ANN. I will like you.
GEORGE. Charming cynicism, my dear Sarah.
MR. TATTON. Oh, Lord!
ANN. [_To her affianced._] Good-bye now.
LORD JOHN. When do I see you?
ANN. Papa says soon.
LORD JOHN. Very soon, please. Tatton, my friend, Brighton's no nearer.
MR. TATTON. Lady Cottesham . . Miss Leete . . I kiss your hands.
LORD JOHN. [_Ebulliently clapping_ GEORGE _on the back_.] Look more
pleased. [_Then he bends over_ LADY COTTESHAM'S _hand_.] Lady Charlie . .
my service to you . . all. Ann. [_And he takes_ ANN'S _hand to kiss_.]
ANN. If I can think better of all this, I shall. Good-bye.
_She turns away from him. He stands for a moment considering her, but
follows_ TATTON _away through the orchard_. GEORGE _and_ SARAH _are
watching their sister, who then comments on her little affair with
life_.
ANN. I'm growing up. [_Then with a sudden tremor._] Sally, don't let me
be forced to marry.
GEORGE. Force of circumstances, my dear Ann.
ANN. Outside things. Why couldn't I run away from this garden and over
the hills? . . I suppose there's something on the other side of the
hills.
SARAH. You'd find yourself there . . and circumstances.
ANN. So I'm trapped as well as that Lord John.
SARAH. What's the injury?
ANN. I'm taken by surprise and I know I'm ignorant and I think I'm
learning things backwards.
GEORGE. You must cheer up and say: John's not a bad sort.
SARAH. A man of his age is a young man.
ANN. I wish you wouldn't recommend him to me.
SARAH. Let's think of Brighton. What about your gowns?
ANN. I've nothing to wear.
SARAH. We'll talk to Papa.
GEORGE. The war-purse is always a long one.
SARAH. George . . be one of us for a minute.
GEORGE. But I want to look on too, and laugh.
SARAH. [_Caustically._] Yes . . that's your privilege . . except
occasionally. [_Then to her sister._] I wish you all the happiness of
courtship days.
GEORGE. Arcadian expression!
ANN. I believe it means being kissed . . often.
SARAH. Have you not a touch of romance in you, little girl?
ANN. Am I not like Mr. Dan Tatton? He kisses dairy-maids and servants
and all the farmer's daughters . . I beg your pardon, George.
GEORGE. [_Nettled._] I'll say to you, Ann, that--in all essentials--one
woman is as good as another.
SARAH. That is not so in the polite world.
GEORGE. When you consider it no one lives in the polite world.
ANN. Do they come outside for air sooner or later?
SARAH. [_Briskly._] Three best dresses you must have and something very
gay if you're to go near the Pavilion.
ANN. You're coming to Brighton, Sally?
SARAH. No.
ANN. Why not?
SARAH. I don't wish to meet my husband.
GEORGE. That man was his lawyer.
ANN. The political difference, Sally?
SARAH. Just that. [_Then with a deft turn of the subject._] I don't say
that yours is a pretty face, but I should think you would have charm.
GEORGE. For fashion's sake cultivate sweetness.
SARAH. You dance as well as they know how in Reading.
ANN. Yes . . I can twiddle my feet.
SARAH. Do you like dancing?
ANN. I'd sooner walk.
GEORGE. What . . and get somewhere!
ANN. Here's George laughing.
SARAH. He's out of it.
ANN. Are you happy, George?
GEORGE. Alas . . Dolly's disgraceful ignorance of etiquette damns us
both from the beautiful drawing-room.
SARAH. That laugh is forced. But how can you. . . look on?
_There is a slight pause in their talk. Then . . ._
ANN. He'll bully me with love.
SARAH. Your husband will give you just what you ask for.
ANN. I hate myself too. I want to take people mentally.
GEORGE. You want a new world . . you new woman.
ANN. And I'm a good bit frightened of myself.
SARAH. We have our places to fill in this. My dear child, leave futile
questions alone.
GEORGE. Neither have I any good advice to give you.
ANN. I think happiness is a thing one talks too much about.
DIMMUCK _appears. And by now_ ABUD'S _work has brought him back to the
terrace_.
DIMMUCK. The master would like to see your Ladyship now.
SARAH. I'll say we've had a visitor . . Guess.
GEORGE. And you've had a visitor, Sarah.
ANN. Papa will know.
SARAH. Is he in a questioning mood?
ANN. I always tell everything.
SARAH. It saves time.
_She departs towards the house._
DIMMUCK. Mr. George.
GEORGE. What is it?
DIMMUCK. He said No to a doctor when I haven't even mentioned the
matter. Had I better send . . ?
GEORGE. Do . . if you care to waste the doctor's time.
DIMMUCK _gives an offended sniff and follows_ LADY COTTESHAM.
ANN. I could sit here for days. George, I don't think I quite believe in
anything I've been told yet.
GEORGE. What's that man's name?
ANN. John--John is a common name--John Abud.
GEORGE. Abud!
ABUD. Sir?
GEORGE. Come here.
ABUD _obediently walks towards his young master and stands before him_.
GEORGE. Why did you ask after the health of Mrs. George Leete?
ABUD. We courted once.
GEORGE. [_After a moment._] Listen, Ann. Do you hate me, John Abud?
ABUD. No, sir.
GEORGE. You're a fine looking fellow. How old are you?
ABUD. Twenty-seven, sir.
GEORGE. Is Once long ago?
ABUD. Two years gone.
GEORGE. Did Mrs. Leete quarrel with you?
ABUD. No, sir.
GEORGE. Pray tell me more.
ABUD. I was beneath her.
GEORGE. But you're a fine-looking fellow.
ABUD. Farmer Crowe wouldn't risk his daughter being unhappy.
GEORGE. But she was beneath me.
ABUD. That was another matter, sir.
GEORGE. I don't think you intend to be sarcastic.
ABUD. And . . being near her time for the first time, sir . . I wanted
to know if she is in danger of dying yet.
GEORGE. Every precaution has been taken. . a nurse. . there is a
physician near. I need not tell you . . but I do tell you.
ABUD. Thank you, sir.
GEORGE. I take great interest in my wife.
ABUD. We all do, sir.
GEORGE. Was it ambition that you courted her?
ABUD. I thought to start housekeeping.
GEORGE. Did you aspire to rise socially?
ABUD. I wanted a wife to keep house, sir.
GEORGE. Are you content?
ABUD. I think so, sir.
GEORGE. With your humble position?
ABUD. I'm a gardener, and there'll always be gardens.
GEORGE. Frustrated affections . . I beg your pardon. . . To have been
crossed in love should make you bitter and ambitious.
ABUD. My father was a gardener and my son will be a gardener if he's no
worse a man than I and no better.
GEORGE. Are you married?
ABUD. No, sir.
GEORGE. Are you going to be married?
ABUD. Not especially, sir.
GEORGE. Yes . . you must marry . . some decent woman; we want gardeners.
ABUD. Do you want me any more now, sir?
GEORGE. You have interested me. You can go back to your work.
ABUD _obeys_.
GEORGE. [_Almost to himself._] I am hardly human.
_He slowly moves away and out of sight._
ANN. John Abud.
_He comes back and stands before her too._
ANN. I am very sorry for you.
ABUD. I am very much obligated to you, Miss.
ANN. Both those sayings are quite meaningless. Say something true about
yourself.
ABUD. I'm not sorry for myself.
ANN. I won't tell. It's very clear you ought to be in a despairing
state. Don't stand in the sun with your hat off.
ABUD. [_Putting on his hat._] Thank you, Miss.
ANN. Have you nearly finished the rose-trees?
ABUD. I must work till late this evening.
ANN. Weren't you ambitious for Dolly's sake?
ABUD. She thought me good enough.
ANN. I'd have married her.
ABUD. She was ambitious for me.
ANN. And are you frightened of the big world?
ABUD. Fine things dazzle me sometimes.
ANN. But gardening is all that you're fit for?
ABUD. I'm afraid so, Miss.
ANN. But it's great to be a gardener . . to sow seeds and to watch
flowers grow and to cut away dead things.
ABUD. Yes, Miss.
ANN. And you're in the fresh air all day.
ABUD. That's very healthy.
ANN. Are you very poor?
ABUD. I get my meals in the house.
ANN. Rough clothes last a long time.
ABUD. I've saved money.
ANN. Where do you sleep?
ABUD. At Mrs. Hart's . . at a cottage . . it's a mile off.
ANN. And you want no more than food and clothes and a bed and you earn
all that with your hands.
ABUD. The less a man wants, Miss, the better.
ANN. But you mean to marry?
ABUD. Yes . . I've saved money.
ANN. Whom will you marry? Would you rather not say? Perhaps you don't
know yet?
ABUD. It's all luck what sort of a maid a man gets fond of. It won't be
a widow.
ANN. Be careful, John Abud.
ABUD. No . . I shan't be careful.
ANN. You'll do very wrong to be made a fool of.
ABUD. I'm safe, Miss; I've no eye for a pretty face.
DIMMUCK _arrives asthmatically at the top of the steps_.
DIMMUCK. Where's Mr. George? Here's a messenger come post.
ANN. Find him, Abud.
ABUD. [_To_ DIMMUCK.] From Dolly?
DIMMUCK. Speak respectful.
ABUD. Is it from his wife?
DIMMUCK. Go find him.
ANN. [_As_ ABUD _is immovable_.] Dimmuck . . . tell me about Mrs.
George.
DIMMUCK. She's doing well, Miss.
ABUD. [_Shouting joyfully now._] Mr. George! Mr. George!
ANN. A boy or a girl, Dimmuck?
DIMMUCK. Yes, Miss.
ABUD. Mr. George! Mr. George!
DIMMUCK. Ecod . . is he somewhere else?
DIMMUCK, _somewhat excited himself, returns to the house_.
ANN. George!
ABUD. Mr. George! Mr. George!
GEORGE _comes slowly along the terrace, in his hand an open book, which
some people might suppose he was reading. He speaks with studied calm._
GEORGE. You are very excited, my good man.
ABUD. She's brought you a child, sir.
ANN. Your child!
GEORGE. Certainly.
ABUD. Thank God, Sir!
GEORGE. I will if I please.
ANN. And she's doing well.
ABUD. There's a messenger come post.
GEORGE. To be sure . . it might have been bad news.
_And slowly he crosses the garden towards the house._
ABUD. [_Suddenly, beyond all patience._] Run . . damn you!
GEORGE _makes one supreme effort to maintain his dignity, but fails
utterly. He gasps out . . ._