SCENE:—_Drawing-room_, 91, _Russell Square_.
TIME:—_Afternoon_.
(MRS. ELIZABETH SPENDER _sits near the fire_, _reading a book_. _She is
a tall_, _thin woman_, _with passionate eyes_, _set in an oval face of
olive complexion_; _the features are regular and severe_; _her massive
dark hair is almost primly arranged_. _She wears a tailor-made costume_,
_surmounted by a plain black hat_. _The door opens and_ PHOEBE _enters_,
_shown in by_ HAKE, _the butler_, _a thin_, _ascetic-looking man of about
thirty_, _with prematurely grey hair_. PHOEBE MOGTON _is of the Fluffy
Ruffles type_, _petite_, _with a retroussé nose_, _remarkably bright
eyes_, _and a quantity of fluffy light hair_, _somewhat untidily
arranged_. _She is fashionably dressed in the fussy_, _flyaway style_.
ELIZABETH _looks up_; _the two young women shake hands_.)
PHOEBE. Good woman. ’Tisn’t three o’clock yet, is it?
ELIZABETH. About five minutes to.
PHOEBE. Annys is on her way. I just caught her in time. (_To_ HAKE.)
Put a table and six chairs. Give mamma a hammer and a cushion at her
back.
HAKE. A hammer, miss?
PHOEBE. A chairman’s hammer. Haven’t you got one?
HAKE. I’m afraid not, miss. Would a gravy spoon do?
PHOEBE (_To_ ELIZABETH, _after expression of disgust_.) Fancy a house
without a chairman’s hammer! (_To_ HAKE.) See that there’s something.
Did your wife go to the meeting last night?
HAKE (_He is arranging furniture according to instructions_.) I’m not
quite sure, miss. I gave her the evening out.
PHOEBE. “Gave her the evening out”!
ELIZABETH. We are speaking of your wife, man, not your servant.
HAKE. Yes, miss. You see, we don’t keep servants in our class.
Somebody’s got to put the children to bed.
ELIZABETH. Why not the man—occasionally?
HAKE. Well, you see, miss, in my case, I rarely getting home much before
midnight, it would make it so late. Yesterday being my night off, things
fitted in, so to speak. Will there be any writing, miss?
PHOEBE. Yes. See that there’s plenty of blotting-paper. (_To_
ELIZABETH.) Mamma always splashes so.
HAKE. Yes, miss.
(_He goes out_.)
ELIZABETH. Did you ever hear anything more delightfully naïve? He
“gave” her the evening out. That’s how they think of us—as their
servants. The gentleman hasn’t the courage to be straightforward about
it. The butler blurts out the truth. Why are we meeting here instead of
at our own place?
PHOEBE. For secrecy, I expect. Too many gasbags always about the
office. I fancy—I’m not quite sure—that mamma’s got a new idea.
ELIZABETH. Leading to Holloway?
PHOEBE. Well, most roads lead there.
ELIZABETH. And end there—so far as I can see.
PHOEBE. You’re too impatient.
ELIZABETH. It’s what our friends have been telling us—for the last fifty
years.
PHOEBE. Look here, if it was only the usual sort of thing mamma wouldn’t
want it kept secret. I’m inclined to think it’s a new departure
altogether.
(_The door opens_. _There enters_ JANET BLAKE, _followed by_ HAKE,
_who proceeds with his work_. JANET BLAKE _is a slight_,
_fragile-looking creature_, _her great dark eyes—the eyes of a
fanatic—emphasise the pallor of her childish face_. _She is shabbily
dressed_; _a plain_, _uninteresting girl until she smiles_, _and then
her face becomes quite beautiful_. PHOEBE _darts to meet her_.) Good
girl. Was afraid—I say, you’re wet through.
JANET. It was only a shower. The ’buses were all full. I had to ride
outside.
PHOEBE. Silly kid, why didn’t you take a cab?
JANET. I’ve been reckoning it up. I’ve been half over London chasing
Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. Cabs would have come, at the very least, to
twelve-and-six.