WASTE

At Shapters, GEORGE FARRANT'S house in Hertfordshire. Ten o'clock on a

Sunday evening in summer.

_Facing you at her piano by the window, from which she is protected by a

little screen, sits_ MRS. FARRANT; _a woman of the interesting age,

clear-eyed and all her face serene, except for a little pucker of the

brows which shows a puzzled mind upon some important matters. To become

almost an ideal hostess has been her achievement; and in her own home,

as now, this grace is written upon every movement. Her eyes pass over

the head of a girl, sitting in a low chair by a little table, with the

shaded lamplight falling on her face. This is_ LUCY DAVENPORT;

_twenty-three, undefeated in anything as yet and so unsoftened. The book

on her lap is closed, for she has been listening to the music. It is

possibly some German philosopher, whom she reads with a critical

appreciation of his shortcomings. On the sofa near her lounges_ MRS.

O'CONNELL; _a charming woman, if by charming you understand a woman who

converts every quality she possesses into a means of attraction, and has

no use for any others. On the sofa opposite sits_ MISS TREBELL. _In a

few years, when her hair is quite grey, she will assume as by right the

dignity of an old maid. Between these two in a low armchair is_ LADY

DAVENPORT. _She has attained to many dignities. Mother and grandmother,

she has brought into the world and nourished not merely life but

character. A wonderful face she has, full of proud memories and fearless

of the future. Behind her, on a sofa between the windows, is_ WALTER

KENT. _He is just what the average English father would like his son to

be. You can see the light shooting out through the windows and mixing

with moonshine upon a smooth lawn. On your left is a door. There are

many books in the room, hardly any pictures, a statuette perhaps. The

owner evidently sets beauty of form before beauty of colour. It is a

woman's room and it has a certain delicate austerity. By the time you

have observed everything_, MRS. FARRANT _has played Chopin's prelude

opus 28, number 20 from beginning to end_.

LADY DAVENPORT. Thank you, my dear Julia.

WALTER KENT. [_Protesting._] No more?

MRS. FARRANT. I won't play for a moment longer than I feel musical.

MISS TREBELL. Do you think it right, Julia, to finish with that after an

hour's Bach?

MRS. FARRANT. I suddenly came over Chopinesque, Fanny; . . what's your

objection? [_as she sits by her._]

FRANCES TREBELL. What . . when Bach has raised me to the heights of

unselfishness!

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Grimacing sweetly, her eyes only half lifted._] Does

he? I'm glad that I don't understand him.

FRANCES TREBELL. [_Putting mere prettiness in its place._] One may

prefer Chopin when one is young.

AMY O'CONNELL. And is that a reproach or a compliment?

WALTER KENT. [_Boldly._] I do.

FRANCES TREBELL. Or a man may . . unless he's a philosopher.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_To the rescue._] Miss Trebell, you're very hard on

mere humanity.

FRANCES TREBELL. [_Completing the reproof._] That's my wretched training

as a schoolmistress, Lady Davenport . . one grew to fear it above all

things.

LUCY DAVENPORT. [_Throwing in the monosyllable with sharp youthful

enquiry._] Why?

FRANCES TREBELL. There were no text books on the subject.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Smiling at her friend._] Yes, Fanny . . I think you

escaped to look after your brother only just in time.

FRANCES TREBELL. In another year I might have been head-mistress, which

commits you to approve of the system for ever.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_Shaking her wise head._] I've watched the Education

fever take England . . .

FRANCES TREBELL. If I hadn't stopped teaching things I didn't

understand . . !

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Not without mischief._] And what was the effect on the

pupils?

LUCY DAVENPORT. I can tell you that.

AMY O'CONNELL. Frances never taught you.

LUCY DAVENPORT. No, I wish she had. But I was at her sort of a school

before I went to Newnham. I know.

FRANCES TREBELL. [_Very distastefully._] Up-to-date, it was described

as.

LUCY DAVENPORT. Well, it was like a merry-go-round at top speed. You

felt things wouldn't look a bit like that when you came to a standstill.

AMY O'CONNELL. And they don't?

LUCY DAVENPORT. [_With great decision._] Not a bit.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_In her velvet tone._] I was taught the whole duty of

woman by a parson-uncle who disbelieved in his Church.

WALTER KENT. When a man at Jude's was going to take orders . . .

AMY O'CONNELL. Jude's?

WALTER KENT. At Oxford. The dons went very gingerly with him over bits

of science and history.

[_This wakes a fruitful thought in_ JULIA FARRANT'S _brain_.]

MRS. FARRANT. Mamma, have you ever discussed so-called anti-Christian

science with Lord Charles?

FRANCES TREBELL. . . Cantelupe?

MRS. FARRANT. Yes. It was over appointing a teacher for the schools down

here . . he was staying with us. The Vicar's his fervent disciple.

However, we were consulted.

LUCY DAVENPORT. Didn't Lord Charles want you to send the boys there till

they were ready for Harrow?

MRS. FARRANT. Yes.

FRANCES TREBELL. Quite the last thing in Toryism!

MRS. FARRANT. Mamma made George say we were too _nouveau riche_ to risk

it.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_As she laughs._] I couldn't resist that.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Catching something of her subject's dry driving

manner._] Lord Charles takes the superior line and says . . that with

his consent the Church may teach the unalterable Truth in scientific

language or legendary, whichever is easier understanded of the people.

LADY DAVENPORT. Is it the prospect of Disestablishment suddenly makes

him so accommodating?

FRANCES TREBELL. [_With large contempt._] He needn't be. The majority of

people believe the world was made in an English week.

LUCY DAVENPORT. Oh, no!

FRANCES TREBELL. No Bishop dare deny it.

MRS. FARRANT. [_From the heights of experience._] Dear Lucy, do you

seriously think that the English spirit--the nerve that runs down the

backbone--is disturbed by new theology . . or new anything?

LADY DAVENPORT. [_Enjoying her epigram._] What a waste of persecution

history shows us!

WALTER KENT _now captures the conversation with a very young

politician's fervour_.

WALTER KENT. Once they're disestablished they must make up their minds

what they do believe.

LADY DAVENPORT. I presume Lord Charles thinks it'll hand the Church over

to him and his . . dare I say 'Sect'?

WALTER KENT. Won't it? He knows what he wants.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Subtly._] There's the election to come yet.

WALTER KENT. But now both parties are pledged to a bill of some sort.

MRS. FARRANT. Political prophecies have a knack of not coming true; but,

d'you know, Cyril Horsham warned me to watch this position developing . .

nearly four years ago.

FRANCES TREBELL. Sitting on the opposition bench sharpens the eye-sight.

WALTER KENT. [_Ironically._] Has he been pleased with the prospect?

MRS. FARRANT. [_With perfect diplomacy._] If the Church must be

disestablished . . better done by its friends than its enemies.

FRANCES TREBELL. Still I don't gather he's pleased with his dear cousin

Charles's conduct.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Shrugging._] Oh, lately, Lord Charles has never

concealed his tactics.

FRANCES TREBELL. And that speech at Leeds was the crowning move I

suppose; just asking the Nonconformists to bring things to a head?

MRS. FARRANT. [_Judicially._] I think that was precipitate.

WALTER KENT. [_Giving them_ LORD CHARLES'S _oratory_.] Gentlemen, in

these latter days of Radical opportunism!--You know, I was there . .

sitting next to an old gentleman who shouted "Jesuit."

FRANCES TREBELL. But supposing Mallaby and the Nonconformists hadn't

been able to force the Liberals' hand?

MRS. FARRANT. [_Speaking as of inferior beings._] Why, they were glad of

any cry going to the Country!

FRANCES TREBELL. [_As she considers this._] Yes . . and Lord Charles

would still have had as good a chance of forcing Lord Horsham's. It has

been clever tactics.

LUCY DAVENPORT. [_Who has been listening, sharp-eyed._] Contrariwise, he

wouldn't have liked a Radical Bill though, would he?

WALTER KENT. [_With aplomb._] He knew he was safe from that. The

government must have dissolved before Christmas anyway . . and the swing

of the pendulum's a sure thing.

MRS. FARRANT. [_With her smile._] It's never a sure thing.

WALTER KENT. Oh, Mrs. Farrant, look how unpopular the Liberals are.

FRANCES TREBELL. What made them bring in Resolutions?

WALTER KENT. [_Overflowing with knowledge of the subject._] I was told

Mallaby insisted on their showing they meant business. I thought he was

being too clever . . and it turns out he was. Tommy Luxmore told me

there was a fearful row in the Cabinet about it. But on their last legs,

you know, it didn't seem to matter, I suppose. Even then, if Prothero

had mustered up an ounce of tact . . I believe they could have pulled

them through . .

FRANCES TREBELL. Not the Spoliation one.

WALTER KENT. Well, Mr. Trebell dished that!

FRANCES TREBELL. Henry says his speech didn't turn a vote.

MRS. FARRANT. [_With charming irony._] How disinterested of him!

WALTER KENT. [_Enthusiastic._] That speech did if ever a speech did.

FRANCES TREBELL. Is there any record of a speech that ever did? He just

carried his own little following with him.

MRS. FARRANT. But the crux of the whole matter is and has always been . .

what's to be done with the Church's money.

LUCY DAVENPORT. [_Visualising sovereigns._] A hundred millions or so . .

think of it!

FRANCES TREBELL. There has been from the start a good deal of

anti-Nonconformist feeling against applying the money to secular uses.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Deprecating false modesty, on anyone's behalf._] Oh, of

course the speech turned votes . . twenty of them at least.

LUCY DAVENPORT. [_Determined on information._] Then I was told Lord

Horsham had tried to come to an understanding himself with the

Nonconformists about Disestablishment--oh--a long time ago . . over the

Education Bill.

FRANCES TREBELL. Is that true, Julia?

MRS. FARRANT. How should I know?

FRANCES TREBELL. [_With some mischief._] You might.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Weighing her words._] I don't think it would have been

altogether wise to make advances. They'd have asked more than a

Conservative government could possibly persuade the Church to give up.

WALTER KENT. I don't see that Horsham's much better off now. He only

turned the Radicals out on the Spoliation question by the help of

Trebell. And so far . . I mean, till this election is over Trebell

counts still as one of them, doesn't he, Miss Trebell? Oh . . perhaps he

doesn't.

FRANCES TREBELL. He'll tell you he never has counted as one of them.

MRS. FARRANT. No doubt Lord Charles would sooner have done without his

help. And that's why I didn't ask the gentle Jesuit this week-end if

anyone wants to know.

WALTER KENT. [_Stupent at this lack of party spirit._] What . . he'd

rather have had the Liberals go to the country undefeated!

MRS. FARRANT. [_With finesse._] The election may bring us back

independent of Mr. Trebell and anything he stands for.

WALTER KENT. [_Sharply._] But you asked Lord Horsham to meet him.

MRS. FARRANT. [_With still more finesse._] I had my reasons. Votes

aren't everything.

LADY DAVENPORT _has been listening with rather a doubtful smile; she now

caps the discussion_.

LADY DAVENPORT. I'm relieved to hear you say so, my dear Julia. On the

other hand democracy seems to have brought itself to a pretty pass.

Here's a measure, which the country as a whole neither demands nor

approves of, will certainly be carried, you tell me, because a minority

on each side is determined it shall be . . for totally different

reasons.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Shrugging again._] It isn't our business to prevent

popular government looking foolish, Mamma.

LADY DAVENPORT. Is that Tory cynicism or feminine?

_At this moment_ GEORGE FARRANT _comes through the window; a

good-natured man of forty-five. He would tell you that he was educated

at Eton and Oxford. But the knowledge which saves his life comes from

the thrusting upon him of authority and experience; ranging from the

management of an estate which he inherited at twenty-four, through the

chairmanship of a newspaper syndicate, through a successful marriage,

to a minor post in the last Tory cabinet and the prospect of one in the

near-coming next. Thanks to his agents, editors, permanent officials,

and his own common sense, he always acquits himself creditably. He comes

to his wife's side and waits for a pause in the conversation._

LADY DAVENPORT. I remember Mr. Disraeli once said to me . . Clever women

are as dangerous to the State as dynamite.

FRANCES TREBELL. [_Not to be impressed by Disraeli._] Well, Lady

Davenport, if men will leave our intellects lying loose about . .

FARRANT. Blackborough's going, Julia.

MRS. FARRANT. Yes, George.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_Concluding her little apologue to_ MISS TREBELL.] Yes,

my dear, but power without responsibility isn't good for the character

that wields it either.

[_There follows_ FARRANT _through the window a man of fifty. He has

about him that unmistakeable air of acquired wealth and power which

distinguishes many Jews and has therefore come to be regarded as a

solely Jewish characteristic. He speaks always with that swift decision

which betokens a narrowed view. This is_ RUSSELL BLACKBOROUGH;

_manufacturer, politician . . statesman, his own side calls him_.]

BLACKBOROUGH. [_To his hostess._] If I start now, they tell me, I shall

get home before the moon goes down. I'm sorry I must get back to-night.

It's been a most delightful week-end.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Gracefully giving him a good-bye hand._] And a

successful one, I hope.

FARRANT. We talked Education for half an hour.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Her eyebrows lifting a shade._] Education!

FARRANT. Then Trebell went away to work.

BLACKBOROUGH. I've missed the music, I fear.

MRS. FARRANT. But it's been Bach.

BLACKBOROUGH. No Chopin?

MRS. FARRANT. For a minute only.

BLACKBOROUGH. Why don't these new Italian men write things for the

piano? Good-night, Lady Davenport.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_As he bows over her hand._] And what has Education to

do with it?

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Non-committal himself._] Perhaps it was a subject that

compromised nobody.

LADY DAVENPORT. Do you think my daughter has been wasting her time and

her tact?

FARRANT. [_Clapping him on the shoulder._] Blackborough's frankly

flabbergasted at the publicity of this intrigue.

MRS. FARRANT. Intrigue! Mr. Trebell walked across the House . . actually

into your arms.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_With a certain dubious grimness._] Well . . we've had

some very interesting talks since. And his views upon Education are

quite . . Utopian. Good-bye, Miss Trebell.

FRANCES TREBELL. Good-bye.

MRS. FARRANT. I wouldn't be so haughty till after the election, if I

were you, Mr. Blackborough.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Indifferently._] Oh, I'm glad he's with us on the Church

question . . so far.

MRS. FARRANT. So far as you've made up your minds? The electoral cat

will jump soon.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_A little beaten by such polite cynicism._] Well . . our

conservative principles! After all we know what they are. Good-night,

Mrs. O'Connell.

AMY O'CONNELL. Good-night.

FARRANT. Your neuralgia better?

AMY O'CONNELL. By fits and starts.

FARRANT. [_Robustly._] Come and play billiards. Horsham and Maconochie

started a game. They can neither of them play. We left them working out

a theory of angles on bits of paper.

WALTER KENT. Professor Maconochie lured me on to golf yesterday. He

doesn't suffer from theories about that.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_With approval._] Started life as a caddie.

WALTER KENT. [_Pulling a wry face._] So he told me after the first hole.

BLACKBOROUGH. What's this, Kent, about Trebell's making you his

secretary?

WALTER KENT. He thinks he'll have me.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Almost reprovingly._] No question of politics?

FARRANT. More intrigue, Blackborough.

WALTER KENT. [_With disarming candour._] The truth is, you see, I

haven't any as yet. I was Socialist at Oxford . . but of course that

doesn't count. I think I'd better learn my job under the best man I can

find . . and who'll have me.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Gravely._] What does your father say?

WALTER KENT. Oh, as long as Jack will inherit the property in a Tory

spirit! My father thinks it my wild oats.

_A Footman has come in._

THE FOOTMAN. Your car is round, sir.

BLACKBOROUGH. Ah! Good-night, Miss Davenport. Good-bye again, Mrs.

Farrant . . a charming week-end.

_He makes a business-like departure_, FARRANT _follows him_.

THE FOOTMAN. A telephone message from Dr. Wedgecroft, ma'am. His thanks;

they stopped the express for him at Hitchin and he has reached London

quite safely.

MRS. FARRANT. Thank you.

[_The Footman goes out._ MRS. FARRANT _exhales delicately as if the air

were a little refined by_ BLACKBOROUGH'S _removal_.]

MRS. FARRANT. Mr. Blackborough and his patent turbines and his gas

engines and what not are the motive power of our party nowadays, Fanny.

FRANCES TREBELL. Yes, you claim to be steering plutocracy. Do you never

wonder if it isn't steering you?

MRS. O'CONNELL, _growing restless, has wandered round the room picking

at the books in their cases_.

AMY O'CONNELL. I always like your books, Julia. It's an intellectual

distinction to know someone who has read them.

MRS. FARRANT. That's the Communion I choose.

FRANCES TREBELL. Aristocrat . . fastidious aristocrat.

MRS. FARRANT. No, now. Learning's a great leveller.

FRANCES TREBELL. But Julia . . books are quite unreal. D'you think life

is a bit like them?

MRS. FARRANT. They bring me into touch with . . Oh, there's nothing more

deadening than to be boxed into a set in Society! Speak to a woman

outside it . . she doesn't understand your language.

FRANCES TREBELL. And do you think by prattling Hegel with Gilbert

Wedgecroft when he comes to physic you--

MRS. FARRANT. [_Joyously._] Excellent physic that is. He never leaves a

prescription.

LADY DAVENPORT. Don't you think an aristocracy of brains is the best

aristocracy, Miss Trebell?

FRANCES TREBELL. [_With a little more bitterness than the abstraction of

the subject demands._] I'm sure it is just as out of touch with humanity

as any other . . more so, perhaps. If I were a country I wouldn't be

governed by arid intellects.

MRS. FARRANT. Manners, Frances.

FRANCES TREBELL. I'm one myself and I know. They're either dead or

dangerous.

GEORGE FARRANT _comes back and goes straight to_ MRS. O'CONNELL.

FARRANT. [_Still robustly._] Billiards, Mrs. O'Connell.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Declining sweetly._] I think not.

FARRANT. Billiards, Lucy?

LUCY DAVENPORT. [_As robust as he._] Yes, Uncle George. You shall mark

while Walter gives me twenty-five and I beat him.

WALTER KENT. [_With a none-of-your-impudence air._] I'll give you ten

yards start and race you to the billiard room.

LUCY DAVENPORT. Will you wear my skirt? Oh . . Grandmamma's thinking me

vulgar.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_Without prejudice._] Why, my dear, freedom of limb is

worth having . . and perhaps it fits better with freedom of tongue.

FARRANT. [_In the proper avuncular tone._] I'll play you both . . and

I'd race you both if you weren't so disgracefully young.

AMY O'CONNELL _has reached an open window_.

AMY O'CONNELL. I shall go for a walk with my neuralgia.

MRS. FARRANT. Poor thing!

AMY O'CONNELL. The moon's good for it.

LUCY DAVENPORT. Shall you come, Aunt Julia?

MRS. FARRANT. [_In flat protest._] No, I will not sit up while you play

billiards.

MRS. O'CONNELL _goes out through the one window, stands for a moment,

wistfully romantic, gazing at the moon, then disappears_. FARRANT _and_

WALTER KENT _are standing at the other, looking across the lawn_.

FARRANT. Horsham still arguing with Maconochie. They're got to Botany

now.

WALTER KENT. Demonstrating something with a . . what's that thing?

WALTER _goes out_.

FARRANT. [_With a throw of his head towards the distant_ HORSHAM.] He

was so bored with our politics . . having to give his opinion too. We

could just hear your piano.

_And he follows_ WALTER.

MRS. FARRANT. Take Amy O'Connell that lace thing, will you, Lucy?

LUCY DAVENPORT. [_Her tone expressing quite wonderfully her sentiments

towards the owner._] Don't you think she'd sooner catch cold?

_She catches it up and follows the two men; then after looking round

impatiently, swings off in the direction_ MRS. O'CONNELL _took. The

three women now left together are at their ease._

FRANCES TREBELL. Did you expect Mr. Blackborough to get on well with

Henry?

MRS. FARRANT. He has become a millionaire by appreciating clever men

when he met them.

LADY DAVENPORT. Yes, Julia, but his political conscience is

comparatively new-born.

MRS. FARRANT. Well, Mamma, can we do without Mr. Trebell?

LADY DAVENPORT. Everyone seems to think you'll come back with something

of a majority.

MRS. FARRANT. [_A little impatient._] What's the good of that? The Bill

can't be brought into the Lords . . and who's going to take

Disestablishment through the Commons for us? Not Eustace Fowler . . not

Mr. Blackborough . . not Lord Charles . . not George!

LADY DAVENPORT. [_Warningly._] Not all your brilliance as a hostess will

keep Mr. Trebell in a Tory Cabinet.

MRS. FARRANT. [_With wilful avoidance of the point._] Cyril Horsham is

only too glad.

LADY DAVENPORT. Because you tell him he ought to be.

FRANCES TREBELL. [_Coming to the rescue._] There is this. Henry has

never exactly called himself a Liberal. He really is elected

independently.

MRS. FARRANT. I wonder will all the garden-cities become

pocket-boroughs.

FRANCES TREBELL. I think he has made a mistake.

MRS. FARRANT. It makes things easier now . . his having kept his

freedom.

FRANCES TREBELL. I think it's a mistake to stand outside a system.

There's an inhumanity in that amount of detachment . .

MRS. FARRANT. [_Brilliantly._] I think a statesman may be a little

inhuman.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_With keenness._] Do you mean superhuman? It's not the

same thing, you know.

MRS. FARRANT. I know.

LADY DAVENPORT. Most people don't know.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Proceeding with her cynicism._] Humanity achieves . .

what? Housekeeping and children.

FRANCES TREBELL. As far as a woman's concerned.

MRS. FARRANT. [_A little mockingly._] Now, Mamma, say that is as far as

a woman's concerned.

LADY DAVENPORT. My dear, you know I don't think so.

MRS. FARRANT. We may none of us think so. But there's our position . .

bread and butter and a certain satisfaction until . . Oh, Mamma, I wish

I were like you . . beyond all the passions of life.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_With great vitality._] I'm nothing of the sort. It's

my egoism's dead . . that's an intimation of mortality.

MRS. FARRANT. I accept the snub. But I wonder what I'm to do with myself

for the next thirty years.

FRANCES TREBELL. Help Lord Horsham to govern the country.

JULIA FARRANT _gives a little laugh and takes up the subject this time_.

MRS. FARRANT. Mamma . . how many people, do you think, believe that

Cyril's _grande passion_ for me takes that form?

LADY DAVENPORT. Everyone who knows Cyril and most people who know you.

MRS. FARRANT. Otherwise I seem to have fulfilled my mission in life. The

boys are old enough to go to school. George and I have become happily

unconscious of each other.

FRANCES TREBELL. [_With sudden energy of mind._] Till I was forty I

never realised the fact that most women must express themselves through

men.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Looking at_ FRANCES _a little curiously_.] Didn't your

instinct lead you to marry . . or did you fight against it?

FRANCES TREBELL. I don't know. Perhaps I had no vitality to spare.

LADY DAVENPORT. That boy is a long time proposing to Lucy.

_This effectually startles the other two from their conversational

reverie._

MRS. FARRANT. Walter? I'm not sure that he means to. She means to marry

him if he does.

FRANCES TREBELL. Has she told you so?

MRS. FARRANT. No. I judge by her business-like interest in his welfare.

FRANCES TREBELL. He's beginning to feel the responsibility of manhood . .

doesn't know whether to be frightened or proud of it.

LADY DAVENPORT. It's a pretty thing to watch young people mating. When

they're older and marry from disappointment or deliberate choice,

thinking themselves so worldly-wise . .

MRS. FARRANT. [_Back to her politely cynical mood._] Well . . then at

least they don't develop their differences at the same fire-side,

regretting the happy time when neither possessed any character at all.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_Giving a final douche of common sense._] My dear, any

two reasonable people ought to be able to live together.

FRANCES TREBELL. Granted three sitting rooms. That'll be the next

middle-class political cry . . when women are heard.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Suddenly as practical as her mother._] Walter's lucky . .

Lucy won't stand any nonsense. She'll have him in the Cabinet by the

time he's fifty.

LADY DAVENPORT. And are you the power behind your brother, Miss Trebell?

FRANCES TREBELL. [_Gravely._] He ignores women. I've forced enough good

manners on him to disguise the fact decently. His affections are two

generations ahead.

MRS. FARRANT. People like him in an odd sort of way.

FRANCES TREBELL. That's just respect for work done . . one can't escape

from it.

_There is a slight pause in their talk. By some not very devious route_

MRS. FARRANT'S _mind travels to the next subject_.

MRS. FARRANT. Fanny . . how fond are you of Amy O'Connell?

FRANCES TREBELL. She says we're great friends.

MRS. FARRANT. She says that of me.

FRANCES TREBELL. It's a pity about her husband.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Almost provokingly._] What about him?

FRANCES TREBELL. It seems to be understood that he treats her badly.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_A little malicious._] Is there any particular reason

he should treat her well?

FRANCES TREBELL. Don't you like her, Lady Davenport?

LADY DAVENPORT. [_Dealing out justice._] I find her quite charming to

look at and talk to . . but why shouldn't Justin O'Connell live in

Ireland for all that? I'm going to bed, Julia.

_She collects her belongings and gets up._

MRS. FARRANT. I must look in at the billiard room.

FRANCES TREBELL. I won't come, Julia.

MRS. FARRANT. What's your brother working at?

FRANCES TREBELL. I don't know. Something we shan't hear of for a year,

perhaps.

MRS. FARRANT. On the Church business, I daresay.

FRANCES TREBELL. Did you hear Lord Horsham at dinner on the lack of

dignity in an irreligious state?

MRS. FARRANT. Poor Cyril . . he'll have to find a way round that opinion

of his now.

FRANCES TREBELL. Does he like leading his party?

MRS. FARRANT. [_After due consideration._] It's an intellectual

exercise. He's the right man, Fanny. You see it isn't a party in the

active sense at all, except now and then when it's captured by someone

with an axe to grind.

FRANCES TREBELL. [_Humorously._] Such as my brother.

MRS. FARRANT. [_As humorous._] Such as your brother. It expresses the

thought of the men who aren't taken in by the claptrap of progress.

FRANCES TREBELL. Sometimes they've a queer way of expressing their love

for the people of England.

MRS. FARRANT. But one must use democracy. Wellington wouldn't . .

Disraeli did.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_At the door._] Good-night, Miss Trebell.

FRANCES TREBELL. I'm coming . . it's past eleven.

MRS. FARRANT. [_At the window._] What a gorgeous night! I'll come in and

kiss you, Mamma.

FRANCES _follows_ LADY DAVENPORT _and_ MRS. FARRANT _starts across the

lawn to the billiard room_ . . _An hour later you can see no change in

the room except that only one lamp is alight on the table in the

middle._ AMY O'CONNELL _and_ HENRY TREBELL _walk past one window and

stay for a moment in the light of the other. Her wrap is about her

shoulders. He stands looking down at her._

AMY O'CONNELL. There goes the moon . . it's quieter than ever now. [_She

comes in._] Is it very late?

TREBELL. [_As he follows._] Half-past twelve.

TREBELL _is hard-bitten, brainy, forty-five and very sure of himself. He

has a cold keen eye, which rather belies a sensitive mouth; hands which

can grip, and a figure that is austere._

AMY O'CONNELL. I ought to be in bed. I suppose everyone has gone.

TREBELL. Early trains to-morrow. The billiard room lights are out.

AMY O'CONNELL. The walk has just tired me comfortably.

TREBELL. Sit down. [_She sits by the table. He sits by her and says with

the air of a certain buyer at a market._] You're very pretty.

AMY O'CONNELL. As well here as by moonlight? Can't you see any wrinkles?

TREBELL. One or two . . under the eyes. But they give character and

bring you nearer my age. Yes, Nature hit on the right curve in making

you.

_She stretches herself cat-like._

AMY O'CONNELL. Praise is the greatest of luxuries, isn't it, Henry? . .

Henry . . [_she caresses the name._]

TREBELL. Quite right . . Henry.

AMY O'CONNELL. Henry . . Trebell.

TREBELL. Having formally taken possession of my name . .

AMY O'CONNELL. I'll go to bed.

_His eyes have never moved from her. Now she breaks the contact and goes

towards the door._

TREBELL. I wouldn't . . my spare time for love making is so limited.

_She turns back, quite at ease, her eyes challenging him._

AMY O'CONNELL. That's the first offensive thing you've said.

TREBELL. Why offensive?

AMY O'CONNELL. I may flirt. Making love's another matter.

TREBELL. Sit down and explain the difference . . Mrs. O'Connell.

_She sits down._

AMY O'CONNELL. Quite so. 'Mrs. O'Connell'. That's the difference.

TREBELL. [_Provokingly._] But I doubt if I'm interested in the fact that

your husband doesn't understand you and that your marriage was a mistake

. . and how hard you find it to be strong.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Kindly._] I'm not quite a fool though you think so on a

three months' acquaintance. But tell me this . . what education besides

marriage does a woman get?

TREBELL. [_His head lifting quickly._] Education . .

AMY O'CONNELL. Don't be business-like.

TREBELL. I beg your pardon.

AMY O'CONNELL. Do you think the things you like to have taught in

schools are any use to one when one comes to deal with you?

TREBELL. [_After a little scrutiny of her face._] Well, if marriage is

only the means to an end . . what's the end? Not flirtation.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_With an air of self-revelation._] I don't know. To keep

one's place in the world, I suppose, one's self-respect and a sense of

humour.

TREBELL. Is that difficult?

AMY O'CONNELL. To get what I want, without paying more than it's worth

to me . . ?

TREBELL. Never to be reckless.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_With a side-glance._] One isn't so often tempted.

TREBELL. In fact . . to flirt with life generally. Now, what made your

husband marry you?

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Dealing with the impertinence in her own fashion._]

What would make you marry me? Don't say: Nothing on earth.

TREBELL. [_Speaking apparently of someone else._] A prolonged fit of

idleness might make me marry . . a clever woman. But I've never been

idle for more than a week. And I've never met a clever woman . . worth

calling a woman.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Bringing their talk back to herself, and

fastidiously._] Justin has all the natural instincts.

TREBELL. He's Roman Catholic, isn't he?

AMY O'CONNELL. So am I . . by profession.

TREBELL. It's a poor religion unless you really believe in it.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Appealing to him._] If I were to live at Linaskea and

have as many children as God sent, I should manage to make Justin pretty

miserable! And what would be left of me at all I should like to know?

TREBELL. So Justin lives at Linaskea alone?

AMY O'CONNELL. I'm told now there's a pretty housemaid . . [_she

shrugs._]

TREBELL. Does he drink too?

AMY O'CONNELL. Oh, no. You'd like Justin, I daresay. He's clever. The

thirteenth century's what he knows about. He has done a book on its

statutes . . has been doing another.

TREBELL. And after an evening's hard work I find you here ready to flirt

with.

AMY O'CONNELL. What have you been working at?

TREBELL. A twentieth century statute perhaps. That's not any concern of

yours either.

_She does not follow his thought._

AMY O'CONNELL. No, I prefer you in your unprofessional moments.

TREBELL. Real flattery. I didn't know I had any.

AMY O'CONNELL. That's why you should flirt with me . . Henry . . to

cultivate them. I'm afraid you lack imagination.

TREBELL. One must choose something to lack in this life.

AMY O'CONNELL. Not develop your nature to its utmost capacity.

TREBELL. And then?

AMY O'CONNELL. Well, if that's not an end in itself . . [_With a touch

of romantic piety._] I suppose there's the hereafter.

TREBELL. [_Grimly material._] What, more developing! I watch people

wasting time on themselves with amazement . . I refuse to look forward

to wasting eternity.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Shaking her head._] You are very self-satisfied.

TREBELL. Not more so than any machine that runs smoothly. And I hope not

self-conscious.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Rather attractively treating him as a child._] It would

do you good to fall really desperately in love with me . . to give me

the power to make you unhappy.

_He suddenly becomes very definite._

TREBELL. At twenty-three I engaged myself to be married to a charming

and virtuous fool. I broke it off.

AMY O'CONNELL. Did she mind much?

TREBELL. We both minded. But I had ideals of womanhood that I wouldn't

sacrifice to any human being. Then I fell in with a woman who seduced

me, and for a whole year led me the life of a French novel . . played

about with my emotion as I had tortured that other poor girl's brains.

Education you'd call it in the one case as I called it in the other.

What a waste of time!

AMY O'CONNELL. And what has become of your ideal?

TREBELL. [_Relapsing to his former mood._] It's no longer a personal

matter.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_With coquetry._] You're not interested in my character?

TREBELL. Oh, yes, I am . . up to kissing point.

_She does not shrink, but speaks with just a shade of contempt._

AMY O'CONNELL. You get that far more easily than a woman. That's one of

my grudges against men. Why can't women take love-affairs so lightly?

TREBELL. There are reasons. But make a good beginning with this one.

Kiss me at once.

_He leans towards her. She considers him quite calmly._

AMY O'CONNELL. No.

TREBELL. When will you, then?

AMY O'CONNELL. When I can't help myself . . if that time ever comes.

TREBELL. [_Accepting the postponement in a business-like spirit._] Well

. . I'm an impatient man.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Confessing engagingly._] I made up my mind to bring you

within arms' length of me when we'd met at Lady Percival's. Do you

remember? [_His face shows no sign of it._] It was the day after your

speech on the Budget.

TREBELL. Then I remember. But I haven't observed the process.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Subtly._] Your sister grew to like me very soon. That's

all the cunning there has been.

TREBELL. The rest is just mutual attraction?

AMY O'CONNELL. And opportunities.

TREBELL. Such as this.

_At the drop of their voices they become conscious of the silent house._

AMY O'CONNELL. Do you really think everyone has gone to bed?

TREBELL. [_Disregardful._] And what is it makes my pressing attentions

endurable . . if one may ask?

AMY O'CONNELL. Some spiritual need or other, I suppose, which makes me

risk unhappiness . . in fact, welcome it.

TREBELL. [_With great briskness._] Your present need is a good shaking . .

I seriously mean that. You get to attach importance to these shades of

emotion. A slight physical shock would settle them all. That's why I

asked you to kiss me just now.

AMY O'CONNELL. You haven't very nice ideas, have you?

TREBELL. There are three facts in life that call up emotion . . Birth,

Death, and the Desire for Children. The niceties are shams.

AMY O'CONNELL. Then why do you want to kiss me?

TREBELL. I don't . . seriously. But I shall in a minute just to finish

the argument. Too much diplomacy always ends in a fight.

AMY O'CONNELL. And if I don't fight . . it'd be no fun for you, I

suppose?

TREBELL. You would get that much good out of me. For it's my point of

honour . . to leave nothing I touch as I find it.

_He is very close to her._

AMY O'CONNELL. You're frightening me a little . .

TREBELL. Come and look at the stars again. Come along.

AMY O'CONNELL. Give me my wrap . . [_He takes it up, but holds it._]

Well, put it on me. [_He puts it round her, but does not withdraw his

arms._] Be careful, the stars are looking at you.

TREBELL. No, they can't see so far as we can. That's the proper creed.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Softly, almost shyly._] Henry.

TREBELL. [_Bending closer to her._] Yes, pretty thing.

AMY O'CONNELL. Is this what you call being in love?

_He looks up and listens._

TREBELL. Here's somebody coming.

AMY O'CONNELL. Oh! . .

TREBELL. What does it matter?

AMY O'CONNELL. I'm untidy or something . .

_She slips out, for they are close to the window. The_ FOOTMAN _enters,

stops suddenly_.

THE FOOTMAN. I beg your pardon, sir. I thought everyone had gone.

TREBELL. I've just been for a walk. I'll lock up if you like.

THE FOOTMAN. I can easily wait up, sir.

TREBELL. [_At the window._] I wouldn't. What do you do . . just slide

the bolt?

THE FOOTMAN. That's all, sir.

TREBELL. I see. Good-night.

THE FOOTMAN. Good-night, sir.

_He goes._ TREBELL'S _demeanour suddenly changes, becomes alert, with

the alertness of a man doing something in secret. He leans out of the

window and whispers._

TREBELL. Amy!

_There is no answer, so he gently steps out. For a moment the room is

empty and there is silence. Then_ AMY _has flown from him into the

safety of lights. She is flushed, trembling, but rather ecstatic, and

her voice has lost all affectation now._

AMY O'CONNELL. Oh . . oh . . you shouldn't have kissed me like that!

TREBELL _stands in the window-way; a light in his eyes, and speaks low

but commandingly_.

TREBELL. Come here.

_Instinctively she moves towards him. They speak in whispers._

AMY O'CONNELL. He was locking up.

TREBELL. I've sent him to bed.

AMY O'CONNELL. He won't go.

TREBELL. Never mind him.

AMY O'CONNELL. We're standing full in the light . . anyone could see us.

TREBELL. [_With fierce egotism._] Think of me . . not of anyone else.

[_He draws her from the window; then does not let her go._] May I kiss

you again?

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Her eyes closed._] Yes.

_He kisses her. She stiffens in his arms; then laughs almost joyously,

and is commonplace._

AMY O'CONNELL. Well . . let me get my breath.

TREBELL. [_Letting her stand free._] Now . . go along.

_Obediently she turns to the door, but sinks on the nearest chair._

AMY O'CONNELL. In a minute, I'm a little faint. [_He goes to her

quickly._] No, it's nothing.

TREBELL. Come into the air again. [_Then half seriously._] I'll race you

across the lawn.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Still breathless and a little hysterical._] Thank you!

TREBELL. Shall I carry you?

AMY O'CONNELL. Don't be silly. [_She recovers her self-possession, gets

up and goes to the window, then looks back at him and says very

beautifully._] But the night's beautiful, isn't it?

_He has her in his arms again, more firmly this time._

TREBELL. Make it so.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Struggling . . with herself._] Oh, why do you rouse me

like this?

TREBELL. Because I want you.

AMY O'CONNELL. Want me to . . ?

TREBELL. Want you to . . kiss me just once.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Yielding._] If I do . . don't let me go mad, will you?

TREBELL. Perhaps. [_He bends over her, her head drops back._] Now.

AMY O'CONNELL. Yes!

_She kisses him on the mouth. Then he would release her, but suddenly

she clings again._

Oh . . don't let me go.

TREBELL. [_With fierce pride of possession._] Not yet.

_She is fragile beside him. He lifts her in his arms and carries her out

into the darkness._