Miss Wrenner
One day Bruce came into the flat much more briskly than usual. There was
a certain subdued satisfaction in his air that Edith was glad to see. He
sat down, lit a cigarette, and said--
'Edith, you know how strongly I disapprove of the modern fashion of
husbands and wives each going their own way--don't you?'
'Where are you thinking of going, dear?'
'Who said I was thinking of going anywhere?'
'No-one. But it's obvious, or you wouldn't have begun like that.'
'Why? What did you think I was going to say next?'
'Of course, you were going to say, after that sentence about "_you know
how strongly I disapprove_," etc., something like, "_But, of course,
there are exceptions to every rule, and in this particular instance I
really think that I had better_," and so on. Weren't you?'
'Odd. Very odd you should get it into your head that I should have any
idea of leaving you. Is that why you're looking so cheerful--laughing
so much?'
'Am I laughing? I thought I was only smiling.'
'I don't think it's a kind thing to smile at the idea of my going away.
However, I'm sorry to disappoint you'--Bruce spoke rather
bitterly--'very sorry indeed, for I see what a blow it will be to you.
But, as a matter of fact, I had not intention _whatever_ of leaving you
at all, except, perhaps, for a few hours at a time. However, of course,
if you wish it very much I might arrange to make it longer. Or even to
remain away altogether, if you prefer it.'
'Oh, Bruce, don't talk such nonsense! You know I wish nothing of the
kind. What's this about a few hours at a time?'
'Naturally,' Bruce said, getting up and looking in the glass;
'naturally, when one has an invitation like this--oh, I admit it's a
compliment--I quite admit that--one doesn't want to decline it at once
without thinking it over. Think how absurd I should appear to a man like
that, writing to say that my wife can't possibly spare me for a couple
of hours two or three times a week!'
'A man like what? Who is this mysterious man who wants you for two or
three hours two or three times a week?'
'My dear, it can't be done without it; and though, of course, it is
rather a nuisance, I daresay in a way it won't be bad fun. You shall
help me, dear, and I'm sure I shall be able to arrange for you to see
the performance. Yes! you've guessed it; I thought you would. I've been
asked to play in some amateur theatricals that are being got up by
Mitchell of the F O in aid of the 'Society for the Suppression of
Numismatics', or something--I can't think why he chose me, of
all people!'
'I wonder.'
'I don't see anything to wonder about. Perhaps he thought I'd do it
well. Possibly he supposed I had talent. He may have observed, in the
course of our acquaintance, that I was threatened with intelligence! Or
again, of course, they want for theatricals a fellow of decent
appearance.'
'Ah, yes; of course they do.'
'It would be very absurd for the heroine of the play to be madly in love
with a chap who turned up looking like, God knows what! Not that I mean
for a moment to imply that I'm particularly good-looking, Edith--I'm not
such a fool as that. But--well, naturally, it's always an advantage in
playing the part of a _jeune premier_ not to be quite bald and to go in
decently at the waist, and to--Fancy, Miss Wrenner didn't know I was a
married man!'
'Miss Wrenner! Who's Miss Wrenner?'
'Why she--Don't you know who Miss Wrenner is?'
'No.'
'Oh, Miss Wrenner's that girl who--a friend of the Mitchells; you know.'
'I _don't_ know. Miss Wrenner is quite new to me. So are the Mitchells.
What is she like?'
'_Like_!' exclaimed Bruce. 'You ask me what she's _like_! Why, she isn't
_like_ anything. She's just Miss Wrenner--the well-known Miss Wrenner,
who's so celebrated as an amateur actress. Why, she was going to play
last Christmas at Raynham, only after all the performance never
came off.'
'Is Miss Wrenner pretty?'
'Pretty? How do you mean?'
'What colour is her hair?'
'Well, I--I--I didn't notice, particularly.'
'Is she dark or fair? You must know, Bruce!'
'Well, I should say she was a little darker than you--not a great deal.
But I'm not quite certain. Just fancy her not thinking I was married!'
'Did you tell her?'
'Tell her! Of course I didn't tell her. Do you suppose a girl like Miss
Wrenner's got nothing to do but to listen to my autobiography? Do you
imagine she collects marriage certificates? Do you think she makes a
hobby of the census?'
'Oh! then you didn't tell her?'
'Yes, I did. Why should I palm myself off as a gay bachelor when I'm
nothing of the sort?'
'When did you tell her, Bruce?'
'Why, I haven't told her yet--at least, not personally. What happened
really was this: Mitchell said to me, "Miss Wrenner will be surprised to
hear you're a married man," or something like that.'
'Where did all this happen?'
'At the office. Where else do I ever see Mitchell?'
'Then does Miss Wrenner come to the office?'
Bruce stared at her in silent pity.
'_Miss Wrenner! At the office!_ Why you must be wool-gathering! Women
are not allowed at the F O. Surely you know that, dear?'
'Well, then, where did you meet Miss Wrenner?'
'Miss Wrenner? Why do you ask?'
'Simply because I want to know.'
'Oh! Good heavens! What does it matter where I met Miss Wrenner?'
'You're right, Bruce; it doesn't really matter a bit. I suppose you've
forgotten.'
'No; I haven't forgotten. I suppose I shall meet Miss Wrenner at the
first rehearsal next week--at the Mitchells.'
'Was it there you met her before?'
'How could it be? I have never been to the Mitchells.'
'As a matter of fact, you've never seen Miss Wrenner?'
'Did I say I had? I didn't mean to. What I intended to convey was, not
that I had seen Miss Wrenner, but that _Mitchell_ said Miss Wrenner
would be surprised to hear I was married.'
'Funny he should say that--very curious it should occur to him to
picture Miss Wrenner's astonishment at the marriage of a man she didn't
know, and had never seen.'
'No--no--no; that wasn't it, dear; you've got the whole thing
wrong--you've got hold of the wrong end of the stick. He--Mitchell, you
know--mentioned to me the names of the people who were going to be asked
to act, and among them, Miss Wrenner's name cropped up--I think he said
Miss Wrenner was going to be asked to play the heroine if they could get
her--no--I'm wrong, it was that _she_ had _asked_ to play the heroine,
and that they meant to get out of it if they could. So, _then_, _I_
said, wouldn't she be surprised at having to play the principal part
with a married man.'
'I see. _You_ said it, not Mitchell. Then are you playing the hero?'
'Good gracious! no--of course not. Is it likely that Mitchell, who's mad
on acting and is getting up the whole thing himself, is jolly well going
to let me play the principal part? Is it human nature? Of course it
isn't. You can't expect it. I never said Mitchell was not human--did I?'
'What is your part, dear?'
'They're going to send it to me tomorrow--typewritten. It's not a long
part, and not very important, apparently; but Mitchell says there's a
lot to be got out of it by a good actor; sometimes one of these
comparatively small parts will make the hit of the evening.'
'What sort of part is it?'
'Oh, no particular _sort_. I don't come on until the second act. As I
told you, one of the chief points is to have a good appearance--look a
gentleman; that sort of thing.'
'Well?'
'I come on in the second act, dressed as a mandarin.'
'A mandarin! Then you play the part of a Chinaman?'
'No, I don't. It's at the ball. In the second act, there's a ball on the
stage--for the hero's coming of age--and I have to be a mandarin.'
'Is the ball given at the Chinese Embassy?'
'No; at the hero's country house. Didn't I tell you--it's a fancy ball!'
'Oh, I see! Then I shouldn't have thought it would have mattered so very
much about whether you're good-looking or not. And Miss Wrenner--how
will she be dressed at the fancy ball?'
'Miss Wrenner? Oh! Didn't I tell you--Miss Wrenner isn't going to
act--they've got someone else instead.'