SCENE. MRS. VIDA PHILLIMORE'S _boudoir. The room is furnished
to please an empty-headed, pleasure-loving and fashionable
woman. The furniture, the ornaments, what pictures there are,
all witness to taste up-to-date. Two French windows open on
to a balcony, from which the trees of Central Park can be
seen. There is a table between them; a mirror, a scent
bottle, &c., upon it. On the right, up stage, is a door; on
the right, down stage, another door. A lady's writing-table
stands between the two, nearer centre of stage. There is
another door up stage; below it, an open fireplace, filled
with potted plants, andirons, &c., not in use. Over it is a
tall mirror; on the mantel-piece are a French clock,
candelabra, vases, &c. On a line with the fireplace is a
lounge, gay with silk pillows. A florist's box, large and
long, filled with American Beauty roses, rests on a low table
near the head of the lounge. Small tables and light chairs
where needed._
BENSON, _alone in the room, is looking critically about her.
She is a neat and pretty little English lady's maid in black
silk and a thin apron. Still surveying the room, she moves
here and there, and, her eyes lighting on the box of flowers,
she goes to the door of_ VIDA'S _room and speaks to her._
BENSON. Yes, ma'am, the flowers have come.
_She holds open the door through which_ VIDA, _in a morning
gown, comes in slowly. She is smoking a cigarette in as
aesthetic a manner as she can, and is evidently turned out in
her best style for conquest._
VIDA. [_Faces the balcony as she speaks, and is, as always, even and
civil, but a bit disdainful toward her servant._] Terribly garish
light, Benson. Pull down the-- [BENSON, _obeying, partly pulls down
the shade._] Lower still--that will do. [_As she speaks she goes about
the room, giving the tables a push here and the chairs a jerk there,
and generally arranging the vases and ornaments._] Men hate a clutter
of chairs and tables. [_Stopping and taking up a hand mirror from the
table, she faces the windows._] I really think I'm too pale for this
light.
BENSON. [_Quickly, understanding what is implied._] Yes, ma'am.
[BENSON _goes out for the rouge, and_ VIDA _seats herself at the
table. There is a knock at the door._] Come! [BROOKS _comes in._
BROOKS. [_An ultra-English footman, in plush and calves._] Any
horders, m'lady?
VIDA. [_Incapable of remembering the last man, or of considering the
new one._] Oh,--of course! You're the new--
BROOKS. Footman, m'lady.
VIDA. [_As a matter of form._] Your name?
BROOKS. Brooks, m'lady. [BENSON _returns with the rouge._
VIDA. [_Carefully giving instructions while she keeps her eyes on the
glass and is rouged by_ BENSON.] Brooks, I am at home to Mr. Karslake
at eleven; not to any one else till twelve, when I expect Sir Wilfrid
Cates-Darby.
[BROOKS, _watching_ BENSON, _is inattentive._
BROOKS. Yes, m'lady.
VIDA. [_Calm, but wearied by the ignorance of the lower classes._] And
I regret to inform you, Brooks, that in America there are no ladies,
except salesladies!
BROOKS. [_Without a trace of comprehension._] Yes, m'lady.
VIDA. I am at home to no one but the two names I have mentioned.
[BROOKS _bows and exits. She dabs on rouge while_ BENSON _holds
glass._] Is the men's club-room in order?
BENSON. Perfectly, ma'am.
VIDA. Whiskey and soda?
BENSON. Yes, ma'am, and the ticker's been mended. The British sporting
papers arrived this morning.
VIDA. [_Looking at her watch which lies on the dressing-table._] My
watch has stopped.
BENSON. [_Glancing at the French clock on the chimney-piece._] Five to
eleven, ma'am.
VIDA. [_Getting promptly to work._] H'm, h'm, I shall be caught.
[_Rising._] The box of roses, Benson! [BENSON _brings the box of
roses, uncovers the flowers and places them at_ VIDA'S _side._] My
gloves--the clippers, and the vase! [_Each of these things_ BENSON
_places in turn within_ VIDA'S _range where she sits on the sofa. She
has the long box of roses at her side on a small table, a vase of
water on the floor by her side. She cuts the stems and places the
roses in the vase. When she feels that she has reached a picturesque
position, in which any onlooker would see in her a creature filled
with the love of flowers and of her fellow man, she says:_] There!
[_The door opens and_ BROOKS _comes in;_ VIDA _nods to_ BENSON.
BROOKS. [_Announcing stolidly._] Sir John Karslake.
JOHN, _dressed in very nobby riding togs, comes in gaily and
forcibly._ BENSON _withdraws as he enters, and is followed
by_ BROOKS. VIDA, _from this moment on, is busied with her
roses._
VIDA. [_Languorously, but with a faint suggestion of humour._] Is that
really you, Sir John?
JOHN. [_Lively and far from being impressed by_ VIDA.] I see now where
we Americans are going to get our titles. Good-morning! You look as
fresh as paint. [_He lays his gloves and riding crop on the table, and
takes a chair._
VIDA. [_Facing the insinuation with gentle pain._] I hope you don't
mean that? I never flattered myself for a moment you'd come. You're
riding Cynthia K?
JOHN. Fiddler's going to lead her round here in ten minutes!
VIDA. Cigars and cigarettes! Scotch?
[_Indicating a small table._
JOHN. Scotch! [_Goes up quickly to table and helps himself to Scotch
and seltzer._
VIDA. And now _do_ tell me all about _her_! [_Putting in her last
roses; she keeps one rosebud in her hand, of a size suitable for a
man's buttonhole._
JOHN. [_As he drinks._] Oh, she's an adorable creature--delicate,
high-bred, sweet-tempered--
VIDA. [_Showing her claws for a moment._] Sweet-tempered? Oh, you're
describing the horse! By "her," I meant--
JOHN. [_Irritated by the remembrance of his wife._] Cynthia Karslake?
I'd rather talk about the last Tornado.
[_He drops moodily into a chair._
VIDA. [_With artful soothing._] There is only one thing I want to talk
about, and that is, _you_! Why were you unhappy?
JOHN. [_Still cross._] Why does a dollar last such a short time?
VIDA. [_Curious._] Why did you part?
JOHN. Did you ever see a schooner towed by a tug? Well, I parted from
Cynthia for the same reason that the hawser parts from the tug--I
couldn't stand the tug.
VIDA. [_Sympathizing._] Ah!
JOHN. [_After a pause, and still cross._] Awful cheerful morning chat.
VIDA. [_Excusing her curiosity and coming back to love as the only
subject for serious conversation._] I must hear the story, for I'm
anxious to know why I've taken such a fancy to you!
JOHN. [_Very nonchalantly._] Why do _I_ like you?
VIDA. [_Doing her best to charm._] I won't tell you--it would flatter
you too much.
JOHN. [_Not a bit impressed by_ VIDA, _but humanly ready to flirt._]
Tell me!
VIDA. There's a rose for you.
[_Giving him the one she has in her hand._
JOHN. [_Saying what is plainly expected of him._] I want more than a
rose--
VIDA. [_Passing over this insinuation._] You refuse to tell me--?
JOHN. [_Once more reminded of_ CYNTHIA, _speaks with sudden feeling._]
There's nothing to tell. We met, we loved, we married, we parted; or
at least we wrangled and jangled. [_Sighs._] Ha! Why weren't we happy?
Don't ask me, why! It may have been _partly_ my fault!
VIDA. [_With tenderness._] Never!
JOHN. [_His mind on_ CYNTHIA.] But I believe it's all in the way a
girl's brought up. Our girls are brought up to be ignorant of
life--they're ignorant of life. Life is a joke, and marriage is a
picnic, and a man is a shawl-strap--'Pon my soul, Cynthia Deane--no,
I can't tell you! [_In great irritation, he rises abruptly, and
strides up and down the room._
VIDA. [_Gently._] Please tell me!
JOHN. Well, she was an heiress, an American heiress--and she'd been
taught to think marriage meant burnt almonds and moonshine and a yacht
and three automobiles, and she thought--I don't know what she thought,
but I tell you, Mrs. Phillimore, marriage is three parts love and
seven parts forgiveness of sins. [_He continues restlessly to pace the
floor as he speaks of_ CYNTHIA.
VIDA. [_Flattering him as a matter of second nature._] She never loved
you.
JOHN. [_On whom she has made no impression at all._] Yes, she did. For
six or seven months there was not a shadow between us. It was perfect,
and then one day she went off like a pistol-shot! I had a piece of law
work and couldn't take her to see Flashlight race the Maryland mare.
The case meant a big fee, big Kudos, and in sails Cynthia,
Flashlight-mad! And will I put on my hat and take her? No--and bang
she goes off like a stick o' dynamite--what did I marry her for?--and
words--pretty high words, until she got mad, when she threw over a
chair, and said, oh, well,--marriage was a failure, or it was with
me, so I said she'd better try somebody else. She said she would, and
marched out of the room.
VIDA. [_Gently sarcastic._] But she came back!
JOHN. She came back, but not as you mean. She stood at the door and
said, "Jack, I shall divorce you." Then she came over to my
study-table, dropped her wedding ring on my law papers, and went out.
The door shut, I laughed; the front door slammed, I damned. [_After a
silence, moving abruptly to the window._] She never came back. [_He
turns away and then, recovering, moves toward_ VIDA, _who catches his
hands._
VIDA. [_Hoping for a contradiction._] She's broken your heart.
JOHN. [_Taking a chair by the lounge._] Oh, no!
VIDA. [_Encouraged, begins to play the game again._] You'll never love
again!
JOHN. [_Speaking to her from the foot of the sofa._] Try me! Try me!
Ah, no, Mrs. Phillimore, I shall laugh, live, love and make money
again! And let me tell you one thing--I'm going to rap her one over
the knuckles. She had a stick of a Connecticut lawyer, and he--well,
to cut a legal story short, since Mrs. Karslake's been in Europe, I
have been quietly testing the validity of the decree of divorce.
Perhaps you don't understand?
VIDA. [_Displaying her innate shrewdness._] Oh, about a divorce,
everything!
JOHN. I shall hear by this evening whether the divorce will stand or
not.
VIDA. But it's to-day at three she marries--you won't let her commit
bigamy?
JOHN. [_Shaking his head._] I don't suppose I'd go as far as that. It
may be the divorce will hold, but anyway I hope never to see her
again.
[_He sits down beside her so that their faces are now
directly opposite. Taking advantage of the close range, her
eyes, without loss of time, open a direct fire._
VIDA. Ah, my poor boy, she has broken your heart. [_Believing that
this is her psychological moment, she lays her hand on his arm, but
draws it back as soon as he attempts to take it._] Now don't make love
to me.
JOHN. [_Bold and amused, but never taken in._] Why not?
VIDA. [_With immense gentleness._] Because I like you too much! [_More
gaily._] I might give in, and take a notion to like you still more!
JOHN. Please do!
VIDA. [_With gush, and determined to be womanly at all hazards._]
Jack, I believe you'd be a lovely lover!
JOHN. [_Immensely diverted._] Try me!
VIDA. [_Not hoping much from his tone._] You charming, tempting,
delightful fellow, I could love you without the least effort in the
world,--but, no!
JOHN. [_Playing the game._] Ah, well, now _seriously!_ Between two
people who have _suffered_ and made their own mistakes--
VIDA. [_Playing the game too, but not playing it well._] But you see,
you don't _really_ love me!
JOHN. [_Still ready to say what is expected._] Cynthia--Vida, no man
can sit beside you and look into your eyes without feeling--
VIDA. [_Speaking the truth as she sees it, seeing that her methods
don't succeed._] Oh! That's not love! That's simply--well, my dear
Jack, it's beginning at the wrong end. And the truth is you hate
Cynthia Karslake with such a whole-hearted hate, that you haven't a
moment to think of any other woman.
JOHN. [_With sudden anger._] I hate her!
VIDA. [_Very softly and most sweetly._] Jack--Jack, I could be as
foolish about you as--oh, as foolish as anything, my dear! And perhaps
some day--perhaps some day you'll come to me and say, Vida, I am
totally indifferent to Cynthia--and then--
JOHN. And then?
VIDA. [_The ideal woman in mind._] Then, perhaps, you and I may join
hands and stroll together into the Garden of Eden. It takes two to
find the Garden of Eden, you know--and once we're on the inside, we'll
lock the gate.
JOHN. [_Gaily, and seeing straight through her veneer._] And lose the
key under a rose-bush!
VIDA. [_Agreeing very softly._] Under a rose-bush! [_There is a very
soft knock at which_ JOHN _starts up quickly._] Come! [BROOKS _comes
in, with_ BENSON _close at his heels._
BROOKS. [_Stolid, announces._] My lady--Sir Wilf-- [BENSON _stops him
with a sharp movement and turns toward_ VIDA.
BENSON. [_With intention._] Your dressmaker, ma'am. [BENSON _waves_
BROOKS _to go and_ BROOKS _very haughtily complies._
VIDA. [_Wonderingly._] My dressmaker, Benson? [_With quick
intelligence._] Oh, of course, show her up. Mr. Karslake, you won't
mind for a few minutes using my men's club-room? Benson will show
you! You'll find cigars and the ticker, sporting papers, whiskey; and,
if you want anything special, just 'phone down to my "chef."
JOHN. [_Looking at his watch._] How long?
VIDA. [_Very anxious to please._] Half a cigar! Benson will call you.
JOHN. [_Practically-minded._] Don't make it too long. You see, there's
my sheriff's sale on at twelve, and those races this afternoon.
Fiddler will be here in ten minutes, remember!
[_The door opens._
VIDA. [_To_ JOHN.] Run along! [JOHN _leaves and_ VIDA, _instantly
practical, makes a broad gesture to_ BENSON.] Everything just as it
was, Benson! [BENSON _whisks the roses out of the vase and replaces
them in the box. She gives_ VIDA _scissors and empty vases, and, when_
VIDA _finds herself in precisely the same position which preceded_
JOHN'S _entrance, she says:_] There!
[BROOKS _comes in as_ VIDA _takes a rose from basket._
BROOKS. [_With characteristic stolidness._] Your ladyship's
dressmaker! M'lady! [_Enter_ SIR WILFRID _in morning suit,
boutonniere, &c._
VIDA. [_With tender surprise and busy with the roses._] Is that really
you, Sir Wilfrid! I never flattered myself for an instant that you'd
remember to come.
SIR WILFRID. [_Moving to the head of the sofa._] Come? 'Course I come!
Keen to come see you. By Jove, you know, you look as pink and white as
a huntin' mornin'.
VIDA. [_Ready to make any man as happy as possible._] You'll smoke?
SIR WILFRID. Thanks! [_He watches her as she trims and arranges the
flowers._] Awfully long fingers you have! Wish I was a rose, or a
ring, or a pair of shears! I say, d'you ever notice what a devil of a
fellow I am for originality, what? [_Unlike_ JOHN, _is evidently
impressed by her._] You've got a delicate little den up here! Not so
much low livin' and high thinkin', as low lights and no thinkin' at
all, I hope--eh?
[_By this time_, VIDA _has filled a vase with roses and rises
to sweep by him and, if possible, make another charming
picture to his eyes._
VIDA. [_Gliding gracefully past him._] You don't mind my moving about?
SIR WILFRID. [_Impressed._] Not if you don't mind my watchin'.
[_Sitting down on the sofa._] And sayin' how wel you do it.
VIDA. It's most original of you to come here this morning. I don't
quite see why you did.
_She places the roses here and there, as if to see their
effect, and leaves them on a small table near the door
through which her visitors entered._
SIR WILFRID. Admiration.
VIDA. [_Sauntering slowly toward the mirror as she speaks._] Oh, I saw
that you admired her! And of course, she did say she was coming here
at eleven! But that was only bravado! She won't come, and besides,
I've given orders to admit no one!
SIR WILFRID. [_Attempting to dam the stream of her talk which flows
gently but steadily on._] May I ask you--
VIDA. And, indeed, if she came now, Mr. Karslake has gone, and her
sole object in coming was to make him uncomfortable. [_She moves
toward the table, stopping a half minute at the mirror to see that she
looks as she wishes to look._] Very dangerous symptom, too, that
passionate desire to make one's former husband unhappy! But, I can't
believe that your admiration for Cynthia Karslake is so warm that it
led you to pay me this visit a half hour too early in the hope of
seeing--
SIR WILFRID. [_Rising; most civil, but speaking his mind like a
Briton._] I say, would you mind stopping a moment! [_She smiles._] I'm
not an American, you know; I was brought up not to interrupt. But you
Americans, it's different with you! If somebody didn't interrupt you,
you'd go on forever.
VIDA. [_Passing him to tantalize._] My point is you come to see
Cynthia--
SIR WILFRID. [_Believing she means it._] I came hopin' to see--
VIDA. [_Provokingly._] Cynthia!
SIR WILFRID. [_Perfectly single-minded and entirely taken in._] But I
would have come even if I'd known--
VIDA. [_Evading him, while he follows._] I don't believe it!
SIR WILFRID. [_Protesting whole-heartedly._] Give you my word I--
VIDA. [_Leading him on._] You're here to see _her_! And of course--
SIR WILFRID. [_Determined to be heard because, after all, he's a
man._] May I have the--eh--the floor? [VIDA _sits down in a chair._] I
was jolly well bowled over with Mrs. Karslake, I admit that, and I
hoped to see her here, but--
VIDA. [_Talking nonsense and knowing it._] You had another object in
coming. In fact, you came to see Cynthia, and you came to see me! What
I really long to know is, why you wanted to see _me_! For, of course,
Cynthia's to be married at three! And, if she wasn't she wouldn't have
you!
SIR WILFRID. [_Not intending to wound; merely speaking the flat
truth._] Well, I mean to jolly well ask her.
VIDA. [_Indignant._] To be your wife?
SIR WILFRID. Why not?
VIDA. [_Still indignant._] And you came here, to my house--in order to
ask her--
SIR WILFRID. [_Truthful even on a subtle point._] Oh, but that's only
my first reason for coming, you know.
VIDA. [_Concealing her hopes._] Well, now I _am_ curious--what is the
second?
SIR WILFRID. [_Simply._] Are you feelin' pretty robust?
VIDA. I don't know!
SIR WILFRID. [_Crosses to the buffet._] Will you have something, and
then I'll tell you!
VIDA. [_Gaily._] Can't I support the news without--
SIR WILFRID. [_Trying to explain his state of mind, a feat which he
has never been able to accomplish._] Mrs. Phillimore, you see it's
this way. Whenever you're lucky, you're too lucky. Now, Mrs. Karslake
is a nipper and no mistake, but as I told you, the very same evenin'
and house where I saw her--
[_He attempts to take her hand._
VIDA. [_Gently rising and affecting a tender surprise._] What!
SIR WILFRID. [_Rising with her._] That's it!--You're over! [_He
suggests with his right hand the movement of a horse taking a hurdle._
VIDA. [_Very sweetly._] You don't really mean--
SIR WILFRID. [_Carried away for the moment by so much true
womanliness._] I mean, I stayed awake for an hour last night, thinkin'
about you.
VIDA. [_Speaking to be contradicted._] But, you've just told me--that
Cynthia--
SIR WILFRID. [_Admitting the fact._] Well, she did--she did bowl my
wicket, but so did you--
VIDA. [_Taking him very gently to task._] Don't you think there's a
limit to-- [_She sits down._
SIR WILFRID. [_Roused by so much loveliness of soul._] Now, see here,
Mrs. Phillimore! You and I are not bottle babies, eh, are we? You've
been married and--I--I've knocked about, and we both know there's a
lot of stuff talked about--eh, eh, well, you know:--the one and
only--that a fellow can't be awfully well smashed by two at the same
time, don't you know! All rubbish! You know it, and the proof of the
puddin's in the eatin', I am!
VIDA. [_With gentle reproach._] May I ask where I come in?
SIR WILFRID. Well, now, Mrs. Phillimore, I'll be frank with you,
Cynthia's my favourite, but you're runnin' her a close second in the
popular esteem!
VIDA. [_Laughing, determined not to take offense._] What a delightful,
original, fantastic person you are!
SIR WILFRID. [_Frankly happy that he has explained everything so
neatly._] I knew you'd take it that way!
VIDA. And what next, pray?
SIR WILFRID. Oh, just the usual,--eh,--thing,--the--eh--the same old
question, don't you know. Will you have me if she don't?
VIDA. [_A shade piqued, but determined not to risk showing it._] And
you call that the same old usual question?
SIR WILFRID. Yes, I know, but--but will you? I sail in a week; we can
take the same boat. And--eh--eh--my dear Mrs.--mayn't I say Vida, I'd
like to see you at the head of my table.
VIDA. [_With velvet irony._] With Cynthia at the foot?
SIR WILFRID. [_Practical, as before._] Never mind Mrs. Karslake,--I
admire her--she's--but you have your own points! And you're here, and
so'm I!--damme I offer myself, and my affections, and I'm no icicle,
my dear, tell you that for a fact, and,--and in fact what's your
answer!-- [VIDA _sighs and shakes her head._] Make it, yes! I say, you
know, my dear Vida--
[_He catches her hands._
VIDA. [_Drawing them from his._] Unhand me, dear villain! And sit
further away from your second choice! What can I say? I'd rather have
_you_ for a lover than any man I know! You must be a lovely lover!
SIR WILFRID. I am!
[_He makes a second effort to catch her fingers._
VIDA. Will you kindly go further away and be good!
SIR WILFRID. [_Quite forgetting_ CYNTHIA.] Look here, if you say yes,
we'll be married--
VIDA. In a month!
SIR WILFRID. Oh, no--this evening!
VIDA. [_Incapable of leaving a situation unadorned._] This evening!
And sail in the same boat with _you_? And shall we sail to the Garden
of Eden and stroll into it and lock the gate on the inside and then
lose the key--under a rose-bush?
SIR WILFRID. [_After a pause and some consideration._] Yes; yes, I
say--that's too clever for me! [_He draws nearer to her to bring the
understanding to a crisis._
VIDA. [_Interrupted by a soft knock._] My maid--come!
SIR WILFRID. [_Swinging out of his chair and moving to the sofa._] Eh?
BENSON. [_Coming in and approaching_ VIDA.] The new footman,
ma'am--he's made a mistake. He's told the lady you're at home.
VIDA. What lady?
BENSON. Mrs. Karslake; and she's on the stairs, ma'am.
VIDA. Show her in.
SIR WILFRID _has been turning over the roses. On hearing
this, he faces about with a long stemmed one in his hand. He
subsequently uses it to point his remarks._
SIR WILFRID. [_To_ BENSON, _who stops._] One moment! [_To_ VIDA.] I
say, eh--I'd rather not see her!
VIDA. [_Very innocently._] But you came here to see her.
SIR WILFRID. [_A little flustered._] I'd rather not. Eh,--I fancied
I'd find you and her together--but her-- [_Coming a step nearer._]
findin' me with you looks so dooced intimate,--no one else, d'ye see,
I believe she'd--draw conclusions--
BENSON. Pardon me, ma'am--but I hear Brooks coming!
SIR WILFRID. [_To_ BENSON.] Hold the door!
VIDA. So you don't want her to know--?
SIR WILFRID. [_To_ VIDA.] Be a good girl now--run me off somewhere!
VIDA. [_To_ BENSON.] Show Sir Wilfrid the men's room.
[BROOKS _comes in._
SIR WILFRID. The men's room! Ah! Oh! Eh!
VIDA. [_Beckoning him to go at once._] Sir Wil-- [_He hesitates; then
as_ BROOKS _advances, he flings off with_ BENSON.
BROOKS. Lady Karslake, milady!
VIDA. Anything more inopportune! I never dreamed she'd come-- [CYNTHIA
_comes in veiled. As she walks quickly into the room_, VIDA _greets
her languorously._] My dear Cynthia, you don't mean to say--
CYNTHIA. [_Rather short, and visibly agitated._] Yes, I've come.
VIDA. [_Polite, but not urgent._] Do take off your veil.
CYNTHIA. [_Complying._] Is no one here?
VIDA. [_As before._] Won't you sit down?
CYNTHIA. [_Agitated and suspicious._] Thanks, no--That is, yes,
thanks. Yes! You haven't answered my question?
[CYNTHIA _waves her hand through the haze; glances
suspiciously at the smoke, and looks about for the
cigarette._
VIDA. [_Playing innocence in the first degree._] My dear, what makes
you imagine that any one's here!
CYNTHIA. You've been smoking.
VIDA. Oh, puffing away! [CYNTHIA _sees the glasses._
CYNTHIA. And drinking--a pair of drinks? [_Her eyes lighting on_
JOHN'S _gloves on the table at her elbow._] Do they fit you, dear?
[VIDA _smiles;_ CYNTHIA _picks up the crop and looks at it and reads
her own name._] "Jack, from Cynthia."
VIDA. [_Without taking the trouble to double for a mere woman._] Yes,
dear; it's Mr. Karslake's crop, but I'm happy to say he left me a few
minutes ago.
CYNTHIA. He left the house? [VIDA _smiles._] I wanted to see him.
VIDA. [_With a shade of insolence._] To quarrel?
CYNTHIA. [_Frank and curt._] I wanted to see him.
VIDA. [_Determined to put_ CYNTHIA _in the wrong._] And I sent him
away because I didn't want you to repeat the scene of last night in my
house.
CYNTHIA. [_Looks at crop and is silent._] Well, I can't stay. I'm to
be married at three, and I had to play truant to get here!
[BENSON _comes in._
BENSON. [_To_ VIDA.] There's a person, ma'am, on the sidewalk.
VIDA. What person, Benson?
BENSON. A person, ma'am, with a horse.
CYNTHIA. [_Happily agitated._] It's Fiddler with Cynthia K!
[_She walks rapidly to the window and looks out._
VIDA. [_To_ BENSON.] Tell the man I'll be down in five minutes.
CYNTHIA. [_Looking down from the balcony with delight._] Oh, there she
is!
VIDA. [_Aside to_ BENSON.] Go to the club-room, Benson, and say to the
two gentlemen I can't see them at present--I'll send for them when--
BENSON. [_Listening._] I hear some one coming.
VIDA. Quick! [BENSON _leaves the door which opens and_ JOHN _comes in
slowly, carelessly._ VIDA _whispers to_ BENSON.
BENSON. [_Moving close to_ JOHN _and whispering._] Beg par--
VIDA. [_Under her breath._] Go back!
JOHN. [_Not understanding._] I beg pardon!
VIDA. [_Scarcely above a whisper._] Go back!
JOHN. [_Dense._] Can't! I've a date! With the sheriff!
VIDA. [_A little cross._] Please use your eyes.
JOHN. [_Laughing and flattering_ VIDA.] I am using my eyes.
VIDA. [_Fretted._] Don't you see there's a lovely creature in the
room?
JOHN. [_Not knowing what it is all about, but taking a wicked delight
in seeing her customary calm ruffled._] Of course there is.
VIDA. Hush!
JOHN. [_Teasingly._] But what I want to know is--
VIDA. Hush!
JOHN. [_Enjoying his fun._] --is when we're to stroll in the Garden of
Eden--
VIDA. Hush!
JOHN. --and lose the key. [_To put a stop to this, she lightly tosses
her handkerchief into his face._] By George, talk about attar of
roses!
CYNTHIA. [_At window, excited and moved at seeing her mare once
more._] Oh, she's a darling! [_Turning._] A perfect darling! [JOHN
_starts up; he sees_ CYNTHIA _at the same instant that she sees him._]
Oh! I didn't know you were here. [_After a pause, with
"take-it-or-leave-it" frankness._] I came to see _you_! [JOHN _looks
extremely dark and angry;_ VIDA _rises._
VIDA. [_To_ CYNTHIA, _most gently, and seeing there's nothing to be
gained of_ JOHN.] Oh, pray feel at home, Cynthia, dear! [_Stopping by
the door to her bedroom; to_ JOHN.] When I've a nice street frock on,
I'll ask you to present me to Cynthia K. [VIDA _opens the door and
goes out._ CYNTHIA _and_ JOHN _involuntarily exchange glances._
CYNTHIA. [_Agitated and frank._] Of course, I told you yesterday I was
coming here.
JOHN. [_Irritated._] And I was to deny myself the privilege of being
here?
CYNTHIA. [_Curt and agitated._] Yes.
JOHN. [_Ready to fight._] And you guessed I would do that?
CYNTHIA. No.
JOHN. What?
CYNTHIA. [_Speaks with agitation, frankness and good will._] Jack--I
mean, Mr. Karslake,--no, I mean, Jack! I came because--well, you see,
it's my wedding day!--and--and--I--I--was rude to you last evening.
I'd like to apologize and make peace with you before I go--
JOHN. [_Determined to be disagreeable._] Before you go to your last,
long home!
CYNTHIA. I came to apologize.
JOHN. But you'll remain to quarrel!
CYNTHIA. [_Still frank and kind._] I will not quarrel. No!--and I'm
only here for a moment. I'm to be married at three, and just look at
the clock! Besides, I told Philip I was going to Louise's shop, and I
did--on the way here; but, you see, if I stay too long he'll telephone
Louise and find I'm not there, and he might guess I was here. So you
see I'm risking a scandal. And now, Jack, see here, I lay my hand on
the table, I'm here on the square, and,--what I want to say is,
why--Jack, even if we have made a mess of our married life, let's put
by anger and pride. It's all over now and can't be helped. So let's be
human, let's be reasonable, and let's be kind to each other! Won't you
give me your hand? [JOHN _refuses._] I wish you every happiness!
JOHN. [_Turning away, the past rankling._] I had a client once, a
murderer; he told me he murdered the man, and he told me, too, that he
never felt so kindly to anybody as he did to that man after he'd
killed him!
CYNTHIA. Jack!
JOHN. [_Unforgiving._] You murdered my happiness!
CYNTHIA. I won't recriminate!
JOHN. And now I must put by anger and pride! I do! But not
self-respect, not a just indignation--not the facts and my clear
memory of them!
CYNTHIA. Jack!
JOHN. No!
CYNTHIA. [_With growing emotion, and holding out her hand._] I give
you one more chance! Yes, I'm determined to be generous. I forgive
everything you ever did to me. I'm ready to be friends. I wish you
every happiness and every--every--horse in the world! I can't do more
than that! [_She offers it again._] You refuse?
JOHN. [_Moved but surly._] I like wildcats and I like Christians, but
I don't like Christian wildcats! Now I'm close hauled, trot out your
tornado! Let the Tiger loose! It's the tamer, the man in the cage that
has to look lively and use the red hot crowbar! But, by Jove, I'm out
of the cage! I'm a mere spectator of the married circus! [_He puffs
vigorously._
CYNTHIA. Be a game sport then! Our marriage was a wager; you wagered
you could live with me. You lost; you paid with a divorce; and now is
the time to show your sporting blood. Come on, shake hands and part
friends.
JOHN. Not in this world! Friends with you, no! I have a proper pride.
I don't propose to put my pride in my pocket.
CYNTHIA. [_Jealous and plain spoken._] Oh, I wouldn't ask you to put
your pride in your pocket while Vida's handkerchief is there. [JOHN
_looks angered._] Pretty little bijou of a handkerchief! [_Pulling out
the handkerchief._] And she is charming, and divorced, and reasonably
well made up.
JOHN. Oh, well, Vida is a woman. [_Toying with the handkerchief._] I'm
a man, a handkerchief is a handkerchief, and, as some old Aristotle or
other said, whatever concerns a woman, concerns me!
CYNTHIA. [_Not oblivious of him, but in a low voice._] Insufferable!
Well, yes. [_She sits down. She is too much wounded to make any
further appeal._] You're perfectly right. There's no possible harmony
between divorced people! I withdraw my hand and all good feeling. No
wonder I couldn't stand you. Eh? However, that's pleasantly past! But
at least, my dear Karslake, let us have some sort of beauty behaviour!
If we cannot be decent, let us endeavour to be graceful. If we can't
be moral, at least we can avoid being vulgar.
JOHN. Well--
CYNTHIA. If there's to be no more marriage in the world--
JOHN. [_Cynically._] Oh, but that's not it; there's to be more and
more and more!
CYNTHIA. [_With a touch of bitterness._] Very well! I repeat then, if
there's to be nothing but marriage and divorce, and re-marriage, and
re-divorce, at least, at least, those who _are_ divorced can avoid the
vulgarity of meeting each other here, there, and everywhere!
JOHN. Oh, that's where you come out!
CYNTHIA. I thought so yesterday, and to-day I know it. It's an
insufferable thing to a woman of any delicacy of feeling to find her
husband--
JOHN. Ahem--former!
CYNTHIA. _Once_ a husband always--
JOHN. [_In the same cynical tone._] Oh, no! Oh, dear, no.
CYNTHIA. To find her--to find the man she has once lived with--in the
house of--making love to--to find you here! [JOHN _smiles and rises._]
You smile,--but I say, it should be a social axiom, no woman should
have to meet her former husband.
JOHN. [_Cynical and cutting._] Oh, I don't know; after I've served my
term I don't mind meeting my jailor.
CYNTHIA. [_As_ JOHN _takes chair near her._] It's indecent--at the
horse-show, the opera, at races and balls, to meet the man who
once--It's not civilized! It's fantastic! It's half baked! Oh, I never
should have come here! [_He sympathizes, and she grows irrational and
furious._] But it's entirely your fault!
JOHN. My fault?
CYNTHIA. [_Working herself into a rage._] Of course. What business
have you to be about--to be at large. To be at all!
JOHN. Gosh!
CYNTHIA. [_Her rage increasing._] To be where I am! Yes, it's just as
horrible for you to turn up in my life as it would be for a dead
person to insist on coming back to life and dinner and bridge!
JOHN. Horrid idea!
CYNTHIA. Yes, but it's _you_ who behave just as if you were not dead,
just as if I'd not spent a fortune on your funeral. You do; you
prepare to bob up at afternoon teas,--and dinners--and embarrass me to
death with your extinct personality!
JOHN. Well, of course we _were_ married, but it didn't quite kill me.
CYNTHIA. [_Angry and plain spoken._] You killed yourself for me--I
divorced you. I buried you out of my life. If any human soul was ever
dead, you are! And there's nothing I so hate as a gibbering ghost.
JOHN. Oh, I say!
CYNTHIA. [_With hot anger._] Go gibber and squeak where gibbering and
squeaking are the fashion!
JOHN. [_Laughing and pretending to a coldness he does not feel._] And
so, my dear child, I'm to abate myself as a nuisance! Well, as far as
seeing you is concerned, for my part it's just like seeing a horse
who's chucked you once. The bruises are O. K., and you see him with a
sort of easy curiosity. Of course, you know, he'll jolly well chuck
the next man!--Permit me! [JOHN _picks up her gloves, handkerchief and
parasol, and gives her these as she drops them one by one in her
agitation._] There's pleasure in the thought.
CYNTHIA. Oh!
JOHN. And now, may I ask you a very simple question? Mere curiosity on
my part, but, why did you come here this morning?
CYNTHIA. I have already explained that to you.
JOHN. Not your real motive. Permit me!
CYNTHIA. Oh!
JOHN. But I believe I have guessed your real--permit me--your real
motive!
CYNTHIA. Oh!
JOHN. [_With mock sympathy._] Cynthia, I am sorry for you.
CYNTHIA. H'm?
JOHN. Of course we had a pretty lively case of the fever--the mutual
attraction fever, and we _were_ married a very short time. And I
conclude that's what's the matter with _you_! You see, my dear, seven
months of married life is too short a time to cure a bad case of the
fancies.
CYNTHIA. [_In angry surprise._] What?
JOHN. [_Calm and triumphant._] That's my diagnosis.
CYNTHIA. [_Slowly and gathering herself together._] I don't think I
understand.
JOHN. Oh, yes, you do; yes, you do.
CYNTHIA. [_With blazing eyes._] What do you mean?
JOHN. Would you mind not breaking my crop! Thank you! I mean [_With
polite impertinence._] that ours was a case of premature divorce, and,
ahem, you're in love with me still.
_He pauses._ CYNTHIA _has one moment of fury, then she
realizes at what a disadvantage this places her. She makes an
immense effort, recovers her calm, thinks hard for a moment
more, and then, has suddenly an inspiration._
CYNTHIA. Jack, some day you'll get the blind staggers from conceit.
No, I'm not in love with you, Mr. Karslake, but I shouldn't be at all
surprised if she were. She's just your sort, you know. She's a
man-eating shark, and you'll be a toothsome mouthful. Oh, come now,
Jack, what a silly you are! Oh, yes, you are, to get off a joke like
that; me--in love with--
[_She looks at him._
JOHN. Why are you here? [_She laughs and begins to play her game._]
Why are you here?
CYNTHIA. Guess! [_She laughs._
JOHN. Why are you--
CYNTHIA. [_Quickly._] Why am I here! I'll tell you. I'm going to be
married. I had a longing, an irresistible longing to see you make an
ass of yourself just once more! It happened!
JOHN. [_Uncertain and discomfited._] I know better!
CYNTHIA. But I came for a serious purpose, too. I came, my dear
fellow, to make an experiment on myself. I've been with you thirty
minutes; and-- [_She sighs with content._] It's all right!
JOHN. What's all right?
CYNTHIA. [_Calm and apparently at peace with the world._] I'm immune.
JOHN. Immune?
CYNTHIA. You're not catching any more! Yes, you see, I said to myself,
if I fly into a temper--
JOHN. You did!
CYNTHIA. If I fly into a temper when I see him, well, that shows I'm
not yet so entirely convalescent that I can afford to have Jack
Karslake at my house. If I remain calm I shall ask him to dinner.
JOHN. [_Routed._] Ask me if you dare! [_He rises._
CYNTHIA. [_Getting the whip hand for good._] Ask you to dinner? Oh, my
dear fellow. [JOHN _rises._] I'm going to do much more than that.
[_She rises._] We must be friends, old man! We must meet, we must meet
often, we must show New York the way the thing should be done, and, to
show you I mean it--I want you to be my best man, and give me away
when I'm married this afternoon.
JOHN. [_Incredulous and impatient._] You don't mean that!
[_He pushes back his chair._
CYNTHIA. There you are! Always suspicious!
JOHN. You don't mean that!
CYNTHIA. [_Hiding her emotion under a sportswoman's manner._] Don't I?
I ask you, come! And come as you are! And I'll lay my wedding gown to
Cynthia K that you won't be there! If you're there, you get the gown,
and if you're not, I get Cynthia K!--
JOHN. [_Determined not to be worsted._] I take it!
CYNTHIA. Done! Now, then, we'll see which of us two is the real
sporting goods! Shake! [_They shake hands on it._] Would you mind
letting me have a plain soda? [JOHN _goes to the table, and, as he is
rattled and does not regard what he is about, he fills the glass
three-fourths full with whiskey. He gives this to_ CYNTHIA _who looks
him in the eye with an air of triumph._] Thanks. [_Maliciously, as_
VIDA _enters._] Your hand is a bit shaky. I think _you_ need a little
King William. [JOHN _shrugs his shoulders, and, as_ VIDA _immediately
speaks,_ CYNTHIA _defers drinking._
VIDA. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] My dear, I'm sorry to tell you your husband--I
mean, my husband--I mean Philip--he's asking for you over the 'phone.
You must have said you were coming here. Of course, I told him you
were not here, and hung up.
BENSON. [_Entering hurriedly and at once moving to_ VIDA.] Ma'am, the
new footman's been talking with Mr. Phillimore on the wire. [VIDA,
_gesture of regret._] He told Mr. Phillimore that his lady was here,
and, if I can believe my ears, ma'am, he's got Sir Wilfrid on the
'phone now!
SIR WILFRID. [_Making his appearance, perplexed and annoyed._] I say,
y' know--extraordinary country; that old chap, Phillimore, he's been
damned impertinent over the wire! Says I've run off with Mrs.
Karslake--talks about "Louise!" Now, who the dooce is Louise? He's
comin' round here, too--I said Mrs. Karslake wasn't here-- [_Seeing_
CYNTHIA.] Hello! Good job! What a liar I am!
BENSON. [_Coming to the door. To_ VIDA.] Mr. Fiddler, ma'am, says the
mare is gettin' very restive.
[JOHN _hears this and moves at once_. BENSON _withdraws._
JOHN. [_To_ VIDA.] If that mare's restive, she'll break out in a rash.
VIDA. [_To_ JOHN.] Will you take me?
JOHN. Of course. [_They go to the door._
CYNTHIA. [_To_ JOHN.] Tata, old man! Meet you at the altar! If I
don't, the mare's mine!
[SIR WILFRID _looks at her amazed._
VIDA. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] Do the honours, dear, in my absence!
JOHN. Come along, come along, never mind them! A horse is a horse!
JOHN _and_ VIDA _go out gaily and in haste. At the same
moment_ CYNTHIA _drinks what she supposes to be her glass of
plain soda. As it is whiskey straight, she is seized with
astonishment and a fit of coughing._ SIR WILFRID _relieves
her of the glass._
SIR WILFRID. [_Indicating the contents of the glass._] I say, do you
ordinarily take it as high up--as seven fingers and two thumbs.
CYNTHIA. [_Coughing._] Jack poured it out. Just shows how groggy he
was! And now, Sir Wilfrid--
[_She gets her things to go._
SIR WILFRID. Oh, you can't go!
[BROOKS _appears at the door._
CYNTHIA. I am to be married at three.
SIR WILFRID. Let him wait. [_Aside to_ BROOKS, _whom he meets near the
door._] If Mr. Phillimore comes, bring his card up.
BROOKS. [_Going._] Yes, Sir Wilfrid.
SIR WILFRID. To me! [_Tipping him._
BROOKS. [_Bowing._] To you, Sir Wilfrid. [BROOKS _goes._
SIR WILFRID. [_Returning to_ CYNTHIA.] I've got to have my innings, y'
know! [_Looking at her more closely._] I say, you've been crying!--
CYNTHIA. King William!
SIR WILFRID. You _are_ crying! Poor little gal!
CYNTHIA. [_Tears in her eyes._] I feel all shaken and cold.
[BROOKS _returns with a card._
SIR WILFRID. [_Astonished and sympathetic._] Poor little gal.
CYNTHIA. [_Her eyes wet._] I didn't sleep a wink last night. [_With
disgust._] Oh, what is the matter with me?
SIR WILFRID. Why, it's as plain as a pikestaff! You-- [BROOKS _has
carried in the card to_ SIR WILFRED, _who picks it up and says aside,
to_ BROOKS:] Phillimore? [BROOKS _assents. Aloud to_ CYNTHIA, _calmly
deceitful._] Who's Waldorf Smith? [CYNTHIA _shakes her head. To_
BROOKS, _returning card to salver._] Tell the gentleman Mrs. Karslake
is not here! [BROOKS _leaves the room._
CYNTHIA. [_Aware that she has no business where she is._] I thought it
was Philip!
SIR WILFRID. [_Telling the truth as if it were a lie._] So did I!
[_With cheerful confidence._] And now, Mrs. Karslake, I'll tell you
why you're cryin'. [_Sitting down beside her._] You're marryin' the
wrong man! I'm sorry for you, but you're such a goose. Here you are,
marryin' this legal luminary. What for? You don't know! He don't know!
But I do! You pretend you're marryin' him because it's the sensible
thing; not a bit of it. You're marryin' Mr. Phillimore because of all
the other men you ever saw he's the least like Jack Karslake.
CYNTHIA. That's a very good reason.
SIR WILFRID. There's only one good reason for marrying, and that is
because you'll die if you don't!
CYNTHIA. Oh, I've tried that!
SIR WILFRID. The Scripture says: "Try! try! again!" I tell you,
there's nothing like a w'im!
CYNTHIA. What's that? W'im? Oh, you mean a _whim_! Do please try and
say W_h_im!
SIR WILFRID. [_For the first time emphasizing his H in the word._]
W_h_im. You must have a w'im--w'im for the chappie you marry.
CYNTHIA. I had--for Jack.
SIR WILFRID. Your w'im wasn't wimmy enough, my dear! If you'd had more
of it, and tougher, it would ha' stood, y'know! Now, I'm not
proposin'!
CYNTHIA. [_Diverted at last from her own distress._] I hope not!
SIR WILFRID. Oh, I will later! It's not time yet! As I was saying--
CYNTHIA. And pray, Sir Wilfrid, when will it be time?
SIR WILFRID. As soon as I see you have a w'im for me! [_Rising, looks
at his watch._] And now, I'll tell you what we'll do! We've got just
an hour to get there in, my motor's on the corner, and in fifty
minutes we'll be at Belmont Park.
CYNTHIA. [_Her sporting blood fired._] Belmont Park!
SIR WILFRID. We'll do the races, and dine at Martin's--
CYNTHIA. [_Tempted._] Oh, if I only could! I can't! I've got to be
married! You're awfully nice; I've almost got a "w'im" for you
already.
SIR WILFRID. [_Delighted._] There you are! I'll send a telegram! [_She
shakes her head. He sits and writes at the table._
CYNTHIA. No, no, no!
SIR WILFRID. [_Reading what he has written._] "Off with Cates-Darby to
Races. Please postpone ceremony till seven-thirty."
CYNTHIA. Oh, no, it's impossible!
SIR WILFRID. [_Accustomed to have things go his way._] No more than
breathin'! You can't get a w'im for me, you know, unless we're
together, so together we'll be! [JOHN KARSLAKE _opens the door, and,
unnoticed, walks into the room._] And to-morrow you'll wake up with a
jolly little w'im--, [_Reading._] "Postpone ceremony till
seven-thirty." There. [_He puts on her cloak and turning, sees_ JOHN.]
Hello!
JOHN. [_Surly._] Hello! Sorry to disturb you.
SIR WILFRID. [_Cheerful as possible._] Just the man! [_Giving him the
telegraph form._] Just step round and send it, my boy. Thanks! [JOHN
_reads it._
CYNTHIA. No, no, I can't go!
SIR WILFRID. Cockety-coo-coo-can't. I say, you must!
CYNTHIA. [_Positively._] _No!_
JOHN. [_Astounded._] Do you mean you're going--
SIR WILFRID. [_Very gay._] Off to the races, my boy!
JOHN. [_Angry and outraged._] Mrs. Karslake can't go with you there!
CYNTHIA _starts, amazed at his assumption of marital
authority, and delighted that she will have an opportunity of
outraging his sensibilities._
SIR WILFRID. Oho!
JOHN. An hour before her wedding!
SIR WILFRID. [_Gay and not angry._] May I know if it's the custom--
JOHN. [_Jealous and disgusted._] It's worse than eloping--
SIR WILFRID. Custom, y' know, for the husband, that was, to dictate--
JOHN. [_Thoroughly vexed._] By George, there's a limit!
CYNTHIA. What? What? What? [_Gathering up her things._] What did I
hear you say?
SIR WILFRID. Ah!
JOHN. [_Angry._] I say there's a limit--
CYNTHIA. [_More and more determined to arouse and excite_ JOHN.] Oh,
there's a limit, is there?
JOHN. There is! I bar the way! It means reputation--it means--
CYNTHIA. [_Enjoying her opportunity._] We shall see what it means!
SIR WILFRID. Aha!
JOHN. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] I'm here to protect your reputation--
SIR WILFRID. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] We've got to make haste, you know.
CYNTHIA. Now, I'm ready--
JOHN. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] Be sensible. You're breaking off the match--
CYNTHIA. [_Excitedly._] What's that to you?
SIR WILFRID. It's boots and saddles!
JOHN. [_Taking his stand between them and the door._] No thoroughfare!
SIR WILFRID. Look here, my boy--!
CYNTHIA. [_Catching at the opportunity of putting_ JOHN _in an
impossible position._] Wait a moment, Sir Wilfrid! Give me the wire!
[_Facing him._] Thanks! [_Taking the telegraph form from him and
tearing it up._] There! Too rude to chuck him by wire! But you, Jack,
you've taken on yourself to look after my interests, so I'll just ask
you, old man, to run down to the Supreme Court and tell
Philip--nicely, you know--I'm off with Sir Wilfrid and where! Say I'll
be back by seven, if I'm not later! And make it clear, Jack, I'll
marry him by eight-thirty or nine at the latest! And mind _you're_
there, dear! And now, Sir Wilfrid, we're off.
JOHN. [_Staggered and furious, giving way as they pass him._] I'm not
the man to--to carry--
CYNTHIA. [_Quick and dashing._] Oh, yes, you are.
JOHN. --a message from you.
CYNTHIA. [_Triumphant._] Oh, yes, you are; you're just exactly the
man! [CYNTHIA _and_ SIR WILFRID _whirl out._
JOHN. Great miracles of Moses!
CURTAIN.