper first, you resent it, don’t you? And +if I have to wait for it until you have read every last word of +the advertisements, well, however used I am to waiting, it leaves +a little mark each time. So we should both be happier if we had +two copies, shouldn’t we? And you can’t often buy a little extra +happiness every day for twenty-six shillings a year. + +JOHN. What’s the matter with you to-night? + +ARIADNE. Working the remains of our quarrel off before our guests +come. + +JOHN (_anxiously_). You’re going to be civil to Horace Meldrum? + +ARIADNE. Of course! + +JOHN. Why you ever started a quarrel about him I can’t conceive. + +ARIADNE. I oughtn’t to have said quarrel. There was no quarrel. I +merely said that I wouldn’t have Mr. Meldrum in my house again, and +you said that in that case you would ask him to dinner to-night. +Hardly a quarrel. + +JOHN. I explained quite clearly why we had to be polite to him. + +ARIADNE. You explained that he was one of your most important clients. + +JOHN. _The_ most important. + +ARIADNE. Yes. Oh, you put it very clearly. + +JOHN. I am not the only solicitor in Melchester, you know. + +ARIADNE. And Mr. Meldrum isn’t the only bounder. + +JOHN. I admit he’s--well--what shall I say? + +ARIADNE. Shall _I_ say it? + +JOHN. But I’m getting a good deal of his work, and if we can keep the +right side of him there’s no saying what it will lead to. + +ARIADNE. That’s what I feel. + +JOHN. If he took offence suddenly about anything, he’d think nothing +of going straight off to another solicitor---- + +ARIADNE. And making love straight off to another solicitor’s wife. + +JOHN. Oh, come! You aren’t a newly married girl. You know how to keep +that sort of man in order. + +ARIADNE. As a rule, yes. But in one of those awkward cases when you +have to choose between preserving the honour and dignity of your +husband and preserving the prosperity of his business---- + +JOHN. Nonsense! That’s going much too far. + +ARIADNE. Almost the very words I said to Mr. Meldrum last time. + +JOHN. I don’t like having him here any more than you do, but I can’t +deliberately throw good money away. + +ARIADNE. There’s another way of putting that, you know. + +JOHN. What? + +ARIADNE. I don’t like throwing good money away, but I can’t +deliberately let my wife be insulted. + +JOHN (_burying himself in his paper_). Insulted! Rubbish! + + (_Ariadne stretches out a hand and takes the note from the bowl + of roses._) + +ARIADNE (_holding the note out to him_). Here. + +JOHN. What? + +ARIADNE. Your client’s last letter to me. + +JOHN (_taking it_). You haven’t opened it. + +ARIADNE. I don’t need to. I can guess what’s inside it. + +JOHN. But it might be important. + +ARIADNE. I thought _you_ would like to open it. You are my husband. + +JOHN (_doubtfully_). When did it come? + +ARIADNE. This afternoon, with those flowers. (_She indicates the +roses._) + +JOHN (_going round to inspect them_). Did Meldrum send you these? How +awfully decent of him. You can’t get roses like that for nothing. + +ARIADNE. You can’t.... Aren’t you going to open the letter? + +JOHN. Why do you want me to? + +ARIADNE. I know how he writes. I thought _you_ would like to know. + +JOHN (_uncertainly_). It’s just--a few polite nothings. + +ARIADNE. I daresay. Won’t you read it? I have no secrets from you. + +JOHN (_hesitatingly_). Well, it’s--it’s your letter. + +ARIADNE. Are you afraid to? + +JOHN. How do you mean afraid? It’s your letter, why don’t _you_ open +it? + +ARIADNE. I know so well the sort of thing; you don’t. Are you afraid +to know? + +JOHN. Of course not. (_But he turns it over nervously._) + +ARIADNE. Well? + +JOHN (_offering it to her_). It isn’t my letter. Why don’t _you_ open +it? You refuse to? Very well. It’s your letter, you refuse to open +it. I have no right to. (_He tears the letter into four pieces and +throws it into the waste-paper basket._) + +ARIADNE _(shaking her head at him_). Oh, John! + +JOHN (_blustering_). Why do you make such a melodramatic fuss about +a mere note like that? Perfectly harmless note accompanying a few +flowers. Very decent of him, considering. Look at Hester. She’s known +him as long as I have. She doesn’t make a fuss. He and Hector do a +lot of business together. Do you think Hester makes a fuss when he +goes to their house? Do you think she shrieks out that she is being +insulted? + +ARIADNE (_smiling_). Don’t tempt me, John. + +JOHN. I suppose now you are going to run down my sister. I suppose no +one in Melchester is good enough for you. That’s how it is. + +ARIADNE. _You_ were once, John. + +JOHN. The long and the short of it is that you don’t like Meldrum. +If it’s any satisfaction to you, neither do I. But for the sake of +the business, on which you depend as much as I do, I ask you to be +friendly to him. Well, polite, anyhow. + +ARIADNE. I will be more than polite. I will be friendly. That I +promise. + +JOHN (_coming up to her_). You’ve got a way with you, you know. You +can’t pretend you haven’t. I’ve seen you with all sorts of people, +people you must have hated, smiling at ’em as sweetly as if you’d +loved them all your life. + +ARIADNE (_smiling to herself_). I will smile like that at Mr. +Meldrum. Watch me. + +JOHN. Only the other day Hester was admitting that there was +something about you---- + +ARIADNE. How nice of her! I love to think of you and Hester having +long talks about me, and your sister admitting things like that. +(_She takes a rose from the bowl, and holds it up_) Aren’t they +pretty? + +JOHN (_very friendly_). He throws his money about, doesn’t he? But +then he can afford to. + +ARIADNE (_putting the rose in her dress_). I like people who _throw_ +it about. + +JOHN. He’s quite a good sort when you get to know him. + +ARIADNE. I must get to know him, I can see. + + (_And there the discussion ends for the moment._) + +JOHN (_looking at his watch_). Hester’s late. She isn’t usually late. +I suppose Hector has been kept by some business. I don’t know why one +expects them always to be first---- + +ARIADNE. I suppose because they always are. + +JOHN. Meldrum is sure to be late, of course. + +ARIADNE. Detained--by business. + +JOHN. Well, he _is_ pretty busy just now with all these new cheap +cottages he’s putting up. + +ARIADNE (_suitably impressed_). Ah! (_John returns to his paper._) +(_After a pause_) Oh, by the way, I am going up to London to-morrow. + +JOHN. To-morrow? Saturday? + +ARIADNE. Yes. + +JOHN (_a little annoyed_). Can’t you wait till Wednesday? + +ARIADNE. I don’t like excursion trains. I suppose I’m fussy. + +JOHN. Oh well.... What is it? Shopping? + +ARIADNE. One or two things. I shall lunch at the club. + +JOHN. The club! Now there’s a needless extravagance. How many times +do you go to your club in a year? + +ARIADNE (_lightly_). I don’t know, John, and I don’t care, John, and +I’m going to lunch there to-morrow, John. Now don’t say another word +while I get my smile ready for Hector. + +JOHN (_suspiciously_). Smile? + +ARIADNE. Smile of welcome. + + (_A hearty voice is heard outside._) + +JOHN (_looking at his watch_). Here they are at last. + +ARIADNE. I expect he forgot to put his watch right by the Town Hall. + +MARY (_announcing_). Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick. + + (HECTOR, _a bore in the grand style, with every cliché at his + command, a bore who--it would seem--really takes a pride in his + art, has been too much for Hester. She has faded, without quite + knowing why. She is still proud of_ HECTOR; _one could not fail + to be of so supreme an artist; and she has given up her right + to the hearth-rug and the central position, without resentment; + but she feels that there should have been something more in life + than_ HECTOR’S _voice. She is fond of her brother, and has always + known that_ ARIADNE _was not good enough for him_.) + +HECTOR. Good-evening! + +JOHN. Ah, here you are. + +ARIADNE (_offering a cheek_). Good-evening, Hester. + +HESTER. Good-evening. Good-evening, John. (_She goes and kisses him._) + +JOHN. Good-evening, dear. + +HECTOR (_shaking hands with_ ARIADNE). I was afraid we were late. A +rush of business came in just as I was leaving the office---- + +HESTER. Hector is very busy just now. + +HECTOR (_taking out his watch_). Is that clock right, John? + +JOHN. Right by the Town Hall. + +HECTOR. That’s good enough for me. (_Altering his watch_) I’m five +minutes slow. Funny thing about watches. Now I daresay if somebody +else wore this watch, it would be five minutes fast. + +ARIADNE. You’re too quick for it, Hector. + + (_They sit down._) + +HESTER. Who else are coming? + +JOHN (_a little awkwardly_). Meldrum. + +HECTOR. Horace Meldrum. Ah! These new houses of his will be a pretty +good thing for you, John. I suppose you’ve got the conveyancing of +them. + +JOHN. The Sutton Road ones anyhow. But you know what Meldrum is. + +ARIADNE (_brightly_). We are going to get them all, Hector. We are +going to do all Mr. Meldrum’s work for him. Even if he gets mixed up +in a divorce case we are going to act for him. + +HESTER. My dear Ariadne! + +JOHN. Ariadne’s joking, of course. + +HECTOR. _Honi soit_--and so on. Horace is much too careful to get +mixed up in anything of that sort. + +HESTER. Anybody else? + +ARIADNE. Janet Ingleby. + +HESTER. Oh, Janet. And Charlie, I suppose? + +ARIADNE. No, not Charlie. + +JOHN. We only knew at the last moment that Mr. Meldrum was coming, so +we just got Miss Ingleby to make up the number. + +HESTER. Oh, I see. + +HECTOR. Charlie will be doing well for himself if that comes off. +I wonder what old Ingleby will cut up for when his time comes. Any +idea, John? + +JOHN. Hundred thousand. More. + +ARIADNE. Good heavens! We _must_ be nice to Janet. + +HECTOR (_profoundly impressed, to_ JOHN). You don’t mean it, you +don’t mean it. + +JOHN. I don’t _know_, of course. + +ARIADNE (_disappointed_). Oh, aren’t you his solicitor? + +JOHN. If I were, dear, I shouldn’t even be able to guess at what he’s +worth. + +HECTOR. Professional etiquette, Ariadne. The Law Society would +rap you pretty sharply over the knuckles if you talked about your +client’s affairs in public, eh, John? + +JOHN. I can’t imagine a decent solicitor doing it. + +HESTER (_to_ ARIADNE). Like doctors and bankers. It wouldn’t do at +all. + +HECTOR. Secrets of the confessional. Even in the Law Courts--but I +think that that point hasn’t been decided yet. + +ARIADNE (_apologetically_). Oh, I see. But who is the lucky man who +really knows how much Mr. Ingleby will--cut up for? + +JOHN. Some London firm. Parkinsons, I think. + +HESTER. He’s always been like that. They even run an account at +Harrod’s, Janet tells me. + +HECTOR. Uncivic of him. Distinctly uncivic. + +ARIADNE. But you must have a local solicitor as well, mustn’t you? +Supposing a dog bit him outside the Town Hall---- + +JOHN (_considering_). County Court action. Yes, he would then, of +course. + +ARIADNE (_with decision_). Then in case a dog bites him, I shall be +very nice to Janet. + +HECTOR (_to_ HESTER). What was that? I didn’t quite get that. + +HESTER. I don’t think it was very important. + +JOHN (_stiffly_). A joke of Ariadne’s. + +HECTOR. Well, well, nobody likes a good joke more than I do. Let’s +have it, Ariadne. + +ARIADNE. Shall I explain it, John? + +JOHN. I hardly think it necessary. + +ARIADNE. I am sorry, Hector. You’ll have to imagine it as being +tremendously funny. + + _Enter_ MARY. + +MARY (_announcing_). Miss Ingleby. + + (JANET INGLEBY _is a handsome, rather discontented-looking girl + of 25, with no illusions, a lazily dangerous tongue, and an eye + to business_.) + +JANET. Good-evening. (_To_ ARIADNE) How are you, dear? (_Shaking +hands with the others_) I do hope I haven’t come at the wrong moment. + +HECTOR (_gallantly_). Could any moment be the wrong moment for a +young and charming lady? + +JANET. Easily. + +HECTOR (_taken aback_). Oh! + +JANET. If I had come in five minutes ago when you were all discussing +me---- + +JOHN. No, no. + +HECTOR. I protest, upon my soul, I protest. + +JANET. Am I the last? + +ARIADNE. Mr. Meldrum. + +JANET. Well, aren’t we all going to discuss _him_ now? + +HESTER. My dear Janet, as if we should. + +ARIADNE. Of course not. We’ve done it already. + +JANET. That’s hardly fair, is it? You ought to have waited for _me_. + +JOHN (_with a smile_). We thought perhaps you would rather discuss +Charlie. + +HECTOR. Ah, how is my dear friend Charlie? + +JANET. Charlie is off. + +HECTOR. Dear, dear! + +ARIADNE. Oh, Janet! Why? + +JANET. Father turned him down. + +HESTER. I thought the modern girl didn’t pay any attention to her +father’s views. + +JANET. I don’t suppose she does. But, if she’s not a fool, she pays a +good deal of attention to her father’s money. + +HECTOR. Dear, dear! And so he threatened to cut you off with the +proverbial shilling. + +JANET. Yes. And both Charlie and I felt that a shilling wasn’t enough. + +ARIADNE (_reproachfully_). But he wasn’t just marrying you for your +money, dear? + +JANET. No, that was the trouble. Father said, “Look here, Janet, if +any enterprising young man comes along who wants a wife and twenty +thousand, to put into his business, I’m ready to talk to him. But +this young fellow isn’t thinking about business at all. You’ll just +fritter the money away between you, and what’s the good of that?” + +HECTOR. Yes, I see his point. + +JANET. Oh, so do I. You can’t live on the interest of twenty +thousand. You must _do_ something with it. Charlie couldn’t think of +anything. + +JOHN. Yes, that’s true enough. + +ARIADNE. Well, as long as you aren’t broken-hearted, Janet. + +JANET. Oh Lord, no. We had a very good time together, and that’s all +of that. + + _Enter_ MARY. + +MARY (_announcing_). Mr. Meldrum. + + (_Enter_ HORACE--_handsome, if you like that style--dashing, as + far as his weight will allow--a supreme egotist, without a wonder + or a misgiving in him. A bounder undoubtedly, but in the heroic + manner._) + +HORACE (_to the company_). Good-evening, good-evening. (_To_ ARIADNE) +Good-evening, dear lady, I trust I am not late, but as I daresay your +husband will have told you, I have a good deal on just now. (_With a +nod_) Evening, John. (_To_ HESTER) Ah, Mrs. Hector! and how has the +world been treating _you_ since I last saw you? Let me see, that was +on Tuesday, wasn’t it? (HESTER _murmurs that it was Monday, but he is +already on his way to_ JANET.) Ah, Miss Janet! I was talking to your +father over the phone only this morning. You’re looking very pretty, +my dear. Got a new way of doing your hair, haven’t you? + +JANET. Yes, it is fairly new. _You_ keep to your old way? + +HORACE. Ha, ha, very good! I like a young woman to show a bit of +spirit. You’ll get on, my dear. I always told your father so. (_To_ +HECTOR) Ah, Hector! Before I forget, come and have a talk with me on +Monday. I’ve got something I can put in your way. + +HECTOR. Splendid, splendid, my dear fellow. + +HORACE (_taking out his watch and looking at the clock_). Yes, I +thought I wasn’t as late as all that. (_To_ JOHN) You’re a couple of +minutes fast. + +JOHN (_a little diffidently_). I don’t think so. I put it right by +the Town Hall clock. + +ARIADNE. Yes, we put it right by the Town Hall. + +HORACE (_with finality_). A couple of minutes fast. + +JOHN. Oh--thank you. (_He goes to the clock and alters it. While he +is doing this_, MARY _comes in_.) + +ARIADNE. Dinner, Mary? + +MARY. Yes, madam. + +ARIADNE. Thank you. (_To the others_) Shall we go in? + + (_There is a little natural hesitation near the door on the + point of procedure. True_, HESTER _is a married woman, but + then_ JANET’S _father may cut up for a hundred thousand pounds. + Fortunately_ HORACE _keeps his head_.) + +HORACE (_genially_). Ah, shall I go first? + + (_He goes first. The others follow. As they go_, JOHN _at the + door turns off the switches. The lamps by the fire are still + alight--good money thrown away. Firmly, without hurrying, he + walks across the room and puts them out; then back again after + the others._) + + + ACT I + + SCENE 2 + + _The curtain drops--to rise again three hours later._ ARIADNE + _and_ HESTER _are on the sofa_, HESTER _at work on something. The + others are playing bridge._ HORACE (_with him_ JOHN) _is winning; + you can see it by the way he is snapping down the cards_; JANET + _is losing and doesn’t like it_; JOHN _is dummy; and_ HECTOR _for + once is not talking, save for an occasional “Ah!” or “H’m!” or + “You play that.”_ + +HORACE. The last two are ours. Four tricks. That’s thirty-two below. +That’s the rubber. + +ARIADNE. Did you win, Mr. Meldrum? + +HORACE. I did, dear lady. + +ARIADNE. How clever of you! + +HECTOR. You know the old adage, Horace. Lucky at cards, unlucky in +love. + +ARIADNE. Oh, I’m sure that doesn’t apply to Mr. Meldrum. + +HORACE. I’m sure it doesn’t too. + +HESTER. How much have you lost, Hector? + +HECTOR. We haven’t worked it out yet, dear. + +JANET (_who has been scoring_). Four hundred and seventy--that’s four +and sixpence. + +JOHN (_who is also scoring_). Five hundred and two. + +HORACE. Five hundred and two, that’s five shillings. + +JANET. How do you make that? (_She looks over his shoulder_) You have +given yourself sixteen above, what’s that for? + +JOHN. Simple honours. + +HECTOR. We had the honours, dear boy. + +JANET. Of course we did. + +HECTOR. I had the knave. + +JANET. And I had the queen and ten. Four and sixpence. + +JOHN. Sorry. Four and sixpence. + +HORACE (_calmly_). _I_ had the knave. + +HECTOR. My dear boy---- + +JANET. I distinctly remember---- + +HORACE. _I_ had the knave. + +JANET. I _know_ Mr. Chadwick had the knave. + +ARIADNE. Does it matter very much who had the knave? + +JANET (_to_ HORACE). We’ll turn up the tricks, if you like. + +JOHN (_to_ ARIADNE). It just makes the difference, dear. + +HECTOR (_to_ JANET). I’m afraid I’ve shuffled the cards now. + +HORACE (_getting up_). Five shillings. Well, I’d sooner win it than +lose it. + +HECTOR (_getting up and coming over to the sofa_). You see, it’s +either five shillings or four and six, according to who had the knave. + +ARIADNE. Dear me! Then you all ought to have watched the poor man +much more carefully. + +JANET. I _know_ Mr. Chadwick had it. + +HORACE. Well, look here, I tell you what I’ll do, Hector. I’ll toss +you ten shillings or nothing. + +HECTOR. Right. (HORACE _spins a coin._) Tails. + +HORACE. Heads. My luck’s in. + +HECTOR (_making sure it was heads_). Right. (_He takes out a note +which_ HORACE _solemnly tucks away_.) + +JANET (_defiantly to_ JOHN). Four and six. (_She gives him the +money._) + +JOHN. Thanks. That’s all right. + +HORACE. I’ll help myself to another drink if nobody objects. + +JOHN. Oh do! Sorry! What about you, Hester? + +HESTER. No, thank you. + +HORACE. Mrs. John? Can’t I persuade you? + +ARIADNE. No, thank you. + +HORACE (_humorously_). I can afford it, you know. I’ve won ten +shillings. (ARIADNE _laughs kindly_.) Miss Janet, what about you? +Just to show there is no ill-feeling. + +JANET (_still rather ruffled over that sixpence_). Thanks. + +HESTER (_getting up_). Well, we ought to be going, I suppose. (_To_ +HECTOR) Are you ready? + +HECTOR. Yes, dear. Ready, aye ready. (_They say good-byes, and_ JOHN +_goes to the door with them_.) (_To_ JANET) I’m afraid it’s no good +offering you a lift, as you don’t go our way. + +ARIADNE (_to_ JANET). Haven’t you got the car, dear? + +JANET. Good Lord, no. Father doesn’t waste the car on _me_ like that. +I don’t mind walking. It isn’t far. + +HECTOR (_relieved_). Ah well, that’s all right. + +JOHN (_from the door_). I’ll see Miss Ingleby home. + +JANET. No need to. + +JOHN. Of course I will. + +ARIADNE (_the perfect wife_). Of course he will! How _is_ your father? + +JANET (_not realising how nearly a dog bit him outside the Town +Hall_). Oh, all right. Well then, I’ll say good-night. And thanks +very much. + +ARIADNE. Good-night, dear. Sure you are all right? + +JANET. Of course. Good-night, Mr. Meldrum. + +HORACE. Good-night, Miss Janet. Remember me to your father. I’ll be +round seeing him one of these days, I expect. + +JANET (_as she goes out_). Right. I’ll count the spoons. + +HORACE. Ha, ha, ha! Smart little devil. I like a girl with spirit. + + (_Final good-nights are heard from the hall. Then after a pause + comes “Ready?” from_ JOHN _and “Right” from_ JANET. _After + another pause the front door is heard to shut. During this,_ + HORACE _has been staring at_ ARIADNE, _the self-assured stare of + the man who is certain that that is what a pretty woman likes._ + ARIADNE _sits demurely on the sofa waiting for him to begin._) + +HORACE. I got your message. + +ARIADNE. What message was that? + +HORACE. The one you are sending me now. + +ARIADNE. Am I? + +HORACE. Your rose, dear lady. + +ARIADNE (_demurely_). Oh! + +HORACE. My rose. + +ARIADNE (_more demurely_). Oh! + +HORACE. Our rose. + +ARIADNE (_most demurely_). Oh! + +HORACE. How beautiful it looks there. (_Striving for the right +metaphor_) Nesting. + +ARIADNE. I didn’t know roses did that. + +HORACE. Ariadne’s does. It nests in her bosom like a--like---- + +ARIADNE. It is difficult, isn’t it? You’ll have to start again. + +HORACE (_who has probably had just a little too much whisky_). Like a +dove. Like a little dove. A little pink dove. + +ARIADNE. Fancy! I wonder what a pink dove looks like, nesting in a +buttonhole. (_He comes towards her. She takes it out of her dress and +puts it in his buttonhole_) There! It looks just like a rose. + +HORACE. Thank you, dear lady. (_He kisses her fingers; then goes back +to his place, and expands himself_) Somehow I never feel properly +dressed until a pretty woman has put a flower in my buttonhole. (_He +stands in front of the fireplace jingling his money._) + +ARIADNE. Had a good week? + +HORACE. Pretty fair, pretty fair. And a bit more to come to-morrow +morning. + +ARIADNE. I suppose I mustn’t ask how much. + +HORACE. You’d be surprised if I told you. + +ARIADNE. Try me. + +HORACE. Not far short of a cool thousand. That’s about what it will +work out at for the week. + +ARIADNE. A cool thousand! Fancy. And a bachelor. No wonder you are +always properly dressed. + +HORACE. So to-morrow afternoon I am running up to dear old London to +see what Piccadilly Circus looks like. + +ARIADNE. On business? + +HORACE (_chuckling_). Strictly on business. Strictly on business. And +if anybody asks me what business, I shall say that’s _my_ business. +(_He laughs heartily._) + +ARIADNE. Then I shan’t ask you what business. + +HORACE. I’d tell _you_, my dear lady. I’m going to see my doctor. Ha, +ha! That’s a good one. My doctor. + +ARIADNE. Yes, that’s a good one. I like that one. + +HORACE. Joking apart, my dear, I’ll tell you why I’m going to London. +Just for a little bit of fun. Just a little bit of fun after a hard +week’s work. On a Friday night I say to myself sometimes, “Horace, +you’ve been a good boy all the week, and you’ve earned your little +bit of fun.” + +ARIADNE. I’m sure you have. + +HORACE. That’s what I call going to see my doctor. Doctor Fun I call +him. L. B. Fun. + +ARIADNE. What amusing things you say. + +HORACE. Little Bitta Fun. L. B. Fun--see it? + +ARIADNE. Yes, now I do. + +HORACE. Well, that’s what I’m going to London for. Get up in time for +lunch. What about a cosy little lunch at Frascati’s; just as a start? + +ARIADNE. Alone? + +HORACE. Aha, dear lady, that’s telling. + +ARIADNE. Perhaps I oughtn’t to have asked. + +HORACE. Well, let’s say not quite alone. A little bit of pink muslin +opposite, with perhaps something inside it. + +ARIADNE. What a sweet way of putting it. + +HORACE. After lunch--what shall we say? _You_ shall say, dear lady. + +ARIADNE. Well--what about the South Kensington Museum? + +HORACE (_much amused_). Aha, that’s a good one! A visit to the South +Kensington Museum, tea with the Dean of St. Paul’s, dinner at an +A.B.C., a concert at the Albert Hall, and a snack of something at +Fulham Palace to end up with. Ha, ha, ha! That’s me! + +ARIADNE (_pretending to be offended_). I don’t believe you’re +serious. You’re laughing at me. + +HORACE. Laughing at you? Bless my soul, whatever put that into your +pretty little head? Look in at the South Kensington Museum at three +o’clock to-morrow, and you will find your humble servant talking to +the head keeper. + +ARIADNE. I’ve a good mind to take you at your word, and look in at +three o’clock. + +HORACE (_coming closer to her_). Why don’t you? + +ARIADNE. I shan’t have time, I’m afraid. I’m catching the 3.10 back. + +HORACE. Back? Are _you_ going to London to-morrow? + +ARIADNE. Yes. + +HORACE. Fancy that. Alone? + +ARIADNE. I don’t know yet. + +HORACE. When will you know? + +ARIADNE. Perhaps in a minute or two. + +HORACE (_joining her on the sofa_). How very curious that you should +be going to London to-morrow--too. + +ARIADNE. That’s what John said. + +HORACE (_doubtfully_). John? So John said that. Why did John say that? + +ARIADNE. He said that it was cheaper to go on Wednesday. + +HORACE (_relieved_). Oh, I see! But only if you go third class. + +ARIADNE. But then I always do. + +HORACE. Poor little woman, what a shame! + +ARIADNE. Why? It’s much more amusing. + +HORACE. If you are alone, perhaps---- + +ARIADNE. Oh, you are never alone third class. + +HORACE (_getting very close_). But for two it’s much more amusing +first class. + +ARIADNE. Is it? + +HORACE. Particularly if the guard is a friend of yours. + +ARIADNE. Oh? + +HORACE. He’s a very great friend of mine. + +ARIADNE. Oh! + +HORACE. It’s funny we should both be going to London to-morrow, isn’t +it? + +ARIADNE. But we mightn’t both be going by the same train. + +HORACE. Ah!... What train are you going by? + +ARIADNE. The 10.15. + +HORACE (_disappointed_). Oh! That’s a pity. + +ARIADNE. Why? + +HORACE. I can’t get away before the 12.5. There’s a bit of business +I’ve got to see to---- + +ARIADNE (_demurely_). I think I _am_ going first class. + +HORACE (_considering_). It may mean a matter of a hundred pounds---- + +ARIADNE. Or aren’t there any first-class carriages on the 10.15 train? + +HORACE (_making up his mind_). No, dammit, one can’t throw away good +business just for a bit of fun. + +ARIADNE. Not even if it wore pink muslin? + +HORACE (_slapping his knee_). That’s it! You do your shopping or +whatever it is, and I’ll come up later, call for you wherever you +like, and we’ll have that little lunch at Frascati’s. How’s that? +I’ll be with you at half-past one. + +ARIADNE. Well, of course, I do like something to eat about then. + +HORACE. Right! That’s a bet! Where do I pick you up? + +ARIADNE. Well, I shall be at my club---- + +HORACE (_jovially contemptuous_). Your club! You women and your +clubs! But bless you, in spite of your votes and your clubs and your +cigarettes, you are just the same women under your clothes as Eve was +before you. And, thank God, you always will be. + +ARIADNE. Yes, but that isn’t the address of the club. Or don’t you +want to know the address? + +HORACE. Well, give us the name. I suppose the cabman will know where +it is. + +ARIADNE. The United Arts. + +HORACE (_whipping out his pencil and writing on his cuff_). A. W. +United Arts, 1.30. + +ARIADNE (_watching him_). What an interesting time your laundress +must have. + +HORACE. Naturally, I never put any business secrets there. (_He puts +back his pencil._) + +ARIADNE. A very wise distinction. + +HORACE. One-thirty at the United Arts. And now what about that train +back? + +ARIADNE. Which one? + +HORACE. Exactly, which one? + +ARIADNE. _I’m_ catching the 3.10. + +HORACE. But that makes it such a very little bit of fun. + +ARIADNE. I think John will expect me---- + +HORACE. Not if you tell him you are coming by a later one. + +ARIADNE. Is there a later one? + +HORACE. There’s one about five. + +ARIADNE. I don’t think I know that one. + +HORACE. It isn’t a very good one. There’s a better one about eight. + +ARIADNE. It seems a much later one. + +HORACE. But the best of them all is the 10.45. + +ARIADNE. Why is that the best of them all? + +HORACE. I would try to explain why--before we caught it. + +ARIADNE. It seems a very long explanation. + +HORACE. You wouldn’t be bored. + +ARIADNE. Attractive man! + +HORACE. Adorable woman! + +ARIADNE. You seem very certain of yourself. + +HORACE. It isn’t difficult to entertain a pretty woman. + +ARIADNE. Experienced man! + +HORACE. Well, yes, I’ve knocked about a bit. + +ARIADNE. But all women like that, don’t they? + +HORACE. They do, you may take my word for it. + +ARIADNE. I don’t think I shall go to London to-morrow. + +HORACE. Oh yes, you will. + +ARIADNE. Well, perhaps I will. + +HORACE. Of course you will. + +ARIADNE. But I shall come back by the 3 train. + +HORACE. Oh no, you won’t. + +ARIADNE. Well, perhaps I won’t. + +HORACE. Of course you won’t. + +ARIADNE. Masterful man! + +HORACE. I know how to manage women, bless their pretty little faces. + +ARIADNE. I can see you do. + +HORACE. Now, let’s be practical. + +ARIADNE. Businesslike. + +HORACE. You can’t be shopping in London till ten o’clock at night; +you’ll have to say you’ve been called away suddenly--to a sick +relative. + +ARIADNE. Why are sick people always supposed to want their relations +so badly? I never want anybody when I’m looking my worst. + +HORACE. Have you got any relations? + +ARIADNE. Heaps--and all John’s. + +HORACE. Any in London of your own? + +ARIADNE. An uncle. I was telling Hester about him. He lost his liver +in Burmah. He’s touchy about it now. + +HORACE. Well, there you are; he’s ill. D’you see? You leave a note +to-morrow to say you’ve just been rung up as you were starting to the +station. Uncle dying. May not be back till late. See? + +ARIADNE. I see. Isn’t it rather deceitful? + +HORACE. Little bit of fun. What’s the harm in a little bit of fun? + +ARIADNE. True. You mustn’t think I haven’t got a sense of humour. + +HORACE. Well then, you see, it doesn’t matter _what_ time you come +back. Your ground’s prepared ... even if----(_He hesitates._) + +ARIADNE. Well? + +HORACE. Even if--(_very softly_)--we found a better train than the +10.45. + +ARIADNE. But I thought you said that that was the best? + +HORACE. The best--on Saturday night. + +ARIADNE (_looking at him thoughtfully_). Do you know you’re a +very wonderful man? (HORACE _laughs comfortably_.) Even I--hardly +realised----(_He leans towards her. She gets up hastily._) + +HORACE. What is it? + +ARIADNE. John. I heard the door. + +HORACE (_getting up_). One-thirty. (_He kisses his hand to her._) + + JOHN _comes in._ + +ARIADNE. How quick you’ve been! + +HORACE. Well, I must be getting along. + +ARIADNE. Oh no! Must you? + +JOHN. Have another drink? + +HORACE. No thanks, my boy. (_To_ ARIADNE) Afraid I must, Mrs. John. +Got a lot to do to-morrow. (_Holding out his hand_) Good-bye--and +thank you for a _most_ delightful evening. + +ARIADNE. Good-night. I’ve enjoyed it too, you know. + +HORACE. How nice of you! (_To_ JOHN) No, don’t bother. + + (_But_ JOHN _insists on seeing his most important client out. + Alone_, ARIADNE _drops into the sofa with the evening paper_.) + +JOHN (_coming back_). Well! It wasn’t so bad after all, was it? (_He +pours himself out a drink._) + +ARIADNE (_reading her paper_). Not so bad. + +JOHN. Did you get on with Meldrum all right? + +ARIADNE. Quite all right, John. + +JOHN (_with a sigh of relief_). That’s good. + + (_He drinks._) + + + + + ACT II + + + _Saturday. About five o’clock._ HESTER _and_ HECTOR _are outside; + we hear their voices_. MARY _is telling them that her mistress is + out. She opens the door, and they come in._ + +HESTER. Oh! Then will you tell your master we’re here? + +MARY. Yes, madam. I think he’s just come in. + +HESTER. Where has your mistress gone? + +MARY. She has gone up to London, madam. + +HESTER. London! + +MARY. Yes, madam. + +HESTER. When do you expect her back? + +MARY. She didn’t say, madam. She had a dressing-case with her, but +she didn’t say she was staying the night. + +HESTER. A dressing-case! + +MARY. Yes, madam. I’ll tell the master you’re here. + + [_She goes out._ + +HESTER. London. She didn’t say anything about London last night, did +she? + +HECTOR. Nothing. It’s very odd. + +HESTER. I wonder if---- + +HECTOR. What? + +HESTER. She was telling us after dinner, before you came in, that her +uncle---- + +HECTOR. The General? + +HESTER. Yes--was suffering from indigestion very badly. We happened +to be talking about illnesses. + +HECTOR. You think that a sudden fatal stroke--fatal spasm, perhaps I +should say---- + +HESTER. Being Saturday it looks like something urgent. + +HECTOR. Evidently. + +HESTER. If it had been Wednesday, it wouldn’t have been so surprising. + +HECTOR. The General, no doubt.... I suppose he’s pretty comfortably +off? + +HESTER. He has his pension, of course. + +HECTOR. But that would die with him. Anything to leave? Anything to +come in Ariadne’s direction? + +HESTER. I shouldn’t think so. She would have told us. + +HECTOR. Ariadne’s queer in some ways. It would be just like her not +to have said anything about it. + + (HESTER _sees the letter on the mantelpiece_.) + +HESTER. Ah, there you are! + +HECTOR. What? + +HESTER. A note for John. (_She picks it up._) + +HECTOR. From Ariadne? + +HESTER. Yes. Called away suddenly, you see. + +HECTOR (_going up to examine the envelope_). Now what would you say +that meant? (_He gives the matter his full consideration._) I see it +like this. If the General’s attack had actually been fatal, she would +have rung John up at his office. + +HESTER. He would have gone with her in that case. + +HECTOR. That may be. He is very busy just now. The point is that she +would have rung him up. Leaving a note makes it clear that, whatever +has happened to the General, it is no more than a preliminary warning. + +HESTER (_looking at the envelope_). Sprawly handwriting. + + (JOHN _comes in, and they back hastily away from the letter_.) + +JOHN. Hullo! + +HESTER. Ah, here you are. + + (JOHN _kisses her and shakes hands solemnly with_ HECTOR.) + +JOHN. Didn’t expect you to-day. I had to go over to Handfield. Only +just got back. + +HESTER. I’ve heard of a cook for Ariadne--so I just---- + +HECTOR. I thought I’d just walk round with her, and pass the time of +day. + +HESTER. She’s gone to London, I hear. + +JOHN. Yes. + +HECTOR. No bad news from the General, I trust. + +JOHN. The General? + +HECTOR. We supposed that she must have been called away suddenly. + +JOHN. Oh no. Shopping! + +HESTER. On a Saturday? + +JOHN. She particularly wanted to go. I suggested that she should wait +till Wednesday. + +HECTOR. Exactly! That was what misled us. + +HESTER. But the shops would be shut on Saturday afternoon.... +Besides, why stay the night? + +JOHN (_surprised_). But she’s not staying the night. + +HESTER. Oh, well, Mary said---- + +HECTOR. Her dressing-case---- + +HESTER. There’s a note for you. + +JOHN. What? Oh yes! (_He goes to it._) She caught a very early train. + +HESTER. Oh, well! But it’s a funny day to go. + +HECTOR (_taking out his pocket time-table_). The 10.15, I suppose. +Let me see, if she caught the 10.15--they’ve altered it now. It used +to run into King’s Cross at---- Here we are--10.15. Runs into King’s +Cross at---- + +JOHN. Good God! + +HESTER. What is it, John? + +HECTOR (_resigned_). Ah! He _is_ dead. + +JOHN. It’s impossible! + +HECTOR. Not impossible, my dear boy. Inevitable, alas! But none the +less distressing. + +JOHN. Ariadne! + +HESTER. What is it, John? Let me look. (_She takes the letter from +him._) + +JOHN. It’s ridiculous! + +HECTOR. Well, but what is it, my dear boy? (_Trying to get at the +letter_) May I---- + +HESTER. Good gracious! + +HECTOR. May I be allowed---- + +HESTER. Had you any idea of this? + +JOHN. Is it likely? + +HECTOR. Might I---- + +HESTER. But _why_? + +JOHN. Why, indeed! + +HECTOR. _Might_ I be allowed---- (_He gets the letter at last. They +watch him reading it._) Merciful heavens! + +JOHN. I don’t believe it. + +HECTOR. My old friend Horace Meldrum! + +HESTER. She doesn’t actually say Mr. Meldrum. + +HECTOR. True. Let us be fair. She just says Horace. “Horace and I are +going into the unknown together. Do not try to follow us.” But if it +is not Horace Meldrum, who can it be? + +HESTER (_to_ JOHN). Did she know any other Horace? + +HECTOR. There _are_ no other Horaces. + +JOHN. Not that I know of. But it can’t be Meldrum. That’s impossible. + +HECTOR (_turning over the letter_). Ah, a postscript! This may throw +more light on the matter. + +JOHN. A postscript? + +HESTER (_trying to look over his shoulder_). I didn’t see that. + +HECTOR. “P.S. I am putting this against the clock so that you will be +sure to see it.” That, at any rate, shows thoughtfulness. + +JOHN (_bitterly_). Ha! (_To_ HECTOR) Here, give it me! (_He takes the +letter._) + +HESTER. Why do you say it can’t be Mr. Meldrum? + +JOHN. She hates him. She told me so only yesterday. + +HESTER. Ah! + +HECTOR. Hate and love! You know what the old adage says. Love and +Hate--I forget the actual wording. + +JOHN (_fiercely_). I tell you she hated him. She thought he was a +bounder. + +HECTOR (_staggered_). My old friend Horace Meldrum a bounder! + +JOHN. A bounder, I tell you! A cad! That’s not love! + +HESTER. It might be deception. + +HECTOR. You think she was just throwing dust in his eyes? It may be +so. + +JOHN (_going to the door_). I’ll ring up Meldrum now. I’ll prove it +to you---- + +HECTOR (_suddenly_). John! My poor John! + +JOHN (_turning back at the door_). What? + +HECTOR. To think that it should have escaped my memory! + +HESTER. What? You never told me. + +HECTOR. How can I have been so foolish! I called in to see Horace +Meldrum earlier this afternoon on a small matter of business---- + +JOHN (_eagerly_). Well? + +HECTOR. I was told that he had gone to London. + +JOHN. Good God! + +HESTER. Are you sure, Hector? + +HECTOR. My dear, how can I be mistaken now that it comes back to me? + +HESTER. Well, that’s odd certainly. + +JOHN. Perhaps Ariadne didn’t go herself, after all. Perhaps she has +just gone out somewhere in the town. + +HESTER. Mary told us she had gone to London. + +JOHN. Did she?... What were you saying about a dressing-case? + +HECTOR. Taking, according to Mary, a dressing-case with her. + +HESTER. Why should she do that? + +HECTOR. And not on a Wednesday, mark you, but a Saturday! + +HESTER. On the excuse of doing some shopping. + +JOHN. Mary told you, you say. Well, I’ll make sure of that anyway. +(_He strides across the room and rings the bell._) + +HECTOR. Steady, dear boy, steady! + +HESTER. Don’t bring the servants into it until you have to, John. + +JOHN. Yes, that’s true.... But I’ve rung. + +HECTOR (_holding up a large white hand_). Allow me to deal with it. + + [_He goes out and is heard dealing with it._ + +HESTER. I’m always so frightened of the servants knowing anything. + +HECTOR (_outside_). Have you--ah, it’s all right, thank you. I +thought I had mislaid a small parcel. Yes, that was all, thank you. +(_He comes in with a brown paper bag which he puts down_) Don’t +let me forget that, dear, when we go. (_To_ JOHN) A small pine for +dessert to-morrow. + +HESTER. Well, they both went to London. That seems certain. + +JOHN. Why shouldn’t they both go to London? + +HECTOR. Why not? But you have her letter, and you have the +corroborative evidence of the dressing-case and the absence of +Meldrum. We must reconcile ourselves to the facts. + +JOHN. The letter, yes. (_He reads it again._) + +HESTER. What is it she says about some disagreement with you? + +HECTOR. Yes, she brought _me_ into it there. + +HESTER (_taking the letter_). May I? (_Reading it_) Yes, this. “We +are poles asunder, as Hector would say, on the most vitally important +thing in life.” + +HECTOR. Why as _I_ would say? I don’t recollect ever using the phrase. + +HESTER. The most vitally important thing in life. (_Giving him back +the letter_) What was that, John? + +HECTOR. Some money trouble? The question of her allowance? + +JOHN. No, no. She knows I never grudged her anything. This comes out +of a clear sky. + +HECTOR. I understand, my dear fellow; a thunderbolt from the blue. + +JOHN. There was the usual give and take of married life, of course. +But she was happy. You saw her last night. Wouldn’t you have said she +was as happy as--well, as anybody else? + +HESTER. She seemed much as usual, certainly. + + (_There is a short silence._) + +JOHN (_suddenly_). Why, of course! + +HESTER. What? + +JOHN. That letter. + +HECTOR. You have it. + +JOHN. No, the one he wrote to her. + +HESTER. When? You haven’t told us of this. + +JOHN. Last night--he sent those flowers and a letter. + +HECTOR. Flowers and a letter! Now we are getting to something +tangible. What did the letter say? + +JOHN. I didn’t read it. + +HESTER. Well, but she may have left it somewhere. + +JOHN (_awkwardly_). No. I--she tore it up. + +HESTER. In here? + +JOHN. Yes. (_He goes to the basket, looks in it, then rings the +bell_) Cleared away, of course. + +HESTER. John, what are you doing? + +HECTOR. Steady, dear boy, steady. + +JOHN. They have the waste paper in the kitchen, I suppose. What +happens to it? + +HESTER. But you can’t ask the servants about a torn-up letter. + +JOHN. Why not? A business letter accidentally thrown away---- + +HESTER. No, no! It’s so--you can’t. They will guess. + +JOHN. They’ll guess soon enough if every time I ring the bell I have +to send out Hector to make an excuse for it. + +HESTER (_proudly_). Hector will think of something _without_ going +out this time. + +HECTOR. Er--yes--er----(_The door opens and he hastily whispers to_ +JOHN.) + +MARY. Did you ring, sir? + +JOHN. A whisky and soda for Mr. Chadwick. + +MARY. Yes, sir. + + [_She goes out._ + +HECTOR (_apologetically_). On the spur of the moment, and seeing what +a warm day it is---- + +HESTER. In any case, John, she saw him last night. Were they alone +together after we’d gone? + +JOHN (_reluctantly_). Ye--yes. I saw Janet home, you know. + +HESTER. Of course. Then there you are! + + (_They are all silent, thinking._ JOHN _looks at his watch and + automatically looks at the clock_.) + +HECTOR (_keeping all their spirits up_). The old clock keeping pretty +good time? (_But, for once, nobody minds._) + +JOHN (_suddenly_). I shall go to London. + +HECTOR. Ah! + +HESTER. What can you do there? + +JOHN. Make inquiries at her club. Something. Anything. + +HECTOR. Her club. Come! This gives us a starting-point. We must +explore every avenue. Her club. (_He thinks._) + +HESTER (_for it still rankles_). Why did she ever want a club--in +London? + +JOHN. She said she was going to lunch there. I could find that out +anyhow. + +HECTOR (_with great presence of mind_). Tsss! (MARY _is coming in +with the whisky. He hurries forward to take charge of it._) Thank +you. (_Bottle in hand_) John? + + [MARY _goes out_. + +JOHN. No, no. + +HECTOR (_pouring himself out one_). You won’t mind if _I_ do? You +won’t think it unfeeling? + +HESTER. Of course not, Hector, how could he think so? + +HECTOR (_raising glass_). I can only say, in the most profound +meaning of the phrase--Here’s luck! + +JOHN. I can catch the--what is it--5.30? + +HECTOR (_dropping his glass and whipping out his time-table_). Just a +moment. 5.29, isn’t it? + +HESTER. It seems so hopeless. + +JOHN. Good God! What else can I do? Must do something. + +HECTOR (_proudly_). 5.29, I thought so. + +HESTER. Suppose you find them together? + +JOHN. I’ll break his damned neck for him. + +HESTER. No, no, John, nothing rash. + +HECTOR (_still on the 5.29_). John was speaking metaphorically, dear. + +HESTER. Hadn’t Hector better go with you? + +HECTOR. I am at your service, my dear fellow. Very fortunate that +it has all happened at a week-end. There are no rival claims of +business. The 5.29 runs in at---- + +JOHN. No, no, I can’t bother Hector. + +HECTOR. It would be a pleasure--a melancholy pleasure. I shall engage +Horace Meldrum in conversation, while you---- + +JOHN. While I break his neck. + +HECTOR. I was going to say, “While you reason with Ariadne.” ... Runs +in at.... + +JOHN. Put it how you like. Only for God’s sake come on. + + (_He takes_ HECTOR’S _arm and marches him to the door. The door + opens and_ ARIADNE _comes in_. JOHN _and_ HECTOR _draw back in + amazement_.) + +JOHN (_carried away for the moment_). Ariadne! My darling! + +ARIADNE. John! + +HECTOR. Well, well, well! + +JOHN (_sternly, remembering that he is an injured husband_). Where +have you been? + +HECTOR. You may well ask! + +ARIADNE. Running away from you, John. + +JOHN. Then what are you doing here now? + +ARIADNE. I have come back to you, John. (_She sits down._) + +JOHN (_angry at the fright he has had_). It was just a joke, was it, +your letter? + +HECTOR. A joke in very doubtful taste. In more than doubtful taste. + +HESTER. If it _was_ a joke. + +ARIADNE (_looking at them_). You have shown them my letter? + +HECTOR. We know all. + +JOHN. What could I--they were here. Do you think I can read a letter +like that, and put it calmly in my pocket, as if nothing had happened? + +ARIADNE. No, no, of course not, dear. + +HESTER. Dear! + +HECTOR. Have you any right to call him “dear,” that is the question. + +ARIADNE (_reproachfully_). I only ran away this morning, Hector. + +HECTOR. True, true. Nothing could have----Quite so, quite so. + +JOHN. You _have_ been to London? + +ARIADNE. Yes. + +JOHN. And why have you come back now? + +ARIADNE. He missed his train. + +JOHN. Who? + +ARIADNE. The gentleman I was running away with. + +HECTOR. Meldrum. My old friend Horace Meldrum. + +JOHN (_fiercely_). Was it Meldrum? Where is Meldrum? + +ARIADNE. He missed his train. + +JOHN. What do you mean? You say here in your letter----(_He turns it +over, trying to find the place._) + +ARIADNE. Let me find it for you, dear. + +JOHN (_refusing her offer_). Here it is. “Horace and I,” that’s +Meldrum? + +ARIADNE. Of course. (_Surprised_) You haven’t any other friends +called Horace? + +HECTOR. The very point I made. Do you remember, Hester? + +JOHN. “Horace and I are going into the unknown together. Do not try +to follow us.” + +ARIADNE. Yes, that’s right. + +JOHN. Well? + +ARIADNE. Darling, I keep telling you. He missed his train. The 12.5. + +HECTOR (_as if he now understood it all_). The 12.5. Ah! (_He nods +his head solemnly. A dangerous train._) + +JOHN. But I don’t see---- + +ARIADNE. When you arrange to go into the unknown with a woman by +a certain train, you can’t just go and _miss_ the train. It’s so +careless. + +HESTER. You could have gone by the next. + +ARIADNE (_carelessly_). I expect he did. I daresay he is searching +London for me now.... Ring the bell, Hector, will you? I am dying for +some tea. + +HECTOR (_indignantly_). Tea! (_But he rings the bell._) + +ARIADNE (_sweetly_). I’ve been going backwards and forwards all day. + +JOHN. I am afraid I am still very stupid. Meldrum, as I understand +it, was to have gone with you to London by the 12.5 train? + +ARIADNE. No, no. I had gone by the 10.15. He was to come up later and +call for me at my club. + +HECTOR. Her club. You see, Hester, we were right to make that the +starting-point. + +JOHN. And he was coming up by the 12.5? + +ARIADNE. Yes. Only he missed it. + +HECTOR. Presumably he was detained by some business---- + +ARIADNE. Presumably. (_Enter_ MARY.) Tea, please, Mary. (_To them +all_) Have you had any? + +HESTER. Is it likely? + +HECTOR. Tsss! (_He indicates the maid._) + +ARIADNE. You waited for me. How nice of you! Tea for four. + +MARY. Yes, madam. + + [_She goes out._ + +ARIADNE. I am sorry, dear. You were saying that Horace was probably +detained by business. + +JOHN. Well? + +ARIADNE. Well, you see, if a man is detained by business when you are +going to watch a cricket match with him, that doesn’t matter so much, +but if he is detained by business when you are running away with +him--well, ask Hester. + +HECTOR. My dear lady! + +HESTER (_coldly_). I have never run away from my husband. + +ARIADNE. But you must often have wanted to. I am sorry, Hector, +but--_any_ husband.... (_To_ HESTER) How would you feel if just as +you had worked yourself up to it, you got a telegram “Missed train.” +Just like that. “Missed train.” It’s so--so uncomplimentary. Wouldn’t +you feel that if he had really loved you, he would have run the whole +way to London _behind_ the train, rather than waste a moment sending +telegrams? + +JOHN. That’s absurd. + +ARIADNE. Oh, of course, if you are going to stand up for him---- + +JOHN (_indignantly_). I am doing nothing of the sort! I merely say---- + +ARIADNE. And I merely say that when you are running away with a woman +it’s an insult to her to miss the train. + +HECTOR. He might have only _just_ missed it. + +ARIADNE. Then he should have taken a special, shouldn’t he, Hester? + +HESTER (_unwillingly_). Well, certainly, it would have shown a +more---- + +ARIADNE. There you are! Hester feels just as I do. + +HESTER (_indignantly_). I feel nothing of the sort! + +ARIADNE (_coaxingly_). A little bit. + +HECTOR. A special! Do you know how much a special costs? + +ARIADNE. Ah, now we’re talking! How much does a special cost, John? + +JOHN (_absently_). Fifty pounds? (_Furiously_) I don’t know! (_This +is not in the least how he had meant the scene to go._) + +ARIADNE. I thought solicitors knew all those things. + +HECTOR. Every penny of fifty pounds! + +ARIADNE. And what am I worth? About twenty? Oh, ridiculous of him to +have taken a special! Most unbusiness-like. Ariadne’s one thing, but +fifty _pounds_! + +JOHN (_now entirely lost_). Really! I don’t think---- + +HECTOR (_warningly_). Tsss! (MARY _comes in to prepare the tea_. +HECTOR _becomes tactful_.) You came back by the 3.10, I suppose? Did +you have a good day’s shopping? + +ARIADNE (_smiling to herself_). I did all I wanted. + +HESTER. Such a good train, the 3.10. + +HECTOR. I always say it’s the best down train we have. + +ARIADNE. I say it a good deal, but not so often as that. + +HECTOR. Excellent train, don’t you think so, John? + +ARIADNE. The 12.5 is a very good train _up_ to London--if you can +catch it. + +HECTOR (_uncomfortably_). Quite so, quite so. + + (MARY _has now gone_.) + +ARIADNE. Let’s see, where were we? + +HESTER. She’ll be coming in again directly with the tea. + +ARIADNE. What shall we do? Go on talking about trains till she comes +in and goes out again, or go on now, and then get back to the trains +when---- + +JOHN (_sharply_). What do the servants know? What did you say to them +when you went off this morning? + +ARIADNE. Just that I was going up to London to do a little shopping. + +HECTOR. Ah! the very impression I was endeavouring to give Mary just +now. + +JOHN. Shopping with a dressing-case? + +ARIADNE. Well, I might have been taking a dress up to be cleaned or +something. Mightn’t I, Hester? + +HESTER. They wouldn’t have guessed anything yet. But servants always +know the sort of woman you are. You can never hide _that_ from them. + +ARIADNE. Only from husbands. + +JOHN. Well, if they don’t know, that’s something to start with. I was +afraid---- + +HECTOR (_always ready_). Tsss! + + MARY _comes in with the tea_. + +ARIADNE (_with an air_). I went up by the 10.15. Another good train. + +HECTOR. I always say that the few trains we have are _good_. Only +what we want is _more_. Quantity as well as quality. + +ARIADNE. How true! + +HECTOR. When you get into Parliament, John, you’ll have to see to +that. + +ARIADNE. Thank you, Mary. + + [MARY _goes out_. + +Now then, we’re quite safe unless somebody comes and calls. Perhaps I +had better tell Mary that I am not at home? + +JOHN (_impatiently_). Nobody will call. The position then is this: +you had arranged to go off with Meldrum. You were to go first, and he +was to follow you by a certain train? + +ARIADNE. Yes, dear. Tea, Hester? + +JOHN (_violently_). Oh, damn the tea! Tea, tea, tea! How can we +settle anything when you’re always talking about tea? + +ARIADNE (_soothingly_). The sooner we start drinking it, the sooner +we shall stop talking about it. Hester? + +HESTER (_haughtily_). No, thank you. + +ARIADNE (_coldly_). Hector, pass Hester a bun. + +HESTER. I don’t want anything, thank you. + +ARIADNE. Hector? You do, don’t you? + +HECTOR (_taking a cup_). Thank you. After all, it’s a stimulant. +One wants to keep a very clear head. (_He takes a bun--another +stimulant._) + +ARIADNE. Did you say you wouldn’t have any, John? + +JOHN (_gruffly_). No, thank you. + +ARIADNE (_pouring herself a cup_). There! Now, then, where were we? +Oh, yes--I was to go first and he was to follow me by a certain +train. That’s right. + +JOHN. And he didn’t follow you? + +ARIADNE. Not by that train. + +HECTOR. Let me see, if he missed the 12.5, he’d probably catch +the----(_Out comes the time-table_) Now, then. + +HESTER. What does it matter what train he went by? + +HECTOR (_turning the pages rapidly with a moistened finger_). In a +case like this nothing is immaterial. + +JOHN. Well, then, you got a telegram at your club saying that he’d +missed his train. + +ARIADNE. And was coming by the next. (_Taking a telegram from her +bag_) Here it is. + +JOHN. Ah! (_He reads it._) + +HECTOR. May I? (_He takes it and reads_) Ah! Handed in at Melchester +Central, 12.20. Received Knightsbridge, 12.38. “Missed train. Expect +me at three. Horace.” + +JOHN. And what did you do? + +HECTOR. One moment, dear boy. (_Returning to time-table)_ He would +catch the 1.17. Runs into town--runs into town----(_He turns a page._) + +JOHN (_his temper rising_). And what did you do, when you read the +telegram? + +ARIADNE. Came home again. + +HECTOR. Change at West Hutton. I knew it wasn’t a good train. Yes, he +ought to have caught the 12.5. + +ARIADNE. He ought. That’s what I keep saying. + +JOHN (_sarcastically_). And as he didn’t, you have decided that you +don’t want to go into the unknown with him after all? + +ARIADNE. No. It would be so very unknown if he kept on missing trains. + +JOHN. Whereupon you come coolly back here, as if nothing had +happened, and order tea? + +ARIADNE. I was too excited to have lunch. Thinking of him. + +JOHN. And now what do you propose to do? + +ARIADNE (_at last saying the right thing_). Wait to hear what you +propose to do with me, John. + +JOHN. Ah! + +HECTOR. Exactly. Now we are getting to grips with the problem. To +take the possibilities. Divorce. + +JOHN (_staggered_). Divorce? + +HESTER. Rubbish! + +HECTOR (_with dignity_). Divorce, I was about to say, is impossible. + +ARIADNE. Not impossible, but very bad for business. + +JOHN (_sharply_). Why not impossible? + +ARIADNE. John! And you a solicitor! Is anything impossible to a +really good solicitor? Think of me in the witness box! How your +counsel would rend me! I wonder who you would brief. + +HESTER. It’s absurd, anyway. We don’t want a divorce in the family. + +ARIADNE. Of course we don’t. + +HECTOR. So be it. We rule out divorce and come to the second +alternative. Separation. Judicial or otherwise. + +ARIADNE (_shaking her head_). So expensive. + +HECTOR. What would a separation figure out at, John, all told? + + (_It is as much as_ JOHN _can do not to shriek_.) + +ARIADNE. I was thinking of the expense afterwards. It would mean two +establishments for John. Even as it is, with me helping him by making +love to his clients, we can only just keep this one going. Isn’t it +so, John? + + (_But at this_ JOHN _gives way altogether_.) + +JOHN (_shouting_). What do you want? What do you think is going to +happen? Do you think you can come back here---- + +HECTOR (_always helpful_). The past blotted out---- + +JOHN. Do you think you can go off as you please---- + +HECTOR (_still helping_). Here to-day and gone to-morrow. + +JOHN. Do you think you can just go away and come back when you +like---- + +HECTOR (_explanatorily_). Without so much as a with-your-leave or a +by-your-leave---- + +JOHN (_swinging round on_ HECTOR). _Shut up!_ + +HESTER (_appalled_). John! + +ARIADNE (_gleefully to herself_). He’s angry! + +JOHN (_still shouting_). Why do _you_ come interfering? Can’t I +manage my own affairs? You keep talking and talking and talking---- + +HECTOR. My dear John! + +JOHN. I can’t say anything, but what you must say something---- + +HECTOR. I am dumbfounded. + +JOHN (_almost crying_). Why can’t you leave me alone? She’s my wife, +isn’t she? + +ARIADNE (_under her breath_). Well done! + +HECTOR (_to the world_). I am absolutely at a loss! In this very +distressing business I am merely putting my brains, such as they are, +at your disposal. And _this_ happens! I am absolutely at a loss! + +HESTER (_hurrying to her wounded husband’s aid_). After all, John, +you asked for our advice---- + +HECTOR. You took us into your confidence---- + +HESTER (_stroking her wounded husband’s head_). Hector only wants to +help. + +HECTOR (_sadly_). It is beyond me. I am out of my depth. + +ARIADNE (_recalling_ JOHN _to the present_). Dear, Hector is out of +his depth. + +JOHN (_ashamed of himself_). I am sorry, Hector. (_He holds out his +hand which_ HECTOR _shakes heartily_.) + +HECTOR (_happily, the perfect gentleman_). Say no more, my dear +fellow! An apology--between friends---- + +JOHN (_opening the door_). Would you mind? Forgive me, Hester. +(HESTER _gets up and he shakes her hand._) I think perhaps Ariadne +and I----It was very kind of you to----Perhaps to-morrow we may----Of +course you won’t say anything until---- + + (_He has got them to the door._) + +HESTER. That’s all right, John. + +HECTOR (_vaguely_). An apology--between friends. (_Under his breath +to_ HESTER) My dear, do we----(_He indicates saying good-bye to_ +ARIADNE) No? Doubtful taste, perhaps. Perhaps better not. Quite so. + + (JOHN _takes them out. While he is away_ ARIADNE _touches herself + up in front of the glass and comes back to her tea_.) + +JOHN (_as he comes back_). Damn that fellow! + +ARIADNE. Hector? Such a nice man. + +JOHN. Gas-bag. + +ARIADNE. It’s your brother-in-law. Your own sister’s husband, and +making lots of money. You can’t call a man like that a gas-bag. + +JOHN. Never mind that. (_Firmly. A husband and a solicitor_) Now +then, Ariadne. + +ARIADNE. Yes, John. + +JOHN. I want some explanation of this. Why did you go away with that +fellow? + +ARIADNE. You told me to be nice to him. + +JOHN. (_to Heaven_). _Nice_ to him! + +ARIADNE. Yes, it was the nicest thing I could think of. + +JOHN. And when your husband asks you to be friendly to a man who is a +good client of his, that’s how you do it. + +ARIADNE. Yes. When they don’t miss their train. + +JOHN. Well! + +ARIADNE (_anxiously_). You don’t think I was too friendly? I had to +think of the business, and he’s such a very important client, isn’t +he? + +JOHN. Look here, if you think that by ridiculous exaggeration of my +words like that---- + +ARIADNE. Don’t sneer at exaggeration. All art is exaggeration. It +isn’t until you look at a thing a little out of its perspective that +you see it as it really is. + +JOHN. I don’t want a lecture on art. + +ARIADNE. No, John. And it means using such long words. But I want you +to understand that my heart was in the right place if--if the rest of +me wasn’t. I overdid the faithful wife, that’s all. + +JOHN. _Faithful_ wife! You have a sense of humour, Ariadne. + +ARIADNE. I have, John. Nothing can take that from me. + +JOHN (_suddenly_). I don’t believe a word you’ve been saying. You +ran away with him because you loved him. (_She says nothing. He goes +over to her and shakes her by the shoulders._) Answer! Do you love +this fellow? + +ARIADNE. Why do you call him a fellow? Only yesterday you were +telling me what a good sort he was. + +JOHN (_to himself_). Meldrum! Good God! How little one knows one’s +friends! That sort of man! + +ARIADNE. But I told you yesterday he was that sort of man. + +JOHN. God! I’ll break his neck for him. + +ARIADNE (_interested_). Is that legal? + +JOHN (_grimly_). I’ll--break--his--neck for him. + +ARIADNE. Is it businesslike? Of course you’d have the winding up of +the estate---- + +JOHN. If he thinks he can try any of those games in this house---- + +ARIADNE. Isn’t it funny? Yesterday you liked him and I didn’t, and +to-day you don’t like him and I---- + +JOHN (_turning to her suddenly_). Supposing he had caught that train! +Where would you be now? + +ARIADNE. Ah, but he didn’t. He was detained by business. Business +first. + +JOHN (_melodramatically_). In all but actual fact you are unfaithful +to me! + +ARIADNE. Ah, but facts are what count in this hard-headed town. + +JOHN. But for the trifling accident of missing a train---- + +ARIADNE (_excusing him_). I suppose he is very busy just now. + +JOHN (_the husband forgotten in the solicitor_). Those new houses. I +told you. + +ARIADNE. I suppose he suddenly decided that they could be run up for +less or that they didn’t really want bathrooms. I must ask him what +it was. + +JOHN (_the husband roused_). You’ll do nothing of the sort! I’ll take +damned good care you never see him again. + +ARIADNE. Darling, is that wise? + +JOHN. What do you mean? + +ARIADNE. We don’t want to offend him, do we? + +JOHN. Offend! That’s funny! That’s very funny! (_He laughs bitterly._) + +ARIADNE. Yes, dear, but we mustn’t let our sense of humour interfere +with our sense of business. + +JOHN (_very sarcastic_). He hasn’t offended _me_. Oh no! He has only +run away with my wife. + +ARIADNE. But you must save something from the wreck. You don’t want +to lose a wife _and_ a good client on the same day. + +JOHN (_now entirely unmanned_). Damn my clients! + +ARIADNE. John, you’re losing your head. You’re saying things you’ll +be sorry for one day. + +JOHN (_violently_). And you’re saying things _you’ll_ be sorry for. +And what’s more, my girl, you’ll be sorry for them now. I tell +you I’ve had about enough of this. (_He goes up to her fiercely_) +You shame me in front of my relations, you insult me, you ruin my +business for me, you---- + +ARIADNE (_triumphantly_). Ah ha! I knew that would come in. Business! +Business! + +JOHN (_seizing her wrists_). Stop it, do you hear? Stop it, or by +God, I’ll---- + + (_The door opens very quietly and HECTOR creeps in._) + +HECTOR (_in a stage whisper_). It’s all right, I’m not staying. I +just----Did I leave a small pine--ah, there it is. Thank you, thank +you. + + (_He picks up his pineapple and tip-toes softly out of the room._) + + + + + ACT III + + + _Monday._ ARIADNE _is alone in the drawing-room, reading_. MARY + _is clearing away tea. The front door bell rings._ + +ARIADNE. I am at home to anybody, Mary. From the Mayor +downwards--(_after thought_)--upwards--(_after further +thought_)--downwards. + +MARY. Yes, madam. + + (_She goes out, leaving the door open. In a little while_ + HECTOR’S _voice is heard booming_.) + +HECTOR’S VOICE. Ah, Mary! Is Mr. Winter in? I just dropped in on my +way next door.... (MARY’S _voice is not heard_.) ... Ah! No, I think +perhaps.... No, it was your master I particularly wished--in the +circumstances perhaps hardly----Thank you, thank you. + + (_He goes_, MARY _comes back_.) + +MARY. It was Mr. Chadwick, madam. He said---- + +ARIADNE (_smiling_). I heard him, Mary. He talks very clearly. + +MARY. Thank you, madam. + + [_She goes out._ + + (ARIADNE _returns to her book_.) + +ARIADNE (_to herself_). Cut by Hector. (JOHN _comes in, evening paper +in hand. She jumps up_) Darling! (JOHN _takes no notice._) Cut--by +John. (_She goes back to the sofa and picks up her book_) And now +I’ve lost the place. That comes of being impetuous. (JOHN _settles +down with the paper._) Did you see Hector? (JOHN _grunts_.) Yes or +no, as the case may be.... He’s just gone out.... He’s coming back +again.... (_After a long pause_) How delightful. + +JOHN (_sulkily_). What? + +ARIADNE. Oh, nothing. (_After a pause_) Anything in the paper? + +JOHN. No. + +ARIADNE. Nothing in the paper. (_After a pause_) Did you have a good +day? + +JOHN. H’m. + +ARIADNE. A good day. Now what shall I say next? (_Brightly, after a +pause_) I’m reading a book about bees. + +JOHN. H’m. + +ARIADNE. What a mercy! I’ve found a subject which interests him.... +It says in my book about bees that when the queen bee has finished +with her husband she kills him. Did you know that? It’s a funny idea, +isn’t it? You’d have thought that she’d have kept him to talk to her +in the evenings. It must be so lonely for her without anybody. + +JOHN. H’m. + +ARIADNE. He isn’t as fascinated as I thought. (_After a pause_) I +wish I had been married to Hector. Whatever his faults, nobody can +say that he doesn’t _talk_. + +JOHN (_rudely_). And nobody can say that his wife ran away from him. + +ARIADNE (_sweetly_). Oh, is _that_ what it is? I knew there was +something the matter. + +JOHN (_throwing down his paper_). What do you expect me to do? Thank +you for coming back to me, and then chatter away gaily as though +nothing had happened? + +ARIADNE. No, but I think that, after two days of completely silent +thought, you ought to do _some_thing. What _are_ you going to do, +John? + +JOHN (_mumbling_). Haven’t decided. + +ARIADNE. Would you like me to go away for a few days until you _have_ +decided? + +JOHN (_brutally_). With whom? + +ARIADNE. Oh, John! (_She shakes her head at him._) + +JOHN (_angrily_). Why do you make me say things like that? I was just +reading my paper--and then you make me say horrible things like that. +What do you expect me to do? I’ve tried to see Meldrum, I keep on +trying to see Meldrum, but if he’s away, what can I do? + +ARIADNE (_surprised_). Away? + +JOHN. Of course he’s away. At least he’s never at home or at his +office when I go to see him. + +ARIADNE (_eagerly_). What are you going to say to him? + +JOHN. Tell him that, if I see him inside my house again, I’ll knock +his head off. + +ARIADNE. John! My darling! (_She goes to him and puts her arms round +his neck._) + +JOHN. Go away! (_He tries to unloose her arms._) + +ARIADNE. And you are prepared to lose all his business? + +JOHN (_bravely_). If necessary. + +ARIADNE (_admiringly_). John! + +JOHN (_hopefully_). It may not come to that, of course. + +ARIADNE. But it must! + +JOHN (_uncomfortably_). My dear child, you can’t let sentiment +interfere with business. No business man does. If it’s convenient to +Meldrum that I should continue to act for him, naturally he will want +me to. + +ARIADNE. And naturally you will? + +JOHN. Naturally. + +ARIADNE (_leaving him_). I think I shall go on with my book about +bees. + + _Enter_ MARY. + +MARY. Miss Ingleby is at the door and wants to know if you’re +engaged, madam. + +ARIADNE. Oh no, ask her in, Mary. + +MARY. Yes, madam. + + [_She goes out._ + +ARIADNE. You’d better pretend you’re busy, hadn’t you, dear? Janet +would know at once that you didn’t love me any more. + +JOHN (_sulkily_). Right. + + [_He goes out and is heard speaking to_ JANET. + +JOHN (_outside_). How are you? You’ll find Ariadne in there. I’ve got +one or two letters to write. + +JANET. Thanks. (_She comes in._) + +ARIADNE. Good-evening, dear. I suppose you’ve had tea. + +JANET. Oh, Lord, yes, ages ago. (_She sits down._) I rather want your +advice, that’s why I came. + +ARIADNE. Well, as long as you promise not to take it---- + +JANET. That’s something about you that makes you different from most +of the people here. + +ARIADNE. I suppose Hector would think it uncivic of me to take that +as a compliment. + +JANET. Well, anyway, I’ll tell you what’s happened; though, I know +pretty well what you’ll say. + +ARIADNE. How disappointing of you!... Go ahead. (_Tucking them away_) +I’m all ears. + +JANET. Well, I went to London on Saturday. + +ARIADNE. London! On Saturday! Fancy! + +JANET. To have lunch with some friends. I was coming back by that 5 +train---- + +ARIADNE. I know. It isn’t a very good one. + +JANET. How funny! That was just what Horace Meldrum said. + +ARIADNE (_surprised_). Horace Meldrum? When? + +JANET. When he saw me catching it. + +ARIADNE (_innocently_). Oh, did _he_ go to London on Saturday? + +JANET. He had to run up to see a man about something. + +ARIADNE. Oh, I see. + +JANET. We were both catching the 5 train back. + +ARIADNE. Fancy! So _he_ was coming back too? + +JANET. Well, he was at the station anyway. + +ARIADNE. Looking for somebody perhaps. + +JANET. Well, anyhow we met just outside the platform, and naturally +we got talking, and he said that the best train of the day was the +10.45. + +ARIADNE. Yes, I’ve heard that very well spoken of. + +JANET. And he thought it would be rather fun if we had dinner +somewhere and came back by that train together. + +ARIADNE. He likes a little bit of fun, I know. + +JANET. _I_ thought it would be rather fun, too. So we did. + +ARIADNE (_anxiously_). He didn’t mention any--better trains? + +JANET. No, that was the best. + +ARIADNE. And you caught it? + +JANET. Yes. + +ARIADNE (_with a sigh of relief_). Then what do you want my advice +about? + +JANET. Well, I’m telling you. + +ARIADNE. Sorry. + +JANET. He got a bit wuzzy at dinner--well, I don’t mind that, I’ve +seen a bit of it in my time. + +ARIADNE. However old are you? A hundred and one? + +JANET. When I say wuzzy, I don’t mean--well, he could have driven +a car all right. I mean fond of himself--and of me--and of the +waiters--_you_ know. + +ARIADNE. I know. + +JANET. And in the train--we had a carriage to ourselves---- + +ARIADNE. Really? First class, I suppose? + +JANET. Yes, and the guard was a friend of his. + +ARIADNE. Mr. Meldrum has a great many friends in the guards. + +JANET. Well, in the train---- + +ARIADNE. I suppose he kissed you. + +JANET. Well, of course! You don’t think I am making a song about +that, do you? + +ARIADNE. I’m sorry, go on. + +JANET. Well, in the train he asked me to marry him. + +ARIADNE (_awed_). Janet, I wish I could have heard him. + +JANET. It _was_ rather funny. He asked me to share his little nest, +and things like that. Well, I told him that I couldn’t say off-hand, +and he said, “That’s right, little woman, you think it over.” But +he’s been practically living with us since, talking business with +Father, and _he_ thinks it’s settled, and Father thinks it’s settled, +and---- + +ARIADNE. And Janet? + +JANET. Janet isn’t quite certain. Because, you see, there’s a lot to +be said on both sides. + +ARIADNE. I see. And which side do you want me to say it on? + +JANET. I know what _you’ll_ say--you’ll say, “Of _course_ you +mustn’t.” + +ARIADNE (_indignantly_). I shan’t say anything of the sort. + +JANET. You’re a bit old-fashioned in some ways. Don’t you think so? + +ARIADNE. I’m trying not to be. + +JANET. I feel that at any moment you’ll ask me if I’m in _love_ with +Horace. + +ARIADNE. My dear child--I mean, my dear elderly friend, how could I +ask you anything so ridiculous? + +JANET. Mind you, I’m not saying that I have no use for love. But what +I feel is that love and marriage are two different things. + +ARIADNE. They are sometimes, of course. + +JANET. Well, look round a bit, at all the married couples you know. +How many of them are in love with each other? Are the Chadwicks? + +ARIADNE (_twinkling_). You must ask Hector one day--when I’m there. + +JANET (_suddenly_). I’ll ask somebody else. Are you and John? + +ARIADNE. Oh, my dear! How embarrassing of you! + +JANET. Well, tell me. + +ARIADNE (_after a pause_). I think so, Janet.... In our hearts.... +It gets covered up from time to time with business, and domestic +worries, and other things, but I think it’s there. + +JANET (_a little taken aback_). Oh! + +ARIADNE. That’s what makes marriage such terrible fun. Trying to keep +it. Trying to find it again. The other thing is so ridiculously easy. +Any fool can get married, and throw her hand in. + +JANET. Y-yes. + +ARIADNE. You and I are much too good for that, Janet. We’re in a +different class. Any brainless little fluffity girl can marry, and +fall in love with somebody else, and be fallen in love with. It takes +a real woman to keep marriage intact.... _You_ could do it.... And it +_is_ such fun. But you must have the right husband to start with.... +Oh yes, John and I are all right ... really ... though perhaps he +doesn’t know it just at this moment. + +JANET (_thoughtfully_). I felt perhaps it was a bit cheap. + +ARIADNE. Cheap ... yes.... Free love--and free verse. They may be +better, but--(_with a smile_)--but they’re a damn sight easier. I +like difficult things. (_There is a short silence._) + +JANET (_getting up slowly_). Yes. Horace is too easy. + +ARIADNE. Much. + +JANET. Thanks, Ariadne. + +ARIADNE. Do something for me. + +JANET. Of course. + +ARIADNE (_smiling to herself_). Let him think--for to-day +anyhow--that it _is_ settled. + +JANET. My dear, it will take me more than a day to persuade him that +it isn’t. + +ARIADNE. And it really isn’t? + +JANET. It isn’t. Horace is off.... Charlie was off.... I suppose I +shall find somebody one day. + +ARIADNE. Why not find a job of work to do while you’re looking round? + +JANET (_struck by the novelty of it_). Good idea! I will. So long. +(_She goes ... wondering what she could do._) + + (_Left alone_, ARIADNE _waits until_ JANET _is out of the house, + and then opens the door and calls across to_ JOHN’S _study_.) + +ARIADNE. John!... John.... It’s all right, Janet has gone. We can +resume our silence from where we left off.... Bother! (_She wanders +round the room in an undecided way, and then goes back to the sofa +and picks up her book._) I suppose it will have to be bees again. + + _Enter_ MARY. + +MARY. Oh, Mr. Meldrum rang up, madam, while you were engaged with +Miss Ingleby. I couldn’t quite catch whether it was Mr. or Mrs. +Winter he was asking for. He just wanted to know if you was in. + +ARIADNE (_hopefully_). Yes, Mary? + +MARY. He was coming round, I understood him to say, madam. I think +the master has gone up to dress. I think I heard him going into the +bathroom. + + (_The front door bell rings._) + +ARIADNE. Oh! Well, you’d better show Mr. Meldrum in here in case +it’s very urgent business. + +MARY. Yes, madam, I think that’s him now. + +ARIADNE. Very well, Mary. (MARY _goes out and_ ARIADNE _smiles to +herself on the sofa_.) Dear Horace! + +MARY (_announcing_). Mr. Meldrum. + + HORACE _comes in_. + +HORACE (_advancing airily, hand extended_). Ah, dear lady, I just +looked round to say how sorry I was---- + +ARIADNE (_rising dramatically_). Horace! + +HORACE (_less airily_). How sorry I was our little luncheon fell +through---- + +ARIADNE. My darling! + +HORACE (_startled_). Eh? + +ARIADNE. I was afraid something had happened to you. + +HORACE. Oh no, no, no. A little bit of business turned up. You know +how it does. And I said to myself, “Mrs. John is a sensible woman, +she’ll understand how it is when a little bit of business turns up. +She’ll let me off that little bit of lunch I promised her.” But I +thought I’d just come round--only polite---- + +ARIADNE (_bewildered_). Horace! + +HORACE. What’s the matter? + +ARIADNE. Ah, I understand. How tactful of you. But you can speak +quite safely now. We are alone. My husband is upstairs having a bath. +Darling! + +HORACE. I--I--I--Really! + +ARIADNE. As if business would have kept you away from me! What was +it, dear? You had an accident? You fell down? + +HORACE. Really, Mrs. Winter, I don’t quite--I think you must have +made----(_He breaks off, not knowing what to say._) + +ARIADNE. Ah, but never mind! We are all right now. + +HORACE (_mechanically_). All right now. + +ARIADNE. Quite sure? + +HORACE. Quite sure. + +ARIADNE. Then when do we start? + +HORACE. When do we----? + +ARIADNE. When do we start? + +HORACE (_mechanically_). Start. + +ARIADNE. Yes, start. + +HORACE. Start where? + +ARIADNE. That’s for you to say, Horace. What about Spain? + +HORACE. Spain? + +ARIADNE. Yes, Spain. + +HORACE (_mechanically_). Spain.... Spain.... Spain.... Spain.... + +ARIADNE. Spain--until it’s all blown over. + +HORACE. Spain until it’s all blown over.... (_With an effort_) My +dear lady, I--I don’t know what you’re talking about. + +ARIADNE (_horrified_). Horace! + +HORACE. I don’t know what you’re talking about. + +ARIADNE. Have I made a terrible mistake? + +HORACE (_seeming to find some comfort in the phrase_). I don’t know +what you’re talking about. + +ARIADNE. You did ask me to come away with you? + +HORACE. I don’t know what---- + +ARIADNE. To leave my husband and come away with you? + +HORACE (_with energy_). Never! Never! Never! Never! + +ARIADNE. Not on that Friday night when I wore your rose? + +HORACE. Never! + +ARIADNE. And you wore mine? + +HORACE. Never! + +ARIADNE. We _are_ thinking of the same Friday? I mean this last one. + +HORACE. Never thought of such a thing. Never entered my head. + +ARIADNE (_wrinkling her forehead_). I’m sure you said something. + +HORACE (_awkwardly_). Just a little bit of lunch--I don’t say I +didn’t suggest a little bit of lunch. What’s the harm in that? + +ARIADNE. Was that really all? + +HORACE. Absolutely all, ’pon my honour. + +ARIADNE. Oh! How awful! + +HORACE. Awful? What’s awful? + +ARIADNE. What have I done? + +HORACE. What _have_ you done? + +ARIADNE. Why, you see, I left a note for John. + +HORACE (_faintly_). You left what? + +ARIADNE. You see, I misunderstood you, and I left a note for John +saying we were going away together. + +HORACE. But--but--but---- + +ARIADNE. And then you didn’t meet me as we arranged, and I thought +you must have had some terrible accident, so I hurried back here to +wait until you were well again. + +HORACE (_anxiously_). Yes, but what about the note? + +ARIADNE. It was too late. John had read it. + +HORACE. But--but--but--my dear lady---- + +ARIADNE. Wasn’t it a pity? + +HORACE. But wha--wha--what did it say? + +ARIADNE. Oh, just that you and I were going away together, and he +wasn’t to follow us. I didn’t say anything about Spain, because I +wasn’t quite sure. + +HORACE. Well, of all the--well, of all the--well, of all the---- + +ARIADNE (_penitently_). I was hasty, I see that now. But what are we +going to do? + +HORACE. What’s _he_ going to do, that’s the point? + +ARIADNE. Do you mean John? + +HORACE (_anxiously_). What’s he been doing these last two days? + +ARIADNE (_simply_). Waiting for _you_, Horace. + +HORACE (_nervously_). How do you mean, waiting for me? + +ARIADNE. Just waiting for you. I think he wants to speak to you. + +HORACE (_hopefully_). Ah, yes, yes. Perhaps that’s it. There _is_ a +little matter of business between us---- + +ARIADNE. This wasn’t business, Horace. He talked as though it would +be a pleasure. He’s been looking for you everywhere. + +HORACE. What do you think he’s going to say? + +ARIADNE. He didn’t tell me. All he _said_ was that he was going to +break your neck for you. + +HORACE (_in alarm_). But--but--but--but--but---- + +ARIADNE. But I suppose he’ll say, “Ah, Meldrum, here you are,” first. + +HORACE. But--but--but I’ve just fixed things up with old Ingleby. +Little Miss Janet and I--well, but that shows how ridiculous the +whole thing is. I’m marrying Miss Ingleby. + +ARIADNE (_reproachfully_). Not with a broken neck! + +HORACE (_anxiously_). But look here, my dear lady, you must explain. +Tell him the whole thing was a horrible mistake. + +ARIADNE. Oh, I shall. In fact I’m sure he’ll feel it for himself. +He’ll look down at the body and say, “Yes, it was a mistake. I +oughtn’t to have done it.” And I shall say, “I told you so, John. +You see, we’ve got nowhere to put it.” And he’ll say, “What about +the cellar?” and I shall say, “It’s much too big for the cellar,” +and he will say----(_But the sight of_ HORACE’S _face is too much +for her. Weakly she adds_) And he will say----(_and then breaks down +altogether, and laughs hysterically_). + +HORACE (_anxiously_). There, there, my dear lady! _(He tries to +pat her back. She waves him away, and goes on laughing._) There! +there!... There! there!... Try holding the breath ... there, there! + +ARIADNE (_shaking her head at him_). Oh, Mr. Meldrum! (_She laughs +again._) + +HORACE (_with sudden relief_). You were joking? Of course! That’s it! +You were just joking about John and the letter you left for him! You +haven’t told him anything. Of course you haven’t. + +ARIADNE (_still rather weak_). Oh, Mr. Meldrum! + +HORACE (_anxious again_). What? Wasn’t it---- + +ARIADNE. And the poor man actually thought I was attracted by him! + +HORACE (_indignantly_). What? + +ARIADNE. He thought I wanted to share a first-class carriage with him! + +HORACE. Who? + +ARIADNE. Have a little bit of lunch with him--a little bit of dinner +with him--in pink muslin! + +HORACE (_utterly undone_). Well, I’m damned! + +ARIADNE. Catch the last train with him! Good gracious, the man even +thought I wanted to _miss_ the last train with him! With _him_! (_She +points to him, and goes off into laughter again._) + +HORACE. Well, upon my word---- + +ARIADNE. Oh, Mr. Meldrum, you funny, funny man! + +HORACE (_hardly able to believe it_). You mean to tell me that you +were pulling my leg from the word “Go”? + +ARIADNE (_weakly_). Yes. At least, from the word “nesting.” + +HORACE. You’ve just been making a fool of me? + +ARIADNE. No, no. Looking on while you made a fool of yourself. + +HORACE. Well, upon my soul! (_He stares at her in wonderment._) + +ARIADNE. You really mustn’t make love to married women, you know. You +haven’t got the figure for it. I’m not sure that you ought to make +love to anybody. + +HORACE. Fooled me! Fooled poor old Horace Meldrum! + +ARIADNE. From the word muslin. + +HORACE (_gazing at her in admiration_). You _are_ a little devil! + +ARIADNE. But then you like them to show a bit of spirit, don’t you? + +HORACE. By gad, I do! To think that a bit of a woman like you---- + +ARIADNE. Oh, I’m rather more than that. I’m almost all of it. + +HORACE (_beginning to laugh reminiscently_). Right from the +beginning! Poor old Horace bringing round his flowers ... poor old +Horace arranging his little bit of dinner.... Why, I’d actually +telephoned for a table--what do you think of that? At least my clerk +had.... Well, well, well--and you were fooling me all the time! +Fooling poor old Horace Meldrum! What the boys would say if they +knew! Ha, ha, ha! (_He goes off into happy laughter._) + +ARIADNE. It _is_ funny, isn’t it? (_She laughs too._) + +HORACE (_rolling with laughter_). The way you kept it up! + +ARIADNE. If you could have seen your face! + +HORACE. Fooled by a woman! Ha, ha, ha! + +JOHN (_outside_). Is that Meldrum? + +HORACE (_still laughing weakly--his back to the door_). And of course +_he’s_ in the joke too! Ha, ha, ha! + + (JOHN _comes down the stairs two at a time, and bursts in, in his + shirt sleeves, his coat in his hand._) + +JOHN (_fiercely_). Ah, Meldrum, here you are! + +HORACE (_weakly_). That’s how you said he’d begin! Ha, ha, ha.... +Yes, John, old boy, here I am ... oh dear, oh dear! (_He mops at his +eyes, still shaking with laughter._) + +JOHN. Stand up! + +HORACE (_chuckling to_ ARIADNE). He’s going through with it. (_Meekly +as he stands up_) Yes, John. + +JOHN. Don’t call me John. + +ARIADNE. No, John. (_To_ ARIADNE) And he’s taken his coat off and all! + +ARIADNE (_going to_ JOHN). Shall I help you on, dear? + +JOHN (_to_ ARIADNE). I think you had better leave us. + +HORACE. That’s good! “I think you had better leave us.” That’s damned +good. (_He chuckles._) + +ARIADNE (_helping him on_). Why, dear? + +HORACE. He’s going to break my neck, Mrs. Winter. You can’t do that +in the presence of ladies. It isn’t polite. + +JOHN (_stiffly_). I wish to have a few words in private with Mr. +Meldrum. + +HORACE. A few words in private. Capital! + +ARIADNE. As this concerns _me_, I feel that I ought to be present. + +HORACE. Of course she ought. Come, come, John, you can’t spoil the +fun by sending her away. + +JOHN (_grimly_). Fun! + +HORACE (_chuckling_). As pretty a little bit of fun as ever I saw. +And I like a joke. Nobody can say I don’t like a joke. I like a joke +with any man. _(He sinks into the sofa again._) + +JOHN. Stand up! + +ARIADNE. John, he’s tired. + +HORACE (_getting up_). No, no, I’ll play the game. You don’t catch +Horace Meldrum spoiling a bit of fun.... Do I hold my hands up? (_He +winks at_ ARIADNE.) + +JOHN. You ran away with my wife. + +HORACE. Yes, that’s right. Spain. + +JOHN. What? + +HORACE. Spain. We were going to Spain. (_To_ ARIADNE) It was Spain, +wasn’t it? + +ARIADNE (_nodding_). Ronda. + +HORACE. That’s right. What she said. In Spain. + +JOHN. Oh, so it was to be Spain, was it? And, but for the accident of +missing your train, you would be in Spain together now? + +HORACE (_murmuring to himself_). But for the accident of missing the +train, Mrs. Winter and I would have been in Spain. That’s good. I +thought there was a bit of poetry there. (_Putting it to music_) But +for the accident---- + +JOHN (_terrifyingly_). Answer! Is it so? + +HORACE. Well, I don’t know what the trains--(_hastily_) that is to +say, I did look them up, of course--(_looking at his watch_)--yes, we +should just about have been there now--where she said. + +JOHN. And what the devil do you mean by it? + +HORACE (_playing up nobly_). I can only say, as one gentleman to +another, I’m sorry. (_To_ ARIADNE) That’s pretty good for an amateur. + +JOHN. What are you saying to my wife? + +HORACE. That was what they call an “aside,” old boy. + +JOHN. How dare you address my wife at all! Kindly confine your +remarks to me in future. + +HORACE (_chuckling_). Oh, damn good, damn good, on my soul. + +JOHN (_suddenly_). What’s the matter with you? Have you been drinking? + +HORACE (_earnestly_). Not a drop, my dear fellow, not a drop since +tea--well, just after tea. + +JOHN. You can understand what I’m saying? + +HORACE. Perfectly. And believe me, my dear boy, I appreciate it. I +didn’t know you had it in you. + +JOHN (_a trifle bewildered_). Then if you can understand, listen to +_me_. + +HORACE (_weakly_). Yes, John. Don’t make it too difficult for me. + +JOHN (_very impressively_). First: If I ever catch you in my house +again, I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life. Secondly: Your +deeds and papers will be sent back to you to-morrow, and after that I +won’t soil my fingers by touching any of your dirty business again. + +ARIADNE (_to herself, meaning it_). Oh, well done, John! + +HORACE (_meaning something else_). Isn’t he good? + +JOHN. And thirdly: If you so much as put a foot into my office again, +I’ll tell one of my clerks to kick you out. + +HORACE (_in sheer admiration_). Marvellous, my dear fellow, +marvellous. (_He chuckles to himself._) Wonderful touch that about +soiling your fingers--with _my_ business! + +JOHN (_to_ ARIADNE). Is he mad? What’s the matter with him? + +ARIADNE. I think he thinks you’re joking, dear. I think he thinks +you’ve been joking all the time. + +JOHN (_staggered_). Joking? + +ARIADNE. Yes, I think that’s what he thinks. I don’t think he’s +taking you quite seriously. + +JOHN (_grimly_). Oh!... So you think I’m joking, eh? + +HORACE (_comfortably_). My dear man, I _know_ you’re joking. + +JOHN. And how do you know that? + +HORACE. Good Lord, I’m not a fool. You wouldn’t be talking about +business like that if you weren’t joking. + +ARIADNE. Ah, John, you see! + +JOHN (_nettled_). I’ll soon show you if I’m joking or not. + +HORACE. You did it so damn well that just for a moment you almost +took me in. But when you talk about throwing away good business--all +the nice little jobs I’ve given you, and all the nice little jobs I’m +going to give you--(_chuckling_) why then, bless you, I _know_ you’re +trying to pull my leg. That’s _over_-acting, my boy. + +JOHN. So you think I’m joking when I say that I won’t do any more +business for a man who tries to run away with my wife? + +HORACE. Course I do. + +JOHN. Damn you, I mean it. + +HORACE (_waving him down_). No, no, dear boy. + +JOHN (_appealingly_). Ariadne, tell him I mean it. Tell him I’m +serious. + +ARIADNE. But it sounds so silly, John. + +JOHN (_to_ HORACE). I mean it, do you hear? + +HORACE (_chuckling comfortably_). No, no, dear boy. You’ve put up +a very good performance, but now you’re getting carried away. It’s +going to your head. As long as you talk about breaking my neck, and +thrashing me within an inch of my life, that’s all right, I say +nothing against that. That’s all in the character. But for a man to +talk of throwing away good business, just because his wife and his +best client---- + +JOHN (_grimly_). Now I’m going to kill you. + +HORACE (_chuckling_). Ah, stick to that and you can’t go wrong. +That’s expected of a husband. That’s in the character. All I say---- + +JOHN (_advancing threateningly_). I shouldn’t waste your breath +talking. Put your hands up! + +HORACE (_in an ecstasy of admiring laughter_). Oh, John, John, you’ll +be the death of me. You ought to have gone on the stage. + +JOHN. Put them up! + +HORACE (_retreating behind_ ARIADNE). Keep him off, Mrs. Winter. Stop +him! Oh Lord, oh Lord, I haven’t laughed like this---- + +JOHN. Out of the way, Ariadne. + +ARIADNE. What are you going to do, John? + +HORACE (_between laughs_). He’s going to kill me. + +ARIADNE. You mustn’t do that. + +HORACE. He’s doing it, Mrs. Winter, he’s doing it. I shall never get +over this. + +ARIADNE. I think you had better go, Mr. Meldrum. + +HORACE. Yes, yes, I’ll go. Oh Lord, oh Lord! (_As he goes to the +door_, JOHN _makes a move after him_.) + +ARIADNE. John! (JOHN _stops_.) Stay here, please. I want to talk to +you. (JOHN _hesitates_.) You’d better sit down. (JOHN _sits down_.) +Thank you, dear. (_Coldly_) Good-bye, Mr. Meldrum. + +HORACE (_at the door, still rather weak_). Good-bye, dear lady, +good----(_Suddenly recovering himself_) Why, bless my soul, I’d +almost forgotten what I came about. Our little joke put it clean out +of my head. (_Very businesslike_) John, I want to see you to-morrow +about my marriage settlement--Janet and I have fixed things up--I +arranged with old Ingleby to meet him at your office. Eleven o’clock +suit you? Right. I’ll tell him. So long. (_He nods to_ JOHN, _and +then slowly begins to chuckle to himself again_.) You wag! + + [_He goes out._ + +JOHN (_rather bewildered--after a pause_). What was that he said? +Marriage settlement? + +ARIADNE. Yes, dear. + +JOHN. Getting married? To Janet? + +ARIADNE. He thinks so. + +JOHN. Then how----But in that case he couldn’t---- + +ARIADNE. Exactly. + +JOHN (_after a pause, still puzzling it out_). He said he thought it +was all a joke my being angry. Why did he think it was all a joke? + +ARIADNE. Because of what you said about giving up good business. + +JOHN. Ridiculous nonsense! + +ARIADNE. That was what he thought. + +JOHN. Why shouldn’t I have given it up? Of course, to a man like +Meldrum business _would_ seem the only thing that mattered. But to +any decent man----(_He stops._) + +ARIADNE. To any decent man----? + +JOHN (_still thinking_). But that wasn’t it. Directly I came in he +treated the whole thing as a joke. Why? + +ARIADNE. Perhaps because I told him that the whole thing _was_ a joke. + +JOHN. You told him? (_He stares at her._) Good Lord, then, you mean +it wasn’t true that you were going off with him? + +ARIADNE (_reproachfully_). True! + +JOHN. Your letter----(_He feels in his pocket for it._) + +ARIADNE. John, did you really think I could possibly---- + +JOHN. But that telegram. You had made _some_ sort of an arrangement +with him. + +ARIADNE. I might have had lunch with him if he’d caught his train. I +don’t know. Would you mind that? Your favourite client. + +JOHN (_having found the letter_). But if it was just lunch, why do +you say this about going into the unknown together. + +ARIADNE. We were lunching at Frascati’s. + +JOHN. And that was all? Did he only suggest lunch? (_She says +nothing._) Did he? + +ARIADNE (_smiling to herself_). Well, I led him on a little. Just to +see how far he _would_ go. + +JOHN. Why? Oh, I see, to teach him a lesson. + +ARIADNE. Mr. Meldrum? You can’t teach _him_ anything. + +JOHN. Then why? + +ARIADNE. Well, perhaps to teach somebody else a lesson. + +JOHN (_blustering_). I can’t make women out. How you could ever have +thought of lunching with a man like that. But women are all the same, +they never know a bounder when they see one. + +ARIADNE. I suppose they don’t. + +JOHN. Meldrum! And Janet Ingleby is going to marry him! There you are +again. Just what I say. + +ARIADNE. Women _are_ funny, of course. + +JOHN (_still with the letter_). Oh, then there’s this: “We are +poles asunder, as Hector--We are poles asunder on the most vitally +important thing in life.” What does that mean? What is the most +vitally important thing in life? + +ARIADNE (_quietly_). The order in which you put things. What comes +first? + +JOHN (_uncomfortably_). I don’t know what you mean. (_Pathetically_) +God, I _have_ had a rotten week-end. + +ARIADNE (_sympathetically_). Have you, darling? + +JOHN. I’ve been perfectly miserable. (_Awkwardly_) I told Meldrum off +all right, didn’t I? + +ARIADNE. You did, dear. + +JOHN. I suppose he did go pretty far? + +ARIADNE. Pretty far. + +JOHN. That’s what I thought. That’s why I said I wouldn’t have any of +his business in my office again. You heard me say that? + +ARIADNE. Didn’t you hear me clapping? + +JOHN (_eagerly_). Did you? + +ARIADNE. Didn’t you see the pride of me? + +JOHN (_after a pause_). I suppose I shall just have to do this +marriage settlement for him. I can hardly get out of that very well. +I mean--old Ingleby---- + +ARIADNE. You needn’t be afraid. I fancy you’ll find that he has been +rather hopeful about that. + +JOHN. You mean she won’t marry him after all? + +ARIADNE. Not she. + +JOHN. Oh!... (_Thoughtfully_) What a pity! That might have led +to something with old Ingleby. Well then (_bravely, but a little +reluctantly_), I wash my hands of Meldrum’s business altogether. +That’s settled. + +ARIADNE. I don’t think you need go quite as far as that, John. + +JOHN (_relieved_). Oh!... (_Very firmly_) Well, anyhow, he never +comes into this house again. + +ARIADNE. You know, I don’t think it would matter if he did. I think +we understand each other now, and he rather amuses me. + +JOHN (_relieved_) Oh! ... well--well, anyhow---- + + (_But there he stops. There seems to be no other heroic gesture + available._) + +ARIADNE. Well, I must be dressing. You’re ready. (_She gets up._) + +JOHN. I’ll come up. I’ve got one or two things to do. (_He looks at +his watch and mechanically goes to the clock to put it right. While +he is doing this, his back to her, he says shyly_) Ariadne! + +ARIADNE. Yes? + +JOHN (_very shyly, very humbly_). Thank you for not going away from +me. (_He holds out a hand behind him._) + +ARIADNE (_taking it_). Oh, John! + + (_Hand in hand they walk to the door. He opens it for her._) + +JOHN (_with a little smile_). Ariadne first! + +ARIADNE (_smiling too_). Just for a little longer. + + [_She goes out._ + + (_He waits to turn off the switch. The lamps by the fire are + still alight--good money thrown away. Firmly, without hurrying, + he begins to walk across the room----_) + +ARIADNE (_from outside_). Come along, darling! + + (_He stops; looks at the light. After all, what is twopence?_ + ARIADNE _first! Magnificently he switches all the lights on, and + goes after her._) + + + + + PORTRAIT OF A GENTLEMAN IN SLIPPERS + + A COMEDY IN ONE ACT + + + + + CHARACTERS + + KING HILARY XXIV. + OTHO (_his body-servant_). + PRINCESS AMARIL. + THE STRANGER. + +_A room in the King’s Palace--once upon a time_ + + + + + _It is mid-morning, and His Majesty (aged 30, shall we say?) is + being shaved by_ OTHO _in one of the rooms in his Palace. It + is not his bedroom, for he does not sleep there; nor is it a + reception room, though he is soon to receive his Chancellor. Let + us call it his dressing-room, and assume that a man, so fond of + posing as he, will spend much of his time within it._ + + _He is all the Kings that there have been in fairy-tales + and history. All the stories which have been told of the + condescension of Kings were first told of him. When the workman’s + little child falls down in front of the King’s carriage; when + the intoxicated reveller, unaware of his identity, treats him + as a boon-companion and a fellow-republican; when the sentry + challenges him at the Palace gates, and refuses to let him pass; + in these and a hundred emergencies none so conventionally royal + as_ HILARY. _He sees himself always as the hero of a royal story, + or as sitter for a royal portrait._ + + _At the moment he is the King condescending to his faithful + servant--one of his favourite poses. We must assume that he is + wearing his crown--or will as soon as_ OTHO _has finished with + him. In those days they always did._ + +OTHO. There! As pretty a shave as ever your Majesty has had. + +KING. I am indebted to you, good Otho. + +OTHO. It is a pleasure to deal with a beard like your Majesty’s. +(_Sponging his face_) A beard so--so--if I may use the phrase---- + +KING. You have my permission. + +OTHO. So responsive. A beard like your Majesty’s, which, in a manner +of speaking, meets the razor half-way---- + +KING. I don’t know that I am interested in the assignations of my +beard. + +OTHO. As your Majesty pleases. (_He prepares to spray the royal +face_) If you will condescend to close your Majesty’s eyes---- + +KING (_closing them_). Gladly. I was fast wearying of the pattern of +the ceiling. It has a sort of---- + +OTHO. If it were also your Majesty’s pleasure to close the +mouth--Thank you, your Majesty. (_He sprays him_) The towel. (_He +hands it._) + +KING (_dabbing his face_). You are the only man in my kingdom who +dare tell me to shut my mouth. It is an unusual privilege. You have +no children? + +OTHO. No, your Majesty, nor likely to. + +KING. If I were sure of that, I should make the privilege hereditary. +It would be an appropriate reward for your services. + +OTHO (_gracefully_). The pleasure and privilege of serving your +Majesty---- + +KING. Is enough? Is that what you were about to say? + +OTHO. To tell truth, your Majesty, I proposed to leave the +sentence in the air, as a simple expression of loyalty. There were +difficulties in the way of finishing it. + +KING. Wise Otho. + +OTHO. One must live. + +KING. True. (_With a yawn_) And we must marry, it seems. + +OTHO. It is generally expected of a King. + +KING. So much is expected of a King. He has nothing to do but to +fulfil expectations. + +OTHO. The approaching ceremony is a matter of the utmost rejoicing, +your Majesty. + +KING. Another simple expression of loyalty? + +OTHO. Not only on my lips this time, your Majesty, but in the hearts +of your devoted subjects. + +KING. Ah! (_He permits himself a faint smile_) Now, Otho, here is a +question for you. See how you answer it. + +OTHO. I will answer it truthfully, your Majesty. + +KING. Can loyalty and truth be combined? + +OTHO. By one who has made it his particular study, your Majesty. + +KING. Come, then! Is it for my sake that the people most rejoice, or +for the sake of Her Royal Highness? + +OTHO. For both, your Majesty. But in their great loyalty they do not +lose sight of the fact that the day is proclaimed a national holiday. + +KING (_on his dignity_). Otho! + +OTHO. (_bowing_). Your Majesty! + +KING (_recovering his sense of humour_). You are a good fellow, Otho. +(_He laughs._) + +OTHO. Thank you, your Majesty. Your Majesty will understand how +devoted I am to your Majesty’s service. + +KING. A good fellow. But there are moments when I weary of being +called Your Majesty more than three times in a sentence. Particularly +when, as now, in undress. (_Graciously_) After all, Otho, I am only a +man like yourself. + +OTHO. It is very condescending of your Majesty. + +KING. “Of you.” + +OTHO (_surprised_). Of me? + +KING. No, no!... Well, well, call me what you like. + +OTHO. Thank you, your Majesty. It is, I assure your Majesty, no +trouble to me at all. + +KING. You will hardly believe it, but that was not in my mind at the +moment. + +OTHO. Naturally, your Majesty.... (_He busies himself +professionally._) + +KING. So our good people rejoice at the marriage? + +OTHO. Men and women, your Majesty, young and old. Indeed, some of the +old women, in a spirit of loyal anticipation, have already named the +first baby for your Majesty. + +KING (_airily_). Boy or girl? + +OTHO. They have taken the liberty of anticipating a beautiful young +Prince of the name of Rollo. + +KING. Remind me when the time comes. + +OTHO. Thank you, your Majesty. + +KING. Rollo--it is as good a name as any other. + +OTHO. The people will be much gratified by your Majesty’s choice. + +KING. What more can a King desire, my good Otho? + +OTHO. It depends a little on the King, your Majesty. + +KING (_ironically_). Their gratification would not be lessened by +the fact that any such happy event might be made the occasion for +_another_ national holiday? + +OTHO. Speaking as one who will probably not be participating in it, I +should imagine not, your Majesty. + +KING. Otho! + +OTHO (_bowing_). Your Majesty! + +KING (_recovering his sense of humour_). You are irresistible. I +give you the day now. Make your arrangements. I regret that I cannot +guarantee the weather. + +OTHO. Your Majesty is gracious as ever to his humble servant. I shall +take the liberty of anticipating King’s Weather. + +KING. That should be easy to a man who has already anticipated the +baby. + + (_There is a knock at the door._) + +A VOICE. May I come in? + +OTHO. Her Royal Highness. + +KING (_loftily_). See to it, Otho. + + (AMARIL _comes in, as pretty as a princess in a story-book. The + only fault that we can find in her is that she has a sense of + humour. Poor girl._) + +PRINCESS. But I _am_ in. (_She curtseys_) Good morning! + +KING (_royally_). We are delighted to see your Royal Highness. (_He +advances towards her._) + +PRINCESS (_kissing his hand_). Your Majesty! + +KING (_raising her to her feet and kissing her formally on the +cheek_). Princess! (_He leads her to a couch._) You wish to see me? + +PRINCESS. Do I? I suppose I do. Is it too early--or too late? Are you +at business--or at rest? To come to a point, have I chosen the wrong +moment, or are you glad that I am here?... How difficult for you to +answer! + +KING. Leave us, Otho. + +OTHO (_bowing_). Your Majesty! Your Royal Highness! + + [_He goes out._ + +PRINCESS. Well? + +KING (_stiffly_). No moment is the wrong moment for your Royal +Highness, no hour too early, nor too late. + +PRINCESS. And yet----? + +KING. And yet? + +PRINCESS. You are the King, and I should have craved audience? + +KING. Five minutes ago I was being shaved. + +PRINCESS (_happily_). I wish I had seen you. + +KING. So that even were I not the King---- + +PRINCESS. And even were we already married---- + +KING. I should have wished to know that your Royal Highness---- + +PRINCESS. “Your Majesty” in that case. + +KING. --that your Majesty were coming. + +PRINCESS. I understand. I have been forward, ill-bred, unroyal. + +KING. My dear Amaril! (_But he looks a little uncomfortable._) + +PRINCESS (_after a pause_). Hilary! + +KING. Yes? + +PRINCESS (_anxiously_). I may call you Hilary--before we are married? + +KING. It is for your Royal Highness to call me whatever she is +pleased to call me. + +PRINCESS (_smiling_). I used to call you Toto. Do you remember? + +KING. I beg you not to call me Toto in front of the Chancellor. He +would undoubtedly resign. + +PRINCESS. Do you remember? + +KING (_stiffly_). We were very young in those days. + +PRINCESS. We are not very old now. + +KING (_wearily_). I am a hundred and nine. Or is it a hundred and ten? + +PRINCESS. I think I could make you younger than that.... We used to +kiss when we were children. Do you remember? + +KING (_gracefully_). It is a privilege which is still granted to me +from time to time. + +PRINCESS (_shaking her head_). Oh, no! It is not a privilege ... +which is granted ... from time to time. It just happens.... Do you +remember how it happened that first time? + +KING. How does it happen with children? They are told to kiss each +other good-night. Did I have my mouth wiped for me first? I forget. + +PRINCESS (_smiling to herself_). We were playing in the gardens. You +said you wanted to practise rescues, and you asked me if I minded +falling into the pond, so that you could jump in and save me. And I +said I would. And I fell in ... and a gardener jumped in after me and +pulled me out. And I taunted you, and said you had been afraid, and +that I should have drowned if the gardener hadn’t saved me. And you +said you were just going to jump, only your foot slipped; and I said, +No, you were a coward, and the gardener was a much braver man, and +I would tell my father, and he would let me marry the gardener when +I grew up. And I put my tongue out, and kept saying “Coward!” And +suddenly you smacked my face--oh, with all your strength--and cried +that you _weren’t_ a coward, you _weren’t_, you _weren’t_, and you +burst into tears ... and then your arms were round my neck and you +kissed me, and sobbed, “_Don’t_ marry the gardener. My foot did slip, +_really_--but I promise you it will _never_ slip again.” And so we +clung to each other, and cried together. And I promised you that I +would marry _you_, not the gardener.... And that is why I am marrying +you to-morrow--because I promised.... (_There is a silence between +them._) + +KING (_coldly_). I struck you, I betrayed you, I was a coward; and +you choose this moment to remind me of it. + +PRINCESS (_distressed_). Oh _no_, Hilary, no!... It was just the +little boy I loved. I wanted to remind you of _him_. + +KING. Do you think I need to be reminded? Do you think I am not +ashamed? A coward! + +PRINCESS. No, no, your foot slipped. + +KING (_bitterly_). And a liar! + +PRINCESS. Oh, let me say it did! Let me find excuses for you! + +KING. We can be honest with each other now. + +PRINCESS (_sadly_). Am I going to lose that little boy? + +KING. I want you to know me as I am. Yes, you were right to remind +me of what I was, but you will have nothing to fear from me in the +future. That I can promise you. I shall not betray you again. + +PRINCESS. I was not frightened, Hilary. + +KING. Even now, if you were afraid--if you wished to return to your +own country--even now---- + +PRINCESS. Do you want me to go? + +KING (_formally_). How can you ask me? + +PRINCESS (_wistfully_). How can you not answer? + +KING (_gallantly_). Your Royal Highness has made me the proudest man +in my Kingdom--and her most devoted subject. + +PRINCESS (_with a sigh_). And I once called him Toto! + +KING. I think we may assume that Toto is dead. + +PRINCESS (_sadly_). I think we may. + +KING. But Hilary remains. + +PRINCESS. Toto the First is dead. Long live Hilary the Twenty-fourth! + +KING. And Long live the Queen! + +PRINCESS (_with a sigh_). So long as it doesn’t seem long. (_She gets +up_) Have I permission to leave your Majesty? + +KING (_smiling_). My reluctant permission. (_He comes to her._) + +PRINCESS. Reluctantly I avail myself of it. (_She kisses his hand. He +raises her and kisses her cheek._) + +KING (_whispering as he kisses her_). Don’t marry the gardener! + +PRINCESS (_turning to him eagerly_). Toto! (_But he is the King +again. She says coldly_) I beg your pardon, Hilary. (_She moves +away._) + +KING. Otho! + +OTHO (_coming in_). Your Majesty! (_He opens the door for the_ +PRINCESS) Your Royal Highness! + + [_She goes out._ + +KING. Is the Chancellor here? + +OTHO. Not yet, your Majesty. But there is a sort of person outside +who craves admittance into your Majesty’s presence. + +KING. What sort of person? + +OTHO. Just a sort of person, your Majesty. + +KING. What does he want? + +OTHO. What he actually said was: “I want to see the King.” + +KING. And that is what you call “craving admittance”? + +OTHO. Another form of it, your Majesty. I fancy that he brings a gift +for your Majesty’s gracious consideration. + +KING (_doubtfully_). H’m! + +OTHO (_helpfully_). The gift appears to be about two feet by one. + +KING (_ironically_). One deduces that it is neither a horse nor a +diamond. + +OTHO. Of which your Majesty has already a sufficiency. + +KING. Why is it that you wish me to see him? + +OTHO. I assure your Majesty that I know nothing of him. Yet there is +an air about him.... + +KING (_resigned_). Well, let him come. (_He seats himself regally._) + +OTHO. Yes, your Majesty. + + (_He goes out and returns with the_ STRANGER. _The_ STRANGER _has + something wrapped up, two feet by one, under his arm. He bows to + the_ KING.) + +KING. Otho! (OTHO, _who was going, remains_.) You wish to see me? + +STRANGER. I wish to see your Majesty.... I have already had the +privilege of seeing your Majesty’s body-servant. + +KING (_coldly_). Well, now you see us both. + +STRANGER. It would seem to be so, your Majesty, but, alas! it is +not. In my great humility, my eyes keep resting upon the humble +countenance of your Majesty’s servant. + +KING. If you have anything to say, you may say it in front of him. He +does not talk. + +STRANGER. You mean that your Majesty does not listen. + +KING (_after a pause_). Leave us, Otho. + +OTHO. Your Majesty! + + [_He goes._ + +KING (_coldly_). Well? + +STRANGER. I have a marriage gift for your Majesty. + +KING. Which my servant may not see? + +STRANGER. Your Majesty would wish to see it first. + +KING. Is it so very alarming? + +STRANGER. It is just a mirror. + +KING. And what shall I see there? + +STRANGER. Your Majesty will see--himself. + +KING (_picking up the hand-mirror_). What else do I see in this? + +STRANGER. Your Majesty sees only the King. + +KING (_with a sigh_). True, they are different. The mirror does not +show what the skilled painter can show. The portrait of me in my +coronation robes which the Court Painter---- + +STRANGER (_smilingly_). Oh, your Majesty, the Court Painter! + +KING (_coldly_). You are in error, sir. I ordered him on this +occasion to paint me as I really am. The man beneath the King. + +STRANGER (_thoughtfully_). The Court Painter has an extravagant wife +and many children. + +KING. Well? + +STRANGER. I think he painted the King. + +KING (_warningly_). You are a brave man. + +STRANGER. I have neither wife nor children. + +KING. And a foolish one. There are men, and not Kings only, whose +secret selves are hidden from the world. So much is true. Indeed, +with a King it must be so. His life is so public that he must needs +build himself a private life in which he may take refuge. There +are men, yes, and Kings, whose secret selves are hidden even from +themselves. They know not of what they are capable. Sometimes I wish +that I were one of them. For, oh! my friend, if ever there was a man +who knew himself, and was weary of himself, it is I. + +STRANGER. Now, where have I heard that said? + +KING. And so, if your mirror be truly as you say it be, I shall greet +the face which I see there as that of an old friend; the face of a +lonely man; a man who wishes what he will never achieve--to be loved +for himself, as he is, with all his faults. + +STRANGER. I seem to have heard _that_ said too. + +KING (_with a sentimental sigh_). With all his faults! + +STRANGER. What particular faults were you thinking of, your Majesty? + +KING (_warming to it_). I have, perhaps, an impetuosity which I do +not show my people; a nature capable of more passion than I will +let be seen. At heart I am indolent; I would gladly spend my day +listening to music, or in contemplation of nature. I am rash; it may +be that I jump to conclusions too quickly. Extravagant, yes; those +who really knew me would say, “Recklessly so.” Ah yes, sir, there is +indeed a very humble fellow beneath the King. + +STRANGER. He sounds an attractive fellow. + +KING (_with a sigh_). I would that I could think so. + +STRANGER. I have often noticed that the faults to which humble +people most readily confess are those which, in less humble men, +would be regarded as virtues. + +KING (_coldly_). Explain yourself. + +STRANGER. I have yet to meet a man who says: “Alas, I know myself! I +know that I am a liar and a coward.” + +KING (_rising furiously_). Sir! + +STRANGER. But I have met many who say: “Alas, I am full of faults! My +generosity is extravagance; my courage, recklessness; my chivalry, +mere foolishness!” + +KING (_grimly_). Of your generosity and chivalry I know nothing, but +certainly your courage has the appearance of recklessness. + +STRANGER. How so, your Majesty? + +KING. You are at my mercy. + +STRANGER. I am content to be so. To every man there comes a time when +life has no longer the charm which once he found in it ... and even +to a King there must come a day when the sudden death of another man +loses its first beauty. + +KING (_sulkily_). I suffer no man to call me coward. + +STRANGER. I call your Majesty nothing. It is the mirror which will +tell your Majesty the truth. + +KING. You think I am afraid to look? + +STRANGER. If your Majesty knows himself, he has no reason to be +afraid. + + (_He begins to unwrap it_.) + +KING (_hesitating_). Why do you bring it to me now? + +STRANGER. Your Majesty is to be married to-morrow. + +KING. But what of that? + +STRANGER. A man can hide from himself what he cannot hide from his +wife. Within a year Her Majesty will know what you will never know, +unless you have seen it here--the truth about yourself. + +KING. Is it well that I should know? + +STRANGER. A wife should have no secrets from her husband. + + (_He stands the mirror on the table._) + +KING (_suspiciously_). This is some trick. (_He comes slowly to the +mirror, looking doubtfully at the_ STRANGER _as he comes._) + +STRANGER. No trick, your Majesty. + + (_The_ KING _stands in front of the mirror. Suddenly he starts + back in horror._) + +KING (_furiously_). It is a trick! + +STRANGER. No, your Majesty. + + (_The_ KING _looks more closely. He moves his head, his hands, + his eyes ... and watches himself, fascinated._) + +KING (_in a low voice_). It is no trick. + +STRANGER. What does your Majesty see? + +KING (_his eyes still on the mirror, and beckoning with his hand_). +Look! + +STRANGER (_not moving_). What does your Majesty see? + +KING (_slowly_). Cruelty, cowardice, deceit, vanity, cunning, +arrogance---- + +STRANGER. It is a catalogue of the lesser virtues. + +KING. Treachery, meanness, false humility---- + +STRANGER. False humility. One must avoid that. + +KING. Never have I seen such a face. + +STRANGER. It is remarkable how most of us carry it off. + +KING. And this man--can I call him a man?--this monster is to be +married to-morrow.... Poor girl! + +STRANGER (_calmly_). Doubtless she knows. + +KING (_turning to him_). How can she know? Until two days ago, we had +not met since we were children. + +STRANGER. True. I was forgetting. It is thus that royalty marries. + +KING. She must know. + +STRANGER. She will find out. + +KING. But it will be too late. + +STRANGER. Is it not too late now? + +KING. No! No! She must see! She must be warned! + +STRANGER. Is it a marriage of love, then? + +KING (_in a low voice_). I love her.... Can a King love? But I do +love her. + +STRANGER. Let her see, then. + +KING (_still at the mirror_). Yes, yes! (_He rings a bell._) + +OTHO (_coming in_). Your Majesty! + +KING. Otho! Here! (_He beckons him to the mirror._) + +STRANGER (_warningly_). Your Majesty! (_He shakes his head._) + +KING (_taking the hint_). Otho, ask Her Royal Highness if she can +give me a moment of her time. + +OTHO (_withdrawing_). Yes, your Majesty. + +KING. You are right. Otho must not know the truth about me. + +STRANGER (_with a smile_). I was not thinking of that, your Majesty. +I was thinking that it would be unwise for you to know the truth +about Otho. + +KING. Unwise? + +STRANGER. The world is at an end if we lose our illusions about our +friends. It is a small matter that they should lose theirs about us. + +KING (_haughtily_). Otho is my servant. + +STRANGER. Yet if he is not your friend, who is? + +KING (_sadly_). True. A King can have no friends. + +STRANGER. Which is an excellent reason why he should seek one in the +woman he marries. Perhaps it would be better not to show the mirror +to Her Royal Highness. + +KING. My mind is made up. It is her right. + +STRANGER. Then may I suggest that your Majesty stands a little to one +side of the mirror, and avoids looking into it, lest he should see +Her Royal Highness there. + +KING (_angrily_). Do you dare to suggest---- + +STRANGER. Your Majesty would see nothing but truth and goodness in +her face; yet--what is a woman if she has no secrets from us? + +OTHO (_announcing_). Her Royal Highness! + + (_The_ STRANGER _covers the mirror again_.) + +PRINCESS (_coming in_). Your Majesty wanted me? + +STRANGER. Have I your Majesty’s permission to retire? + +KING (_regally_). We are indebted to you for your gift. + +STRANGER (_bowing_). Your Majesty is most gracious. + + [OTHO _takes him off_. + +PRINCESS. Nice-looking man.... Is it a present, Hilary? + +KING. Come here, Amaril. + +PRINCESS (_coming_). Yes? + +KING (_taking her by the shoulders and looking at her_). You will be +brave? But I can see that you are brave. + +PRINCESS. What is it? Are you trying to frighten me? What has +happened? Why are you so strange? + +KING (_bitterly_). Strange--yes. (_After a pause_) Amaril, what do +you really know of me? + +PRINCESS. Nothing, Hilary. + +KING. You see the King, wearing his crown--and his mask. But what do +you know of the man beneath? + +PRINCESS. Nothing, Hilary. + +KING. Yet you are willing to marry me? + +PRINCESS. We have not much choice in our world. + +KING. If I could show you the real man; if the sight of him filled +you with horror; would you have the courage, even at this hour, to +leave him and go back to your own country? + +PRINCESS. I am not a coward, Hilary. I would have the courage to +leave him, if I wished to leave him--and I would have the courage to +stay with him, if I wished to help him. + +KING (_bitterly_). No, _you_ are not a coward. But what am I? + +PRINCESS. I think you are a little morbid about yourself sometimes. + +KING. And I have reason to be. + +PRINCESS. You have a picture of yourself to show me. Is that it? + +KING. A mirror in which you shall see me as I really am. + + (_He takes the cover off._) + +PRINCESS. Ah! + +KING. When you have seen it, you will know ... and I shall not see +you again. (_He motions her to stand in front of it._) Come! + +PRINCESS (_not moving_). Is it so terrible? + +KING. To me, yes. To you, also, when you have seen it. + +PRINCESS. Yet you are willing to show it to me? + +KING (_with dignity_). It is only fair to your Royal Highness. As a +man of honour---- + +PRINCESS. As a man of honour you are prepared to throw away your +chance of happiness with me? + +KING (_heroically_). As a man of honour I must. + +PRINCESS. It is happiness? You still wish me to marry you? + +KING. If your Royal Highness could stoop so low. But I am ashamed to +ask. + +PRINCESS (_her temper rising_). At least, then, I shall see in the +mirror the portrait of a man of honour. There will be humility also, +and shame. Is it so terrible a picture? (_The_ KING _says nothing. +She goes on scornfully_) Or shall I see none of these things? Is His +Majesty still posing, still wearing his crown and mask, still making +a portrait of himself for his own delight? + +KING (_regally_). Madam, you go too far! + +PRINCESS (_exhibiting him to the world_). Portrait of King Hilary the +Twenty-Fourth on his royal dignity: “Madam, you go too far.” One more +portrait for your private gallery! Portrait of the King condescending +royally to his body-servant: “Amuse me, good Otho. I am aweary of +this world.” Portrait of the King graciously accepting marriage +gifts from strangers: “Sir, we thank you. We Kings are lonely +men....” Portrait of the King discovering that he is full of evil and +resolving to enter a monastery--portrait of the King deciding that +for the sake of his beloved people he will remain outside--portrait +of the---- + +KING (_furiously_). You _dare_ to say these things to me? + +PRINCESS. I dare to say these things to you! _I_ am not a false, +dressed-up coward like--_that_ man! (_In her anger she has been +walking up and down, and now finds herself enough in front of the +mirror to see the_ KING’S _face in it. She points scornfully at it as +she says, “That man.” Then suddenly her expression changes; she looks +in amazement at the mirror--at the_ KING--_at the mirror again_.) +Toto! + +KING (_staggered_). What? + +PRINCESS (_turning eagerly to him_). Toto! My darling! You’ve come +back to me! + +KING. What madness is this? + +PRINCESS (_to the mirror_). My ugly little, stupid little, vain +little, bad little, _funny_ little Toto! (_She goes to him and throws +her arms round him._) My darling, why didn’t you tell me? + +KING (_with dignity_). Really, Amaril, this is most----(_He tries to +disengage himself._) + +PRINCESS (_soothing him_). There, there! + +OTHO (_outside_). Your Majesty? + +KING (_frantically_). Amaril!... Enter, Otho! + + (OTHO _comes in, as the_ PRINCESS _slips away from the_ KING. + _The latter hastily covers the mirror._) + +OTHO. Your Majesty, the Chancellor is without. + +KING (_very regal_). We will receive him, Otho. (_He seats himself._) + +PRINCESS (_with immense dignity_). Have I your Majesty’s leave to +withdraw? + +KING (_offering a royal hand_). Your Royal Highness! + +PRINCESS (_kissing it_). Your Majesty! + + (OTHO _conducts her out by the one door, and returns to the + other for the Chancellor. The_ KING _assumes the portrait of + “Hilary XXIV. receiving his Chancellor in audience.” Just as his + expression is at its best, the_ PRINCESS _pops her head in at the + door_.) + +PRINCESS (_in a babyish sing-song voice_). To-to! + + (_He turns angrily. She blows a kiss to him and disappears + again._) + +OTHO (_announcing_). His Excellency the Chancellor! + + (_The_ KING _awaits him regally_.) + + + + + SUCCESS + + A PLAY IN THREE ACTS + + + + + CHARACTERS + + + THE RT. HON. R. SELBY MANNOCK, M.P. + LADY JANE MANNOCK. + ARTHUR MANNOCK. + FREDA MANNOCK. + DIGBY. + EDWARD EVERSLEY. + BERTIE CAPP. + JOHN READER. + LORD CARCHESTER. + NITE. + SQUIER. + BUTEUS MAIDEN. + SALLY. + + + Act I. Cavendish Square. Evening. + + Act II. Enderways, Yorkshire. + + _Scene_ 1: Dick’s Room. Midnight ... and after. + + _Scene_ 2: A Corner of the Wilderness. Early Morning. + + Act III. Cavendish Square. + + _Scene_ 1: Afternoon. + + _Scene_ 2: Afternoon, two days later. + + +This play was first produced at the Haymarket Theatre on June 21, +1923, with the following cast: + + _The Rt. Hon. R. Selby Mannock, M.P._ CHARLES CHERRY. + _Lady Jane Mannock_ GRACE LANE. + _Arthur Mannock_ JOHN WILLIAMS. + _Freda Mannock_ JOYCE KENNEDY. + _Digby_ EUGENE LEAHY. + _Edward Eversley_ HALLIWELL HOBBES. + _Bertie Capp_ REGINALD OWEN. + _John Reader_ REGINALD BACH. + _Lord Carchester_ ERIC STANLEY. + _Nite_ SYDNEY BROMLEY. + _Squier_ LEWIS SHAW. + _Buteus Maiden_. RITA SEYMOUR. + _Sally_ MOYNA MACGILL. + + + + + ACT I + + + SCENE: _Cavendish Square. Evening. The_ MANNOCK _family has + finished with the grosser forms of eating, and is now dealing + politely with the nuts and wine. It does this in what is called + the library (though_ MANNOCK _is not much of a reader), leaving + the debris of the dinner, and the airs which cling to it, to + the dining-room. The four of them, very clean, very proper, + very safe, sit round the polished mahogany, cracking, munching, + talking._ SELBY MANNOCK, _that rising young Cabinet Minister + in the late forties, is intent on a particularly tiresome nut + which won’t declare itself. He deals with it methodically, his + grave, handsome face showing no sign of anxiety. Probably he was + human once, but now the official manner has descended on him. He + can say things like “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have nailed our + colours to the mast,” or “Our glorious Empire on which the sun + never sets,” without feeling uncomfortable. He is obviously an + important man; not pompously so, but with the quiet assurance + which only middle-aged politicians can bring to the pretence that + any of us matters more to Heaven than another. There was a time + when he had a conscience, but it gave up the struggle some years + ago, and is now as departmental as his manner._ LADY JANE, _his + wife, has the manner too. She was born in high politics, whereas_ + MANNOCK _has only acquired them. She still has the prettiness, + though it is colder now, which, with her position and money, + carried him off his feet twenty-five years ago, and replaced him + a dozen rungs of the ladder ahead of his contemporaries. Her + world is divided into people who matter at the moment, and people + who don’t; to the former she can be very pleasant indeed; to + the latter also, if there is a chance of their mattering later + on. On the other side of her is their only son_ ARTHUR, _just + down from the Varsity. At the moment he is rebellious, hating + the manner as much as a Vicar’s son hates the Litany. But it is + doubtful if he has the moral backbone to fight against it for + long. Success will have him for her own; let him make the most of + his freedom meanwhile by denouncing the dishonesty of politics + and the servitude of a career. At any rate he will amuse_ FREDA, + _his younger sister. She also will be successful--probably at St. + Margaret’s, possibly in the Abbey--but her sense of humour will + do something to save her. Their leisurely, well-fed talk has been + going on intermittently since the wine went round...._ + +ARTHUR (_suddenly, after a drink_). Well, all I can say is that, if +that’s the case, you ought to resign! (_He waits with an air, as if +for the reporters to write “Sensation.”_) + +LADY JANE (_after a pause_). Nutcrackers, Arthur. + +FREDA. Father’s got them. (_Taking them from him_) Here you are. + +LADY JANE. Thank you. + +ARTHUR (_trying again_). It’s the only honest thing to do! + +LADY JANE (_languidly_). You’re very young, dear. (_Crack!_) + +ARTHUR. I suppose I ought to be crushed by that, Mother, but I’m +afraid I’m not. I might just as well say that Father’s very +middle-aged. That isn’t the point. + +FREDA. What _is_ the point? I seem to have missed it. After you with +the crackers, Mother. + +ARTHUR. Honesty, even in politics, isn’t a question of age. At least +it oughtn’t to be. + +FREDA (_to_ LADY JANE). Thanks.... It’s a question of what you call +honesty. + +ARTHUR. Exactly! You have two standards; one for private life and one +for public life. That’s what I protest against. + +FREDA. Exit protesting. + +LADY JANE. My dear boy, what do you expect? It always has been so, +and always will be. + +ARTHUR (_aggressively_). Why? + +LADY JANE. Don’t ask _me_. Why does the sun go round the earth---- + +FREDA. It doesn’t. + +LADY JANE (_taken aback, but recovering gallantly_). Well then, why +doesn’t it? Why----(_with a wave of her hand_) Why anything? _I_ +don’t know. You’ve got to take the world as you find it. When you’re +young, you think that you’re going to make a wonderful new world of +it, all by yourself. As you grow up, you realise that you can’t, and +that, as you haven’t very long to be in it, you’ll be happier if you +make the best you can of the old world. + +ARTHUR (_with an air_). Again I protest. + +FREDA. Protesting’s never any good. You want to break something. + + (_And now, at last_, SELBY MANNOCK _has finished his nut_.) + +MANNOCK (_wiping his mouth_). There!... What were you saying, Arthur? +(_This is too much for_ ARTHUR, _who, after one indignant look, drops +into sulky silence_. FREDA _laughs_.) Ring the bell, will you, +there’s a good boy. + +LADY JANE. What is it? + + (ARTHUR _slouches out of his chair and rings the bell_.) + +MANNOCK. Thanks, old fellow.... Why don’t I send in my resignation +from the Cabinet? Because my resignation would certainly be accepted. + +LADY JANE (_to her son_). It’s ridiculous, dear, to expect your +Father to throw up his whole career just for nothing at all. What +good would it do? + +FREDA (_with interest_). _Would_ the P.M. accept it, Father? + +MANNOCK. I think undoubtedly. + +FREDA. I thought that that was where Marjory came in. The Duke +wouldn’t allow it, would he? + +MANNOCK. He mightn’t like it, but----In any case that isn’t the point +now. Arthur wants, not a mock resignation, but a real one. Why? + +ARTHUR (_mumbling_). The Redistribution Bill. + +MANNOCK. Well? + +ARTHUR. You said that you thought it monstrous. + +MANNOCK. Monstrous was _your_ word. + +LADY JANE. Your Father only said that he didn’t like the Bill. + +MANNOCK. And if you had given me time, Arthur, I should have added +that I didn’t like it because it didn’t go far enough. + +ARTHUR. Good Lord! + +FREDA. It goes pretty far. It will dish Labour jolly well at the next +election. + +MANNOCK. Well, what am I in politics for at all, if not to do that? + +ARTHUR (_rudely_). You can fight fair, I suppose? + +MANNOCK (_calmly_). My dear Arthur, how on earth is any one to say +what distribution of seats is fair and what isn’t? + +ARTHUR. You admit that the Government wants redistribution just so as +to improve its own electoral chances? + +FREDA (_to her Mother_). Its own electoral chances----Arthur is +getting quite the manner, isn’t he? + + (_But_ LADY JANE _does not smile. She has been brought up on the + manner._) + +MANNOCK. Certainly I admit it. + +ARTHUR (_with a shrug_). Well! + +MANNOCK. And I suppose _you_ admit that Labour is opposing it just +because it spoils _its_ own electoral chances? + +ARTHUR. Er--naturally---- + +MANNOCK (_with Arthur’s shrug_). Well! + +FREDA. Each for himself, and himself for--for himself. Our motto. + +ARTHUR (_contemptuously_). Exactly. + +MANNOCK. And rightly. + +LADY JANE (_with conviction_). Certainly. + +MANNOCK. _We_ paint England Blue, and Labour comes and paints it +Red, and the result is the Purple which suits her. But only if we +have the courage to put our whole hearts into the True Blue. If we +begin weakly dabbing on a sort of purply blue, what’s the result? Not +purple at all, but a dirty red. And nobody wants that. + +LADY JANE (_interested_). Have you ever used that in the House, +Richard? It’s rather good. + +MANNOCK (_doubtfully_). I don’t think so. (_Trying to remember_) No, +I don’t think so. It would be better on the platform, I think. It +isn’t altogether sound. + +LADY JANE. Sound enough. + +MANNOCK. For the platform, yes.... Oh, Digby! + + [DIGBY _the butler is there_. + +DIGBY. Yes, sir? + +MANNOCK. Mr. Edward Eversley is coming in this evening. Show him in +here. + +DIGBY. Yes, sir. + +MANNOCK. He’ll probably have coffee. + +DIGBY. Very good, sir. + + [_He goes out._ + +MANNOCK (_to his wife_). I’m sorry, dear, I meant to have told you. + +LADY JANE (_trying to place him_). Eversley.... Eversley. + +MANNOCK. No, you don’t know him. At least, you’ve met him, I suppose. +He was at our wedding. + +LADY JANE. Oh! + + (_One gathers that many strange friends of her husband’s youth + were there._) + +MANNOCK. No, I’m not sure that he was. + +LADY JANE. What does he do? (_Not that it matters._) + +MANNOCK. He’s become a great authority on gardens, I believe. Writes +in the papers about them. + +LADY JANE (_brightening_). Oh! We might ask him down to Drayton. He +could help us with the terraces. Mr. Ferris is so conventional--and +so expensive. Not next week--the week after. No, that won’t do, +because----(_She tries to remember._) + +FREDA. Have you suddenly found him again, Father, or has he always +been about? + +MANNOCK. I met him to-day at the Club. He was lunching with somebody. +I hadn’t seen him for twenty years.... More.... (_He is thoughtful._) + +FREDA. Twenty years! Almost good enough for a dinner, I should have +thought. + +MANNOCK. He was only up from the country for a night. He hadn’t got +any clothes with him. + +LADY JANE. I suppose he has some at home? + +MANNOCK. I imagine so. + +LADY JANE. Then we’d better make it the 23rd. That’s the Saturday. + +ARTHUR (_aggressively_). Why shouldn’t he dine in a tweed suit? And +anyway, what’s the difference between dining in a tweed suit and +coming in after dinner in a tweed suit? + +FREDA. About two hours, Arthur. + +MANNOCK (_thoughtfully_). I hardly knew him at first. He’s gone very +grey. + +FREDA. Was he your fag at school, or were you his? It’s always one or +the other. + +MANNOCK. Neither. We were contemporaries. And we lived in the same +village. He might be a year older. I forget now. + +LADY JANE. Well, we’ll leave you to talk about the old days together. +Is there a Mrs. Eversley? + +MANNOCK. Yes. In the country. There was a son, I believe. But that +was twenty years ago. I don’t know what’s happened to him; we didn’t +get as far as that. + +LADY JANE. I suppose she’d have to be asked. (_Hopefully_) Perhaps +she’s an invalid. + + (DIGBY _opens the door and announces_ EDWARD EVERSLEY. _He + is the same age as_ MANNOCK, _but looks older and greyer. A + pleasant, kindly man, but with the absurd air of being a dear old + gentleman. As boys together_, MANNOCK _was his hero, and even now + there is something of that simple boyish admiration and love left + in his eyes_.) + +DIGBY. Mr. Eversley! + + [_He goes out._ + +MANNOCK (_getting up_). Good! You’re just in time for a glass of +port. Let me see, you have met my wife, haven’t you? + +EVERSLEY (_shaking hands_). How do you do? + +LADY JANE (_graciously_). How do you do? + +EVERSLEY. You will forgive my clothes, won’t you? Dick explained to +you how it was---- + +LADY JANE (_wondering who Dick is_). Dick?... Oh, my husband, yes! Of +course! + + (_She smiles pleasantly at him. After all, he is going to + do the gardens at Drayton for nothing, and he may even be a + constituent._) + +MANNOCK. My younger daughter, Freda. My son, Arthur. (_They bow and +murmur to each other._) Freda, you must make room for Mr. Eversley. + +FREDA (_making room_). Come on, Mr. Eversley. We’re longing to hear +how you and Father robbed the apple orchard together, and were chased +by the farmer, and thrashed by the headmaster, and all that sort of +thing. + + (DIGBY _and a parlourmaid have come in with coffee, and glasses + for the visitor. The coffee is put in front of_ LADY JANE. DIGBY + _walks round the table with the port and fills_ EVERSLEY’S + _glass_.) + +LADY JANE. Don’t be ridiculous, Freda. + +EVERSLEY (_sadly_). Alas, there are no such stories. We were model +boys. Your father made a false quantity once--let me see, that would +be in ’88--but otherwise we gave no trouble at all. (_With a smile_) +Eh, Dick? (_He drinks his port._) + +MANNOCK (_without enthusiasm for the subject_). We were pretty +ordinary boys, I expect. Cigars, Arthur. + +LADY JANE (_handing him a cup_). For Freda. You’ll have coffee? + +EVERSLEY. No, thank you. + +ARTHUR. Cigar or cigarette? + +EVERSLEY. Neither, thank you. + +ARTHUR. Father? + +MANNOCK (_taking one_). Thank you. + +FREDA. Thank you, Arthur. + +ARTHUR. Sorry. (_He holds out the box to her and takes one himself, +and then goes back to his place._) + +LADY JANE. I hear you’re a great authority on gardens. + +EVERSLEY. I have a great love for gardens. + +LADY JANE. Oh!... But you do write about them? + +EVERSLEY. Oh yes, yes. + +LADY JANE. How delightful! Richard, Mr. Eversley must come down to +Drayton--(_to_ EVERSLEY) our house in Sussex--and see the gardens +there. It would be nice, wouldn’t it? (_To_ EVERSLEY) We’ve been +making some alterations lately. We should value your opinion--and +help. + +EVERSLEY. That’s very kind of you. + +LADY JANE (_with a gesture of “Not at all”_). We must fix up a +week-end. Mrs. Eversley too, if she would come. _(She waits hopefully +for an announcement that the lady is bedridden, but_ EVERSLEY _only +bows._) That will be nice. + +FREDA. You’ll like Drayton, it’s terribly beautiful. + +EVERSLEY. I’m sure I shall. + +LADY JANE. You write a great deal, I expect? + +EVERSLEY. Well, yes, about things which interest me. + +LADY JANE. And know all the editors.... Arthur wants to write. It’s +difficult at first, unless you know the people. A word in the right +ear---- + +EVERSLEY. Ah, but which is the right ear? + +LADY JANE. Oh well, of course! + +EVERSLEY. I think I should want to whisper a word in the ear of Mr. +Arthur. “Trust to yourself. Never mind about introductions. They +can’t help you.” + +MANNOCK (_with authority, cigar in mouth_). Naturally, you have to +have it in you. Dickens would always be Dickens, that’s true enough. +But human nature being what it is.... pass the port, Arthur. + +EVERSLEY. No more, thank you. + +MANNOCK. And what of your own boy, Eversley? You have a son, haven’t +you? + +EVERSLEY (_gently_). Yes, I have a son. I suppose I should say, “I +had a son.” (_They all look elaborately unconcerned._) He was killed +in the war. + +LADY JANE (_shocked_). Oh! + +MANNOCK. My dear fellow, I beg your pardon. + +EVERSLEY (_going on quietly_). But you know, we still say to +ourselves, “We have a son.” We still have--what made him our son--our +love and our pride in him--and we have the sure knowledge that we +shall see him again. + + (_They look at each other, and away from each other, + uncomfortably. Really, the man is being almost irreligious._) + +MANNOCK (_hastily_). Of course, of course! + +FREDA. Was he in the Flying Corps? + +EVERSLEY. At the end, yes. But he was in the infantry long enough for +me to salute him. + + [_They all look at him in amazement._ + +LADY JANE. To--to salute him? + +EVERSLEY (_smiling_). Yes. You remember all those comic pictures at +the time--the manager saluting his clerk--the father saluting his +son. Well, we really did it. I was in his battalion, actually in his +company, as a private when he was a second lieutenant. (_He beams at +them proudly._) + +LADY JANE (_with a glance from him to her husband and back again_). +But--but however old were you? + +EVERSLEY. Oh, not too old in those days. I’ve aged since. And, you +see, my boy was just a little under the limit. So he borrowed two +years from me, and that made us both quite happy. + + (_Now you can almost see_ LADY JANE _looking from that dead boy + to her own son, and back again._) + +FREDA. Were you in France together? + +EVERSLEY. In different parts of the line. But we managed to meet once +or twice. + +ARTHUR. _You_ were in France? + +EVERSLEY. Yes! Why not? + +ARTHUR. Really in France? At the front? In the trenches? + +EVERSLEY. Of course. + +ARTHUR. And your boy. How old was he when war broke out? + +MANNOCK (_knowing what is coming_). Arthur! (_To_ LADY JANE) My dear! + +ARTHUR. How old---- + +LADY JANE (_getting up_). How extraordinarily interesting, Mr. +Eversley. But you and Richard must have a great deal to talk about +with each other. (_They are all up now_) Freda! Arthur! You must +bring Mr. Eversley upstairs before he goes, Richard. + +MANNOCK. Of course. (_He is opening the door for her._) + +LADY JANE. Thank you.... Arthur! (_Reluctantly ARTHUR follows the +ladies out._) + + (_As soon as they are alone_ EVERSLEY _turns to his friend._) + +EVERSLEY. I say, may I smoke a pipe? + +MANNOCK (_absently_). Of course! + +EVERSLEY. Good! (_He fills it._) + +MANNOCK (_still absently_). We’ve taken to coming in here at the nuts +and wine stage--an old custom of my wife’s people. + +EVERSLEY. They used to do it at Cambridge--the Dons. Oxford too, I +suppose. + +MANNOCK. Yes.... It’s my room really.... (_Getting to the point_) +What you were saying--about the Army--of course you were younger than +I was---- + +EVERSLEY. One day--don’t you remember? (MANNOCK _looks inquiringly at +him_) Our birthdays? Mine was the day after yours. + +MANNOCK. Oh, was that all? I knew you were younger.... You were lucky +to be your own master--free to join up. I--I was--it was impossible. + +EVERSLEY. My dear Dick, of course! You were an important member of +the Government, running the war for us. I was just at your orders. + +MANNOCK. It was my one regret that my--my responsibilities prevented +me from shouldering a rifle with--with my friends. + +EVERSLEY (_reflectively_). It’s funny how people always talked about +“shouldering” a rifle. You only shoulder arms in a Rifle Regiment. +_We_ sloped ’em. (_With a laugh_) There! That’s about all of my +soldiering that I remember now. Funny how it slips away. + +MANNOCK (_still justifying himself_). Arthur was very anxious to run +away from school. Naturally. So was every boy. He wasn’t actually +eighteen until the last summer.... The war was finishing then, and I +... it seemed a pity, his last term ... I arranged---- + +EVERSLEY (_helping him out_). Tell me about your children, Dick. Have +I seen them all? + +MANNOCK. There’s my elder girl. Marjory. + +EVERSLEY. Ah, what about _her_? + +MANNOCK. She married young Robert Harlow. + +EVERSLEY (_no wiser_). Oh! + +MANNOCK. The Duke’s second son, you know. + +EVERSLEY. Oh!... I am afraid I am very ignorant. Is there only one +Duke? + +MANNOCK. In politics, at present, yes. Only one that matters. + +EVERSLEY. Oh! + +MANNOCK. It all helps. + +EVERSLEY. Oh! (_With a smile_) But it’s no good your trying to +pretend that she married him just so as to help your political +career, Dick. + +MANNOCK. Not “just so” of course. She’s keen on politics too. Young +Harlow is in the House. It helps him to have married my daughter; it +helps me that she married _him_. + +EVERSLEY. Oh! (_After a pause_) Whom is Miss Freda marrying? + +MANNOCK. She’s only a child. There’s nothing settled. + +EVERSLEY. Is she keen on politics too? + +MANNOCK. Naturally. + +EVERSLEY. And the boy? He wants to write? + +MANNOCK. Every young man of intelligence wants to write. He’ll get +over it. + +EVERSLEY. Is he destined for politics too? + +MANNOCK. Naturally the choice is his. But I imagine that that’s what +he will settle down to directly. He has great opportunities. + +EVERSLEY. He has indeed.... + +MANNOCK (_after a pause_). You only had the one boy? + +EVERSLEY. Yes. + +MANNOCK. A pity. + +EVERSLEY. You believe in the large family, Dick? + +MANNOCK (_cigar in mouth_). Three or possibly four, yes. +Childless marriages in a country like ours--with our Empire, our +responsibilities--well, where should we be in another hundred years? + +EVERSLEY (_quietly_). We were very poor when we were first married. +When my boy was born, we lived in two rooms. Mary was in one; I was +in the other. The walls are thin in those houses. I realised then +that it was she who was saving the Empire, not I. It was not for me +to say how many children we should have. + +MANNOCK. Oh, come! A man can’t escape his responsibilities like that. + +EVERSLEY. Where were you, Dick, when your first child was born? + +MANNOCK. Well, really! I don’t know that----Let me see, what year +would that be? + +EVERSLEY (_to himself_). Ah, then you weren’t in the other room. + +MANNOCK. No, I was down in Liverpool; of course! My by-election +was on. Yes, I remember now. I got a telegram the evening before +polling-day. It was just in time. I used to tell Arthur that he won +the seat for me. (_Blowing out smoke_) A little human touch like that +helps enormously at election time. + +EVERSLEY. I see.... But of course one can never be quite certain when +an election is coming on. + +MANNOCK (_taking it literally_). No. + +EVERSLEY (_keeping the joke to himself_). Well, well, you haven’t +much to complain of, Dick. Cabinet Minister! Prime Minister one day, +perhaps. + +MANNOCK (_with a shrug_). It’s just possible, I suppose. + +EVERSLEY. Who would have guessed it in the old days? + +MANNOCK. I’ve been lucky, of course. And my wife has helped me +enormously. + +EVERSLEY. I am sure she has. + +MANNOCK. I couldn’t have done it without her. It is difficult for an +outsider, as I was in the early days. Of course it _has_ been done, +but only by very exceptional people, and I never claimed to be that. +She knew everybody; introduced me to the right people; kept me in +front of them. I suppose you would say that I played my cards well, +but she dealt me the hand. + +EVERSLEY (_to himself_). Yes, yes, I think I understand. + +MANNOCK (_with a laugh at the absurdity of it_). In the old days, +when we were boys, I used to think it was you who were going to do +the big things. + +EVERSLEY. No, no. It was always you. Don’t you remember? It was +always you who were Nite, and I was your Squier. Don’t you remember? + +MANNOCK (_remembering_). Yes, Nite, Squier and--Yes. + +EVERSLEY And Buteus Maiden. + +MANNOCK (_he has never quite forgotten_). And Buteus Maiden. + + (_They are silent for a little._) + +EVERSLEY (_humming to himself_). _How_ did it go? + +MANNOCK. The War Song of the--what was it?---- + +EVERSLEY The Dreadnought Knight. + +MANNOCK. Dreadnought? + +EVERSLEY Don’t you remember? She said you were her Red Cross Knight, +and I said you weren’t a Cross, you were only a Nought--you were a +Red Nought Knight. + +MANNOCK. That’s right. And _I_ said---- + +EVERSLEY No, _she_ said---- + +MANNOCK. Yes. _She_ said I was her Dreadnought Knight. + + (_He is a little ashamed of all this, but for the first time you + see something of that eager boy who died twenty-five years ago._) + +EVERSLEY (_humming again_). How did it go? + +MANNOCK (_awkwardly; yet, in some unaccountable way, happy even to be +singing it again_). + + “Half a pound of tuppenny rice, + Half a pound of treacle, + That’s the way the money goes-- + Pop goes the weasel!” + +EVERSLEY (_eagerly_). That’s it! + +MANNOCK. Do you remember how I said---- + +EVERSLEY. No, _I_ said---- + +MANNOCK (_after thinking_). That’s right. _You_ said that you didn’t +like rice---- + +EVERSLEY. And I was always going to say, “Half a pound of ham and +eggs”---- + +MANNOCK. And _I_ said that the Squier _always_ had to sing the same +song as the Nite---- + +EVERSLEY. And I said anyhow I would jolly well _think_ ham and +eggs---- + +MANNOCK (_very eagerly_). And _she_ said----(_He breaks off suddenly, +and there is a little silence._) + +EVERSLEY (_gently_). Dick, have you--do you ever--have you ever seen +Sally--well, I mean, since we---- + +MANNOCK (_in a low voice_). No. Not since---- + +EVERSLEY. That last summer? + +MANNOCK (_shaking his head_). No. I went to London---- + +EVERSLEY. We both went to London. + +MANNOCK. I had just been called. + +EVERSLEY. I had just got a job in the City. + +MANNOCK. Didn’t _you_ ever go down to Enderways again? + +EVERSLEY. No. + +MANNOCK. Why not? + +EVERSLEY. I was afraid to. + +MANNOCK. How do you mean? + +EVERSLEY (_awkwardly_). I thought I--I thought you----Of course, a +little later, when I met Mary, I knew that I never had been really +in love with Sally, but I thought I was then, and I thought you--it +seemed to be understood. (_To himself_) You were her Dreadnought +Knight. + +MANNOCK (_with a self-conscious laugh_). Just a boy and girl romance. +I--it was impossible. She--we had no money. How could we? Better to +make a clean sweep of it all, and begin again. + +EVERSLEY (_to himself_). So you began again.... And gradually success +closed in on you. + +MANNOCK (_looking at him sharply_). What an extraordinary remark! + +EVERSLEY (_surprised_). What? + +MANNOCK. Success “closed in” on you. + +EVERSLEY. Did I say that? (_With an embarrassed little laugh_) I beg +your pardon. I had no idea. No idea even that I was thinking it. +Ridiculous! (_After a pause_) She’s married now, you know. + +MANNOCK (_wishing to be done with the subject_). I’m glad. + +EVERSLEY. But not very happily. + +MANNOCK. Ah, I’m sorry about that. The Old Man’s dead long ago, of +course? + +EVERSLEY. Of course. + +MANNOCK (_with a laugh_). The Old Man. (_Tapping his head_) Never +quite all there, was he? + +EVERSLEY. I don’t think that we used to say that when we were boys, +Dick. Sally didn’t. + +MANNOCK. Of course! Her own father! + +EVERSLEY. Unworldly.... Perhaps that’s the same nowadays as not being +quite all there. + +MANNOCK. The two of them alone together all those years in that +rambling old house! + +EVERSLEY (_with a chuckle_). Hardly alone. We practically lived there +in the holidays. + +MANNOCK. What happened to the place? + +EVERSLEY. She lives there still. That was all he left her, you know. +I think she married to save it. + +MANNOCK. It all seems very long ago. + + (_They sit there silently thinking of the long ago...._ FREDA + _comes in, followed by_ BERTIE CAPP, _a stout young man, who + tries to hide his extreme cleverness beneath the make-up of a + fool_.) + +FREDA. Here’s Bertie, Father. + +MANNOCK (_coming out of the past_). Hullo, Bertie. How are you? + +BERTIE (_dropping his eye-glass_). Pretty well, thanks. + +FREDA. Don’t go too close to him, he’s covered with eucalyptus. + +BERTIE. A precautionary measure only. The cold belongs to somebody +else. My private microbes---- + +MANNOCK (_to_ EVERSLEY). Do you know Bertie Capp?... This is Mr. +Eversley. + +BERTIE. How are _you_, sir? + +EVERSLEY. How do you do? + +BERTIE. My private microbes, who distribute gout and insomnia, are +resting for the moment. It’s a hard life. + +MANNOCK. How’s the Prime Minister? + +BERTIE (_waving his handkerchief_). Like that. + +FREDA (_with a face_). Oh, put it away, Bertie. I’d rather have the +cold. + +BERTIE. I give him two more days in bed. Between ourselves he likes +it there. + +FREDA (_to_ EVERSLEY). Bertie is the P.M.’s P.P.S. + +EVERSLEY (_with a smile_). Thank you very much. + +FREDA. The Prime Minister’s Principal Private Secretary. In other +words, Bertie runs England. + +BERTIE. I consult Miss Freda on all the important points. + +MANNOCK. (_to_ BERTIE). Did you want to see me? + +BERTIE. Well--er---- + +FREDA. Come on, Mr. Eversley. We’ll go upstairs. + +EVERSLEY (_to_ MANNOCK). Perhaps I’d better say good-bye, Dick. + +MANNOCK (_carelessly_). Good-bye. I’ll be seeing you again before +very long. Talk to my wife about that week-end. + +EVERSLEY. Thank you, thank you. (_To_ BERTIE) Good-night. + +BERTIE. Good-night. (_He opens the door_) I hope I haven’t given you +the Prime Minister’s cold. + +EVERSLEY (_smiling_). It would be an honour to have it. + +BERTIE. Oh well, he’s nearly finished with it. Good-night. +Good-night, Freda, if I don’t see you again. + +FREDA. Good-night. + + [_They go out._ + +BERTIE (_closing the door_). Is that the Garden Eversley? + +MANNOCK (_surprised_). Yes. Do you know him? + +BERTIE. I know his book, of course. + +MANNOCK. Oh! (_With a faint touch of pride_) We were boys together. + +BERTIE. He’s a good bit older than you, isn’t he? + +MANNOCK (_hastily_). There was not much in it. Well? + +BERTIE (_taking a large envelope from his pocket_). The Prime +Minister’s compliments, and would you rather have a Baronetcy or an +absolute snip for the 2.30? + +MANNOCK (_not surprised_). Ah! It’s all right, then? + +BERTIE. Very much all right. Between ourselves, it’s a damn good +speech. I read it to him. He just lay there, without a movement. +Absorbed. + +MANNOCK. Asleep, probably. + +BERTIE (_candidly_). Well, so _I_ thought at first. But I drank his +medicine once by mistake--being a thirsty sort of speech, I had put +a glass of water handy--and the subsequent noise woke him. I mean it +was obvious he was awake all the time. + +MANNOCK (_unamused_). Any comments? + +BERTIE. Well, yes. + +MANNOCK What? + +BERTIE. “Clever fellow, Mannock. Er----” + +MANNOCK. Go on. + +BERTIE. “Clever fellow, Mannock. He brings to the obvious such a +wealth of reticence that it almost sounds improper.” Said between +coughs and grunts, you know, it sounded rather good. But I daresay +there isn’t much in it. + +MANNOCK. You have to be obvious on the platform. + +BERTIE. Oh, quite.... I say, do you see _The Sunday Socialist_? + +MANNOCK (_curtly_). Never. + +BERTIE (_taking it from his pocket_). You haven’t seen this week’s? + +MANNOCK. Why should I? + +BERTIE. We take it in, of course. “My attention has been drawn ...” +and all that sort of thing. (_Pointing to the place_) There! (_As_ +MANNOCK _reads_) I thought I’d better bring it along. + +MANNOCK (_reading_). Yes.... Yes. + +BERTIE. Once doesn’t matter--you can deny anything once--but if he’s +going to make a habit of it---- + +MANNOCK (_firmly_). He is not. (_He goes on reading._) + +BERTIE. Well, I’ll be getting along. + +MANNOCK. Thanks very much for letting me see this. Are you going +upstairs? + +BERTIE. Just for a moment. + +MANNOCK. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling Arthur that I should like +to see him. + +BERTIE. Right. (_Going to the door_) By the way, where are you +sleeping to-morrow night? Hotel? + +MANNOCK (_still reading the paper_). Carchester’s putting me up. He’s +got some sort of place in the neighbourhood, I believe. + +BERTIE. Ah! I didn’t know that you----(_He hesitates._) + +MANNOCK. We don’t. + +BERTIE (_tolerantly_). Oh, well, it takes all sorts to make a party. + +MANNOCK. Exactly. This is politics. He’s popular down there, they +say. He’s taking the chair at the evening meeting. + +BERTIE. Oh, quite. Well, good-night and good luck. + +MANNOCK. Good-night. + + (_He settles down to this damnable article again._ ARTHUR _comes + in_.) + +ARTHUR. Bertie said you wanted me. + +MANNOCK (_getting up_). Yes; sit down, won’t you? (ARTHUR _sits +down_) Did you write this? (_He gives him the paper._) + +ARTHUR (_bracing himself for the row that’s coming_). Yes. + +MANNOCK. Ah! Proud of it? + +ARTHUR. Not ashamed of it anyway. + +MANNOCK. Then you ought to be. + +ARTHUR. I don’t see why. + +MANNOCK. An inflammatory article in a revolutionary rag---- + +ARTHUR. Papers aren’t rags just because you don’t agree with their +opinions. + +MANNOCK. An impertinent article in a revolutionary rag, charging +members of the Government, amongst them your own Father, with every +sort of crime and folly. + +ARTHUR (_calmly_). It just means that I take the opposite side to +you, that’s all. + +MANNOCK (_reading_). “There is more here than political dishonour. +There is personal dishonour.” + +ARTHUR (_uncomfortably_). Well--I mean---- + +MANNOCK. Thank you, Arthur. + +ARTHUR. Well, it isn’t _my_ fault you’re a Cabinet Minister. I happen +to be a Socialist---- + +MANNOCK. A Socialist! + +ARTHUR. Why not? + +MANNOCK (_contemptuously_). Why not! Have another cigar? Have another +glass of port? A Socialist! Look at yourself in the glass! + +ARTHUR. Well, you can’t have it both ways. If I’m a poor, uneducated +devil, you say contemptuously, “Of course you’re a Socialist; you +want my money,” and if I happen to be well-off and educated, you say +contemptuously, “You a Socialist! Look at yourself in the glass!” You +can’t have it both ways. + +MANNOCK. I beg your pardon. In fact, I’m not sure that I ought to be +discussing this with you at all. This article (_tapping the paper_) +is signed “Arthur _Selby_ Mannock.” I don’t think I know him. Who is +he? + +ARTHUR. That’s not my fault. I suppose---- + +MANNOCK. Your name, I think, is Arthur James Mannock? Why do you give +a false name? + +ARTHUR. I signed it “Arthur Mannock.” Of course it had this address +on it. I suppose---- + +MANNOCK. You suppose that the editor, wishing everybody to know that +a Cabinet Minister was being accused of personal dishonour by his own +son, altered it to Selby Mannock so that there should be no chance of +misapprehension. + +ARTHUR. I suppose he thought it was a double-barrelled name. All the +papers call you Selby Mannock as if it were. + +MANNOCK (_quietly_). You know quite well why he did it. (ARTHUR _is +silent_.) How many more of these articles are you writing--from my +house? + +ARTHUR. Well--well, as a matter of fact, they’ve offered me a job, +sort of assistant editor--two fifty--I could get rooms somewhere--I +mean, naturally I want to. I mean---- + +MANNOCK (_with a sneer_). Assistant editor!... As assistant editor +it would be your job to see that the “Selby” didn’t go into your +articles---- + +ARTHUR. Naturally---- + +MANNOCK. Or did go in, according as the editor wished. + +ARTHUR. Well, of course I should----(_His voice trails away._) + + (_They are silent._ MANNOCK, _realising that he is not getting + much further, decides on a new line of attack_.) + +MANNOCK (_with a friendly smile_). Look here, Arthur, let’s talk this +over reasonably. + +ARTHUR. I shall be only too glad to. + +MANNOCK (_charmingly_). Well, then, first, thank you for having kept +your temper so well. I’m afraid I’ve been rather provocative. + +ARTHUR. Oh, I say, not at all. + +MANNOCK. I do say it. And that’s the trouble, Arthur. You’ve got such +a lot of fine qualities. Brains--more brains than I have, I fancy---- + +ARTHUR. Oh, rot! + +MANNOCK. Enthusiasm, good temper, courage----Well, I mean, how many +young men would have dared to do that? (_He waves at the paper._) + +ARTHUR. Oh, I don’t know. + +MANNOCK. As the Prime Minister said to me the other day, “That boy +of yours will go far.” I know it. But in which direction?... It’s a +funny thing, Arthur, how so many great political geniuses, writers +too, have started in the wrong direction. Disraeli began as a +Radical, Gladstone as a Tory----It almost seems as if one false start +were necessary before you can get going. The trouble is that your +enemies remember that false start, and bring it up against you. Happy +the man who has no past, as somebody said. Well, that’s what I’m +anxious about. You’re preparing a past for yourself _now_. I wonder +if----You don’t mind my talking like this? + +ARTHUR (_interested and flattered_). Of course not. + +MANNOCK. You’re a Socialist. Right. I don’t agree with your opinions, +but that has nothing to do with it. Now what I’m wondering is----Need +you be a _public_ Socialist for--well, say for a year? + +ARTHUR. How do you mean? (_With a laugh_) I shan’t change in a year, +if that’s what you’re hoping. + +MANNOCK (_laughing too_). I’m afraid you won’t. (_With an air +of great seriousness_) But frankly, Arthur, old boy, I’m in a +difficulty. I’ve been wanting to make a suggestion to you for some +weeks now, only--I’ve been afraid. + +ARTHUR. Afraid? + +MANNOCK. Yes, afraid of your refusing it. I’ve preferred to go on +hoping, rather than to close the door on my hopes by speaking to you. + +ARTHUR (_after waiting for him_). Well? + +MANNOCK. My secretary is leaving me. It puts me in rather an awkward +position. + +ARTHUR. Which of the many? + +MANNOCK. Well, naturally I don’t mean at the Ministry. Reader. (_He +jerks his head at the door behind him._) + +ARTHUR. Reader? Why? + +MANNOCK. He’s got a better job in prospect. He’s been with me a long +time, but he’s leaving me at last. I shall be rather lost without +him. Arthur, old boy, I wish you’d take his place. + +ARTHUR (_staggered_). But---- + +MANNOCK. Three hundred a year I’ll give you. Three fifty if you want +to live out, but I’d rather you didn’t. + +ARTHUR. But I’m--my political opinions---- + +MANNOCK. I know, I know. That’s why I was afraid to ask you. But +couldn’t you manage to keep an open mind for a year? I want you to +see something of the inside of politics. If at the end of a year, +you’re more of a Socialist than ever, well, what a chance for you! +You’ll be able to expose us properly! You’ll know all about us! But +if I’m lucky enough to win your confidence, why perhaps one day the +proudest moment of my life will come. Do you know what that will be? + +ARTHUR. What? + +MANNOCK. The moment when I introduce you to the Speaker in the House +of Commons. Arthur Mannock, M.P. for ----. We can find you a dozen +seats. + + (_They sit there, Arthur thinking, Mannock watching him + anxiously._) + +ARTHUR (_after a pause_). It’s really awfully decent of you, Father. + +MANNOCK. You see, I want you rather badly. + +ARTHUR. You’re sure it doesn’t commit me to anything? + +MANNOCK (_quickly_). Not a bit. + +ARTHUR. And if, after a year---- + +MANNOCK. Exactly. + +ARTHUR. And you would absolve me of any charge of disloyalty, if---- + +MANNOCK. Of course! of course! + +ARTHUR (_after thinking_). Right you are, Father. I’ll take it on. + + (MANNOCK _turns away with a big sigh of relief_.) + +MANNOCK. Thank you, old boy. I’m sure you won’t regret it.... Oh, +there’s just one other thing. I shall keep you pretty busy. Better +take a holiday now, while Reader is still here. + +ARTHUR. Well---- + +MANNOCK. Hard up? + +ARTHUR (_smiling_). Fairly. + +MANNOCK (_smiling_). I’ll see to that. + +ARTHUR. I say, you are a sportsman. Thanks awfully! + +Mannock. That’s all right. (_Dismissing him_) Well, I must go through +my speech with Reader. + +ARTHUR. That’s to-morrow, isn’t it? At Leeds. + +MANNOCK. Yes. + +ARTHUR (_smiling_). Well, entirely without prejudice to my political +opinions, I hope they won’t throw anything at you. + + (_He goes._ MANNOCK _laughs heartily until the door closes. Then, + in a flash, his pleasant manner disappears. He walks to his desk + and picks up the telephone._) + +MANNOCK. Hullo! Come in, will you? (_He sits down and writes out a +cheque. While he is so engaged_, JOHN READER _comes in, a serious +young man with the great virtues of industry and loyalty, but a +pathetic lack of anything else_.) Ah, Reader, just wait a moment. Got +the speech? + +READER. Yes, sir. + +MANNOCK (_getting up, cheque in hand_). Good. All right? + +READER. I have verified the dates and the extracts from other +speeches. There was one misquotation from Wordsworth which I have +corrected. + +MANNOCK. I’m not sure that a misquotation isn’t a good thing +sometimes. Some fool is sure to write to the papers to point it out, +and then one writes back and says that it’s the fault of the reporter +or the printer, and then the reporter writes and says--well, it’s all +publicity. + +READER (_reproachfully_). You remember what _The Spectator_ said last +week--the one member of the Cabinet who could be trusted not to +bungle a literary quotation. + +MANNOCK. Yes, well, that’s something. + +READER (_turning the pages_). One or two little angularities of style +I have ventured to----Oh, and then there’s this passage. This was not +in the Prime Minister’s draft---- + +MANNOCK (_looking over his shoulder_). No, it wasn’t, was it? + +READER. You seem to go some way beyond your colleagues. Of course +it’s not for me---- + +MANNOCK. Naturally. + +READER. I just wanted to be sure that there was no mistake. + +MANNOCK. There is no mistake, Reader--at present. It may be necessary +for there to be one later on. I may find--later on--that I spoke from +the wrong draft, in error. You understand? + +READER. Quite so, sir. I thought I would just mention it. + +MANNOCK. That’s right.... And now, my dear fellow, I have something +to tell you which I cannot flatter myself will be the distress to you +that it is to me. The fact is that I am unable to avail myself of +your services, your very great services, any longer. + +READER (_utterly taken aback_). You mean that I--that you---- + +MANNOCK. I’m afraid so, Reader. + +READER. But what have I--aren’t you---- + +MANNOCK. Perfectly satisfied. Oh, it’s not that at all. I can +recommend you with the utmost confidence, and, in fact, I will make +it my business to see that you are comfortably settled with some one +else. But my son is very anxious to get an insight into politics, +and I have been thinking that the best way--it has been in my mind +for some weeks, and he is delighted at the suggestion--the best way +would be for him to take over your duties, and----(_Fingering the +cheque_) In the circumstances, I have ventured to make this out for +two months’ salary, although I shall only require your services for +one month longer. Here you are, my dear fellow. + +READER (_mechanically_). That’s very good of you, sir.... It’s +a little awkward--my wife--coming just now--she’s not--she will +be----(_Looking at the cheque_) Of course this is very generous of +you---- + +MANNOCK. Not at all. I owe it to you. But you understand that I must +think of my boy--it is his desire---- + +READER. Of course, sir. Naturally that comes first with you. I only +wish--you see, just now my wife---- + +MANNOCK (_holding up his hand_). I don’t think, Reader, that I can be +expected----(_Reproachfully_) I can hardly be expected---- + +READER. No, no, of course not.... Coming just now--she will be +frightened---- + +MANNOCK. I think that both of you will be distressing yourselves +needlessly. There will be no difficulty whatever about finding +you----I will speak to Mr. Capp to-morrow. Remind me. I fancy that +Carfax---- + + LADY JANE _comes in_. + +LADY JANE. Busy? + +MANNOCK (_glad of the interruption_). Oh no, not at all. (_To_ +READER) Then that’s understood. I will speak to-morrow to Mr. Capp. +I think Carfax is the man. (_Taking the speech from him_) Thank you. +Good-night, Reader. + +READER (_a trifle dazed_). Good-night, sir. Good-night, Lady Jane. + +LADY JANE. Good-night. (_He goes out._ LADY JANE _sits down +gracefully_. MANNOCK _stands at the fireplace, turning over the pages +of his speech_) Arthur tells me he’s coming to you. + +MANNOCK. Yes. + +LADY JANE. I’m glad. + +MANNOCK. You heard what he’d been doing? + +LADY JANE. Yes. Silly boy. + +MANNOCK. He didn’t realise--and I didn’t tell him. + +LADY JANE. The least thing might make the difference now. + +MANNOCK. Yes. + +LADY JANE. Bertie tells me that C. J. is going to the Lords almost at +once. + +MANNOCK. I thought you knew. + +LADY JANE. Not definitely. I suppose Mowbray will be Chancellor of +the Exchequer? + +MANNOCK. Sure to be. + +LADY JANE. Bertie seemed to think it wasn’t absolutely settled yet. + +MANNOCK. The Duke doesn’t like Mowbray, of course. + +LADY JANE. No.... It’s all been so sudden. We haven’t had time to do +anything. + +MANNOCK. C. J. has been breaking up for months. + +LADY JANE. Yes, but not publicly before. He might easily have lasted +another year. + +MANNOCK. Yes. + +LADY JANE. Suppose it _is_ Mowbray, who’ll have the Admiralty? +(MANNOCK _shrugs his shoulders_.) Would _you_ take it? + +MANNOCK (_not sure_). What do you think? + +LADY JANE. No. + +MANNOCK. Yes, that’s what I feel. + +LADY JANE. “Too devoted to your present work,” and so on. That always +sounds well with the public. + +MANNOCK. Yes. (_They smile faintly at each other, and are silent, +both thinking...._) Eversley gone? + +LADY JANE. Yes. + +MANNOCK. What did you do about that week-end? + +LADY JANE. Left it vague. Said I’d write. + +MANNOCK (_relieved_). Ah! Then, in that case, I think perhaps---- + +LADY JANE. So do I.... It’s always a mistake--trying to get back. + +MANNOCK. Yes.... Bertie knew about him. The Garden Eversley. + +LADY JANE (_surprised_). Oh?... Oh! (_meaning that, of course, that +makes a difference_) ... Oh, then perhaps---- + +MANNOCK (_shaking his head_). I think I would rather--He’s a little +disturbing. + +LADY JANE. They always are--coming in suddenly from outside like +that. Particularly when---- + +MANNOCK (_wishing to be fair_). He was the Vicar’s son, I was the +Doctor’s. + +LADY JANE. Oh, _then_, yes.... (_She gets up_) Shall I see you in the +morning? + +MANNOCK. I don’t expect so. I have a fairly early train. There are +the two meetings. + +LADY JANE. Yes.... Leeds might make a difference. + +MANNOCK. It might. + +LADY JANE. I suppose Mowbray _is_ a certainty? + +MANNOCK (_with a shrug_). He may not last long. + +LADY JANE. If only we had seen it coming.... Bertie doesn’t think +much of him. + +MANNOCK. Bertie, no. + +LADY JANE. Bertie counts for a good deal with the Prime Minister. + +MANNOCK. Up to a point, yes. Not beyond. + +LADY JANE. Still--(_she is silent for a little and then says_) I +sometimes wonder if Freda--(_and is silent again_). + +MANNOCK. It would help, of course. + +LADY JANE. Yes.... Good-night. (_She holds up her cheek and he kisses +it carelessly._) + +MANNOCK. Good-night. (_She goes out--to_ FREDA’S _room, we may be +sure._) + + (MANNOCK _glances at his speech, spreads it out on the desk + beside him, puts on his glasses, and with a final glance at the + opening, stands up and delivers it._) + +MANNOCK. Mr. Chairman, my lords, ladies and gentlemen. In coming +before you to-night at this great crisis in our political affairs, +when, not for the first time in her eventful history our country +stands at the parting of the ways, I am conscious--(_He glances at +the speech and corrects himself_)--I am not unconscious--I am not +unconscious of a certain pride in the knowledge that it is before +my own good friends of Yorkshire--my own people, as I must always +think of them--that I am privileged to plead my cause. I was born +on Yorkshire soil, I was nurtured through youth to early manhood +in the bosom of your hills. Memories of my boyhood come back to me +as I stand here to-night ... memories of those happy days return +to me (_And quite unexpectedly, just for a moment, they do. He +breaks off, and says in a whisper_) Those happy days.... (_He is at +Enderways now. There, armed to the teeth, march_ NITE _and_ SQUIER; +_there, waiting to be rescued_, sits the BUTEUS MAIDEN. _Now it is_ +DICK _and_ TEDDY _and_ SALLY. _“Sally!” With a jerk he comes awake +again, and hurries back to Leeds_) And so, ladies and gentlemen, +in delivering my message to you to-night--speaking as I do, not +only for myself, but for the Government which I have the honour to +represent.... (_And so on. We can always read it in “The Times.”_) + + + + + ACT II + + + SCENE 1: _Enderways, Yorkshire_ + + _It was known as Dick’s room in the old days, so perhaps we may + still call it that. For a small boy, home for his holidays, it + was all very well, this exciting nest in the roof, but it is + terrible to think that a Cabinet Minister is now expected to + sleep there._ + + _The room is empty at first, and in darkness. Then we hear a + voice outside, and_ LORD CARCHESTER _opens the door and puts + the light on for us. So we get our one glimpse of him--Sally’s + husband; a big, easy-going, easy-moralled, rather battered + man-of-the-world, who, as usual with him at this time of the + night, has had just enough to drink and means to have one or two + more._ + +CARCHESTER (_outside_). Wait a moment. I’d better go first and put +the light on. (_He does so, and makes way for_ MANNOCK) There you are. + +MANNOCK (_coming in_). Thanks. (_He sees the room_) By Jove! + +CARCHESTER (_for the tenth time_). I really do apologise, but Sally +insisted on it. + +MANNOCK (_impatiently_). My dear Carchester, of course! (_To +himself_) Of course she did. + +CARCHESTER. Said you would understand. + +MANNOCK. I understand. + + (_He is still looking, looking at the room, drinking it in. The + years are dropping off him._) + +CARCHESTER. Never argue with a woman. I’ve learnt that--(_the +man-of-the-world laughs_)--if I’ve learnt nothing else. + +MANNOCK (_carelessly_). I shall be quite all right here, thanks. (_He +wants to be alone with the memories of the room._) + +CARCHESTER (_sitting down on the bed_). Funny your turning out to be +an old friend of Sally’s like this. + +MANNOCK. We were boy and girl together. I used to stay here in the +holidays. (_With a deep sigh of remembrance_) This was my room. + +CARCHESTER. Ah well, then, that accounts for it. Still, why not +be comfortable in a decent room when you can? (_He sinks into +somnolence, rousing himself a moment to say sleepily_) That was a +damn good speech you made. + + (MANNOCK _is not listening to his host; it is the room which is + calling to him. He goes quickly to the window, to the cupboard, + finding, remembering, missing. Suddenly he bends down, and turns + back a corner of the carpet._) + +MANNOCK. Hullo! + +CARCHESTER (_waking up with a start_). What’s the matter? + +MANNOCK (_accusingly_). There used to be a rat-hole here. It’s been +boarded up. + +CARCHESTER. Good Lord, what do _you_ do to rat-holes? (_He settles +down to sleep again. But not for long._) + +MANNOCK (_severely_). That bed ought to be over here! + +CARCHESTER (_dimly feeling that it is his fault_). I beg your pardon, +I didn’t--(_he tries to rise in apology, but sinks back again._) + +MANNOCK. Up against the wall. + + (_He goes to the wall suddenly and taps; a peculiar rhythmic + series of taps, just above where the bed used to be._) + +CARCHESTER. Hullo! + +MANNOCK (_coming to himself with an apologetic laugh_). Who sleeps +there now? + +CARCHESTER. The staff. I dunno. P’raps it’s the cook. (_Wagging his +head in reproof_) Too old, Mannock, my boy. Too stout. + + (MANNOCK _turns away in disgust. Then he goes back to the wall, + and begins to talk, looking at_ CARCHESTER, _but seeing only + himself as a boy, thirty-five years ago_.) + +MANNOCK. That was the signal. That meant “I want to talk to you.” +Then we talked to each other through the wall. One tap for A, two +for B, and so on, spelling out messages. Oh, for hours sometimes ... +just making up things to say ... plans for to-morrow ... wonderful +plans for to-morrow ... adventures which never quite happened. “G” +meant “Good-bye”--if one sent it, the other had to stop and go to +sleep. “G.D.” meant “Good-bye, dear”--that was when we had had a +specially happy day together. Then, in the morning, the first one +awake sent the signal. If the other one answered it, the first one +sent “S.W.”--that meant “Shall we?” Shall we get up? “Y” for “Yes,” +and we’d race each other to be first down on that old broken wall in +the Wilderness. + + (_He stops; he is racing to be first down_; SALLY’S _door + flies open; she has the start of him. She can run--how she can + run!--but he will catch her_ ... CARCHESTER _breaks in on his + vision_.) + +CARCHESTER. A damn good speech. (_He yawns_) And mind you, I know +what I’m talking about, because I was awake practically all the time. +(_He struggles to his feet_) I say, what about another spot of whisky? + +MANNOCK (_curtly_). No, thanks. + +CARCHESTER. Just a little baby spot? You won’t? Well, I will. Quite +sure you’re all right here? + +MANNOCK. Yes, thanks. + +CARCHESTER (_getting to the door_). Well then, g’night. + +MANNOCK. Good-night. + +CARCHESTER (_after thought_). G’night. (_He opens the door, and then +turns round with the air of one having a message to deliver. He +delivers it._) G’night. (_He goes._) + + (MANNOCK _is alone with his room; alone with a thousand ghosts, a + thousand memories; most of them happy ones, bringing a smile to + his face; all of them tearing at that solemn mask of success in + which, for so many years, he has hidden himself. You can see the + mask falling from him, you can see those years dropping away...._ + + _He takes off his coat and waistcoat and puts on a dressing-gown; + takes off his shoes and puts on bedroom slippers. Then he sits + on the bed, still smiling at his thoughts. He swings his feet + up and puts his head back on the pillows, looking up at the + well-remembered ceiling. He gives a deep sigh, and just breathes + the word “Sally!” Sleepily he puts his hand up to the wall and + gives that rhythmic knock. There is no answer; it is the wrong + wall; it was a thousand years ago. But, still sleepily, he taps + out G.D., “Good-bye, dear, God be with you, dear.” Then his hand, + coming down from the wall, feels the electric switch. With the + happy sigh of one on the very threshold of sleep, he turns off + the light ... and the thousand ghosts, who have been waiting for + him, rush thronging into his dreams...._ + + * * * * * + + _Listen! Very faint, very far-off, a tune is coming--the War Song + of the Dreadnought Nite ... Pom-perom-perompity-pom...._ + + _Now it comes again, clearer, louder ... + Pom-perom-perompity-pom...._ + + _Now the_ DREADNOUGHT NITE _is here; here too is his faithful_ + SQUIER.... _Pom-perom-perompity-pom.... A whole orchestra of + sound._ + + _Listen! It is only a child’s trumpet.... And--see!--there are + the children. For it is light now, and we can see where we are. + Yet, even so, we are not quite certain. For there is the bed + with_ MANNOCK _(is it?) still lying there, but there also is that + overgrown, tangled corner of the Wilderness, and the broken wall + where_ DICK _and_ SALLY _used to meet_. + + _“Pom-perom-perompity-pom.” It is the faithful_ SQUIER _who has + the trumpet_. NITE, _in a paper cap, and with a martial sword in + hand, leads the way_. SQUIER, _a toy gun hung round him, follows + tooting_.... + + _Enough, however, of toots. Let_ NITE _give tongue_.) + +NITE (_singing lustily_). + + Half a pound of tuppenny rice, + Half a pound of treacle, + That’s the way the money goes-- + Pop goes the weasel! + +Come on, Squier! + +SQUIER. + + Half a pound of ham and eggs, + Half a pound of treacle-- + That’s the way-- + +NITE. That’s _not_ the way! It’s “tuppenny rice.” + +SQUIER (_reproachfully_). You know I _always_ say ham and eggs, Nite! + +NITE. Well, what’s the good of being my Squier, if you don’t sing +the same as me? Squiers _always_ sing the same as Nites. + +SQUIER. _Sally_ said---- + +NITE (_seeing_ MANNOCK). Hullo! Here’s an old, dead gentleman. + +SQUIER. Oughtn’t I to salute him? (_He unslings his gun._) + +NITE (_sternly_). Wait till I give the order. Now then, Squier, shun! +Shoulder--_arms_! (SQUIER _slopes_) That’s not shouldering arms, +stupid, that’s sloping. + +SQUIER. That’s all the shouldering you’ll get. (_Proudly_) We don’t +shoulder in _our_ regiment. + +NITE. Then you can jolly well take a month’s notice, and I shall +engage an entirely new Squier. (SQUIER _salutes, walks away a few +paces and comes back again_.) Are you an entirely new Squier? + +SQUIER (_saluting_). Yes. + +NITE. Then I shall give you 350 a year. + +SQUIER. 350 what? + +NITE. Oh, I dunno. Stand easy. (_Kindly_) You can look at the old +gentleman if you like. + +SQUIER (_looking_). Is he a _very_ old gentleman, Nite? + +NITE. Not so tremendous. About 25 or 50 or something. + +SQUIER. Is he dead? + +NITE. Oh, a long time ago, I should think. Just as dead as dead. + +SQUIER. Then I shall sing to him. (_Singing_) “Half a pound----” + +MANNOCK (_sitting up_). I’m not dead. I’ve heard every word you’ve +been saying. + +NITE (_to_ SQUIER). He says he isn’t dead. + +SQUIER. Ask him if he can sing. + +NITE. Can you sing? + +MANNOCK. Rather! + +NITE. All right, sing! + +MANNOCK. “Half a pound of tuppenny rice, half a pound of treacle----” + +NITE (_triumphantly_). There you are, Squier! + +SQUIER (_wistfully_). I always say “Ham and eggs.” + +MANNOCK (_shaking his head_). Wrong! + +NITE. There you are, Squier! + +SQUIER (_sadly_). I don’t like rice. + +MANNOCK. Ah, but wait till you try the tuppenny sort. Whew! + +SQUIER. Is that a bit better? + +MANNOCK. Ever so much. + +SQUIER. Oh! (_Humbly_) Still, I think I’ll go on saying ham and eggs, +if you don’t mind very much. + +MANNOCK. Right! + +NITE (_pointing to_ SQUIER’S _trumpet_). That’s his loot, what he +plays on. + +SQUIER (_proudly_). I got it at the sack of Jerusalem. + +NITE. When there’s a sack on, there’s always a lot of loots. Almost +everybody gets one. I lost mine. (_Carelessly_) Don’t mind, because a +Nite has such a lot of fighting to do, he can’t bother about loots. I +say, where’s the Buteus Maiden? + +MANNOCK. That’s just what I was going to ask _you_. + +SQUIER. I’m going to shout for her. Shall we shout for her, Nite? + +NITE. Yes, let’s shout for her. + +MANNOCK. All together. One, two, three----_Buteus Maiden_! + +NITE (_apologetically_). I don’t expect she heard. + +SQUIER. Perhaps she’s being Sleeping Beauty, and is waiting for Nite +to kiss her. + +NITE (_rather hot and red_). Shut up, Squier. + +MANNOCK. Well, _I_ shall try calling “Sally.” + +NITE. Yes, let’s call Sally. + +ALL. Sally! Sally! Sally! + +BUTEUS MAIDEN. Here I am! + + (_And here she is. Only ten at the moment, but as sweet, as + precious, as daintily dignified, as our Sally when she grew up._) + +NITE (_rushing to her--even then she was everything to him_). +Oh, Sally, you _have_ been a long time. We’ve found an old, dead +gentleman to play with us. + +MANNOCK (_indignantly_). I’m not dead! I’m not dead! + +NITE. Yes, you are. Isn’t he, Squier? + +SQUIER. I thought he was at first. And then I thought p’raps he +wasn’t. + +MANNOCK (_almost in tears_). I’m _not_ dead. I shan’t play if he says +I’m dead. + +MAIDEN. Do play! Then that will show you’re not. + +MANNOCK. I’m a very important, successful man. + +SQUIER. I saw at once he was a very important, successful man, so +that’s what made me think he was all dead. (_Kindly_) But p’raps he +isn’t. + +MANNOCK (_doggedly_). I’m _not_ dead. + +NITE. Yes, he is. + +MAIDEN (_to_ NITE). Dear, if he says he isn’t dead, I don’t think it +would be kind not to believe him. + +SQUIER. We can pretend he isn’t, anyhow. + +MAIDEN (_to_ NITE). Please, dear. + +NITE (_magnanimously_). All right, we’ll pretend you’re alive, and +see how you get on. + +MANNOCK (_humbly_). Thank you very much. + +NITE (_moving him_). Now you just stand there, out of the way. What +shall we be, Squier? + +SQUIER. I think--I think---- + +NITE. I know! We’ll be Three Suitors. Sally, you sit over +there----We’ll be Three Suitors, Squier. + +SQUIER (_wistfully_). I suppose I shan’t be the _Third_ Suitor? + +NITE. No, _I’ll_ be----(_Impatiently_) Sally, why don’t---- + +MAIDEN (_sitting down_). Here I am, dear. + +NITE (_to_ MANNOCK). What would you like to be? You could be another +Squier, if you like, (SQUIER _looks sadly at the Buteus Maiden_.) + +MAIDEN (_gently_). There couldn’t be more than one Squier, dear. + +MANNOCK (_hopefully_). Could I be a Lord of High Degree? + +NITE (_doubtfully, to_ MAIDEN). Could he? + +MANNOCK. I’m a Right Honourable, really. + +NITE. That’s an _awful_ thing to be. + +MANNOCK (_humbly_). Oh! + +SQUIER. Couldn’t he just be a wight or a varlet or something? + +NITE. A wight of low renowne! A wight of low renowne! That’s what he +is. Isn’t he, Sally? + +MAIDEN. If you like, dear. + +MANNOCK. Thank you very much. + +NITE. Now, Squier goes first. We’re all Suitors, and Squier goes +first. Go on, Squier. (_In a whisper to_ MANNOCK) You go next. + + (SQUIER _slopes his gun, makes a long detour of the castle walls, + and arrives at the Great Gate. He pulls an imaginary bell._) + +NITE. Bom! Bom! Bom! (_To_ MANNOCK) That’s the bell ringing inside to +summon the agéd Seneschal. Go on, Squier. + +SQUIER. What ho, within! + +NITE (_as Seneschal_). What ho, without! + +SQUIER. Open the door, thou scurvy bald-pate! + +NITE. What name, please? + +SQUIER. Faithful Squier. I am come to pay attentions to thy mistress, +the Buteus Maiden. + +NITE. Not at home. + +SQUIER. Have a care, agéd man, lest I carve thee to the brisket! (_He +pushes past the_ SENESCHAL _into the_ MAIDEN’S _presence_.) + +MAIDEN (_turning to him_). Who seeks me? + +SQUIER. It is I, thy faithful Squier, who loves thee. + +MAIDEN. Alas! + +SQUIER. If thou wilt wed with me, I will give thee a golden castle, +two palfreys, a box of fireworks and--and--lots of things. + +MAIDEN (_drooping_). I want none of these things. + +SQUIER. Oh!... Not even a box of fireworks? + +MAIDEN. No. + +SQUIER. Oh! (_He salutes_) Good-bye! (_He retreats._) + +NITE. Well done, Squier! + + (SQUIER, _rather pleased with himself, lies down and rests_.) + +MAIDEN (_kindly_). Dear Squier. (_She resumes her character._) + +NITE (_to_ MANNOCK). Now then, Low Renowne, it’s your turn. + +MANNOCK (_confidently_). Right! (_He marches up to the castle gate +and pulls the bell. There is dead silence. He pulls it again. Still +there is silence. He looks round, a little alarmed, at_ NITE) This +bell doesn’t ring! (NITE _laughs loudly_. MANNOCK _rings it again, +vigorously, but with no effect. He turns round to_ NITE _again_) I +say----(_But_ NITE _and_ SQUIER _have vanished. He calls out loudly, +frightened_) I say! (_There is no answer. The_ BUTEUS MAIDEN _still +waits silent_. MANNOCK _suddenly drops the bell, and attempts to push +his way into the castle, but_ DIGBY, _the immaculate butler, bars the +way_.) + +DIGBY. Yes, sir? + +MANNOCK. Open the door, thou scurvy bald-pate. + +DIGBY (_coldly_). What name, please? + +MANNOCK. Wight of Low Renowne. + +DIGBY. Then it’s no good your hanging about here. Only people of high +renown, successful people, are allowed in _this_ house. + +MANNOCK. Have a care, agéd man, lest I carve thee to the brisket. + +DIGBY (_calmly_). Those are my instructions. Her ladyship is not at +home to _any_ of her husband’s old friends. Mr. Selby Mannock says he +might perhaps give you a job in the garden, if you come round to the +back door. + +MANNOCK (_desperately_). But--but I’ve come to see the Buteus Maiden! + +DIGBY (_contemptuously_). Dressed like that? + +MANNOCK. You don’t understand. I’ve just come up from the country +for a day. (_He turns round_) Nite, how _can_ I play this game +if----(_But_ NITE _is not there; and when he turns back_, DIGBY _has +vanished. He rings the bell again_. ARTHUR _appears_.) + +ARTHUR. Name, please. + +MANNOCK. Wight of Low Renowne. + +ARTHUR (_coldly_). I don’t think I know him. Who is he? + +MANNOCK. I--I don’t---- It was Nite, who---- + +ARTHUR. _Your_ name, I think, is Richard Selby Mannock? + +MANNOCK. Y--Yes. + +ARTHUR. Then why do you give a false name? It only leads to +misapprehension. + +MANNOCK. I want to see the Buteus Maiden. + +ARTHUR. Dressed like that? + +MANNOCK. I--I---- + +ARTHUR. Look at yourself in the glass! A wight of low renowne! Have a +glass of port! Have a cigar! A wight of low renowne! + +MANNOCK (_turning round_). Nite! I can’t get in! People keep +stopping me! (_He turns back._ ARTHUR _has gone. He rings the bell._ +BERTIE CAPP _is there_.) + +BERTIE. Name, please. + +MANNOCK. Selby Mannock--I mean Wight of Low--(_pathetically_) I don’t +know. + +BERTIE. I thought perhaps it was the Chancellor of the Exchequer? + +MANNOCK. N--no, I don’t think so. + +BERTIE. What a pity! Couldn’t you work it somehow? Pull a few +strings? Talk to the Duke? Square an editor? I’m sure, if you had +a little time, you could think of something. Ask the Archbishop of +Canterbury to dinner! Invent a scandal about Mowbray! Intrigue a bit! +Surely you can do _something_! + +MANNOCK. I--I want to see the Buteus Maiden. + +BERTIE. Dressed like that? Without the Chancellor’s robes? + +MANNOCK. I _must_ speak to her! I want to tell her---- + +BERTIE. You know, that was a damn good speech of yours. The Prime +Minister knows what he is talking about, and he was awake practically +all the time. + +MANNOCK. Let me in! I must get in! + +BERTIE. I don’t know what the Prime Minister will say. You see, +Eversley--the Garden Eversley--has just given him a month’s notice, +and the Chancellor of the Exchequer----But, of course, if I were to +marry Freda, we should keep it in the family. It all helps. + +MANNOCK (_despairingly_). Nite, Squier, where are you? (_He pulls the +bell again. To his surprise it rings--or is it the_ BUTEUS MAIDEN +_saying “Bom, bom, bom”? He takes a step forward, and is there at +last--at her feet._) + +MAIDEN (_turning to him_). Who seeks me? + +MANNOCK. Er--er--(_but he can say nothing_). + +MAIDEN (_leaning to him_). Tell me. + +MANNOCK (_struggling desperately to tell her_). Er--er--(_and +behold! Reader, his secretary, is prompting him_) Mr. Chairman, my +lords, ladies and gentlemen! + +MAIDEN (_turning away in disappointment_). Oh! + +MANNOCK (_longing to say just the one word “Sally”--and then, “Sally, +I love you!” but Reader won’t have it_). Mr. Chairman, my lords, +ladies and gentlemen! + +MAIDEN (_sadly_). Have you nothing more to say to me? + +MANNOCK (_after another desperate struggle_). Mr. Chairman, my lords, +ladies and gentlemen! + +MAIDEN (_knowing that it is hopeless_). Alas! he hath a sickness! + + (_And now, suddenly_, NITE _and_ SQUIER _have him by the arms, + and are leading him away_.) + +NITE. That’s not the way, is it, Squier? + +SQUIER (_sadly_). I s’pose he _must_ have been dead all the time. + +NITE. _I’ll_ show you! Now you watch _me_! (_He walks bravely up to +the_ BUTEUS MAIDEN. _No door-bells, no parleyings for him._) Buteus +Maiden, I would speak with thee. + +MAIDEN. Who seeks me? + +NITE. It is I, thy love-lorn Nite. + +MAIDEN (_wistfully_). What wouldst thou, Nite? + +NITE. Fain would I marry thee. + +MAIDEN. Ah! + +NITE. No jewels do I bring thee; no golden palaces do I offer thee; +only---- + +MAIDEN (_whispering_). Only----? + +NITE. Only my love and my faithful service. + +MAIDEN (_getting down off the wall and giving him her hand_). Then do +I plight thee my troth. + + (_He goes on one knee to her and kisses her hand. Then, her arm + in his, he marches out of the castle, followed by the faithful_ + SQUIER, _who plays the War Song of the Dreadnought Nite_.) + +MANNOCK (_as they go_). Don’t go! Don’t go! (_But they go_) Sally! +Sally! + +SQUIER (_popping back_). Tell her it’s Dick calling. (_He hurries +back after the others._) + +MANNOCK. Sally! Where are you? It’s Dick! (_He goes from one side +to the other, calling_ “Sally!” _and then_ “It’s Dick!” _And as he +comes back to the castle, there she is, sitting on the wall in just +the same attitude as that child Sally--and as beautiful, as dear. +Nineteen, twenty; and_ MANNOCK, _seeing her, is himself no older, so +eagerly his face lights up_.) Ah, Sally, Sally! (At last he has found +her again.) + +SALLY. Here I am, Dick. + +MANNOCK. Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you. + +SALLY. Just down by the river. + +MANNOCK (_jealously_). What were you doing? + +SALLY. Just sitting in the buttercups, looking at the river. + +MANNOCK. Is that all? + +SALLY (_nodding_). That’s all, dear. + +MANNOCK (_after a pause_). Did you look at yourself in the river, +Sally? + +SALLY (_nodding_). Yes. + +MANNOCK (_with a deep sigh_). Oh, Sally! (_There is so much that he +cannot say, that words cannot express. She cannot help him now. She +waits, tremulous_) Sally, listen! (_She is listening. He taps the +signal. She nods. Then he sends “I.” She nods again_) Did you get +that? + +SALLY. Yes. + +MANNOCK. What was it? + +SALLY. “I.” + +MANNOCK. That’s right. That’s all the word. + +SALLY (_to herself_). Dick. + +MANNOCK. Listen! (_He taps “L.” She nods._) + +SALLY (_so gently_). “L.” + +MANNOCK. That’s right. (_He taps “O.” She nods._) + +SALLY (_as gently_). “O.” + +MANNOCK. Yes. (_He taps “V.” When he gets as far as “U,” he pauses a +moment, his hand up._ SALLY _is waiting breathlessly. With a smile he +makes it “V”; out comes her deep sigh of relief; she laughs back at +him._) + +SALLY (_nodding_). “V.” + +MANNOCK. Did you think it would be “V,” Sally? + +SALLY (_shyly_). I wondered if it might be “V.” + +MANNOCK (_tapping “E”_). There! + +SALLY. “Love!” (_She looks straight in front of her seeing--who shall +say what?_) “I love----” + +MANNOCK. I haven’t finished yet. + +SALLY (_softly_). No, you haven’t finished yet. + +MANNOCK. Shall I do the alphabet backwards for this letter? + +SALLY. Does it come at the end of the alphabet? + +MANNOCK. It does come rather at the end, Sally. + +SALLY (_with a deep sigh of happiness_). I think I’d like you to do +it forward, Dick. (_Gently_) To make it longer. + +MANNOCK. All right. (_He taps “Y.”_) + + (_Breathlessly, her chin up, her eyes all love_, SALLY _is + counting_.) + +SALLY (_certain now_). Ah! + +MANNOCK. Did you know it would be “Y,” Sally? + +SALLY (_ever so softly_). I think I knew, Dick. + +MANNOCK. Did you--did you want it to be “Y,” Sally? + +SALLY. Oh, I wanted it to be “Y”! + +MANNOCK. (_holding out his arms to her_). Oh, Sally, Sally, I love +you! Could you ... do you---- + +SALLY (_nodding_). Always, dearest, always. + +MANNOCK. Sally! + + (_If it were real, he would have her in his arms now, but it is + a dream, insubstantial._ BERTIE _and_ FREDA _are there suddenly, + between them. They each have an arm of_ MANNOCK’S, _and are + marching him away; yet talking to each other across him, as if he + were not there_.) + +BERTIE. As I said to the Prime Minister, the more these things are +kept in the family, the better. + +FREDA. That’s just what Father said, when Marjory married Robert. + +BERTIE. It will be useful for me, my wife being the Chancellor’s +daughter, and it will be useful for your Father, his daughter being +married to the Prime Minister’s secretary. + +FREDA. Exactly, Bertie. It all helps. + + (_They have let go of_ MANNOCK, _and are now arm-in-arm, but + still talking as if he had never been there_.) + +BERTIE. In these days, we must stick together, or where are we? + +FREDA. Exactly! Where _are_ we? + + (_And they are gone. But, alas!_ SALLY _is gone too_.) + +MANNOCK. Sally! Where are you? + + (_He hurries from one side to the other, calling for her. But it + is_ EVERSLEY, _as old as when we last saw him, who appears_.) + +MANNOCK (_turning round with a shout of welcome_). Teddy! + +EVERSLEY. I beg your pardon? + +MANNOCK (_coming closer_). I’m sorry, sir--you looked much younger--I +thought at first---- + +EVERSLEY (_smiling_). Not at all. Very charming of you to think so. +You live here, I suppose? + +MANNOCK (_charmingly boyish_). I’m staying here. Teddy and I stay +here in the vac. sometimes. We’re up at Cambridge. At least, we’ve +just come down. + +EVERSLEY (_smiling_). And what are you going to do? + +MANNOCK. I’m going to the Bar. But--(_shyly_) I want to write. + +EVERSLEY. Ah! + +MANNOCK. You see, you don’t get much money at the Bar, and I _must_ +have _some_, because you see--you see, Sally and I--we’ve just got +engaged. + +EVERSLEY. Oh, youth, youth! Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive. +But to be young was very heaven! + +MANNOCK. Only between ourselves, you know. We shan’t tell anybody +until I’m making a living. + +EVERSLEY. I shan’t say a word--except just to myself sometimes, +“Bless them.” + +MANNOCK (_shyly_). I say, thanks awfully. Sally would love that. + +EVERSLEY. Perhaps I shall be able to give you a hand later on. I +write too. I daresay I could introduce you--a word in the right +ear---- + +MANNOCK. I say, that’s awfully decent of you. I don’t suppose I’m +much good. But it’s fun.... It _is_ fun, isn’t it? I mean being alive +... and trying ... and wondering ... and having somebody else who +wonders too.... Oh, what a lot there is in the world that nobody +knows anything about! All the lovely things! All the precious things! +(_Ashamed suddenly_) I say, I’m awfully sorry--talking such rot---- + +EVERSLEY. Keep on looking for the lovely things.... And bless you +both. + +LADY JANE (_off_). Edward! + + (MANNOCK _looks up at the voice_.) + +EVERSLEY. There she is! + + (LADY JANE _comes on in full evening dress_.) + +LADY JANE. Ah, there you are, Edward! + + (MANNOCK _gazes at her, struggling with horrible memories_.) + +EVERSLEY. Here I am, my dear. (_To_ MANNOCK) This is my wife, Lady +Jane. + +MANNOCK (_to himself_). _His_ wife! (_He draws a deep breath of +relief_) How do you do? + +LADY JANE (_casually_). How do you do? Are we ready, Edward? + +EVERSLEY. Yes, my dear. + + (_They turn and go off together, talking loudly to each other as + if_ MANNOCK _were not there_.) + +LADY JANE. Who is he? + +EVERSLEY. Just a nice young man. + +LADY JANE. He looks as if he had possibilities. Ask him to Drayton, +if you like. He might do. (_They are gone._) + +MANNOCK (_still looking for her_). Sally, where _are_ you?... Sally! + + (NITE _and_ SQUIER _march across, singing the Dreadnought war + song_.) + +SQUIER (_as they disappear_). Say it’s Dick calling. + +MANNOCK. Sally! Where are you? It’s Dick! + + (_And there she is, on her wall again, just as if she had never + gone._) + +SALLY. Here I am, dear. + +MANNOCK (_rushing to her_). Oh, Sally, I’ve had the most awful dream! +I dreamed--just for a moment--I was married to--to somebody else. It +was horrible. And then I couldn’t find you, and--Oh, Sally, it _is_ +you, isn’t it? Say it’s you. + +SALLY (_nodding_). It is, dearest, it is. Never mind the dream. + +MANNOCK. It couldn’t happen, could it? + +SALLY (_trembling_). Oh it couldn’t, it couldn’t.... Oh, if it did! + +MANNOCK (_comforting her_). It couldn’t, Sally. It will always be you. + +SALLY. It was always you. From the very first. Those dear, silly +games we played as children--do you remember?---- + +MANNOCK. I remember. + +SALLY. I think I _liked_ Teddy better--(_doubtfully_) I think he was +_nicer_, Dick--(_hurriedly_) Oh no, no, he wasn’t---- + +MANNOCK. He was. I was a little beast. + +SALLY. You weren’t, you weren’t. It was always you.... I loved Teddy; +I love him now; it’s sort of friendly, loving _him_. But you were +different. It’s sort of terrible, loving _you_, Dick. You’re right in +my heart, so twined that it can hardly beat without hurting me. You +can’t go now; not unless you tear my heart out too. + +MANNOCK. I’m happy being in your heart. + +SALLY. It was always you. I used to say to myself when we were +children, “Squier’s heaps nicer, _really_”--(_nodding_) Yes, he +was--but Squier couldn’t hurt me. Only you could hurt me. I think +that was how I knew that I loved you. + +MANNOCK. I won’t hurt you, darling. Never again. + +SALLY (_wistfully, wondering at his innocence_). Oh, my dear!... +(_Very gently_) If you stop hurting me, I have stopped loving you. + +MANNOCK (_softly_). I will stay in your heart. + +SALLY (_putting her hands to her heart_). You are all that I have +there. + + (_They are silent together.... Very faintly the War Song of the + Dreadnought Nite is heard._ SALLY _stands up_.) + +SALLY. Come, dearest. + +MANNOCK. I come, my beautiful. + +SALLY. Into the world, for whatever the world may send, but always +together. + +MANNOCK. Always together, my lovely. + + (_They begin to move, but are held there. It is a deputation + arriving. The War Song grows louder, as all the people of_ + MANNOCK’S _dream file in. Now they are between_ SALLY _and her + lover. She calls to him with her eyes, “Come, dearest,” but he + cannot.... She is gone._) + +DIGBY. Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! The Chancellor of the Exchequer will now put +on his robe of office. + + (_The deputation solemnly presents_ MANNOCK _with the robe and + departs with dignity_.) + +MANNOCK. Half a moment, Sally, I must just put this on. (_He +struggles into it_) Sally! (_He looks up, still struggling. She is +not there_) Wait a moment, Sally! (_He struggles_) Sally, I must get +this on! Don’t you understand, dear?... (_Frightened_) Sally! Wait +for me! (_Desperately_) Sally!... Sally!---- + + (_But he has lost her._) + + + ACT II + + SCENE 2: _A Corner of the Wilderness_ + + _It is early morning, perhaps seven o’clock, in that corner of + the Wilderness which we have already seen in_ MANNOCK’S _dream. + On the wall sits_ SALLY, LADY CARCHESTER, _a woman in the forties + now, but still our_ SALLY. MANNOCK, _seeking the fresh air after + a restless night, his dream still strong upon him, comes suddenly + upon her_. + +MANNOCK (_with a shout_). Sally! Oh, my darling! (_And then he +realises suddenly_) I beg your pardon! (_He is staggered at what he +has said._) I--I beg your pardon, Lady Carchester. Please forgive me. + +SALLY (_smiling sadly_). It’s all right. + +MANNOCK. I’m really----What can you think? My only excuse--but I’m +ashamed to give it. + +SALLY. Please tell me. + +MANNOCK (_with a laugh_). It’s absurd. (_Then he tells her_) I dreamt +last night--the most vivid, absurd--(_softly_) the most wonderful +dream. You and I--here; first as children, then--afterwards. +Sometimes I seemed to be looking on at myself; in some funny way +there were two of me. Sometimes you were a child, sometimes you +were grown up. But always it was you and I. Other people came in; +everybody; you know how; but always you and I. Here. Just where you +are sitting now--just where, just how, you always used to sit.... And +then I woke up and came out here--it was early, nobody else could be +up--and there you were. Just as you always used to sit. + +SALLY (_leaning back on her hands and nodding_). I understand. + +MANNOCK. Don’t! Don’t! + +SALLY. What? + +MANNOCK (_in distress_). It’s the Sally I used to know! Everything. +The way she sits, the way she talks, the way she moves. Oh, Sally, +don’t! (_He recovers himself with an effort_) I beg your pardon. + +SALLY (_smiling faintly_). It’s all right. + +MANNOCK (_trying not to look at her_). I’ve never had such a real +dream. It almost seems as if _you_ must have been dreaming it too. +(_With an awkward laugh_) Were you? + +SALLY. I have those dreams. (_Poor dear, it’s all she has._) + +MANNOCK. I suppose it was being in that room again. (_With a laugh_) +There are ghosts in that room, Lady Carchester. + +SALLY. There are ghosts in every room--in every corner of the +gardens---- + +MANNOCK. And here. + +SALLY. And here.... + +MANNOCK. It must be--how many years since we met? + +SALLY. I don’t know.... Did your speeches go off well? + +MANNOCK. I think so. Yes. I don’t know. + +SALLY. I expect they did ... I’m sorry I wasn’t up when you came. I +went to bed early. + +MANNOCK. We were late. Nearly midnight. I dined at the hotel, in +between the speeches. + +SALLY. I thought you would ... I thought you wouldn’t mind if I was +not up when you came. + +MANNOCK. But you were. (_She turns to him_) In every room--in every +corner of the house.... I tapped on the wall--G.D. (_Gently to +himself_) Good-bye, dear. That’s “God be with you, dear.” + +SALLY (_softly_). I heard it. + + (_And suddenly, the unearthly sweetness of his dream still with + him_, MANNOCK _forgets that he is married, father of a family, + an important and successful man; forgets that this is Lady + Carchester. They are boy and girl still, just as in the dream. Is + it too late?_) + +MANNOCK. Sally, Sally, I love you! Oh, my beautiful, I’ve always +loved you. It’s too late now--I’ve thrown your love away--but I love +you, I love you. Oh, just to say it again--I love you. + +SALLY (_whispering to herself_). Oh, just to hear you say it +again--“I love you.” + +MANNOCK. I’ve thrown them away--all the lovely things of life, all +the precious things. I’ve thrown them away--for nothing. Oh, if you +could forgive me--it’s too late now, but if you could forgive me! +I’ve hurt you, but I’ve hurt myself more, for it was always you. How +can you forgive me? I tore myself out of your heart--you said that +would hurt you, Sally--but if you could forgive! + +SALLY. I forgive, dearest. + +MANNOCK. Success! It closes in on you. That’s what Teddy said. I +tried to get free--I did try, Sally--but I couldn’t. It had got me. +It closes in on you. + +SALLY. I understand, dearest. + +MANNOCK. Oh, but just to say, “I love you, Sally,” again! + +SALLY. Oh, just to hear you say it, dearest. + +MANNOCK (_timidly_). I suppose you couldn’t say, “I love you, Dick.” +Oh no, how can I ask it? + +SALLY. “If you stop hurting me, I have stopped loving you”--do you +remember? + +MANNOCK (_remorsefully_). Sally! + +SALLY (_her hand to her heart_). It has never stopped hurting.... +I had to make something of my life. To sit alone with Pain--(_she +shakes her head_) I had to make something of it. But it has never +stopped hurting. + +MANNOCK. Oh, my dear! Forgive me. + +SALLY. It is early. We are alone with the world. This is part of the +dream--you and I. And so--I love you, Dick. + +MANNOCK (_humbly_). Thank you, Sally. + +SALLY (_giving him her hand_). It is part of the dream. (_They are +hand in hand--silent._) + +MANNOCK (_quietly_). Need it be a dream? There is so much in the +world that nobody knows anything about--is it too late to find it +together? + +SALLY (_trembling_). It is only part of the dream, dearest. + +MANNOCK (_earnestly_). Need it be? Here we are, you and I--need it be +a dream? + +SALLY (_how she loves him_). Your career. + +MANNOCK (_bitterly_). My career! My successful career! (_He tears it +away_) Let me get away from it! Help me to get away from it! It is +not too late. Come with me, my beautiful. + +SALLY (_her last defence_). It means giving up everything. + +MANNOCK (_triumphantly_). It means finding everything.... + +SALLY (_quietly_). I have always loved you. From the first--from the +very first. It was always you. It is you now. If you want me--if you +think it is not too late--if it would be better for you--(_she breaks +off, and then begins again_) I don’t know if it’s wrong. I don’t +know much about Right and Wrong. But I think, perhaps, that there +are some wrongs which are better and braver than Right, and some +rights which are worse and more destroying than Wrong.... It is only +of you I am thinking. If it would be better for you--(_she breaks +off again, and then nods gently to herself_) I will come with you, +dearest. + +MANNOCK. Sally, my lovely one! (_He holds out his hands to her; she +takes them_) But you _want_ to come? You do love me still--after all +I’ve done to you? Say “I love you, Dick.” + +SALLY (_from her broken heart_). God knows how I love you, Dick. + +MANNOCK. Oh, my dear, my dear! (_He kisses her hands reverently, and +is silent for a little. Then, thinking it out slowly, now for the +first time seeing the thing as it is, he says_) Now then, you must +give me a week, a week to get out of it all, a week to get clear. +Sally, you _do_ see, don’t you? I can’t only think of myself--now. +Not now. That was the old way--only myself--my success--my +career--but now! I must get out of it all first. I must have a +week--to get clear. + +SALLY (_perhaps she guesses_). You must have a week--to be certain. + +MANNOCK (_confidently_). Oh, I’m certain enough. (_He laughs +happily._) + +SALLY. Yet I want you to have a week. Not seeing me, not writing to +me. I can do nothing for you now, dear. It is for you.... Here am I. +If, at the end of a week, you want me, tell me where you want me, and +I will come. + +MANNOCK. There is a place I’ve seen, a little sleepy village between +hills; you will feel at rest there. Nobody comes, nobody will know +us. When we are there together, then I will try to thank you. + +SALLY (_seeing it then, if never afterwards_). I will wait for you to +say “Come!” + +MANNOCK (_nodding_). A week. Only a week. (_He makes a movement as +if to go; she too_). No, don’t move! Let me have this picture of you +for our last week away from each other.... Hands behind you in that +way you always had. There! Sally the child, Sally the girl, Sally the +woman--and always my belovéd. (_Clasping his hands to her_) Oh, my +lovely! + + (_He is gone; she waits there. So it was twenty-five years ago. + So it is now._) + + + + + ACT III + + + SCENE 1: _Cavendish Square_ + + _It is the afternoon of the same day._ BERTIE, _ushered in by_ + DIGBY, _comes into the empty library. He has just been told that_ + MR. MANNOCK _is not yet home_. + +BERTIE (_looking at his watch_). I suppose the train was late. + +DIGBY. No, sir, apparently not. The car has returned with Mr. +Mannock’s dressing-case. + +BERTIE. Then where---- + +DIGBY. I understand from Lawson that Mr. Mannock gave instructions +that he would be walking home. + +BERTIE (_amazed_). Walking! Why? + +DIGBY. Naturally I can’t say, sir, except that it is a fine +afternoon, and that Mr. Mannock may have felt in good spirits. + +BERTIE. Good spirits! Good Lord! + +DIGBY. Yes, sir. Even if he walked all the way he should be here very +soon now, sir. Of course, if he popped on to a ’bus---- + +BERTIE. My good Digby, you can’t pop on to a ’bus without years of +practice. If he has taken his life in his hands like that, he may be +at Crouch End, or God knows where, by now. Well, I shall wait, if I +wait all day. + +DIGBY. Yes, sir. + +BERTIE. Tell her ladyship I’m here. + +DIGBY. Very good, sir. + + (_He goes out._ BERTIE _sits down with a paper and waits_. FREDA + _comes in_.) + +FREDA. Hullo, Bertie. + +BERTIE (_getting up and taking her hand_). Hullo, Freda. +(_Petulantly_) Why on earth do you let your Father dash off to +Cricklewood like this? + +FREDA. Is that where he is? + +BERTIE. _I_ don’t know. Oh, confound their knavish tricks! + +FREDA (_surprised_). Bertie, you’re quite ruffled. + +BERTIE. I’ve had a ruffling morning. + +FREDA. Bobo a trifle tetchy? + +BERTIE. If you are referring to the Prime Minister---- + +FREDA. I am. + +BERTIE. The answer is in the affirmative. “Tetchy,” perhaps, hardly +does it justice. + +FREDA. How very grim for you. + +BERTIE. Oh, I shall survive. + +FREDA. I’m sure you will. You’re the surviving sort. (_She sits +down._) + +BERTIE (_thoughtfully_). Now I wonder if that’s a compliment or not. +(_He sits down too._) + +FREDA. Well, I shouldn’t have much use for anybody who wasn’t a +survivor. + +BERTIE. Ah, then it _is_ a compliment. + +FREDA. Of course it is. + +BERTIE (_tentatively_). But if he _were_ a survivor, if he very +distinctly were, then you--you could imagine yourself having some +slight use for him? + +FREDA (_demurely_). You might go as far as that, Mr. Capp--quite +unofficially. + +BERTIE. Yes.... I’m forty. I just mention it. + +FREDA. I’m nineteen. I just throw it out. + +BERTIE. In a mid-Victorian novel I should point out sadly that I was +old enough to be your father. + +FREDA. And in a modern novel I should agree that, if you had married +at twenty, and got to work at once, you might just have done it. + +BERTIE (_after a pause_). Did I tell you that my Uncle Joseph died +the other day? + +FREDA.. No.... My sister’s small baby has just been vaccinated. + +BERTIE (_reproachfully_). He was the rich one, you know. + +FREDA. Oh, I beg his pardon! (_Tactfully_) Did he--was his mind clear +at the last? + +BERTIE. Perfectly, I’m glad to say. + +FREDA. How clear? + +BERTIE. About a hundred and twenty thousand. + +FREDA (_delighted_). Bertie, what a brain! + +BERTIE (_looking at her proudly_). You know, every now and then, +you’re just like the Freda of ten years ago, who used to sit on my +knee and try to wear my eye-glass. + +FREDA. My dear Bertie, surely I’ve sat on your knee since then! + +BERTIE. Not so systematically. + +FREDA (_sitting on it and wearing his eye-glass_). But how absurd to +let these old customs die out. (_After a pause_) Have you actually +proposed to me yet? + +BERTIE (_with dignity_). I am just going to. + +FREDA. I don’t want to hurry you. + +BERTIE (_beginning_). Freda! + +FREDA. Yes? + +BERTIE. What about it? I should like to be married to +you--tremendously. + +FREDA. Nice person. + +BERTIE. Would you care about it at all? + +FREDA. Terribly. + +BERTIE. I think your Father and Mother would like the idea. I don’t +know if that matters nowadays. + +FREDA. My dear Bertie, of course it does. Family quarrels are so +vulgar--besides upsetting things. I want you to get on. + +BERTIE. Quite.... Then that’s all right. + +FREDA. Yes, that’s all right. + +BERTIE. Do we celebrate it in the usual way? + +FREDA. Well, we shall have to begin some time. (_Kissing him_) Dear +Bertie! + +BERTIE (_rather moved_). Thank you. I’ll try not to let you down. + + (LADY JANE _comes in_. BERTIE, _full of apologetic noises, + struggles to get up_.) + +FREDA (_calmly_). Subterfuge is useless, Bertie. (_She gets off his +knee_) Bertie has just asked me to marry him, Mother. + +LADY JANE (_delighted_). My dear Bertie! How--(_she seeks for the +right word_)--how satisfactory! (_She holds out her hand, which he +kisses_) I am _so_ glad. (_To_ FREDA) Dear child! (_She puts up a +cheek._) + +FREDA. Tell her about your Uncle Joseph. + +BERTIE. He died, you know, the other day. + +LADY JANE. Not unexpectedly, I hope? + +BERTIE. Oh, no! On the contrary. + +LADY JANE. That’s a comfort. And--all satisfactory? + +BERTIE. Very. + +LADY JANE. You must tell Richard the details. (_To_ FREDA) Run along +now, dear. Bertie really came here on business, I suspect. (_To him_) +Isn’t that so? + +FREDA (_holding up a finger_). Now, Bertie, don’t say I was just an +accident. + +BERTIE. A delightful interlude. + +FREDA. That’s better. But I still think---- + +LADY JANE. Nonsense, Freda, you know how busy Bertie is. + +FREDA. “For men must work, and women must weep....” I shall be +weeping upstairs, if you want another interlude before you go. + +BERTIE (_opening the door for her_). Rather! Of course I do. (_She +goes out. He closes the door and comes quickly to_ LADY JANE) I say, +what about it? You read the speech, of course. + +LADY JANE. Naturally. + +BERTIE. The P.M.’s furious. + +LADY JANE. That’s also natural. + +BERTIE. Did you know he was going to? I beg your pardon, I oughtn’t +to have asked you that. + +LADY JANE. I knew what Richard’s views were. Naturally. + +BERTIE. Well, of course, we all did. (_He takes a turn up and down_) +Look here, we had a draft of the speech. Knowing his views, the P.M. +insisted on it. That draft merely echoed the policy of the Cabinet. +It went no further. I brought it back to Mannock the night before +last, and told him that the P.M. approved. He goes down to Leeds, +gives ’em the speech, and at the critical point throws over the +Cabinet and dashes off on his own. Just as we were afraid he would. + +LADY JANE. It won’t be difficult to explain that. + +BERTIE. So I told the P.M. Naturally he feels that he has been done, +Mannock having practically promised him that the other speech was---- + +LADY JANE (_horrified_). Bertie, you’re not suggesting anything +against Richard’s honour! + +BERTIE (_equally horrified_). Good Lord, of course I’m not! + +LADY JANE. But is the Prime Minister? + +BERTIE (_apologetically_). You must make allowances for him. You see, +he’s just getting over influenza. When he’s quite strong again, +he’ll see that it’s ridiculous to talk about honour--it’s just a +question of tactics. But at present--well, you know how you feel +after influenza. + +LADY JANE (_in the voice of one who knows the explanation by heart_). +It’s perfectly simple. Richard made a private memorandum of his own +views, which he intended to lay before the Cabinet. Accidentally, +owing to some carelessness of his secretary, this must have been +included in the first draft of the speech. When it was discovered, +the speech was typed out afresh and sent to the Prime Minister. +Richard, again owing to some carelessness, took the earlier draft to +Leeds. + +BERTIE (_also knowing it by heart_). Quite, quite. + +LADY JANE. Richard will tell us what happened then. He may have +found himself in the middle of it before he realised that he had the +wrong draft, and have been carried away. Or he may have thought that +this was the draft which had been submitted to the Prime Minister, +and that the P.M., though not approving it, had wished a kite to be +flown, knowing that he could always repudiate Richard afterwards. + +BERTIE. Quite. + +LADY JANE. Of course it was careless of Reader. He has been +dismissed, by the way. + +BERTIE. Quite. Oh, there are plenty of explanations. And if the P.M. +had been in normal health---- + +LADY JANE. What does he want? + +BERTIE. Well, he wants an explanation of some kind, and he wants it +for the Press. And he wants something pretty humble from Mannock +personally. And he wants to smoke very badly and can’t, because of +his throat--that’s really what’s worrying him. + +LADY JANE. Oh!... Oh, well!... Who’s going to the Admiralty? + +BERTIE (_uncomfortably_). Nothing’s settled as far as I know. And +won’t be until he’s well again. + +LADY JANE. Not even Mowbray? + +BERTIE. No.... + +LADY JANE. Bertie, you’re one of the family now. Tell me frankly: is +it certain that Mowbray will be Chancellor of the Exchequer? + +BERTIE. Nothing is certain. + +LADY JANE. Oh! Well, that’s something. (_After a pause_) Has Leeds +done Richard any harm? + +BERTIE. At the moment, yes, certainly. Ultimately, I should say, no. + +LADY JANE. He’s played the wrong card? + +BERTIE. I think so. But you never know. The P.M.’s queer in some +ways. And it depends a little on how the Press takes it up. They were +very non-committal this morning. + +LADY JANE. In the circumstances, to be non-committal is to be on our +side. + +BERTIE. Quite.... (_Looking at his watch_) But where _is_ he, where +_is_ he? What’s all this about walking home? + +LADY JANE. Walking home? What do you mean? + +BERTIE. Why, Digby said----(_and now_ MANNOCK _comes in_) Ah! + +MANNOCK (_cheerfully_). Hullo, Bertie. Digby told me you were here. +(_To his wife_) Ah, you’ve been looking after him. That’s good. (_He +is younger than when we first saw him, more eager._) + +BERTIE. We wondered what had happened to you. + +MANNOCK. I sent the car on and walked. It was such a jolly afternoon. + +LADY JANE. Walked! From Euston? (_She looks at him in amazement._) + +MANNOCK. Yes. Such a jolly afternoon. + +LADY JANE. Oh!... (_Before words come to her, she decides that, after +all, it doesn’t matter very much._) Bertie has come round about the +speech. + +MANNOCK (_at a loss_). Speech? + +LADY JANE. He thinks it was a mistake in tactics, as it turns out. + +BERTIE. Yes, but there’s more to it than that. The P.M.---- + +MANNOCK. Oh, the speech! Oh, I see. + +LADY JANE. I was telling him that that could easily be explained. + +BERTIE. Quite. + +LADY JANE. He thinks--oh, by the way, we may regard Bertie as one of +the family now. Freda---- + +BERTIE. Please. + +LADY JANE. Freda---- + +MANNOCK. Freda and Bertie? + +LADY JANE. Yes. I have told Bertie how delighted we are. + +MANNOCK (_violently_). No! I won’t have it! + +LADY JANE (_amazed_). Richard! + +BERTIE (_equally amazed_). Why, what---- + +MANNOCK (_recovering himself with an effort_). I beg your pardon. + +LADY JANE. But I don’t understand. Only the other day---- + +MANNOCK. I want Freda to marry for love ... I’m sorry, Bertie. +Perhaps she does love you. + +BERTIE (_embarrassed_). Well, I--I don’t understand. I asked her to +marry me, and she--apparently she---- + +MANNOCK. Are you in love with _her_? + +BERTIE (_out of his depth_). Well, I--I asked her to marry me, +and----Yes, of course I am. I mean--(_bewildered_) I don’t understand. + +MANNOCK. Good God, man, you must know if you’re in love or not. + +LADY JANE (_interposing firmly_). Bertie, perhaps you wouldn’t mind +fetching Freda. + +BERTIE (_relieved_). Right. + + [_He goes out._ + +LADY JANE. Thank you.... Richard, what’s the matter? What has +happened? + + (MANNOCK _takes a turn up the room, wondering how much to tell + her, when to tell her_.) + +MANNOCK (_looking up suddenly_). Do you mean about Freda? + +LADY JANE. Why this sudden change? Two nights ago we were both +saying---- + +MANNOCK. That’s just it. I want to be sure that she is not doing it +just because she thinks we want it. + +LADY JANE. I probably know Freda better than you---- + +MANNOCK. I don’t know her at all. + +LADY JANE. Then you may take my word for it that, if she marries +anybody, it will be because she wants to do so. + +MANNOCK (_thoughtfully_). Yes, I suppose so. (_With a laugh to +himself_) After all, it hasn’t really very much to do with me--now. + +LADY JANE. Naturally we both want her to be happy. Bertie has come +into money, he tells me. I suppose he was waiting for that. I think +it’s the most satisfactory thing that could have happened. + +MANNOCK (_thoughtfully_). Yes, I’m not sure that it isn’t. + +LADY JANE. Well, then! + +MANNOCK. Yes.... (_To himself_) God, how difficult it all is, when +you get close to it. + +LADY JANE. All what? + +MANNOCK (waving his hands). Life. Everything. + + (_Before_ LADY JANE _can take his temperature_, BERTIE _and_ + FREDA _come in_.) + +FREDA. What is it? + +MANNOCK. Come here, Freda. (_She comes to him, looking up into his +face_) Fond of Bertie? + +FREDA (_smiling_). I’ve adored him for years. + +MANNOCK. Going to be happy with him? + +FREDA. I hope so. + +MANNOCK (_kissing her forehead_). Well, good luck to you both. +(_Shaking Bertie’s hand_) Good luck to you, Bertie. + +LADY JANE. I think Freda is a very lucky girl. Bertie has a wonderful +career in front of him. + +BERTIE (_modestly_). Well, I hope---- + +FREDA. Oh, Bertie’s all right. + +MANNOCK (_with a note of dismissal_). All right, Freda. I just wanted +to feel quite sure----That’s all right, Bertie. + + [BERTIE _opens the door for_ FREDA, _who goes out_. + +LADY JANE. Now then, tell Richard just what you were telling me. +(_She sits down for it._) + +BERTIE (_coming back to them_). Well, what it really comes to---- + +MANNOCK (_smiling to himself happily_). I have sent in my resignation +to the Prime Minister. + +LADY JANE. Richard! Is that wise? At this moment? (_She turns to +Bertie for help_) Bertie? + +BERTIE (_shaking his head_). He’s in the mood to accept it. You can’t +hold a pistol to his head just now. + +LADY JANE. That’s what I felt. (_Anxiously to her husband_) Has the +letter gone? + +MANNOCK. It has gone. + +BERTIE. Good Lord! + +LADY JANE. Is it too late? (_To_ BERTIE) Can’t _you_---- + +MANNOCK (_patiently_). I have resigned. He will accept my +resignation. He can’t help himself. Well, I intend him to. That’s why +I resigned. + +LADY JANE (_with restraint_). I don’t want to--I daresay you know +best. But surely it was a matter which should have been discussed +first. You must think that it was wise, or you wouldn’t have done it. +But at least let us hear your reasons. Here are Bertie and I, only +too anxious to help. + + (MANNOCK _looks at her--and at_ BERTIE. _A smile comes on to his + face as he imagines himself saying, “Well, the fact is, I am + running away with another woman.” Impossible, of course, with_ + BERTIE _there. Impossible anyhow, yet. He cannot mention_ SALLY’S + _name in this atmosphere; cannot hint that there is another + woman, for fear of_ SALLY _being identified. Impossible to + discuss her, them, the situation, with anybody. Unless it were a + friend of_ SALLY’S. EVERSLEY, _perhaps. But he must be out of the + Government first. Some such thoughts as these are in his mind, + even if we cannot read them._) + +MANNOCK. Well, yes, that’s reasonable. And yet--it’s no good. I can’t +explain now. Except to say that I’m doing it with my eyes open. (_In +a whisper_) At last. (_To_ LADY JANE) You must give me a week--then +I’ll explain everything. + +LADY JANE (_uncertain_). Well--of course you know best---- + +BERTIE (_quite certain_). That’s all right, Lady Jane. (_He almost +winks at her_) I understand. + +LADY JANE. Do you really think---- + +BERTIE. You never can tell with the P.M. I’ve said that before. +Mannock’s way--he has always played his cards well--there’s +something up his sleeve--you leave it to him. + + (MANNOCK _has wandered away in search of an A.B.C. Trains don’t + touch that sleepy little village between hills, but they can + bring lovers within reach of it. Just to look up the train is + something._) + +LADY JANE (_nodding to_ BERTIE). Very well. If you think---- + +BERTIE. He knows what he’s doing. + +LADY JANE. Very well, Richard. You do it your own way. Meanwhile---- + +BERTIE. Meanwhile no harm in letting it be known that---- + +LADY JANE. Important changes in the Cabinet are pending. + +BERTIE. Well, yes, _that_---- + +LADY JANE. I’ll ask Roger Coombes to lunch to-morrow, and drop a hint. + +BERTIE. Yes.... I was going to say that I could let fall a word +or two. By the way, perhaps we’d better say nothing about Freda +until this is safely over. I should like to be able to preserve my +impartiality for what it’s worth. A suggestion that, from what I +have seen of Mannock lately, he is tired of the confinements of his +present office---- + +LADY JANE. And that a post of greater freedom---- + +BERTIE. And more responsibility--exactly. (_Chuckling_) Otherwise he +seriously thinks of retiring from public life altogether. + +LADY JANE (_laughing at the absurdity of it_). I think that can be +safely left to you, Bertie. And you’re right about Freda. I hope she +hasn’t been ringing up all her friends. I’d better see about that at +once. + +BERTIE. I’ll come along too. Well, so long, Mannock. + +MANNOCK (_who was just stepping out of the train_). Going? + +BERTIE. You’ll be seeing some more of me before very long, I expect. +(_With sudden enthusiasm_) By Jove, if you play this hand properly, I +believe--well, almost anything might happen. + +MANNOCK (_happily_). I believe it might, Bertie. + + [LADY JANE _and_ BERTIE _go out_. + + (MANNOCK, _with the A.B.C. in his hands, is back in the train + with_ SALLY.... _This time it is_ READER _who interrupts them_.) + +READER. Are you busy, sir? + +MANNOCK (_looking up_). No ... no. + +READER (_formally_). I gather, from what I have read in the papers, +that I accidentally gave you the wrong draft of the speech. It was +very careless of me, and I wish to express my regret. + +MANNOCK (_smiling_). _Very_ careless of you, Reader. + +READER (_his first smile in_ MANNOCK’S _house_). I thought I had +better mention it. + +MANNOCK. Thank you.... But we are not bothering about that now. + +READER. Oh? + +MANNOCK. No. Life has other things to offer than speeches at +Leeds.... (_Suddenly remembering_) By the way, what were you trying +to tell me about Mrs. Reader the other day? + +READER (_distressed_). I oughtn’t to have--it was only in the shock +of your---- + +MANNOCK (_smiling_). Yes, never mind all that. I should like to know, +if you would like to tell me. + +READER (_awkwardly, after a pause_). She--we--we’re going to have a +baby. + +MANNOCK. Ah!... The first? (READER _nods_) Frightened? (READER _nods +again_.) + +READER (_suddenly_). I--I do love her so. + +MANNOCK (_gently_). How long have you been married? + +READER. Ten years.... It’s like yesterday. + +MANNOCK (_moved_). Yes.... Oh, before I forget, I’d better write to +Carfax. I know he wants somebody. (_He goes to his desk_) Sit down, +won’t you? + +READER. Thank you very much. It’s very kind of you. You see, I +haven’t liked to tell her yet---- + +MANNOCK (_writing_). Well, don’t, until we’ve got this fixed up. + +READER. No. + +MANNOCK. I daresay Carfax will stand for another fifty, if he’s sure +he’s getting the right man. Then that will be a pleasant surprise for +her. + +READER (_thawing_). I am afraid she won’t look at it quite like that. +You see, she is--if I may say so--very much interested in you. In +your career. She will be sorry to.... You see, we often talk about +you in the evenings. We wonder what you are going to do. Having no +career of our own, so to speak---- + +MANNOCK (_writing_). No career of your own. Lucky man! + +READER. We find our interest in following yours. I believe that if +I could go home to-morrow and tell my wife--before it got into the +papers, you understand--that you were to be the new Chancellor of the +Exchequer, she would be as happy and excited as if it had happened to +me. + +MANNOCK (_with a laugh for the vanity of these things_) Chancellor of +the Exchequer, eh? (_Shaking his head_) No, Reader, no. + +READER. Well, that’s as may be.... (_Enthusiastically_) To be +Chancellor of the Exchequer! Think of the power it gives you! To know +that there isn’t a house in the whole country which isn’t waiting +for _your_ decision--from the tiniest cottage to the hugest castle! +Not a family that won’t be affected! It must be wonderful. The +power of affecting all those people! It has always seemed to me the +supreme goal for any man to reach. (_Apologetically_) Sometimes we +have pretended--only in play, you understand--that it was I who had +reached it ... we have wondered ... the power it gives you ... (_he +sees himself there, Ethel with him_)--we have talked over what we +should do---- + + (_And_ MANNOCK _has been seeing himself there too. Just for a + moment he has been there._) + +MANNOCK (_with a sigh_). Yes.... (_Then he is back with_ SALLY +_again. Gently he says_) But there is something better than that. +Something.... (_You can see him thinking of it, smiling.... But now +his thoughts have changed; the smile gives place to a frown. The +career is fighting its way back into his mind. Fighting with_ SALLY. +_He jerks his head round at_ READER, READER _who is tempting him, +and says sharply_) Chancellor of the Exchequer, eh? No, Reader, no. +(_Returning to the letter_) I shan’t be a moment. + + + ACT III + + SCENE 2: _Cavendish Square_, MANNOCK’S _library_. + + _It is afternoon, two days later._ MANNOCK _is alone, restlessly + doing nothing_. ARTHUR _comes in._ + +ARTHUR. Busy? + +MANNOCK _(looking up_). No ... no. + +ARTHUR. Thought I’d say good-bye. I’m just off. + +MANNOCK. Off? + +ARTHUR. Yes, that’s right, isn’t it? You said you didn’t want me till +the end of the month. + +MANNOCK (_remembering_). Oh!... Oh, yes. (_He remembers that now he +won’t want_ ARTHUR _at all_) Yes. (_With an effort_) What are you +going to do? + +ARTHUR. Going to Marjory’s for a week. Then down to Cornwall for a +little golf. + +MANNOCK (_remembering his elder daughter_). Marjory.... Yes. (_How +complicated life is!_) + +ARTHUR. Any messages for any of them? + +MANNOCK. Yes--no. I’ll write. (_To himself_) Yes, I shall have to +write to Marjory. + +ARTHUR. Right. Then if I’m back by the 30th, that will do? + +MANNOCK (_after a silence_). Arthur! + +ARTHUR. Yes? + +MANNOCK. I’ve sent in my resignation. + +ARTHUR. Your resignation? Why? Oh, I see. The old resignation stunt. +Hasn’t that been rather overdone? + +MANNOCK. You don’t understand, Arthur---- + +ARTHUR. All these political tactics--there’s something so tawdry +about them, so shoddy, so----Sorry, Father, I was forgetting. I’m a +neutral now. Well, I suppose I shall get used to them. + +MANNOCK. I say again, I have resigned my seat in the Cabinet. + +ARTHUR (_with a smile_). If you’re not careful, the P.M. will accept +it, and then where will you be? + +MANNOCK (_sharply_). Out of the Cabinet, which is where I want to be. + +ARTHUR. Not really? Why? (MANNOCK _shrugs his shoulders_.) No, but +why, Father? + +MANNOCK. I’m tired of it. I want to get out of it all. + +ARTHUR (_eagerly_). I say! You’re not crossing over, are you? How +terribly sporting of you! + +MANNOCK (_firmly_). I’m giving up politics altogether. + +ARTHUR (_his jaw falling_). Giving up----? Then what about me? + +MANNOCK. That’s been worrying me. + +ARTHUR. Worrying you! I should think it had! You made me chuck a +jolly good job to come to _you_, and then when it’s been filled up by +somebody else---- + +MANNOCK. Are you sure? I hoped that perhaps---- + +ARTHUR (_shaking his head gravely_). I say, Father, this really is a +bit steep. + +MANNOCK (_humbly_). I’m very sorry, Arthur. I’m to blame. I never +ought to have persuaded you to come to me. It was your career to +choose for yourself. I’m sorry. + +ARTHUR (_still aggrieved_). You practically ruin a man’s life---- + +MANNOCK (_smiling sadly_). Twenty-two, aren’t you? No man’s life +is ruined at twenty-two. (_With sudden emotion_) Oh, my God, to be +twenty-two again! + +ARTHUR. Well, but I mean---- + +MANNOCK. Arthur, forget all that I’ve said to you, will you, just for +a week? Enjoy yourself at Marjory’s, don’t say anything to her about +it, and I’ll write to you. I can’t talk about it now--not for another +week. Will you do that for me? + +ARTHUR (_reluctantly_). Oh, all right. (_Looking thoughtfully at +his father_) You know, I believe it _is_ a stunt, after all. A +super-stunt. I don’t know what the game is---- + + _Enter_ DIGBY. + +DIGBY. Mr. Eversley is here, sir. + +MANNOCK. Yes, that’s right, Digby. Show him in here. + +ARTHUR (_to_ DIGBY). Is the car here? + +DIGBY. Yes, sir. + + [_He goes out._ + +ARTHUR. Then I’ll be getting on. (_Holding out his hand_) Good-bye, +Father--and I’ll wait for your letter. + +MANNOCK. Yes. (_Taking his hand_) Good-bye, Arthur. (_When will he +see him again?_) Good-bye, old boy. Good luck to you always. + +ARTHUR (_a little surprised_). Thanks! + + [_He goes out._ + + (MANNOCK _walks up and down, thinking, thinking. How difficult it + all is!... Then_ DIGBY _announces_ EVERSLEY.) + +DIGBY. Mr. Eversley. + +MANNOCK (_eagerly_). I knew you would come. (_To_ DIGBY, _who still +waits_) What is it? (DIGBY _presents a letter_) Oh, put it down. +(DIGBY _walks across to the writing-desk and places the letter +there_) Were you in London, or did I drag you up from the country? I +had to see you. + + [DIGBY _goes out_. + +EVERSLEY. Well, I _was_ at home, but of course I was only too glad to +come up, if you wanted me. + +MANNOCK (_looking at him fondly_) I never ought to have let you go, +Teddy. I ought always to have kept you with me. + +EVERSLEY (_happy at the “Teddy”_). And what should _I_ have been +doing all the time? + +MANNOCK (_settling him in a chair_). Nothing. Just admiring me. What +else is a Squier for? + +EVERSLEY. What else? The world is full of Nites and Squiers--the +admired and the admiring. I wonder which are the happier? + +MANNOCK (_gently_). The loved and the loving. + +EVERSLEY. Yes. Which are the happier, Dick? + +MANNOCK (_suddenly, after a little silence_). Got your pipe with you? +(EVERSLEY _nods_.) Well, fill it, then. + +EVERSLEY (_taking it out_). It is filled. + +MANNOCK. Well, light it, then. + +EVERSLEY (_lighting it_). There! (_He smokes._) + +MANNOCK. Teddy, I’m giving it all up. + +EVERSLEY. All what? + +MANNOCK. Everything. Politics. My career. My successful career. + +EVERSLEY (_smoking placidly_). Any particular reason? + + (MANNOCK _looks at him, and hesitates. Then he gives reasons--but + not the particular reason._) + +MANNOCK. It’s odd how wrapped up in my career I have been. I never +saw it from outside. I’ve been looking at it lately. I think it was +you--that other night--who made me struggle outside and look at it. +You were the first. That was the beginning of it. + +EVERSLEY. I had no idea I was precipitating a political crisis. What +did I say? + +MANNOCK. You said, “And then success closed in on you.” + +EVERSLEY. Yes, I remember. But I apologised for it. + +MANNOCK. It’s a stifling thing, success. It shuts out so much. +(_Gently_) All the lovely things, all the precious things ... I’ve +been looking back at my career. After all, he’s in a position of +trust, a Cabinet Minister. He is responsible for the happiness of the +people, his fellow countrymen and women. How often have I thought of +their happiness? How often of my personal triumph--my success? What +are all our intrigues for, our strategy, our tactics? To improve the +condition of England? Or to improve our personal position? I look +back on my career, and never once can I say, “He did that for others.” + +EVERSLEY. The others are no better. + +MANNOCK. That isn’t a very proud thought for---- + +EVERSLEY. For a Dreadnought Nite? + +MANNOCK. Don’t!... Oh, my God, to be twenty-two again! + +EVERSLEY. What would you do? + +MANNOCK. Live. There is so much that I have missed. All the lovely +things of life. But, perhaps, even now, it isn’t too late. + +EVERSLEY (_after smoking in silence for a little_). And so you’re +giving it all up? + +MANNOCK. Yes. This is between ourselves, of course, until it is made +public. + +EVERSLEY. Of course.... It’s a big career to give up, as the world +judges it. + +MANNOCK (_a little vain of his sacrifice_). I suppose it is. + +EVERSLEY. They were talking politics in the train--as they always +do--and one or two of them were saying that you ought to be the new +Chancellor of the Exchequer. + +MANNOCK (_pleased_). Oh? Oh, but I shouldn’t have been anyhow. +Mowbray. + +EVERSLEY. They didn’t seem to think very much of Mowbray. + +MANNOCK. He’s the obvious man. + +EVERSLEY. A little too obvious, they felt.... + +MANNOCK (_after a pause_). It was my one ambition in the old days. + +EVERSLEY (_smiling_). Not such very old days. + +MANNOCK (_a little annoyed_). You know what I mean ... I wanted to be +that, even more than to be Prime Minister. It fascinated me. + +EVERSLEY. It would terrify _me_. + +MANNOCK. I think I’ve only realised lately how much I wanted it; +how certain I was I could be one of the Great Ones.... It may never +come now. (_Remembering suddenly_) Well, of course _now_ it never +will--obviously. (_He sighs_) I’m well out of it all. But even if--I +mean Mowbray--well, he’ll last this Government--and after the next +Election, who knows? (_He is thoughtful._) + +EVERSLEY. And what are you going to do when you retire? + +MANNOCK. Teddy, you do think I’m right, don’t you? + +EVERSLEY. Well, I don’t quite know all the circumstances, do I? + +MANNOCK. I must have _you_ on my side. Everybody here--well, +naturally---- + +EVERSLEY. They think you’re mad? They’ve sent for the doctor? + +MANNOCK. They simply don’t believe it. But _you_--you’re not +prejudiced--_you_ think----? + +EVERSLEY. Aren’t I prejudiced? + +MANNOCK. You? + +EVERSLEY (_through clouds of smoke_). I had a friend once. I lived +with him, played with him, made plans with him, for--how many years? +I was fond of him, Dick. I don’t think he knew how fond we were of +him, Sally and I; two of the admiring ones, the loving ones; yes, +the happier ones. Then I lost him ... and more than twenty years +afterwards I found him again. And he was dead. Now you say that he +is coming to life again, and you ask me to tell you--quite without +prejudice--whether I should like him to come to life again.... It is +a little difficult for me, Dick, to be quite unprejudiced. + +MANNOCK (_remorsefully_). Teddy! + +EVERSLEY (_a little wistfully_). But--I _should_ like to find him +again, you know. Just to talk to him about those--rather jolly days. + +MANNOCK. They _were_ good days. + +EVERSLEY. Perhaps we didn’t realise at the time how good they were. + +MANNOCK. Do you remember--(_he breaks off impetuously_) Oh, Teddy, +there are a hundred things I want to talk to you about, a hundred +things I want to tell you. + +EVERSLEY. Well, that’s why I came. + +MANNOCK. I know. (_Suddenly_) Teddy! I--(_and then he pulls himself +up_) No, I can’t tell you now. Not here. I must see you--where can I +see you? Not in this house. Where can I see you, where can we really +talk? + +EVERSLEY. Couldn’t we dine together somewhere? + +MANNOCK. Yes, that’s it. Somewhere where we can be by ourselves. Now, +let me think---- + +EVERSLEY. “The Cock,” in Fleet Street? Not many people there in the +evening. + +MANNOCK. That will do.... I wonder what you’ll think.... But I can’t +tell you here.... I’ll call for you. Where are you staying? Your club? + +EVERSLEY. I am staying with friends. At Porchester Terrace. But they +don’t expect me to dinner. + +MANNOCK. Then I’ll call for you at a quarter to eight. What number? +You’d better write it down. (EVERSLEY _takes out a card_) Got a +pencil? + +EVERSLEY (_feeling in his pockets_). Somewhere. + +MANNOCK (_going to the desk_). Here you are. (_And then he sees the +letter and stops short._) + +EVERSLEY (_finding his own_). It’s all right. (_He writes the +address._) + + (MANNOCK _gazes at the letter. This is from the Prime + Minister--to accept his resignation. So his career is over. He + stands there, letter in hand, breathing heavily as if he had been + running._ EVERSLEY _looks at him in surprise_.) + +MANNOCK. When did this---- + +EVERSLEY. What is it? + +MANNOCK (_turning, letter in hand_). How long---- + +EVERSLEY. Your butler brought it in, didn’t he, when he brought _me_ +in? + +MANNOCK. Yes, of course. + +EVERSLEY. Don’t mind me, Dick, if it’s important. + +MANNOCK. No, no, it’s nothing. I---- + + (LADY JANE _comes in, followed by_ BERTIE. _They are obviously + excited._) + +LADY JANE (_eagerly_). Richard! (_She sees_ EVERSLEY) Oh, +I--(_coldly_) Oh, how do you do, Mr. Eversley? + +EVERSLEY. How do you do, Lady Jane? I was just going. (_He and_ +BERTIE _nod to each other_) Well, good-bye, Dick. (_Giving him the +card_) Here’s the address. And a quarter to eight? + +MANNOCK (_mechanically_). Yes, yes. Good-bye. (_He rings the bell, +and puts down the card._) + +EVERSLEY (_to_ LADY JANE). Good-bye. (_To_ BERTIE) Good-bye. (BERTIE +_nods_.) + +LADY JANE (_with an effort_). Oh, but we mustn’t drive you away like +this. + +EVERSLEY (_smiling pleasantly_). But I really was going. Good-bye. + +LADY JANE. Good-bye. + + [DIGBY _is there to show him out. He goes._ + + (_All this time_ MANNOCK _has been standing with the unopened + letter in his hands, fingering the envelope_.) + +LADY JANE (_in suppressed excitement_). Richard! Bertie says.... Why, +what’s that? (_She is looking at the letter_) But that’s--why don’t +you open it? That’s the letter. Open it! Open it! + +MANNOCK (_dully_). This is just acknowledging and accepting my +resignation. + +LADY JANE. But have you opened it yet? (_She snatches it from him, +looks at it, and gives it back to him_) But you haven’t opened it +yet! Open it! Bertie says---- + +BERTIE. The omens are distinctly favourable. But--well, now we shall +know. + +MANNOCK (_opening it_). It’s only just to accept my resignation. (_He +reads. You can see at once that it is not that._) + +LADY JANE. (_watching his face_). It is! (MANNOCK _looks in front +of him, seeing visions_) May I--(_she takes the letter from him_) I +must. (_She reads_) Oh, well done, Richard! + + (MANNOCK _stands there, breathing heavily. To be Chancellor of + the Exchequer!_) + +BERTIE. He has? (_She nods_) By Jove! Congratulations! + +LADY JANE. I never thought---- + +BERTIE. Well, I don’t know. Mowbray has a good deal against him one +way and another. + +LADY JANE. Yes. But I was almost afraid to hope. + +BERTIE (_proudly_). Didn’t I tell you to leave it to him? (_He nods +towards_ MANNOCK.) + +LADY JANE. Yes, you were quite right, Bertie. (_She looks admiringly +at her husband._) + +BERTIE. Of course, I know all about the resignation stunt--it’s as +old as the hills. But if you can do it with conviction, you can still +pull it off sometimes. + +LADY JANE. Yes, yes. + +BERTIE. Mannock carried conviction--that’s where he’s such an artist. +The P.M. really thought he was going. Didn’t dare to lose him. +Prepared to offer anything to keep him. + +LADY JANE. Yes. + +BERTIE. I’ve always said that, in the matter of political strategy, +Mannock can give them all points. Even the P.M. I knew he’d pull it +off. + +LADY JANE. Richard! (_She means “Come and talk to us.”_) + +MANNOCK (_his control suddenly giving way_). So you knew I’d pull it +off? (_He is almost shouting._) + +BERTIE. Rather! + +MANNOCK. I can give ’em all points in political strategy? + +BERTIE. I’ve always said so. + +MANNOCK. And I carry conviction--eh?--that’s where I’m such an artist. + +BERTIE. Exactly. (MANNOCK _gives a loud, bitter laugh_.) Well, I +mean---- + +MANNOCK (_half hysterically_). An artist! That’s what I am. Carry +conviction! I carried conviction all right. I pulled _your_ leg +pretty well, Bertie. (_To_ LADY JANE) _And_ yours. You thought I +meant to resign--yes, you did, both of you--you thought I meant +it--you were frightened to death, yes, you were. You thought I really +meant to give it all up. So did Arthur. I had Arthur in here just +now--frightened to death--thought I meant to give it all up--talked +about _his_ career--his career!--my God!--frightened to death he +was, just like you two. Ha! I pulled your legs pretty well. Resign? +Why the devil should I resign? Haven’t I got what I always wanted? +You ask Reader--he’ll tell you--the supreme goal for any man to +reach. Chancellor of the Exchequer--_that_ gives you power. Me! I’ve +done it! Just pure strategy. Pretending I wanted to give up politics. +Why should I? Success--it closes in on you! My God, there’s nothing I +can’t do! Nothing! (_His voice rises almost to a shriek, as he drops +into a chair, and sits there, his hands over his face, his shoulders +shaking with long, tearless sobs._) + +BERTIE (_soothingly_). I say, old fellow---- + +LADY JANE (_quietly_). No. Go, Bertie. + +BERTIE. Oh, right. (_Going_) I’ll come in this evening if I can. +He’ll be all right? (_She nods._) Right. + + [_He goes out._ + +LADY JANE (_putting an arm calmly on_ MANNOCK’S _shoulders_). It’s +all right now, Richard. I know how you must feel. It has been a very +anxious time for both of us. But it’s all over now. You’ve got what +you wanted. I’m proud of you, very proud of you. + +MANNOCK (_pulling himself together_). I’m sorry. I---- + +LADY JANE (_calmly_). It’s all right. I understand perfectly. The +strain--naturally. + +MANNOCK. Yes. + +LADY JANE. I’ll leave you now. You’ll want to be alone. But come and +talk to me afterwards. + +MANNOCK (_nodding_). Yes. + +LADY JANE (_giving him the letter_). You’ll want to answer this. + +MANNOCK. Yes. Thank you. + +LADY JANE (_looking at him admiringly_). I’m very proud of you, +Richard. + + [_She goes out._ + + (_Alone_, MANNOCK _walks slowly to his desk, a tired man. There, + he sees_ EVERSLEY’S _card, picks it up, looks at it, puts it + down, and takes up the telephone_.) + +MANNOCK (_at the telephone_). Hullo! Come in, will you? (_He goes +back to his chair and waits._ READER _comes in, note-book in hand_.) +I want a telegram sent at once. To Mr. Eversley. You’ll find a +card on my desk. (READER _goes there_). Got it? With an address in +Porchester Terrace. + +READER. Yes, sir. (_He writes down the name and address and waits._) + +MANNOCK. “Afraid cannot dine to-night.” + +READER (_writing_). “Afraid cannot dine to-night.” + +MANNOCK. That’s all. + +READER. Signed? + +MANNOCK. Yes, “Dick.” ... (_An end to this weakness. He corrects +himself firmly_) No--Mannock. + +READER. “Afraid cannot dine to-night. Mannock.” ... Anything else, +sir? + +MANNOCK. No.... Yes.... Yes.... (READER _waits_) Another telegram. + +READER (_waiting_). Yes? + +MANNOCK. Lady Carchester, Enderways, Riley, Yorkshire. + +READER (_murmuring to himself_). Enderways, Riley, R-I-L-E-Y? + +MANNOCK. Yes. + +READER. Yorkshire. (_He waits_). + +MANNOCK (_after a long pause_). “I beg your pardon.” (READER _says +nothing_. MANNOCK _looks up_) That’s all. + +READER. Oh, I beg--I see--I didn’t understand. (_Writing_) “I beg +your pardon.” + +MANNOCK. We had a--a discussion. I--I was wrong. I have found out +since that I was wrong. This is--(_he shrugs_). + +READER (_pleasantly_). A very graceful way of saying so, if I may be +allowed---- + +MANNOCK (_to himself_). Graceful! + +READER (_after waiting_). Signed? Or will she understand? + +MANNOCK. She will understand. (_To himself, ashamed_) I think she will +understand.... All right, Reader. + + [READER _goes out_. + + (MANNOCK _walks slowly to his desk. For a little while he sits + there, holding the letter in his hand...._ + + SALLY _is dead. He has killed her. No good explaining, + apologising, whining, to a person whom you have killed. Let him + be man enough to spare her that last insult. No, there’s nothing + to say. It was_ EVERSLEY _and that damned tune that got into a + man’s head, and made him dream.... The sweetness of her in his + dream! But that was twenty-five years ago. They’re dead now; both + dead.... But--Chancellor of the Exchequer! It will be in all the + papers to-morrow. Chancellor of the Exchequer! What will the + papers say? What will people say? Everybody will see it.... Sally + will see it. Will know, will understand. No, there’s nothing to + be said. That damned tune, that damned dream. O Sally, Sally, + Sally! Don’t! Don’t come into my dreams again...._ + + _So for a little he sits, thinking. Then, with a bitter, + contemptuous laugh, he tosses away his thoughts and comes back to + the letter. Chancellor of the Exchequer! Briskly he dips his pen + into the ink, and writes to the Prime Minister._) + + + + + _Printed in Great Britain by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + + +Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been +silently corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences in +this work and consultation of external sources. Some hyphens in words +have been silently removed and some silently added when a predominant +preference was found in the original work. Except for those changes +noted below, original spellings in the text and inconsistent or +archaic usage have been retained. + + Page 31: “Madame Boolager” replaced by “Madame Boulager”. + Page 74: “I I don’t know” replaced by “I don’t know”. + +Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. + +Page numbers for Acts and Scenes have been added to the original +Table of Contents. The formatting of Scene titles was also +standardized. + +New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the +public domain. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78748 *** |