PHOEBE. (_To the others_.) Shall see you again. (_She winks_. _Then
to_ MRS. MOUNTCALM-VILLIERS.) We mustn’t keep them waiting. They are
giving us a whole page.
(PHOEBE _takes_ MRS. MOUNTCALM-VILLIERS _out_. ELIZABETH _has followed
to the door_; _she closes it_. ANNYS _has reseated herself_, _facing
the fire_.)
ELIZABETH. When did you see your husband last?
ANNYS. Not since—Tuesday, wasn’t it, that we went round to his rooms.
Why?
ELIZABETH. I’m thinking about Manchester. What was it he said to you?
ANNYS. Oh, we were, both of us, a little over-excited, I suppose. He
has—(_she hesitates_, _finally answers_)—he has always been so eager for
children.
ELIZABETH. Yes. So many men are; not having to bear the pain and
inconvenience themselves.
ANNYS. Oh, well, they have to provide for them when they do come.
That’s fair enough division, I su— (_Suddenly she turns fiercely_.) Why
do you talk like that? As if we women were cowards. Do you think if God
sent me a child I should grudge Him the price!
ELIZABETH. Do you want Him to?
ANNYS. I don’t know; prayed Him to, once.
ELIZABETH. (_She lays her hand upon her_.) It isn’t a few more mothers
that the world has need of. It is the women whom God has appointed—to
whom He has given freedom, that they may champion the cause of the
mothers, helpless by reason of their motherhood.
(_A moment_. GEOFFREY _enters_.)
GEOFFREY. Good evening.
ANNYS. (_Rises_; _a smile struggles for possession_. _But he only
shakes hands_, _and it dies away_.)
ELIZABETH. Good evening.
(_They shake hands_.)
GEOFFREY. You are not interested in the counting?
ANNYS. The room is rather crowded. Mamma thought I would be better out
here. How have you been?
GEOFFREY. Oh, all right. It’s going to be a very near thing, they tell
me.
ANNYS. Yes, I shall be glad when it’s over.
GEOFFREY. It’s always a trying time. What are you going to do, if you
win?
(LADY MOGTON _looks in_.)
LADY MOGTON. (_Seeing_ GEOFFREY.) Oh, good evening.
GEOFFREY. Good evening.
LADY MOGTON. Chilvers, 2,960—Annys Chilvers, 2,874.
(_She disappears—closes door_.)
ANNYS. Perhaps I’m not going to win. (_She goes to him_, _smiling_.) I
hope you’ll win. I would so much rather you won.
GEOFFREY. Very kind of you. I’m afraid that won’t make it a certainty.
ANNYS. (_His answer has hardened her again_.) How can I? It would not
be fair. Without your consent I should never have entered upon it. It
was understood that the seat, in any case, would be yours.
GEOFFREY. I would rather you considered yourself quite free. In warfare
it doesn’t pay to be “fair” to one’s enemy.
ANNYS. (_Still hardening_.) Besides, there is no need. There will be
other opportunities. I can contest some other constituency. If I win,
claim the seat for that.
(_A moment_.)
GEOFFREY. So this is only the beginning? You have decided to devote
yourself to a political career?
ANNYS. Why not?
GEOFFREY. If I were to ask you to abandon it, to come back to your place
at my side—helping me, strengthening me?
ANNYS. You mean you would have me abandon my own task—merge myself in
you?
GEOFFREY. Be my wife.
ANNYS. It would not be right. I, too, have my work.
GEOFFREY. If it takes you away from me?
ANNYS. Why need it take me away from you? Why cannot we work together
for common ends, each in our own way?
GEOFFREY. We talked like that before we tried it. Marriage is not a
partnership; it is a leadership.
ANNYS. (_She looks at him_.) You mean—an ownership.
GEOFFREY. Perhaps you’re right. I didn’t make it. I’m only—beginning
to understand it.
ANNYS. And I too. It is not what I want.
GEOFFREY. You mean its duties have become irksome to you.
ANNYS. I mean I want to be the judge myself of what are my duties.
GEOFFREY. I no longer count. You will go your way without me?
ANNYS. I must go the way I think right.
GEOFFREY. (_He flings away_.) If you win to-night you will do well to
make the most of it. Take my advice and claim the seat.