_Announced by Bennet_, _Dr. Freemantle bustles in_. _He is a dapper
little man_, _clean-shaven_, _with quick brisk ways_.
DR. FREEMANTLE [_he shakes hands_]. Well, and how are we this afternoon?
[_He feels the pulse of the Younger Miss Wetherell_] Steadier. Much
steadier! [_of the Elder Miss Wetherell_.] Nervous tension greatly
relieved.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. She has been sleeping much better.
DR. FREEMANTLE [_he pats the hand of the Elder Miss Wetherell_].
Excellent! Excellent!
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. She ate a good breakfast this morning.
DR. FREEMANTLE [_he pats the hand of the Younger Miss Wetherell_].
Couldn’t have a better sign. [_He smiles from one to the other_.] Brain
disturbance, caused by futile opposition to the inevitable, evidently
abating. One page Marcus Aurelius every morning before breakfast.
“Adapt thyself,” says Marcus Aurelius, “to the things with which thy lot
has been cast. Whatever happens—”
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. You see, doctor, it was all so sudden.
DR. FREEMANTLE. The unexpected! It has a way of taking us by
surprise—bowling us over—completely. Till we pull ourselves together.
Make the best of what can’t be helped—like brave, sweet gentlewomen.
[_He presses their hands_. _They are both wiping away a tear_.] When do
you expect them?
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. To-night, by the half-past eight train. We
had a telegram this morning from Dover.
DR. FREEMANTLE. Um! and this is to be her room? [_He takes it in_.]
The noble and renowned Constance, friend and confidant of the elder Pitt,
maker of history, first Lady Bantock—by Hoppner—always there to keep an
eye on her, remind her of the family traditions. Brilliant idea,
brilliant! [_They are both smiling with pleasure_.]
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. And you don’t think—it is what we wanted to
ask you—that there is any fear of her finding it a little trying—the
light? You see, this is an exceptionally sunny room.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. And these actresses—if all one hears is
true—
_The dying sun is throwing his last beams across the room_.
DR. FREEMANTLE. Which, thank God, it isn’t. [_He seats himself in a
large easy-chair_. _The two ladies sit side by side on a settee_.] I’ll
tell you just exactly what you’ve got to expect. A lady—a few years
older than the boy himself, but still young. Exquisite figure;
dressed—perhaps a trifle too regardless of expense. Hair—maybe just a
shade _too_ golden. All that can be altered. Features—piquant, with
expressive eyes, the use of which she probably understands, and an almost
permanent smile, displaying an admirably preserved and remarkably even
set of teeth. But, above all, clever. That’s our sheet-anchor. The
woman’s clever. She will know how to adapt herself to her new position.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_turning to her sister_]. Yes, she must be
clever to have obtained the position that she has. [_To the Doctor_]
Vernon says that she was quite the chief attraction all this winter, in
Paris.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. And the French public is so critical.
DR. FREEMANTLE [_drily_]. Um! I was thinking rather of her cleverness
in “landing” poor Vernon. The lad’s not a fool.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. We must do her justice. I think she was
really in love with him.
DR. FREEMANTLE [_still more drily_]. Very possibly. Most café-chantant
singers, I take it, would be—with an English lord. [_He laughs_.]
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. You see, she didn’t know he was a lord.
DR. FREEMANTLE. Didn’t know—?
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. No. She married him, thinking him to be a
plain Mr. Wetherell, an artist.
DR. FREEMANTLE. Where d’ye get all that from?
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. From Vernon himself. You’ve got his last
letter, dear. [_She has opened her chatelaine bag_.] Oh, no, I’ve got
it myself.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. He’s not going to break it to her till they
reach here this evening.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_she reads_]. Yes. “I shall not break it to
her before we reach home. We were married quietly at the _Hôtel de
Ville_, and she has no idea I am anything else than plain Vernon James
Wetherell, a fellow-countryman of her own, and a fellow-artist. The dear
creature has never even inquired whether I am rich or poor.” I like her
for that.
DR. FREEMANTLE. You mean to tell me—[_He jumps up_. _With his hands in
his jacket pockets_, _he walks to and fro_.] I suppose it’s possible.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. You see, she isn’t the ordinary class of
music-hall singer.
DR. FREEMANTLE. I should say not.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. She comes of quite a good family.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Her uncle was a bishop.
DR. FREEMANTLE. Bishop? Of where?
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_with the letter_]. He says he can’t spell it.
It’s somewhere in New Zealand.
DR. FREEMANTLE. Do they have bishops over there?
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Well, evidently.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Then her cousin is a judge.
DR. FREEMANTLE. In New Zealand?
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_again referring to the letter_]. No—in Ohio.
DR. FREEMANTLE. Seems to have been a somewhat scattered family.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. People go about so much nowadays.
_Mrs. Bennet has entered_. _She is the housekeeper_.
MRS. BENNET [_she is about to speak to the Misses Wetherell_; _sees the
Doctor_]. Good afternoon, doctor.
DR. FREEMANTLE. Afternoon, Mrs. Bennet.
MRS. BENNET [_she turns to the Misses Wetherell_, _her watch in her
hand_]. I was thinking of having the fire lighted in her ladyship’s
bedroom. It is half past six.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. You are always so thoughtful. She may be
tired.
MRS. BENNET. If so, everything will be quite ready. [_She goes out_,
_closing door_.]
DR. FREEMANTLE. What do they think about it all—the Bennets? You have
told them?
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. We thought it better. You see, one hardly
regards them as servants. They have been in the family so long. Three
generations of them.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Really, since our poor dear brother’s death,
Bennet has been more like the head of the house than the butler.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Of course, he doesn’t say much.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It is her having been on the stage that they
feel so.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. You see, they have always been a religious
family.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Do you know, I really think they feel it more
than we do. I found Peggy crying about it yesterday, in the scullery.
DR. FREEMANTLE [_he has been listening with a touch of amusement_.]
Peggy Bennet?
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Yes. _Charles_ Bennet’s daughter.
DR. FREEMANTLE. Happen to have a servant about the place who isn’t a
Bennet?
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. No, no, I don’t really think we have. Oh,
yes—that new girl Mrs. Bennet engaged last week for the dairy. What is
her name?
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Arnold.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Ah, yes, Arnold.
DR. FREEMANTLE. Ah!
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. I think she’s a cousin, dear.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Only a second cousin.
DR. FREEMANTLE. Um! Well I should tell the whole family to buck up.
Seems to me, from what you tell me, that their master is bringing them
home a treasure. [_He shakes hands briskly with the ladies_.] May look
in again to-morrow. Don’t forget—one page Marcus Aurelius before
breakfast—in case of need. [_He goes out_.]
_The sun has sunk_. _The light is twilight_.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. He always cheers one up.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. He’s so alive. [_Mrs. Bennet comes in from
the dressing-room_. _She leaves the door ajar_. _The sound of a hammer
is heard_. _It ceases almost immediately_.] Oh, Mrs. Bennet, we were
going to ask you—who is to be her ladyship’s maid? Have you decided yet?
MRS. BENNET. I have come to the conclusion—looking at the thing from
every point of view—that Jane would be the best selection.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Jane!
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. But does she understand the duties?
MRS. BENNET. A lady’s maid, being so much alone with her mistress, is
bound to have a certain amount of influence. And Jane has exceptionally
high principles.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. That is true, dear.
MRS. BENNET. As regards the duties, she is very quick at learning
anything new. Of course, at first—
_The sound of hammering again comes from the bedroom_.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Who is that hammering in her ladyship’s
bedroom?
MRS. BENNET. It is Bennet, Miss Edith. We thought it might be helpful:
a few texts, hung where they would always catch her ladyship’s eye.
[_She notices the look of doubt_.] Nothing offensive. Mere general
exhortations such as could be read by any lady. [_The Misses Wetherell
look at one another_, _but do not speak_.] I take it, dinner will be at
half past seven, as usual?
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Yes, Mrs. Bennet, thank you. They will not be
here till about nine. They will probably prefer a little supper to
themselves.
_Mrs. Bennet goes out—on her way to the kitchen_. _The Misses Wetherell
look at one another again_. _The hammering recommences_.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_she hesitates a moment_, _then goes to the
open door and calls_]. Bennet—Bennet! [_She returns and waits_.
_Bennet comes in_.] Oh, Bennet, your wife tells us you are putting up a
few texts in her ladyship’s bedroom.
BENNET. It seemed to me that a silent voice, speaking to her, as it
were, from the wall—
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. It is so good of you—only, you—you will be
careful there is nothing she could regard as a _personal_ allusion.
BENNET. Many of the most popular I was compelled to reject, purely for
that reason.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. We felt sure we could trust to your
discretion.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. You see, coming, as she does, from a good
family—
BENNET. It is that—I speak merely for myself—that gives me hope of
reclaiming her.
_A silence_. _The two ladies_, _feeling a little helpless_, _again look
at one another_.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. We must be very sympathetic.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. And patient, Bennet.
BENNET. It is what I am preparing myself to be. Of course, if you think
them inadvisable, I can take them down again.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. No, Bennet, oh no! I should leave them up.
Very thoughtful of you, indeed.
BENNET. It seemed to me one ought to leave no stone unturned. [_He
returns to his labours in the bedroom_.]
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_after a pause_]. I do hope she’ll _like_
the Bennets.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. I think she will—after a time, when she is
used to them.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. I am so anxious it should turn out well.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. I feel sure she’s a good woman. Vernon would
never have fallen in love with her if she hadn’t been good. [_They take
each other’s hand_, _and sit side by side_, _as before_, _upon the
settee_. _The twilight has faded_: _only the faint firelight remains_,
_surrounded by shadows_.] Do you remember, when he was a little mite,
how he loved to play with your hair? [_The younger Miss Wetherell
laughs_.] I always envied you your hair.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. He was so fond of us both. Do you remember
when he was recovering from the measles, his crying for us to bath him
instead of Mrs. Bennet? I have always reproached myself that we refused.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. He was such a big boy for his age.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. I think we might have stretched a point in a
case of illness.
_The room has grown very dark_. _The door has been softly opened_;
_Vernon and Fanny have entered noiselessly_. _Fanny remains near the
door hidden by a screen_, _Vernon has crept forward_. _At this point the
two ladies become aware that somebody is in the room_. _They are
alarmed_.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Who’s there?
VERNON. It’s all right, aunt. It’s only I.
_The two ladies have risen_. _They run forward_, _both take him in their
arms_.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Vernon!
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. My dear boy!