_LANDED GENTRY_
_PLAYS BY W. S. MAUGHAM_
Uniform with this volume
_JACK STRAW_
_PENELOPE_
_MRS. DOT_
_THE EXPLORER_
_A MAN OF HONOUR_
_LADY FREDERICK_
_SMITH_
_THE TENTH MAN_
_CHICAGO: THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY_
_LANDED GENTRY_
_A COMEDY_
_In Four Acts_
_BY W. S. MAUGHAM_
_CHICAGO_:
_THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY_
PRINTED BY
BALLANTYNE & COMPANY LTD
LONDON, ENGLAND
This play was produced under the title “GRACE,” at the Duke of York’s
Theatre, London, October 15, 1910, with the following cast:
CLAUDE INSOLEY DENNIS EADIE
REV. ARCHIBALD INSOLEY LESLIE FABER
HENRY COBBETT ARTHUR WONTNER
GANN EDMUND GWENN
MOORE HESTON COOPER
GRACE INSOLEY IRENE VANBRUGH
MRS. INSOLEY LADY TREE
MISS VERNON OF FOLEY LILLAH MACCARTHY
MISS HALL MARY BARTON
EDITH LEWIS NINA SEVENING
MARGARET GANN GERTRUDE LANG
_LANDED GENTRY_
_CHARACTERS_
CLAUDE INSOLEY
REV. ARCHIBALD INSOLEY
HENRY COBBETT
GANN
MOORE
GRACE INSOLEY
MRS. INSOLEY
MISS VERNON OF FOLEY
MISS HALL
EDITH LEWIS
MARGARET GANN
_The Action takes place at Kenyon-Fulton, Claude Insoley’s place in
Somersetshire._
_The Performing Rights of this play are fully protected, and permission
to perform it, whether by Amateurs or Professionals, must be obtained in
advance from the author’s Sole Agent, R. Golding Bright, 20 Green
Street, Leicester Square, London, W.C., from whom all particulars can be
obtained._
LANDED GENTRY
THE FIRST ACT
SCENE: _The drawing-room at Kenyon-Fulton. It is a handsome
apartment with large windows, reaching to the ground. On the walls
are old masters whose darkness conceals their artistic
insignificance. The furniture is fine and solid. Nothing is very
new or smart. The chintzes have a rather pallid Victorian air. The
room with its substantial magnificence represents the character of
a family rather than the taste of an individual._
_It is night and one or two electric lamps are burning._
MOORE, _an elderly impressive butler, comes in, followed by_ GANN.
_This is_ CLAUDE INSOLEY’S _gamekeeper, a short, sturdy man,
grizzled, with wild stubborn hair and a fringe of beard round his
chin. He wears his Sunday clothes of sombre broadcloth._
MOORE.
You’re to wait here.
[GANN, _hat in hand, advances to the middle of the room_.
MOORE.
They’ve not got up from dinner yet, but he’ll come and see you at once.
GANN.
I’ll wait.
MOORE.
He said I was to tell him the moment you come. What can he be wanting of
you at this time of night?
GANN.
Maybe if he wished you to know he’d have told you.
MOORE.
I don’t want to know what don’t concern me.
GANN.
Pity there ain’t more like you.
MOORE.
It’s the missus’ birthday to-day.
GANN.
Didn’t he say you was to tell him the moment I come?
MOORE.
I’ve only just took in the dessert. Give ’em a minute to sample the
peaches.
GANN.
I thought them was your orders.
MOORE.
You’re a nice civil-spoken one, you are.
[_With an effort_ GANN _prevents himself from replying. It is as
much as he can do to keep his hands off the sleek, obsequious
butler._ MOORE _after a glance at him goes out. The gamekeeper
begins to walk up and down the room like a caged beast. In a moment
he hears a sound and stops still. He turns his hat round and round
in his hands._
[CLAUDE INSOLEY _comes in. He is a man of thirty-five, rather
dried-up, rather precise, neither good-looking nor plain, with a
slightly dogmatic, authoritative manner._
CLAUDE.
Good evening, Gann.
GANN.
Good evening, sir.
[CLAUDE _hesitates for a moment; to conceal a slight embarrassment
he lights a cigarette_. GANN _watches him steadily_.
CLAUDE.
I suppose you know what I’ve sent for you about.
GANN.
No, sir.
CLAUDE.
I should have thought you might guess without hurting yourself. The
Rector tells me that your daughter Peggy came back last night.
GANN.
Yes, sir.
CLAUDE.
Bit thick, isn’t it?
GANN.
I don’t know what you mean, sir.
CLAUDE.
Oh, that’s all rot, Gann. You know perfectly well what I mean. It’s a
beastly matter for both of us, but it’s no good funking it.... You’ve
been on the estate pretty well all your life, haven’t you?
GANN.
It’s fifty-four years come next Michaelmas that my father was took on,
and I was earning wages here before you was born.
CLAUDE.
My governor always said you were the best keeper he ever struck, and
hang it all, I haven’t had anything to complain about either.
GANN.
Thank you, sir.
CLAUDE.
Anyhow, we shan’t make it any better by beating about the bush. It
appears that Peggy has got into trouble in London.... I’m awfully sorry
for you, and all that sort of thing.
GANN.
Poor child. She’s not to blame.
[CLAUDE _gives a slight shrug of the shoulders_.
GANN.
I want ’er to forget all she’s gone through. It was a mistake she ever
went to London, but she would go. Now I’ll keep ’er beside me. She’ll
never leave me again till I’m put underground.
CLAUDE.
That’s all very fine and large, but I’m afraid Peggy can’t stay on here,
Gann.
GANN.
Why not?
CLAUDE.
You know the rule of the estate as well as I do. When a girl gets into a
mess she has to go.
GANN.
It’s a wicked rule!
CLAUDE.
You never thought so before, and this isn’t the first time you’ve seen
it applied, by a long chalk.
GANN.
The girl went away once and come to grief. She wellnigh killed herself
with the shame of it. I’m not going to let ’er out of my sight again.
CLAUDE.
I’m afraid I can’t make an exception in your favour, Gann.
GANN.
[_Desperately._] Where’s she to go to?
CLAUDE.
Oh, I expect she’ll be able to get a job somewhere. Mrs. Insoley’ll do
all she can.
GANN.
It’s no good, Squire. I can’t let ’er go. I want ’er.
CLAUDE.
I don’t want to be unreasonable. I’ll give you a certain amount of time
to make arrangements.
GANN.
Time’s no good to me. I haven’t the ’eart to send her away.
CLAUDE.
I’m afraid it’s not a question of whether you like it or not. You must
do as you’re told.
GANN.
I can’t part with her, and there’s an end of it.
CLAUDE.
You’d better go and talk it over with your wife.
GANN.
I don’t want to talk it over with anyone. I’ve made up my mind.
[CLAUDE _is silent for a moment. He looks at_ GANN _thoughtfully_.
CLAUDE.
[_Deliberately._] I’ll give you twenty-four hours to think about it.
GANN.
[_Startled._] What d’you mean by that, sir?
CLAUDE.
If Peggy isn’t gone by that time, I am afraid I shall have to send you
away.
GANN.
You wouldn’t do that, sir? You couldn’t do it, Squire, not after all
these years.
CLAUDE.
We’ll soon see about that, my friend.
GANN.
You can’t dismiss me for that. I’ll have the law of you. I’ll sue you
for wrongful dismissal.
CLAUDE.
You can do what you damned well like; but if Peggy hasn’t gone by
to-morrow night I shall turn you off the estate on Tuesday.
GANN.
[_Hoarsely._] You wouldn’t do it! You couldn’t do it.
[_There is a sound of talking and laughter, and of a general
movement as the dining-room door is opened._
CLAUDE.
They’re just coming in. You’d better hook it.
[MISS VERNON _and_ EDITH LEWIS _come in, followed by_ GRACE. _For a
moment_ GANN _stands awkwardly, and then leaves the room_. MISS
VERNON _is a slight, faded, rather gaunt woman of thirty-five. Her
deliberate manner, her composure, suggest a woman of means and a
woman who knows her own mind._ EDITH LEWIS _is a pretty girl of
twenty_. GRACE _is thirty. She is a beautiful creature with an
eager, earnest face and fine eyes. She has a restless manner, and
her frequent laughter strikes you as forced. She is always falling
from one emotion to another. She uses a slightly satirical note
when she speaks to her husband._
EDITH.
[_Going to the window._] Oh, what a lovely night! Do let’s go out. [_To_
GRACE.] May we?
GRACE.
Of course, if you want to.
EDITH.
I’m perfectly sick with envy every time I look out of the window. Those
lovely old trees!
GRACE.
I wonder if you’d be sick with envy if you looked at nothing else for
forty-six weeks in the year?
EDITH.
I adore the country.
GRACE.
People who habitually live in London generally do.
MISS VERNON.
Aren’t you fond of the country?
GRACE.
[_Vehemently._] I hate it! I hate it with all my heart and soul.
CLAUDE.
My dear Grace, what are you saying?
GRACE.
It bores me. It bores me stiff. Those endless trees, and those dreary
meadows, and those ploughed fields. Oh!
EDITH.
I don’t think I could ever get tired of the view from your dining-room.
GRACE.
Not if you saw it for three meals a day for ten years? Oh, my dear, you
don’t know what that view is like at an early breakfast on a winter’s
morning. You sit there looking at it, with icy fingers, wondering if
your nose is red, while your husband reads morning prayers, because his
father read morning prayers before him; and the sky looks as if it were
going to sink down and crush you.
CLAUDE.
You can’t expect sunshine all the year round, can you?
GRACE.
[_Smiling._] True, O King!
EDITH.
Well, I’m a Cockney, and I feel inclined to fall down on my very knees
and worship those big trees in your park. Oh, what a night!
MISS VERNON.
In such a night as this,
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
And they did make no noise....
[MISS VERNON _and_ EDITH LEWIS _go out_. GRACE _is left alone with
her husband_.
GRACE.
What on earth was Gann doing here?
CLAUDE.
I had something to say to him.
GRACE.
May I know what?
CLAUDE.
It would only bore you.
GRACE.
That wouldn’t be a new experience.
CLAUDE.
I say, you’re looking jolly to-night, darling.
GRACE.
It’s kind of you to say so.
CLAUDE.
Were you pleased with the necklace I gave you this morning?
GRACE.
[_Smiling._] Surely I said so at the time.
CLAUDE.
I was rather hoping you’d wear it to-night.
GRACE.
It wouldn’t have gone with my frock.
CLAUDE.
You might have put it on all the same.
GRACE.
You see, your example hasn’t been lost on me. I’ve learnt to put
propriety before sentiment.
CLAUDE.
[_Rather shyly._] I should have thought, if you cared for me, you
wouldn’t have minded.
GRACE.
Are you reproaching me?
CLAUDE.
No!
GRACE.
Only?
CLAUDE.
Hang it all, I can’t help wishing sometimes you’d seem as if--you were
fond of me, don’t you know.
GRACE.
If you’ll point out anything you particularly object to in my behaviour,
I’ll try to change it.
CLAUDE.
My dear, I don’t want much, do I?
GRACE.
I don’t know why you should choose this particular time to make a scene.
CLAUDE.
Hang it all, I’m not making a scene!
GRACE.
I beg your pardon, I forgot that only women make scenes.
CLAUDE.
I only wanted to tell you that I’m just about as fond of you as I can
stick.
GRACE.
[_Suddenly touched._] After ten years of holy matrimony?
CLAUDE.
It seems about ten days to me.
GRACE.
Good God, to me it seems a lifetime.
CLAUDE.
I say, Grace, what d’you mean by that?
GRACE.
[_Recovering herself._] Oughtn’t you to go back to the dining-room? Your
brother and Mr. Cobbett will be boring one another.
[CLAUDE _looks at her for a moment, then rises and goes out_. GRACE
_clenches her hands, and an expression of utter wretchedness
crosses her face. She passes her hand across her eyes with an
impatient gesture, as if she were trying to shake herself free from
some torturing thought._ MOORE _comes in with coffee on a salver_.
GRACE.
Put it down on the table.
MOORE.
Yes, madam.
GRACE.
Miss Vernon’s in the garden with Miss Lewis. Will you tell them that
coffee is here?
MOORE.
Very good, ma’am.
[_He goes out of one of the French windows into the garden. In a
moment_ MISS VERNON _comes in_.
GRACE.
Isn’t Edith coming?
MISS VERNON.
I sent her to get a wrap. We want to go down to the lake.
GRACE.
Will you have some coffee?
MISS VERNON.
Thank you.... I was trying to remember how long it is since I was here
last.
GRACE.
[_Pouring out the coffee._] It was before I was married.
MISS VERNON.
I’m devoted to Kenyon, I’m so glad you asked me to come and spend
Whitsun here.
GRACE.
My mother-in-law wrote and told us that you weren’t engaged.
MISS VERNON.
[_With a smile._] That sounds rather chilly.
GRACE.
Does it?
MISS VERNON.
[_Abruptly._] May I call you Grace?
GRACE.
[_Looking up, faintly surprised._] Certainly. If you wish it.
MISS VERNON.
My name is Helen.
GRACE.
Is it?
[MISS VERNON _gives a slight smile of amusement, then gets up and
stands before the fire-place with her hands behind her back_.
MISS VERNON.
I wonder why you dislike me so much?
GRACE.
I don’t know why you should think I do.
MISS VERNON.
You don’t take much trouble to hide it, do you?
GRACE.
I’m sorry. In future I’ll be more careful.
MISS VERNON.
[_Rather wistfully._] I wanted to be great friends with you.
GRACE.
I’m afraid I don’t make friends very easily.
MISS VERNON.
We live so near one another. It seems rather silly that we should only
just be on speaking terms.
[_A very short pause._
GRACE.
They wanted Claude to marry you, didn’t they? And he married me instead.
MISS VERNON.
When I saw you at your wedding, I couldn’t help feeling I’d have done
just the same in his place.
GRACE.
[_With a twinkle in her eye._] And now they want you to marry his
brother Archibald.
MISS VERNON.
[_Smiling._] So I understand.
GRACE.
Are you going to?
MISS VERNON.
He hasn’t asked me yet.
GRACE.
Five thousand acres in a ring fence. It seems a pity to let it go out of
the family.
MISS VERNON.
It’s such a nuisance that a plainish woman of six-and-thirty has to be
taken along with it.
GRACE.
Did you ever care for Claude?
MISS VERNON.
If I did or not, I’m very anxious to care for his wife.
GRACE.
Why?
MISS VERNON.
Well, partly because I’m afraid you’re not very happy.
GRACE.
[_Startled._] I? [_Almost defiantly._] I should have thought I had
everything that a woman can want to make her happy. I’ve got a husband
who adores me. We’re rich. We’re--[_with a sudden break in her
voice_]--happy! I wish to God he had married you! It’s clear enough now
that he made a mistake.
MISS VERNON.
[_With a chuckle._] I don’t think it’s occurred to him, you know.
GRACE.
How many times d’you suppose his mother has said to Claude: Things would
be very different now if you’d had the sense to marry Helen Vernon.
MISS VERNON.
Yes, in that case I must say it’s not to be wondered at if you don’t
like me very much.
GRACE.
Like you! I hate you with all my heart and soul!
MISS VERNON.
Good gracious me, you don’t say so?
GRACE.
[_With a sudden flash of humour._] You don’t mind my telling you, do
you?
MISS VERNON.
Not a bit, but I should very much like to know why?
GRACE.
Because I’ve got an envious disposition and I envy you.
MISS VERNON.
A solitary old maid like me?
GRACE.
You’ve got everything that I haven’t got. D’you suppose I’ve lived ten
years in my husband’s family without realising the gulf that separates
Miss Vernon of Foley from the very middle-class young woman that Claude
Insoley was such a damned fool as to marry? You’ve got money and I
haven’t a farthing.
MISS VERNON.
Money isn’t everything.
GRACE.
Oh, don’t talk such nonsense! How would you like to be dependent on
somebody else for every penny you had? If I want to get Claude a
Christmas present I have to buy it out of his money.... It wouldn’t be
so maddening if I only had forty pounds a year of my own, but I haven’t
a penny, not a penny! And I have to keep accounts. After all, it’s his
money. If he wants accounts why shouldn’t he have them? I have to write
down the cost of every packet of hair-pins. [_With a sudden chuckle._]
And the worst of it is, I never could add.
MISS VERNON.
That, of course, must increase the difficulty of keeping accounts.
GRACE.
I’ve been an utter failure from the beginning. They despised me because
I was a nobody and not even a rich nobody; but I was a strapping,
healthy sort of young woman and they consoled themselves by thinking I’d
have children--a milch cow was what they wanted--and I haven’t even had
children....
[MISS VERNON, _not knowing what to say, makes a little gesture of
perplexity and helplessness. There is a brief pause._
GRACE.
Oh! I’m about fed up with all the humiliations I’ve had to endure.
[EDITH LEWIS _comes in with a wrap which she gives to_ MISS VERNON.
EDITH.
Will this do?
MISS VERNON.
Thanks so much. You’re a perfect angel.
GRACE.
You mustn’t stay out more than a few minutes. The men will be here in a
moment, and I want to play poker. When my mother-in-law comes we shall
have to mind our p’s and q’s.
EDITH.
You don’t like Mrs. Insoley?
GRACE.
Mrs. Insoley doesn’t like me.
MISS VERNON.
Nonsense! She’s very fond of you indeed.
GRACE.
I could wish she had some pleasanter way of showing it than finding
fault with everything I do, everything I say, and everything I wear.
EDITH.
She’s coming to-morrow, isn’t she?
GRACE.
Yes. [_With a quizzical smile._] She’ll thoroughly disapprove of you.
When I introduce you to her: This is Miss Lewis--she’ll look at you for
a moment as if you were a kitchen-maid applying for a situation and say:
Lewis.
EDITH.
Why?
GRACE.
Because, like myself, you’re not county.
EDITH.
Oh!
GRACE.
It’s all very fine to say: Oh! but you don’t know what that means. In
London, if you’re pretty and amusing and don’t give yourself airs,
people are quite ready to be nice to you; but in a place like this, you
can have every virtue under the sun, and if you’re not county you’re of
no importance in this world, and you’ll certainly be very uncomfortable
in the next.
MISS VERNON.
[_Smiling._] I think you’re extremely hard on us. If you have the
advantage of....
GRACE.
[_Seizing the opportunity which_ MISS VERNON’S _hesitation gives her_.]
Middle-class origins?
MISS VERNON.
You needn’t grudge us the perfectly harmless delusion that there is a
difference between a family that has lived in the same place for three
or four centuries, with traditions of good breeding and service to the
country--and one that has no roots in the soil.
GRACE.
I seem to hear Claude’s very words.
MISS VERNON.
[_Good-humouredly._] Of course we have our faults.
GRACE.
You’re the first member of your class that I’ve ever heard acknowledge
it.
MISS VERNON.
[_Meditatively._] I wonder if you’d despise us so much if you had a
string of drunken, fox-hunting squires behind you.
GRACE.
Oh, my dear, when I was first married I used to lie awake at night
wishing for them with all my heart. When the neighbours came to call on
me I could see them obviously lying in wait for the aitches they were
expecting me to drop. A Miss Robinson, wasn’t she? Robinson! Are there
people called Robinson? Oh, how I wanted to scratch their ugly old
faces!
MISS VERNON.
How lucky I was abroad for so long! You might have disfigured me for
life.
GRACE.
I’ve often thought that if the Archangel Gabriel came down in
Somersetshire, they’d look him out in the “Landed Gentry” before they
asked him to a shooting-party.
MISS VERNON.
I don’t think you ought to judge us all on Mrs. Insoley. She’s a type
that’s dying out.
EDITH.
I don’t want to seem inquisitive, but if you don’t like Mrs. Insoley why
on earth d’you have her to stay here?
GRACE.
Simple-minded child! Because even in a county family money’s the only
thing in the world that really matters, and we’re penniless, while Mrs.
Insoley--[_with a quick, defiant look at_ MISS VERNON]--Mrs. Insoley
stinks of it.... Do I shock you?
MISS VERNON.
[_With a smile._] No, because I see you’re trying to.
GRACE.
Claude has nothing but the house and land and his principles. And if
we’re able to have the hounds and the shooting and a couple of cars,
it’s because Mrs. Insoley pays for it.
MISS VERNON.
[_Explaining to_ EDITH LEWIS.] Mrs. Insoley was an heiress.
GRACE.
She was a Bainbridge, and you’ll hear her thank God for it frequently.
[ARCHIBALD INSOLEY _and_ HENRY COBBETT _come in_. ARCHIBALD _is a
pleasant, good-looking man of thirty-four, with a humorous way
about him, and a kindly expression. He holds the family living of
Kenyon-Fulton, but there is nothing in him of the sanctimoniousness
of the cloth._ COBBETT _is an agreeable youth of four-and-twenty.
They are followed by_ CLAUDE INSOLEY.
COBBETT.
[_Seeing_ EDITH LEWIS _at the window_.] Are you going out?
EDITH.
We were--but we won’t.
GRACE.
I’ve been preparing Miss Lewis for your mother’s arrival.
EDITH.
I’m beginning to tremble in my shoes.
ARCHIBALD.
Our mother is what is usually described as a woman of character. With
the best intentions in the world and the highest principles she succeeds
in making life almost intolerable to every one connected with her.
CLAUDE.
You won’t forget to send the carriage for her to-morrow, Grace?
GRACE.
I won’t.... Last time we sent the car by mistake, and she sent it back
again.
MISS VERNON.
Good heavens, why did she do that?
GRACE.
Mrs. Insoley never has driven in a motor-car, and Mrs. Insoley never
will drive in a motor-car.
CLAUDE.
[_Not unamiably._] I don’t think you ought to make fun of my mother,
Grace.
GRACE.
I wouldn’t if I could make anything else of her.
[_As she says this she sits down at the piano and rattles her
fingers over the keys._
GRACE.
Will you sing us a song, Mr. Cobbett?
COBBETT.
No, thank you.
GRACE.
I want to be amused.
ARCHIBALD.
How desperately you say that!
GRACE.
[_To_ COBBETT.] What will you sing?
COBBETT.
I’m afraid I don’t know anything that will fit the occasion.
GRACE.
I seem to have heard you warble a graceful little ditty about a top
note.
COBBETT.
Thank you very much, but I’m not fond of making a fool of myself.
GRACE.
Part of a gentleman’s education should be how to make himself ridiculous
with dignity.
CLAUDE.
[_To_ COBBETT.] You make more fuss about singing than a young lady at a
tea-party.
GRACE.
[_Looking at him with smiling lips but with hard eyes._] Let us have no
more maidenly coyness.
[_She begins to play, and_ COBBETT, _shrugging his shoulders,
begins with rather bad grace to sing the song, “I can’t reach that
top note.” While they are in the middle of it the door opens, and
the_ BUTLER _announces_ MRS. INSOLEY _and her companion_. MRS.
INSOLEY _is a little old lady of some corpulence, shabbily dressed
in rusty black. She looks rather like a charwoman in her Sunday
best._ MISS HALL, _her companion, is a self-effacing silent person
of uncertain age. She is always very anxious to make herself
useful._
MOORE.
Mrs. Insoley, Miss Hall.
CLAUDE.
Mother!
[_The singing abruptly ceases. There is general consternation._
MRS. INSOLEY _stops still for one moment, and surveys the party
with indignation. Then she sweeps into the room with such majesty
as is compatible with her small size and considerable obesity._
MRS. INSOLEY.
Is this a lunatic asylum that I have come into?
GRACE.
We didn’t expect you till to-morrow.
MRS. INSOLEY.
So I imagined by the fact that I found no conveyance at the station. I
had to take a fly, and it cost me four-and-sixpence.
CLAUDE.
But why didn’t you let us know you’d changed your plans, mother?
MRS. INSOLEY.
I did let you know. I wrote to Grace yesterday. She must have got my
letter this morning.
GRACE.
Oh, how stupid of me! I recognised your writing, and as it was my
birthday I thought I wouldn’t open it till to-morrow.
CLAUDE.
Grace!
GRACE.
I’m dreadfully sorry.
MRS. INSOLEY.
It was only by the mercy of Providence that I didn’t have to walk.
GRACE.
There are always flies at the station.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Providence might very well have caused them to be all engaged.
GRACE.
I don’t know why you should think Providence has nothing better to do
than to play practical jokes on us.
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Looking round._] And may I inquire why you have turned the house in
which your father died into a bear garden?
CLAUDE.
It’s Grace’s birthday, and we thought there would be no harm in our
having a little fun.
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Putting up her face-à-main and staring at the company._] I’m
old-fashioned enough and well-bred enough to like people to be
introduced to me.
GRACE.
Nowadays every one’s so disreputable that we think it safer not to make
introductions.... This is Miss Lewis.
EDITH.
How d’you do?
MRS. INSOLEY.
Lewis!
GRACE.
[_With a little smile of amusement._] I think you know Miss Vernon of
Foley.
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Very affably._] Of course I know Miss Vernon of Foley. My dear Helen,
you’re looking very handsome. It wants a woman of birth to wear the
outrageous costumes of the present day.
MISS VERNON.
[_Shaking hands with her._] It’s so nice of you to say so.
GRACE.
I forget if you know Mr. Cobbett.
COBBETT.
How do you do?
[_He bows slightly as_ MRS. INSOLEY _looks at him through her
glasses_.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Cobbett!
COBBETT.
[_With some asperity._] Cobbett!
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Turning to_ MISS HALL.] We used to have a milkman called Cobbett,
Louisa.
MISS HALL.
Our milkman is called Wilkinson now.
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Very graciously._] You were singing a song when I came in. What was it
called?
COBBETT.
[_Rather sulkily._] “I can’t reach that top note.”
MRS. INSOLEY.
I wondered why you were trying.... Why are you hiding behind that sofa,
Archibald? Do you not intend to kiss your mother?
ARCHIBALD.
I’m delighted to see you, my dear mother.
[_He kisses her on the forehead._
MRS. INSOLEY.
I’m rather surprised to see a clergyman at a dinner-party on a Sunday
night.
ARCHIBALD.
I find two sermons a day excellent for the appetite. And the Bible tells
us that corn makes the young men cheerful.
GRACE.
[_Smiling._] Aren’t you dreadfully hungry? Wouldn’t you like something
to eat?
MRS. INSOLEY.
No, I shall go straight to my room. It always upsets me to drive in a
hired carriage.
GRACE.
I’ll just go and see that everything’s nice and comfortable.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Pray don’t put yourself to any trouble on my account. It would distress
me.
[GRACE _goes out_.
EDITH.
[_Aside to_ MISS VERNON.] Don’t you think we might go down to the lake?
MISS VERNON.
By all means.... There’s nothing I can get you, Mrs. Insoley?
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Graciously._] Nothing, my dear Helen.
[MISS VERNON _and_ EDITH LEWIS _go out, and a moment later_ COBBETT
_slips out also_.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Claude, will you take Miss Hall into the dining-room and give her a
sandwich and a glass of port?
CLAUDE.
Certainly.
MISS HALL.
I don’t think I want anything, thank you, Mrs. Insoley.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Nonsense, Louisa! Allow me to know what is good for you. You’ll see that
she drinks the port, Claude. [_As they go out._] I want to talk to
Archibald.
ARCHIBALD.
My dear mother, I throw myself at your feet.
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_With a chuckle._] I very much doubt if you could. You’re growing much
too fat. It’s quite time they made you something.
ARCHIBALD.
[_Smiling._] The landed gentry hasn’t its old power. Promotion in the
Church nowadays is given with new-fangled ideas about merit and
scholarship and heaven knows what.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I hope you never eat potatoes or bread?
ARCHIBALD.
I fly from them as I would from temptation.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Nor soup?
ARCHIBALD.
It is as the scarlet woman to me.
MRS. INSOLEY.
And I trust you never touch green peas.
ARCHIBALD.
Ah, there you have me. Even the saints had their weaknesses. I confess
that when green peas are in season I always put on flesh.
MRS. INSOLEY.
You want some one to keep a firm hand on you. You must marry.
ARCHIBALD.
I saw you approaching that topic by leaps and bounds, mother.
MRS. INSOLEY.
It’s a clergyman’s duty to marry.
ARCHIBALD.
[_Chaffing her._] St. Paul says....
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Interrupting._] I know what St. Paul’s views were, Archibald, and I
disagree with them.
ARCHIBALD.
[_Dryly._] I have every reason to believe he was of excellent family,
mother.
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Giving him a quick look._] We all know that it was a great
disappointment to Helen Vernon when--you know what I mean.
ARCHIBALD.
I can’t help thinking she showed bad taste in surviving the blow.
MRS. INSOLEY.
It was a great disappointment to me. I had set my heart on joining Foley
to Kenyon-Fulton.... It wouldn’t be too late even now if you had the
sense to appreciate Helen Vernon’s affection for you.
ARCHIBALD.
My dear mother, I can’t persuade myself for a moment that Helen Vernon
has any affection for me.
MRS. INSOLEY.
A woman of her age is prepared to have affection for any one who asks
her to marry him.
ARCHIBALD.
Even if he’s a poor country parson?
MRS. INSOLEY.
You’re a great deal more than a country parson, Archibald. It is
unlikely that Grace will have any children, so unless--something happens
to allow Claude to marry again....
ARCHIBALD.
What d’you mean by that, mother?
MRS. INSOLEY.
Grace is not immortal.
ARCHIBALD.
On the other hand, she has excellent health.
MRS. INSOLEY.
There may be other ways of disposing of her.
ARCHIBALD.
What ways?
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Looking at him calmly._] Since when have you laboured under the
delusion that I am the sort of woman to submit to cross-examination,
Archibald?
[_The entrance of_ GRACE _interrupts the conversation_.
GRACE.
I hope I haven’t kept you waiting. I think you’ll find everything all
right.
MRS. INSOLEY.
In that case I shall go to my room. Archibald, tell Louisa that I am
ready to go to my room.
ARCHIBALD.
Certainly.
[_He goes out, leaving_ GRACE _alone with_ MRS. INSOLEY.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Who is the young lady you have staying with you, Grace?
GRACE.
Edith Lewis. She’s a friend of mine.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Ah! And who is this Mr. Cobbett?
GRACE.
He’s a friend of mine too.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I didn’t imagine that you would invite total strangers to stay with
you.
GRACE.
I don’t know that there’s any other way of describing them.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I dare say that is a sufficient description in itself.
[MISS HALL _comes back with_ CLAUDE _and_ ARCHIBALD.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I’m going to my room, Louisa. I shall be ready for you to read to me in
a quarter of an hour.
MISS HALL.
Very good, Mrs. Insoley. [_To_ GRACE.] I suppose you don’t have prayers
on Sunday night?
GRACE.
No, we read our pedigree instead. You’ll find the “Landed Gentry” in
your bedroom.
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Icily._] In my young days it was thought more important for a young
lady to be well-born than to be clever.
GRACE.
[_Chuckling._] The result has been disastrous for the present
generation.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Good night.
GRACE.
[_Shaking hands cordially with_ MISS HALL.] Be sure and let me know if
you’re not quite comfortable. I hope you’ll find everything you want in
your room.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Of course Louisa will find everything she wants. She wants nothing.
Come, Louisa.
[MRS. INSOLEY _and_ MISS HALL _go out_.
ARCHIBALD.
I think I’ll be toddling back to my rectory.
CLAUDE.
Oh, all right.
ARCHIBALD.
Good night, Grace.
GRACE.
Good night.
CLAUDE.
[_To_ ARCHIBALD.] I talked to Gann about that matter.
ARCHIBALD.
I’m afraid he’s going to make rather a nuisance of himself.
CLAUDE.
I took a good firm line, you know.
ARCHIBALD.
That’s right. It’s the only way with those sort of fellows. Good night,
old man.
CLAUDE.
Good night.
[ARCHIBALD _goes out_.
CLAUDE.
You were asking about Gann just now, Grace?
GRACE.
I was.
CLAUDE.
At first I thought I’d better not tell you anything about it, but I’ve
been thinking it over....
GRACE.
[_Interrupting._] It was quite unnecessary. I’m not at all curious.
CLAUDE.
I think perhaps it would be better if I told you what I’d done.
GRACE.
I’m sure that whatever you’ve done is right, Claude. [_Smiling._] That’s
why you’re so detestable.
CLAUDE.
That’s all very fine and large, but I think I’d like to have your
approval.
GRACE.
We agreed very early in our married life that your acts were such as
must necessarily meet with my approval.
CLAUDE.
What’s the matter with you, Grace?
GRACE.
With me? Nothing.
CLAUDE.
You’ve been so funny lately. I haven’t been able to make you out at all.
GRACE.
I should have thought you had more important things to do than to bother
about me.
CLAUDE.
I’ve got nothing in the world to do more important than to bother about
you, Grace.
[_She looks at him for an instant, with a catch in her breath._
GRACE.
Don’t worry me to-night, Claude; my head’s aching so that I feel I could
scream.
CLAUDE.
[_With the tenderest concern._] My poor child, why didn’t you tell me?
I’m so sorry I’ve been bothering you. Is it very bad?
GRACE.
What a beast I am! How can you like me when I’m so absolutely horrid to
you?
CLAUDE.
My darling, I don’t blame you for having a headache.
GRACE.
I’m sorry I was beastly to you just now.
CLAUDE.
What nonsense!
[_He tries to take her in his arms, but she draws herself away._
GRACE.
Please don’t, Claude.
CLAUDE.
Why don’t you go to bed, darling?
GRACE.
[_With a cry of something like fright._] Oh, no!
CLAUDE.
Bed’s the best place for everybody at this hour.
GRACE.
I want to amuse myself. Go and fetch the others, they’re down by the
lake. And we’ll all play poker.
[_He is just going to make an observation, but she bursts in
vehemently._
GRACE.
For God’s sake do as I ask you.
[_He looks at her. With a shrug of the shoulders he goes out into
the garden._ GRACE _gives a deep sigh. In a moment_ HENRY COBBETT
_enters_. GRACE _looks at him silently as he advances into the
room_.
COBBETT.
I’ve been waiting for the chance of speaking to you by yourself.
GRACE.
Have you?
COBBETT.
Why did you make me sing that idiotic song just now?
GRACE.
[_Her eyes cold and hostile._] Because I chose.
COBBETT.
You made me look a perfect fool.
GRACE.
That’s what I wanted to make you look.
COBBETT.
[_Surprised._] Did you? Why?
GRACE.
I have no explanation to offer.
COBBETT.
You know, I’m hanged if I can make you out. You’re never the same for
two minutes together.
GRACE.
[_Frigidly._] I suppose it is disconcerting. Claude complains of it too.
COBBETT.
Oh, hang Claude.
GRACE.
You’re growing more and more like him every day, Harry.
COBBETT.
I don’t quite know what you mean by that.
GRACE.
It seems hardly worth while to have--made a long journey to find oneself
exactly where one started.
COBBETT.
I never know what people are driving at when they talk metaphorically.
GRACE.
[_Looking at him deliberately._] I thought I loved you, Harry.
COBBETT.
You’ve said it often enough.
GRACE.
[_Slowly._] I wonder if I just said it to persuade myself. My heart’s
empty! Empty! I know now that it wasn’t love I felt for you.
COBBETT.
It’s rather late in the day to have found that out, isn’t it?
GRACE.
[_Bitterly._] Yes, that’s just it. It’s late in the day for
everything.... Here they are.
[_A sound of talking is heard as_ EDITH LEWIS _approaches with_
HELEN VERNON _and_ CLAUDE.
CLAUDE.
[_At the window._] I found them on their way back.
GRACE.
[_To_ COBBETT, _with a little bitter laugh_.] We’re going to play poker.
END OF THE FIRST ACT
THE SECOND ACT
THE SCENE _is the same as in the preceding Act. It is evening,
towards seven o’clock, but it is still perfectly light._ GRACE
_and_ PEGGY GANN _are in the room, both standing_. PEGGY _is a
pretty girl, quite young, but very pale, with black rings round her
eyes. She is dressed like a housemaid in her going-out things._
GRACE _is evidently much distressed_.
PEGGY.
You will try, mum, won’t you?
[PEGGY’S _voice seems to call_ GRACE _back with a start from her
own thoughts_.
GRACE.
I ought to have been told before. It was wicked to keep it from me.
PEGGY.
I thought you knew, mum. I wasn’t to know that you ’adn’t been told
anything.
GRACE.
[_With a friendly smile._] I’m not blaming you, Peggy.... Mr. Insoley’s
out now, but I’ll talk to him as soon as she come in. You’d better go
home and fetch your father.
PEGGY.
You know what father is, mum. I’m afraid he won’t come.
GRACE.
Oh, but I think it’s very important. Tell him that....
[HENRY COBBETT _comes in, and she stops when she sees him_.
COBBETT.
Hulloa, am I in the way? Shall I go?
GRACE.
[_Passing her hand wearily across her forehead._] No. I’ve just
finished.... Try and get your father to come, Peggy.
PEGGY.
Well, I’ll do what I can, mum.
[_She goes out._ GRACE _gives a little exclamation, partly of
distress, partly of indignation_.
COBBETT.
What’s the matter? You seem rather put out.
GRACE.
That’s the daughter of one of the keepers. She came to me just now and
asked me to beg Claude to give them a little more time. I hadn’t an
idea what she meant. Then she said Claude had told her father he must
send her away within twenty-four hours or lose his place.
COBBETT.
[_Flippantly._] Oh, yes, I know. She seems to be rather a flighty young
person. Claude and your brother-in-law were talking about it after lunch
in the smoking-room.
GRACE.
Why didn’t you tell me?
COBBETT.
Well, it never struck me you didn’t know. Besides--you haven’t shown any
great desire for my society the last day or two.
GRACE.
[_With a quick look at him._] I’ve had other guests to attend to.
COBBETT.
[_Shrugging his shoulders._] And it seemed rather a sordid little story.
I don’t think I can interest myself very much at this time of day in the
gamekeeper’s daughter who kicks over the traces.
GRACE.
[_Sarcastically._] It’s so devilish mid-Victorian, isn’t it?
COBBETT.
[_Surprised at her tone._] It’s not really bothering you, is it?
GRACE.
[_With a sudden vehement outburst._] Don’t you see that wretched girl
has done no more than I have?
COBBETT.
[_With a chuckle._] Great Scott, you haven’t produced an unexpected
baby, have you?
GRACE.
Oh, don’t, don’t.
COBBETT.
[_Coolly._] In point of fact she’s done a great deal more than you have.
She’s been found out.
GRACE.
How can you be so odiously cynical?
COBBETT.
I notice people always call you odiously cynical when you talk plain
horse-sense to them.
GRACE.
Can’t you realise what I’m feeling? She had excuses. She was alone, and
little more than a child; she had no education. How could she be
expected to resist temptation?
COBBETT.
It’s an absolute delusion that the lower classes are less able to resist
temptation than their betters. In the first place, they have a much more
systematic moral education, and then they’re taught from early youth to
look upon virtue as a valuable asset.
GRACE.
[_Going up to him suddenly._] Harry, would you mind very much if I
stopped the whole thing?
COBBETT.
Of course I should mind.
GRACE.
Oh, no, don’t say that because it’s the conventional thing to say. I
want you to be frank with me.
COBBETT.
[_Uneasily._] Why do you ask me now?
GRACE.
[_After a look at him, a little unwillingly._] I feel so horribly mean.
COBBETT.
Claude?
GRACE.
[_With a sort of appeal, as if she were excusing herself._] He’s so
awfully good to me, Harry. Every present he gives me, every kind word is
like a stab in my heart. I’m beastly to him sometimes, I can’t help it,
but nothing seems to make any difference to him.... Whatever I do, he
loves me.
COBBETT.
Are you beginning to care for Claude--differently?
GRACE.
Oh, it’s no use pretending. I never loved him as he loved me. I
couldn’t. I was bored by his love. Yes, all the time we’ve been
married.... It’s only lately....
[_She pauses abruptly._ COBBETT _gives her a sidelong glance_.
COBBETT.
Oh!
GRACE.
I don’t know what I feel or what to do. I’m so bewildered and
wretched.... He bores me still--oh, horribly sometimes. And yet at
moments I feel as though I were a good deal more than half in love with
him. It’s too absurd. With Claude--after all these years. Something has
changed me.... It’s the last thing that ought to have changed me towards
him.
[_She flushes hotly, and again_ COBBETT _looks at her, and a rather
sulky expression comes into his face_.
COBBETT.
It’s not a very pleasant position for me, is it?
GRACE.
I shouldn’t have thought it ever had been a very pleasant position
considering what a good friend Claude has been to you.
COBBETT.
If you look at it in that way, I dare say it would be better to put an
end to the whole thing.
GRACE.
You have been rather a blackguard, haven’t you?
COBBETT.
No. I don’t pretend to be better than anybody else, but I’m quite
certain I’m no worse. I’m a perfectly normal man in good health. It’s
idiotic to abuse me because I’ve done what any other fellow would have
done in my place.
GRACE.
[_Suddenly understanding._] Is that all it was to you?
COBBETT.
What d’you mean?
GRACE.
Wasn’t I anything to you at all? Only a more or less attractive woman
who happened to cross your path? If I was only that, why couldn’t you
leave me alone? What harm did I ever do you? Oh, it was cruel of you.
Cruel!
COBBETT.
[_Quietly._] No man’s able to have an affair all by himself, you know.
GRACE.
What d’you mean by that?
COBBETT.
Well, most fellows are very shy, and they’re dreadfully frightened of a
rebuff. A man doesn’t take much risk until--well, until he finds there’s
not much risk to take.
GRACE.
D’you mean to say I gave you to understand.... Oh, how can you humiliate
me like that?
COBBETT.
Isn’t there a certain amount of truth in it?
GRACE.
[_Looking as it were into her own soul._] Yes.... Oh, I’m so ashamed.
COBBETT.
The world would be a jolly sight easier place to live in if people
weren’t such humbugs.
GRACE.
[_Hardly able to believe the truth that presents itself to her, yet
eager to probe it._] D’you think it was only curiosity on my side and
nothing more than opportunity on yours?
COBBETT.
That’s the foundation of nine love affairs out of ten, you know.
GRACE.
[_Trying to justify herself in her own eyes._] I was so bored--so
lonely. I never felt at home with the people I had to live with. They
humiliated me. And you seemed the same sort of person as I was. I felt
at my ease with you. At first I thought you cared for the things I cared
for--music and books and pictures: it took me quite a time to discover
that you didn’t know the difference between a fiddle and a jews’
harp.... I wonder why you troubled to take me in.
COBBETT.
I naturally talked about what I thought would please you.
GRACE.
I remember at first I felt as if I were just stepping out of a prison
into the fresh air. It seemed to me as if--oh, I don’t know how to put
it--as if spring flowers were suddenly blossoming in my heart.
COBBETT.
I’m afraid you were asking more from me than I was able to give you.
GRACE.
Oh, I don’t blame you. You’re quite right: it’s I who am to blame.
[_With sudden vehemence._] Oh, how I envy that wretched girl! If she
fell it was because she loved. I asked her who the man was, and she
wouldn’t tell me. She said she didn’t want to get him into trouble. She
must love him still.
COBBETT.
[_Moved by the pain which he sees she is suffering._] I hope you don’t
think me an awful skunk, Grace. I’m sorry we’ve made such a hash of
things.
GRACE.
[_Going on with her own thoughts._] It would be horrible if that
wretched girl were punished while I go scot-free. I can’t let her be
turned away like a leper. I should never rest in peace again.
COBBETT.
Claude’s not very fond of going back on his word. He seems to have
delivered an ultimatum, and I expect he’ll stick to it.
GRACE.
It means so much to me. I feel somehow that if I can only save that poor
child it’ll make up in a way--oh, very little--for all the harm I’ve
done.... D’you think I’m perfectly absurd?
COBBETT.
Life seems devilish complicated sometimes, doesn’t it?
GRACE.
[_With a smile._] Devilish.
[_The sound is heard of a carriage stopping outside._
COBBETT.
Hulloa, what’s that?
GRACE.
It’s my mother-in-law. She’s been out for her drive. [_With a glance at
her watch._] Claude ought to be in soon.
COBBETT.
What are you going to do?
GRACE.
I’m going to use every means in my power to persuade him to change his
mind.
COBBETT.
You’re not going to do anything foolish, Grace?
GRACE.
How d’you mean? [_His meaning suddenly strikes her._] You don’t think I
might have to.... Oh, that would be too much to ask me.... D’you think I
might have to tell him?
COBBETT.
Whatever you do, Grace, I want you to know that if anything happens I’m
willing to do the straight thing.
GRACE.
[_Shaking her head._] No, I should never ask you to marry me. Now we
both know how things are between us--how they’ve always been....
COBBETT.
I’m awfully sorry, Grace.
GRACE.
There’s no need to be. I’m glad to know the truth. There was nothing
that held us together before but my cowardice. I was so afraid of going
back to that dreary loneliness. But you’ve given me courage.
COBBETT.
Is there nothing left of it at all?
GRACE.
So far as I’m concerned nothing at all--but shame.
[EDITH LEWIS _comes in_. GRACE, _recovering herself quickly, throws
off her seriousness and greets the girl with a pleasant smile_.
EDITH.
We’ve had such a lovely drive.
GRACE.
And d’you think the country’s as beautiful as ever?
EDITH.
[_Gaily._] Oh, I didn’t look at the country. I was much too excited.
Mrs. Insoley has been telling me the dreadful pasts of all the families
in the neighbourhood. It appears the further they go back the more
shocking their behaviour has been.
COBBETT.
I notice that even the grossest immorality becomes respectable when it’s
a hundred years old.
GRACE.
[_Ironically._] It’s very hard, isn’t it? Mrs. Grundy has no mercy.
She’ll take even you to her bosom before you know where you are.
[_Enter_ MRS. INSOLEY, _followed by_ MISS VERNON _and_ MISS HALL.
MISS HALL _is carrying_ MRS. INSOLEY’S _lap-dog_.
GRACE.
I hope you enjoyed your drive.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I didn’t go for my enjoyment, Grace; I went to exercise the horses.
GRACE.
[_Smiling._] Meanwhile, I hear you took the opportunity of enlarging
Edith’s young mind.
MISS VERNON.
[_To_ EDITH.] When you come to Foley you must remind me to show you the
portraits of my great-grandmother, Mary Vernon. She had a tremendous
affair with the Regent, you know.
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Pleasantly._] My dear Helen, I have the greatest affection for you,
but I cannot allow a statement like that to go unchallenged. There is no
evidence whatever of the truth of it.
MISS VERNON.
I don’t know how you can say that, Mrs. Insoley, considering that I have
all my great-grandmother’s letters to the Regent.
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_With a chuckle._] Where are his letters to your great-grandmother?
MISS VERNON.
She gave them back at the time he returned hers, naturally.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I can see her. If she had any letters she would have kept them. Any
woman would.
MISS VERNON.
[_Bridling a little._] I can’t imagine why you should suddenly throw
doubts on a story that the whole county has believed for a hundred
years. Every one knew all about Mary Vernon.
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Chaffing her._] I am aware that your great-grandmother was an
abandoned hussy, but that in itself is no proof that she ever had
anything to do with the Regent.
MISS VERNON.
You can’t deny that he slept at Foley, Mrs. Insoley.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Only one night.
MISS VERNON.
Well?
MRS. INSOLEY.
It’s notorious that at that very time he was on terms of the greatest
intimacy with Pamela Bainbridge. [_To_ EDITH LEWIS.] I am not an
Insoley, thank God; I am a Bainbridge. And whenever he came to this part
of the country he stayed with us.
MISS VERNON.
I know you’ve always flattered yourself that there was something between
them.
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_With complete self-assurance._] And well I may, considering that I
still have a lock of hair which he gave my grandmother.
MISS VERNON.
Half the families in the country have a greasy lock of hair which they
tell you was the Regent’s. Personally, I think it’s rather snobbish to
make a claim of that sort unless one’s perfectly sure.
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Bridling in her turn._] I think you’re extremely rude, Helen. In the
presence of a man I can’t go into details, but I have proof of every
word I say. You know what I mean, Louisa?
MISS HALL.
I believed the worst from the beginning, Mrs. Insoley.
MISS VERNON.
I have no doubt you firmly believe what you say, Mrs. Insoley; but if
you don’t mind my saying so, one has only to look at the portrait of
Pamela Bainbridge to know the whole thing’s absurd.
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Frigidly._] We won’t argue the point, Helen; I know I’m right, and
there’s an end of it.... Put the dog on that chair, Louisa.
MISS HALL.
That’s Mr. Cobbett’s chair, Mrs. Insoley.
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Still a little out of temper._] Has Mr. Cobbett bought it?
COBBETT.
No, but Mr. Cobbett’s been sitting in it.
MRS. INSOLEY.
And may no one use a chair that Mr. Cobbett has been sitting in?
COBBETT.
Certainly. But it so happens that Mr. Cobbett is just going to sit in it
again.
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_With a grim smile._] Mr. Cobbett has legs.
COBBETT.
Only two, and if a merciful Providence had intended him to stand on them
it would undoubtedly have provided him with four.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Mr. Cobbett seems to be better acquainted with the designs of Providence
than I should have expected.... Louisa, give me the dog. He shall sit on
my lap.
COBBETT.
[_Chaffing her._] Ah, if you’d only told me that was the alternative, of
course I wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I think you are very vulgar, sir.... I’m surprised that you should laugh
at such an inane joke, Grace.
GRACE.
You forget that I have a naturally vulgar nature.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I try to, but you take great pains to remind me.
[CLAUDE _comes in with_ ARCHIBALD.
CLAUDE.
Well, did you enjoy your drive, mother?
MRS. INSOLEY.
I didn’t go for my enjoyment, Claude; I went to exercise the horses.
ARCHIBALD.
We’ve been to a parish meeting.
CLAUDE.