MOUS. And leave _you_, my ’Stasia? (_tenderly_) You that I adore with a
degree of intensity closely bordering on insanity! Besides, it isn’t
because a Mrs. Jones from Northamptonshire--a Jones I don’t know--a
Jones I never saw--a Jones I never even heard of, chooses to send for
me, that therefore I must go to that Jones, Jones can’t expect it!
MRS. M. (R.) But no doubt she wishes to consult you on business, and
she might prove an excellent client.
MOUS. (L.) I hate business! I hate clients! I hate everything in the
world but you, my ’Stasia. What’s the world to me? Nothing! What are its
“gay and festive scenes, its halls of dazzling light” to me? Nothing!
Oh, ’Stasia! ’Stasia!
MRS. M. What nonsense you talk. One would suppose we had only been
married a week instead of a year. Has any one been here for me?
MOUS. (_eagerly_) Any one! Not that I know of. Who do you
expect?
MRS. M. Why only the laundress with my veil. She promised faithfully
to let me have it to-day. When you go out, perhaps you will just call,
and say I’m waiting for it. It’s only just over the way.
MOUS. Of course, if you insist upon it, I will. But perhaps you’re
not aware that there are usually from thirty to forty females of various
ages and dimensions engaged in that establishment _over the way_,
and I don’t think it would be exactly the safest place in the world for
an unprotected male. Besides, I might be seen entering the premises,
and then what would people say? Am I not known in the neighbourhood as
the best of husbands? When we go out don’t the people rush to their
doors and windows to look at us? Oh, ’Stasy! ’Stasy!
MRS. M. Ha, ha, ha! My dear Marmaduke, you are certainly getting a
little cracked on the subject.
MOUS. I know it. I’m so much cracked that I wonder I don’t fall to
pieces. But I can’t help it. (_placing his arm round her waist_)
CRUM. (_without, L. D. F._) Oh, Mouser’s at home, is he?
Particularly engaged, d’ye say? Pooh, pooh! I know better.
MOUS. (_aside_) I shall do Crummy a terrific injury some of these
days. I’m sure I shall.
_Enter CRUMMY, L. D. F._
CRUM. (_advancing to MOUSER, C., and giving him a slap on the
back_) Ah, Mouser, my boy--sure to find you at home, eh? Ha, ha!
Always together, eh? Billing and cooing, and all that sort of thing, eh?
(_giving MOUSER a poke in the side_) By-the-bye, I’ve just come
from Mrs. Major-General Jones. She would have nothing to say to me.
She insists on seeing the head of the firm, so I told you’d be with her
in a quarter of an hour.
MOUS. (R.) Did you? Then you had better go back to Mrs. Jones, and
tell her that I shan’t do anything of the sort.
CRUM. (C.) But you _must_. Her’s is a very important case.
Neither more nor less than a separation from her husband, Major-General
Jones.
MOUS. I’ll have nothing to do with it. Major-General Jones has never
offended me--what right, then, have I to stand between Major-General
Jones and Mrs. Major-General Jones, and say to Major-General Jones,
“Major-General Jones, take a last look at Mrs. Major-General Jones, for
you’ll never set your eyes on Mrs. Major-General Jones again?” It’s
absurd!
CRUM. But he ill-treats her--games, drinks, squanders her fortune--and,
they do say, is not particular as to the number of his attachments.
MOUS. (_with a look of horror_) ’Stasy, can such things be? (_drags
off his dressing gown, which he throws into CRUMMY’S face, who places
it on back of chair, R. of table._) My coat--my hat--my blue
bag--quick! (_CRUMMY exits into office, R. D. F._) Oh, the monster!
But I’ll hold him up to the execration of mankind. “Not particular as
to the number of his attachments!” Gracious goodness! And to think
that such a man is able to walk the streets without a policeman on
each side of him. (_CRUMMY returns with hat, coat, and blue bag_) But,
as I said before, I’ll expose him! (_in his excitement he puts on the
dressing gown again--puts on CRUMMY’S hat, and takes CRUMMY’S umbrella
from table_) I shan’t be long, my ’Stasia. I shall soon return on the
wings of love---- (_going_)
MRS. M. (_L., detaining him_) You’re surely not going out in
your dressing gown?
MOUS. Eh? yes--it is my dressing gown, I declare. On second thoughts,
I really don’t see why I should interfere between these Joneses.
(_places hat and umbrella on the table_) I’d rather by half stop
with you, my ’Stasy.
CRUM. Nonsense. You must go. Mrs. Major-General Jones expects you.
(_taking hold of one of the sleeves of the dressing gown_)
MRS. M. (_taking hold of the other_) Of course--Mrs. Jones
expects you.
CRUM. You wouldn’t keep a young and pretty woman waiting?
(_handing him his coat_)
MOUS. Oh, she’s young and pretty, is she? You hear, ’Stasia--she’s
young and pretty. (_puts on coat_) You expose me to her fascinations,
’Stasia----
MRS. M. (_smiling_) I’m not at all afraid.
MOUS. And why--why are you not afraid? Because, as you must have
observed, you no sooner set your foot on the ground than I instantly
commence adoring the bit of ground you set your foot on.
MRS. M. (_with impatience_) Yes, yes--but make haste. And you can
join me at my sister Charlotte’s. You know we drink tea there this
evening----
MOUS. Yes, at eight o’clock. But it isn’t five yet.
MRS. M. What of that? I promised her to come early--she’s teaching me
a new pattern in knitting.
MOUS. Yes, I heard her the other day. She was telling you to drop
one, and then take up two. She didn’t say what, but I must say I was
rather surprised at her requesting you to “turn over twice”--especially
so soon after dinner.
MRS. M. Ha, ha, ha! Good-bye--for I’m in a hurry to dress.
MOUS. (_detaining her_) One fond embrace before we part! (_kisses
her_) Keep up your spirits in my absence. (_going--stops_) Another
fond embrace before we part!
MRS. M. (_with evident impatience_) Psha! (_MOUSER going
again_) You’ll not forget the message about the veil----
MOUS. Certainly not. (_going--stops_) Another fond embrace
before----
CRUM. Go along! (_pushes him out, L. D. F._) Well, coz, you
certainly may say you’ve got the most attentive husband in the
world.
MRS. M. Too attentive by half!
CRUM. Eh?
MRS. M. (_seriously_) Yes, cousin. Few women are proof against
ridicule--and some husbands would do well to remember that there is a
point when attention to a wife becomes a burden, and even affection a
persecution. Yes, yes, cousin--he’s too attentive by half!
_Exit, L. D._
CRUM. “Too attentive by half!” Then it is as I feared, and that
simpleton, Mouser, doesn’t see that he is persecuting his wife with his
affection. She evidently dreads a conjugal _tête-à-tête_, and no
wonder. He never leaves her for a moment; but there he is, eternally and
everlastingly at her side, “sighing like furnace,” and making himself
ridiculous in her eyes. Mischief will certainly come of it. Some remedy
must be devised. But what? If I could only contrive to excite
Anastasia’s suspicions that her husband, like Major-General Jones, is
not exactly satisfied with one attachment at a time----By this means her
jealousy might be roused. But she wouldn’t believe _me_. No,
Mouser himself must supply the materials. But how? (_BETSY BAKER
knocks at L. D. F._) Come in!
_BETSY appears at L. D. F., with a small parcel._