VERNON. Yes—good old sort, Marcus Aurelius. [_He drops listlessly into
a chair_.]
_Dr. Freemantle smiles resignedly_, _looks at the Misses Wetherell_,
_shrugs his shoulders_, _and goes out_, _closing the door after him_.
_The Misses Wetherell whisper together—look round cautiously_, _steal up
behind him_, _encouraging one another_.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. She’s so young.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. And so adaptable.
VERNON [_he is sitting_, _bowed down_, _with his face in his hands_].
Ah, it was the deception.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_she puts her old thin hand on his
shoulder_]. What would you have done, dear, if she had told you—at
first?
VERNON [_he takes her hand in his—answers a little brokenly_]. I don’t
know.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. There’s something we wanted to tell you. [_He
looks at her_. _They look across at each other_.] The first Lady
Bantock, your great-grandmamma—
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. She danced with George III.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. She was a butcher’s daughter.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. He was quite a little butcher.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Of course, as a rule, dear, we never mention
it.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. We felt you ought to know. [_They take each
other’s hands_; _on tip-toe they steal out_. _They close the door softly
behind them_.]
_Vernon rises_. _He looks at the portrait—draws nearer to it_. _With
his hands in his pockets_, _stops dead in front of it_, _and contemplates
it in silence_. _The door of the dressing-room opens_. _Fanny enters_.
_She is dressed for going out_. _She stands for a moment_, _the door in
her hand_. _Vernon turns_. _She closes the door and comes forward_.
VERNON. Good morning.
FANNY. Good morning. George stayed the night, didn’t he?
VERNON. Yes. He’s downstairs now.
FANNY. He won’t be going for a little while?
VERNON. Can’t till the ten o’clock train. Have you had breakfast?
FANNY. I—I’ve had something to eat. I’m sorry for what I did last
night—although they did deserve it. [_Laughs_.] I suppose it’s a matter
than can easily be put right again.
VERNON. You have no objection to their staying?
FANNY. Why should I?
VERNON. What do you mean?
FANNY. There’s only one hope of righting a mistake. And that is going
back to the point from where one went wrong—and that was our marriage.
[_A moment_.]
VERNON. We haven’t given it a very long trial.
FANNY [_with an odd smile_]. It went to pieces at the first. I was in
trouble all last night; you must have known it. You left me alone.
VERNON. Jane told me you had locked yourself in.
FANNY. You never tried the door for yourself, dear. [_She pretends to
rearrange something on the mantelpiece—any excuse to turn away her face
for a moment_. _She turns to him again_, _smiling_.] It was a mistake,
the whole thing. You were partly to blame. You were such a nice boy. I
“fancied” you—to use George’s words. [_She laughs_.] And when a woman
wants a thing, she is apt to be a bit unscrupulous about how she gets it.
[_She moves about the room_, _touching the flowers_, _rearranging a
cushion_, _a vase_.] I didn’t invent the bishop; that was George’s
embroidery. [_Another laugh_.] But, of course, I ought to have told you
everything myself. I ought not to have wanted a man to whom it would
have made one atom of difference whether my cousins were scullery-maids
or not. Somehow, I felt that to you it might. [_Vernon winces_.] It’s
natural enough. You have a big position to maintain. I didn’t know you
were a lord—that was your doing. George did find it out, but he never
told me; least of all, that you were Lord Bantock—or you may be pretty
sure I should have come out with the truth, if only for my own sake. It
hasn’t been any joke for me, coming back here.
VERNON. Yes. I can see they’ve been making things pretty hard for you.
FANNY. Oh, they thought they were doing their duty. [_He is seated_.
_She comes up behind him_, _puts her hands on his shoulders_.] I want
you to take them all back again. I want to feel I have made as little
commotion in your life as possible. It was just a little mistake. And
everybody will say how fortunate it was that she took herself off so soon
with that—[_She was about to say_ “_that theatrical Johnny_,” _thinking
of Newte_. _She checks herself_.] And you will marry somebody belonging
to your own class. And those are the only sensible marriages there are.
VERNON. Have you done talking?
FANNY. Yes! Yes, I think that’s all.
VERNON. Then perhaps you’ll let me get in a word. You think me a snob?
[_Fanny makes a movement_.] As a matter of fact, I am.
FANNY. No, that’s not fair. You wouldn’t have married a girl off the
music-hall stage.
VERNON. Niece of a bishop, cousin to a judge. Whether I believed it or
not, doesn’t matter. The sham that isn’t likely to be found out is as
good as the truth, to a snob. If he had told me your uncle was a butler,
I should have hesitated. That’s where the mistake began. We’ll go back
to that. Won’t you sit down? [_Fanny sits_.] I want you to stop.
There’ll be no mistake this time. I’m asking my butler’s niece to do me
the honour to be my wife.
FANNY. That’s kind of you.
VERNON. Oh, I’m not thinking of you. I’m thinking of myself. I want
you. I fell in love with you because you were pretty and charming.
There’s something else a man wants in his wife besides that. I’ve found
it. [_He jumps up_, _goes over to her_, _brushing aside things in his
way_.] I’m not claiming it as a right; you can go if you like. You can
earn your own living, I know. But you shan’t have anybody else. You’ll
be Lady Bantock and nobody else—as long as I live. [_He has grown quite
savage_.]
FANNY [_she bites her lip to keep back the smile that wants to come_].
That cuts both ways, you know.
VERNON. I don’t want anybody else.
FANNY [_she stretches out her hand and lays it on his_]. Won’t it be too
hard for you? You’ll have to tell them all—your friends—everybody.
VERNON. They’ve got to be told in any case. If you are here, for them
to see, they’ll be able to understand—those that have got any sense.
_Bennet comes in with breakfast_, _for two_, _on a tray_. _He places it
on a table_.
FANNY [_she has risen_, _she goes over to him_]. Good morning, uncle.
[_She puts up her face_. _He stares_, _but she persists_. _Bennet
kisses her_.] Lord Bantock—[_she looks at Vernon_]—has a request to make
to you. He wishes me to remain here as his wife. I am willing to do so,
provided you give your consent.
VERNON. Quite right, Bennet. I ought to have asked for it before. I
apologise. Will you give your consent to my marriage with your niece?
FANNY. One minute. You understand what it means? From the moment you
give it—if you do give it—I shall be Lady Bantock, your mistress.
BENNET. My dear Fanny! My dear Vernon! I speak, for the first and last
time, as your uncle. I am an old-fashioned person, and my ideas, I have
been told, are those of my class. But observation has impressed it upon
me that success in any scheme depends upon each person being fit for
their place. Yesterday, in the interests of you both, I should have
refused my consent. To-day, I give it with pleasure, feeling sure I am
handing over to Lord Bantock a wife in every way fit for her position.
[_Kissing her_, _he gives her to Vernon_, _who grips his hand_. _He
returns to the table_.] Breakfast, your ladyship, is quite ready.
_They take their places at the table_. _Fanny takes off her hat_,
_Bennet takes off the covers_.
[CURTAIN]