Produced by David Widger
THE SQUIRE
An Original Comedy in Three Acts
ARTHUR W. PINERO
Copyright, 1905
New York
SAMUEL FRENCH
PUBLISHER
26 WEST 22D STREET
London
SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd.
26 Southampton Street,
STRAND, LONDON.
THE SQUIRE.
Produced at the St. James's Theatre, London, on December 29th, 1881
with the following cast:-
Characters:
The Rev. Paul Dormer.....................Mr. Hare
Lieutenant Thorndyke.....................Mr. Kendal
Gilbert Hythe............................Mr. T. N. Wenraan
Gunnion..................................Mr. Macintosh
Izod Haggerston..........................Mr. T. W. Robertson
Fell.....................................Mr. Martin
Robjohns, Junior.........................Mr. Brandon Thomas
The Representative of the "Pagley
Mercury "................................Mr. Steyne
Kate Verity..............................Mrs. Kendal
Christiana Haggerston....................Miss Ada Murray
Felicity Gunnion.........................Miss Stella Brereton
Villagers.
THE SQUIRE
ACT I. -- THE SECRET.
Scene:--The exterior of a decayed, weatherbeaten,
Elizabethan 'mansion, overgrown with ivy and
autumn-tinted creeper. On the R., the lower part
of a tower, square or circular. Facing the audience,
about five feet from the ground, a door
opening into the tower, the entrance proper to the
house. This door leads out on to a stone terrace,
which is run off the stage R., and which terminates
R. C., in a few broken and irregular steps.
At the foot of the steps, C., of stage, an old halting
stone. Below the terrace, R., a wooden garden
seat. On the R., of garden seat, a small rustic
table, on which is a work-basket with materials
for needlework. At back, up stage, the house
runs from R., to L., In R., corner, a piece of broken
stonework, almost concealed by ivy, forming a
footing to gain a broad beam which runs about
twelve feet from the ground, from R., to L., Above
the beam, two substantial casement windows, R., c.
and L., Below the beams, R., C., a window, and on
the L. a large archway, with broken iron gates
leaning against its walls. Through the archway,
a bright view of farm lands, ricks, etc., etc. On
the L., continuing the house wall, down the stage,
an outhouse, suggesting a kitchen dairy; outside
this, up stage L., a wooden bench with milk-pails,
etc. Down stage, a door leading into outhouse.
Above door, L., C., rough deal table and two chairs.
The ground is flagged with broken stones, which
are much overgrown with moss and weed.
_(Bright Music at opening. Lights full up. At rise
of curtain, the bell rings in a discordant way.
Christiana Haggerston discovered L., scrubbing
a small wooden pail. Christiana is a handsome
dark woman with the tinge of the gipsy upon her
face.)_
{Chris.} What is it? _(puts pail on form L., goes
up into archway and looks off R.)_
{Izod.} _(offstage)_ Hullo! Christie!
{Chris.} Why, come in, Izod, darling--what's
wrong?
{Izod.} _(R. off stage)_ It's the dog, he can't abide
me.
_(Chris, hurls her scrubbing brush at the dog.)_
{Chris.} _(savagely)_ Lie down, you beast, _(softly)_
Come along, Izod, dear! _(comes down)_
_(Izod backs on as though afraid of dog. Izod
Haggerston enters through archway. He is a little
thin, dark fellow--half cad, half gipsy--with a
brown face, and crisp, curly, black hair. He is
dirty and disreputable, an idler and a sneak.)_
_(L. C.--putting her arms round his neck)_ I haven't
seen you for nearly a week, brother dear.
{Izod.} _(C., shaking himself clear)_ All right, don't
maul, Christie. If the Squire was commonly civil
to a poor chap, you'd see a little more of me. I
want something to drink, and some coin for tobacco.
{Chris.} _(standing by him and stroking his head)_
No luck, dearie?
{Izod.} Luck! No! The farmers won't look at
a fellow with a dark skin--curse 'em!
{Chris.} The brutes. _(fondling him)_
{Izod.} Well, don't maul, Christie. I'm dead dry.
Chris, _(looking round)_ Wait here and I'll bring
you a drink, _(she crosses to L.)_
_(She goes into outhouse L., Izod looks round
towards door R., C., with an evil expression. He then
deliberately takes off the coloured handkerchief
which he wears round his neck, unfolds it and
produces a bunch of bright keys.)_
{Izod.} _(jingling the keys and looking towards
door R., C., )_ Keys! I wonder if keys are worth
anything. _(slips keys into side pocket, and crosses
to door L., meeting Chris., who comes out with a
mug of milk. Snatching it from her)_ There's a
dear! _(he puts mug to lips and takes it away quickly,
wiping his mouth with the back of his hand)_ Pah!
You're a good sort of a sister--milk!
{Chris.} I dursn't tap the ale without Squire's
orders--the new barrel isn't to be touched till the
Harvest Feast. Down with it--it's meat and drink.
{Izod.} Ugh! Here goes! Confound the Squire!
_(he drinks, gives back mug and holds out hand for
coin. She puts mug on table)_ Coin for tobacco.
{Chris.} Don't spend your money on tobacco, darling.
Have a meal.
{Izod.} I had a meal yesterday, mid-day. _(proudly)_
I earned two shillings in half-an-hour.
{Chris.} Good gracious! How?
{Izod.} _(walking R., and back)_ I and old Mrs.
Thorndyke's gardener carried a sick woman on a litter
from Pagley Railway Station to the White Lion,
at Market-Sinfield. Oh, she was a weight! _(sits R.
of L., table)_
{Chris.} Carried a sick woman on a litter? _(leans
against table L., of it)_
{Izod.} The railway journey had upset her, and the
doctor said she was too ill to be shook up on the
roadway.
{Chris.} A common woman or a lady?
{Izod.} A lady--jolly dark, jolly pretty, and
jolly ill.
{Chris.} _(curiously)_ What does she do at an inn in
Market-Sinfield? _(sits on table)_
{Izod.} She gave out that she was a stranger in
these parts, and wanted to see a clergyman. She
was a weight!
{Chris.} Well?
{Izod.} So I fetched Mr. Dormer, the mad parson.
{Chris.} Did he go to her?
{Izod.} I dunno. Coin for tobacco! _(rises)_
_(Izod goes up to arch.)_
{Chris.} I've only got a little money. I'll fetch
it, dear, _(she takes up mug reflectively)_ A pretty lady
in Market-Sinfield--very dark, very ill, and among
strangers, _(sighing)_ How unlucky all dark women
seem to be!
{Izod.} Coin for tobacco! _(rapping table)_
{Chris.} _(starting)_ Oh, yes, dear.
_(She goes off L., Izod again produces the keys and
jingles them on the table.)_
{Izod.} _(glancing in the direction of door R., C.)_
Keys! and a name cut on the key-ring, _(shaking
them)_ What sort of a tune do they play, I wonder?
_(rises)_
_(Chris, re-enters carrying a small purse. She comes
L. of table, and empties the contents into his R.
hand.)_
_(counting money)_ Five bob.
{Chris.} Leave me a little.
{Izod.} _(pocketing money)_ There's a shilling for
you. I'll pay you what I owe you when you coax
the squire to employ me regularly on the farm, _(goes
to R., C.)_
{Chris.} _(C.)_ That'll never be--I've tried.
{Izod.} Have you? _(showing bunch of keys)_ Look
there. Don't snatch; read the name on the ring.
_(showing the ring only)_
_(She examines the ring, which he still holds fast.)_
{Chris.} The name of the man who is always hanging
about this place, _(quickly)_ Where did you get
this?
_(Gilbert Hythe appears in the archway from L.;
as he enters, they separate, Izod to R., she to L.)_
{Gil.} Is the Squire indoors, Christie? _(He comes
down C. He is a fine, strapping fellow, about thirty,
dressed roughly in an old velvet jacket, cords and
gaiters. He carries a light double-barrelled gun)_
{Chris.} _(L.)_ Yes, Mr. Hythe.
{Gil.} _(C, seeing Izod)_ What the devil are you
doing here?
{Izod.} _(R.)_ Nothing.
{Gil.} That's what you're always doing everywhere.
Get out!
{Izod.} _(defiantly)_ I cleaned the windows here last
Tuesday, and I haven't been paid for it.
{Gil.} That's a lie. _(goes towards him)_
{Izod.} Well, then, I _have_ been paid for it, and I've
come to visit my dear sister.
{Gil.} Look here, Izod, I've had half an hour at
the ricks this morning, ferreting the rats. A man
shoots rats because they are vermin--it's lucky for
you, and idlers like you, that you're on two legs
instead of four.
{Chris.} For shame, Gilbert Hythe; I'm his sister.
_(goes to C.)_
{Gil.} I beg your pardon, Christie; I ought to have
held my tongue before you. Look here, Izod, my
lad, you know that the Squire can't bear the sight
of loafers and ne'er-do-wells. Why don't you go
where you're welcome? _(goes up stage to archway)_
{Izod.} Where's that? I've mislaid the address.
_(Christie goes to L.)_
{Gil.} _(in archway)_ Christie, tell the Squire that
I have brought two men with me--young Rob Johns,
the fiddler's son, and a newspaper chap.
{Chris.} _(at L., C.)_ Very well. And your dinner
is waiting for you, Mr. Hythe, _(pointing to door L.)_
and has been this half-hour.
{Gil.} My dinner--oh, yes. Izod, old fellow, eat
my dinner for me; I'm busy.
{Chris.} _(gratefully)_ Thank you, Mr. Hythe.
{Gil.} And then pull yourself together, man, and
work.
_(Gil. goes off up stage, through archway. Chris.
comes quickly to Izod, who gets to C. Christie
goes up stage and looks after Gilbert.)_
{Chris.} Tell me, dear, dear, dear, where did you
find that key ring?
_(Izod looks round cautiously.)_
{Izod.} _(pointing to windows above archway)_ I
cleaned those windows here last week, and badly paid
I was for the job.
{Chris.} Well?
{Izod.} On that beam which is broad enough for a
man to crawl along, I found this bunch of keys.
{Chris.} What does that mean?
{Izod.} Look here, _(he goes up stage R. C., to the
stonework which runs up to the coping)_ Do you see
this? An easy flight of steps up to that window
sill.
{Chris.} What of it?
{Izod.} _(pointing to the ivy running up the wall)_
The ivy is old and strong enough--if you clutch it,
no fear of falling.
{Chris.} What of it?
{Izod.} _(removing some of the leaves from the
stonework)_ Look there--footprints--where a boot
has kicked away the old crust from the stones.
{Chris.} _(in an earnest whisper)_ What of it?
{Izod.} _(pointing above)_ More footprints up there,
stopping at that window, and under the window this
key-ring, without a speck of rust on it.
{Chris.} _(earnestly)_ Tell me what you think--tell
me what you mean!
{Izod.} _(comes down to her)_ I mean that that is
the Squire's room, and that this bunch of keys belongs
to the man who seems more anxious than anyone
in the parish to be in the Squire's company. I
mean that if the Squire wants to entertain a visitor
unbeknown to you or anybody about the place, _that_
is the way in.
{Chris.} Climb to a window, when there's a door
there?
{Izod.} _(pointing to door R., C.)_ Who sleeps at the
head of the stairs, outside the Squire's room?
{Chris.} I do. _(Izod gives a short whistle)_ But
the dog, Izod,--nobody that the dog doesn't love,
dares try to pass the gateway--the dog!
{Izod.} Who gave the dog to the Squire, a twelve-
month back?
{Chris.} Ah!
{Izod.} _(holding out bunch of keys)_ Why, the man
whose name is cut on that key-ring! _(Chris.
snatches the keys from him, and puts them behind
her back. Izod seizes her hand)_ Give them up to
me, you devil!
{Chris.} _(firmly)_ I'll call Gilbert Hythe, if you
touch me, darling, _(he releases her)_ Listen, Izod;
I've been here, on this bit o' land, resting under
this old roof, and working in this old yard, since I
was a mite--so high. I've been here in times of
merrymaking and times of mourning, and I've seen
the grass grow over all the Veritys but one--the
Squire who gives me the same living that goes to the
best table, and as soft a pillow as lies on the best
bed. No, I'll keep the keys, Izod dear; you go and
swallow Gilbert Hythe's dinner.
{Izod.} _(slouches over to door L., with a scowl)_
You don't care if the Squire does snub your poor
brother. Faugh! you've nothing of the gipsy but
the skin. _(He goes out into outhouse, door L.)_
{Chris.} _(looks at the keys, and slips them into
her pocket)_ A bunch of his keys; they are safer in
my pocket than in Izod's--poor Izod is so impulsive.
_(she crosses to R. C., goes up the steps and calls
at door. Calling)_ Squire! Squire! Here's Gilbert
Hythe with two men. Don't let 'em bring their
boots indoors.
_(Izod appears at door L.)_
{Izod.} _(savagely)_ Christiana!
{Chris.} _(turning)_ Hush! _(coming down steps)_
{Izod.} How long am I to be treated like this?
{Chris.} _(going towards L.)_ What's wrong, dear?
{Izod.} What's wrong! Why, it's only cold meat!
{Chris.} Go in, Izod! Here's the Squire! go in!
_(She pushes Izod in L.)_
_(Kate Verity comes out of house R., C. and down
the steps; she is a pretty woman, bright, fresh, and
cheery; she carries a small key-basket containing
keys, and an account book and pencil, which she
places on R., table as she turns from Gilbert;
she throws the shawl over the mounting stone as
Gilbert Hythe appears in the archway, followed
by Robjohns, Junior, a mild-looking, fair youth,
and a shabby person in black with a red face.)_
I'm close at hand if you want me, Squire. Here's
Gilbert! _(she goes into outhouse L.)_
{Kate.} What are you doing with the gun, Gilbert?
{Gil.} I've been putting the ferrets at the ricks.
_(holding out hand eagerly)_ Good afternoon, Squire.
{Kate.} _(shakes her head at Gil.)_ What a mania
you have for shaking hands, Gilbert.
{Gil.} _(withdrawing his hand)_ I beg your pardon.
{Kate.} Who are those men?
{Gil.} The son of old Robjohns, the fiddler, and a
reporting man on the "Mercury."
{Kate.} Well, Master Robjohns, how's your father?
_(sits R.)_
_(Rob. comes down L., C., nervously.)_
{Rob.} _(with a dialect)_ Father's respects, and he's
ill a-bed with rheumatics, and he hopes it'll make
no difference.
{Kate.} Who's to play the fiddle to-morrow night
for the harvest folks?
{Rob.} Father wants _me_ to take his place. I'm
not nearly such a good fiddler as father is, and he
hopes it'll make no difference.
{Kate.} Your father has played at every harvest
feast here for the last five and twenty years--is he
very ill?
{Rob.} Father's respects, and he's as _bad_ as he can
_well_ be, and he hopes it'll make no difference.
{Kate.} Good gracious! Gilbert, have you sent
the doctor?
{Gil.} The doctor's busy with an invalid at the
White Lion at Market-Sinfield--a stranger.
{Kate.} No stranger has a right to all the doctor.
_(rises and stands by table R., making notes in book)_
All right, Master Robjohns, you shall play the fiddle
to-morrow night.
{Rob.} Thank'ee, Squire.
{Kate.} Christie!
{Gil.} Christie!
{Chris.} _(from within L.)_ Yes!
{Kate.} Give Master Robjohns something to drink.
{Chris.} _(appearing at the door)_ Yes, Squire.
_(She retires.)_
{Kate.} And give my love--the Squire's love--to
father, and tell him to keep a good heart.
{Rob.} Thank'ee, Squire. But father sends his
respects, and thinks he's a dead 'un, and hopes it'll
make no difference.
_(Rob. goes over to L. meeting Chris., who gives
him a mug of milk and retires. Rob. sits L., and
drinks on form.)_
{Kate.} _(sits on stone C., sharply to the Shabby
Person, who is up stage)_ Now then, sir, what do
you want?
{S. P.} _(who is evidently addicted to drink)_ I--oh
yes. _(to Gil.)_ Is this Miss Verity?
{Gil.} That is the Squire, _(behind Squire a little
to her L.)_
{S. P.} The Squire!
{Gil.} The Squire in these parts is the person who
owns Verity's lands. Miss Verity chooses to be
regarded as the Squire, and to be called so. _(passes
behind Squire)_
{S. P.} Quite so. _(he comes down L., C.)_ Hem!
The editor of the "Pagley Mercury and Market-
Sinfield Herald," with which are incorporated the
"Inn-Keeper's Manual" and the "Agriculturists'
Guide," presents his compliments to Squire Verity,
and, regarding the ever-spreading influence of modern
journalism, requests that I, its representative,
may be permitted to be present at Squire Verity's
Harvest Feast to-morrow evening. _(Kate laughs
heartily. The S. P. looks round at Rob. to ascertain
the cause of her amusement)_ Journalism is as a tree,
its root is embedded in our constitution, while its
branches--
{Kate.} All right; you can come.
{S. P.} _(raising his arms)_ While its branches--
{Kate.} All right; you can come.
{S. P.} _(hurt)_ Thank you.
{Kate.} Would you--_(noticing his face)_ Oh dear
{S. P.} I beg pardon.
{Kate.} Would you--would you like anything to
drink?
{S. P.} _(quickly)_ Yes.
{Kate.} Christie!
{Gil.} Christie!
{Kate.} _(sorrowfully)_ Are you quite sure?
{S. P.} Positive, _(sits R., of table)_
_(Chris, appears at door L.)_
{Kate.} Christie! _(emphatically)_ Milk!
{S. P.} Er--I should prefer ale. _(rises quickly)_
{Chris.} The old cask has run out, and the new
one isn't to be tapped till to-morrow.
{S. P.} I don't think I really need anything. I'm
very moderate. Thank you. Good day!
_(Robjohns puts mug on form, rises and goes up
stage wiping mouth.)_
_(Shabby Person hurries off through archway;
Kate laughs.)_
{Kate.} Good-bye, Master Robjohns!
{Rob.} _(turning round, up stage)_ Father's respects,
and he has always heretofore cut up the ducks at
the harvest feast.
{Kate.} Well?
{Rob.} Father's mortally fond of duck, but he
always cut 'em up fairly and friendly.
{Kate.} Yes?
{Rob.} My best respects to you, Squire, and as I
come, in place of father, I hope you'll make no
difference. Good day to ye, Squire.
_(He goes off through archway. Kate rises, goes
up C., and down L., C.)_
{Kate.} Thank you, Gilbert, for thinking so much
of to-morrow.
{Gil.} _(looking at her earnestly)_ Don't name it,
Squire.
{Kate.} _(awkwardly)_ The summer's over--the
winds are getting quite cold--good afternoon, Gilbert.
_(Kate takes shawl off stone and goes towards steps,
where Gilbert intercepts her.)_
{Gil.} Squire!
{Kate.} Yes?
{Gil.} Will you listen to me?
{Kate.} _(L. C.)_ Business?
{Gil.} _(R. of her)_ The business of my life.
{Kate.} Oh, Gilbert! Again? _(sits)_
{Gil.} _(puts gun down R., of archway)_ Squire--
Squire Kate, I--I can't take "no" for an answer.
{Kate.} Are you a strong man or a weak one?
{Gil.} Strong enough to keep from drink and
gambling, when you make me mad; weak enough to
crawl about this place for the sake of a look from
you. Strong enough to love you with all my soul;
weak enough not to hate you for wrecking my life.
{Kate.} Don't talk fiddle-de-dee nonsense about
your life being wrecked. Gilbert, we were children
together, we were lad and lass together, and perhaps,
if we both live, we may be old people together--but
we mustn't be man and woman together; it doesn't
answer. Now, tell me, what are you supposed to be
on my land?
{Gil.} Folks call me the bailiff, but I'm more of a
handyman. I work for Squire Kate, my dear
master--and I love Squire Kate, my dear mistress.
{Kate.} Then take a word of advice--cut yourself
adrift from Squire Kate's apron strings. _(Gilbert
turns away)_ When my father, John Verity, died,
and left his girl alone in the world, you helped me
out of debt and difficulty; but all the skill on earth
can never squeeze more than bread and butter out
of this dear broken-down old place. _(she rises)_ So
go away where there's a world for you, a world to
work in and a world to live in. _(she holds out her
hand to him)_ Thank you for the past. Good-bye.
{Gil.} _(R. C., falteringly)_ If I come back--rich--
in a year, would there be any chance for me?
{Kate.} _(in a whisper)_ No. _(crosses to R.)_
{Gil.} Good-bye, dear Squire Kate, _(goes to her)_
{Kate.} Good-bye, old friend Gilbert, _(they shake
hands)_
_(She sits on garden seat, thoughtfully. Takes small
purse from her pocket, looks at wedding ring in
it, and kisses it. Gil. goes quickly up stage, then
turns and looks at her; after a moment he comes
softly, unperceived, to C.)_
{Gil.} _(quietly)_ Kate.
{Kate.} _(rising with a start)_ Eric!
{Gil.} Oh!
{Kate.} _(seeing Gil.)_ You!--why have you come
back? _(reseating herself)_
{Gil.} _(bitterly)_ Eric! Eric! The young soldier
who is privileged to wind the apron strings round
his neck--who lolls away his leisure here with his
feet higher than his head, and a cigar between his
teeth.
{Kate.} _(confused)_ Don't heed me--I don't know
what I have said!
{Gil.} Said! Called me by another man's name.
Oh, I didn't mean to trap you.
{Kate.} _(rising)_ Trap! _(takes up key-basket)_
{Gil.} I beg your pardon, _(meekly)_ but it was
concerning this very Mr. Thorndyke that I returned
to speak to you.
{Kate.} I won't hear you. I'm going indoors.
{Gil.} _(calmly)_ I won't let you. _(standing before
her)_
{Kate.} You know what you are here?
{Gil.} Is it mistress and servant?
{Kate.} I was your mistress--you are my discharged
servant.
{Gil.} Humbly, then, as an old servant, I ask you
to consider what this Mr. Thorndyke really is.
{Kate.} _(coldly)_ A gentleman and a soldier.
{Gil.} Not a gentleman, because he's a soldier--
what does he do here? _(pause)_
{Kate.} We are friends.
{Gil.} They don't say that in the parlour of the
White Lion.
{Kate.} Oh! Do they dare--?
{Gil.} Oh, yes, they dare.
{Kate.} The idlers in a pot-house malign the
woman out of whose land they get the very crust
they eat. _(covers her face with her hands and sits
on garden seat)_ How hard! How cruel!
{Gil.} _(earnestly)_ I have stopped their tongues
when I have been by. I have always said--
{Kate.} _(raising her head)_ You, Mr. Hythe?
Thank you. In the future don't meddle with their
legitimate pleasures, _(laughing with pain)_ They've
so little to amuse them. How selfish I am! _(the
bell rings)_ Who is that?
_(The Rev. Paul Dormer appears in the archway
from L., He is a dark-browed man, about forty,
but with white hair; he is attired as a clergyman,
but his dress is rusty, shabby, and slovenly; he
carries a heavy stick.)_
{Gil.} _(surprised)_ Parson Dormer! _(going up C.)_
{Kate.} _(rising)_ Mr. Dormer! _(Dor. comes down,
meeting Gil.)_
{Dormer.} _(to Gil. roughly)_ You're Gilbert
Hythe, I think.
{Gil.} You think aright--I am.
{Dormer.} Can you carry a basket?
{Gil.} Where to?
{Dormer.} To the White Lion!
{Gil.} What for?
{Dormer.} For the sake of a sick woman.
{Gil.} I can carry a basket to the White Lion.
{Dormer.} _(gruffly)_ Thank you.
{Gil.} _(looking at Dor.)_ For the sake of a sick
woman?
{Dormer.} _(turning away)_ Ah!
{Gil.} _(to Kate.)_ Call me when I'm wanted,
Squire. I'm going to say good-bye to the dog.
_(Goes off through archway to R., Dor. sits R., of
table.)_
{Kate.} _(L. C.)_ If your business is with Gilbert
Hythe, you can dispense with the mistress of the
house, Mr. Dormer, _(about to go)_
{Dormer.} No, I want you, too.
{Kate.} Really, parson--you haven't shown face
at The Priors since father died, two years ago; you
don't say "How do you do?" to John Verity's
daughter; and you don't say "Good-day" to the
nearest approach to a Squire that your parish can
boast. The one omission is rude--the other
impolitic.
{Dormer.} I didn't like your father--you resemble
him in face and manner.
{Kate.} My father didn't like you. _(she holds out
her hand, going to him)_ How are you, parson?
What can I do for you?
_(He looks at her, takes her hand sulkily.)_
{Dormer.} Fill a basket with food, fit for an invalid,
and send your man with it to Market-Sinfield.
{Kate.} _(calling)_ Christie! _(to Dor.)_ A woman
manages the White Lion, I think.
{Dormer.} A woman mismanages the White Lion.
{Kate.} _(clapping her hands)_ Christie! _(to Dor.)_
Shan't we hurt the landlady's feelings by sending
food there? _(goes to R., table)_
{Dormer.} _(with enjoyment)_ We shall, _(irritably)_
Now then, you--what's-your-name?--why don't you
come when you're called?
_(Christiana appears at door, wiping her hands on
her apron.)_
{Chris.} _(angrily)_ Who's calling me "what's-your-
name"? _(seeing Dor.)_ Why, parson! _(curtseys at
door)_
{Dormer.} _(rises--shaking his stick at her)_ The
gipsy girl, who won't sing the hymns on Sunday.
{Kate.} You start them in such a high key, parson.
{Chris.} _(curtseying)_ Yes, Squire, that he does.
{Dormer.} _(raising his finger)_ The higher the
key, Madam, the nearer Heaven! _(passes behind
table to L., of it. Chris, laughs)_
{Kate.} Hush, Christie, come here. _(Chris, comes
to Kate c.)_ Fill a basket with everything that is
tempting, fit for an invalid, _(gives key to Christie)_
{Chris.} _(to Dor.)_ For the lady at the White Lion,
parson?
{Dormer.} _(sitting L., of table)_ I'm not here to
feed woman's curiosity.
{Kate.} Run along, Christie.
_(Christie runs up the steps into the house R., C.
Kate crosses softly over to Dor. and stands by
table, R., of it.)_
_(quietly)_ It is not often, Parson Dormer, that you
stoop to ask help of a woman, by all accounts.
{Dormer.} _(without looking at her)_ No!
{Kate.} Don't think me rude--but in Market-Sinfield
the folks call you the Woman-Hater.
{Dormer.} What else do they call me in Market-Sinfield?
{Kate.} I--I--don't know.
{Dormer.} That's not true.
{Kate.} That's not polite.
{Dormer.} What else do they call me in Market-Sinfield?
{Kate.} _(firing up)_ They call you the Mad Parson!
{Dormer.} Ah! The Woman-Hater and the Mad
Parson--contradictory terms, _(moves stool to back
of table and sits)_
{Kate.} You're not mad, Mr. Dormer--but you are
rude.
{Dormer.} How long will that woman take to pack
the basket?
{Kate.} Are you a woman-hater, Mr. Dormer?
{Dormer.} I'm not a woman-lover.
{Kate.} _(leaning her arms on table, and looking at
Dor. timidly)_ Have you always been a woman-hater,
parson?
_(Dormer looks up quickly and turns away.)_
{Dormer.} _(roughly)_ How long will that woman
take to pack that basket?
{Kate.} Not very long, _(the Parson's arm is on
the table; Kate places her hand on his sleeve--very
gently)_ You--you--haven't always been a woman-
hater, parson--have you?
{Dormer.} _(drooping his head)_ No.
{Kate.} Thank you, parson. Was she--pretty?
{Dormer.} I suppose she was.
{Kate.} She must have been. Was she--good?
_(no answer)_ We've never had a chat together, till
now. Was she good?
{Dormer.} No.
{Kate.} _(in a whisper)_ Oh! _(rises and lays her
hand on Dor's shoulder, gently)_ I'm so sorry. And
now they tell me you've no woman-folk at the
Rectory.
{Dormer.} No.
{Kate.} Only awkward, clumsy men.
{Dormer.} Two honest men.
{Kate.} _(looking at his shoulder)_ That's why your
sleeve is coming away from your coat at the shoulder
for want of a few stitches. Shall I mend it for you?
{Dormer.} When will that woman bring the basket?
_(rises and crosses to c.)_
{Kate.} _(pointing to table R.)_ There's a needle and
thread, and a thimble on my table. Take off your
coat and I'll sew till the basket comes. Please.
_(With a sigh of despair he lets her take off his coat,
she standing behind him.)_
{Dormer.} That's the worst of women. I should
never have known the coat was torn.
_(Kate takes the coat over to R., and sits on garden
seat mending coat Dormer stands with his
hands in his pockets.)_
{Kate.} _(seated r)_. Would you rather go indoors,
parson?
{Dormer.} No. I'd rather stay where I am.
{Kate.} Please to walk up and down, then, to avoid
catching cold. _(Dormer sits obstinately at table; as
he does so, the contents of one of his coat pockets
drop at Kate's feet)_ Oh, dear, something has fallen
out of the pocket.
{Dormer.} _(rising quickly)_ What is it?
_(Kate picks up a clay pipe much blackened.)_
{Kate.} A clay pipe--dirty one.
{Dormer.} _(hurrying over to C.)_ Is it broken?
{Kate.} _(handing it to him)_ Not a chip, _(picking
up a tobacco pouch which has also dropped)_ Would
you care to smoke?
{Dormer.} _(returning to table)_ No, thank you,
ma'am.
{Kate.} Poor father used to feel great interest in
the colouring of a clay pipe.
{Dormer.} _(with interest)_ Did he? I think better
of him for it.
{Kate.} But father had great troubles, which made
him throw his pipes at the servant, _(rises, comes
across to Dormer, who is seated L., C., again, and
offers pipe which she has filled, then strikes a match
which she has brought from R., table)_ I could load a
pipe very nicely once--father used to say I crammed
pretty thoughts into it. _(quickly)_ Of course I don't
want you to say that if you don't think so. _(gives
him the match)_
{Dormer.} _(lighting pipe)_ Thank ye.
_(Kate goes back to R., and puts matches on table.
Chris. enters from house R., C. carrying a basket
neatly packed and covered with a white napkin.)_
{Chris.} _(comes down steps to C.)_ The basket is
packed, parson. Chicken and jelly, sponge cakes,
grapes--_(seeing Dormer in his coat sleeves)_ Well,
I never--!
{Dormer.} Have you never seen a man with his
coat off before?
{Chris.} Never a clergyman, sir!
{Kate.} Call Gilbert, Christie; he's by the kennel.
_(sitting R.)_
{Chris.} _(goes up through the archway and calls)_
Gilbert!
{Kate.} Would the sick lady like me to see her,
parson?
{Dormer.} No, she doesn't speak in your language.
{Kate.} A foreigner!
_(Gil. enters at bach from R., takes the basket from
{Chris.} and comes down R., C. to Kate. Chris.
drops down L.)_
{Gil.} I shall bring the keys of the barns and the
oats house to you to-night, Squire, also my books
and such like. I should feel happier if you'd take
them from me.
{Kate.} Very well, Gilbert. And as you pass the
cottages, tell Gunnion, the shepherd, to come to me
--he will do your duties from to-morrow.
{Gil.} Gunnion's a very old man.
{Kate.} I know that _(looking at him)_ but it's
safer.
_(Gil. turns away and goes to Dormer.)_
{Gil.} Er--is--there--any message--with the
basket?
{Dormer.} No--I'll follow you when I've smoked
my pipe.
{Gil.} _(rests his gun against the R., side of the
arch. To Chris.)_ I'll come back for the gun,
Christie.
_(Chris. goes into outhouse L.)_
_(As Gil. walks through the archway, Lieutenant
Thorndyke passes him with a careless nod.)_
{Eric.} _(to Gil.)_ Hello, Hythe! Playing at Little
Red Riding Hood? Mind the wolf. _(Gil. looks
angrily at him, and goes off L., Eric comes down;
he is a handsome young fellow with an indolent
manner. Crossing to Kate)_ How do you do, Squire?
{Kate.} _(carelessly)_ What brings you here?
{Eric.} Strolled over from barracks--doctor says
I must walk, and your place is somewhere to
walk to.
{Kate.} Do you know Mr. Dormer?
{Eric.} _(turning to Dor.)_ No, but my mother
does. How do you do? _(Eric shakes hands with
Dormer. Dor. draws his hand away quickly and
puts his hand in trousers pocket)_ Mrs. Thorndyke
is a parishioner of yours, Mr. Dormer--her son ought
to know a little of you.
{Dormer.} If her son attended his church regularly,
he would know a little of me.
{Eric.} So my mother says. And you're not afraid
of catching cold?
{Dormer.} No, sir! I am not. _(irritably)_ Have
you never seen a man with his coat off?
{Eric.} I beg your pardon--never a clergyman.
_(Kate has finished mending the coat and has risen.
Eric takes out his cigar case.)_
_(offering it to Dormer)_ Smoke a cigar, parson?
{Kate.} _(catching his arm)_ No! _(confused)_ I--
I like to see the parson with a pipe, _(aside)_ He
mustn't see that! _(she points to the inside flap of
the case, which is worked with an inscription in silk,
and crosses behind Eric to Dormer)_
{Eric.} _(aside--reading inscription)_ "Kate's love
to Eric." Oh! by Jove, I forgot! _(he crams cigar
case hurriedly into his pocket; Kate crosses to Dor.
L. C. with coat. Eric saunters over to garden seat R.
and sits. Kate assists Dor. to put on his coat)_
{Eric.} _(lazily)_ I really must give up walking,
I'm quite knocked up.
{Dormer.} The British officer seems very easily
knocked up.
_(Kate gets L., behind table.)_
{Eric.} The British officer, at whose expense so
many people make merry, is a mild creature in
"piping times of peace"--no offence to the clay,
parson.
_(Eric lights a cigar. Dor. crosses to R., C., to speak
to him. Kate looks on anxiously, fearing a
quarrel.)_
{Dormer.} And in times of war, sir?
{Eric.} The British officer, I am credibly informed,
is a demon when roused, _(putting his legs up on
garden seat)_ I have never been roused. You don't
like my profession, parson?
{Dormer.} No, sir, I do not.
{Eric.} I often wish my mother had made me a
parson.
{Dormer.} Why, sir?
{Eric.} Because, sir, a clergyman is the only man
in the world privileged to be rude on the subject of
another person's calling.
_(Kate approaches them.)_
{Dormer.} A clergyman, sir, is a professional
truth-teller.
{Eric.} I've known a common soldier to be a practical
one.
{Dormer.} I recognize no profession which creates
idlers.
{Eric.} My dear parson, it is the most industrious
people who never really do anything. After all, the
bees only make honey--and how exceedingly well
everybody could get on without honey.
{Dormer.} An idler, sir, often does mischief
against his will!
{Kate.} _(laying her hand on his sleeve)_ Mr. Dormer,
don't.
{Dormer.} And brings evil into a region where the
very purity of the air nourishes it! Mr. Thorndyke,
beware of idling! Miss Verity, beware of idlers.
Good-day, sir. _(crosses to table L., for hat, and then
goes up to archway. Kate gets to R., of him)_
{Eric.} _(closing his eyes with fatigue)_ Must you
really go? _(takes out "Sporting Times")_
{Kate.} _(soothingly)_ You'll come again, Mr.
Dormer--some day, when Mr. Thorndyke isn't here.
{Dormer.} _(in an undertone)_ If I come again, see
that it be then.
{Kate.} What do you mean?
{Dormer.} _(putting his hand on her shoulder)_
Years ago, Kate Verity, I closed one book for ever--
it was called "Woman." As I see the tide ebb and
flow, without passion, so I watch a woman in her
rise and in her fall with a still heart--they are both
beyond me. Mark me, I care no more for you, as a
woman, than for the beggars in our High Street;
but, for the sake of the charities which stand to the
account of one Squire Kate, I throw into the current
a small pebble.
{Kate.} _(in an undertone)_ What is that? _(keeps
her eyes on Eric)_
{Dormer.} _(pointing in the direction of Eric)_
Repair those old gates, and keep that young gentleman
on the other side of them.
{Kate.} Suppose--I--like the young gentleman?
{Dormer.} If he marries in his mother's lifetime
he is a pauper.
{Kate.} I know that.
{Dormer.} What business has he here?
{Kate.} It kills time.
{Dormer.} So does the Racquet Court at Pagley
Barracks.
{Kate.} A friend likes a friend better than racquets.
{Dormer.} And a woman likes a lover better than
a friend. There, I have thrown my pebble--the tide
washes it away.
_(Christiana enters from L., carrying mug and a
glass of milk; she gives mug to Dormer and places
glass on table, waits till Dormer has finished, and
then takes mug off with her.)_
{Chris.} Will you taste the milk, gentlemen?
_(Dor. stands L., of table--Chris, goes out as Gunnion
enters through archway. Gun. is a very old
man, a dirty specimen of the agriculturist, with
straggling grey hair and an unshaven chin. He
wears a battered hat, worsted stockings, and huge
boots. He speaks a broad country dialect in a
wavering treble key.)_
{Gun.} _(coming down R., c.)_ Mornin', Squire!
{Kate.} _(sitting R., of table)_ Good afternoon, Mr.
Gunnion.
{Gun.} _(seeing Dormer)_ Lord bless my eyesight,
there's Parson Dormer, a-drinkin' a mug o' milk, as
nat'ral as may be--the very man I wanted for to see.
_(seeing Eric)_ Ay, and there's the young lieutenant
--well, he be fond of our bit of a place.
{Eric.} _(raising his head)_ Who's that? _(seeing
Gun)_ Oh, are you quite well? _(relapsing)_
{Gun.} I'm an old man, I am. I ain't got a tooth
in my yead.
{Eric.} _(dreamily)_ Don't name it.
{Kate.} _(impatiently)_ Have you heard the news,
Mr. Gunnion?
{Gun.} I hear as how Gilbert Hythe leaves the
Priors, and that I'm to do his dooties.
{Kate.} How do you like the prospect?
{Gun.} I'm an old man, I am. I ain't got a tooth
in my yead. But says Gilbert Hythe to me, "Mr.
Gunnion, if you do double dooty, you'll get hadykit
remuneration."
{Kate.} Of course you will, Mr. Gunnion.
{Gun.} To which I said, "If I had the chance, I'd
die for the Squire."
{Eric.} Give him the chance.
{Kate.} Then that is settled, and you are head
man here. You enter on your new duties at once.
{Gun.} Which I shall do all the freer when I've
got a burden off my chest. _(Dor. rises as if to leave)_
{Kate.} A burden?
{Gun.} Don't you go, parson, for you're the man
to lift it.
{Dormer.} What's the burden, Gunnion? _(Dormer
comes down below chair)_
_(Gun. goes up through the archway and calls.)_
{Gun.} _(calling)_ Felicity! _(to Kate)_ My daughter,
Squire, _(calling)_ Felicity Gunnion!
_(Felicity enters herefrom R.)_
{Kate.} Is that the little girl who sings so sweetly
in the choir?
{Gun.} Ay, her singing's sweet enough, but her
behaviour's 'orrid.--_(coming down)_
{Kate.} Oh dear! Oh dear! _(Dor. resumes his
seat)_
_(Felicity enters through the archway. Felicity
is a pretty little girl with a sweet face and simple
manner. Her dress is rustic, but clean and tidy.
She comes down R., C., and makes a curtsey.)_
_(R. of table)_ Sit down, Felicity. _(Fel. sits on
stone C.)_
{Dormer.} In heaven's name, why Felicity?
{Gun.} _(C.)_ We called her Felicity, parson,
because she was our thirteenth hoffspring.
{Eric.} Good gracious!
{Gun.} She's the only one left--the other dozen
are all out in the world, some doin' precious well,
some doin' precious bad--most of 'em precious bad.
{Kate.} Felicity's a great consolation to you, isn't
she?
{Gun.} Squire, that gell is a weight on my chest.
You wouldn't guess it to look at her, but Felicity
Gunnion is a desolate character.
{Kate.} A desolate character!
{Gun.} A mad-brained, rampagious, desolate character.
She's had as fine a schooling as you, Squire
--pianner, twelve lessons--singing, six lessons--
deportment, as they call it--deportment, I taught her.
Notwithstanding the all o' which, her writin's
despisable, her grammar's shockin', her spellin's beastly
--and, Lord, oh, Lord, she's in love with a soldier!
_(works round behind Felicity to R., of her during
speech)_
{Eric.} _(shuddering)_ Ugh! What depravity.
{Kate.} Why, Felicity, come here. _(Fel. crosses
to R., of Kate)_ In love with a soldier? _(kisses her)_
Is that true, dearie?
{Fel.} It's true, Squire. He's in the 84th now at
Pagley Barracks.
{Kate.} That's Mr. Thorndyke's regiment.
{Fel.} _(curtseying to Eric)_ Then you'd know him,
sir; a fine looking gentleman, with a dark moustache
--Serjeant Tom Morris.
{Eric.} Morris! Oh, yes, I know him. _(aside)_
Morris! Poor little soul.
{Dormer.} What do you want with me, Gunnion?
{Gun.} Why, parson, I thought, the gell being in
the choir, and sittin' well forrard in the gallery, as
how you might, so to speak, preach right full at her.
The Serjeant goes to church, too, and you could lug
him in at the finish with the sinners.
{Fel.} Oh, don't, parson, don't!
{Dormer.} Is the girl happy at home?
{Fel.} No, parson, that's it--I'm not happy at
home. I--I--I'm not fond of dear father.
{Gun.} Ye hear that? It's not the first time she's
said it. She said it o' Friday.
{Kate.} _(to Fel.)_ Hush! You mustn't speak
like that. I loved my father so much, and his
memory is the sweetest thing left me.
{Fel.} Yes, Squire, and I'm sure I shall love
father's memory. But he's not kind, and he's rude
to those who are good to me, especially the Serjeant.
And I've said that I'll run away, and I mean it,
for you know I'm to be Tom Morris's wife, and
travel with him to the beautiful places where the
regiment goes.
{Kate.} _(aside to Dor.)_ What shall I do, parson?
_(Kate and Dormer rise--Gunnion pinches
Felicity.)_
{Dormer.} _(aside)_ She's only a baby! Keep her
as long as you can, Gunnion!
_(Gun. and Dor. speak up stage C, in archway.)_
{Kate.} _(Eric rises and stands R., C., To Fel.,
pointing to door L.)_ Go to that door, child, and call
"Christie." _(Fel. crosses to L., door. Kate goes to
Eric R. C.--to Eric)_ Do you know this Morris?
{Eric.} Yes.
{Kate.} What kind of man is he?
{Fel.} _(at door L.)_ Christie!
{Eric.} The biggest scoundrel in the regiment.
_(Christiana appears at door L.)_
{Chris.} _(to Fel.)_ Who are you?
{Fel.} I'm Gunnion's daughter.
{Chris.} _(frowning)_ Who told you to call "Christie"?
{Eric.} _(to Kate)_ Poor little woman--do her a
good turn, _(strolls off R., 1, E.)_
_(Kate sits on stone R., C.)_
{Kate.} Felicity! _(Fel. comes to her--Kate passes
across in front of her to R., Felicity kneels, Chris.
watches them with a dark look from door L., Gun.
and Dor. look on from up stage)_ Would you like to
be my little maid, and brush my hair, and lace my
dresses for me?
_(Fel. kneels beside Kate on her R.)_ And sing to
me when I'm lonely?
{Fel.} Oh, Squire! And I can darn, and mend,
and mark, and I can read, and, Squire--
{Kate.} Well?
{Fel.} Will you let me tell you all about Tom
Morris?
{Kate.} Perhaps. Christie! _(gives her a key from
chatelaine. Chris, L., C.)_ Felicity Gunnion is coming
to live with us, and to be my little maid. Take
her up stairs, and give her the small room above
mine.
_(Felicity rises and goes R., C.)_
{Chris.} I beg your pardon, Squire, but I have
been good enough to wait on you since you were that
high. What's wrong with me now?
{Kate.} Wrong, Christie? Only that you're an
industrious, hard-working girl, and deserve a help-mate.
{Chris.} _(tugging at her apron impetuously)_ I
don't want a helpmate. I want all you, Squire. We
were children together, you and me, mistress and
maid. Don't halve your heart now, Squire. I can't
bear it.
{Kate.} _(rises)_ My heart's large enough, Christie,
for all folks.
{Chris.} _(biting her lips)_ I can't help what I'm
saying. I won't bear it.
{Kate.} Hush, hush! Take the child upstairs and
don't be silly, _(goes up to Gun. and Dor.)_
{Chris.} _(crosses to Fel. C.--in an undertone to
Fel.)_ You're the girl that they say is in love with
a soldier, aren't you?
{Fel.} Yes, miss.
{Chris.} A soldier! That's why the Squire has
gushed over you, isn't it?
{Fel.} No, miss.
{Chris.} _(contemptuously)_ "No, miss!" _(shaking
her finger at Fel.)_ Now listen to one word from me.
You get wed to your common soldier as soon as you
can hook him, do you hear?
{Fel.} Why?
{Chris.} Because as long as you're in this house,
there's mischief and bad blood in it, upon my soul
there is! Come along and see your bedroom.
_(She seizes Fel. by the arm, and takes her up the
steps into the house, pushing her in front of her
--Gun. and Kate come down.)_
{Gun.} _(L. C.)_ Well, I'm mightily obliged to you,
Squire. I'll bring the brat's box down to-night, that
I will.
{Kate.} _(R. C.)_ Do, Gunnion. Are you thirsty?
{Gun.} Thirsty! I'm perishing for a drop o'
drink.
{Kate.} Get it for yourself. _(Gun. crosses to L.
door)_ And, Gunnion, _(Gun. turns)_ Milk!
{Gun.} Milk?
{Kate.} No ale till to-morrow night.
{Gun.} I'm the father of thirteen, I am. I ain't
got a tooth to my yead. Did I understand you,
Squire, to say milk?
{Kate.} Yes, milk, _(joins Dormer in archway)_
_(Eric saunters on from R., 1 e., sits on seat R., looks
at Kate's book for a moment.)_
{Gun.} _(downcast)_ Milk! Oh!
_(He goes off door L.)_
{Dormer.} _(up stage with Kate)_ Will you walk
towards Market-Sinfield, Mr. Thorndyke?
{Eric.}. _(on seat r.)_ Not yet, parson, thanks.
{Dormer.} _(turning away)_ Pah!
{Kate.} _(stopping him)_ You will come to the
Harvest Supper, Parson Dormer, won't you?
{Dormer.} _(looking at Eric)_ No.
{Kate.} And smoke your clay pipe like father
used to?
{Dormer.} _(looking at Kate)_ Perhaps, _(he goes
off through archway, to L.)_
_(Kate watches him through archway till he has
disappeared, then she comes softly to door L., listens
for a moment and sees that it is closed. She then
crosses to R., C., gives a glance at the house, and
runs to Eric's side. Eric puts his arms round
her, and kisses her fondly. Music ceases.)_
{Kate.} Dear old Eric! _(kneeling)_
{Eric.} My darling wife!
{Kate.} Hush! you noisy fellow. Whisper it,
there's a good boy, now. _(she bends her head, he
whispers)_
{Eric.} _(softly)_ Wife!
{Kate.} _(takes her wedding ring from her purse,
and gives it to him)_ Place my ring upon my finger,
Eric, for a moment. _(He slips the ring on her finger
and kisses her hand. Pressing the ring to her lips)_
I have so much in my heart to tell you. Oh, husband,
storm-clouds, storm-clouds!
{Eric.} Let them break, Kate. Love is a good
substantial umbrella.
{Kate.} A gingham, dear, a gingham. They are
talking in Market-Sinfield about me.
{Eric.} I envy them their topic.
{Kate.} I can't bear it, Eric. What shall I do?
{Eric.} The yokels mustn't see me here so frequently,
that's all.
{Kate.} _(rises)_ To stop their tongues and break
my heart. Eric, turn your back to me, I've something
to say to you. _(they sit back to back)_
{Eric.} Fire away, darling.
{Kate.} Eric, when we two were wed a year ago
our compact was that our marriage should never
become known during your mother's lifetime.
{Eric.} That's it, wifie.
{Kate.} Because your pride would never allow you
to share my means.
{Eric.} Very true, Kate.
{Kate.} Now, Eric, doesn't it strike you that you
were in the wrong?
{Eric.} No.
{Kate.} Because if a man will take from a woman
something so precious as her love, surely he may
share with her anything so paltry as her money.
_(Eric turns to embrace her)_
{Eric.} My darling.
{Kate.} _(looking round)_ Don't, Eric. I shall have
to go indoors if you behave badly.
{Eric.} My dear Kate, there is another point of
view which presents itself to the prudent husband.
{Kate.} What's that?
{Eric.} How much does Priors Mesne bring you in?
{Kate.} Oh, dear, I'm afraid to tell you!
{Eric.} Ah!
{Kate.} It's not my fault. I've done everything
I could.
{Eric.} Well, then, Kate, my pay and my mother's
allowance tot up to three hundred and fifty a year,
and, my darling, I'm in debt.
{Kate.} _(turning and seizing him by the shoulder)_
Oh, Eric, how can you!
{Eric.} _(laughingly)_ Don't, dear, I shall have to
go home if you behave badly.
{Kate.} Why, Eric, some of my farmhands flourish
with families on eighteen shillings a week.
{Eric.} Yes, darling, there are animals who live on
flesh and fruit, and there are animals who subsist
on nuts. If I were a beast I could not look at a nut.
{Kate.} If you tried very hard, Eric, do you think
you could write?
{Eric.} I've been taught, dear.
{Kate.} No, no, I mean in journals and magazines.
{Eric.} Never can write anything fluently but a
cheque, and that's not always presentable. I'm an
ornament, Kate, or nothing. I'm afraid I'm nothing
--but your sweetheart, _(she bows her head in
her hands)_ Why, Kate, this is one of your gloomy
days.
{Kate.} _(rises and dries her eyes with her
hand-kerchief)_ I suppose, Eric, there is not the faintest
ray of hope that your mother would ever forgive you
for your marriage.
{Eric.} Not the faintest. Poor mother, I'm the
only living thing belonging to her upon earth. I
once persuaded her to keep rabbits, with a view to
diverting her affections--it didn't answer. _(Kate
walks slowly to C. by stone. Eric follows her)_ You
are not yourself, Kate; brighten up. Aren't you
happy?
{Kate.} _(gives a quick look round)_ Is any man's
love so strong for a woman that he would beggar
himself for her sake?
{Eric.} Why, Kate!
{Kate.} What sacrifice will you make for me?
Tell me how many bright golden prospects you will
blot out for the silly woman you have married.
Quick!
{Eric.} What is it you wish?
{Kate.} _(seizing his hand)_ Eric, publish our foolish
marriage of a year ago--let it be known and
laughed at in every house and every inn-yard in the
country. Do this for me, and for heaven's sake, do
it quickly!
{Eric.} _(holding her hand)_ A little silly gossip has
upset you. It can't be, dear.
{Kate.} Then, as surely as we stand here--man
and wife--you drive me from the place where I was
born--where even every weed growing on my poor
poverty-stricken land has a voice for me; where the
women and children love and pray for me; you, the
man who has brought this ill upon my head, drive
me out! _(turns up a little)_
{Eric.} What do you mean? Where are you going?
{Kate.} To hide, abroad, anywhere, in any hole and
corner where no soul knows me. _(comes down to
front of stone C.)_
{Eric.} _(going to her)_ Kate, you have some secret
--tell me it.
{Kate.} _(with his hand in hers she turns from
him, softly)_ Can't you guess? _(sinks on stone)_
{Eric.} _(quickly)_ Kate!
{Kate.} Dear, dear husband! _(there is a pause,
then Eric raises her and kisses her)_
{Eric.} Kate, my dear, fetch me pen and ink, and
some writing paper.
_(She crosses sadly to the steps then turns to him,
half way up steps.)_
{Kate.} _(timidly)_ Husband!
{Eric.} _(thoughtfully)_ Wife! _(foot on first step)_
{Kate.} Are you angry?
{Eric.} _(taking her hands in his)_ Angry! _(runs
up to her)_ Kate, _(drawing his breath)_ you are a
wonder! _(kiss. She runs into the house.)_
_(Eric leans a moment with elbow on pillar, descends
steps, rubs his ear, one foot resting on bottom
step, then whistles "See the conquering hero
comes" and crosses to L., table and takes up his
mug of milk.)_
_(raising the mug)_ Baby's health!
_(He drinks. Kate comes out of the house, carrying
a small desk; she places it on table R.; he crosses
to her.)_
{Kate.} _(looking at the closed desk)_ There--I
haven't brought the key.
{Eric.} _(searching his pockets)_ Try my keys--oh!
I forgot--I have had no keys for the last week or so.
_(crosses to seat R., pulls table forward)_
{Kate.} _(opening the desk)_ It isn't locked--how
silly of me. _(they sit side by side with the desk open
before them)_ What are you going to do, dear? _(R.
of Eric.)_
{Eric.} Listen to this, _(writing)_ "Mother, I have
sown my wild oats in Squire Verity's farm, and have
reaped a rich crop of womanly love and duty."
{Kate.} Dear old boy! _(touches his R., hand)_
{Eric.} You've made me make a blot, _(writing)_
"I suppose you will shut your heart upon me. So
be it. But if Heaven ever gives us a little daughter,
I promise you she shall bear the name of my dear
old mother. Your dutiful, Eric." _(folds and
addresses the letter)_
{Kate.} What are you going to do with it?
{Eric.} Leave it at The Packmores on my way
back to Pagley; give it boldly to Stibbs the butler,
and run off as fast as my legs can carry me.
_(Chris, comes out of the house on to balcony; hearing
voices below, she bends over slyly and catches
sight of Eric and Kate, who are gazing dubiously
at the letter.)_
{Kate.} What a red-letter day for both of us, Eric.
{Eric.} _(pocketing letter)_ What a red letter day
for mother, when she has read this letter!
{Chris.} _(aside, between her teeth)_ And that's the
woman they make a saint of in Market-Sinfield.
And she dares to turn her back on me--for Felicity.
{Kate.} _(to Eric)_ Must you go?
{Eric.} _(taking out watch)_ Look.
_(Gilbert enters through the archway from L., and
takes up his gun.)_
{Kate.} _(to Eric)_ Don't let the idlers at the
White Lion see you on the highroad.
{Gil.} _(hearing voices, turns--aside, watching
Eric)_ The man who has robbed me of my hope--
my ambition! If I stay another day at the Priors
I shall go mad!
_(Gunnion and Izod, with very uncertain steps,
and supporting each other shoulder to shoulder,
stagger out of the outhouse up to the archway.)_
{Chris.} _(aside)_ Felicity! Not the name for this
house! _(she takes the bunch of keys from her pocket
and looks at them exultingly)_ Ah! I shall have to
jingle you yet.
_(Eric. rises to part. Chris. draws back)_
{Gil.} _(stops Gun. and Izod)_ My successor, _(taking
Gun's hand)_ God bless you, man. May you be
happier in my shoes than I have been. _(Gun hiccoughs)_
Confound you, you're not sober.
{Gun.} Milk!
_(Music. Curtain falls quickly.)_