SCENE.--NED CHETWYND'S. _Doors R. and L. French window opening on
garden, at back. TOM'S picture of the two knights hangs on wall, R.
Piano, desk, screen, sofa, photographs, &c., &c. The entrance marked,
L., should be low down stage. Fireplace, L. NED discovered writing at
desk, L. LUCY reading, R._
LUCY. Nearly done, Ned?
NED. Good gracious, no. I've only just begun.
LUCY. Isn't it time you dressed? The Dozeys will be here directly. I
told them we should dine early.
NED. Bother the Dozeys!
LUCY. I couldn't help asking them. Indeed, they asked themselves.
(_rises, crosses to C._)
NED. Lucy, how can I write while you keep chattering? I particularly
want to finish what I'm doing. I want to send it to Alma by to-night's
post.
LUCY. Alma!
NED. What's the matter?
LUCY. I wish you wouldn't call Mrs. Blake "Alma." I don't like it!
NED. I don't think you like _her._
LUCY. I like her very well; but at the same time I think you see too
much of her.
NED. What nonsense! We're in the same set; I can't help seeing a good
deal of her.
LUCY. That's true enough--in some of her dresses.
NED. Come, come. That's only on the stage. She has to dress according
to her part. She's not responsible for its clothing.
LUCY. (_turning to NED_) The stage is an excuse for a great deal.
NED. You mean, it's an excuse for very little. Where had I got to?
You've quite put me out.
LUCY. What are you writing that's so very particular?
NED. Only a letter.
LUCY. A letter. (_crosses to NED_)
NED. But it's most important.
LUCY. (_aside_) A letter to Mrs. Blake. (_leans over his shoulder; he
covers the sheet with the blotting-paper_)
NED. Lucy, I wish you wouldn't look over my shoulder. You don't know
how it fidgets me. I can't write a line.
LUCY. I'd better go upstairs, then I shan't interrupt you.
NED. Thank you; there's a dear. I'm sorry to be so disagreeable, but I
must finish this.
LUCY. Dinner at seven.
NED. All right. (_Exit LUCY, R._) Now I can go ahead like a steam
engine. (_writes_) "Fool that I was, I thought that it would last for
ever. Nothing can now remove the barrier between us. With my own hand
I have destroyed my happiness." That's warm enough, I think. I'm
making an infernal scoundrel of my namesake, but no matter. (_reads_)
"With my own hand"--I wonder if that's right. Could he have destroyed
his happiness with anybody else's hand? With my hand I have--no--he
couldn't have done it with his foot.
_Re-enter LUCY, R., and down R.C._
LUCY. Ned, here's Mr. Potter.
_Enter TOM, R._
NED. (_rises_) Hallo, Tom! (_shakes hands_)
TOM. Hard at work?
NED. Yes--spoiling more paper. I'm an annuity to the local stationer.
TOM. Well, perhaps in your old age the local butterman will be an
annuity to you.
NED. Gad, I shall want one at the pace I'm going.
TOM. Sir Humphrey not come round yet?
NED. No, we're still outcasts.
LUCY. But he makes us an allowance.
NED. Yes. He hasn't forgiven us, but he makes us an allowance. That's
the governor all over.
TOM. And I suppose you spend a good deal more than he allows you?
(_Lucy sits, R._)
NED. Yes, that's me all over.
TOM. Well, I won't preach.
NED. For mercy's sake! The doctor's coming to dinner; he'll preach
quite enough.
LUCY. To do him justice, Ned, he doesn't talk at dinner.
NED. To do the dinner justice, he does not.
LUCY. Won't you stay, Mr. Potter?
NED. Do. I shan't work any more to-day.
TOM. Thank you. I don't dine as a rule, but I'll make an exception.
NED. That's right. You can keep Lucy company while I go and dress. I
shan't be very long. (_Exit, L._)
LUCY. See where we've hung your wedding present. (_indicating the
picture, R._)
TOM. Yes--I was looking at my knights--thinking how like Sir Humphrey
is to them. Do you know, he's never seen me since the day I left his
house? I've tried to get at him a dozen times, but he won't give me a
chance of explaining myself. He sees one side of the shield and won't
look at the other.
LUCY. I know he was very much annoyed with you.
TOM. _You_ must have thought my conduct very strange.
LUCY. I did. (_sits, R._)
TOM. I owe you an explanation as well as Sir Humphrey. You remember my
telling you my married life was a failure?
LUCY. Though you adored your wife.
TOM. You mustn't think she didn't care for me, at first, but she was
lively, high-spirited, demonstrative. (_fetches chair from back and
sits beside LUCY_) And you know what sort of a fellow I am. Heavy as
one of Dozey's sermons. Women like pretty speeches, compliments. I
can't make pretty speeches, and I can't pay compliments; but there are
lots of men about who can. I wasn't jealous, for a man can't very well
be jealous of a lap dog--and still less of half-a-dozen lap dogs at a
time; but I lost my opinion of her (_rises_) and at last---- (_leans
on back of chair_)
LUCY. You told her so.
TOM. I didn't say very much; and what I said she didn't seem to heed.
When I had spoken I went out. Coming back presently I found a letter
lying on her desk telling me she preferred another man, and asking me
to leave her. I took her at her word. (_crosses to C._)
LUCY. You left her without seeing her again?
TOM. She asked me _not_ to see her, and where was the use? I had just
spoken to her, and this was the result. I came to England, and the
next I heard of her was the announcement of her death. (_crosses to
sofa_)
LUCY. Abroad?
TOM. In Melbourne. At first the sight of the old name brought back old
memories, and I forgave her. I got out the few remnants the past
leaves to men--the few pale letters and the faded photograph that
grows a little dimmer every day--when my eyes fell on that last note I
found upon her desk. I huddled up the scraps and went my way. I took
up art as a profession--changed my name in deference to my family, who
look on art as a mild form of felony--and time went on. I pulled the
old things out again, and found that I could look at them unmoved. I
even thought of marrying again, when, as I stood talking to you that
last day at Sir Humphrey's, there flashed on me a figure and a face so
like my wife's, it was like seeing _her._ And with the sight of her
came back the love. (_crosses to C._)
LUCY. (_rises_) It wasn't dead, then?
TOM. Does love ever die? Dark mists of prejudice may wrap it round,
and it may set in clouds, but every now and then the clouds are rolled
away and there shines out on us once more the image of the woman we
have loved.
LUCY. (_crosses to TOM_) Was Mrs. Blake so like her?
TOM. So like I dare not meet her. I could only go. I wasn't in the
mood for explanations, and when I was, Sir Humphrey wasn't in the mood
to listen to them.
LUCY. And you've seen neither of them since?
TOM. Yes. I saw Mrs. Blake upon the stage some weeks ago, and in her I
recognised, beyond all doubt, my wife.
LUCY. Your wife--Mrs. Blake! (_crosses to TOM_) Oh, Mr. Potter, tell
Ned! do tell Ned! you'll do me such a service.
TOM. How? I don't understand.
LUCY. Don't ask me to explain, but tell him! If you will, you'll make
me happier than I've been for months. (_turns_)
TOM. You are unhappy?
LUCY. I didn't mean to say a word about it, but what you've told me
startled the truth out. I've been unhappy for weeks and weeks. I know
Ned's in difficulties, and his estrangement from Sir Humphrey weighs
upon his mind. I am the cause of it, and it's only natural his
feelings should have changed; but that makes it no easier to bear. I
am a drag upon him, a dishonour! I'm sure he loved me when he married
me, but he's so different now. Oh, Mr. Potter, it may be as you say,
love never dies; but love may be so tried, and torn, and strained,
that all the happiness goes out of it. (_sits on chair, C._)
TOM. (_crosses to LUCY_) Surely, yours hasn't been so tried?
LUCY. Not mine--but Ned's. I always seem to be in his way now. He's so
much occupied--so taken up with other things--he never has a word or
look for me. He's out so much; and when he's at home he's always
writing or else thinking--I am nobody--and Mrs. Blake--your wife--is
everybody; only he doesn't know she is your wife! If he did, it might
make a difference. (_rises_)
TOM. This may be your fancy. I can quite understand, you're sensitive,
and perhaps misconstrue very simple things. You see, Ned's an author;
(_LUCY sits_) and authors make uninteresting husbands. (_crosses to
L._) I won't say they always neglect their wives, but their wives
always think so. (_crosses to LUCY_) Then again, Mrs. Blake--as my
wife calls herself----
LUCY. Alma, Ned calls her!
TOM. Well--she's on the stage and might be of great use to him. It's
only natural he should make friends with her.
LUCY. But he thinks she's a widow. If he knew she had a husband--and
above all, (_rises_) that you were her husband--I should feel more
comfortable.
TOM. Tell him yourself, then. You have my permission. Have the thing
out and make an end of it; but for heaven's sake, don't brood!
LUCY. How can I speak to him?
TOM. Speak anyhow--the worse, the better! There are two sides to
everything. Why, like those foolish knights, commit yourself to one?
At least, have a look at both before you make your choice.
_Re-enter NED, L._
NED. Quarter past six. The Dozeys not come yet?
LUCY. I don't expect them before seven.
NED. What a blessing!
TOM. You dine at seven? Then, I've no time to lose. I have a dress
coat somewhere. I must look it up.
NED. Can you get back in time?
TOM. I'll take the short cut through the garden.
NED. Don't be long, (_Exit TOM through window and off, R.; sits down
at table; picks up sheet of paper_) there's a good fellow.
LUCY. Ned! Ned! (_pause_) Can't I speak to you a minute?
NED. Can't you speak to me? (_crosses to LUCY, R._) What a question!
Am I the Grand Turk--not to be approached?
LUCY. But I mean seriously.
NED. What have _you_ to be serious about? Doesn't your new dress fit?
LUCY. It isn't about dress. It's about----
_Enter SERVANT, R._
SERV. Mrs. Blake. (_LUCY turns and goes down, R._)
_ALMA runs in, R. Exit SERVANT, R._
ALMA. (_running to NED and wringing both his hands_) Oh, Ned, you
dear. I'm so happy. I could kiss you!
NED. Don't be shy. Lucy doesn't mind.
ALMA. (_turns_) How are you, love? Excuse me for not seeing you. I'm
so excited. I've quite lost my head. I've such news for you.
NED. Well?
ALMA. Sir Humphrey's coming to see you!
NED. My father!
ALMA. I've brought him round at last. But hasn't it been hard work?
I've been manoeuvring for the last three months. I didn't know there
was a man alive I couldn't twist round my finger in three days.
NED. He's coming here to-night?
ALMA. So am I. I've arranged to bring him--that is, I've arranged he's
to bring _me._ Dick's new piece is a frost. I thought it would be, and
threw up my part. So I'm at liberty, and we're both coming for the
evening.
NED. Lucy--(_LUCY goes up_)--you'd better order some more dinner.
There'll be the Dozeys--Potter----
ALMA. Mr. Potter coming! Oh, I'm so glad!
LUCY. (_aside_) They'll meet! (_at back, R._)
ALMA. I feel quite curious to see Mr. Potter. You know I just missed
him at Sir Humphrey's; and as a rule the people we miss in this world
are so much more interesting than the people we meet.
NED. Then, there's my father and Alma--(_LUCY looks at NED_) Mrs.
Blake.
LUCY. (_crosses to door, R._) That makes only seven.
NED. But don't forget the doctor's one of them.
LUCY. I'd better see the cook. (_Exit, R._)
NED. How good it is of you to have arranged all this! You've taken a
load off my mind already. I couldn't bear being on bad terms with the
governor.
ALMA. I'm as pleased as you are. And that's not all. I've more good
news for you. Sparkle's new piece is such a failure, Dick'll have to
change the bill immediately; and I shouldn't wonder if I place your
play.
NED. The one I'm doing now?
ALMA. Isn't it done?
NED. (_crosses to table, returns with letter_) Another week will
finish it. I'm re-writing that compromising letter. You said the first
one wasn't strong enough.
ALMA. Not half. When you compromise your hero, compromise him. The
public like imperial measure. Let 'em have it.
NED. Well, I think this is warm enough. (_give sheet to ALMA_)
ALMA. (_reads_) "Willow Bank, Surbiton."
NED. No, no. (_takes the sheet of paper_)
ALMA. "Willow Bank, Surbiton." It says so.
NED. That's this house. I jotted my ideas down on a sheet of our
notepaper to submit to you before I altered the manuscript. This is
the letter I propose. "My own dearest Alma"----
ALMA. Stop. Is there an Alma in this play?
NED. The heroine. I told you, I call all my heroines "Alma."
ALMA. Te, te, te. Go on.
NED. "At last I have a moment to myself to scribble a hasty answer to
your note. Of course I will be there."
ALMA. Where's that?
NED. The place appointed. It's an assignation.
ALMA. Oh! Have they got to assignations?
NED. Yes. I'm giving 'em imperial measure this time.
ALMA. Don't forget the Chamberlain.
NED. "I will make some excuse to get away. Oh, why have I to make
excuses?"----
_Re-enter SERVANT, R._
SERV. Mr. Dodson Dick.
_Enter DICK, R. Exit SERVANT, R. NED puts the letter back._
NED. (_crosses to DICK_) This is an unexpected honour. (_ALMA crosses
to L._)
DICK. (_puts hat on piano_) Just found your MS. Thought I would bring
it you myself--avoid mistakes. Capital comedy--won't do at all.
(_gives NED MS._)
NED. Why, you've not opened it!
DICK. No need to open it--won't do at all.
ALMA. Good evening, Mr. Dick.
DICK. (_crosses to ALMA_) Hallo! You here? Seen the notices? (_NED
crosses R._)
ALMA. Of the new piece?
NED. The one you thought so highly of?
DICK. Did I think highly of it?
ALMA. Didn't you say the booking after the first night would be a
caution?
DICK. So it is. Two stalls.
NED. I heard it wasn't a success.
DICK. (_producing a sheaf of newspaper cuttings_) _Morning News:_ "It
is not often that we have to chronicle so signal a fiasco." _Daily
Post:_ "Seldom of late years has a first night audience been so
emphatic in its condemnation." _Evening Mail:_ "The play is absolutely
destitute of merit." _Sunday Slogger:_ "A striking instance of the
ineptitude, incompetence, and imbecility of our native playwrights."
What do you think of that?
NED. I'm very sorry for poor Sparkle's sake. (_ALMA crosses to sofa_)
DICK. Hang Sparkle! I'm sorry for my own sake. Very annoying. I
particularly wanted this to be a go.
ALMA. Because I wasn't in it. (_leaning on back of sofa_)
DICK. Miss Blake has a notion we can't do without her.
NED. It appears you can't.
DICK. All the more reason she should think we can. _I_ don't know what
the public see in her. Miss Blake's always Miss Blake.
ALMA. That's what they like, my dear.
DICK. I don't care what the part is!
ALMA. Nor do they.
DICK. Well, if they want you they shall have you. Now, look here. (_to
NED_) I'll make you a proposition. If you'll let Sparkle look over
your comedy, write up Blake's part, re-cast the plot, and smarten up
the dialogue, I'll bring the piece out under Sparkle's name, pay him
the fees, and--and your fortune's made. (_ALMA comes down, C._)
NED. Let Sparkle hack about my piece? Sparkle, who's just made this
fiasco?
DICK. Sparkle has such a name.
ALMA. Yes--for fiascos.
DICK. Never mind what it's for--he has a name.
NED. No, Mr. Dick, no!
DICK. You refuse?
NED. Decidedly. (_goes up to L.C., sits at table_)
DICK. (_taking stage, R._) And yet they say we managers don't give
young men a chance.
ALMA. (_crosses to C._) Mr. Dick, Mr. Chetwynd has another comedy.
DICK. Won't do at all!
ALMA. But I say it _will_ do. I've read it.
DICK. I _haven't_ read it, and I say it _won't._ Sparkle's the man for
comedies. I'll go to Sparkle. He'll write me a bran new one in a week,
and it won't want rehearsing, because it'll be the old stuff all over
again.
ALMA. If he does I don't play in it.
DICK. Oh, yes, you do.
ALMA. I say I don't.
DICK. (_crosses to ALMA_) No play no pay. We've an agreement.
ALMA. (_crosses to DICK_) We'll have a _dis_agreement. Mark my words,
I play in Mr. Chetwynd's piece or I don't play at all.
DICK. What's it about?
ALMA. Never mind what it's about. You'd better leave the whole thing
in my hands. You know I shall have my own way in the end; so you may
just as well let me have it at the beginning.
DICK. Settle it how you like. I must be off. (_goes up, R._)
ALMA. So must I, Ned. It's time for me to bring Sir Humphrey.
(_crosses to L. DICK takes hat, puts it on_)
NED. (_to DICK_) Won't you take the manuscript?
DICK. What for?
NED. To read.
DICK. I don't read plays, sir; I produce 'em.
NED. But if you did read them----
DICK. Then I shouldn't produce 'em.
ALMA. I've read it, Mr. Dick, and it'll do for me.
DICK. Do for me, too, I expect. All you've read is your part.
ALMA. My part's the play.
DICK. I thought as much. Good evening. (_Exit, R._)
ALMA. Ned, it might please Sir Humphrey if you met him. Won't you come
with me? (_going up, C._)
_Re-enter LUCY, R._
NED. Go with you? With pleasure.
LUCY. Going out, Ned?
ALMA. Only to meet Sir Humphrey.
NED. I shan't be twenty minutes. You don't mind?
LUCY. Oh, no.
NED. Come along, Alma! (_Exit through window; off, R._)
ALMA. See you again presently. (_Exit through window; off, R._)
LUCY. (_following them; then back to R.C._) See you again! When shall
I see the last of you? "Mrs. Blake," "Alma" morning, noon, and night.
(_sits on chair, R._) Oh, what a wicked girl I am! how selfish! how
ill-natured! No wonder Ned is tired of me. No wonder he likes other
company. It's not his fault--it's mine. I'll write and tell him so.
(_rises; crosses to table, L., sits_) I'll sit down in his
chair--steal some of his paper--and write with his pen! What's
this--on the blotting pad? "Alma--dearest Alma." This is what he was
writing--that was so important. "Dearest Alma!" That's why he wouldn't
let me look at it. Here is the letter--a half written letter. "Willow
Bank, Surbiton. My own dearest Alma." (_starts up_) I won't read it.
(_retreating_) I've no right. I daren't. (_pause_) I have a right! I
will! (_darts forward and reads resolutely; sits_) "My own dearest
Alma,--At last I have a moment to myself, to scribble a hasty answer
to your note. Of course I will be there. I will make some excuse to
get away. Oh, why have I to make excuses? Why have I a wife? She is a
mere child, for whom I had a passing fancy. Fool that I was, I thought
that it would last for ever. Nothing can now remove the barrier
between us. With my own hand I have destroyed my happiness." (_drops
the sheet; turns; presses her hands against her temples; then tears
off her wedding ring and flings it from her_) I will remove the
barrier between them. I will leave his house! (_clasping her hands_)
Oh, Ned, my husband--he's not mine, he's hers! I have no husband! Oh,
Ned, Ned! come back to me! don't leave me desolate! (_staggers, and is
about to fall. Re-enter TOM, dressed, through window, just in time to
catch her in his arms_)
TOM. (_holding her_) Mrs. Chetwynd! Lucy!
_Re-enter SERVANT, R._
SERV. Dr. and Mrs. Dozey. (_seeing LUCY, runs to her assistance_)
_Enter DR. and MRS. DOZEY, R._
TOM. You'd better take Mrs. Chetwynd to her room. She's ill. (_SERVANT
leads LUCY out, L., TOM follows to door, L._)
DR. _and_ MRS. D. (_looking at one another_) Hem!
TOM. The heat, I daresay.
BOTH. Hem!
TOM. It's lucky I was there or she'd have fallen. I'd better find Ned
and tell him.
BOTH. Hem!
TOM. Have you both colds?
DR. Have you a cold, Diana?
MRS. D. No.
DR. Nor I.
BOTH. Hem!
TOM. Only two clerical sore throats? Beg pardon. (_Exit through
window; off, L._)
_DR. and MRS. DOZEY stand looking at one another._
DR. I fear our advent was inopportune.
MRS. D. Then you observed----
DR. Nothing. I have mislaid my glasses.
MRS. D. What nonsense, Dionysius! there they are!
DR. There are epochs in existence when it is the duty of a charitable
person to have mislaid his glasses.
MRS. D. Charity is a very excellent thing in its way. At the same time
one can't always shut one's eyes. I'm sure I close mine as often as
anybody; but I can't help observing what goes on.
DR. Did not Sir Humphrey lead us to infer that Mr. Potter once
proposed for Mrs. Chetwynd?
MRS. D. But had backed out of it.
DR. The situation is extremely painful.
MRS. D. When one's asked out to dinner and one finds one's hostess
reclining in the arms of one of the guests----
DR. The incident is calculated to impair the appetite and cast a gloom
around the prandial board.
MRS. D. Ill, forsooth! and the heat! But what can be expected of a
scene-shifter?
DR. Painter, my dear, scene painter.
MRS. D. Painter. It's all the same.
DR. And of the lady's parentage!
MRS. D. Ah, me! (_sits on sofa and dozes off_)
DR. (_crosses to MRS. DOZEY_) Herein, Diana, is much food for thought.
Here is a sermon he who runs may read. Here is a subject which
naturally resolves itself into six sections. Firstly---- (_MRS. DOZEY
snores_) Asleep again!
ALMA. (_outside_) Follow your leader. I'll show you the way.
DR. Mrs. Blake's voice. On second thoughts I will not awaken Diana.
(_crosses, R._)
_Re-enter ALMA through window from R._
ALMA. Doctor! how are you! I've not seen you for a century. (_shakes
hands_)
DR. It were more accurate to say a month.
ALMA. A month, a month, a month!
DR. Even in trifles it is well to be exact.
ALMA. I asked you how you were?
DR. Truly, I ought not to repine. The portal sometimes creaketh, but
it hangs--it hangs.
ALMA. (_aside_) It ought to!
_Re-enter NED through window, with SIR HUMPHREY on his arm, down C._
DR. Bless my soul--if I may be permitted so strong an expression----
ALMA. You may--you may. It's quite a relief to hear a little bad
language.
DR. Is that you, Sir Humphrey?
SIR H. Yes, doctor. I've made friends with Ned again. I said I
wouldn't, but there are some words it's better to break than to keep.
A son may afford to quarrel with his father, but a father cannot
afford to quarrel with his son, especially when he's the only one.
NED. I was to blame.
SIR H. We won't go into that. Perhaps there were faults on both sides.
I was a selfish, obstinate old man, who thought of nothing but his own
plans and his own ambitions. (_taking ALMA'S hand_) It was you, Mrs.
Blake, who taught me that my son, whatever he may do, is still my son,
and that my daughter is my daughter, be she who she may. Where is your
wife, Ned?
DR. Hem! Mrs. Chetwynd is indisposed.
NED. Lucy ill! What's the matter?
DR. I only know that she is in her room.
NED. I'll go and tell her you are here, father. (_crosses to L._)
That'll bring her down, I warrant. (_Exit, L._)
ALMA. You'll get on ever so much better by yourselves. I'll take the
doctor for a little walk. Come along, doctor. You can talk; I'll
listen. I make a splendid congregation when I choose.
DR. I should be charmed, but Mrs. Dozey----
ALMA. Well, you see her condition!
SIR H. I didn't see Mrs. Dozey. (_approaching her_)
DR. (_crosses to SIR HUMPHREY quickly_) Not so loud! Let sleeping
dogs--hem! Wake not the slumberer.
_ALMA putting her arm through DR. DOZEY'S, they both go off, C.R._
SIR H. (_following_) What sprightliness! What commonsense! (_comes
down, R._) What kindliness! My life has been a different thing since I
have known her. (_sits, R., thoughtfully_) One of the Duchesses of St.
Albans was an actress. One of the Countesses of Derby was an actress.
There are precedents--excellent precedents. Lady Chetwynd--Lady
Chetwynd.
MRS. D. (_wakes suddenly_) It's a most extraordinary thing. I can't
get a wink of sleep! other people have no difficulty--why have I? How
is it, Dionysius?
SIR H. Your husband isn't here.
MRS. D. Sir Humphrey! (_rises_)
SIR H. You're surprised to see me?
MRS. D. Where's Dionysius? (_crosses to SIR HUMPHREY_)
SIR H. Don't be so concerned. He's only gone for a walk with Mrs.
Blake.
MRS. D. With that play-actress?
SIR H. My dear Mrs. Dozey, there is nothing discreditable in the
profession of the stage.
MRS. D. That woman's setting her cap at Dionysius!
SIR H. I hadn't noticed that she wore a cap.
MRS. D. It'd be more becoming if she did, widow as she is. But there!
I have my doubts about her being a widow at all.
SIR H. (_rising_) Mrs. Dozey!
MRS. D. A bright face is like charity, it covers a multitude of sins.
SIR H. And a sour face is sometimes like the sins, it has no charity
to cover it.
MRS. D. I quite agree with you. (_up stage, aside_) What does he mean
by that? (_Exit through window, off R._)
SIR H. How prejudiced people are! What is birth after all? An
accident--the merest accident! And isn't my birth good enough for both
of us? My life is very lonely--very lonely.
_Re-enter ALMA through window, from R._
ALMA. Oh! such a jolly row! I've left them at it--hammer and
tongs--tongues especially.
SIR H. Mrs. Dozey's of a jealous disposition. A worthy woman but----
ALMA. Rather inclined to go to sleep.
SIR H. Well, after five-and-twenty years of Dozey----
ALMA. I don't wonder at it.
SIR H. All women can't have Mrs. Blake's vivacity.
ALMA. Sir Humphrey! no more compliments to-day. You said just now I
was the means of reconciling you to Ned--of teaching you that your son
was always your son--that forgiveness was better than resentment. You
can't pay me a greater compliment than that. It was more than I
deserved. (_takes chair; both sit_)
SIR H. No compliment can be too great to pay to _you_.
ALMA. Take care, Sir Humphrey! You know what they say is the greatest
a man can offer a woman!
SIR H. The one I ask to be allowed to offer now. I am in earnest, Mrs.
Blake. I haven't known you long; but there are women whom men learn to
love more quickly than to recognise the rest. I have lived sixteen
years of lonely life, because I have never met the woman worthy to
succeed the mother of my son. It is no slight to her to offer you her
place. I ask you to accept it without shame, because I feel that I
could set you side by side without indignity to either. I could not
love you more, nor could I love you less, than she who was the light
and gladness of my life. (_takes ALMA'S hand_)
ALMA. Please say no more!
SIR H. Haven't I said enough? (_lets hand go_)
ALMA. Too much, Sir Humphrey. I mean more than I have any right to
hear. (_rises, crosses to C._) I cannot marry you.
SIR H. (_half to himself_) I am refused! (_as if impossible to believe
it_)
ALMA. The honour you have done me is too great to trifle with. I
didn't care about the truth being known; but you have earned the right
to know it. I have a husband! (_long pause_)
SIR H. (_with difficulty_) Living?
ALMA. I have no reason to suppose he's dead. (_crosses to SIR
HUMPHREY_) Believe me when I say I should never have represented
myself to be a widow--I should never have entered your house--if I had
dreamt it would lead to this. You do believe me? (_offers hand_)
SIR H. (_shakes hands_) Yes.
ALMA. It was from no light motive I professed to be what I am not. It
was because I wished to strip the memory of my husband from my heart
as he has stripped his presence from my life.
SIR H. He left you?
ALMA. Do you care to know? (_sits R._) If you can listen to me I
should like to tell you. I was a giddy girl when I was young--one who
thought nothing of the past and little of the future. My husband was a
serious sort of man--absorbed in his pursuit. I thought I was
neglected, and--well, it's a humiliating thing to say, but I must say
it--the attention I didn't get from him I accepted from others. I
didn't doubt he loved me, but he didn't show it; and I determined that
he should. At last I forced him to speak. He wasn't angry--he used no
hard words--but he--he frightened me. I pretended not to care; but I
was cured.
SIR H. (_who has grown more and more interested_) Go on.
ALMA. With one man I had gone too far to withdraw easily. I was
obliged to write to him. It was rather a long letter. When I had
written the first sheet I put it in my desk and went on with the next.
In the middle of it I was called away on some household matter, and
when I returned that second sheet was gone.
SIR H. Your husband----
ALMA. Had gone also.
SIR H. Strange! Very strange! Can you remember what you wrote on it?
ALMA. Nothing he was entitled to resent. But from that day to this I
haven't heard of him. I left Melbourne.
SIR H. Melbourne?
ALMA. I was determined to start life afresh and put an end to old
associations. I even went so far as to announce my death.
SIR H. You advertised your death?
ALMA. It was a wicked thing to do, but I did it. I took the name of
Blake, and went on the stage.
SIR H. This is much more than strange. If you could find your
husband----
ALMA. I've no wish to find him!
SIR H. But if it turned out there was some mistake--that he
misunderstood you?
ALMA. There can be no mistake. No! I have done with him for ever. I
could never forgive him.
SIR H. Then you don't love him?
ALMA. Yes, I do. That's why. (_rises_) And now you know my history,
forgive _me_ and let me go.
SIR H. (_rises_) You mustn't go, Mrs. Blake. I can, perhaps, be of
service to you. As for forgiveness, I have nothing to forgive. It
isn't women's fault men fall in love with them; and men must bear
their fate.
_Re-enter NED, L._
NED. (_crosses to ALMA_) I can't make out what's the matter with Lucy,
but she won't come down. She's upset about something.
ALMA. Shall I go up to her? (_crosses to L._)
NED. I wish you would. You'll find out what's the matter, I'll be
bound. Where's Dozey?
ALMA. (_at door, L._) Gone for a stroll, that's all.
NED. I hope he won't be long. It's nearly seven now.
ALMA. Don't alarm yourself. A clergyman is never late for dinner.
(_Exit, L. SIR HUMPHREY sits R. NED crosses to L._)
MRS. D. (_outside_) It's no use talking, Dionysius!
_Enter DR. and MRS. DOZEY, through window._
NED. Here they come.
MRS. D. I won't have it. This is the second time I've had to speak
about it.
DR. Listen to reason!
MRS. D. I won't listen to reason. I won't listen to anything. It's
obvious to everybody. (_to SIR HUMPHREY_) Even Sir Humphrey must have
observed it.
SIR H. Observed what, Mrs. Dozey?
MRS. D. Why, Mrs. Blake's attentions to the Doctor!
_DOCTOR winks solemnly at SIR HUMPHREY, who smiles._
SIR H. I'd not noticed them.
MRS. D. Ah! she's so sly about it. Ah, well, well! I suppose a
ballet-dancer knows no better.
NED. Mrs. Blake doesn't dance! (_crosses, sits at desk_)
DR. There is a difference between an actress and a _coryphée._
MRS. D. (_sharply_) What _do you_ know of _coryphées?_
DR. (_starts_) I saw one once, my dear.
MRS. D. I thought you were never inside a theatre?
DR. It was not at a theatre; it was at a hall.
NED. What were you doing there?
MRS. D. Explain yourself.
DR. As it is the duty of the physician to acquaint himself with the
diseases of the flesh, so it is the duty of the pastor to acquaint
himself with the afflictions of the spirit. (_goes, L._)
_Re-enter ALMA, L._
ALMA. (_crosses; aside to NED_) Lucy won't see me, and she's not
coming down.
NED. Not coming down?
ALMA. Something's the matter with your wife--ah! (_catching sight of
the ring sets her foot on it_)
NED. (_rises_) What is it?
ALMA. Get rid of these people. (_NED crosses to DOCTOR, L._)
MRS. D. Sir Humphrey, this explains something that's puzzled me for
years.
SIR H. What's that, Mrs. Dozey?
MRS. D. Why Dionysius always brings a black tie with him when he comes
to London. (_SIR HUMPHREY rises, goes up R.C. with MRS. DOZEY._)
DR. (_to NED_) Sherry and bitters? Excellent idea.
NED. Come with me, doctor. Father, take Mrs. Dozey.
DR. Bitters impart a zest to appetite and give a tone to the digestive
organs.
_Exeunt SIR HUMPHREY, MRS. DOZEY, DR. DOZEY, and NED, R. Check lights
and limes._
ALMA. What does this mean? (_picks up the ring_) Her wedding ring. It
isn't as bright as when I saw it first; but what of that? Six months
of marriage take the shine out of a good many wedding-rings. What was
it doing there? It couldn't have dropped off by accident. No--it's too
small for that--it must have been tight. Perhaps it was too tight.
That's it! (_crosses to R.C._) That's it, you may depend. Now, let me
think. Under what circumstances does a woman take to throwing rings
about? In Sparkle's comedies they do it in a temper. Clever man--but
human nature's scarcely Sparkle's forte. Stop! I once threw away my
wedding-ring. What for? If I could think--I know! I know! It was the
only time in my life I was jealous of Tom! That's what's the matter!
(_crosses to C._) Mrs. Chetwynd's jealous. Now what has Ned been
doing? Whom's she jealous of? I must find out. She had it on just
now--when Ned went out with me. She must have found out something
since. Now, what did _I_ do when my husband was out? I looked in all
his pockets and I rummaged through all his papers. (_looks round_)
There are no pockets here, but there are any number of papers. (_goes
to desk_) Let me have a look. I'll find it in three tries. (_pouncing
on the letter, sits_) "My own dearest Alma." Found at one! The letter
in the play! of course! of course! it's me she's jealous of! It must
be me. (_rises, takes letter and reads_) "At last I have a moment to
myself, to scribble a hasty answer to your note." (_reads on with her
back turned to door, L. Re-enter LUCY, L., in out-door costume, very
cautiously creeps in, sees ALMA, and starts violently, then stands
motionless. The stage has by this time grown rather dim, as if it were
getting dusk. Check lights, check to half down. Lights gradually fade
away and go out_) "Why have I a wife? She is a mere child for whom I
had a passing fancy."
LUCY. (_under her breath_) She's reading the letter!
ALMA. "Nothing can now remove the barrier between us. With my own hand
I have destroyed my happiness." Oh, no, you haven't, Ned! I'll make
you happy yet. Now I understand the state of affairs I know what to
do. (_puts letter on table_) The barrier must be broken
down--smashed--blown to atoms! Oh, dear, I feel so happy! (_turns;
slips behind a screen_) Ned! dear old Ned! Where are you? (_runs out,
R._)
LUCY. (_emerging_) Yes, they shall both be happy. (_surveying the
room_) Good-bye, everything. (_crosses to piano_) Piano that he gave
me. Old music that he used to like. I shall never dare to sing you any
more. (_crosses to cabinet, addressing photograph of SIR HUMPHREY_)
Good-bye, my only father, who would never own me. I'm not your
daughter now. (_crosses to cabinet, L., brings photograph of NED to
table, L._) Good-bye, Ned, my husband! You won't see me any more.
Don't look at me in that way. If you don't love me, say good-bye to
me. (_sits at table. Re-enter SERVANT, R., with lamp, which she puts
on cabinet, R.; the noise attracts LUCY'S attention; softly_) Wilson?
SERV. (_starts slightly_) You here, m'm?
LUCY. (_rises_) I'm going out.
SERV. Going out, Mrs. Chetwynd?
LUCY. Don't say anything; but give this note to Mr. Chetwynd. (_gives
note_) Good-bye, Wilson.
SERV. Good-bye?
LUCY. I mean good night. (_Exit through window off, L. SERVANT closes
window, draws curtains, exit, L._)
_Re-enter ALMA and NED, R._
ALMA. Yes, it's as plain as the nose on my face. It's me she's jealous
of.
NED. Jealous of you? Ridiculous!
ALMA. I don't see anything ridiculous about it.
NED. The idea of anybody being jealous of you!
ALMA. You ask Wilson and you'll find I'm right. (_NED rings bell_)
_Re-enter SIR HUMPHREY; DR. and MRS. DOZEY, R._
SIR H. You always are right, Mrs. Blake. What should we do without
you?
_Re-enter SERVANT, L., with letter._
NED. Wilson, where's Mrs. Chetwynd?
SERV. She's gone out, sir.
ALL. Out?
DR. At this hour?
MRS. D. I thought she wasn't well?
SERV. She left a note for you, sir. (_gives note to NED. Exit, L. NED
opens note, holds it out to ALMA_)
SIR H. What does she say?
ALMA. Only two words--"Good-bye."
_Re-enter TOM, C., from L., unobserved._
MRS. D. It's an elopement!
DR. Our worst fears are realised.
NED. (_springing up_) What do you mean?
DR. I will make no assertion--hazard no conjecture. I will ask,
simply, where is Mr. Potter?
TOM. Here! (_all turn_)
ALMA. (_recognising him_) Tom!
MRS. D. You know Mr. Potter?
TOM. Alma!
SIR H. (_as if to himself_) She _is_ his wife! (_sits, R._)
END OF ACT II.