THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. They say that love at first sight is often the
most lasting.
VERNON [_he puts his arm around her_]. You are sure you will never
regret having given up the stage? The excitement, the—
FANNY. The excitement! Do you know what an actress’s life always seemed
to me like? Dancing on a tight-rope with everybody throwing stones at
you. One soon gets tired of that sort of excitement. Oh, I was never in
love with the stage. Had to do something for a living.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. It must be a hard life for a woman.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Especially for anyone not brought up to it.
FANNY. You see, I had a good voice and what I suppose you might call a
natural talent for acting. It seemed the easiest thing.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. I suppose your family were very much opposed
to it? [_Vernon rises_. _He stands with his back to the fire_.]
FANNY. My family? Hadn’t any!
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. No family?
_Bennet enters_. _Vernon and Fanny left the door open_. _He halts_,
_framed by the doorway_.
FANNY. No. You see, I was an only child. My father and mother both
died before I was fourteen.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. But your uncle?
FANNY. Oh, him! It was to get away from him and all that crew that I
went on the stage.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It is so sad when relations don’t get on
together.
FANNY. Sadder still when they think they’ve got a right to trample on
you, just because you happen to be an orphan and—I don’t want to talk
about my relations. I want to forget them. I stood them for nearly six
months. I don’t want to be reminded of them. I want to forget that they
ever existed. I want to forget—
_Bennet has come down very quietly_. _Fanny_, _from where he stands_,
_is the only one who sees him_. _He stands looking at her_, _his
features_, _as ever_, _immovable_. _At sight of him her eyes and mouth
open wider and wider_. _The words die away from her tongue_. _Vernon
has turned away to put a log on the fire_, _and so has not seen her
expression—only hears her sudden silence_. _He looks up and sees
Bennet_.
VERNON. Ah, Bennet! [_He advances_, _holding out his hand_.] You quite
well?
BENNET [_shaking hands with him_]. Quite well.
VERNON. Good! And all the family?
BENNET. Nothing to complain of. Charles has had a touch of influenza.
VERNON. Ah, sorry to hear that.
BENNET. And your lordship?
VERNON. Fit as a fiddle—your new mistress.
_Fanny has risen_. _Bennet turns to her_. _For a moment his back is
towards the other three_. _Fanny alone sees his face_.
BENNET. We shall endeavour to do our duty to her ladyship. [_He turns
to Vernon_.] I had arranged for a more fitting reception—
VERNON. To tell the honest truth, Bennet, the very thing we were afraid
of—why we walked from the station, and slipped in by the side door.
[_Laughing_.] Has the luggage come?
BENNET. It has just arrived. It was about that I came to ask. I could
not understand—
_The Misses Wetherell have also risen_. _Fanny’s speechless amazement is
attributed by them and Vernon to natural astonishment at discovery of his
rank_.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. You will be wanting a quiet talk together.
We shall see you at dinner.
VERNON. What time is dinner?
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Half past seven. [_To Fanny_] But don’t
you hurry, dear. I will tell cook to delay it a little. [_She kisses
her_.]
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. You will want some time to arrange that pretty
hair of yours. [_She also kisses the passive_, _speechless Fanny_.
_They go out hand in hand_.]
BENNET. I will see, while I am here, that your lordship’s room is in
order.
VERNON. Why, where’s Robert, then?
BENNET. He has gone into town to do some shopping. We did not expect
your lordship much before nine. There may be one or two things to see
to. [_He goes into his lordship’s apartments_, _closing the door behind
him_.]
FANNY. Vernon, where am I?
VERNON. At home, dear.
FANNY. Yes, but where?
VERNON. At Bantock Hall, Rutlandshire. [_Fanny sits down on the
settee—drops down rather_.] You’re not angry with me? You know how the
world always talks in these cases. I wanted to be able to prove to them
all that you married me for myself. Not because I was Lord Bantock. Can
you forgive me?
FANNY [_she still seems in a dream_]. Yes—of course. You didn’t—you
wouldn’t—[_She suddenly springs up_.] Vernon, you do love me? [_She
flings her arms round his neck_.]
VERNON. Dear!
FANNY. You will never be ashamed of me?
VERNON. Dearest!
FANNY. I was only a music-hall singer. There’s no getting over it, you
know.
VERNON. I should have loved you had you been a beggar-maid.
FANNY [_she still clings to him_]. With an uncle a costermonger, and an
aunt who sold matches. It wouldn’t have made any difference to you,
would it? You didn’t marry me for my family, did you? You didn’t, did
you?
VERNON. Darling! I married you because you are the most fascinating,
the most lovable, the most wonderful little woman in the world. [_Fanny
gives a sob_.] As for your family—I’ve got a confession to make to you,
dear. I made inquiries about your family before I proposed to you. Not
for my own sake—because I knew I’d have to answer a lot of stupid
questions. It seemed to me quite a good family.
FANNY. It is! Oh, it is! There never was such a respectable family.
That’s why I never could get on with them.
VERNON [_laughing_]. Well, you haven’t got to—any more. We needn’t even
let them know—
_Bennet returns_.
BENNET. Robert I find has returned. It is ten minutes to seven.
VERNON. Thanks. Well, I shall be glad of a bath. [_He turns to
Fanny_.] Bennet will send your maid to you. [_He whispers to her_.]
You’ll soon get used to it all. As for the confounded family—we will
forget all about them. [_Fanny answers with another little stifled sob_.
_Bennet is drawing the curtains_, _his back to the room_. _Vernon_,
_seeing that Bennet is occupied_, _kisses the unresponsive Fanny and goes
out_.]
_At the sound of the closing of the door_, _Fanny looks up_. _She goes
to the door through which Vernon has just passed_, _listens a moment_,
_then returns_. _Bennet calmly finishes the drawing of the curtains_.
_Then he_, _too_, _crosses slowly till he and Fanny are facing one
another across the centre of the room_.
FANNY. Well, what are you going to do?
BENNET. My duty!
FANNY. What’s that? Something unpleasant, I know. I can bet my bottom
dollar.
BENNET. That, my girl, will depend upon you.
FANNY. How upon me?
BENNET. Whether you prove an easy or a difficult subject. To fit you
for your position, a certain amount of training will, I fancy, be
necessary.
FANNY. Training! I’m to be—[_She draws herself up_.] Are you aware who
I am?
BENNET. Oh yes. _And_ who you were. His lordship, I take it, would
hardly relish the discovery that he had married his butler’s niece. He
might consider the situation awkward.
FANNY. And who’s going to train me?
BENNET. I am. With the assistance of your aunt and such other members
of your family as I consider can be trusted.
FANNY [_for a moment she is speechless_, _then she bursts out_]. That
ends it! I shall tell him! I shall tell him this very moment. [_She
sweeps towards the door_.]
BENNET. At this moment you will most likely find his lordship in his
bath.
FANNY. I don’t care! Do you think—do you think for a moment that I’m
going to allow myself—I, Lady Bantock, to be—[_Her hand upon the door_.]
I shall tell him, and you’ll only have yourself to blame. He loves me.
He loves me for myself. I shall tell him the whole truth, and ask him to
give you all the sack.
BENNET. You’re not forgetting that you’ve already told him _once_ who
you were?
[_It stops her_. _What she really did was to leave the marriage
arrangements in the hands of her business manager_, _George P. Newte_.
_As agent for a music-hall star_, _he is ideal_, _but it is possible that
in answering Lord Bantock’s inquiries concerning Fanny’s antecedents he
may not have kept strictly to the truth_.]
FANNY. I never did. I’ve never told him anything about my family.
BENNET. Curious. I was given to understand it was rather a classy
affair.
FANNY. I can’t help what other people may have done. Because some silly
idiot of a man may possibly—[_She will try a new tack_. _She leaves the
door and comes to him_.] Uncle, dear, wouldn’t it be simpler for you all
to go away? He’s awfully fond of me. He’ll do anything I ask him. I
could merely say that I didn’t like you and get him to pension you off.
You and aunt could have a little roadside inn somewhere—with ivy.
BENNET. Seeing that together with the stables and the garden there are
twenty-three of us—