Filson. [_She rises and shakes hands with him._] Have I bought my right
of _entree_? I may ring your bell at discreet intervals till the end of
the season?
LADY FILSON.
[_Stiffly._] Ottoline is her own mistress, Mr. Mackworth; [_more
amiably_] but apart from her, you will receive a card from
me--music--Tuesday, July the eighth.
[_He bows and she crosses to the fireplace. Then he
shakes hands with_ SIR RANDLE, _who has risen and is
standing in the middle of the room._
PHILIP.
[_To_ SIR RANDLE.] Good-bye.
SIR RANDLE.
[_Detaining_ PHILIP, _searchingly._] Er--pardon me--this new novel of
yours, on which you place so much reliance--pray don't think me
curious----
OTTOLINE.
[_Suddenly._] Ha! [_Coming to the back of the settee on the right, her
eyes gleaming scornfully at_ SIR RANDLE.] Tell my father, Philip--tell
him----
PHILIP.
[_Shaking his head at her and frowning._] Otto----
OTTOLINE.
Do; as you told it to me yesterday. [_Satirically._] It will help him
to understand why your name has escaped him in the great journals!
SIR RANDLE.
Any confidence you may repose in me, Mr. Mackworth----
OTTOLINE.
[_Prompting_ PHILIP.] It's called--_allons! racontez donc!_----
PHILIP.
[_After a further look of protest at_ OTTOLINE--_to_ SIR RANDLE,
_hesitatingly_.] It's called "The Big Drum," Sir Randle.
SIR RANDLE.
[_Elevating his eyebrows._] "The Big Drum"? [_With an innocent air._]
Military?
PHILIP.
No; social.
SIR RANDLE.
Social?
PHILIP.
[_Leaning against the arm-chair on the left of the settee on the
right._] It's an attempt to portray the struggle for notoriety--for
self-advertisement--we see going on around us to-day.
SIR RANDLE.
Ah, yes; lamentable!
PHILIP.
[_Deliberately, but losing himself in his subject as he proceeds._] It
shows a vast crowd of men and women, sir, forcing themselves upon
public attention without a shred of modesty, fighting to obtain it as
if they are fighting for bread and meat. It shows how dignity and
reserve have been cast aside as virtues that are antiquated and
outworn, until half the world--the world that should be orderly,
harmonious, beautiful--has become an arena for the exhibition of vulgar
ostentation or almost superhuman egoism--a cockpit resounding with
raucous voices bellowing one against the other!
SIR RANDLE.
[_Closing his eyes._] A terrible picture!
LADY FILSON.
[_Closing her eyes._] Terrible.
PHILIP.
It shows the bishop and the judge playing to the gallery, the
politician adopting the methods of the cheap-jack, the duchess vying
with the puffing draper; it shows how even true genius submits itself
to conditions that are accepted and excused as "modern," and is found
elbowing and pushing in the hurly-burly. It shows how the ordinary
decencies of life are sacrificed to the paragraphist, the interviewer,
and the ghoul with the camera; how the home is stripped of its
sanctity, blessed charity made a vehicle for display, the very
grave-yard transformed into a parade ground; while the outsider looks
on with a sinking of the vitals because the drumstick is beyond his
reach and the bom-bom-bom is not for him! It shows----! [_Checking
himself and leaving the arm-chair with a short laugh._] Oh, well,
that's the setting of my story, Sir Randle! I won't inflict the details
upon you.
SIR RANDLE.
Er--h'm--[_expansively_] an excellent theme, Mr. Mackworth; a most
promising theme! [_To_ LADY FILSON.] Eh, Winifred?
LADY FILSON.
[_Politely._] Excellent; quite, quite excellent!
PHILIP.
[_Bowing to_ LADY FILSON _and going to_ OTTOLINE.] Thank you.
OTTOLINE.
[_To_ PHILIP, _glowingly_.] Splendid! [_Laying her hand upon his arm._]
You have purged your disgrace. [_Softly._] You may come and see me
to-morrow.
PHILIP.
[_To_ OTTOLINE.] Ha, ha----!
SIR RANDLE.
[_In response to a final bow from_ PHILIP.] Good-bye.
LADY FILSON.
_Good_-bye.
[OTTOLINE _opens the glazed door and_ PHILIP _follows
her into the hall. Immediately the door is shut_, LADY
FILSON _hurries to_ SIR RANDLE.
SIR RANDLE.
[_In high spirits._] Winnie----!
LADY FILSON.
_That_ will never be a popular success, Randle!
SIR RANDLE.
Never. An offensive book----!
LADY FILSON.
Ho, ho, ho, ho----!
SIR RANDLE.
A grossly offensive book!
LADY FILSON.
[_Anxiously_.] He--he'll keep his word----?
SIR RANDLE.
To join us in persuading her to drop him----
LADY FILSON.
If it fails?
SIR RANDLE.
[_With conviction._] Yes. [_Walking about._] Yes. We _must_ be just. We
owe it to ourselves to be just to Mr. Mackworth. He is not altogether
devoid of gentlemanlike scruples.
LADY FILSON.
[_Breathlessly._] And--and _she_----?
SIR RANDLE.
I trust--I trust that my child's monstrous infatuation will have cooled
down by the autumn.
LADY FILSON.
[_Supporting herself by the chair at the writing-table, her hand to her
heart--exhausted._] Oh! Oh, dear!
SIR RANDLE.
[_Returning to her._] I conducted the affair with skill and tact,
Winifred?
LADY FILSON.
[_Rallying._] It was masterly--[_kissing him_] masterly----
SIR RANDLE.
[_Proudly._] Ha!
[_She sits at the writing-table again and takes up her
pen as_ SIR RANDLE _stalks to the door on the left._
LADY FILSON.
Masterly!
SIR RANDLE.
[_Opening the door._] Bertram--Bertram, my boy--Bertie----!
[_He disappears._ LADY FILSON _scribbles violently._
END OF THE SECOND ACT
THE THIRD ACT
_The scene represents two rooms, connected by a pair of wide doors, in
a set of residential chambers on the upper floor of a house in Gray's
Inn. The further room is the dining-room, the nearer room a study. In
the wall at the back of the dining-room are two windows; in the
right-hand wall is a door leading to the kitchen; and in the left-hand
wall a door opens from a vestibule, where, opposite this door, there is
another door which gives on to the landing of the common stair._
_In the study, a door in the right-hand wall admits to a bedroom; in
the wall facing the spectator is a door opening into the room from the
vestibule; and beyond the door on the right, in a piece of wall cutting
off the corner of the room, is the fireplace. A bright fire is
burning._
_The rooms are wainscotted to the ceilings and have a decrepit,
old-world air, and the odds and ends of furniture--all characteristic
of the dwelling of a poor literary man of refined taste--are in keeping
with the surroundings. In the dining-room there are half-a-dozen chairs
of various patterns, a sideboard or two, a corner-cupboard, a
"grandfather" clock, and a large round table. In the study, set out
into the room at the same angle as the fireplace, is a writing-table. A
chair stands at the writing-table, its back to the fire, and in the
front of the table is a well-worn settee. On the left of the settee is
a smaller table, on which are an assortment of pipes, a box of cigars
and another of cigarettes, a tobacco-jar, an ash-tray, and a bowl of
matches; and on the left of the table is a capacious arm-chair. There
is an arm-chair on either side of the fireplace; and against the
right-hand wall, on the nearer side of the bedroom door, is a cabinet._
_On the other side of the room, facing the bedroom door, there is a
second settee, and behind the settee is an oblong table littered with
books and magazines. At a little distance from this table stands an
arm-chair, and against the wall at the back, on the left of the big
doors, is a chair of a lighter sort. Also against the back wall, but on
the left of the door opening from the vestibule, is a table with a
telephone-instrument upon it, and running along the left-hand wall is a
dwarf bookcase, unglazed, packed with books which look as if they would
be none the worse for being dusted and put in order._
_In the vestibule, against the wall on the right, there is a small
table on which are Philip's hats, caps, and gloves; and an overcoat and
a man's cape are hanging on some pegs._
_It is late on a November afternoon. Curtains are drawn across the
dining-room windows, and the room is lighted rather dimly by an
electric lamp standing upon a sideboard. A warm glow proceeds from the
nearer right-hand corner as from a fire. The study is lighted by a
couple of standard lamps and a library-lamp on the writing-table, and
the vestibule by a lamp suspended from the ceiling._
_The big doors are open._
[PHILIP, _a pipe in his mouth and wearing an old velvet
jacket, is lying upon the settee on the right, reading a
book by the light of the lamp on the writing-table. In
the dining-room,_ JOHN _and a waiter--the latter in his
shirt-sleeves--are at the round table, unfolding a white
table-cloth._
JOHN.
[_A cheery little man in seedy clothes--to the waiter, softly._]
Careful! Don't crease it.
PHILIP.
[_Raising his eyes from his book._] What's the time, John?
JOHN.
Quarter-to-six, sir.
PHILIP.
Have my things come from the tailor's yet?
JOHN.
[_Laying the cloth with the aid of the waiter._] Yes, sir; while you
were dozing. [_Ecstatically._] They're lovely, sir. [_A bell rings in
the vestibule._] Expect that's the cook, sir. [_He bustles into the
vestibule from the dining-room. There is a short pause and then he
reappears, entering the study at the door opening from the vestibule,
followed by_ ROOPE.] It's Mr. Roope, sir!
PHILIP.
No! [_Throwing his book aside and jumping up._] Why, Robbie!
ROOPE.
[_As they shake hands vigorously._] My dear fellow!
PHILIP.
Return of the wanderer! When did you get back?
ROOPE.
Last night.
PHILIP.
Take your coat off, you old ruffian. [_Putting his pipe down._] I _am_
glad.
ROOPE.
[_To_ JOHN, _who relieves him of his hat, overcoat, and neckerchief._]
How are _you_, John?
JOHN.
Splendid, Mr. Roope. [_Beaming._] Our new novel is _sech_ a success,
sir.
PHILIP.
Ha, ha, ha, ha!
ROOPE.
[_To_ JOHN.] So Mr. Mackworth wrote and told me. [_Giving his gloves
to_ JOHN.] Congratulate you, John.
JOHN.
[_Depositing the hat, coat, etc., upon the settee on the left._]
Thank you, sir.
ROOPE.
[_Crossing to the fireplace, rubbing his hands, as_ JOHN _retires to
the dining-room._] Oh, my dear Phil, this dreadful climate after the
sunshine of the Lago Maggiore!
PHILIP.
[_Walking about and spouting, in high spirits._] "Italia! O Italia!
thou who hast the fatal gift of beauty----!"
ROOPE.
Sir Loftus and Lady Glazebrook were moving on to Rome, or I really
believe I could have endured another month at their villa, bores as
they are, dear kind souls! [_Looking towards the dining-room, where_
JOHN _and the waiter are now placing a handsome centre-piece of flowers
upon the round table._] Hallo! A dinner-party, Phil?
PHILIP.
Dinner-party? A banquet!
ROOPE.
To celebrate the success of the book?
PHILIP.
That and something more. This festival, sir, of the preparations for
which you are a privileged spectator--[_shouting to_ JOHN] shut those
doors, John----
JOHN.
Yessir.
PHILIP.
[_Sitting in the chair on the left of the smoking-table as_ JOHN
_closes the big doors._] This festival, my dear Robbie--[_glancing over
his shoulder to assure himself that the doors are closed_] this
festival also celebrates my formal engagement to Madame de Chaumie.
ROOPE.
[_Triumphantly._] Aha!
PHILIP.
[_Taking a cigarette from the box at his side._] Ottoline and I are to
be married soon after Christmas. The civilized world is to be startled
by the announcement on Monday.
ROOPE.
[_Advancing._] My dear chap, I've never heard anything that has given
me greater pleasure. [PHILIP _offers_ ROOPE _the cigarette-box._] No, I
won't smoke. [_Seating himself upon the settee on the right._] When was
it settled?
PHILIP.
[_Lighting his cigarette._] The day before yesterday. I got Titterton
to write me a letter--Titterton, my publisher--certifying to the
enormous sales of the book, and sent it on to Sir Randle Filson.
Nothing like documentary evidence, Robbie. [_Leaning back in his chair
with outstretched legs and exhaling a wreath of tobacco-smoke._]
Twenty-five thousand copies, my boy, up to date, and still going
strong.
ROOPE.
Wonderful.
PHILIP.
Phew! The critics treated me generously enough, but it hung fire
damnably at first. At one particularly hellish moment I could have
sworn it wouldn't do more than my usual fifteen or eighteen hundred,
and I cursed myself for having been such a besotted fool as to pin my
faith to it. [_Sitting upright._] And then, suddenly, a rush--a
tremendous rush! Twenty-four thousand went off in less than six weeks.
Almost uncanny, eh? [_Touching the tobacco-jar._] Oh, lord, sometimes I
think I've been putting opium into my pipe instead of this innocent
baccy, and that I shall wake up to the necessity of counting my pence
again and apologizing to John for being in arrear with his wages!
ROOPE.
And Titterton's letter brought the Filsons round?
PHILIP.
[_Nodding._] Brought 'em round; and I must say they've accomplished the
change of attitude most graciously.
ROOPE.
[_Oracularly._] Graciously or grudgingly, they couldn't help
themselves, dear excellent friend. As you had pledged yourself in
effect to resign the lady if your book was a failure, it follows that
they were bound to clasp you to their bosoms if it succeeded. I don't
want to detract from the amiability of the Filsons for an instant----
PHILIP.
Anyhow, their opposition is at an end, and all is rosy. [_Rising and
pacing the room._] Master Bertram is a trifle glum and stand-offish
perhaps, but Sir Randle--! Ha, ha, ha! Sir Randle has taken Literature
under his wing, Robbie, from Chaucer to Kipling, in the person of his
prospective son-in-law. You'd imagine, to listen to him, that to
establish ties of relationship with a literary man has been his chief
aim in life.
ROOPE.
[_Jerking his head in the direction of the dining-room._] And this
is to be a family gathering----?
PHILIP.
The first in the altered circumstances. I proposed a feast at a smart
restaurant, but Sir Randle preferred the atmosphere which has conduced,
as he puts it, to the creation of so many of my brilliant compositions.
[_Behind the smoking-table, dropping the end of his cigarette into the
ash-tray--gaily._] Robbie, I've had a magnificent suit of joy-rags made
for the occasion!
ROOPE.
[_Earnestly._] Good! I rejoice to hear it, dear excellent friend, and I
hope it portends a wholesale order to your tailor and your intention to
show yourself in society again freely. [_With a laugh,_ PHILIP _goes to
the fireplace and stands looking into the fire._] Begin leaving your
cards at once. No more sulking in your tent! [_Rising and crossing to
the other side of the room._] You have _arrived_, my dear chap; I read
your name in two papers in my cabin yesterday. [_Marching up and
down._] Your foot is on the ladder; you bid fair to become a celebrity,
if you are not one already; and your approaching marriage sheds
additional lustre on you. I envy you, Phil; I do, positively.
PHILIP.
[_Facing_ ROOPE.] Oh, of course, I shall be seen about with Ottoline
during our engagement. Afterwards----
ROOPE.
[_Halting._] Afterwards----?
PHILIP.
Everything will depend on my wife--[_relishing the word_] my _wife_.
Ottoline has rather lost her taste for Society with a capital S,
remember.
ROOPE.
[_Testily._] That was her mood last June, when she was hypped and
discontented. With a husband she can be proud of, surely----!
PHILIP.
[_Coming forward._] As a matter of fact, Robbie, I'm inclined to agree
with you; I've been staring into my fire, or out of my windows here, a
jolly sight too much. [_Expanding his chest._] It'll be refreshing to
me to rub shoulders with people again for a bit--[_smiling_] even to
find myself the object of a little interest and curiosity.
ROOPE.
[_Delighted._] Dear excellent friend!
PHILIP.
Ha, ha! You see, I'm not without my share of petty vanity. I'm
consistent, though. Didn't I tell you in South Audley Street that I was
as eager for fame as any man living, if only I could win it in my own
way?
ROOPE.
You did.
PHILIP.
[_Exultingly._] Well, I _have_ won it in my own way, haven't I!
[_Hitting the palm of his hand with his fist._] I've done what I
determined to do, Robbie; what I knew I _should_ do, sooner or later!
I've _got there_--got there!--by simple, honest means! Isn't it
glorious?
ROOPE.
[_Cautiously._] I admit----
PHILIP.
[_Breaking in._] Oh, I don't pretend that there haven't been moments in
my years of stress and struggle when I've been tempted to join the
gaudy, cackling fowl whose feathers I flatter myself I've plucked
pretty thoroughly in my book! But I've resisted the devil by prayers
and fasting; and, by George, sir, I wouldn't swap my modest victory for
the vogue of the biggest boomster in England! [_Boisterously._] Ha, ha,
ha! Whoop! [_Seizing_ ROOPE _and shaking him._] Dare to preach your
gospel to me _now_, you arch-apostle of quackery and self-advertisement!
ROOPE.
[_Peevishly, releasing himself._] Upon my word, Phil----!
[_The bell rings again._
PHILIP.
The cook! [_To_ ROOPE, _seeing that he is putting on his muffler._]
Don't go.
ROOPE.
I must. [_Taking up his overcoat._] I merely ran along to shake hands
with you, and I'm sorry I took the trouble. [PHILIP _helps him into his
overcoat laughingly._] Thanks.
PHILIP.
[_Suddenly._] Robbie----!
ROOPE.
[_Struggling with an obstinate sleeve._] Hey?
PHILIP.
It's just struck me. Where are _you_ dining to-night?
ROOPE.
At the Garrick, with Hughie Champion. [_Picking up his hat and
gloves._] He's getting horribly deaf and tedious; but I had nothing
better.
PHILIP.
Bother Colonel Champion! I wish you could have dined with _me_.
ROOPE.
[_His hat on his head, drawing on his gloves._] Dear excellent
_friend_! I should be out of place.
PHILIP.
Rubbish! Your presence would be peculiarly appropriate, my dear Robbie.
Wasn't it you who brought Ottoline and me together, God bless yer!
[_Observing that_ ROOPE _is weakening._] There's heaps of room for an
extra chair. Everybody 'ud be delighted.
ROOPE.
[_Meditatively._] I could telephone to Hughie excusing myself. He
didn't ask me till this afternoon. [_With an injured air._] I resent a
short notice.
PHILIP.
[_His eyes twinkling._] Quite right. Mine's short too----
ROOPE.
That's different.
PHILIP.
Entirely. You'll come?
ROOPE.
If you're certain the Filsons and Madame de Chaumie----
PHILIP.
Certain. [_Following_ ROOPE _to the door admitting to the vestibule._]
Eight o'clock.
ROOPE.
[_Opening the door._] Charming.
PHILIP.
Won't you let John fetch you a taxi?
ROOPE.
[_Shaking hands with_ PHILIP.] No, I'll walk into Holborn. [_In the
doorway._] Oh, by-the-by, I've a message for you, Phil.
PHILIP.
From whom?
ROOPE.
Barradell, of all people in the world.
PHILIP.
[_Surprised._] Sir Timothy?
ROOPE.
He's home. I crossed with him yesterday, and we travelled in the same
carriage from Dover.
PHILIP.
What's the message?
ROOPE.
He saw your book in my bag, and began talking about you. He said he
hadn't met you for years, but that I was to give you his warm regards.
PHILIP.
Indeed?
ROOPE.
[_Astutely._] My impression is that he's heard rumours concerning you
and Madame de Chaumie while he's been away, and that he's anxious to
show he has no ill-will. I suppose your calling so often in Ennismore
Gardens has been remarked.
PHILIP.
Extremely civil of him, if that's the case. [_Loftily._] Decent sort of
fellow, I recollect.
ROOPE.
[_Going into the vestibule._] Very; very.
PHILIP.
Poor chap!
ROOPE.
[_Opening the outer door._] Eight o'clock, dear excellent friend.
PHILIP.
[_At his elbow._] Sharp.
ROOPE.
[_Disappearing._] _Au revoir!_
PHILIP.
_Au revoir!_ [_Calling after_ ROOPE.] Mind that corner! [_Closing the
outer door with a bang and shouting._] John! [_Coming back into the
study._] John! [_Closing the vestibule door._] John! [_Going to the big
doors and opening the one on the left a little way._] John----!
[OTTOLINE, _richly dressed in furs, steps through the
opening and confronts him. Her cheeks are flushed and
her manner has lost some of its repose._
OTTOLINE.
[_Shutting the door behind her as she enters--playfully._] _Qu'est-ce
que vous desirez John?_
PHILIP.
[_Catching her in his arms._] My dear girl!
OTTOLINE.
Ha, ha! I'm not going to stop a minute. [_Rapidly._] I've been to tea
with Kitty Millington; and as I was getting into my car, I suddenly
thought--! [_He kisses her._] I waited in there to avoid Robbie Roope.
PHILIP.
Robbie came back yesterday. I hope I haven't done wrong; I've asked him
to dine here to-night.
OTTOLINE.
Wrong! Dear old Robbie! But I didn't want him just now. [_Loosening her
wrap and hunting for a pocket in it._] I've brought you a little gift,
Phil--_en souvenir de cette soiree_----
PHILIP.
[_Reprovingly._] Oh----!
OTTOLINE.
I got it at Cartier's this afternoon. I meant to slip it into your
serviette to-night quietly, but it's burning a hole in my pocket. [_She
produces a small jewel-case and presents it to him._] Will you wear
that in your tie sometimes?
PHILIP.
[_Opening the case and gazing at its contents._] Phiou! [_She leaves
him, walking away to the fireplace._] What a gorgeous pearl! [_He
follows her and they stand side by side, he holding the case at
arm's-length admiringly, his other arm round her waist._] You
shouldn't, Otto. You're incorrigible.
OTTOLINE.
[_Leaning her head against his shoulder--softly._] Phil----
PHILIP.
[_Still gazing at the scarf-pin._] To-morrow I'll buy the most
beautiful silk scarf ever weaved.
OTTOLINE.
Phil, I've a feeling that it's from to-night, when I sit at your
table--how sweet your flowers are; I couldn't help noticing them!--I've
a feeling that it's from to-night that we really belong to each other.
PHILIP.
[_Pressing her closer to him._] Ah----!
OTTOLINE.
[_With a shiver, closing her eyes._] What has gone before has been
hateful--hateful!
PHILIP.
[_Looking down upon her fondly._] Hateful?
OTTOLINE.
Until--until your book commenced to sell, at any rate. Suspense--a
horrid sensation of uneasiness, mistrust--the fear that, through your
foolish, hasty promise to mother and Dad, you might, after all, unite
with them to cheat me out of my happiness! That's what it has been to
_me_, Philip.
PHILIP.
[_Rallying her, but a little guiltily._] Ha, ha, ha! You goose! I knew
exactly how events would shape, Otto; hadn't a doubt on the subject.
[_Shutting the jewel-case with a snap and a flourish._] _I_ knew----
OTTOLINE.
[_Releasing herself._] Ah, yes, I dare say I've been dreadfully stupid.
[_Shaking herself, as if to rid herself of unpleasant memories, and
again leaving him._] Well! _Sans adieu!_ [_Fastening her wrap._] Get
your hat and take me downstairs.
PHILIP.
Wait a moment! [_Chuckling._] Ho, ho! I'm not to be outdone altogether.
[_Pocketing her gift, he goes to the cabinet on the right and unlocks
it. She watches him from the middle of the room. Presently he comes to
her, carrying a little ring-case._] Take off your glove--[_pointing to
her left hand_] that one. [_She removes her glove tremulously. He takes
a ring from the case, tosses the case on to the writing-table, and
slips the ring on her third finger._] By George, I'm in luck; blessed
if it doesn't fit!
[_She surveys the ring in silence for a while; then she
puts her arms round his neck and hides her face on his
breast._
OTTOLINE.
[_Almost inaudibly._] Oh, Phil!
PHILIP.
[_Tenderly._] And so this is the end of the journey, Otto!
OTTOLINE.
[_In a whisper._] The end?
PHILIP.
The dreary journey in opposite directions you and I set out upon nearly
eleven years ago in Paris.
OTTOLINE.
[_Quivering._] Ah----!
PHILIP.
My dear, what does it matter as long as our roads meet at last, and
meet where there are clear pools to bathe our vagabond feet and
sunshine to heal our sore bodies! [_She raises her head and rummages
for her handkerchief._] Otto----!
OTTOLINE.
Yes?
PHILIP.
In April--eh----?
OTTOLINE.
[_Drying her eyes._] April----?
PHILIP.
You haven't forgotten the compact we entered into at Robbie Roope's?
OTTOLINE.
[_Brightening._] Ah, no!
PHILIP.
In April we walk under the chestnut-trees once more in the
Champs-Elysees----!
OTTOLINE.
[_Smiling through her tears._] And the Allee de Longchamp----!
PHILIP.
As husband and wife--we shall be an old married couple by then----!
OTTOLINE.
[_Pulling on her glove._] And drink milk at the d'Armenonville----!
PHILIP.
And the Pre-Catelan----!
OTTOLINE.
And we'll make pilgrimages, Phil----!
PHILIP.
Yes, we'll gaze up at the windows of my gloomy lodgings in the Rue
Soufflot--what was the number?----
OTTOLINE.
[_Contracting her brows._] _Quarante-trois bis._
PHILIP.
[_Banteringly._] Where you honoured me with a visit, madame, with your
maid Nanette----
OTTOLINE.
[_Warding off the recollection with a gesture._] Oh, don't----!
PHILIP.
Ha, ha, ha! A shame of me----!
OTTOLINE.
[_Turning from him._] Do get your hat and coat.
PHILIP.
[_Going into the vestibule._] Where's your car?
OTTOLINE.
[_Moving towards the vestibule._] In South Square.
PHILIP.
[_Returning to her, a cape over his shoulders, a soft hat on his
head._] Eight o'clock!
OTTOLINE.
Eight o'clock.
[_He takes her hands and they stand looking into each
other's eyes._
PHILIP.
[_After a pause._] Fancy!
OTTOLINE.
[_Faintly._] Fancy! [_He is drawing her to him slowly when, uttering a
low cry, she embraces him wildly and passionately._] Oh! [_Clinging to
him._] Oh, Phil! Oh--oh--oh----!
PHILIP.
[_Responding to her embrace._] Otto--Otto----!
OTTOLINE.
[_Breaking from him._] Oh----!
[_She hurries to the outer door. He follows her quickly,
closing the vestibule door after him. Then the outer
door is heard to shut, and the curtain falls. After a
short interval, the curtain rises again, showing all the
doors closed and the study in darkness save for the
light of the fire. The bell rings, and again there is an
interval; and then the vestibule door is opened by_
JOHN--_attired for waiting at table--and_ BERTRAM
_brushes past him and enters._ BERTRAM _is in evening
dress._
BERTRAM.
[_As he enters, brusquely._] Yes, I know I'm a little too soon. I want
to speak to Mr. Mackworth--before the others come, I mean t'say----
[JOHN _switches on the light of a lamp by the vestibule
door. It is now seen that_ BERTRAM _is greatly flustered
and excited._
JOHN.
[_Taking_ BERTRAM's _hat, overcoat, etc._] I'll tell Mr. Mackworth,
sir. He's dressin'.
[JOHN, _eyeing_ BERTRAM _wonderingly, goes to the door
of the bedroom_. _There, having switched on the light of
another lamp, he knocks._
PHILIP.
[_From the bedroom._] Yes?
JOHN.
[_Opening the door a few inches._] Mr. Filson, sir.
PHILIP.
[_Calling out._] Hallo, Bertram!
JOHN.
Mr. Filson wants to speak to you, sir.
PHILIP.
I'll be with him in ten seconds. Leave the door open.
JOHN.
Yessir.
[JOHN _withdraws, carrying_ BERTRAM's _outdoor things
into the vestibule and shutting the vestibule door_.
PHILIP.
[_Calling to_ BERTRAM _again_.] I'm in the throes of tying a bow, old
man. Sit down. [BERTRAM, _glaring at the bedroom door, remains
standing_.] O'ho, that's fine! Ha, ha, ha! I warn you, I'm an
overpowering swell to-night. A new suit of clothes, Bertram, devised
and executed in less than thirty-six hours! And a fit, sir; every item
of it! You'll be green with envy when you see this coat. I'm ready for
you. Handkerchief--? [_Shouting._] John--! Oh, here it is! [_Switching
off the light in the bedroom and appearing, immaculately dressed, in
the doorway._] Behold! [_Closing the door and advancing to_ BERTRAM.]
How are you, Bertram? [BERTRAM _refuses_ PHILIP's _hand by putting his
own behind his back_. PHILIP _raises his eyebrows_.] Oh? [_A pause._]
Anything amiss? [_Observing_ BERTRAM's _heated look_.] You don't look
well, Filson.
BERTRAM.
[_Breathing heavily._] No, I'm not well--I mean t'say, I'm sick with
indignation----
PHILIP.
What about?
BERTRAM.
You've attempted to play us all a rascally trick, Mackworth; a low,
scurvy, contemptible----
PHILIP.
[_Frowning._] A trick?
BERTRAM.
I've just come from Mr. Dunning--a man I've thought it my duty to
employ in the interests of my family--Sillitoe and Dunning, the
private-inquiry people----
PHILIP.
Private-inquiry people?
BERTRAM.
Dunning rang me up an hour ago, and I went down to him. The discovery
wasn't clinched till this afternoon----
PHILIP.
The discovery?
BERTRAM.
[_Derisively._] Ho! This precious book of yours--"The Big Drum"! A
grand success, Mackworth!
PHILIP.
[_Perplexed._] I don't----
BERTRAM.
"The Big Drum"! Wouldn't "The Big Fraud" be a more suitable title, I
mean t'say?
PHILIP.
Fraud?
BERTRAM.
Reached its twenty-fifth thousand, and the demand still continues! You
and Mr. what's-his-name--Titterton--ought to be publicly exposed,
Mackworth; and if we were in the least spiteful and vindictive----
PHILIP.
[_Tightening his lips._] Are you sober, Filson?
BERTRAM.
Now, don't you be insolent, because it won't answer. [PHILIP _winces,
but restrains himself._] The question is, what are we to do
_to-night_--for Ottoline's sake, I mean t'say. We must spare her as
much shock and distress as possible. I assume you've sufficient decency
left to agree with me there. My father and mother too--they're quite
ignorant of the steps I've been taking----
PHILIP.
[_Controlling himself with difficulty._] My good fellow, will you
condescend to explain----?
BERTRAM.
[_Walking away._] Oh, it's no use, Mackworth--this air of innocence!
[_Puffing himself out and strutting to and fro on the left._] It's
simply wasted effort, I mean t'say. In five minutes I can have Dunning
here with the whole disreputable story. He's close by--bottom of
Chancery Lane. He'll be at his office till half-past-eleven----
PHILIP.
[_Between his teeth--thrusting his hands into his trouser-pockets._]
Very accommodating of him!
BERTRAM.
I tried to get on to my father from Dunning's--to ask his advice, I
mean t'say--but he'd dressed early and gone to one of his clubs, and
they couldn't tell me which one. [_Halting and looking at his watch._]
_My_ suggestion is that you and I should struggle through this farce of
a dinner as best we can--as if nothing had happened. I mean t'say--and
that I should reserve the disclosure of your caddish conduct till
to-morrow. You assent to that course, Mackworth? [_Dabbing his forehead
with his handkerchief._] Thank heaven, the announcement of the
engagement hasn't appeared!
PHILIP.
[_In a calm voice._] Bertram--[_pointing to the chair on the left of
the smoking-table_] Bertie, old man--[_seating himself easily upon the
settee on the right_] you're your sister's brother and I'm not going to
lose my temper----
BERTRAM.
[_Sneeringly._] My dear sir----
PHILIP.
[_Leaning back and crossing his legs._] One thing I seem to grasp
clearly; and that is that, while I've been endeavouring to conciliate
you, and make a pal of you, you've been leaguing yourself with a tame
detective with the idea of injuring me in some way with Ottoline and
your father and mother. [_Folding his arms._] That's correct, isn't it?
BERTRAM.
[_With a disdainful shrug._] If you think it will benefit you to
distort my motives, Mackworth, pray do so. [_Returning to the middle of
the room._] What I've done, I've done, as I've already stated, from a
sheer sense of duty----
PHILIP.
[_Again pointing to the chair._] Please! You'll look less formidable,
old man----
BERTRAM.
[_Sitting, haughtily._] Knowing what depended on the fate of your book,
I felt from the first that you might be unscrupulous enough to induce
your publisher to represent it as being a popular success--in order to
impose on us, I mean t'say--though actually it was another of your
failures to hit the mark; and when Titterton started blowing the
trumpet so loudly, my suspicions increased. [PHILIP _slowly unfolds his
arms._] As for desiring to injure you with my family at any price, I
scorn the charge. I've had the delicacy to refrain from even mentioning
my suspicions to my father and mother, let alone Ottoline. [_Putting
his necktie straight and smoothing his hair and his slightly crumpled
shirt-front._] Deeply as I regret your connection with my sister, I
should have been only too happy, I mean t'say, if my poor opinion of
you had been falsified.
PHILIP.
[_His hands clenched, but preserving his suavity._] Extremely grateful
to you, Bertie. I see! And so, burdened by these suspicions, you
carried them to Mr.--Mr. Gunning?
BERTRAM.
Dunning. I didn't regard it as a job for a respectable solicitor----
PHILIP.
[_Politely._] _Didn't_ you!
BERTRAM.
Not that there's anything against Dunning----
PHILIP.
[_Uncrossing his legs and sitting upright._] Well, that brings us to
the point, doesn't it?
BERTRAM.
The point?
PHILIP.
The precise, and illuminating, details of the fable your friend at the
bottom of Chancery Lane is fooling you with.
BERTRAM.
[_In a pitying tone._] Oh, my dear Mackworth! I repeat, it's no _use_
your adopting this attitude. You don't realize how completely you're
bowled over, I mean t'say. Dunning's got incontestable proofs----
PHILIP.
[_Jumping up, unable to repress himself any longer._] Damn the impudent
scoundrel----!
[_The bell rings._
BERTRAM.
[_Listening._] Your bell!
PHILIP.
[_Striding to the left and then to the fireplace._] You said he's still
at his office, didn't you?
BERTRAM.
[_Rising._] Yes.
PHILIP.
[_Pointing to the telephone, imperatively._] Get him here at once.
BERTRAM.
[_Rather taken aback._] At once?
PHILIP.
I'll deal with this gentleman promptly.
BERTRAM.
[_Icily._] Not before Ottoline and my parents, I hope?
PHILIP.
[_Seizing the poker and attacking the fire furiously._] Before Ottoline
and your parents.
BERTRAM.
A most painful scene for them, I mean t'say----
PHILIP.
A painful scene for you and Mr. Dunning.
BERTRAM.
_After_ dinner--when they've gone--you and I'll go down to
Dunning----
PHILIP.
[_Flinging the poker into the grate and facing_ BERTRAM.] Confound you,
you don't suppose I'm going to act on your suggestion, and grin through
a long meal with this between us! [_Pointing to the telephone again._]
Ring him up, you treacherous little whelp--quick! [_Advancing._] If
_you_ won't----!
BERTRAM.
[_Bristling._] Oh, very good! [_Pausing on his way to the telephone and
addressing_ PHILIP _with an evil expression._] You were always a bully
and a blusterer, Mackworth; but, take my word for it, if you fancy you
can bully Mr. Dunning, and bluster to my family, with any satisfactory
results to yourself, you're vastly mistaken.
PHILIP.
[_Gruffly._] I beg your pardon; sorry I exploded.
BERTRAM.
[_Scowling._] It's of no consequence. [_At the telephone, his ear to
the receiver._] I am absolutely indifferent to your vulgar abuse, I
mean t'say.
[JOHN _announces_ ROOPE. _Note:_ ROOPE _and the rest of
the guests divest themselves of their overcoats, wraps,
etc., in the vestibule before entering the room._
JOHN.
Mr. Roope.
ROOPE.
[_Greeting_ PHILIP _as_ JOHN _withdraws._] Am I the first----?
PHILIP.
[_Glancing at_ BERTRAM.] No.
BERTRAM.
[_Speaking into the telephone._] Holborn, three eight nine eight.
ROOPE.
[_Waving his hand to Bertram._] Ah! How _are_ you, my dear Mr. Filson?
BERTRAM.
[_To_ ROOPE, _sulkily._] How'r you? Excuse me----
ROOPE.
[_To_ PHILIP.] My dear Phil, these excursions to the east are
delightful; they are positively. The sights fill me with amazement.
I----
PHILIP.
[_Cutting him short by leading him to the fireplace._] Robbie----
ROOPE.
Hey?
PHILIP.
[_Grimly, dropping his voice._] Are you hungry?
ROOPE.
Dear excellent friend, since you put the question so plainly, I don't
mind avowing that I _am_--devilish hungry. Why----?
PHILIP.
There may be a slight delay, old chap.
ROOPE.
Delay?
PHILIP.
Yes, the east hasn't exhausted its marvels yet, by a long chalk.
ROOPE.
[_Looking at him curiously._] Nothing the matter, Phil?
BERTRAM.
[_Suddenly, into the telephone._] That you, Dunning----?
PHILIP.
[_To_ ROOPE.] Robbie----
[_Turning to the fire,_ PHILIP _talks rapidly and
energetically to_ ROOPE _in undertones._
BERTRAM.
[_Into the telephone._] Filson.... Mr. Filson.... I'm speaking from
Gray's Inn.... Gray's Inn--Mr. Mackworth's chambers--2, Friars
Court.... You're wanted, Dunning.... Now--immediately.... Yes, jump
into a taxicab and come up, will you?...
ROOPE.
[_To_ PHILIP, _aloud, opening his eyes widely._] My dear Phil----!
PHILIP.
[_With a big laugh._] Ha, ha, ha, ha----!
BERTRAM.
[_To_ PHILIP, _angrily._] Quiet! I can't hear. [_Into the telephone._]
I can't hear; there's such a beastly noise going on--what?... Dash it,
you can get something to eat at _any_ time! I mean to _say_--!...
Eh?... [_Irritably._] Oh, of course you may have a wash and brush
up!... Yes, he _is_.... You're coming, then?... Right! Goo'bye.
ROOPE.
[_To_ PHILIP, _who has resumed his communication to_
ROOPE_--incredulously._] Dear excellent friend----!
[_The door-bell rings again._
PHILIP.
Ah--! [_Pausing on his way to the vestibule door--to_ BERTRAM.] Mr.
Dunning will favour us with his distinguished company?
BERTRAM.
[_Behind the table on the left, loweringly._] In a few minutes. He's
washing.
PHILIP.
Washing? Some of his customers' dirty linen? [_As he opens the
vestibule door,_ JOHN _admits_ SIR RANDLE FILSON _at the outer door._]
Ah, Sir Randle!
SIR RANDLE.
[_Heartily._] Well, Philip, my boy! [_While_ JOHN _is taking his hat,
overcoat, etc._] Are my dear wife and daughter here yet?
PHILIP.
Not yet.
SIR RANDLE.
I looked in at Brooks's on my way to you. I hadn't been there for
months. [_To_ JOHN.] My muffler in the right-hand pocket. Thank you.
[_Entering and shaking hands with_ PHILIP.] Ha! They gave me quite a
warm welcome. Very gratifying. [ROOPE _advances._] Mr. Roope! [_Shaking
hands with_ ROOPE _as_ PHILIP _shuts the vestibule door._] An
unexpected pleasure!
ROOPE.
[_Uneasily._] Er--I am rather an interloper, I'm afraid, my dear Sir
Randle----
SIR RANDLE.
[_Retaining his hand._] No. [_Emphatically._] _No._ This is one of
Philip's many happy inspirations. If my memory is accurate, it was at
your charming flat in South Audley Street that he and my darling
child--[_discovering_ BERTRAM, _who is now by the settee on the left._]
Bertie! [_Going to him._] I haven't seen you all day, Bertie dear.
[_Kissing him on the forehead._] Busy, eh?
BERTRAM.
[_Stiffly._] Yes, father.
PHILIP.
[_At the chair on the left of the smoking-table, dryly._] Bertram has
been telling me how busy he has been, Sir Randle----
SIR RANDLE.
[_Not perceiving the general air of restraint._] That reminds
me--[_moving, full of importance, to the settee on the right--feeling
in his breast-pocket_] the announcement of the engagement,
Philip--[_seating himself and producing a pocket-book_] Lady Filson and
I drew it up this morning. [_Hunting among some letters and papers._] I
_believe_ it is in the conventional form; but we so thoroughly
sympathize with you and Ottoline in your dislike for anything that
savours of pomp and flourish that we hesitate, without your sanction,
to--[_selecting a paper and handing it to_ PHILIP] ah! [_To_ ROOPE,
_who has returned to the fireplace--over his shoulder._] I am treating
you as one of ourselves, Mr. Roope----
ROOPE.
[_In a murmur._] Dear excellent friend----!
SIR RANDLE.
[_To_ PHILIP.] We propose to insert it only in the three or four
principal journals----
PHILIP.
[_Frowning at the paper._] Sir Randle----
SIR RANDLE.
[_Blandly._] Eh?
PHILIP.
Haven't you given me the wrong paper?
SIR RANDLE.
[_With a look of alarm, hurriedly putting on his pince-nez and
searching in his pocket-book again._] The wrong----?
PHILIP.
This has "Universal News Agency" written in the corner of it.
SIR RANDLE.
[_Holding out his hand for the paper, faintly._] Oh----!
PHILIP.
[_Ignoring_ SIR RANDLE's _hand--reading._] "The extraordinary stir,
which we venture to prophesy will not soon be eclipsed, made by Mr.
Philip Mackworth's recent novel, 'The Big Drum,' lends additional
interest to the announcement of his forthcoming marriage to the
beautiful Madame de Chaumie--" [_The bell rings. He listens to it, and
then goes on reading._] "--the beautiful Madame de Chaumie, daughter of
the widely and deservedly popular--the widely and deservedly popular
Sir Randle and Lady Filson----"
[_After reading it to the end silently, he restores the
paper to_ SIR RANDLE _with a smile and a slight bow._
SIR RANDLE.
[_Collecting himself._] Er--Lady Filson and I thought it might be
prudent, Philip, to--er--to give a lead to the inevitable comments of
the press. [_Replacing the paper in his pocket-book._] If you object,
my dear boy----
PHILIP.
[_With a motion of the head towards the vestibule door._] That must
_be_ Lady Filson and Ottoline.
[_He goes to the door and opens it._ LADY FILSON _and_
OTTOLINE _are in the vestibule and_ JOHN _is taking_
LADY FILSON's _wrap from her._
LADY FILSON.
[_Brimming over with good humour._] Ah, Philip! Don't say we're
late!
PHILIP.
[_Lightly._] I won't.
LADY FILSON.
[_Entering and shaking hands with him._] Your staircase is so dark, it
takes an age to climb it. [_To_ ROOPE, _who comes forward, shaking
hands with him._] How nice! Ottoline told me, coming along, that we
were to meet you.
ROOPE.
[_Bending over her hand._] Dear lady!
LADY FILSON.
[_Coming to_ SIR RANDLE.] There you are, Randle! [_Nodding to_ BERTRAM,
_who is sitting aloof in the chair on the extreme left._] Bertie
darling! [SIR RANDLE _rises._] Aren't these rooms quaint and cosy,
Randle?
SIR RANDLE.
[_Still somewhat disconcerted._] For a solitary man, ideal. [_Solemnly._]
If ever I had the misfortune to be left alone in the world----
LADY FILSON.
[_Sitting on the settee on the right._] Ho, my _dear_!
[PHILIP _has joined_ OTTOLINE _in the vestibule. He now
follows her into the room, shutting the vestibule door.
She is elegantly dressed in white and, though she has
recovered her usual stateliness and composure, is a
picture of radiant happiness._
OTTOLINE.
[_Giving her hand to_ ROOPE, _who raises it to his lips--sweetly._] I
am glad you are home, Robbie, and that you are here to-night. [_To_
LADY FILSON _and_ SIR RANDLE.] Mother--Dad--[_espying_ BERTRAM] oh, and
there's Bertram--don't be scandalized, any of you! [_To_ ROOPE,
_resting her hands on his shoulders._] _Une fois de plus, mon ami, pour
vous temoigner ma gratitude!_
[_She kisses him._ LADY FILSON _laughs indulgently, and_
SIR RANDLE, _wagging his head, moves to the fireplace._
ROOPE.
Ha, ha, ha----!
OTTOLINE.
Ha, ha, ha! [_Going to the fireplace._] Ah, what a lovely fire! [_To_
SIR RANDLE, _as_ ROOPE _seats himself in the chair by the smoking-table
and prepares to make himself agreeable to_ LADY FILSON.] Share it with
me, Dad, and let me warm my toes before dinner. I'm frozen!
PHILIP.
[_Coming to the middle of the room._] My dear Ottoline--Lady
Filson--Sir Randle--I fear we shall _all_ have time to warm our toes
before dinner. [ROOPE, _who is about to address a remark to_ LADY
FILSON, _puts his hand to his mouth, and_ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON
_look at_ PHILIP _inquiringly._] You mustn't blame me wholly for the
hitch in my poor entertainment----
LADY FILSON.
[_Amiably._] The kitchen! I guess your difficulties, Philip----
PHILIP.
No, nor my kitchen either----
OTTOLINE.
[_Turning the chair on the nearer side of the fireplace so that it
faces the fire._] The cook wasn't punctual! [_Installing herself in the
chair._] _Ah, la, la! Ces cuisinieres causent la moitie des ennuis sur
cette terre!_
PHILIP.
Oh, yes, the cook was punctual. [_His manner hardening a little._] The
truth is, we are waiting for a Mr. Dunning.
LADY FILSON.
Mr.----?
SIR RANDLE.
Mr.----?
OTTOLINE.
[_From her chair, where she is almost completely hidden from the
others--comfortably._] Good gracious! Who's Mr. Dunning, Philip?
[JOHN _and the waiter open the big doors. The
dining-table, round which the chairs are now arranged,
is prettily lighted by shaded candles._
PHILIP.
[_To_ JOHN, _sharply._] John----
JOHN.
Yessir?
PHILIP.
Tell the cook to keep the dinner back for a little while. Do you hear?
JOHN.
[_Astonished._] Keep dinner back, sir?
PHILIP.
Yes. And when Mr. Dunning calls--[_distinctly_] Dunning----
JOHN.
Yessir.
PHILIP.
I'll see him. Show him in.
JOHN.
Yessir.
PHILIP.
You may serve dinner as soon as he's gone. I'll ring.
[JOHN _and the waiter withdraw into the kitchen,
whereupon_ PHILIP, _after watching their departure,
deliberately closes the big doors._ ROOPE, _who has been
picking at his nails nervously, rises and steals away to
the left, and_ SIR RANDLE, _advancing a step or two,
exchanges questioning glances with_ LADY FILSON.
OTTOLINE.
[_Laughingly._] What a terrible shock! I was frightened that Philip had
sprung a strange guest upon us. [_As_ PHILIP _is shutting the doors._]
_Vous etes bien mysterieux, Phil?_ Why are we to starve until this Mr.
Dunning has come and gone?
PHILIP.
Because if I tried to eat without having first disposed of the reptile,
Otto, I should choke.
LADY FILSON.
[_Bewildered._] Reptile?
OTTOLINE.
Philip!
PHILIP.
[_At the chair beside the smoking-table--to_ LADY FILSON.] I apologize
very humbly for making you and Sir Randle, and dear Ottoline, parties
to such unpleasant proceedings, Lady Filson; but the necessity is
forced upon me. [_Coming forward._] Mr. Dunning is one of those
crawling creatures who conduct what are known as confidential
inquiries. In other words, he's a private detective--an odd sort of
person to present to you!----
LADY FILSON.
[_Under her breath._] Great heavens!
PHILIP.
And he has lightened your son's purse, presumably, and crammed his
willing ears with some ridiculous, fantastic tale concerning my
book--"The Big Drum." Mr. Dunning professes to have discovered that I
have conspired with a wicked publisher to deceive you all; that the
book's another of my miss-hits, and that I'm a designing rogue and
liar. [_To_ BERTRAM.] Come on, Bertram; don't sit there as if you were
a stuffed figure! Speak out, and tell your father and mother what
you've been up to!
LADY FILSON.
[_Open-mouthed._] Bertie!
SIR RANDLE.
[_Moving towards_ BERTRAM, _mildly._] Bertram, my
boy----?
BERTRAM.
[_Curling his lip--to_ PHILIP.] Oh, you seem to be getting on
exceedingly well without my assistance, Mackworth. I'm content to hold
my tongue till Dunning arrives, I mean t'say.
PHILIP.
[_Approaching_ LADY FILSON.] You see, Lady Filson, Master Bertram is
endowed with an exceptionally active brain; and when I gave those
assurances to you and Sir Randle last June, it occurred to him that, in
the event of my book failing to attract the market, there was a danger
of my palming it off, with the kind aid of my publisher, as the
out-and-out triumph I'd bragged of in advance; and the loud blasts of
Titterton's trumpet strengthened Master Bertie's apprehensions.
[OTTOLINE, _unobserved, rises unsteadily and, with her eyes fixed
fiercely upon_ BERTRAM, _crosses the room at the back._] So what does
he do, bless him for his devotion to his belongings! To safeguard his
parents from being jockeyed, and as a brotherly precaution, he enlists
the services, on the sly, of the obliging Mr. Dunning. We shall shortly
have an opportunity of judging what that individual's game is. [_With a
shrug._] He _may_ have stumbled legitimately into a mare's nest; but I
doubt it. These ruffians'll stick at nothing to keep an ingenuous
client on the hook--[_He is interrupted by feeling_ OTTOLINE's _hand
upon his arm. He lays his hand on hers gently._] Otto dear----
OTTOLINE.
[_Clutching him tightly and articulating with an effort._] It--it's
infamous--shameful! My--my brother! It's infamous!
PHILIP.
Oh, it'll be all over in ten minutes. And then Bertie and I will shake
hands--won't we, Bertie?--and forget the wretched incident----
OTTOLINE.
[_Confronting_ BERTRAM, _trembling with passion._] How dare you! How
dare you meddle with my affairs--mine and Mr. Mackworth's! How dare
you!
BERTRAM.
[_Straightening himself._] Look heah, Ottoline----!
OTTOLINE.
Stand up when I speak to you!
[BERTRAM _gets to his feet in a hurry._
LADY FILSON.
[_Appealingly._] Otto----!
OTTOLINE.
[_To_ BERTRAM.] All your life you've been paltry, odious, detestable----
BERTRAM.
Look heah----!
OTTOLINE.
But _this_! My God! For you--for any of us--to impugn the honesty of a
man whose shadow we're not fit to walk in----!
SIR RANDLE.
[_To_ LADY FILSON_--pained._] Winifred----!
OTTOLINE.
[_To_ BERTRAM.] You--you--you're no better than your common, hired
spy----!
LADY FILSON.
[_Rising and going to_ OTTOLINE.] My child, remember----!
OTTOLINE.
[_Clenching her hands and hissing her words at_ BERTRAM.] _C'est la
verite! Tu n'es qu'une canaille--une vile canaille----!_
LADY FILSON.
Control yourself, I _beg_!
OTTOLINE.
[_To_ LADY FILSON.] Leave me alone----!
[_She passes_ LADY FILSON _and sits on the settee on the
right with glittering eyes and heaving bosom._ PHILIP
_has withdrawn to the fireplace and is standing looking
into the fire._
LADY FILSON.
[_To_ BERTRAM.] Bertie dear, I'm surprised at you! To do a thing like
this behind our backs!
BERTRAM.
My dear mother, I knew that you and father wouldn't do it----
LADY FILSON.
I should think not, indeed!
SIR RANDLE.
[_To_ BERTRAM.] Your mother and I!
LADY FILSON.
[_Horrified at the notion._] Oh!
BERTRAM.
Upon my word, this is rather rough! [_Walking away._] I mean to
_say_----!
PHILIP.
[_Turning._] We mustn't be too hard on poor Bertram, Lady Filson----
BERTRAM.
[_Pacing the room near the big doors._] Poor Bertram! Ho!
SIR RANDLE.
[_To_ PHILIP.] I trust we are never unduly hard on our children, my
dear Philip----
PHILIP.
To do him justice, he was most anxious to postpone these dreadful
revelations till to-morrow----
BERTRAM.
Exactly! [_Throwing himself into the chair between the big doors and
the vestibule door._] I predicted a scene! I predicted a scene!
PHILIP.
[_To_ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON, _penitently._] Perhaps it would
have been wiser of me--more considerate--to have complied with his
wishes. But I was in a fury--naturally----
LADY FILSON.
[_Sitting on the settee on the left._] Naturally.
SIR RANDLE.
And excusably. I myself, in similar circumstances----
PHILIP.
[_Rubbing his head._] Why the deuce couldn't he have kept his twopenny
thunderbolt in his pocket for a few hours, instead of launching it
to-night and spoiling our _sole a la Morny_ and our _ris de veau_----!
OTTOLINE.
[_Gradually composing herself and regaining her dignity_].
P-P-Philip----
PHILIP.
[_Coming to the smoking-table._] Eh?
OTTOLINE.
[_Passing her handkerchief over her lips._] Need you--need you see this
man to-night? Can't you stop him coming--or send him away?
PHILIP.
Not see him----?
OTTOLINE.
Why--why should you stoop to see him at all? Why shouldn't the matter
be allowed to drop--to drop?
PHILIP.
Drop!
OTTOLINE.
It--it's too monstrous; too absurd. [_To_ BERTRAM, _with a laugh._] Ha,
ha, ha! Bertie--Bertie dear----
BERTRAM.
[_Sullenly._] Yes?
OTTOLINE.
Ha, ha! I almost scared you out of your wits, didn't I?
BERTRAM.
You've behaved excessively rudely----
LADY FILSON.
Bertram--Bertram----
BERTRAM.
I mean to _say_, mother! What becomes of family loyalty----?
OTTOLINE.
[_To_ BERTRAM, _coaxingly._] Forgive me, Bertram. I'm ashamed of my
violent outburst. Forgive me----
ROOPE.
[_Who has been effacing himself behind the table on the left, appearing
at the nearer end of the table._] Er--dear excellent friends--[SIR
RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON _look at_ ROOPE _as if he had fallen from the
skies, and_ BERTRAM _stares at him resentfully._] dear excellent
friends, if I may be permitted to make an observation----
PHILIP.
[_To_ ROOPE.] Go ahead, old man.
ROOPE.
In my opinion, it would be a thousand pities not to see Mr. Dunning
to-night, and have done with him. [_Cheerfully._] The fish is
ruined--we must resign ourselves to that; [_sitting in the chair on the
extreme left_] but the other dishes, if the cook is fairly
competent----
SIR RANDLE.
[_Advancing._] Mr. Roope's opinion is my opinion also. [_Ponderously._]
As to whether Lady Filson and my daughter should withdraw into an
adjoining room----
LADY FILSON.
_I_ feel with Philip; we couldn't sit down to dinner with this cloud
hanging over us----
SIR RANDLE.
[_Sitting in the chair by the smoking-table._] Impossible! I must be
frank. Impossible!
ROOPE.
Dear Madame de Chaumie will pardon me for differing with her, but you
can't very well ignore even a fellow of this stamp--[_glancing at_
BERTRAM] especially, if I understand aright, my excellent friend over
there still persists----
BERTRAM.
[_Morosely._] Yes, you do understand aright, Roope. I've every
confidence in Dunning, I mean t'say----
PHILIP.
[_Turning away, angrily._] Oh----!
LADY FILSON.
[_Severely._] Bertie----!
SIR RANDLE.
Bertram, my _boy_----!
[_The bell rings. There is a short silence, and then_
BERTRAM _rises and pulls down his waistcoat
portentously._
BERTRAM.
Here he is.
OTTOLINE.
[_To_ LADY FILSON, _in a low voice._] Mother----?
LADY FILSON.
[_To_ PHILIP.] Do _you_ wish us to withdraw, Philip?
PHILIP.
[_Sitting at the writing-table._] Not at all, Lady Filson. [_Switching
on the light of the library-lamp, sternly._] On the contrary, I should
like you both to remain.
LADY FILSON.
[_To_ OTTOLINE.] Otto dear----?
OTTOLINE.
[_Adjusting a comb in her hair._] Oh, certainly, mother, I'll stay.
LADY FILSON.
[_Arranging her skirt and settling herself majestically._] Of this we
may be perfectly sure; when my son finds that he has been misled,
purposely or unintentionally, he will be only too ready--_too_
ready----
SIR RANDLE.
[_Leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes._] That goes without
saying, Winifred. A gentleman--an English gentleman----
BERTRAM.
[_Who is watching the vestibule door--over his shoulder, snappishly._]
Oh, of course, father, if it turns out that I've been sold, I'll eat
humble-pie abjectly.
ROOPE.
[_Shaking a finger at_ BERTRAM.] Ha, ha! I hope you've brought a
voracious appetite with you, dear excellent friend.
BERTRAM.
[_To_ ROOPE, _exasperated._] Look heah, Mr. Roope----!
[_The vestibule door opens and_ JOHN _announces_
DUNNING.
JOHN.
Mr. Dunning.
[DUNNING _enters and_ JOHN _retires._ MR. ALFRED DUNNING
_is a spruce, middle-aged, shrewd-faced man with an
affable but rather curt manner. He is in his hat and
overcoat._
DUNNING.
[_To_ BERTRAM.] Haven't kept you long, have I? I just had a cup o'
cocoa--[_He checks himself on seeing so large an assembly, removes his
hat, and includes everybody in a summary bow._] Evening.
BERTRAM.
[_To_ DUNNING.] Larger gathering than you expected. [_Indicating the
various personages by a glance._] Sir Randle and Lady Filson--my father
and mother----
DUNNING.
[_To_ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON.] Evening.
BERTRAM.
My sister, Madame de Chaumie----
DUNNING.
[_To_ OTTOLINE.] Evening.
BERTRAM.
Mr. Roope--Mr. Mackworth----
DUNNING.
[_To them._] Evening.
[SIR RANDLE, LADY FILSON, _and_ ROOPE, _looking at_
DUNNING _out of the corners of their eyes, acknowledge
the introduction by a slight movement._ PHILIP _nods
unpleasantly._ OTTOLINE, _with a stony countenance, also
eyes_ DUNNING _askance, and gives the barest possible
inclination of her head on being named._
BERTRAM.
[_Bringing forward the chair on which he has been sitting and planting
it nearer to_ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON--_to_ DUNNING.] I suppose
you may----
DUNNING.
[_Taking off his gloves and overcoat--to_ PHILIP.] D'ye mind if I slip
my coat off, Mr. Mackworth?
PHILIP.
[_Growling._] No.
DUNNING.
Don't want to get overheated, and catch the flue. I've got Mrs. D. in
bed with a bad cold, as it is.
BERTRAM.
[_To_ DUNNING.] Now then, Mr. Dunning! I'll trouble you to give us an
account of your operations in this business from the outset----
DUNNING.
[_Hanging his coat over the back of the chair._] Pleasure.
BERTRAM.
The business of Mr. Mackworth's new book, I mean t'say.
DUNNING.
[_Sitting and placing his hat on the floor._] Pleasure.
BERTRAM.
Middle of October, wasn't it, when I----?
DUNNING.
Later. [_Producing a dog's-eared little memorandum-book and turning its
leaves with a moistened thumb._] Here we are--the twenty-fourth. [_To
everybody, referring to his notes as he proceeds--glibly._] Mr. Filson
called on me and Mr. Sillitoe, ladies and gentlemen, on the
twenty-fourth of last month with reference to a book by Mr. P.
Mackworth--"The Big Drum"--published September the second, and drew our
attention to the advertisements of Mr. Mackworth's publisher--Mr.
Clifford Titterton, of Charles Street, Adelphi--relating to the same.
Mr. F. having made us acquainted with the special circumstances of the
case, and furnished us with his reasons for doubting Titterton's
flowery statements, [_wetting his thumb again and turning to the next
leaf of his note-book_] on the following day, the twenty-fifth, I
purchased a copy of the said book at Messrs. Blake and Hodgson's in the
Strand, Mr. Hodgson himself informing me in the course of conversation
that, as far as his firm was concerned, the book wasn't doing anything
out of the ordinary. [_Repeating the thumb process._] I then proceeded
to pump one of the gals--er--to interrogate one of the assistants--at a
circulating library Mrs. D. subscribes to, with a similar result.
[_Turning to the next leaf._] My next step----
SIR RANDLE.
I wonder whether these elaborate preliminaries----?
BERTRAM.
Oh, don't interrupt, father! I mean to _say_----!
DUNNING.
[_Imperturbably._] My next step was to place the book in the hands of a
lady whose liter'y judgment is a great deal sounder than mine _or_ Mr.
Sillitoe's--I allude to Mrs. D.--and her report was that, though
amusing in parts, she didn't see anything in it to set the Thames on
fire.
PHILIP.
[_Laughing in spite of himself._] Ha, ha, ha!
ROOPE.
Ha, ha! [_To_ PHILIP, _with mock sympathy._] Dear excellent friend!
BERTRAM.
[_To_ ROOPE.] Yes, all right, Mr. Roope----!
DUNNING.
[_Turning to the next leaf._] I and Mr. Sillitoe then had another
confab--er--consultation with Mr. Filson, and we pointed out to him
that it was up to his father and mother to challenge Titterton's
assertions and invite proof of their accuracy.
ROOPE.
[_Quietly._] Obviously!
DUNNING.
Mr. F., however, giving us to understand that he was acting solely on
his own, and that he wished the investigation kept from his family, we
proposed a different plan----
BERTRAM.
To which I reluctantly assented.
DUNNING.
To get hold of somebody in Titterton's office--one of his employees,
male or female----
LADY FILSON.
[_Shocked._] Oh! Oh, Bertie!
OTTOLINE.
[_Rising, with a gesture of disgust._] Ah----!
SIR RANDLE.
[_To_ BERTRAM.] Really! Really, Bertram----!
[_Seeing_ OTTOLINE _rise,_ PHILIP _also rises and comes
to her._
LADY FILSON.
That a son of mine should countenance----!
OTTOLINE.
[_Panting._] Oh, but this is--this is outrageous! [_To_ SIR RANDLE
_and_ LADY FILSON.] Dad--mother--why should we degrade ourselves by
listening any further? [_To_ PHILIP.] Philip----!
PHILIP.
[_Patting her shoulder soothingly._] Tsch, tsch, tsch----!
BERTRAM.
[_To_ LADY FILSON _and_ SIR RANDLE.] My dear mother--my dear
father--you're so impatient!
PHILIP.
[_To_ OTTOLINE.] Tsch, tsch! Go back to the fire and toast your toes
again.
BERTRAM.
I consider I was fully justified, I mean t'say----
[_Falteringly_ OTTOLINE _returns to the fireplace. She
stands there for a few seconds, clutching the
mantel-shelf, and then subsides into the chair before
the fire._ PHILIP _advances to the settee on the right._
PHILIP.
[_To_ DUNNING.] Sorry we have checked your flow of eloquence, Mr.
Dunning, even for a moment. [_Sitting._] I wouldn't miss a syllable of
it. [_Airily._] Do, please, continue.
SIR RANDLE.
[_Looking at his watch._] My dear Philip----!
BERTRAM.
[_To_ DUNNING, _wearily._] Oh, come to the man--what's his name,
Dunning?--Merryweather----!
DUNNING.
[_Turning several pages of his note-book with his wet thumb._]
Merrifield.
BERTRAM.
Merrifield. [_Passing behind_ DUNNING _and half-seating himself on the
further end of the table on the left._] Skip everything in between;
[_sarcastically_] my father and mother are dying for their dinner.
LADY FILSON.
Bertram!
DUNNING.
[_Finding the memorandum he is searching for, and quoting from it._]
Henry Merrifield--entry clerk to Titterton--left Titterton, after a
row, on the fifteenth of the present month----
BERTRAM.
A stroke of luck--Mr. Merrifield--if ever there was one! I mean
t'say----
DUNNING.
[_To everybody._] Having gleaned certain significant facts from the
said Henry Merrifield, ladies and gentlemen, [_referring to his notes_]
I paid two visits last week to the offices of Messrs. Hopwood & Co., of
6, Carmichael Lane, Walbrook, described in fresh paint on their door as
Shipping and General Agents; and the conclusion I arrived at was that
Messrs. Hopwood & Co. were a myth and their offices a blind, the latter
consisting of a small room on the ground floor, eight foot by twelve,
and their staff of the caretakers of the premises--Mr. and Mrs.
Sweasy--an old woman and her husband----
ROOPE.
[_To_ DUNNING.] If I may venture to interpose again, what on earth have
Messrs. Hopwood----?
SIR RANDLE.
Yes, what have Messrs. Hopwood----?
BERTRAM.
[_Over his shoulder._] Ho! What have Messrs. Hopwood----!
ROOPE.
[_To_ BERTRAM, _pointing to_ DUNNING.] I am addressing _this_
gentleman, dear excellent friend----
DUNNING.
[_To_ ROOPE.] I'll tell you, sir. [_Incisively._] It's to the bogus
firm of Hopwood & Co. that the bulk of the volumes of Mr. Mackworth's
new book have been consigned.
BERTRAM.
[_Getting off the table, eagerly._] Dunning has seen them, I mean
t'say----
SIR RANDLE.
[_To_ BERTRAM, _startled._] Be silent, Bertie!
LADY FILSON.
[_To_ BERTRAM, _holding her breath._] Do be quiet!
ROOPE.
[_Blankly._] The--the bulk of the volumes----?
PHILIP.
[_Staring at_ DUNNING.] The--the bulk of the----?
DUNNING.
[_To_ SIR RANDLE _and_ ROOPE.] Yes, gentlemen, the books are in a
mouldy cellar, also rented by Messrs. Hopwood, at 6, Carmichael Lane.
There's thousands of them there, in cases--some of the cases with
shipping marks on them, some marked for inland delivery. I've inspected
them this afternoon--overhauled them. Mr. Sweasy had gone over to the
Borough to see his married niece, and I managed to get the right side
of _Mrs._ S.
SIR RANDLE.
[_Softly, looking from one to the other._] Curious! Curious!
LADY FILSON.
[_Forcing a smile._] How--how strange!
ROOPE.
[_To_ LADY FILSON, _a little disturbed._] Why strange, dear Lady
Filson? Shipping and other marks on the cases! These people are
forwarding agents----
DUNNING.
[_Showing his teeth._] Nobody makes the least effort to _despatch_ the
cases, though. That's singular, isn't it?
ROOPE.
But----!
DUNNING.
[_To_ ROOPE.] My good sir, in the whole of our experience--mine and Mr.
Sillitoe's--we've never come across a neater bit of hankey-pankey--[_to_
PHILIP] no offence--and if Merrifield hadn't smelt a rat----
ROOPE.
But--but--but--the cost of it all, my dear Mr. Dunning! I don't know
much about these things--the expense of manufacturing many thousands of
copies of Mr. Mackworth's new book----!
SIR RANDLE.
[_Alertly._] Quite so! Surely, if we were to be deceived, a simpler
method could have been found----?
ROOPE.
[_With energy._] Besides, what has Mr. Titterton to gain by the
deception?
SIR RANDLE.
True! True! What has _he_ to gain----?
PHILIP.
[_Who is sitting with his hands hanging loosely, utterly
bewildered--rousing himself._] Good God, yes! What has Titterton to
gain by joining me in a blackguardly scheme to--to--to----?
DUNNING.
[_To_ SIR RANDLE _and_ ROOPE.] Well, gentlemen, in the first place,
it's plain that Titterton was too fly to risk being easily blown
upon----
BERTRAM.
He was prepared to prove that the books _have been_ manufactured and
delivered, I mean t'say----
DUNNING.
And in the second place, on the question of expense, the speculation
was a tolerably safe one.
LADY FILSON.
[_Keenly._] Speculation?
DUNNING.
Madarme dee Showmeeay being, according to my instructions--[_to_ LADY
FILSON, _after a glance in_ OTTOLINE_'s direction_] no offence,
ladies--[_to_ SIR RANDLE _and_ ROOPE] Madarme dee Showmeeay being what
is usually termed a catch, Mr. Mackworth would have been in a position,
after his marriage, to reimburse Titterton----
[PHILIP _starts to his feet with a cry of rage._
PHILIP.
Oh----!
ROOPE.
[_Jumping up and hurrying to_ PHILIP_--pacifying him._] My dear
Phil--my _dear_ old chap----
PHILIP.
[_Grasping_ ROOPE_'s arm._] Robbie----!
[SIR RANDLE _rises and goes to_ LADY FILSON. _She also
rises as he approaches her. They gaze at each other with
expressionless faces._
ROOPE.
[_To_ PHILIP.] Where does Titterton live?
PHILIP.
Gordon Square.
ROOPE.
[_Pointing to the telephone._] Telephone--have him round----
PHILIP.
He's not in London.
ROOPE.
Not----?
PHILIP.
He's gone to the Riviera--left this morning. [_Crossing to_ SIR RANDLE
_and_ LADY FILSON_--appealingly._] Lady Filson--Sir Randle--_you_ don't
believe that Titterton and I could be guilty of such an arrant piece of
knavery, do you? Ho, ho, ho! It's preposterous.
SIR RANDLE.
[_Constrainedly._] Frankly--I must be frank--I hardly know _what_ to
believe.
LADY FILSON.
[_Pursing her mouth._] We--we hardly know _what_ to believe.
PHILIP.
[_Leaving them._] Ah----!
ROOPE.
[_Who has dropped into the chair by the smoking-table--to_ SIR RANDLE.]
Sir Randle--dear excellent friend--let us meet Mr. Dunning to-morrow at
Messrs. Hopwood's in Carmichael Lane--we three--you and I and
Mackworth----
PHILIP.
[_Pacing up and down between the table on the left and the bookcase._]
Yes, yes--before I wire to Titterton--or see Curtis, his manager----
ROOPE.
[_Over his shoulder, to_ DUNNING.] Hey, Mr. Dunning?
DUNNING.
Pleasure.
[_While this has been going on,_ DUNNING _has put his
note-book away and risen, gathering up his hat and
overcoat as he does so._ BERTRAM _is now assisting him
into his coat._
SIR RANDLE.
[_Advancing a step or two._] At what hour----?
DUNNING.
[_Briskly._] Ten-thirty suit you, gentlemen?
SIR RANDLE, PHILIP, _and_ ROOPE.
[_Together._] Half-past-ten.
ROOPE.
[_Scribbling with a pocket-pencil on his shirt-cuff._] 6, Carmichael
Lane, Walbrook----
DUNNING.
[_Pulling down his under-coat._] I'll be there.
ROOPE.
[_Lowering his hands suddenly and leaning back in his chair, as if
about to administer a poser._] By the way, Mr. Dunning, you tell us you
have a strong conviction that Messrs. Hopwood & Co. are a myth, and
their offices a sham--[_caustically_] may I ask whether you've tried to
ascertain who _is_ the actual tenant of the room and cellar in
Carmichael Lane?
BERTRAM.
[_Sniggering._] Why, Titterton, of course. I mean to _say_----!
ROOPE.
[_Waving_ BERTRAM _down._] Dear excellent friend----!
DUNNING.
[_Taking up his hat, which he has laid upon the smoking-table--to_
ROOPE, _with a satisfied air._] Mr. Sillitoe's got that in hand, sir.
What I _have_ ascertained is that a young feller strolls in
occasionally and smokes a cigarette----
BERTRAM.
And pokes about in the cellar----
DUNNING.
_Calls_ himself Hopwood. But the name written on the lining of his
hat--[_to_ BERTRAM, _carelessly_] oh, I forgot to mention this to you,
Mr. Filson. [_Producing his memorandum-book again._] Old mother Sweasy
was examining the young man's outdoor apparel the other day. [_Turning
the pages with his wet thumb._] The name on the lining of his hat
is--[_finding the entry_] is "Westrip." "Leonard Westrip."
BERTRAM.
Westrip?
SIR RANDLE.
Leonard--Westrip?
LADY FILSON.
Mr. Westrip!
SIR RANDLE.
[_To_ DUNNING, _blinking._] Mr. Westrip is my secretary.
BERTRAM.
[_To_ DUNNING, _agape._] He's my father's secretary.
DUNNING.
[_To_ SIR RANDLE.] Your seckert'ry?
PHILIP.
[_Coming to the nearer end of the settee on the left._] The--the--the
fair boy I've seen in Ennismore Gardens!
ROOPE.
[_Rising and joining_ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON_--expressing his
amazement by flourishing his arms._] Oh, my dear excellent friends----!
LADY FILSON.
[_To_ SIR RANDLE.] Randle--what--what next----!
SIR RANDLE.
[_Closing his eyes._] Astounding! Astounding!
DUNNING.
[_Looking about him, rather aggressively._] Well, I seem to have
accidentally dropped a bombshell among you! Will any lady or gentleman
kindly oblige with some particulars----? [_To_ OTTOLINE, _who checks
him with an imperious gesture--changing his tone._] I beg your pardon,
madarme----
[OTTOLINE _has left her chair and come to the
writing-table, where, with a drawn face and downcast
eyes, she is now standing erect._
OTTOLINE.
[_To_ DUNNING, _repeating her gesture._] Stop! [_To_ LADY FILSON _and_
SIR RANDLE, _in a strained voice._] Mother--Dad----
[_Everybody looks at her, surprised at her manner._
LADY FILSON.
Otto dear----?
OTTOLINE.
I--I can't allow you all to be mystified any longer. I--I can clear
this matter up.
SIR RANDLE.
You, my darling?
OTTOLINE.
[_Steadying herself by resting her finger-tips upon the table._]
The--the explanation is that Mr. Westrip--[_with a wan smile_] poor
boy--he would jump into the sea for me if I bade him--the explanation
is that Mr. Westrip has been--helping me----
LADY FILSON.
_Helping_ you----?
SIR RANDLE.
Helping _you_----?
OTTOLINE.
[_Inclining her head._] Helping me. He--he---- [_Raising her eyes
defiantly and confronting them all._] _Ecoutez!_ Robbie Roope has asked
who is the actual tenant of the cellar and room in Carmichael Lane.
[_Breathing deeply._] _I_ am.
LADY FILSON.
[_Advancing a few steps._] _You_ are! N-n-nonsense!
OTTOLINE.
Mr. Westrip took the place for me--my arrangement with Titterton made
it necessary----
LADY FILSON.
With Titterton! Then he--he _has_----?
OTTOLINE.
Yes. The thousands of copies--packed in the cases with the lying
labels--_I_ have bought them--they're mine----
LADY FILSON.
Y-y-yours!
OTTOLINE.
I--I was afraid the book had failed--and I went to Titterton--and
bargained with him----
LADY FILSON.
So--so everything--everything that your brother and Mr.--Mr. Dunning
have surmised----?
OTTOLINE.
Everything, mother--except that I am the culprit, and Mr. Mackworth is
the victim.
LADY FILSON.
Ottoline----!
OTTOLINE.
[_Passing her hand over her brow._] It--it's horrible of me to give
Titterton away--but--what can I do?--[_She turns her back upon them
sharply and, leaning against the table, searches for her
handkerchief._] Oh! Need Mr. Dunning stay----?
[BERTRAM, _aghast, nudges_ DUNNING _and hurries to the
vestibule door._ DUNNING _follows him into the vestibule
on tiptoe. Slowly and deliberately_ PHILIP _moves to the
middle of the room and stands there with his hands
clenched, glaring into space._ SIR RANDLE, _his jaw
falling, sits in the chair on the extreme left._
LADY FILSON.
[_Touching_ PHILIP_'s arm sympathetically._] Oh, Philip----!
DUNNING.
[_To_ BERTRAM, _in a whisper._] Phiou! Rummy development this, Mr.
Filson!
BERTRAM.
[_To_ DUNNING, _in the same way._] Awful. [_Opening the outer door._]
I--I'll see you in the m-m-morning.
DUNNING.
Pleasure. [_Raising his voice._] Evening, ladies and gentlemen.
LADY FILSON.
[_Again sitting on the settee on the left, also searching for her
handkerchief._] G-g-good night.
SIR RANDLE.
[_Weakly._] Good night.
ROOPE.
[_Who has wandered to the bookcase like a man in a trance._] Good
night.
[DUNNING _disappears, and_ BERTRAM _closes the outer
door and comes back into the room. Shutting the
vestibule door, he sinks into the chair lately vacated
by_ DUNNING. _There is a silence, broken at length by a
low, grating laugh from_ PHILIP.
PHILIP.
Ha, ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha----!
LADY FILSON.
[_Dolefully._] Oh, Ottoline--Ottoline----!
PHILIP.
Ha, ha, ha----!
OTTOLINE.
[_Creeping to the nearer end of the writing-table._] H'ssh! H'ssh!
Philip--Philip----!
PHILIP.
[_Loudly._] Ho, ho, ho----!
OTTOLINE.
Don't! don't! [_Making a movement of entreaty towards him._]
Phil--Phil----!
[_His laughter ceases abruptly and he looks her full in
the face._
PHILIP.
[_After a moment's pause, bitingly._] Thank you--thank you--[_turning
from her and seating himself in the chair by the smoking-table and
resting his chin on his fist_] thank you.
[_Again there is a pause, and then_ OTTOLINE _draws
herself up proudly and moves in a stately fashion
towards the vestibule door._
OTTOLINE.
[_At_ BERTRAM_'s side._] Bertram--my cloak----
[BERTRAM _rises meekly and fetches her cloak._
SIR RANDLE.
[_Getting to his feet and approaching_ PHILIP_--mournfully._] Your
mother's wrap, also, Bertram.
LADY FILSON.
[_Rising._] Yes, let us all go home.
SIR RANDLE.
[_To_ PHILIP, _laying a hand on his shoulder._] My daughter has brought
great humiliation upon us--upon her family, my dear Philip--by this--I
must be harsh--by this unladylike transaction----
LADY FILSON.
I have never felt so ashamed in my life!
SIR RANDLE.
[_To_ PHILIP.] By-and-by I shall be better able to command language in
which to express my profound regret. [_Offering his hand._] For the
present--good night, and God bless you!
PHILIP.
[_Shaking_ SIR RANDLE_'s hand mechanically._] Good night.
[_As_ SIR RANDLE _turns away,_ LADY FILSON _comes to_
PHILIP. BERTRAM, _having helped_ OTTOLINE _with her
cloak, now brings_ LADY FILSON_'s wrap from the
vestibule._ SIR RANDLE _takes it from him, and_ BERTRAM
_then returns to the vestibule and puts on his
overcoat._
LADY FILSON.
[_To_ PHILIP, _who rises._] You must have us to dinner another time,
Philip. If I eat a crust to-night it will be as much as I shall manage.
[_Speaking lower, with genuine feeling._] Oh, my dear boy, don't be too
cast down--over your clever book, I mean! [_Taking him by the
shoulders._] It's a cruel disappointment for you--and you don't deserve
it. May I----? [_She pulls him to her and kisses him._] Good night.
PHILIP.
[_Gratefully._] Good night.
[LADY FILSON _leaves_ PHILIP _and looks about for her
wrap._ SIR RANDLE _puts her into it and then goes into
the vestibule and wrestles with his overcoat._
BERTRAM.
[_Coming to_ PHILIP, _humbly._] M--M--Mackworth--I--I----
PHILIP.
[_Kindly._] No, no; don't you bother, old man----
BERTRAM.
I--I could kick myself, Mackworth, I could indeed. I've been a sneak
and a cad, I mean t'say, and--and I'm properly paid out----
PHILIP.
[_Shaking him gently._] Why, what are you remorseful for? You've only
brought out the truth, Bertie----
BERTRAM.
Yes, but I mean to _say_----!
PHILIP.
And _I_ mean to say that I'm in your debt for showing me that I've been
a vain, credulous ass. Now be off and get some food. [_Holding out his
hand._] Good night.
BERTRAM.
[_Wringing_ PHILIP_'s hand._] Good night, Mackworth. [_Turning from_
PHILIP _and seeing_ ROOPE, _who, anxiously following events, is
standing by the chair on the extreme left._] Good night, Roope.
ROOPE.
G-g-good night.
LADY FILSON.
[_Half in the room and half in the vestibule--to_ ROOPE, _remembering
his existence._] Oh, good night, Mr. Roope!
ROOPE.
Good night, dear Lady Filson.
SIR RANDLE.
[_In the vestibule._] Good night, Mr. Roope.
ROOPE.
Good night. Good night, dear excellent friends.
LADY FILSON.
[_To_ OTTOLINE, _who is lingering by the big doors._] Ottoline----
[LADY FILSON _and_ BERTRAM _join_ SIR RANDLE _in the
vestibule and_ SIR RANDLE _opens the outer door._
PHILIP, _his hands behind him and his chin on his
breast, has walked to the fireplace and is standing
there looking fixedly into the fire._ OTTOLINE _slowly
comes forward and fingers the back of the chair by the
smoking-table._
OTTOLINE.
Good night, Philip.
[_He turns to her, makes her a stiff, formal bow, and
faces the fire again._
ROOPE.
[_Advancing to her--under his breath._] Oh----!
OTTOLINE.
[_Giving him her hand._] Ah! [_With a plaintive shrug._] _Vous voyez!
C'est fini apres tout!_
ROOPE.
No, no----!
OTTOLINE.
[_Withdrawing her hand._] Pst! [_Throwing her head up._] Good night,
Robbie.
[_With a queenly air she sweeps into the vestibule and
follows_ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON _out on to the
landing._ BERTRAM _closes the vestibule door, and
immediately afterwards the outer door slams._
ROOPE.
[_To_ PHILIP, _in an agony._] No, no, Phil! It mustn't end like this!
Good lord, man, reflect--consider what you're chucking away! You're
mad--absolutely mad! [PHILIP _calmly presses a bell-push at the side of
the fireplace._] I'll go after 'em--and talk to her. I'll talk to her.
[_Running to the vestibule door and opening it._] Don't wait for me.
[_Going into the vestibule and grabbing his hat and overcoat._] It's a
tiff--a lovers' tiff! It's nothing but a lovers' tiff! [_Shutting the
vestibule door, piteously._] Oh, my dear excellent friend----!
[JOHN _appears, opening one of the big doors a little
way. Again the outer door slams._
PHILIP.
[_To_ JOHN, _sternly._] Dinner.
JOHN.
[_Looking for the guests--dumbfoundered_] D-d-dinner, sir?
PHILIP.
Serve dinner.
JOHN.
[_His eyes bolting._] The--the--the ladies and gentlemen have gone,
sir!
PHILIP.
Yes. I'm dining alone.
[JOHN _vanishes precipitately; whereupon_ PHILIP
_strides to the big doors, thrusts them wide open with a
blow of his fists, and sits at the dining-table._
END OF THE THIRD ACT
THE FOURTH ACT
_The scene is the same, the light that of a fine winter morning. The
big doors are open, and from the dining-room windows, where the
curtains are now drawn back, there is a view of some buildings opposite
and, through a space between the buildings, of the tops of the bare
trees in Gray's Inn garden._
_Save for a chair with a crumpled napkin upon it which stands at the
dining-table before the remains of_ PHILIP_'s breakfast, the
disposition of the furniture is as when first shown._
_A fire is burning in the nearer room._
[PHILIP, _dressed as at the opening of the preceding
act, is seated on the settee on the right, moodily
puffing at his pipe._ ROOPE _faces him, in the chair by
the smoking-table, with a mournful air._ ROOPE _is in
his overcoat and is nursing his hat._
PHILIP.
[_To_ ROOPE, _shortly, as if continuing a conversation._] Well?
ROOPE.
Well, what happened was this. I----
[_He breaks off to glance over his shoulder into the
further room._
PHILIP.
Go on. Nobody'll hear you. John's out.
ROOPE.
What happened was this. I overtook 'em at the bottom of the stairs, and
begged 'em to let me go back with them to Ennismore Gardens. Lady
Filson and I got into one cab, Sir Randle and Madame de Chaumie into
another. Bertram Filson slunk off to his club. At Ennismore Gardens we
had the most depressin' meal I've ever sat down to, and then Madame
Ottoline proposed that I should smoke a cigarette in her boudoir.
[_Distressed._] Oh, my dear Phil----!
PHILIP.
W-w-what----?
ROOPE.
I can't bear to see a woman in tears; I can't, positively.
PHILIP.
[_Between his teeth._] Confound you, Robbie, who can! Don't brag about
it.
ROOPE.
At first she swept up and down the room like an outraged Empress. Her
skirts created quite a wind. I won't attempt to tell you all the bitter
things she said----
PHILIP.
Of me?
ROOPE.
And of _me_, dear excellent friend.
PHILIP.
[_Grimly._] For your share in the business.
ROOPE.
[_With a nod._] The fatal luncheon in South Audley Street. However, she
soon softened, and came and knelt by the fire. And suddenly--you've
seen a child fall on the pavement and cut its knees, haven't you,
Phil?----
PHILIP.
Of course I have.
ROOPE.
That's how she cried. I was really alarmed.
PHILIP.
The--the end of it being----?
ROOPE.
[_Dismally._] The end of it being that she went off to bed, declaring
that she recognizes that the breach between you is beyond healing, and
that she's resolved never to cross your path again if she can avoid it.
PHILIP.
[_Laying his pipe aside._] Ha! [_Scowling at_ ROOPE.] And so this is
the result of your self-appointed mission, is it?
ROOPE.
[_Hurt._] That's rather ungrateful, Phil----
PHILIP.
[_Starting up and walking away to the left._] P'sha!
ROOPE.
If you'd heard how I reasoned with her----!
PHILIP.
[_Striding up and down._] What had I better do? It's good of you to be
here so early. [ROOPE _rises._] I'm _not_ ungrateful, Robbie. Advise
me.
ROOPE.
[_Stiffly._] I assume, from your tone, that what you _wish_ to do is
to--er----?
PHILIP.
To abase myself before her; to grovel at her feet and crave her pardon
for my behaviour of last night. What else should I want to do, in God's
name!
ROOPE.
[_Dryly._] I see, you've slept on it.
PHILIP.
Laid awake on it. [_Fiercely._] Do I look as if I'd slept the sleep of
a healthy infant?
ROOPE.
I don't know anything about infants, I am happy to say, healthy or
ailing; but certainly your treatment of Madame de Chaumie was
atrocious.
PHILIP.
Brutal, savage, inhuman! [_Halting and extending his arms._] And what's
been her fault? She's dared to love me eagerly, impetuously,
uncontrollably--_me_, a conceited, egotistical fellow who is no more
worth her devotion than the pompous beast who opens her father's
front-door! And because, out of her love, she commits a heedless,
impulsive act which deals a blow at my rotten pride, I slap her face
and turn my back upon her, and suffer her to leave my rooms as though
she's a charwoman detected in prigging silver from my cash-box!
[_Clasping his brow and groaning._] Oh--! [_In sudden fury at seeing_
ROOPE _thoughtfully examining his hat._] Damn it, Robbie, stop fiddling
with your hat or you'll drive me crazy!
[_He sits on the settee on the left and rests his head
on his fists._ ROOPE _hastily deposits his hat on the
smoking-table._
ROOPE.
[_Approaching_ PHILIP _coldly._] I was considering, dear excellent
friend--but perhaps in your present state of irritability----
PHILIP.
[_Holding out his hand penitently._] Shut up!
ROOPE.
[_Presenting_ PHILIP _with two fingers._] I was considering--when you
almost sprang at my throat--I was considering that it isn't at all
unlikely that Madame de Chaumie's frame of mind is a trifle less
inflexible this morning. _She_ has slept--or laid awake--on the events
of last night too, recollect.
PHILIP.
[_Raising his head._] Having been kicked out of this place a few hours
ago, her affection for me revives with the rattle of the milk-cans!
ROOPE.
[_Evasively._] At any rate, she must be conscious that you were
smarting under provocation. She confessed as much during our talk.
[_Magnanimously._] Even _I_ admit you had provocation.
PHILIP.
_That_ never influenced a woman, Robbie. Besides, I've insulted this
one before--grossly insulted her, in the old days in Paris----
ROOPE.
Ancient history! _My_ advice is--since you invite it--my advice is that
you write her a letter----
PHILIP.
I've composed half-a-dozen already. [_Pointing to a waste-paper basket
by the writing-table._] The pieces are in that basket.
ROOPE.
No, no; not a highly-wrought performance. Simply a line, asking her to
receive you. [PHILIP _rises listlessly._] Send it along by messenger.
[_With growing enthusiasm._] Look here! I'll take it!
PHILIP.
[_Gloomily, his hand on Roope's shoulder._] Ho, ho! You--you
indefatigable old Cupid!
ROOPE.
[_Looking at his watch._] Quarter-past-ten. [_Excitedly._] Phil, I bet
you a hundred guineas--[_correcting himself_] er--well--five pounds--I
bet you five pounds I'm with you again, with a favourable reply, before
twelve!
PHILIP.
[_Clapping_ ROOPE _on the back._] Done! [_Crossing to the writing-table._]
At the worst, I've earned a fiver.
ROOPE.
[_As_ PHILIP _sits at the table and takes a sheet of paper and an
envelope from a drawer._] May I suggest----?
PHILIP.
[_Dipping his pen in the ink._] Fire away, old chap.
ROOPE.
[_Seeking for inspiration by gazing at the ceiling._] H'm--[_Dictating._]
"Forgive me. I forgive you. When may I come to you?" [_To_ PHILIP.] Not
another word.
PHILIP.
[_As he writes._] By George, you've got the romantic touch, Robbie! If
you'd been a literary bloke, what sellers _you'd_ have written!
ROOPE.
[_Behind the smoking-table, smoothing his hair complacently._] Funny,
your remark. As a matter of fact, I _used_ to dabble a little in
pen-and-ink as a young man.
PHILIP.
[_Reading, a tender ring in his voice._] "Forgive me. I forgive you.
When may I come to you?" [_Adding his signature._] "Philip."
ROOPE.
Admirable!
PHILIP.
[_Folding and enclosing the note--catching some of_ ROOPE_'s hopefulness._]
In the meantime I'll array myself in my Sunday-best--[_moistening the
envelope_] on the chance----
ROOPE.
Do; at once. [_Putting on his hat._] She _may_ summon you by telephone----
PHILIP.
[_Addressing the envelope._] She gave me a scarf-pin yesterday--such a
beauty. [_Softly._] I'll wear it. [_Rising and giving the note to_
ROOPE.] Bless you, old boy!
[ROOPE _pockets the note, grasps_ PHILIP_'s hand
hurriedly, and bustles to the vestibule door._
ROOPE.
My quickest way is the Tube to Bayswater, and then a taxi across the
Park----
[_He has entered the vestibule--omitting to close the
door in his haste--and has opened the outer door when_
PHILIP _calls to him._
PHILIP.
[_Standing behind the smoking-table--with a change of manner._] Robbie----
ROOPE.
Hey?
PHILIP.
Robbie--[ROOPE _returns to_ PHILIP _reluctantly, leaving the outer door
open._] Oh, Robbie--[_gripping_ ROOPE's _arm_] how I boasted to you of
my triumph--my grand victory! How I swaggered and bellowed, and crowed
over you----!
ROOPE.
[_Fidgeting to get away._] Yes, but we won't discuss that now, Phil----
PHILIP.
[_Detaining him._] Wait. [_Brokenly._] Robbie--should Ottoline show any
inclination to--to patch matters up, you may tell her--as from me--that
I--I've done with it.
ROOPE.
[_Wonderingly._] Done with it?
PHILIP.
My career as a writing-man. It's finished. [_Hanging his head._] I'm
sorry to break faith with her people; but she may take me, if she will,
on her own terms--a poor devil who has proved a duffer at his job, and
who is content henceforth to be nothing but her humble slave and
dependant.
ROOPE.
[_Energetically._] My dear Phil, for heaven's sake, don't entertain
such a notion! Abandon your career just when you're making a noise in
the world----!
PHILIP.
[_Throwing up his hands._] Noise in the world!
ROOPE.
When you're getting the finest advertisement an author could possibly
desire!
PHILIP.
[_Choking._] Advertisement----!
ROOPE.
I can sympathize with your feeling mortified at not scoring entirely
off your own bat; but, deuce take it, your book _is_ in its thirteenth
edition!
PHILIP.
[_Laughing wildly._] Ho, ho, ho! [_Moving to the fireplace._] Ha, ha,
ha, ha----!
ROOPE.
[_Testily._] Oh, I'm glad I amuse you----!
PHILIP.
[_Coming to the settee on the right._] You're marvellous,
Robbie--incomparable----!
ROOPE.
[_Again preparing to depart._] Indeed?
PHILIP.
Ha, ha, ha----!
[_A moment earlier,_ SIR TIMOTHY BARRADELL _has appeared
in the vestibule, trying, in the dim light there, to
decipher the name on the outer door. Hearing the sound
of voices, he turns and reveals himself._
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Looking into the room and encountering_ ROOPE.] Roope!
ROOPE.
[_As they shake hands--astonished._] Dear excellent _friend_, what a
surprise!
SIR TIMOTHY.
Ah, don't flatter yourself you're the only early riser in London!
[_Seeing_ PHILIP.] Mr. Mackworth--[_advancing_] I found your door open
and I took the liberty----
PHILIP.
[_Meeting him in the middle of the room._] Sir Timothy Barradell, isn't
it?
SIR TIMOTHY.
It is. [_They shake hands, cordially on_ SIR TIMOTHY's _part, with more
formality on_ PHILIP's.] It's an unceremonious hour for a call, but if
you'd spare me five minutes----
PHILIP.
[_Civilly._] Pray sit down. [_Joining_ ROOPE _at the entrance to the
vestibule._] Robbie _has_ to run away----
ROOPE.
[_Diplomatically._] Can't stay another moment. [_Waving a hand to_ SIR
TIMOTHY.] _Au revoir_, dear Sir Timothy!
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Laying his hat upon the settee on the right and taking off his
gloves._] So long! [PHILIP _and_ ROOPE _stare at_ SIR TIMOTHY, _whose
back is towards them._ ROOPE _gives_ PHILIP _an inquiring look, which_
PHILIP _answers by a shrug and a shake of the head; and then_ PHILIP
_lets_ ROOPE _out and comes back into the room._ SIR TIMOTHY _turns to
him._] I'm afraid you think I'm presuming on a very slight
acquaintance, Mr. Mackworth----
PHILIP.
[_Shutting the vestibule door._] Not in the least.
SIR TIMOTHY.
Anyhow I'll not waste more of your valuable time than I can help.
[PHILIP _points to the settee and the two men sit, Sir Timothy on the
settee,_ PHILIP _in the chair by the smoking-table._ SIR TIMOTHY
_inspects the toes of his boots._] Mr. Mackworth, I--I won't beat about
the bush--it's a delicate subject I'm approaching you on.
PHILIP.
[_Leaning back in his chair._] Really?
SIR TIMOTHY.
An extremely delicate subject--[_raising his eyes_] Madame de Chaumie.
PHILIP.
Madame de Chaumie?
SIR TIMOTHY.
In the first place, I suppose you're aware that I had the temerity to
propose marriage to the lady in the summer of this year?
PHILIP.
Yes, I'm aware of it. Madame de Chaumie informed me of the circumstance.
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Nodding._] She would; she would. [_Straightening himself._] Well, Mr.
Mackworth, while I was abroad I heard from various sources that you had
become a pretty regular visitor at the house of her parents, and that
you and she were to be seen together occasionally in the secluded spots
of Kensington Gardens; and I naturally inferred that it was yourself
she'd had the good taste to single out from among her numerous suitors.
PHILIP.
[_With a smile._] I'd rather you didn't put it in that way, Sir
Timothy; but I guessed yesterday that the facts of the case had reached
you through some channel or other.
SIR TIMOTHY.
Yesterday?
PHILIP.
When Robbie Roope brought me your kind greetings.
SIR TIMOTHY.
Ah, that's nice of you! [_Constrainedly._] That's--nice of you.
PHILIP.
[_Changing his position and unbending._] But tell me! I don't know yet
what you have to say to me about Madame de Chaumie--but why should you
find it embarrassing to speak of her to me? [_Gently._] We're men of
the world, you and I; and it isn't the rule of life that the prize
always goes to the most deserving. [_With animation._]
"And in the world, as in the school,
I'd say, how fate may change and shift;
The prize be sometimes with the fool,
The race not always to the swift.
The strong may yield, the good may fall,
The great man be a vulgar clown,
The knave be lifted over all,
The kind cast pitilessly down."
So sang one of the noblest gentlemen who have ever followed my calling!
[_There is a brief silence, and then_ SIR TIMOTHY _rises
abruptly and walks to the fireplace._ PHILIP _looks
after him, perplexed._
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Facing the fire._] Mr. Mackworth----
PHILIP.
Eh?
SIR TIMOTHY.
I saw Bertram Filson last night--her brother.
PHILIP.
[_Pricking up his ears._] You did? Where?
SIR TIMOTHY.
At the club--the Junior Somerset. He came in late, looking a bit out of
gear, and ate a mouthful of dinner and drank a whole bottle of Pommery;
and afterwards he joined me in the smoking-room and--and was
exceedingly communicative.
PHILIP.
[_Attentively._] Oh?
SIR TIMOTHY.
I didn't encourage him to babble--[_turning_] 'twas he that insisted on
confiding to me what had occurred----
PHILIP.
Occurred?
SIR TIMOTHY.
That you and Madame de Chaumie had had a serious difference, and that
there's small prospect of its being bridged over.
PHILIP.
[_Glaring._] Oh, he confided _that_ to you, did he, Sir Timothy?
SIR TIMOTHY.
He did.
PHILIP.
[_Rising and pacing up and down on the left._] And what the devil does
Filson mean by gossiping about me at a club--me and my relations with
Madame de Chaumie!
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Advancing a little._] Ah, don't be angry! The champagne he'd drunk
had loosened his tongue. And then, I'm a friend of the family----
PHILIP.
Infernal puppy!
SIR TIMOTHY.
Referring to _Filson_?
PHILIP.
Of course.
Sir Timothy.
[_Mildly._] Well, whether young Filson's a puppy or not, _now_ perhaps
you begin to appreciate my motive for intruding on you?
PHILIP.
[_Halting._] Hardly.
SIR TIMOTHY.
You don't! [_Rumpling his hair._] I'll try to make it plainer to you.
[_Behind the smoking-table._] Er--will I smoke one of your
cigarettes?----
PHILIP.
[_Frigidly polite._] Please.
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Taking a cigarette from the box on the table._] Mr. Mackworth, if
Filson's prognostications as to the result of the quarrel between you
and his sister are fulfilled, it's my intention, after a decent
interval, to renew my appeal to her to marry me. [_Striking a match._]
Is that clear?
PHILIP.
Perfectly. [_Stiffly._] But all the same, I'm still at a loss----
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Lighting his cigarette._] At a loss, are you! [_Warmly._] You're at a
loss to understand that I'm not the sort of man who'd steal a march
upon another where a woman's concerned, and take advantage of his
misfortunes in a dirty manner! [_Coming to_ PHILIP.] Mackworth--I'll
drop the Mister, if you've no objection--Mackworth, I promise you I
won't move a step till I have your assurance that your split with
Madame de Chaumie is a mortal one, and that the coast is open to all
comers. That's my part o' the bargain, and I expect you on your side to
treat me with equal fairness and frankness. [_Offering his hand._] You
will?
PHILIP.
My dear Sir Timothy--my dear Barradell--[_shaking_ SIR TIMOTHY's _hand
heartily_.] you're the most chivalrous fellow I've ever met!
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Walking away._] Ah, go on now!
PHILIP.
[_Following him._] I apologize sincerely for being so curt.
SIR TIMOTHY.
Don't mention it.
PHILIP.
It's true, Ottoline and I _have_ had a bad fall out. [_Keenly._] Did
Filson give you any particulars----?
SIR TIMOTHY.
I gathered 'twas something arising out of a book of yours----
PHILIP.
Y-y-yes; a silly affair in which I was utterly in the wrong. I lost my
accursed temper--made a disgraceful exhibition of myself. [_Touching_
SIR TIMOTHY's _arm._] I _will_ be quite straight with you,
Barradell--Robbie Roope has just gone to her with a note from me. I
don't want to pain you; but Robbie and I hope that, after a night's
rest--[_The bell rings in the vestibule._] Excuse me--my servant isn't
in. [_He goes into the vestibule, leaving the door open._ SIR TIMOTHY
_picks up his hat. On opening the outer door,_ PHILIP _confronts_
OTTOLINE.] Otto----!
OTTOLINE.
[_In the doorway, giving him both her hands._] Are you alone,
Philip?
PHILIP.
[_Drawing her into the vestibule, his eyes sparkling._] No. [_With a
motion of his head._] Sir Timothy Barradell----
[OTTOLINE _passes_ PHILIP _and enters the room, holding
out her hand to_ SIR TIMOTHY. _Her eyes are black-rimmed
from sleeplessness; but whatever asperity she has
displayed overnight has disappeared, and she is again
full of softness and charm._
OTTOLINE.
Sir Tim!
PHILIP.
[_Shutting the outer door--breathing freely._] Kind of Sir Timothy to
look me up, isn't it?
OTTOLINE.
[_To_ SIR TIMOTHY.] _Vous etes un vaurien!_ When did you return?
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Who has flung his cigarette into the grate--crestfallen._] The day
before yesterday.
OTTOLINE.
Then I mustn't scold you for not having been to see us yet.
[_Wonderingly._] You find time to call on Mr. Mackworth, though!
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_With a gulp._] I--I was on my way to my solicitors, who are in
Raymond Buildings, and I remembered that I knew Mackworth years ago----
PHILIP.
[_Loitering near the vestibule door, impatient for_ SIR TIMOTHY's
_departure._] When I was a rollicking man-about-town, eh, Barradell!
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Retaining_ OTTOLINE's _hand--to her, earnestly._] My dear Madame de
Chaumie----
OTTOLINE.
Yes?
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Bracing himself._] A little bird brought the news to me shortly after
I left England. [_She lowers her eyes._] I--I congratulate you and
Mackworth--I congratulate you from the core of my heart.
OTTOLINE.
[_In a quiet voice._] Thank you, dear Sir Timothy.
SIR TIMOTHY.
May you both be as happy as you deserve to be, and even happier!
PHILIP.
[_Laughing._] Ha, ha, ha!
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Squeezing her hand._] Good-bye for the present.
OTTOLINE.
[_Smilingly._] Good-bye. [_He passes her and joins_ PHILIP. _Unseen by_
OTTOLINE_--who proceeds to loosen her coat at the settee on the
right--_ PHILIP _again gives_ SIR TIMOTHY _a vigorous hand-shake._ SIR
TIMOTHY _responds to it disconsolately, and is following_ PHILIP _into
the vestibule when he hears_ OTTOLINE _call to him._] Sir Tim!
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Turning._] Hallo!
OTTOLINE.
[_Lightly._] Is your car here?
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Brightening._] It is.
OTTOLINE.
You may give me a lift to Bond Street, if your business with your
lawyers won't keep you long.
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Emphatically._] It will _not_. [_Beaming._] I told you a lie. I've
_no_ business with my lawyers. I came here expressly to improve my
acquaintance with the man who's to be your husband, and for no other
purpose.
[_They all laugh merrily._
OTTOLINE.
Ha, ha, ha! [_To_ SIR TIMOTHY.] Wait for me in South Square, then. I
sha'n't be many minutes.
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Going into the vestibule._] Ah, I'd wait an eternity!
[PHILIP _and_ SIR TIMOTHY _shake hands once more, and
then_ PHILIP _lets_ SIR TIMOTHY _out._
PHILIP.
[_As he shuts the outer door._] By George, he's a splendid chap! [_He
comes back into the room, closes the vestibule door, and advances to_
OTTOLINE _and stands before her humbly._] Oh, Ottoline--oh, my dear
girl! Shall I go down on my knees to you?
OTTOLINE.
[_In a subdued tone._] If you do, I shall have to kneel to _you_, Phil.
PHILIP.
[_Slowly folding her in his arms._] Ah! Ah! Ah! [_In her ear._] What a
night I've spent!
OTTOLINE.
[_Almost inaudibly._] And I!
[_He seats her upon the settee on the right and sits
beside her, linking his hand in hers._
PHILIP.
How merciful this is of you! I've just sent you a letter by Robbie
Roope, begging you to see me; you've missed him. [_Smiling._] It isn't
as eloquent as some I started writing at five o'clock this morning.
Would you like to hear it? [_She nods. He recites his note tenderly._]
"Forgive me. I forgive you. When may I come to you?" That's all.
OTTOLINE.
_Isn't_ that eloquent, Phil?
PHILIP.
[_Smiling again._] It's concise--and as long as you forgive
me--[_eyeing her with a shadow of fear_] you're _sure_ you've forgiven
me?
OTTOLINE.
Sure.
PHILIP.
[_Persistently._] Without reserve?
OTTOLINE.
Should I be here--[_indicating their proximity_] and _here_--if I
hadn't?
PHILIP.
[_Pressing her hand to his lips ardently, and then freeing her
shoulders from her coat._] Take this off----
OTTOLINE.
[_Gently resisting._] Poor Sir Timothy----!
PHILIP.
[_In high spirits._] Oh, a little exercise won't do Sir Timothy any
harm! [_Helping her to slip her arms out of her coat._] Dash it, you
might have let _me_ escort you to Bond Street!
OTTOLINE.
No, no; your work----
PHILIP.
[_His brow clouding._] W-w-work----?
OTTOLINE.
You mustn't lose your morning's work.
[_There is a short pause, and then he rises and moves a
few steps away from her. With an impassive countenance,
she fingers the buttons of her gloves._
PHILIP.
[_Stroking the pattern of the carpet with his foot._] Otto----
OTTOLINE.
[_Looking up._] Yes, Phil?
PHILIP.
I asked Robbie to tell you, if he had the opportunity, that I've
decided to make my farewell salaam to authorship. I'm no good at it;
I'm a frost; I realize it at last. I've had my final whack on the jaw;
I've fought--how many rounds?--and now I take the count and slink out
of the ring, beat. [_Producing his keys, he goes to the cabinet on the
right, unlocks it, and selects from several cardboard portfolios one
which he carries to the writing-table. While he is doing this,_
OTTOLINE_--still with an expressionless face--rises and moves to the
left, where she stands watching him. He opens the portfolio and, with a
pained look, handles the sheets of manuscript in it._] Ha! You and I
have often talked over this, haven't we, Otto?
OTTOLINE.
[_Calmly._] Often.
PHILIP.
[_Taking the manuscript from the portfolio--thoughtfully._] It was to
have been--oh, such an advance on my previous stuff--kindlier, less
strenuous, more urbane! Success--success!--had sweetened the gall in
me! [_Glancing at a partly covered page._] Here's where I broke off
yesterday. [_With a shrug._] In every man's life there's a chapter
uncompleted, in one form or another! [_Throwing the manuscript into the
portfolio._] Pst! Get back to your hole; I'll burn you later on. [_He
rejoins her. She half turns from him, averting her head._] So end my
pitiful strivings and ambitions! [_Laying his hand on her shoulder._]
Ah, it's a miserable match you're making, Ottoline! My two-hundred-a-year
will rig me out suitably, and provide me with tobacco; and the
dribblets coming to me from my old books--through the honest publishers
I deserted for Mr. Titterton!--the dribblets coming from my old books
will enable me to present you with a nosegay on the anniversaries of
our wedding-day, and--by the time your hair's white--to refund you the
money Titterton's had from you. And there--with a little fame unjustly
won, which, thank God, 'll soon die!--there you have the sum of my
possessions! [_Seizing her arms and twisting her round._] Oh, but I'll
be your mate, my dear--your loyal companion and protector--comrade and
lover----!
[_He is about to embrace her again, but she keeps him
off by placing her hands against his breast._
OTTOLINE.
[_Steeling herself._] Phil----
PHILIP.
[_Unsuspectingly._] Eh?
OTTOLINE.
I arrived at a decision during the night too, Phil.
PHILIP.
Yes?
OTTOLINE.
Don't--don't loathe me. [_Shaking her head gravely._] I am not going to
marry you.
PHILIP.
[_Staring at her._] You're not going to--marry me?
OTTOLINE.
No, Philip.
PHILIP.
[_After another pause._] You--you're overwrought, Otto; you've had no
sleep. Neither of us has had any sleep----
OTTOLINE.
Oh, but I'm quite clearheaded----
PHILIP.
[_Bewildered._] Why, just now you said you'd forgiven me--repeated
it----!
OTTOLINE.
I do repeat it. If I've anything to forgive, I forgive you a thousand
times----
PHILIP.
And you allowed me to--to take you in my arms----
OTTOLINE.
You shall take me in your arms again, Phil, once more, before we part,
if you wish to. I'm not a girl, though you call me one----
PHILIP.
[_Sternly._] Look here! You don't imagine for an instant that I shall
accept this! You----!
OTTOLINE.
Ssh! Try not to be hasty; try to be reasonable. Listen to me----
PHILIP.
You--you mean me to understand that, in consequence of this wretched
Titterton affair, you've changed your mind, and intend to chuck me!
OTTOLINE.
Yes, I mean you to understand that.
PHILIP.
[_Turning from her indignantly._] Oh----!
OTTOLINE.
[_Sitting in the chair by the smoking-table._] Philip--Philip--[_He
hesitates, then seats himself on the settee opposite to her. She speaks
with great firmness and deliberation._] Philip, while you were lying
awake last night, or walking about your room, didn't you--_think_?
PHILIP.
[_Hotly._] _Think----!_
OTTOLINE.
No, no--soberly, steadily, searchingly. Evidently not, _cher ami_!
[_Bending forward._] Phil, after what has happened, can't you see me as
I really _am_?
PHILIP.
As you--are?
OTTOLINE.
An incurably vulgar woman. An incurably common, vulgar woman. Nobody
but a woman whose vulgarity is past praying for could have conceived
such a scheme as I planned and carried out with that man Clifford
Titterton--nobody. This--how shall I term it?--this refinement of mine
is merely on the surface. We women are like the--what's the name of the
little reptile?--the chameleon, isn't it? We catch the colour of our
surroundings. But what we were, we continue to be--in the grain. The
vulgar-minded Ottoline Filson, who captivated, and disgusted, you in
Paris is before you at this moment. The only difference is that then
she was a natural person, and now she plays _les grands roles_. [_Sitting
upright and pressing her temples._] Oh, I have fooled myself as well as
you, Phil--deluded myself----!
PHILIP.
You're dog-tired, Otto. Your brain's in a fever. All you've done,
you've done from your love for me, my dear--your deep, passionate
love----
OTTOLINE.
[_Wincing._] Passionate love--_parfaitement_! [_Looking at him._] But
that feeling's over, Phil.
PHILIP.
Over?
OTTOLINE.
[_Simply._] I shall always _love_ you--always--always; but my passion
exhausted itself last night. For months it has borne me along on a
wave. It was that that swept me to the door of Titterton's office in
Charles Street, Adelphi; it was strong enough to drive me to any
length. But last night, in those dreadful small hours, the wave beat
itself out, and threw me up on to the rocks, and left me
shivering--naked--ashamed--[_drawing a deep breath_] ah, but in my
right senses!
[_She unbuttons her left-hand glove, rolls the hand of
the glove over her wrist, and takes her engagement-ring
from her finger._
PHILIP.
[_Aghast._] Otto! Otto! What are you doing! What are you doing! [_She
lays the ring carefully upon the smoking-table and rises and walks
away. He rises with her, following her._] To-morrow--when you've had
some sleep--to-morrow----
OTTOLINE.
Never. Don't deceive yourself, Philip. [_Going to the fireplace._] If
anything was needed to strengthen my resolution, the announcement
you've just made would supply it.
PHILIP.
[_On the left._] Announcement?
OTTOLINE.
With regard to your literary work. [_Turning to him._] _Ne voyez-vous
pas!_ I have begun to degrade you already!
PHILIP.
[_Consciously._] Degrade me?
OTTOLINE.
Degrade you. If I hadn't come into your life again, you would have
accepted your reverse--your failure to gain popularity by your latest
book--as you've accepted similar disappointments--with a shrug and a
confident snap of your fingers. [_Advancing._] But I've humbled
you--bruised your spirit--shaken your courage; and now you express your
willingness--_you!_--to throw your pen aside, and tack yourself to my
skirts, and to figure meekly for the rest of your existence as "Mrs.
Mackworth's husband"! [_At the nearer end of the writing-table._] _Mon
Dieu!_ This is what I have brought you to!
PHILIP.
[_Biting his lip._] You--you wouldn't have me profit by the
advertisement I've got out of "The Big Drum," Ottoline--[_ironically_]
the finest advertisement I could wish for, according to Robbie! You
wouldn't have me sink as low as that?
OTTOLINE.
You can write under an alias--a _nom de plume_--until you've won your
proper place----
PHILIP.
[_Uneasily._] Oh, well--perhaps--by-and-by--when we had settled down,
you and I--and things had adjusted themselves----
OTTOLINE.
Yes, when you'd grown sick and weary of your new environment, and had
had time to reflect on the horrid trick I'd employed to get hold of
you, and had learned to despise me for it, you'd creep back to your
desk and make an effort to pick up the broken threads! [_Coming to the
settee on the right._] _Eh bien!_ Do you know what would happen _then_,
Phil?
PHILIP.
W-w-what?
OTTOLINE.
[_Intensely._] I should _puff_ you, under the rose--quietly pull the
strings--use all the influence I could rake up----
PHILIP.
No, no----
OTTOLINE.
I should. It's in my blood. I couldn't resist it. Whether you wrote as
Jones, or Smith, or Robinson, you'd find Jones, Smith, or Robinson
artfully puffed and paragraphed and thrust under people's noses in the
papers. I'm an incurably vulgar woman, I tell you! [_Snatching at her
coat--harshly._] _Ah, que je me connais; que je me connais!_
[_She fumbles for the arm-holes of her coat. He goes to
her quickly and they stand holding the coat between them
and looking at each other._
PHILIP.
[_After a silence._] You--you're determined?
OTTOLINE.
Determined.
PHILIP.
You--you _can't_ be!
Ottoline.
I am--I swear I am.
PHILIP.
[_After a further silence._] Then it _is_--as you said last night----?
OTTOLINE.
What did I say last night? I forget.
PHILIP.
[_In a husky voice._] _C'est fini--apres tout!_
OTTOLINE.
[_Inclining her head._] _C'est fini--apres tout._
PHILIP.
[_Bitterly._] Ho! Ho, ho, ho! [_Another pause._] So when--when April
comes--we--we sha'n't----!
OTTOLINE.
[_Lowering her eyes--all gentleness again._] We sha'n't walk under the
trees in the Champs-Elysees, Phil----
PHILIP.
Nor in the Allee de Longchamp--where we----
OTTOLINE.
No, nor in the Allee de Longchamp.
PHILIP.
[_Releasing her coat and thrusting his hands into his trouser-pockets._]
Somebody else'll gulp the milk at the Cafe d'Armenonville----!
OTTOLINE.
And at the Pre-Catalan----
PHILIP.
And there'll be no one to gaze sentimentally at my old windows in the
Rue Soufflot----
OTTOLINE.
[_Softly._] _Quarante-trois bis._ [_Sighing._] No one.
PHILIP.
[_With a hollow laugh._] Ha, ha, ha! _C'est fini--apres tout!_
OTTOLINE.
[_Firmly._] _C'est fini--apres tout._ [_She holds out her coat to him
and he helps her into it. Suddenly, while her back is turned to him, he
utters a guttural cry and grips her shoulders savagely. She turns in
surprise, her hand to her shoulder._] Oh, Phil----!
PHILIP.
[_Pointing at her._] I see! I see! I see the end of it! You'll marry
Barradell! You'll marry the fellow who's cooling his heels down below
in South Square!
OTTOLINE.
[_Placidly, fastening her coat._] I may.
PHILIP.
[_Choking._] Oh----!
OTTOLINE.
I may, if I marry at all--and he bothers any more about me.
PHILIP.
[_Stamping up and down._] Bacon Barradell! Bacon Barradell! The wife of
Bacon Barradell!
OTTOLINE.
[_With a sad smile._] He has social aims; a vulgar, pushing woman would
be a serviceable partner for Sir Tim.
PHILIP.
Oh! Oh--! [_Dropping on to the settee on the left and burying his face
in his hands._] Ho, well, more power to him! He can sell his bacon;
I--I can't sell my books!
[_Again there is a silence, and then, putting on her
left-hand glove, she goes to_ PHILIP _and stands over
him compassionately._
OTTOLINE.
_Mon pauvre Philippe_, it's you, not I, who will take another view of
things to-morrow. [_He makes a gesture of dissent._] Ah, come, come,
come! You have never loved me as I have loved you. Unconsciously--without
perceiving it--one may be half a _poseuse_; but at least I've been
sincere in my love for you, and in hungering to be your wife. [_Giving
him her right hand._] You're the best I've ever known, dear; by far the
best I've ever known. [_He presses her hand to his brow convulsively._]
But when we had our talk in South Audley Street, how did you serve me?
You insisted on my waiting--waiting; I who had cherished your image in
my mind for years! You guessed I shouldn't have patience--you almost
prophesied as much; but still--I was to wait!
PHILIP.
[_Inarticulately._] Oh, Otto!
OTTOLINE.
[_Withdrawing her hand._] What did that show, Phil? It showed--as your
compromise with mother and Dad showed afterwards--that the success of
the book you were engaged upon came first with you; that marrying me
was to be only an incident in your career; that you didn't love me
sufficiently to bend your pride or vary your programme a jot. [_He gets
to his feet, startled, dumbfoundered. He attempts to speak, but she
checks him._] H'sh! H'sh! I'm scolding you; but, for your sake, I
wouldn't have it otherwise. Now that I'm sane and cool, I wouldn't have
it otherwise.
PHILIP.
[_Struggling for words--thickly._] Ottoline--Ottoline--[_his voice
dying away_] I----!
OTTOLINE.
[_Taking his hands in hers._] Good-bye. Don't come downstairs with me.
Let me leave you sitting at your table, at work--at work on that
incomplete chapter. We shall tumble up against one another, I dare say,
at odd times, but this is the last we shall see of each other _dans
l'intimite_; and I want to print on my memory the sight of you--[_pointing
to the writing-table_] there--keeping your flag flying. [_Putting her
arms round him--in a whisper._] Keep your flag flying, Philip!
Don't--don't sulk with your art, and be false to yourself, because a
trumpery woman has fretted and disturbed you. Keep your flag
flying--[_kissing him_] my--my dear hero!
[_She untwines her arms and steps back. Slowly, with his
hands hanging loosely, and his chin upon his breast,_
PHILIP _passes her and goes to the writing-table. There,
dully and mechanically, he takes the unfinished page of
manuscript from the portfolio, arranges it upon the
blotting-pad and, seating himself at the table, picks up
his pen. Very softly_ OTTOLINE _opens the vestibule
door, gives_ PHILIP _a last look over her shoulder, and
enters the vestibule, closing the door behind her. There
is a pause, during which_ PHILIP _sits staring at his
inkstand, and then the outer door slams. With an
exclamation,_ PHILIP _drops his pen, leaps up, and
rushes to the vestibule door._
PHILIP.
Otto! Otto! [_Loudly._] Ottoline----!
[_With his hand on the door-handle, he wavers, his eyes
shifting wildly to and from the writing-table. Then,
with a mighty effort, he pulls himself together, strides
to the smoking-table, and loads and lights his pipe.
Puffing at his pipe fiercely, he reseats himself before
his manuscript and, grabbing his pen, forces himself to
write. He has written a word or two when he
falters--stops--and lays his head upon his arm on the
table._
PHILIP.
[_His shoulders heaving._] Oh, Otto--Otto----!
THE END
_Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. LTD.
_At the Ballantyne Press_
LONDON AND EDINBURGH