DANCING.
_The same place. The next day._
THE SCENERY IS DESIGNED AND PAINTED BY T. W. HALL.
The reception on the first night was of a half-hearted character, for
the play had been described simply as a farce, and the audience found
itself laughing at seemingly serious situations which it felt should
properly provoke tears, feeling sympathetically interested in passages
of sentiment one moment, only to mock at them the next, and, in fact,
experiencing constant perplexity as to its emotional duties. The
programme certainly said "farce" in black and white, and what could that
mean but unmitigated nonsense and laughter? Yet, here was actual drama
with a whimsical twist that was most surprising; here were bits of
pathos which were positively comic. Could this be farce? But happily
that kind of criticism is soon forgotten whose principle is, like that
of _Mr. Punch's_ navvy, "Here's a stranger, let's 'eave 'alf a brick at
him." The "mixed" greeting of "The Cabinet Minister" gave place to very
enthusiastic receptions on succeeding nights, and, in spite of the
perplexity confessed in many of the criticisms of the play, the theatre
was crowded night after night, and the fashionable and political worlds
flocked to the Court, many leading politicians being frequent visitors.
The season terminated on August 8, and the theatre re-opened on October
11, from which time the popularity of Mr. Pinero's play continued as
great as ever. But, after 197 performances, Mrs. John Wood decided to
withdraw "The Cabinet Minister" on February 14, 1891, in the very zenith
of its success, while a further long run was still to be reasonably
expected. This play has not yet been seen in the provinces, but Mr.
Augustin Daly has arranged to produce it, with his famous company, at
his theatre in New York early in the present month.
MALCOLM C. SALAMAN.
_January 1892._
_THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY_
RIGHT HON. SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY, G.C.M.G.,
M.P., _Secretary of State for the * * * Department_
LADY TWOMBLEY
BROOKE TWOMBLEY, _their son_
IMOGEN, _their daughter_
DOWAGER COUNTESS OF DRUMDURRIS
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART, _her daughter_
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS
COUNTESS OF DRUMDURRIS
VISCOUNT ABERBROTHOCK, _their son_
LADY MACPHAIL
MACPHAIL OF BALLOCHEEVIN, _her son_
VALENTINE WHITE, _Lady Twombley's nephew_
HON. MRS. GAYLUSTRE, _trading as Mauricette et Cie.,
17a Plunkett Street, Mayfair_
MR. JOSEPH LEBANON
MR. MELTON
THE MUNKITTRICK
MISS MUNKITTRICK
PROBYN
ANGELE
_THE FIRST ACT_
DEBT
_THE SECOND ACT_
DIFFICULTIES
_THE THIRD ACT_
DISASTER
_THE FOURTH ACT_
DANCING
THE CABINET MINISTER
THE FIRST ACT.
DEBT
The scene is a conservatory built and decorated in Moorish style, in the
house of the RT. HON. SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY, M.P., Chesterfield Gardens,
London. A fountain is playing, and tall palms lend their simple elegance
to the elaborate Algerian magnificence of the place. The drawing-rooms
are just beyond the curtained entrances. It is a May afternoon.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY, a good-looking but insipid young man of about
two-and-twenty, faultlessly dressed for the afternoon, enters, and sits
dejectedly, turning over some papers.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
I've done it. Such an afternoon's work--what! [Reading.] "Schedule of
the Debts of Mr. Brooke Twombley. [Turning over sheet after sheet.]
Tradesmen. Betting Transactions. Baccarat. Miscellaneous Amusements.
Sundries. Extras."
[PROBYN, a servant in powder and livery, is crossing the conservatory,
when he sees BROOKE.]
PROBYN.
Oh, Mr. Brooke.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
[Slipping the schedule into his pocket.] Eh!
PROBYN.
I didn't know you were in, sir. Her ladyship told me to give you this,
Mr. Brooke--quietly.
[He hands BROOKE a letter which he has taken from his pocket.]
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
[Glancing at the envelope.] The Mater. Thank you. [A little cough is
heard. He looks toward the drawing-room.] Is anyone there?
PROBYN.
Mrs. Gaylustre, sir.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
The dressmaker! What does she want?
PROBYN.
She told Phipps, Miss Imogen's maid, sir, that she was anxious to see
the effect of her ladyship's and Miss Imogen's gowns when they get back
from the Drawing-Room.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
You should take her upstairs.
PROBYN.
Beg your pardon, Mr. Brooke, but we've always understood that when Mrs.
Gaylustre calls in the morning she's a dressmaker, and when she calls in
the afternoon she's a lady.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Oh, very well; it's awfully confusing. [PROBYN goes out. BROOKE reads
the letter.] "My sweet child. For heaven's sake let me have your
skeddle, or whatever you call your list of debts, directly. I'll do my
best to get you out of your scrape, though _how_ I can't think. I'm
desperately short of money, and altogether--as my poor dear father used
to say--things are as blue as old Stilton. If your pa finds out what a
muddle I'm in, I fear he'll throw up public life and bury us in the
country, and then good-by to my dear boy's and girl's prospects. So if I
contrive to clear you once more, don't do it again, my poppet, or you'll
break the heart of your loving mother, Kitty Twombley." The Mater's a
brick--what! But I wonder if she has any notion how much it tots up to.
[He places the letter upon the back of a large saddle-bag arm-chair
while he takes out the schedule.]
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Three thousand seven hundred and fifty-six, nought, two. What!
[PROBYN enters.]
PROBYN.
A young man wants to see you, Mr. Brooke.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Who is it?
PROBYN.
No card, sir--and rather queerly dressed. Says he has a wish to shake
hands with you on the door-step.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Oh, I say! He mustn't, you know--what!
PROBYN.
I don't quite like the look of him, sir; gives the name of White--Mr.
Valentine White.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Why, that's my cousin!
PROBYN.
Cousin, sir! I beg pardon.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Where is he?
[BROOKE goes out quickly, followed by PROBYN. The HON. MRS. GAYLUSTRE,
an attractive, self-possessed, mischievous-looking woman, of not more
than thirty, very fashionably dressed, enters from the drawing-room.]
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
How very charming! Lady Twombley's latest fad, the Algerian
conservatory. And there was a time when a sprig of geranium on the
window-sill would have contented her. [Looking at a photograph of LADY
TWOMBLEY upon the table.] There she is--Kitty Twombley. In one of my
gowns too. Kitty Twombley, once Kitty White, the daughter of a poor
farmer down in Cleverton. Ah, when young Mr. Julian Twombley came
canvassing Farmer White's vote he found you innocently scrubbing the
bricks, I suppose! And now! [With a courtesy.] Lady Twombley, wife of a
Cabinet Minister and Patroness Extraordinary of that deserving young
widow, Fanny Gaylustre! [She sits surveying the portraits upon the
table.] Ha, ha! I'll turn you all to account some fine day. Why
shouldn't I finish as well as the dairy-fed daughter of a Devonshire
yokel? What on earth is wrong with my bonnet? [She puts her hand up
behind her head and finds LADY TWOMBLEY's letter which BROOKE had left
on the back of the chair.] Lady Twombley's writing. [Reading.] "My sweet
child. For heaven's sake let me have your skeddle----" [She sits up
suddenly and devours the contents of the letter.] Oh! [Reading aloud.]
"I'm desperately short of money! Things are as blue as old Stilton! If
your pa finds out----!" My word!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
[Heard speaking outside.] My dear Valentine, why shouldn't you come
in--what?
[MRS. GAYLUSTRE creeps round in front of the table and disappears with
the letter in her hand as BROOKE enters, dragging in VALENTINE WHITE, a
roughly-dressed, handsome young fellow of about six-and-twenty, bronzed
and bearded.]
VALENTINE WHITE.
Now, Brooke, you know I cut away from England years ago because I
couldn't endure ceremony of any kind.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
I'm not treating you with ceremony--what!
VALENTINE WHITE.
[Looking about him.] Phew! the atmosphere's charged with it. That fellow
with his hair powdered nearly sent me running down the street like a mad
dog.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Where the deuce have you been for the last six or eight years?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Where? Oh, buy a geography; call it, "Explorations of Valentine White in
Search of Freedom," and there you have it.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Freedom!
VALENTINE WHITE.
Blessed freedom from forms, shams, and ceremonies of all sorts and
descriptions.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Why, you left us for South Africa. Didn't South Africa satisfy you?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Satisfy me! I joined the expedition to Bangwaketsi. What were the
consequences?
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Fever?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Worse. There's no ceremony about fever. No, Brooke, I was snubbed by a
major in the Kalahari Desert, because I didn't dress for dinner.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Then we heard of you herding filthy cattle in Mexico.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Yes, at Durango. I enjoyed that, till some younger sons of the nobility
came out and left cards at my hut. I afterwards drove a railway engine
in Bolivia.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
By Jove, how awful--what! Wasn't that sufficiently beastly rough?
VALENTINE WHITE.
My dear fellow, would you believe it--I got hold of a stoker who was a
decayed British baronet! The affected way in which that man shovelled on
coals was unendurable. So I've come back, hopelessly wise.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Serve you right for kicking at refinement and good form and all that
sort of thing. What!
VALENTINE WHITE.
[Mimicking BROOKE.] Varnish, and veneer, and all that sort of
thing--what!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Oh, confound you! Well, you'll dine here at a quarter to eight, Val,
won't you?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Dine in Chesterfield Gardens! Thirteen courses and eight wines! Heaven
forgive you, Brooke.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Look here, you shall eat on the floor with a wooden spoon.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Thank you--even your floors are too highly polished. Tell Aunt Kitty and
little Imogen that I shall walk in Kensington Gardens to-morrow morning
at ten.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Little Imogen! Haw, haw!
VALENTINE WHITE.
Well?
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
I think it will pretty considerably wound your susceptibilities to hear
that my sister Imogen is being presented by the Mater this afternoon.
VALENTINE WHITE.
[In horror.] Presented!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Presented at Court--Drawing-Room, you know.
VALENTINE WHITE.
How dare they! poor little child!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Haw, haw! If you'll wait a few minutes you'll see an imposing display of
trains and feathers. Some of them are coming on here after the ceremony
to drink tea, I believe.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Trains and feathers! Good gracious, Brooke, Imogen must have grown up!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Here's her portrait--what?
VALENTINE WHITE.
[Staring at the portrait.] I am right, Brooke--she _has_ grown up!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Haw!
VALENTINE WHITE.
Eight years ago she was a romp, with a frock that always had a tear in
it, and a head like a cornfield in the wind. Just look at this! While
I've been away they've given her a new frock and brushed her hair. What
an awful change!
[PROBYN appears at the conservatory entrance.]
PROBYN.
Lady Euphemia Vibart.
[LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART, a handsome, distinguished-looking, and elegantly
dressed girl of about twenty, enters. She scarcely notices VALENTINE,
who bows formally.]
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
No one has returned yet, Brooke?
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Effie, don't you recollect Mr. White?
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Oh! how do you do? [She shakes hands with him in an affected manner.] We
are distantly related, I remember.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Lady Euphemia, I join you in remembering the relationship--and the
distance.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Oh, I don't mean that, Mr. White. At any rate, we were excellent friends
many years ago when our cousin Imogen used to give us tea in her
school-room. She will be _too_ rejoiced at your return.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
[At the window.] Hullo, I think pa has come home.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Good-by, Lady Euphemia.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
I say, Effie, Mr. White won't stay.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
[Indifferently.] What a pity!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
He has turned against civilization, you know, and has become a sort of
pleasant cannibal.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
A cannibal! That is _too_ interesting. Pray remain, Mr. White. My
brother, Lord Drumdurris, is on duty at the Palace to-day and is coming
on here. We all knew each other as children. He will be _too_ delighted.
VALENTINE WHITE.
I recollect Lord Vibart, as he then was, very well. He once burnt me
with a red-hot poker.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Good-humouredly, I am sure. Perhaps you have not heard that he married
Lady Egidia Cardelloe, Lord Struddock's second daughter, about two years
ago. If you stay you will meet her also.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Ah, I am afraid I--I----
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
You will find her _too_ enchanting.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
No, he won't. She's not tattooed or anything.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
They have a little son, just five months old, who is _too_ divine.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Ah, now, if you boiled the baby it might be to Val's taste.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
As they have been constantly travelling, Egidia is only just presented
to-day by my mother. You recollect Lady Drumdurris, my mother?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Perfectly.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
[Poking VALENTINE in the side.] Old Lady Drum!
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
My mother will be _too_ charmed to meet you again.
[PROBYN enters.]
PROBYN.
[To BROOKE.] Sir Julian is coming into the conservatory, sir.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Pa! [PROBYN goes out.]
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Oh, dear Sir Julian! [She runs out.]
VALENTINE WHITE.
Look sharp, Brooke. Let me out.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Val, I'll tell you what. Come upstairs and smoke a cigarette in my room,
and I'll bring the Mater and Imogen to you on the quiet when the people
are gone.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Why, Brooke, do you think that Aunt Kitty and Imogen want a roving
relative on the premises who isn't worth tuppence!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Bosh! Look out, here's pa! He seems awfully mumpish. Come on.
[He takes VALENTINE out. Directly they are gone LADY EUPHEMIA re-enters
with SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY, an aristocratic but rather weak-looking man of
about fifty-five, wearing his Ministerial uniform.]
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Are you pleased to get back, uncle?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
[Emphatically.] Yes.
[She places him in the arm-chair. He sinks into it with a sigh.]
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
How is your neuralgia?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Intense. It has been so ever since----
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
[Putting her smelling-bottle to his nose.] Ever since?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Ever since I took Office. Thank you.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Was it a very brilliant Drawing-Room?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I think it must have been. I have been more than usually trodden upon.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Did you catch a glimpse of Aunt Kitty or of any of our people?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I _heard_ Lady Twombley. What inexhaustible spirit she has! Euphemia, my
dear, I confide in you. But for Lady Twombley I could never endure the
badgering, the browbeating, the hackling, for which I seem especially
selected.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
It's _too_ unjust.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Oh, I know I am going to have a bad time in the House to-night!
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Don't dwell upon it, uncle.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Euphemia! [He jumps up almost fiercely.]
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Uncle Julian!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Certain members of the Opposition are going too far. They regard me as a
bull in the arena. They goad me, they pierce me with questions. And
then, the lack of journalistic sympathy! Look here!
[He stealthily produces a newspaper from his pocket.]
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
[Reproachfully.] Uncle Julian, you've bought a newspaper. You promised
aunt you never would.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
H'm! I would have you know, Euphemia, that I have not absolutely broken
my pledge to Lady Twombley. I made Harris, the coachman, purchase this.
As you drive home drop it out of your carriage window.
[As LADY EUPHEMIA takes the paper from him her eyes fall upon a
paragraph.]
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Oh! do they mean you, uncle?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Without doubt.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
[Reading.] "The Square Peg!"
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Hush! the servant!
[LADY EUPHEMIA crams the paper into her pocket. PROBYN enters, carrying
a small music-easel with some music on it and a flute in a case.]
PROBYN.
Here, Sir Julian?
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Oh, do play, uncle!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
[To PROBYN.] Thank you.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
It will soothe you.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
[Taking the flute from PROBYN.] My only vice, Euphemia. [PROBYN goes
out. SIR JULIAN sounds a mournful note.] This little friend has inspired
some of my most conspicuous oratorical triumphs. It has furnished me
with many a cutting rejoinder for question time. [He sounds another
note.] Ah, I know I am going to have such a bad night in the House.
[He plays. MRS. GAYLUSTRE enters with BROOKE.]
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
[To herself.] That woman!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
[To LADY EUPHEMIA.] How do you do?
[LADY EUPHEMIA stares, inclines her head slightly, and goes to BROOKE.]
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
[To herself.] Haughty wretch!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Mrs. Gaylustre!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Oh, Sir Julian, don't, don't stop!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I thought I was alone with Lady Euphemia.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
I am waiting to see dear Lady Twombley. Oh, do permit me to hear that
sweet instrument!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Pray sit down!
[SIR JULIAN resumes his seat and plays a plaintive melody. MRS.
GAYLUSTRE listens in a rapt attitude.]
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
[To BROOKE.] That person is _too_ odious to me.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Several people have taken her up.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Somehow, being taken up is what she suggests.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
She seems a sort of society mermaid--half a lady and half a
milliner--what? Only it bothers you to know where the one leaves off and
the other begins. Who is she?
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
In prehistoric days she was a Miss Lebanon. Lord Bulpitt's son, Percy
Gaylustre, met her at Nice--or somewhere.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Oh, yes, and he married her--or something.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Yes, and now she's a widow--or something.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Why does the Mater encourage her?
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Because Aunt Kate is _too_ good-hearted and impressionable. But, as a
rule, I think Mrs. Gaylustre makes a considerable reduction to those who
ask her to their parties. [MRS. GAYLUSTRE is bending over SIR JULIAN and
turning his music.] Look!
[PROBYN appears at the entrance.]
PROBYN.
Here's Sir Julian, my lady.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Hullo, Mater!
[LADY TWOMBLEY, a handsome, bright, good-humoured woman, dressed
magnificently in Court dress, enters. PROBYN retires, and SIR JULIAN
stops playing.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Kissing BROOKE.] Well, Brooke, darling, have you wanted your mother?
[Kissing LADY EUPHEMIA.] Effie, how sweet you look! what a dream of a
bonnet! [Nods to MRS. GAYLUSTRE.] How d'ye do, Mrs. Gaylustre? Why, pa!
[She bends over him and kisses him.] You're worried--you've been
playing your whistle.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Flute, Katherine.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I mean flute. It was my brother Bob who always played a whistle when the
crops were poor or the lambs fell sickly.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I had not the advantage of your brother Robert's acquaintance.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Where's Imogen? Imogen!
IMOGEN.
[Outside.] Mamma!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Come and show yourself to pa.
[IMOGEN enters in her Court dress, a pretty girl of about eighteen.]
IMOGEN.
Effie, dear! Well, Brooke!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[To SIR JULIAN.] Look at her!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Quite charming!
IMOGEN.
Well, papa, have you nothing to say to me?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
My dear, I hesitate to address such a magnificent creature.
IMOGEN.
[Bowing to SIR JULIAN.] Mamma, I think that gentleman wishes to be
presented to me. I have no objection, if you consider him a person I
ought to know.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Kissing IMOGEN.] Ah, Julian, our sweet child!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
[Taking IMOGEN's hand.] My dear.
IMOGEN.
[With dignity.] I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I've heard you
mentioned very kindly by my little friend, Imogen Twombley. Pray sit
down, and I'll sit on your lap. [IMOGEN sits on SIR JULIAN's knee and
puts her arm round his neck.] Oh, papa, I have been so nervous!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
I quite sympathize. I was shockingly nervous when _I_ was presented.
IMOGEN.
[Rising hastily.] Mrs. Gaylustre--I didn't see you.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[To BROOKE and LADY EUPHEMIA.] Dear old Lady Leeke, whose wheels we
locked in the Park, said she had heard Imogen's name mentioned fifty
times. Mrs. Charlie Lessingham declares nothing prettier has been seen
since her own first season. And it's true--that's the best of it! I saw
the child make her courtesy; I was determined I would. I entered the
Throne Room just before her and tumbled through anyhow, with one eye
straight in front of me and the other screwed round towards my girl.
There was a general shudder--it was at my squint.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I trust not, Katherine.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
When I did get through they gave me my train, as much as to say: "If
this belongs to you, take it home as soon as possible." But there I
stuck in the doorway, not budging an inch. I didn't care how the
officials whispered, and waved, and beckoned; I stood my ground. And
then, Julian, then my breath nearly went from me, for I saw her coming!
Effie, it was lovely! Brooke, you would have been proud of your sister!
Her cheeks were like the outside leaf of a Duchesse de Vallombrosa rose,
and her eyes like two dewdrops on the top of it; and she had just enough
fright in her little heart to make her feathers tremble. Then she
courtesied. Ah, if she had stumbled I should have been by her side in an
instant--who would have blamed me? I'm her mother!--but she didn't. No,
she floated towards me--dipping, and dipping, and dipping, again and
again, as smoothly and gracefully as a swan swimming backward!
[LADY TWOMBLEY embraces IMOGEN.]
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
I am _too_ glad, Aunt Kitty.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Awfully satisfactory--what?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I remember Lady Liphook's daughter Miriam falling and rolling over in
the season of '85.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Lor' how sorry I feel for anybody who isn't a mother! But, I say,
there's a bit that wants taking in there. [Pinching up the shoulder of
IMOGEN's dress.] Gaylustre, you must tell your woman Antoinette this
won't do.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Oh, Lady Twombley--please!
[MRS. GAYLUSTRE puts her handkerchief to her eyes.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
My dear, pray forgive me! I really forgot where we were.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
[To LADY TWOMBLEY, with a little sob.] You wouldn't hurt my feelings
wilfully, I know.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Not for the world. But it's a little confusing, mixing up business with
pleasure. Imogen, let Lady Effie and Mrs. Gaylustre hear you play your
lovely harp, but don't let the nasty thing hurt your fingers. Brooke, I
want to speak to you.
[LADY EUPHEMIA and IMOGEN stroll out, followed by MRS. GAYLUSTRE.]
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
[Mournfully.] I'll dress now, Katherine, and go down.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Lor', pa, don't speak as if you were thinking of our tomb at Kensal
Green.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Competent authorities assure me there is quiet to be found in the tomb;
I anticipate nothing of that kind where I am going to-night.
[He goes out. LADY TWOMBLEY watches his going, then turns to BROOKE
sharply.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Well, have you got it?
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
My--er----
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Your skeddle.
[BROOKE hands his schedule to LADY TWOMBLEY.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
There's a dear boy. [She turns over the leaves, gradually her face
assumes a look of horror.] "Total, three thousand----!"
[She folds the schedule, puts it in her pocket, and faces BROOKE
fiercely with her hands clenched.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
You imp! [She boxes his right ear soundly.]
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Mater!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
You villain! [She boxes his left ear.]
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Don't, Mater!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Three thousand pounds! Three thousand times I wish you had never been
born! I--I---- [She breaks down, puts her arms round Brooke's neck, and
cries.] Oh, Brooke, my dear, forgive your poor mother's vile temper.
I've made my Brooke's head ache. Oh, my gracious!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Don't fret, Mater. If you're run rather low at Scott's----
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Scott's, Brooke! When I creep into that bank now and ask for my
pass-book I have to hold on to the edge of the counter, I feel so sick
and giddy.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Oh, very well then, Mater, I can wait. Mr. Nazareth, of Burlington
Street, will accommodate me for a time; a couple of bills, you know, at
three and six months--what?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Speaking in a whisper.] Brooky, Brooky, I've thought of those dreadful
things for myself.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
For yourself, Mater! Why, you can always get the right side of pa.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Brooke! Brooky, I must tell you. Just now poor pa has no right side.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Mater!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
It's as much as the dear man can do to get a rattle out of his keys. For
a long time, Brooke, we've all been outrunning the constable.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Really, Mater, I ought to have been consulted before.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I know, Brooke, but I couldn't face my boy's reproaches.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Pa must have been inexcusably reckless--what?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
No, it's all my fault, every bit of it. [A pretty melody on the harp is
heard.] Brooke, never marry a country-bred girl as your pa did. When he
fell in love with me I was content with three frocks a year--think of
that!--and had to twist up my own hats. And I could have done it for
ever down at Cleverton, but I didn't stand the transplanting. Oh, I'll
never forget how the fine folks snubbed me and sneered at me when I came
to town. Brooke, my son, I declare to goodness that for ten long years I
never saw a nose that wasn't turned up! And then pa got his baronetcy,
and old Lady Drumdurris gave us her forefinger to shake, and that did
it. But it was too late; I was spoilt by that time. I had been too long
fishing for friends with dances, and dinners, and drags, and
race-parties, and all sorts of bait; and when the time came for a few
people to like me for my own stupid, rough self I'd got into the way of
scattering sovereigns as freely as I used to sprinkle mignonette seed in
my little garden at the Yale Farm.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
All this is very painful, Mater--what?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Crying.] What a silly woman I've been, Brooke!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
We're all thoughtless at times.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
If I had but pulled in when pa's Irish rents began to dwindle!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Why didn't you, Mater?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I don't know, but I didn't, I only prayed for better times and ordered
Gillow to refurnish the dining-room. Last season I got through eighteen
thousand pounds!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Oh!
[She twists him round, pointing to the walls of the conservatory.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
And look! Look at this sixpenny Algerian grotto I've stuck in the middle
of the house. Seven thousand four hundred and fifty this cost, not
counting the hot-water pipes.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Is it paid for?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Your dear pa transferred the money for it to my account at Scott's, but
I've gone and spent it on other things.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Mater!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh, my poor heart!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Well, Mater, any assistance I can render you in this emergency----
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Ah, I know. [Seizing his hand and kissing it.] My Brooke! my comfort!
PROBYN.
[Outside.] Lady Drumdurris--Dowager Lady Drumdurris.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Egidia and Aunt Dora.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Wiping her eyes.] Your aunt mustn't see me upset. Brooke, don't think
anything more of what I've told you. I've tumbled into the mud before
now, but mud dries to dust and I've always managed to shake it off.
Dora!
[The DOWAGER COUNTESS OF DRUMDURRIS enters--a portly, rather
formidable-looking lady of forty-five or fifty, in Court dress and
diamonds.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Well, Dora, are you tired?
DOWAGER.
I hope I am never fatigued in doing my duty to my family, Kate. Here is
poor Egidia.
[EGIDIA, COUNTESS OF DRUMDURRIS enters--a small, serious girl, with a
great deal of presence and dignity, also in Court dress.]
EGIDIA.
How do you do, Lady Twombley?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Why, _poor_ Egidia! Aren't you well, dear?
DOWAGER.
Egidia received a telegram from Scotland this morning; her son has cut
his first tooth, during her absence, painfully.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh, dear!
EGIDIA.
You also are a mother, Lady Twombley. You can sympathize with such cares
as those I am now endeavouring to sustain.
[LADY EUPHEMIA and IMOGEN stroll in.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Your boy is five months old, isn't he?
EGIDIA.
Fergus is precisely five months.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Well, there are two-and-twenty more teeth to come yet, you know.
EGIDIA.
Yes, I am schooling myself into that conviction. I am naturally, I hope,
a woman of more than ordinary courage.
[PROBYN appears at the entrance.]
Probyn.
Lord Drumdurris.
[The EARL OF DRUMDURRIS, a boyish-looking officer of the Guards, in
uniform, with much dignity and reserve, enters.]
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
How do you do, Lady Twombley? Egidia.
DOWAGER.
Keith, you have further news from Scotland?
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
Another telegram.
EGIDIA.
Ah!
[She puts her hand calmly in that of the DOWAGER.]
DOWAGER.
Tell us, my son.
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
Another tooth. [EGIDIA closes her eyes. The DOWAGER kisses her upon the
brow.] I offered Lady Macphail and Sir Colin the use of my brougham, but
they preferred coming on here in their chariot.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Lady Macphail and Sir Colin! Coming here!
DOWAGER.
[To LADY TWOMBLEY.] I haven't told you what I've done. Keith!
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
[Bowing.] Certainly.
[He joins the others, who are talking together.]
DOWAGER.
[To LADY TWOMBLEY.] I have a motive. My whole life has been one vast
comprehensive motive. Lady Macphail is the little woman to whom I
introduced you on the stairs at the Palace.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Well, but----
DOWAGER.
I encountered her again, and delivered a message from you begging her to
come on here with Sir Colin to drink tea.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I never----
DOWAGER.
I know you didn't. My motive is this. She has just brought her boy to
London.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Is he the great man in the kilt I saw holding on to her lappets?
DOWAGER.
Yes.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
He's thirty, if he's an hour.
DOWAGER.
He's more. But he is a fine example of the grand simplicity that exists
in many Scottish families. Proprietor of eighty thousand acres, head of
a great clan, Colin Macphail of Ballocheevin remains a child attached to
his mother.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh, I shall be very happy to----
DOWAGER.
Ah, you grasp my motive!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
No, I don't.
DOWAGER.
[In LADY TWOMBLEY's ear.] _Imogen._
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Imogen?
DOWAGER.
Imogen _must_ make a match this season and marry before the year is out.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Why?
DOWAGER.
Don't deceive yourself, Kate Twombley. You are aware that Julian's
position in the Ministry is precarious?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
You think so?
DOWAGER.
Everybody thinks so. It's my opinion they'll make a Jonah of him and
cast him from them before many months are over. You know what that
means?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Horrible! Julian giving up public life and settling down in some dismal
swamp as a country gentleman. He has threatened it.
DOWAGER.
Very well then; you must assure your children's future before the blow
falls. What could you do for Imogen in the country?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
A vicar or a small squire.
DOWAGER.
More likely a curate or a farmer. Will you resign yourself to that?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Never, Dora! I never will! I've had to swallow the husks of London and
my chicks shall have the barley. Julian _shall_ hold on till they have
made brilliant marriages!
DOWAGER.
Ah!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
He shall! Afterwards I'll go back to darning stockings with a light
heart.
DOWAGER.
Well spoken, Kate Twombley!
[PROBYN appears at the entrance.]
PROBYN.
Sir Colin and Lady Macphail.
DOWAGER.
[To LADY TWOMBLEY.] You see my motive?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Yes, Dora.
[LADY MACPHAIL and SIR COLIN enter--she a simple little old woman in
Court dress, ecstatically sentimental; he a formidable-looking bearded
man about six feet high, in full Highland costume, bashful and awkward
in manner, and keeping close to his mother.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[To LADY MACPHAIL.] I am delighted to see you here.
LADY MACPHAIL.
[Presenting MACPHAIL.] My boy. [He shelters himself behind her and bows
uneasily.] I have determined to give the lad a season in this mighty
city, Lady Twombley.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Ah, he'll enjoy himself, I'm sure.
LADY MACPHAIL.
Nay, the Macphails never enjoy themselves in the South.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I'm very sorry; perhaps they don't go the right way about it.
LADY MACPHAIL.
Already Colin's feet ache----
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Do they?
LADY MACPHAIL.
Ache to press the heather again, searching for a sight of the red-deer
in the misty chasms of Ben Muchty, or the wild birds fluttering on the
gray shore of Loch-na-Doich.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Ah, very pretty country, I dare say.
LADY MACPHAIL.
Where would you be, Colin, at this hour at Castle Ballocheevin? Watching
the sun sink behind the black peak of Ben-na-Vrachie? Speak, lad!
MACPHAIL.
[Sadly.] That is so, mother.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Do you do that every evening at home?
MACPHAIL.
Aye.
LADY MACPHAIL.
Ah, a Macphail always feels like a seagull with a broken wing in the
South.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
You must take care you don't get him run over.
PROBYN.
[Appearing at the entrance.] Tea is in the yellow room, my lady.
[DRUMDURRIS, BROOKE, EGIDIA, and LADY EUPHEMIA go out.]
DOWAGER.
[Introducing IMOGEN.] Lady Macphail, Sir Colin--my niece, Imogen.
Imogen, take Sir Colin to tea.
IMOGEN.
This way, Sir Colin.
DOWAGER.
[To LADY TWOMBLEY.] You see my motive?
IMOGEN.
[Waiting for MACPHAIL.] Tea is in this room, Sir Colin.
MACPHAIL.
[Looking at IMOGEN, and then, appealingly, at LADY MACPHAIL.] Come,
mother.
[IMOGEN, MACPHAIL, and LADY MACPHAIL go out.]
DOWAGER.
[To LADY TWOMBLEY, following the others.] He is impressed!
[SIR JULIAN, in evening dress, enters with a letter in his hand.]
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Katherine! Katherine!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Pa?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I must speak to you.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
But Dora has just brought a Highland youth here.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I can't help it.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
What's wrong, pa? How pale and waxy you look!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
[Handing her the letter.] An urgent letter from old Mr. Mason, my
solicitor, about my affairs.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh, Lor', pa--another!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
You have it upside down.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Everything connected with our affairs _will_ get that way.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Mason is imperative.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
He insists upon your considering your pecuniary position.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
What shall I do?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Accede to his request--consider it.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
But I am constantly considering it!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Hush, pa!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
No man's pecuniary position has ever demanded or received more
consideration than my own. Day and night my pecuniary position lashes my
brain into the consistency of a whipped egg.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Pa, be calm!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Kate, my pecuniary position interposes between me and grave public
questions. My very spectacles are toned by it. It is in every blue-book,
in every page of Hansard, in the preamble of every Bill.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh, dear pa!
Sir Julian Twombley.
It sits with me in committees, accompanies me into the lobbies; it
receives deputations, replies to questions in the House; it forms part
of the deliberations of the Cabinet. It warps my political sympathies;
it distorts my judgment; it obscures my eloquence, and it lames my
logic! [Taking the letter from LADY TWOMBLEY.] And Mason--asks--me--to
consider it!
[Leans his head on his hands. She sits on the arm of his chair.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Tearfully.] Julian, you--mustn't--give way. Suppose the members of the
Opposition saw you like this.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
[With a groan.] Oh!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Think of those persons who sit--where is it?--on the hatchway--or below
the gangway, or some uncomfortable place. How rejoiced they'd be!
[Shaking him gently.] Have courage, Julian--perk up, pa dear.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I cannot go on, Kitty.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh, don't say that!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Mason's letter decides me.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
To do what!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Yield to a sentiment which I have reason to believe exists on both sides
of the House----
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Resign?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Resign my place in the Ministry--ask for the Chiltern Hundreds----
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Wind up my affairs in town----
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh, no!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
And seek peace in rural retirement.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
You shan't, pa! Oh, my gracious, you wouldn't be so heartless!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Heartless!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Kneeling beside him.] Think of my blessed chicks--my babies. Don't go
under, Julian, till we've given them the benefit of our magnificent
position----
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Our mag----
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Wait till my Brooky--our Brooky--has won some handsome, wealthy girl who
is worthy of him. Hold on till Imogen has made a marriage that will
make every true mother's mouth water. Then I'll settle down with you
alone, in a marsh. But don't sink into obscurity till the end of the
year! I can do wonders by Christmas! Give me till then, pa--give me till
then!
[She throws her arms round his neck. IMOGEN's harp is heard again. MRS.
GAYLUSTRE enters.]
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
The wretches! how they ignore me! [Seeing SIR JULIAN and LADY TWOMBLEY.]
Ah!
[Hiding herself behind a pillar she listens.]
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
But--but--but if I desperately cling to public life a little longer I
must have money.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Of course--of course you must have money. But, Julian, you must look to
me for that.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
You, Katherine!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
You must think only of your value to the country, and--leave the rest to
your wife.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Kitty, you have made some little private hoard out of your allowance!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Sinking faintly onto the settee.] Well, pa.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
How prudent! How thoughtful!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Go--go to Dora. Make my excuses. I'll follow you when I've pulled myself
together.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Yes, yes. [Turning.] By the way, Kitty, Hopwoods have just sent in their
bill for erecting this conservatory.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Clinging to the back of the chair.] Oh!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
You remember I transferred, at your request, seven thousand some odd
pounds to your account at Scott's when we projected
the--h'm!--pardonable little extravagance?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Y--yes.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Hopwoods can wait till midsummer. Perhaps you wouldn't mind letting me
have the use of the money in the meantime?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
No, certainly not.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
A cheque any day this week----
LADY TWOMBLEY.
All days are equally convenient.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Kitty, I _will_ hold on till Christmas!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Thank you, pa--I---- [She turns to him suddenly.] Oh, pa, I haven't
got--I haven't--I----
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Haven't what, Kitty?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
N--nothing. Go--go to Dora. [He goes out.] Oh! where shall I turn for
money? Where shall I turn? Where shall I turn--for money? [MRS.
GAYLUSTRE advances and faces LADY TWOMBLEY.] Ah! Mrs. Gaylustre!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Oh, Lady Twombley, I am in such distress!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Distress!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
[Producing LADY TWOMBLEY's letter to BROOKE.] I picked up a letter in
the next room. I thought it was the note you wrote me about the
plum-coloured _peignoir_ and that it had fallen from my pocket. I
glanced at it. Oh, look! [She hands the letter to LADY TWOMBLEY.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Gracious!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
But that is not the worst. It tells me that you are in trouble--you, the
best friend I have in the world, my benefactress. Oh, what shall I do?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Hold your tongue about it.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Ah! why did I read it through?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Because you were a little curious, I'm afraid.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
I shan't sleep for it.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Thank you, I can do all my own lying awake. Mind your own concerns for
the future, Gaylustre.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
It _is_ my concern when I can help you.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
_You_ help me?
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Ah, yes. Oh, let me, Lady Twombley! I don't ask to be confided in, I
only ask to be allowed to bring my brother to see
you--to-night--to-morrow.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Your brother?
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Mr. Lebanon--my Joseph. I would trust him as I'd trust myself. I have
known him do such things in the way of raising money upon what he calls
personal and other security----
LADY TWOMBLEY.
A money-lender?
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Lady Twombley! Oh!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Does Mr. Lebanon help--people--in difficulties?
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Oh, doesn't he!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Will you see him, Lady Twombley?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Don't ask me. Perhaps.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
To-night?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Perhaps, I tell you.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
At what time? LADY TWOMBLEY.
Half-past nine--sharp.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
[To herself.] Done!
[SIR JULIAN enters with LADY MACPHAIL, MACPHAIL, and the DOWAGER. BROOKE
follows with DRUMDURRIS, then after an interval LADY EUPHEMIA, EGIDIA,
and IMOGEN appear.]
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
[To LADY TWOMBLEY, reprovingly.] My dear, Lady Macphail and Sir Colin
are going.
DOWAGER.
[To LADY TWOMBLEY.] You are neglecting them. What can be your motive?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[To LADY MACPHAIL.] I hope Sir Julian has explained----
LADY MACPHAIL.
Certainly. But I must take my boy away. He dines at six to avoid late
hours.
[IMOGEN talks to MACPHAIL.]
DOWAGER.
[Quietly to LADY TWOMBLEY.] Look! they are talking.
LADY MACPHAIL.
Colin rises at five every morning.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Dear me, how awful!
LADY MACPHAIL.
He loves to watch the sunrise from the jagged summit of Ben-na-fechan.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
But there's no Ben-na-what-you-may-call-it here.
LADY MACPHAIL.
No. But he sits upon the roof of our lodgings in Clarges Street.
Good-bye, Lady Twombley.
[They shake hands.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[To MACPHAIL.] Good-bye. You must come and see me on one of my Tuesdays.
MACPHAIL.
Aye, with my mother.
[He turns to IMOGEN; they shake hands.]
IMOGEN.
Good-bye, Sir Colin.
DOWAGER.
[To LADY TWOMBLEY.] There again! look!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Why, here's Valentine! Valentine!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Inquiringly.] Valentine?
[BROOKE brings on VALENTINE.]
VALENTINE WHITE.
[To BROOKE.] Let me go! I was trying to find my way out.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
[To LADY TWOMBLEY.] Here's Valentine, come back.
IMOGEN.
Valentine!
VALENTINE WHITE.
Imogen!
IMOGEN.
Oh, my dear Val! My dear old Val!
[She rushes to him impulsively and flings her arms round his neck, at
which the DOWAGER gives a cry of horror, and there is a general movement
of astonishment.]
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
THE SECOND ACT.
DIFFICULTIES.
The scene is a handsomely decorated and elegantly furnished morning-room
at SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY's, with every evidence of luxury and refined
taste. It is a July morning.
SIR JULIAN is playing his flute. MR. MELTON, a good-looking,
well-dressed young man, enters carrying a few sheets of paper.
MR. MELTON.
Pardon me. [SIR JULIAN's flute gives a squeak.]
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Oh, Melton?
MR. MELTON.
The arrangements for this morning are quite complete, Sir Julian.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
The arrangements?
MR. MELTON.
The arrangements for the opening of the new street.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Oh, to be sure; I open the new street to-day. Why on earth shouldn't a
new street be opened by a policeman during the night, quietly?
[The DOWAGER LADY DRUMDURRIS, fashionably dressed for out-of-doors,
enters.]
DOWAGER.
[In a flutter.] Julian, good-morning. A glorious day for the ceremony,
Mr. Melton. Is everything arranged?
MR. MELTON.
[Bowing.] Everything.
DOWAGER.
I have a motive for asking. I and my family accompany Sir Julian and
Lady Twombley to lend weight and support.
MR. MELTON.
[To SIR JULIAN.] You leave here at twelve, reaching the new street at
half-past. You speak from the cluster of lamps by St. Jude's Church.
DOWAGER.
Your speech will be terse, elegant, and vigorous, I hope, Julian?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I hope so. Have you written it, Melton? [MELTON hands him the sheets of
paper.] Thank you. The usual thing, I suppose?
MR. MELTON.
Quite, quite.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Thank you. There's nothing like the usual thing. [Referring to the
speech.] "By opening up these majestic avenues London takes beer----"
MR. MELTON.
Air.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I beg your pardon. "----takes air into her system and keeps her place in
the race with her sister cities." Excellent.
DOWAGER.
Who will throw the bottle?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
No one, I hope.
MR. MELTON.
You are thinking of the christening of a ship, Lady Drumdurris.
DOWAGER.
Pardon me.
MR. MELTON.
I have to see Superintendent Snudden now as to the police arrangements.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Dear me! You anticipate no pellets?
MR. MELTON.
Hardly.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
It's so unfortunate it isn't a wet day.
DOWAGER.
Julian!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
An umbrella is such a safeguard.
MR. MELTON.
I'll see that the carriage closes easily.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Thank you. And Lady Twombley might take an extra sunshade.
[MELTON goes out. The DOWAGER closes the door carefully after him.]
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
[Reading.] "I can conceive no position more agreeable to a Minister of
the Crown than that which----"
DOWAGER.
Julian!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Dora?
DOWAGER.
You wonder why I am with you at this early hour. I need hardly say I
have a motive.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I suppose so.
DOWAGER.
Knowing that you were not going down to Browning Street this morning,
and that Lady Twombley and Imogen were to take Euphemia shopping in Bond
Street, I grasped the chance of seeing you alone. Julian, what has
happened to your wife?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
To Katherine?
DOWAGER.
There is a shocking change.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Recently?
DOWAGER.
It began two or three months ago. She's not the woman she was at the
commencement of the season.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
You alarm me. In what way?
DOWAGER.
Every way. Her appearance.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I haven't noticed it.
DOWAGER.
Being her husband, it is natural you should not. Her variable
temperament! At one moment she looks as if she would like to bury
everybody, me especially; the next she is laughing in a manner I must
designate as positively provincial.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Dora, you quite distress me.
DOWAGER.
I came early for that purpose.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Thank you.
DOWAGER.
Perhaps you resent my interference.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
No, no.
DOWAGER.
It would not deter me if you did. The grand motive of my life is a firm,
undeviating, persistent policy of practical interference. I am a social
warrior; the moment I scent domestic carnage I hurl myself into the
_melee_ and plant my flag. Julian, my flag is planted in your household.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
But I am aware of nothing disquieting to Katherine's peace of mind.
DOWAGER.
Don't tell me!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Two or three months ago there _was_ a little difficulty----
DOWAGER.
Ah!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
But it was mine, not Katherine's.
DOWAGER.
Yours?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Frankly, I was embarrassed for ready money.
DOWAGER.
Oh, dear!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
But Katherine, who is really of an extremely thrifty nature, promptly
placed her very considerable savings at my disposal, and the difficulty
ceased.
DOWAGER.
It never struck me your wife was thrifty.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Nor me till that moment. Which shows how liable the most careful
observer is to error. [Resuming the study of his speech.] Pray excuse
me.
DOWAGER.
[To herself.] Um! [She goes up to the window.]
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
[Studying.] "I can conceive no position more agreeable to a Minister of
the Crown----" I'll go upstairs, quietly. "----than that which I occupy
upon this occasion."
[He moves softly toward the door. The DOWAGER turns suddenly.]
DOWAGER.
Julian!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Dora?
DOWAGER.
I don't like your wife's great friendship for Mrs. Gaylustre.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Katherine finds her a bright companion.
DOWAGER.
Katherine has _my_ companionship. It's true I can't cut a sleeve like
that lady.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
It is to be regretted that poor Mrs. Gaylustre is forced to follow the
modern fashion of increasing her income by devices formerly practised
only by the lower middle-classes.
DOWAGER.
She sticks pins in her bosom as though she relished it.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
But, after all, Dora, Madame Mauricette, of Plunkett Street, and Mrs.
Gaylustre, widow of Lord Bulpitt's son, are two very distinct persons.
Excuse me. [He continues studying his speech.]
DOWAGER.
But what was she _before_ her marriage?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
You must really give me notice of that question--I beg your pardon--I
don't know.
DOWAGER.
This lady now walks into your house as if it were her own!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Ah!
DOWAGER.
Your wife is positively canvassing for invitations for her! Julian!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I shall be unprepared with my speech!
DOWAGER.
My family comes before everything!
[PROBYN enters.]
PROBYN.
Lord and Lady Drumdurris are inquiring for you, my lady.
DOWAGER.
Beg them to come here. [PROBYN retires.]
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Ah, then, if you'll allow me----
DOWAGER.
No, Julian. This is another family matter of terrible importance.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
My dear Dora!
DOWAGER.
Keith and Egidia approach you at this early hour at my instigation. I
have a painful motive.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Oh, dear me!
[EGIDIA enters, dressed in fashionable walking costume, her face pale
and troubled.]
EGIDIA.
[Sadly.] Sir Julian.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
My dear Egidia, there is nothing amiss, I hope?
EGIDIA.
Ah! Everything is amiss, Sir Julian.
DOWAGER.
Julian, the relations between my son and his wife have become terribly
strained.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
No, no!
EGIDIA.
Indeed, yes!
DOWAGER.
I have done all in my power to relieve the horrible tension--if
anything, I have made matters worse. My hope is now centred in you. Here
is Keith.
EGIDIA.
Ah!
[EGIDIA sits upon a settee staring before her. DRUMDURRIS enters,
looking much worried.]
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
Ah, mother. [Grasping SIR JULIAN's hand with feeling.] Sir Julian.
[He and his wife look severely at one another and draw themselves up.]
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
My dear Keith, what can I do for you?
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
Ha! Explain, mother.
DOWAGER.
Julian, my son and his wife have cordially agreed to refer their grave
differences to your judgment.
EGIDIA.
Without binding ourselves to abide by Sir Julian's decision.
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
Naturally.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Pray tell me the cause of dispute.
DOWAGER.
The future of their child.
EGIDIA.
Ah, yes.
DOWAGER.
The adjustment of the career he is to follow.
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
That is precisely it.
DOWAGER.
[To DRUMDURRIS.] Where is Fergus?
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
He accompanied us.
EGIDIA.
He is with Angele in the next room.
DOWAGER.
[Calling at the door.] Angele! Angele!
ANGELE.
[Outside.] Miladi?
DOWAGER.
Bring Lord Aberbrothock here.
[ANGELE a French nurse, characteristically attired, enters, carrying a
richly-dressed infant. DRUMDURRIS and EGIDIA look into its face
together.]
ANGELE.
Figurez-vous, milord, qu'il a dormi pendant tout le trajet! et puis
quand je suis descendue de voiture, il s'est reveille en pleurant ... ah
mais, en pleurant!
DOWAGER.
Give me Lord Aberbrothock. [She takes the child from Angele.] Wait in
the next room, Angele.
ANGELE.
Yes, miladi. J'espere bien que Monsieur le Vicomte ne va plus crier, car
ca pourrait faire de la peine a sa grand'maman. [ANGELE goes out.]
DOWAGER.
Now, Julian, this is the point. You see Fergus. Politics or the Army?
EGIDIA.
Politics.
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
The Army.
DOWAGER.
Pray speak, Julian.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Er--um--perhaps it would be rather precipitate----
EGIDIA.
I differ entirely. The child's intelligence must be directed into a
particular channel from the beginning.
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
In that I heartily concur. For instance, the question of toys is already
most urgent.
EGIDIA.
He is without playthings at present, so his mind is quite open.
DOWAGER.
You appear to have no views, Julian.
EGIDIA.
Lady Drumdurris, let Sir Julian look at the height and character of
Fergus's brow.
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
Pray do. It's a soldier's forehead.
DOWAGER.
Julian. [She hands the infant to SIR JULIAN.]
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Thank you. Politics or the Army? [Addressing the child in his arms.] My
dear Fergus, take my advice, not, _not_ politics.
EGIDIA.
Ah!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
If you attach any trifling importance to veracity as a habit, _not_
politics. If you would care at any time upon any subject to form your
own opinions, and having formed them, would wish to maintain them, _not_
politics. If you desire to be of the smallest service to your fellow
man, and if you would sleep as peacefully at sixty as you now sleep at
six months, _not_ politics.
EGIDIA.
Sir Julian!
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
The Army!
EGIDIA.
Never!
DOWAGER.
This is most distressing. [Calling at the open door.] Angele! Angele!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Heard outside.] Why, Dora!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Katherine.
[LADY TWOMBLEY enters with IMOGEN and LADY EUPHEMIA in walking
costumes.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
How good of you to come early! [Kissing EGIDIA.] Egidia, dearest! [To
DRUMDURRIS.] Good-morning, Keith. Ah! you've brought Fergus to see me!
The angel!
[With cries of delight LADY TWOMBLEY, IMOGEN, and LADY EUPHEMIA gather
round SIR JULIAN and the baby.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
The pet!
IMOGEN.
The mite!
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
He is _too_ sweet!
THE THREE.
Oh--h--h!
[BROOKE enters.]
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
[Shaking hands with DRUMDURRIS.] Hallo, what's the matter?
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
[With dignity.] They are looking at my son.
[ANGELE has entered. She takes the infant from SIR JULIAN.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
We've enjoyed a splendid hour in Bond Street--in and out of twenty
shops, eh, girls?
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Yes, Aunt Kate.
IMOGEN.
Yes, mamma.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Bought all we could think of and ordered the rest.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
My dear!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Then why don't they abolish Bond Street? It's the crucible of
London--set your foot in it and everything about you that's metal
dissolves.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Aunt has been _too_ extravagant this morning.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Extravagant! I! Oh, no--only I dearly wish there was no such plague as
money. If the little words "thank you" were the one universal current
coin, what anxieties, what cravings, what follies some poor women would
be spared! Why can't we buy choice stuffs at three-and-a-half thank-yous
a yard?
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Oh, Aunt Kate!
IMOGEN.
Mamma!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
It's nothing to laugh at. Ah, girls, if "thank you" paid for everything,
being out of breath would be our only bankruptcy! Oh, my poor brain!
IMOGEN.
[To SIR JULIAN.] Mamma has a bad headache to-day, papa.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
A headache! never! Girls, what is it we bought and brought home with us?
I forget.
IMOGEN.
We didn't buy him, mamma--we met him. You mean Cousin Valentine.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Looking round.] Of course--Valentine. Where is he? [Calling.]
Valentine!
[VALENTINE enters very plainly dressed.]
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Mr. White! [Bowing stiffly.] How do you do?
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Why, Val! What?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
We met the poor boy outside the tourists' ticket office in Piccadilly.
He's off again to-morrow.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Off! Where to?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Egypt.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
We shan't see him again for another ten years, I suppose.
IMOGEN.
Oh, mamma!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
The odd creature has heard of a congenial tribe who reside in
excavations cut in a rock. It'll end in my having a nephew who's a
mummy.
IMOGEN.
[Tearfully.] Oh, don't!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Katherine, this child is not well.
IMOGEN.
Yes, I am, papa--but I don't like--the idea--of parting--with anybody or
anything--even a k-k-kitten.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Soothingly.] Imogen, my dear!
IMOGEN.
Be quiet, mamma!
[The DOWAGER, LADY EUPHEMIA, EGIDIA, and ANGELE with the baby go out.
IMOGEN runs after them. SIR JULIAN resumes the study of his speech. LADY
TWOMBLEY opens some letters which are lying on the table.]
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
[To VALENTINE.] I never knew such a queer chap! Come upstairs and tell
us all about it--what!
[BROOKE, VALENTINE, and DRUMDURRIS go out.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Katherine?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
It's all right, pa--it's nothing. [To herself.] Gaylustre! [Reading a
letter.] "I will accompany you and dear Sir Julian to the interesting
ceremony of this morning. Pray keep me a seat in your carriage."
[Crushing the letter in her hand.] The demon! The relentless demon!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
"I can conceive no position more agreeable to a Minister of the
Crown----"
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Pa, dear, Mrs. Gaylustre will go with us to the opening of the new
street.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
H'm! Katherine, are you sure that Mrs. Gaylustre is _quite_----
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh, quite.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
If I were you I should really think twice----
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh, I can't.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Can't think twice?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I can't risk offending such a--dear friend.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
But, Katherine----
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Understand me, pa--she will sit in our carriage.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Then understand _me_, Katherine, I will not have my knees cramped by a
lady whose social status is equivocal.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Ah! Julian! Don't attempt to come between me and Mrs. Gaylustre.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Katherine!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
You will assist her into the carriage, you will help her to alight; when
she arrives you will be charmed to see her, when she leaves you will be
a mass of regret. You hear me!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
This is a most extraordinary friendship!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
It _is_ an exceptional friendship. Pa, say you're delighted this great
friend of mine is to be one of us to-day.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Well, to please you, my dear, of course, I----
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Yes?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I am delighted.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Ah!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
[To himself.] I see--I see the change in my wife that Dora spoke of.
[PROBYN enters with cards on a salver. At the same moment the DOWAGER
enters and looks out of the window.]
DOWAGER.
[To herself.] They are punctual!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Looking at the cards.] Lady Macphail and Sir Colin. Not at home. If
ever a woman was out I am.
DOWAGER.
[To PROBYN.] Stop! [To LADY TWOMBLEY.] Kate, what are you doing? This
visit is planned by me!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Why?
DOWAGER.
I have a motive.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh, Dora!
DOWAGER.
[To PROBYN.] Lady Twombley will see Sir Colin and Lady Macphail here.
[PROBYN goes out.]
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Ah! then, if you'll allow me----
DOWAGER.
No, Julian. This is another family matter.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Another!
DOWAGER.
These people have called to formally propose for the hand of Imogen.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
To propose!
DOWAGER.
Last night, at the ball of the Perth Highlanders, I danced the
Strathspey and Reel with Sir Colin. In the excitement I wrung from him
an admission of his affection.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Pa, what shall we do?
DOWAGER.
Do? The head of the Clan Macphail! Eighty thousand acres! Julian?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[To herself.] If it would provide for Imogen before the smash!
DOWAGER.
If Imogen is a high-minded girl she will be mad with delight.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Will she? [To herself.] Ah! and will she learn to look down on pa and me
when we're aged paupers?
[PROBYN enters.]
PROBYN.
Sir Colin Macphail--Lady Macphail.
[LADY MACPHAIL enters, dressed simply and quaintly in an old-fashioned
silk gown, followed closely by MACPHAIL, whose clothes are capacious and
clumsy, and who seems very ill at ease. PROBYN withdraws.]
DOWAGER.
Dear Lady Macphail--Sir Colin!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Shaking hands with LADY MACPHAIL and MACPHAIL.] How do you do? [Eyeing
MACPHAIL.] Oh, dear!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
[Shaking hands.] Delighted.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[To MACPHAIL.] Pray sit down. You must be fatigued with last night's
dance.
LADY MACPHAIL.
No Macphail is ever fatigued. But the poor lad feels like a caged eagle
in the dress of the South.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I am sure it is--most becoming.
LADY MACPHAIL.
Sit, lad. [MACPHAIL sits, hitching up his trousers unhappily.] You know
the object of our visit, Sir Julian?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Lady Drumdurris has hinted----
LADY MACPHAIL.
The boy is here to pour out the passionate torrent of his love for your
child Imogen. Speak, Colin.
[MACPHAIL rouses himself, rises, and looks round.]
MACPHAIL.
Mother, you do it. [He resumes his seat.]
LADY MACPHAIL.
Ah, if we were at Castle Ballocheevin, with the wind roaring round Ben
Muchty, and the sound of the pipers playing by the shores of
Loch-na-Doich, then you would hear Colin's voice rise loud and high.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
As we are denied these obvious advantages, it is almost necessary to ask
you to explain----
LADY MACPHAIL.
The lad has met your child on but three or four occasions.
MACPHAIL.
Just three occasions and a bit, mother.
LADY MACPHAIL.
But he loves her with a love that only a Macphail can experience.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Of course one would like to know precisely the kind of affection that
is.
LADY MACPHAIL.
Naturally. Speak, Colin.
[MACPHAIL rises, embarrassed.]
MACPHAIL.
I love her well enough.
LADY MACPHAIL.
Bravely said!
DOWAGER.
Delightful. [To SIR JULIAN and LADY MACPHAIL.] A grand nature.
LADY MACPHAIL.
Go on, Colin.
MACPHAIL.
That's all, mother. [He resumes his seat.]
LADY MACPHAIL.
[To LADY TWOMBLEY.] You have heard the lad?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Distinctly.
LADY MACPHAIL.
As we are all to meet next month as Lord Drumdurris's guests at
Drumdurris Castle, it would be well if this engagement were settled at
once.
DOWAGER.
Without delay.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
The question, of course, is whether Imogen--h'm!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Whether Imogen can return the affection----
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Which Sir Colin honours her by entertaining.
LADY MACPHAIL.
Has the lad your permission to pour into her ear such impassioned words
as he has just uttered to us?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I think there can be no objection to _that_.
DOWAGER.
Certainly not.
LADY MACPHAIL.
When will your daughter grant him an hour for that purpose?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
An _hour_?
MACPHAIL.
Three-quarters will be enough, mother.
LADY MACPHAIL.
Bravely said!
DOWAGER.
Charming!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
When, Julian?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
H'm! when?
DOWAGER.
When? [IMOGEN's voice is heard outside.]
IMOGEN.
[Calling.] Mamma, dear!
DOWAGER.
When? I suggest, now. Here is Imogen.
[MACPHAIL rises hastily and awkwardly. IMOGEN enters.]
IMOGEN.
Oh, I didn't know you had visitors. [Shaking hands with SIR COLIN and
LADY MACPHAIL.] Sir Colin--Lady Macphail.
DOWAGER.
Now, Julian, leave them together! Katherine!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Imogen, my dear.
[IMOGEN comes to SIR JULIAN. LADY TWOMBLEY, the DOWAGER, LADY MACPHAIL,
and MACPHAIL talk together.]
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Talk to Sir Colin for a few moments while I look through my speech.
IMOGEN.
Certainly, papa. [SIR JULIAN goes out.] What an awful task! [Taking a
book from the table.]
LADY MACPHAIL.
[Quietly to MACPHAIL.] Colin, let her hear how a Macphail can love.
[Kissing him.] My boy! [To the DOWAGER and LADY TWOMBLEY.] I'll drive
round to Lady Macwhirter's and return. Leave them! Ah, the pipers shall
play to the home-coming of a bride at Castle Ballocheevin! [She goes
out.]
DOWAGER.
Come, Katherine. Think of it! To be the mother-in-law of the head of the
Clan Macphail!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Dora, what's the use of a head with no tongue in it?
[The DOWAGER and LADY TWOMBLEY go out. MACPHAIL looks round uneasily.]
MACPHAIL.
[To himself.] Where's mother?
IMOGEN.
[To herself.] Oh, why do they leave us! [To MACPHAIL.] Were you at the
dance of the Perth Highlanders last night, Sir Colin?
MACPHAIL.
Aye, I was.
IMOGEN.
Did you dance much?
MACPHAIL.
Aye, I did.
IMOGEN.
[To herself.] He must make the next remark.
MACPHAIL.
[Nerving himself and rising suddenly.] Miss Twombley!
IMOGEN.
Sir Colin!
MACPHAIL.
I--I just wish you had been there.
IMOGEN.
Do you? Why?
MACPHAIL.
Because--because--because I'm thinking there was room for more people.
IMOGEN.
Oh, of course. [She goes to the window and looks out.] Lady Macphail is
just driving away.
MACPHAIL.
No!
IMOGEN.
Yes, there she goes.
[MACPHAIL goes hastily to the window and looks out.]
MACPHAIL.
[To himself.] Oh! Mother!
[He goes out quickly unnoticed by IMOGEN.]
IMOGEN.
She has turned the corner, Sir Colin. Did you see her? Why, where is he?
[VALENTINE enters. She does not see him.]
VALENTINE WHITE.
Good-bye, Imogen. [She turns to him.]
IMOGEN.
Ah! [Falteringly.] Why will you go away, Val?
VALENTINE WHITE.
You know my craze. Everything in this country is so stuck-up.
IMOGEN.
Mamma's not--stuck-up, as you call it.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Her gowns frighten me. My first recollection of anything is Aunt Kitty
in a print-skirt at a wash-tub.
IMOGEN.
Hush! don't, Val!
VALENTINE WHITE.
There now! you're horrified!
IMOGEN.
One doesn't wish everybody to know.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Then that's being stuck-up, Imogen.
IMOGEN.
Then we differ.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Of course. Everybody does differ from me in this stuck-up country. Wish
me good-bye.
IMOGEN.
[Looking away.] I presume my brother Brooke is stuck-up also?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Well, he appears to have fallen into the starch after that wash of Aunt
Kitty's.
IMOGEN.
Indeed. And papa?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Oh, of course, he's ironed out by the House of Commons.
IMOGEN.
How very rude! [Laying her hand on his arm.] And am I--altered, Val?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Altered! The change is heart-breaking!
IMOGEN.
Oh, how cruel!
VALENTINE WHITE.
Altered! Where are the tiny tea-things with which you once played at
making tea in your old school-room? Where is the hoop you used to
trundle in Portman Square--the skipping-rope Brooke and I turned for you
till our arms nearly dropped from our shoulders? Where are the marbles I
gave you--the top I taught you to spin? I say, where are these things
and the jolly little girl who delighted in them?
IMOGEN.
[With much dignity.] I think you're so violent that it isn't safe to
speak to you. But I'll ask you one question.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Pray do.
IMOGEN.
Where is the good-tempered, curly-headed boy for whom I used to make the
tea; the boy who taught me, very patiently, how to play the marbles and
to spin the top?
VALENTINE WHITE.
You see him.
IMOGEN.
Oh, no. No, Val, no.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Imogen! You don't mean, at any rate, that I'm stuck-up?
IMOGEN.
No, indeed, I think you're shockingly stuck-down. [He turns away,
hanging his head. She comes to him.] There, now I've made you ashamed of
yourself.
VALENTINE WHITE.
No, you haven't!
IMOGEN.
Then I will do so. Remain here. I will return in a moment. Don't stir!
[She runs out.]
VALENTINE WHITE.
Shall I run away? Ah, if she only knew how ardently I wish that she had
changed still more--how I wish that she had grown quite unlovable or I
had forgotten how to love her! It's hopeless; I _will_ run away.
[He opens the door and the DOWAGER peeps in.]
DOWAGER.
May I come in?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Eh? Oh, certainly.
[The DOWAGER enters.]
DOWAGER.
[To herself.] What has become of them? [To VALENTINE.] Pardon me, have
you seen my niece, Imogen?
VALENTINE WHITE.
She has just left this room.
DOWAGER.
With Sir Colin Macphail?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Oh, no.
[A cab whistle is heard. VALENTINE looks out of the window.]
DOWAGER.
[To herself.] Where is he? I shan't sleep till I know it is settled.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Here's Sir Colin--hailing a cab.
DOWAGER.
Ah! Something must have happened! [She goes hastily towards the door;
VALENTINE is in her way.] Let me pass, please! I have a motive!
[She goes out as IMOGEN enters by another door carrying a large
old-fashioned box.]
IMOGEN.
Valentine.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Why, what have you there?
Imogen.
A modern young lady's jewel casket. Open it, please. [Kneeling, he opens
the box.]
VALENTINE WHITE.
[Looking into the box.] Imogen! The tea-things! I recognize them!
IMOGEN.
You see, I've never parted with my playthings, Val.
VALENTINE WHITE.
[Dragging out a large, faded, once gaudy doll.] And here's Rosa! I
helped to cut out Rosa's mantle. Battered old Rosa!
IMOGEN.
[Taking the doll from him.] Don't! Old she may be, but her sex should
protect her from insult.
VALENTINE WHITE.
And here are my marbles! and the top! Ah, ah! the skipping-rope!
Imogen--perhaps--I--I've done you an injustice.
IMOGEN.
Do you think so?
VALENTINE WHITE.
I feared fashion had put your bright little nature into tight
corsets--but--I see--I see----
IMOGEN.
[Replacing the toys in the box.] You see, Val.
VALENTINE WHITE.
I see you have some affection for the time when you were not Miss
Twombley, but only--little Jenny.
IMOGEN.
Ah!
VALENTINE WHITE.
Not that these old dumb things prove much.
IMOGEN.
Oh, Val!
VALENTINE WHITE.
They prove their own existence--not the existence of little Jenny.
IMOGEN.
[Crying.] How unjust you are!
VALENTINE WHITE.
Perhaps. But your words and actions are so unlike.
IMOGEN.
[Wiping her eyes upon the doll's frock.] No, no.
VALENTINE WHITE.
I fancy we are children again when I hear you; but when I see your prim
figure and stately walk I miss the little girl whose hair never
submitted to a ribbon or a hairpin----
IMOGEN.
Oh!
[Impulsively she lets down her hair and disorders it wildly.]
VALENTINE WHITE.
[Not observing her.] I miss the little Jenny with a tumbled frock [She
quickly disarranges her bow and sash.], the thoughtless romp who was
generally minus one shoe!
IMOGEN.
[Fiercely.] Valentine!
[She takes off a shoe and flings it away.]
VALENTINE WHITE.
Jenny!
IMOGEN.
Now! play! play marbles!
VALENTINE WHITE.
What!
IMOGEN.
Play marbles!
[They go down upon their knees, she deliberately arranges the marbles
for the game, he staring at her blankly.]
IMOGEN.
My mark--play.
VALENTINE WHITE.
I beg your pardon, Jenny--I've been all wrong.
IMOGEN.
You have indeed, Val. Play. [He plays seriously.] Not within a mile of
it.
VALENTINE WHITE.
My eye is quite out.
IMOGEN.
My turn.
VALENTINE WHITE.
By Jupiter, you're still a crack at it!
IMOGEN.
Am I? Then which of us has changed--you or I? [She lays her hand on
his.] Val, don't go away and live in a rock.
VALENTINE WHITE.
What am I to do? I'm poor, Jenny, and I suppose I'm crazy.
IMOGEN.
Any sort of horrid life would suit you, wouldn't it?
VALENTINE WHITE.
I suppose it would.
IMOGEN.
Then ask Lord Drumdurris to make you a bailiff or a head gamekeeper at
Drumdurris.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Not rough enough.
IMOGEN.
Why, you could get dreadfully dirty and wet through there every day.
VALENTINE WHITE.
That's true.
IMOGEN.
And, Val, we're all going up to Drumdurris next month.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Are you?
IMOGEN.
Yes, and if you like, I--I'll bring the marbles.
[BROOKE enters.]
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Imogen! Oh, I say! what?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Do you ever play marbles now, Brooke?
[DRUMDURRIS enters.]
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Marbles, no! Billiards.
[VALENTINE collects the marbles, and puts them into the box.]
IMOGEN.
[To DRUMDURRIS.] Keith! Oh, Keith, do me a favour!
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
Certainly.
IMOGEN.
Offer my poor cousin, Mr. White, some post in or about Drumdurris
Castle.
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
What kind of post?
IMOGEN.
Some wretched, inferior position in which he needn't be very polite.
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
What will he say if I propose such a thing?
IMOGEN.
He'll be extremely rude, I think. But, oh, I shall be so grateful,
Keith.
[LADY TWOMBLEY enters.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Imogen! Child, what has happened to your head?
IMOGEN.
I--I've been playing marbles, mamma.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Not on your head?
IMOGEN.
No, mamma, upon the floor.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
With Sir Colin?
IMOGEN.
Certainly not, mamma; I don't know Sir Colin nearly well enough to sit
with him upon the floor. [Putting up her hair.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Darling, has Sir Colin made any remark of an interesting nature?
IMOGEN.
No--he stammered a little, and, while my back was turned, he ran away
after his mammy.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[To herself.] I knew it! Why didn't we lock him in till he had provided
for my poor child's future?
[PROBYN enters.]
PROBYN.
Mrs. Gaylustre is here, my lady.
IMOGEN.
Oh, that person!
[IMOGEN snatches up the box of playthings and hurries out. MRS.
GAYLUSTRE enters. PROBYN retires.]
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
[To everybody.] How d'ye do? How d'ye do? Lord Drumdurris, charmed to
see you. How are you, Brooke?
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
[To himself.] Brooke! Impudence!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
You look bilious, Kate.
[She kisses LADY TWOMBLEY, who sinks on to the settee.]
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
[To DRUMDURRIS.] It's too bad of the Mater! Fancy a fellow making a chum
of his tailor--what?
EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.
Mr. White, may I speak to you?
[BROOKE, DRUMDURRIS, and VALENTINE go out.]
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
[Examining the flute.] Pa has been tootling again, Kate--we must buy him
a drum.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Ah--h--h--h!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Hullo! What's the matter?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
As if you didn't know! Oh, those awful bits of paper!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Still worrying about those little Bills of yours which my brother Joseph
holds, eh?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Those Bills! Why doesn't the ink fade that's on them, or the house burn
that holds 'em?
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Impossible. Joseph and I have been taught to believe that there is a
special Providence watching over all Bills of Exchange. Come, don't
fume--Bill Number One doesn't fall due till next month.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh, Gaylustre, I shan't be able to meet it.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Shan't you? Well, I dare say Jo and I will renew--if you make much of us
and pet us. Meanwhile, don't think of the Bills.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Think of 'em! I eat them--they're on every _menu_; I drink them--they
label the champagne. My pillows are stuffed with them, for I hear their
rustle when I turn my restless head. Small as those strips of blue are,
they paper every wall of my home!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
I should drive out, then, as much as possible.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
When I do the sky is blue!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
[Carelessly taking up a newspaper.] At what time do we leave here?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Sir Julian and I start at twelve.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
See that I'm not squeezed up in the carriage. I don't play at sardines
in this gown.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Talking of sardines, I shall lunch here to-day, _en famille_.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Gaylustre! you fiend! I--I can't stand it.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Don't quite see how you're going to get out of it.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
It's true I owe that brother of yours thousands.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Well, we _have_ kept your establishment going for some time.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
But I don't owe _you_ as much as a linen button!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Jo and I are one.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
No! I'll never believe that a man--even a money-lender--would dance a
set of devilish quadrilles on a lady when she's down, as you're doing.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Ha, ha!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I saw your brother on that one fatal night. Common person that he is, he
must have a heart under his vulgar waistcoat.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Be careful! Don't insult my Jo!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I compliment him! I will appeal to him to protect me from your claws,
Gaylustre!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Oh, you will, will you?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I will.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Very well then--do it! Kate Twombley, go to that door and call my
brother Jo!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
What!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Do it!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
What--do you--mean?
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Open that door and call Jo!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
No, no! [She opens the door and looks out.] You are only frightening me!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Call--Mr. Lebanon!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Mr. Lebanon!
MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.
[Outside.] Heah!
[LADY TWOMBLEY utters a cry of horror as MR. JOSEPH LEBANON enters--a
smartly dressed, unctuous, middle-aged person, of a most pronounced
common Semitic type, with a bland manner and a contented smile.]
MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.
Lady Twombley, delighted to find myself in your elegant 'ouse. Most
_recherche_.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
How do you come here?
MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.
Fan brought me.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
How dare she?
MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.
'Ow dare she? H'm! Fan, I 'ope and trust not a coolness between you and
Lady T.
[LADY TWOMBLEY sinks into a chair.]
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
She was dying to see you--there's no pleasing her.
MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.
Dyin' to see me! Flattered--flattered. [He sits in close proximity to
LADY TWOMBLEY.] Deah Lady T, you and I and nobody by, eh? Excuse my
humour. 'Ow can I 'ave the honour of servin' you? Don't 'esitate, Lady
T, don't 'esitate.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I only wanted--to beg you--to rid me of that viper.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
That's going a little too far!
MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.
There _is_ a coolness--a triflin', temporary coolness. Fan, be
reasonable--Lady T, be forgivin'. Kiss and be friends.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I know that you've got me--what's the expression?--on something or
another.
MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.
I 'ope "toast" is not the word you requiah, Lady Twombley?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh, yes, on toast.
MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.
Oh, Lady T.! Lady T.!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I know that if I can't meet those awful Bills you can drag my name into
the papers, and set all London grinning for a month.
MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.
Oh! Oh, Fan, is that my way of doin' business?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
If you're a nice, honest man--as you look--you'll take her away, and
never, either of you, show your ugl--show your faces here again.
MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.
Ah, Lady T., now we come to the aim and object of the mornin' call which
I have the 'appiness of making on you. Fan, you haven't explained to
Lady T. You really must cut in.
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
I shan't. Explain yourself.
[LEBANON rises, replacing his chair.]
MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.
My dear Lady T., the long and the short of it is that Fan and I have
considerable social ambition.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
You too! Not _you_!
MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.
And why not? Fanny, cut in!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Go on, Jo dear.
MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.
Lady Twombley, it has been the desiah of Fan and self, ever since that
period of our lives which I may describe as our checkered child'ood, to
reach the top of the social tree.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Hah!