I
_A Newport drawing-room. Tapestries, flowers, bric-a-brac. Through the
windows, a geranium-edged lawn, the cliffs and the sea_. Isabel Warland
_sits reading_. Lucius Warland _enters in flannels and a yachting-cap_.
_Isabel_. Back already?
_Warland_. The wind dropped--it turned into a drifting race. Langham
took me off the yacht on his launch. What time is it? Two o’clock?
Where’s Mrs. Raynor?
_Isabel_. On her way to New York.
_Warland_. To New York?
_Isabel_. Precisely. The boat must be just leaving; she started an hour
ago and took Laura with her. In fact I’m alone in the house--that is,
until this evening. Some people are coming then.
_Warland_. But what in the world--
_Isabel_. Her aunt, Mrs. Griscom, has had a fit. She has them
constantly. They’re not serious--at least they wouldn’t be, if
Mrs. Griscom were not so rich--and childless. Naturally, under the
circumstances, Marian feels a peculiar sympathy for her; her position is
such a sad one; there’s positively no one to care whether she lives or
dies--except her heirs. Of course they all rush to Newburgh whenever she
has a fit. It’s hard on Marian, for she lives the farthest away; but she
has come to an understanding with the housekeeper, who always telegraphs
her first, so that she gets a start of several hours. She will be at
Newburgh to-night at ten, and she has calculated that the others can’t
possibly arrive before midnight.
_Warland_. You have a delightful way of putting things. I suppose you’d
talk of me like that.
_Isabel_. Oh, no. It’s too humiliating to doubt one’s husband’s
disinterestedness.
_Warland_. I wish I had a rich aunt who had fits.
_Isabel_. If I were wishing I should choose heart-disease.
_Warland_. There’s no doing anything without money or influence.
_Isabel (picking up her book)_. Have you heard from Washington?
_Warland_. Yes. That’s what I was going to speak of when I asked for
Mrs. Raynor. I wanted to bid her good-bye.
_Isabel_. You’re going?
_Warland_. By the five train. Fagott has just wired me that the
Ambassador will be in Washington on Monday. He hasn’t named his
secretaries yet, but there isn’t much hope for me. He has a nephew--
_Isabel_. They always have. Like the Popes.
_Warland_. Well, I’m going all the same. You’ll explain to Mrs. Raynor
if she gets back before I do? Are there to be people at dinner? I don’t
suppose it matters. You can always pick up an extra man on a Saturday.
_Isabel_. By the way, that reminds me that Marian left me a list of the
people who are arriving this afternoon. My novel is so absorbing that
I forgot to look at it. Where can it be? Ah, here--Let me see: the Jack
Merringtons, Adelaide Clinton, Ned Lender--all from New York, by seven
P.M. train. Lewis Darley to-night, by Fall River boat. John Oberville,
from Boston at five P.M. Why, I didn’t know--
_Warland (excitedly)_. John Oberville? John Oberville? Here? To-day at
five o’clock? Let me see--let me look at the list. Are you sure you’re
not mistaken? Why, she never said a word! Why the deuce didn’t you tell
me?
_Isabel_. I didn’t know.
_Warland_. Oberville--Oberville--!
_Isabel_. Why, what difference does it make?
_Warland_. What difference? What difference? Don’t look at me as if you
didn’t understand English! Why, if Oberville’s coming--(a pause) Look
here, Isabel, didn’t you know him very well at one time?
_Isabel_. Very well--yes.
_Warland_. I thought so--of course--I remember now; I heard all about it
before I met you. Let me see--didn’t you and your mother spend a winter
in Washington when he was Under-secretary of State?
_Isabel_. That was before the deluge.
_Warland_. I remember--it all comes back to me. I used to hear it said
that he admired you tremendously; there was a report that you were
engaged. Don’t you remember? Why, it was in all the papers. By Jove,
Isabel, what a match that would have been!
_Isabel_. You _are_ disinterested!
_Warland_. Well, I can’t help thinking--
_Isabel_. That I paid you a handsome compliment?
_Warland (preoccupied)_. Eh?--Ah, yes--exactly. What was I saying?
Oh--about the report of your engagement. _(Playfully.)_ He was awfully
gone on you, wasn’t he?
_Isabel_. It’s not for me to diminish your triumph.
_Warland_. By Jove, I can’t think why Mrs. Raynor didn’t tell me he
was coming. A man like that--one doesn’t take him for granted, like the
piano-tuner! I wonder I didn’t see it in the papers.
_Isabel_. Is he grown such a great man?
_Warland_. Oberville? Great? John Oberville? I’ll tell you what he
is--the power behind the throne, the black Pope, the King-maker and all
the rest of it. Don’t you read the papers? Of course I’ll never get on
if you won’t interest yourself in politics. And to think you might have
married that man!
_Isabel_. And got you your secretaryship!
_Warland_. Oberville has them all in the hollow of his hand.
_Isabel_. Well, you’ll see him at five o’clock.
_Warland_. I don’t suppose he’s ever heard of _me_, worse luck! (_A
silence_.) Isabel, look here. I never ask questions, do I? But it was so
long ago--and Oberville almost belongs to history--he will one of these
days at any rate. Just tell me--did he want to marry you?
_Isabel_. Since you answer for his immortality--(_after a pause_) I was
very much in love with him.
_Warland_. Then of course he did. (_Another pause_.) But what in the
world--
_Isabel (musing)_. As you say, it was so long ago; I don’t see why
I shouldn’t tell you. There was a married woman who had--what is
the correct expression?--made sacrifices for him. There was only one
sacrifice she objected to making--and he didn’t consider himself free.
It sounds rather _rococo_, doesn’t it? It was odd that she died the year
after we were married.
_Warland_. Whew!
_Isabel (following her own thoughts)_. I’ve never seen him since;
it must be ten years ago. I’m certainly thirty-two, and I was just
twenty-two then. It’s curious to talk of it. I had put it away so
carefully. How it smells of camphor! And what an old-fashioned cut it
has! _(Rising.)_ Where’s the list, Lucius? You wanted to know if there
were to be people at dinner tonight--
_Warland_. Here it is--but never mind. Isabel--(_silence_) Isabel--
_Isabel_. Well?
_Warland_. It’s odd he never married.
_Isabel_. The comparison is to my disadvantage. But then I met you.
_Warland_. Don’t be so confoundedly sarcastic. I wonder how he’ll feel
about seeing you. Oh, I don’t mean any sentimental rot, of course... but
you’re an uncommonly agreeable woman. I daresay he’ll be pleased to see
you again; you’re fifty times more attractive than when I married you.
_Isabel_. I wish your other investments had appreciated at the same
rate. Unfortunately my charms won’t pay the butcher.
_Warland_. Damn the butcher!
_Isabel_. I happened to mention him because he’s just written again;
but I might as well have said the baker or the candlestick-maker. The
candlestick-maker--I wonder what he is, by the way? He must have more
faith in human nature than the others, for I haven’t heard from him yet.
I wonder if there is a Creditor’s Polite Letter-writer which they all
consult; their style is so exactly alike. I advise you to pass through
New York incognito on your way to Washington; their attentions might be
oppressive.
_Warland_. Confoundedly oppressive. What a dog’s life it is! My poor
Isabel--
_Isabel_. Don’t pity me. I didn’t marry you for a home.
_Warland (after a pause_). What _did_ you marry me for, if you cared for
Oberville? _(Another pause_.) Eh?
_Isabel_, Don’t make me regret my confidence.
_Warland_. I beg your pardon.
_Isabel_. Oh, it was only a subterfuge to conceal the fact that I have
no distinct recollection of my reasons. The fact is, a girl’s motives in
marrying are like a passport--apt to get mislaid. One is so seldom asked
for either. But mine certainly couldn’t have been mercenary: I never
heard a mother praise you to her daughters.
_Warland_. No, I never was much of a match.
_Isabel_. You impugn my judgment.
_Warland_. If I only had a head for business, now, I might have done
something by this time. But I’d sooner break stones in the road.
_Isabel_. It must be very hard to get an opening in that profession. So
many of my friends have aspired to it, and yet I never knew any one who
actually did it.
_Warland_. If I could only get the secretaryship. How that kind of life
would suit you! It’s as much for you that I want it--
_Isabel_. And almost as much for the butcher. Don’t belittle the circle
of your benevolence. (_She walks across the room_.) Three o’clock
already--and Marian asked me to give orders about the carriages. Let me
see--Mr. Oberville is the first arrival; if you’ll ring I will send word
to the stable. I suppose you’ll stay now?
_Warland_. Stay?
_Isabel_. Not go to Washington. I thought you spoke as if he could help
you.
_Warland_. He could settle the whole thing in five minutes. The
President can’t refuse him anything. But he doesn’t know me; he may
have a candidate of his own. It’s a pity you haven’t seen him for so
long--and yet I don’t know; perhaps it’s just as well. The others don’t
arrive till seven? It seems as if--How long is he going to be here? Till
to-morrow night, I suppose? I wonder what he’s come for. The Merringtons
will bore him to death, and Adelaide, of course, will be philandering
with Lender. I wonder (_a pause_) if Darley likes boating. (_Rings the
bell_.)
_Isabel_. Boating?
_Warland_. Oh, I was only thinking--Where are the matches? One may smoke
here, I suppose? _(He looks at his wife.)_ If I were you I’d put on that
black gown of yours to-night--the one with the spangles.--It’s only that
Fred Langham asked me to go over to Narragansett in his launch to-morrow
morning, and I was thinking that I might take Darley; I always liked
Darley.
_Isabel (to the footman who enters)_. Mrs. Raynor wishes the dog-cart
sent to the station at five o’clock to meet Mr. Oberville.
_Footman_. Very good, m’m. Shall I serve tea at the usual time, m’m?
_Isabel_. Yes. That is, when Mr. Oberville arrives.
_Footman (going out)_. Very good, m’m.
_Warland (to Isabel, who is moving toward the door)_. Where are you
going?
_Isabel_. To my room now--for a walk later.
_Warland_. Later? It’s past three already.
_Isabel_. I’ve no engagement this afternoon.
_Warland_. Oh, I didn’t know. (_As she reaches the door_.) You’ll be
back, I suppose?
_Isabel_. I have no intention of eloping.
_Warland_. For tea, I mean?
_Isabel_. I never take tea. (_Warland shrugs his shoulders_.)