THE PAINTED SWAN
_By the same Author._
THE FIR AND THE PALM
THE WHOLE STORY
BALLOONS
THE
PAINTED SWAN
_A Play in Three Acts_
BY
ELIZABETH BIBESCO
“People don’t escape from one thing to another thing, but from
one thing to the same thing.”
LONDON
HUTCHINSON & CO.
_Paternoster Row, E.C.4_
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Applications regarding performing rights
should be addressed to Mr. J. L. Campbell,
Regency House, Warwick Street.
TO ANTOINE
The Painted Swan
A Play in Three Acts
by
ELIZABETH BIBESCO
(as produced at the Everyman Theatre, March 16th, 1925).
_Characters in order of their appearance_:
_Thompson_ (_the Butler_) HAROLD B. MEADE
_Lord William Cathcart_ FELIX AYLMER
_Selina_ (_his daughter_) ELISSA LANDI
_Mrs. Martineau_ MURIEL POPE
_Mr. Molyneux_ CLIFFORD MOLLISON
(By permission of Reandean)
_Timothy Carstairs_ ROBERT HARRIS
(By permission of Reandean)
_Philip Jordan_ ALLAN JEAYES
_Lady Emily Cathcart_ MARGARET CARTER
_Ann_ (_Lady Candover_) EDITH EVANS
_Ninian_ (_Lord Candover_) FRANK CELLIER
THE PLAY PRODUCED BY NORMAN MACDERMOTT
ACT I. Candover Hall.
ACT II. The Candovers’ house in London.
A month later.
(The curtain will be lowered during this act
to indicate the passing of an hour).
ACT III. Candover Hall. Two days later.
ACT I
ACT I
SCENE: _ANN’S boudoir at Candover. The butler is directing two
footmen, who are piling up blankets, garments, etc._
[_Enter LORD WILLIAM and SELINA in travelling clothes. LORD
WILLIAM over to fire L._
SELINA: How are you, Thompson?
[_Moves over to chair D. S. L._
THOMPSON: Very well, thank you, Miss Selina.
SELINA: Has no one else arrived yet?
THOMPSON: No, miss. Lady Emily and Mr. Carstairs have been here since
yesterday. Mrs. Martineau and Mr. Molyneux and Mr. Jordan are coming by
the three o’clock train and should be here in a few minutes.
SELINA: We would have been down an hour ago if the car hadn’t been
suffering from asthma.
LORD WILLIAM: Who is the Mr. Jordan who is coming, Thompson?
THOMPSON: I believe him to be in the Cabinet, m’lord.
SELINA: Aren’t you sure?
THOMPSON: Well, in a manner of speaking, yes, Miss Selina.
SELINA: Why do you always say you believe when you know, Thompson?
THOMPSON: My father always said to me, miss, a good servant should never
presume to be sure. He should avoid conveying information as if he were
instructing his betters.
LORD WILLIAM: A wise man, your father, Thompson—if only people could get
it into their heads that each time they are right somebody loves them
less. How is her ladyship?
THOMPSON: Overworking, m’lord.
LORD WILLIAM: What at?
[_Sits settee L._
THOMPSON: Other people, m’lord.
SELINA: Other people?
[_Sits D. S. L._
THOMPSON: Other people’s happiness, Miss Selina.
SELINA: Ah!
THOMPSON: Her ladyship can’t see that the worthless is the worthless.
SELINA: She doesn’t try to improve them, does she, Thompson?
THOMPSON: No, miss—to make them happy. Pampering the riff-raff that’s
what she does. Why, only the other day she was taken in by a swindler,
and do you know what she said, m’lord?
LORD WILLIAM: No.
THOMPSON: She said, “Well, it’s much better than if he’d been honest and
I’d not believed him.”
SELINA: Don’t you try and protect her against herself, Thompson?
THOMPSON: I try, Miss Selina, but then, her ladyship says: “You aren’t
kind to me, Thompson,” and I capitulate. Human and mortal, that’s what we
all are.
[_He goes out._
SELINA: (_calling to him at the door_): Thompson!
THOMPSON: Miss Selina?
SELINA: You haven’t admired my new hat.
THOMPSON: Very neat, I’m sure——
[_Exit THOMPSON._
SELINA: Funny, isn’t it, a saint like Ann coming out of our family.
[_Enter TIM._
LORD WILLIAM: How de do, Tim?
SELINA: How’s Ann?
TIM: She’s looking tired.
SELINA: Is Ninian here?
TIM: He doesn’t arrive till seven-thirty.
LORD WILLIAM: The others are coming by the three o’clock train—Molly, Mr.
Jordan and Mrs. Martineau.
TIM: Yes.
SELINA: I never can think why Ann should see so much of Mabel Martineau.
TIM: They played together in the nursery.
SELINA: That’s the only explanation that’s ever brought forward for Mabel.
LORD WILLIAM: She’s rather an amusing little viper.
TIM: But she stings so continuously that I don’t believe she could stop
if she wanted to.
SELINA: She certainly is no respecter of persons.
TIM: Some day she will sting Ann.
SELINA: She really would be fond of Ann if it weren’t for you.
TIM: Me?
SELINA: She’s a little bit in love with you.
TIM: Nonsense.
LORD WILLIAM: And why not? An attractive, personable young man like you.
SELINA: Papa, you’ve made Tim blush.
LORD WILLIAM: It’s easier nowadays to make a young man blush than a young
woman.
SELINA: One’s cheeks can’t always respond to one’s feelings.
LORD WILLIAM: Do you know Jordan, Tim?
TIM: A little.
SELINA: What’s he like?
TIM: Heavy and common and on the make.
SELINA: Why does Ann like him?
LORD WILLIAM: One of her endowment schemes, I expect.
SELINA: What do you mean, Papa?
LORD WILLIAM: That Ann goes about endowing people with her own qualities.
Very unfair to the poor things, of course, as they have to revert to type
sooner or later.
TIM: I don’t know—if she can breathe some of her own spirit into them
they must be permanently enriched.
[_MRS. MARTINEAU, MR. MOLYNEUX and MR. JORDAN are shown in.
General greetings._
[_MRS. MARTINEAU introduces JORDAN to LORD WILLIAM and SELINA._
LORD WILLIAM: Did you come down by train?
JORDAN: Yes.
MRS. MARTINEAU: There was a most charming man in the carriage—quite
drunk. He looked round at us all and said: “I’m glad I’m not here.”
MOLYNEUX: Unfortunately he got out at the next station, which must have
taken the edge off his enjoyment.
MRS. MARTINEAU: Where is Ann?
LORD WILLIAM: I don’t know.
MOLYNEUX: We should see more of Ann if we could appear to her as a duty.
Unfortunately, we are undoubtedly a pleasure.
SELINA: You might make a bid as sinners in need of reform.
TIM: But that is just what is so wonderful about Ann. She never wants
anyone to be better—only happier.
LORD WILLIAM: Ann is my niece. She is, of course, a saint, but she is not
a fool. No Cathcart is a fool.
SELINA: Amen.
LORD WILLIAM: Don’t interrupt. I was about to say something very good.
SELINA: Would you like to “think it out in silence?”
LORD WILLIAM: What were we talking about?
MRS. MARTINEAU: There _is_ only one subject in this house.
SELINA: We were talking about Ann.
LORD WILLIAM: Yes—but what were you actually saying?
SELINA: Tim said that Ann never tried to make people good, but only happy.
MRS. MARTINEAU: Only!
LORD WILLIAM: I remember I was about to say that in practice goodness and
happiness are much the same thing.
SELINA: Bravo!
MOLYNEUX: My dear Bill, surely that is a platitude?
LORD WILLIAM: Even a platitude can contain a truth.
MOLYNEUX: But we are few of us brave enough to admit it.
SELINA: What do you think, Mr. Jordan?
JORDAN: I think that the truth can be found in very unexpected places.
SELINA: The obvious, for instance?
JORDAN: I wasn’t thinking of that.
SELINA: Indeed?
LORD WILLIAM: Is this your first visit here, Mr. Jordan?
JORDAN: No.
LORD WILLIAM: Then you know Ninian?
JORDAN: I have just met Lord Candover.
MOLYNEUX: Then you know Ninian.
[_They laugh._
SELINA: Ninian is first-hand information.
MRS. MARTINEAU: What do you mean?
SELINA: That you learn all there is to be learnt the first time.
LORD WILLIAM: No one can tell you anything about him. The whole truth is
revealed in five minutes.
SELINA: Yes, indeed. It doesn’t take a detective to know what Ninian is
like.
LORD WILLIAM: He is the family masterpiece.
SELINA: By marriage.
MOLYNEUX: A very inconvenient institution, marriage. Illogical when you
want one thing, to have another.
SELINA: You mean when you want one person to have two?
MOLYNEUX: Precisely.
SELINA: Ninian would be perfect if we didn’t have so much of him. He
never fails one.
LORD WILLIAM: He combines under the cover of an English gentleman—
SELINA: Of a Lord Lieutenant.
LORD WILLIAM: I accept the amendment, of a Lord Lieutenant; the
ridiculous and the sublime.
SELINA: And that, mind you, without taking the proverbial step.
TIM: He is our host and Ann’s husband.
MRS. MARTINEAU: Tim, you are becoming a prig.
TIM: Perhaps, but we must think of Ann.
MRS. MARTINEAU (_acidly_): Perhaps, but you think of nothing else.
MOLYNEUX: Thinking about Ann is a delightful occupation. It is like
thinking about primroses and spring and lilac bushes and blue-bell woods,
all of the things, in fact, that we are too clever or too stupid to think
about.
LORD WILLIAM: You left out skylarks and rippling brooks and blossoming
trees.
MRS. MARTINEAU (_acidly_): And red flannel blankets.
MOLYNEUX: I should like to have forgotten them.
LORD WILLIAM: Think of Molly dreaming about primroses and red flannel and
you will realize that Ann is something more than a saint.
SELINA: A saint who works miracles.
MRS. MARTINEAU: A siren, in fact.
LORD WILLIAM: You should always remember, Selina, that virtue has its
charms.
MOLYNEUX: Which will be a strain, my poor child, as you will seldom be
reminded of it.
TIM: Except when you are staying with Ann.
SELINA: I am afraid that, however virtuous I may become, I shall never be
as charming as Ann.
MRS. MARTINEAU (_acidly_): Not in Tim’s eyes.
LORD WILLIAM: Let me beg you, my dear, not to regard Tim as
representative of his sex. He is a knight errant. He puts women on a
pedestal.
MOLYNEUX: A gallant form of shelving.
MRS. MARTINEAU: He divides the world into saints and cocottes, and, as
there are many who fall between the two stools, they are disposed of as
“children of nature.”
TIM: Come!
MRS. MARTINEAU: You would be surprised, Selina, at Tim’s child of nature.
She can powder and paint, languish and pounce, but, if she was never a
saint and is not yet in the gutter, we are forced to accept her as a
pure, wild creature, trapped in our horrible society.
[_They laugh._
MOLYNEUX: You are silent, Jordan.
MRS. MARTINEAU: Mr. Jordan is making a reputation.
LORD WILLIAM: Be careful, you will find it impossible to lose.
MOLYNEUX: We are a faithful people. A little late, perhaps, but true to
the end. Have you ever known an English audience to recognize a singer
till she’s forty, or disown her till she’s dead?
LORD WILLIAM: Remember, Jordan, one evening may stamp you as a drunkard,
one mot advertise you as a wit, one adventure immortalize you as a Don
Juan.
JORDAN: Will one speech proclaim me an orator?
LORD WILLIAM: Speeches are swallows that never make a summer.
SELINA: Do you take things seriously, Mr. Jordan?
LORD WILLIAM: Really, Selina, you make me ashamed of your upbringing. You
mustn’t ask a rising young statesman a question like that. He might have
to say “yes” and then we should think him a fool.
JORDAN: Don’t worry, Miss Selina. I am brave enough to admit that I take
some things seriously.
SELINA: Women?
MRS. MARTINEAU: Woman!
JORDAN: Some women.
MOLYNEUX: The election wasn’t lost on you, Jordan; you learnt to qualify.
SELINA: Do please tell us a little more. Are the women you take seriously
serious women?
LORD WILLIAM: Selina, you are my daughter, and in every sense of the
word, my creation. I have told you before now that your cousin Ann is the
only serious woman in the world. I am for the moment using the term woman
as a form of praise. There are, of course, many serious persons of the
female sex.
TIM: I don’t call Ann serious. She bubbles over with gaiety.
MRS. MARTINEAU: But she takes things seriously.
SELINA: She is good.
MOLYNEUX: She is unique. A woman we all adore, who can be described as
good.
SELINA: Do you adore Ann, Mr. Jordan?
JORDAN: Yes.
LORD WILLIAM: Well, I wish she weren’t up to so many good works. As for
her virtue it is a “Trespassers will be prosecuted” signal that you can
see for miles.
SELINA: Papa, I think you’re very vulgar.
TIM: Ann is so radiantly uncensoriously good.
MOLYNEUX: Ann is a damned good-looking woman.
LORD WILLIAM: But she does lead a silly life. I did think that once
the war was over and she had stopped nursing cholera in Siberia we
should be all right. But what has peace brought us? Why, the house is
positively infested with Mayors and clergymen and cranks and old maids,
and when she’s tired of talking to her Socialist friends, she thinks of
Ninian, _plasters_ on the family jewels, resumes the rôle of the Lord
Lieutenant’s wife and entertains the county. Disgusting, I call it.
MOLYNEUX: William and I have never believed in entertaining the county.
LORD WILLIAM: I confess I am sometimes entertained by it.
MOLYNEUX: My appetite is too jaded to enjoy the hunting exploits of the
squire or the cameos of his lady.
LORD WILLIAM: And the parson is always collecting for an organ.
MRS. MARTINEAU: Ann is so strange; she really seems to enjoy it.
TIMOTHY: That is because everything is dramatic to her. She doesn’t know
what patronage means, so everyone tells her their secrets.
MRS. MARTINEAU: They can’t be very interesting secrets.
TIMOTHY: All secrets are interesting.
MOLYNEUX: All secrets are the same.
LORD WILLIAM: The tiresome thing about a secret is that no one believes
you know one till you’ve told it.
MRS. MARTINEAU: Ann is so patient. She can listen for hours to the
laundry-maid.
TIMOTHY: Ann is so interested. She knows that all of the romance in the
world is contained in the laundry-maid’s love affair.
MOLYNEUX: All lovers are the same. That is why I gave up being one. I
realized that the only new rôle I could assume was that of a husband, and
marriage seemed too heavy a price to pay.
MRS. MARTINEAU: And everyone knows all about husbands.
MOLYNEUX: To tell you the truth, I wanted to keep one illusion. I was
afraid that if I married I might discover that wives deceive their lovers
with their husbands.
LORD WILLIAM: Molly and I gave up sentimental adventures when we noticed
that we were becoming sentimental. We decided to take to dry wit.
MOLYNEUX: We are universally considered as wits, and as that reputation,
so easily gained, is impossible to lose, we are dragooned by public
opinion and our own self-respect into living up to it.
LORD WILLIAM: You see, Jordan, a reputation is a prison.
MRS. MARTINEAU: And self-respect is the jailor.
SELINA: What is self-respect, Tim?
TIM: The thing that makes Mrs. Martineau dress for dinner when she is
alone in the country, that prevents Jordan from buying a vote, Lord
William from making a bad joke——
MRS. MARTINEAU: And Ann from having a lover.
LORD WILLIAM: Lord bless my soul, Ann has not been prevented from having
a lover. The possibility never occurred to her.
MRS. MARTINEAU: If it did she would reject it without a pang. Ann’s moral
tidiness is unequalled.
TIM (_angrily_): Is that your definition of effortless radiant goodness?
MRS. MARTINEAU: I only meant that Ann is not exactly a Bohemian. All her
meals are in the dining-room. There are no trays in her life.
TIM: That is Ninian.
MRS. MARTINEAU: Well, she is responsible for him, isn’t she? Husbands
aren’t gifts from God like one’s relations.
MOLYNEUX: A husband is every woman’s first big mistake.
MRS. MARTINEAU: Which is the next?
MOLYNEUX: Her second lover.
MRS. MARTINEAU: How subtle you are.
LORD WILLIAM: A woman’s first lover is usually a slight caricature of
her husband. People don’t escape from one thing to another, but from one
thing to the same thing.
MOLYNEUX: There you are again, Bill, always dragging in your confounded
philosophy.
MRS. MARTINEAU: What is your philosophy?
MOLYNEUX: It isn’t really philosophy at all—Bill maintains that life is a
merry-go-round always coming back to the same point.
LORD WILLIAM: And we poor fools think that we are steering our painted
swans when we can turn them neither to right nor to left. Why, we can’t
even make them go faster or slower.
JORDAN: You don’t believe in free will, Lord William?
LORD WILLIAM: I believe that one can fall off.
SELINA: Mr. Jordan, do you think that this is the right atmosphere in
which to bring up a young girl?
MRS. MARTINEAU: We shall drive you to romance.
SELINA: And then what will become of me?
LORD WILLIAM: You will return to us, my dear.
SELINA: I can’t think why Ann has you in the house.
LORD WILLIAM: I am her uncle. She believes that Molly has a heart of
gold. Mrs. Martineau played with her in the nursery. Tim is a saint, and
Jordan, as he told you, takes some women and some things seriously. Ann
is the woman and she selects the things.
[_Enter LADY EMILY CATHCART._
LADY EMILY: Where is Ann?
MRS. MARTINEAU: Still at her Red Cross meeting.
LORD WILLIAM: Emily, as a maiden lady of immaculate reputation——
MOLYNEUX: Remember you are speaking of your sister, Bill.
LADY EMILY: Molly, you are taking away my character.
MOLYNEUX (_gallantly_): I am too modest to hope to succeed where so many
have failed.
LORD WILLIAM: I was about to ask my sister, before Molly interrupted with
the rather half-hearted propositions we have just been listening to—I was
about to ask my sister whether she does not consider that Ann is becoming
almost too much of a good thing.
LADY EMILY: Too good, you mean?
MRS. MARTINEAU: For this world.
LADY EMILY: For our world.
TIM: Ann couldn’t live in your world. It is too small. She would die for
lack of exercise.
MRS. MARTINEAU: She will die of exhaustion if she tries to combine
Whitechapel and the County.
MOLYNEUX: I regard Ninian as the most fatiguing item in the account.
He has only two topics of conversation—his responsibilities and his
improvements.
LORD WILLIAM: And if you boil them down, they become the same thing—his
pigstys.
MOLYNEUX: You’re a nice unselfish boy, Tim: couldn’t you kill Ninian?
LORD WILLIAM: Wait a moment, Tim. This requires serious consideration.
Wouldn’t Ninian’s death leave Ann even busier than she is?
LADY EMILY: And she might marry someone she loved, which would be very
inconvenient for you all.
MOLYNEUX: I don’t see that we profit much by the present state of affairs.
TIM: Ann’s in touch with so many kinds of life.
MRS. MARTINEAU: Ann is a woman of the world.
TIM: But not of this age.
MOLYNEUX: Ann is the only spot of repose in the twentieth century.
When she sits in a chair she doesn’t fidget; when she talks to you her
attention doesn’t wander to someone else. When she wants to be listened
to, she lowers her voice a little. I am sure that when she goes to bed
she sleeps, and that when she wakes up she is refreshed.
SELINA: Mr. Molyneux, you’re quite romantic.
LADY EMILY: You talk very little for a politician, Mr. Jordan.
JORDAN: You all talk so well, it is a pleasure to listen.
LADY EMILY: What you mean is, that we are difficult to interrupt. It is
quite true. But once you cease to be discouraged by finding that what you
hoped was going to be a solo is either a duet or a chorus, you will soon
begin to rush in on all occasions, and ultimately you will learn to force
a hearing for yourself.
[_Enter ANN._
[_They all get up and help her off with her things, finally
pushing her on to a sofa._
ANN: How spoilt I am.
LADY EMILY: How tired you are.
ANN: But being with you all will soon put that right.
LORD WILLIAM: You have missed a lot, Ann. Molly and I were at our best.
ANN: I hate to have missed a moment of it, but you are both always at
your best.
SELINA: We were all very characteristic. Aunt Emily flirted with Mr.
Molyneux, and Mrs. Martineau tried to flirt with Tim; Papa balanced
precariously on a tight-rope of wit over an abyss of vulgarity, and Mr.
Jordan was silent.
ANN: And what did you do?
SELINA: I helped them to their remarks by asking questions.
MRS. MARTINEAU: Selina treats everyone as if they were performing
animals. Except animals.
SELINA: I love animals.
ANN: It all sounds delightful. What did you talk about?
TIM: About you, of course.
LORD WILLIAM: We tried to talk about other things, but you have a way of
making conversation into a boomerang.
ANN: I am afraid you can’t have said nice things, or the conversation
would have died out very quickly.
MOLYNEUX: We said that you were unique, good, and yet adored by us all.
LORD WILLIAM: Molly said that. Whenever anyone describes a conversation,
they always repeat their own remarks.
ANN: What did you say, Uncle Bill?
LORD WILLIAM: I said that as far as you were concerned, winning the war
had done us no good at all, that your life was becoming a perfect slum of
good works. We all feel that we are between the Scylla of Whitechapel and
the Charybdis of the County.
SELINA: We must tell Ninian that the County has been rechristened
Charybdis. The Lord Lieutenant of Charybdis—what a magnificent title!
ANN: In reality, as you know, I am an altogether self-indulgent woman.
MRS. MARTINEAU: You are so charming, Ann darling, that you entangle other
people’s selfishness—to be self-sacrificing is useless. The essential
thing is to receive the egotism of others on deposit.
ANN: I know that you are all shamefully nice to me, and the result is
that I spend the whole time with you when I ought to be talking to the
vicar or calling on Lady Bootle.
LORD WILLIAM: How is the dear old vicar?
ANN: Very well.
MRS. MARTINEAU: And Mrs. Sidebotham?
ANN: She prefers it to be pronounced Si_de_botham.
MRS. MARTINEAU: And being very properly called Amy, she spells it Aimee.
LADY EMILY: She still believes in the aristocracy. So lucky.
MOLYNEUX: Faith is the substance of things hoped for.
ANN: Do you think she is as complicated as that?
LADY EMILY: She asked me after William, saying, “Your dear brother will
have his little joke.”
LORD WILLIAM: Couldn’t you explain to her, Ann, that my jokes are large
and monumental, and world-famous?
ANN: I don’t think she would understand. To Mrs. Si_de_botham all jokes
are “little jokes,”—household pets in fact.
LORD WILLIAM: Personally, I prefer the dear vicar to his wife. Can’t you
give me any news of him?
ANN: He is such a kind man—just as high as ever, calling the Church of
England the Catholic Church, with a long “a,” and he knows that Christ
was a Jew.
LADY EMILY: Did you tell him?
ANN: I don’t think so.
LADY EMILY: Well, he couldn’t have heard it from Ninian.
SELINA: I hated him when I was a child. He always said “How are _we_ this
morning?” And I never could abide the medical touch in private life.
MOLYNEUX: Ann, you are very stingy of the County news, which, however
much we may try to conceal it, really thrills us. How is Lady Bootle?
ANN: Very rich.
LORD WILLIAM: I don’t like her wig.
MRS. MARTINEAU: Why do wigs always calumniate hair?
ANN: You will see them all at dinner to-morrow.
SELINA: And Sir Henry Bootle will say to Ninian: “That’s a new
acquisition, isn’t it?” pointing to the oldest family portrait, and
Ninian will reply: “It has hung there for four hundred years.” And Ann
will be wretched. Then Lady Bootle will exclaim: “What a superb emerald,”
and Ninian will indicate that it was given to an ancestress by Catherine
the Great, and Ann will wish she hadn’t put it on.
LADY EMILY: And the vicar will say to me: “Quite a stranger, Lady Emily,”
which he always says, however often I come, and I will answer: “I had
meant to be down before,” and he will shake his finger playfully at me,
exclaiming: “A change of mind is the prerogative of the fair sex.” And at
that moment, God willing, dinner will be announced.
ANN: I think you are all very unkind, and as I am very tired I am going
to shoo you all away.
LORD WILLIAM (_grumbling_): You manage things so simply, Ann. When you
want people to come, you ask them to come, and when you want them to go,
you ask them to go.
LADY EMILY: Why can’t you let the poor child alone? She is tired.
MOLYNEUX: We can believe that she is tired, but we are incapable of
believing that we are not refreshing.
ANN: Of course you are refreshing. It is only that I am showing absolute
self-interest. I don’t want even the film of a headache to come between
us after dinner.
LADY EMILY: Molly can never believe that a woman is resting. He remembers
that in his youth it invariably meant that she was with someone else.
MOLYNEUX: I have always felt that instead of saying strong as an ox, one
should say strong as a woman.
SELINA: You haven’t read your Shakespeare. “Frailty, thy name is woman.”
MOLYNEUX: That had a moral, not a physical, significance, my dear. I am
not speaking of robust virtue.
[_They are talking themselves out of the room._
ANN: Aunt Emily—will you show Mabel her room?
LADY EMILY: Certainly, my love.
ANN (_calling to the door_): Half-past eight dinner, everybody.
TIM (_in an undertone_): Might I stay for a moment or two? I will be
quiet as a mouse.
ANN: Tim, dear.
TIM: Please don’t think that I am going to be tiresome. I do try to
keep my thoughts away from you when you don’t want them, but it is so
difficult.
ANN: My dear, I need all of the reinforcements that you can give
me—always.
TIM: You are so nice, dearest, that you count on my being a fool.
ANN: You’re teasing me.
TIM: I know you can’t need anything. It is horrible to have nasty
involuntary necessities nibbling things out of one’s wishes.
ANN: What wishes?
TIM: The wish to behave well.
ANN: I never want to behave well.
TIM: You’ve never had to.
ANN (_to herself_): Oh, my dear.
TIM: I always hope that there are going to be little things that I
can do for you. I don’t ask you to need things. I only long—quite
passionately—for you to want some thing.
ANN: It is so complicated—I need your love and I want you to be happy.
TIM: How deliciously simple that would be. You have my love and you make
me happy.
ANN: Happy?
TIM: My love for you doesn’t make me unhappy any more. It has become a
sort of religion.
ANN: Tim——
TIM: My reverent adoration is without requests and without claims. I
don’t want you to step down off your altar, dearest.
ANN: Tim, you frighten me.
TIM: And they think you are cold or conventional because your wonderful
goodness is a steady light, because you know nothing of ugly flares of
passion, which first blind you and then leave everything dark.
ANN (_shutting her eyes_): Oh!
TIM: It is so difficult not to be selfish when one loves. It seems
somehow to make everything so personal.
ANN (_looking into distance_): Yes.
TIM: You don’t say “How divinely she walks,” but “Is she coming straight
to me?”
ANN: Yes.
TIM: There is a feverish unreality about everything, so that you feel
that even physical pain would soothe your nerves.
ANN (_under her breath_): I know.
TIM (_has not heard her_): You want to be cruel ... or violent ... or
something....
ANN: Tim dear, you have never wanted to hurt a fly in your life.
TIM: Oh yes, I have. When I first fell in love with you, I wanted to kill
Ninian.
ANN: And now?
TIM: Now I just want to have him killed—not by my own hand, but
impersonally. You see, Ann, you have taught me that there is something
unblessed about the things you do for your own sake. Does it sound
priggish? I mean that now I quite honestly don’t think about how things
will affect me, but how they will affect you. It has made me so happy.
ANN: I don’t deserve it.
TIM: I don’t mean that I don’t want you with every breath of my body;
the whole of me is yearning for you all the time. I feel a burning wave
sweep through me whenever you walk into the room. When I hear your name
suddenly, it makes me feel sick and giddy and excited. If I meet you
unexpectedly I am like a nervous actor in the wings, waiting for his cue.
ANN: Tim....
TIM: Does it worry you if I talk like that? I am not trying to appeal to
you, or fuss you, dearest. God knows I’m not.
ANN: I know, dear.
[_She gives him her hand._
TIM (_kissing it_): Sometimes I have wondered what it would feel like to
kiss you—just once.
ANN (_putting her face up to him_): There.
TIM: No. I’m not going to take advantage of your generosity. It would be
sacrilege. I am not an irreverent worshipper nor an ungrateful one. I am
proud to be allowed to kiss your finger tips.
ANN (_bitterly_): Why is it the selfish people who get so much out of
one? Why do we go on pouring ourselves into shallow streams? Why can’t we
love the people we want to love?
TIM (_simply_): I do.
ANN: Tim—I wish you didn’t think such wonderful things about me. Some day
you will be so shocked. So surprised.
TIM: Never.
ANN: You will find out that I am not a saint at all.
TIM: I know you are a saint. Nothing can alter that.
ANN: You have created me in your own image, giving me all your own lovely
qualities. They are a divine gift, Tim. Thank you for them.
TIM: What nonsense you talk. Everyone becomes good when they are with you.
ANN: Some day you may find out terrible things about me—and then what
shall I do?
TIM: What you did wouldn’t matter, anyway.
ANN (_looking at him intensely_): Wouldn’t it? Are you sure?
TIM: Quite sure. It’s what you are. The warm glowing light you give. It
doesn’t matter into what dark corners it goes, does it?
ANN (_in a whisper_): I wonder.
TIM: The places it lights and warms aren’t part of the sun, are they?
ANN: But people don’t work in that magnificent way. They select their
just and their unjust. What human being is impartial?
TIM: You are, very nearly. You make everyone happy.
ANN: I don’t! My God—I don’t.
TIM: How I used to curse your marriage to Ninian. I do still in a way—and
yet I am glad—selfishly glad, perhaps, that you have never been in love,
that no hellish divine unrest has wrought havoc in your heart—that you
are always there, serene and luminous and tender and whole.
ANN (_wonderingly_): Do you really think I am like that?
TIM: Yes. Not a searchlight, or a lamp, but sunshine out of doors.
ANN: My dear, I am a nervous, impatient, hungry, selfish creature.
TIM: You are a wicked woman, to fish after all the divine things I have
been saying to you.
ANN: Tim, you spoil me.
TIM (_seizing her shoulders_): I’d love to spoil you, all day, every day,
all of the time. I’m sorry, Ann. I’m being rough and uncontrolled, and
worrying you. Forgive me.
ANN: Forgive you? Tim dear, you are an angel, and I am a very ordinary
woman, and so tired.
TIM: Bless you.
[_TIM tiptoes out of the room._
[_There is a pause. Then JORDAN enters quietly, shutting the
door behind him._
ANN: Philip!
[_JORDAN walks to the window._
ANN: Darling, you haven’t kissed me.
PHILIP: Oh, I am thinking of something else, and kisses have nothing to
do with it.
ANN: I don’t understand.
PHILIP: Women never do.
ANN: For God’s sake, don’t generalize—it sounds so cheap.
PHILIP: It’s my platform training.
ANN: You’re so strange to-day—is anything the matter?
PHILIP: Nothing and everything.
ANN: Are you angry with me?
PHILIP: No.
ANN: I am sorry if I was snappy.
[_There is a pause._
ANN: In twenty minutes Ninian will be back from the station, the
dressing-gong will ring, and I shall have to leave you. Oh, I wish there
weren’t a clock in my heart telling me that time is running away.
PHILIP: It is half-past seven now.
ANN: All those lovely precious moments when I have you to myself ...
don’t let them be empty moments, Philip. Think of all the agonizing
happiness that we can fill them with.
PHILIP: Why do you always want things at fever pitch?
ANN: I don’t, but each time I am with you my love is like a child being
born. It tears me to bits. And then there comes a moment of pure ecstasy
and forgetfulness, and my life ceases to exist, and there is no time, and
everything is simple.
PHILIP: My dear child, your nerves are out of order.
ANN: I’m sorry, darling. You _do_ hate me to be what you call fanciful,
don’t you?
PHILIP: Yes.
ANN: I’ll be just what you like. So good and sober and matter-of-fact if
you’ll only smile.
PHILIP: One can’t always smile.
ANN: I can never help it when I’m with you. Smiles seem to flutter about
my lips like butterflies. But sometimes I can’t help thinking—in an hour
he’ll be gone, in ten minutes he’ll be gone. And then when people come
into the room, I try to shut them out of my consciousness and imagine I
am in your arms. Do you never do that?
PHILIP: No.
ANN: First I feel one arm around me, then the other.... I think of
each finger of your hand and the features of your face getting closer
and closer till they merge into my face, and your lips creeping about
covering every bit of me with kisses—my neck, my eyes, my lips. And then
I look up dazed and radiant and see some old man talking to me about the
Tariff. Do you never do that?
PHILIP: No.
ANN: You are dreadfully wanting me to be sensible, aren’t you?
PHILIP: Yes.
[_There is a pause._
ANN (_nervously_): Do Uncle Bill and Mr. Molyneux get on your nerves?
PHILIP: No.
ANN: They have hearts of gold, really.
PHILIP: Your universe is entirely populated by saints, and sinners who
sin in order to become still greater saints.
[_There is a pause._
ANN: Were you in your constituency yesterday?
PHILIP: Yes.
ANN: Did you make a speech? Was it a good meeting?
PHILIP: Fairly.
[_There is another pause. ANN is crying silently._
PHILIP: What the devil is the matter now?
ANN: I don’t understand.
PHILIP: So you have already observed.
ANN: It’s dreadful. Why, we can’t even talk any more.
PHILIP: That does indeed put me in a unique position. Someone a Cathcart
can’t talk to.
ANN: I can’t bear it. What have I done? Don’t you love me any more? Don’t
I even amuse you?
PHILIP: I don’t know.
ANN: You see, I haven’t ever loved anyone before. I suppose I am clumsy—I
can’t play it as a game, giving little bits of myself to make you want
more. I don’t know how to.
PHILIP: An end was bound to come sooner or later, wasn’t it?
ANN: But I don’t see. How can there be an end? I belong to you—all of
me—always. Philip, my beloved, my lover.
PHILIP (_bitterly_): How surprised they would be.
ANN: Philip, you are teasing me, aren’t you? You’re testing me? You want
to see how much I care. It will always be so easy for you to hurt me,
dear heart—too easy to be amusing.
[_PHILIP is sitting on the sofa beside her and she is stroking
his face._
ANN: But then, there is nothing difficult left, is there? Because it is
just as easy—terribly easy—to make me happy.
PHILIP: Ann, haven’t you ever thought that love affairs don’t last for
ever?
ANN: I have never thought of love affairs; I have only thought of
love—which means you—and you, which means life.
PHILIP: You haven’t learnt much from your uncle and aunt, have you?
ANN: It makes me so dreadfully sad when I hear them, because I know—you
have taught me—that they don’t understand life.
PHILIP: Suppose that they are right? They are careless and care-free, and
courageous and clear-eyed, and old and young—why shouldn’t they be right?
ANN: They have never loved.
PHILIP: A hundred times.
ANN: It is the same thing.
[_She is looking into his face._
PHILIP (_more gently_): What do you want?
ANN: I want to be kissed—to be kissed better, as we said in the nursery.
PHILIP: Where does it hurt?
ANN: It doesn’t hurt when you ask me.
PHILIP: Baby!
ANN: Beloved!
[_PHILIP kisses her. Pause. Her face is buried on his shoulder._
ANN: Philip....
PHILIP: Yes?
ANN (_happily_): Why did you frighten me? It was wicked and cruel.
PHILIP: This is an impossible situation.
ANN (_drowsily gay_): Don’t talk business.
PHILIP: We can’t go on like this for ever.
ANN: We can’t help going on like this.
PHILIP: And if your husband finds out?
ANN (_doubtfully_): Perhaps he would divorce me; then we could marry.
PHILIP: How could I marry you?
ANN (_still gay_): Do members of Parliament never marry?
PHILIP: Ann, how can you be so exasperating?
ANN: Did she threaten him with respectability? It was a shame.
PHILIP: Of all the contrary little devils....
ANN: Philip, I’ve made you laugh.... Oh, I’m so happy. Do you know that
ten minutes ago I thought I should never make you laugh again?
PHILIP: Ann, get up.
[_ANN gets up._
PHILIP: Let me look at you. Ann—you are a beautiful woman.
ANN: So I’ve been told.
PHILIP: Ann, come here.
[_ANN approaches him gingerly. PHILIP crushes her in his arms._
ANN: Philip, you’re hurting me!
PHILIP (_passionately_): I want to hurt you.
[_PHILIP is pushing back her hair with one hand, and with the
other he holds her at arm’s length. Very brutally he crushes
her against himself, and then pushes her away again. Her hair
is coming down and her lip is bleeding. At last he releases her
and walks away with his back to her. ANN tremulously follows him
and puts her hand on his arm. PHILIP turns._
ANN: Philip, you do _love_ me, don’t you?
PHILIP (_in a hard voice_): I wonder.
CURTAIN
ACT II
ACT II
SCENE I
_ANN, alone, walks about humming happily. PHILIP is shown in
by THOMPSON._
THOMPSON: Mr. Jordan.
[_Exit THOMPSON._
ANN: Philip——
PHILIP: Here I am.
ANN: But you can’t dine——
PHILIP: No, I must be in the House.
ANN: Of course.
PHILIP (_suspiciously_): Why do you say “of course”?
ANN (_smiling_): Because I am so well trained.
PHILIP: You sounded as if you were thinking of something.
ANN: My mind was in that rare and delightful state known as a perfect
blank.
PHILIP: You don’t usually say “of course” when I break an engagement with
you.
ANN: You told me it was so important to be sensible.
PHILIP: I doubt if the Almighty Himself could make you sensible. It
wasn’t part of His conception——
ANN: But I have always known that you ought to go more to the House.
PHILIP (_sharply_): What do you mean?
ANN: That to be young and charming and promising and intelligent means
nothing compared to being on the spot.
PHILIP: How practical you are getting.
ANN: It isn’t that I am getting practical; it is that every day you seem
to be becoming more and more a part of me. You see, if you are always
with me, it doesn’t matter quite so much that you should sometimes be
away from me.
PHILIP: I don’t see.
ANN: Loving you used to make me unhappy, but now it makes me happy—now
that I am sure. I used to feel “He isn’t looking at me, he isn’t thinking
about me, his eyes aren’t even straying in my direction. He is quite
happy on that sofa, quite concentrated—if only he were inattentive. But
he isn’t.” But now I feel “It doesn’t matter what woman he is with,
or what man—his heart is with me. I don’t need any stray looks, any
accidental jealousy—he means so much to me now that I don’t want him to
be anxious when he’s away from me. I want him to be confident.” When you
are a little bit in love you are flattered by doubt, but when you really
love you only want trust.
PHILIP: You give enough trust for two.
ANN: You make it so easy.
PHILIP: Ann——
ANN: Yes?
PHILIP (_thinks better of it_): Nothing.
ANN: Did you want to tell me something?
PHILIP: One can’t tell you anything. You have the divine scepticism of
all the saints.
ANN: What do you mean?
PHILIP: All saints are unbelievers. They don’t believe in realities. They
don’t even believe in mortality.
ANN (_passionately_): One can’t believe in mortality.
PHILIP: You must have seen enough death during the war.
ANN: That is why I can’t believe in mortality.
PHILIP: Doesn’t it let you down, always following your hopes?
ANN: What else can one follow?
PHILIP: Anyway, if it doesn’t let you down, it must let you in for things.
ANN: But I like being let in for things.
PHILIP: I wonder your illusions aren’t threadbare by now—you use them
enough.
ANN: Philip, why do you go on keeping up a silly pretence of being hard
and cold and cynical and heartless? They are all such foolish things to
be. People are only hard because they are frightened, and cold because
they are clumsy. As for cynicism, it is so misleading; it keeps you out
of touch with life.
PHILIP: That seems an odd remark for a Cathcart.
ANN: Uncle Bill and Aunt Emily aren’t really cynical; they are just a
little out of tune with the sort of lives we live. You ought to think of
them as delicious museum pieces. You watch Uncle Bill if somebody makes a
pun—he glows—not because he very much likes puns, but because they make
him feel young. It must be so sad to see the world drifting away out of
your ken into a strange new century full of distorted angles and alien
values.
PHILIP (_violently_): I don’t understand you, any of you—your uncle or
your aunt or Selina.
ANN (_interrupting_): Selina is just very young and uncompromising—a
ruthless, fastidious realist. At least she thinks she is a realist,
because she can face things, but it is so easy to face things before one
has ever been hurt.
PHILIP: Then there is you.
ANN (_laughing_): There is me. (_Tenderly_): Are you glad?
PHILIP (_who is walking up and down_): You are the most mysterious of
them all.
ANN: I am simplicity itself. It is only because you love me that you
think me mysterious. The person you love is always mysterious because you
have encircled them in the great mystery of love.
PHILIP (_who is taking no notice of what she is saying_): They all think
you a saint, and they are right, I suppose. You see no evil, in anyone,
not even in yourself.
ANN: Philip, how can you say a thing like that? No one knows better than
I do that I am riddled with faults.
PHILIP: You are practically faultless, and yet it would seem as if virtue
meant nothing to you.
ANN: What do you mean by virtue?
PHILIP: What other people mean by it.
ANN: That one’s body matters more than anything else?
PHILIP: I shouldn’t have put it like that.
ANN: Nor would the other people.
PHILIP: You think nothing of having a lover.
ANN: I think everything of it.
PHILIP: You don’t mind deceiving your husband.
ANN: You know I would have told him long ago if you had let me.
PHILIP (_in despair at her blindness_): Good God!
ANN: Don’t you remember we thought that although he doesn’t love me it
would hurt him?
PHILIP (_sneering_): Ninian too is like _other_ people.
ANN: Yes—once one has given one’s heart all other gifts are so small.
That is where it seems to me that the moralists go wrong—they seem to
think the body so much more important than the heart or the soul.
PHILIP: Moralists aren’t occupied with the heart or the soul. They are
interested in the structure of society.
ANN: Then why don’t they become county councillors or politicians?
PHILIP: Because they would find difficulty in getting elected.
ANN: You look tired.
PHILIP: I am tired.
ANN: What has tired you? The things you have done or the things you
haven’t done?
PHILIP: Both.
ANN: Tell me!
PHILIP (_sharply_): What?
ANN: Everything—anything.
PHILIP: There is nothing to tell.
ANN (_teasing_): You look like a man with a guilty secret.
PHILIP (_startled_): What are you driving at?
ANN (_still gay_): How should I know?
PHILIP: Well, I must be going.
ANN: Already?
PHILIP: Your guests will be arriving in a moment.
ANN: Philip, please say something nice to me before you go.
PHILIP: What do you mean by a nice thing?
ANN: Something obvious and all-embracing.
PHILIP: So you’ve reached the obvious, have you?
ANN: I have always believed in the obvious.
PHILIP: What would you call an obvious and all-embracing thing to say?
ANN: I love you.
PHILIP: Why do women always want to be told that one loves them? They
must know whether it is true or not.
ANN: There may be truths that are better left unsaid, but there are no
nice truths that are not the better for being repeated.
PHILIP: Do you call love a nice truth?
ANN: A respectable truth.
PHILIP: So long as you change the subject.
ANN: Don’t tease me, sweet.
PHILIP: I’m not teasing you.
ANN (_stroking his forehead_): I don’t want you to be tired or
worried.... I don’t want you to have a conscience.
PHILIP: Not any conscience at all?
ANN: A preventive conscience but not a retrospective one.
PHILIP: I think it is better to worry after than before ... a sin
followed by a regret is better than a blank preceded by a doubt.
ANN: It might be such a small sin and such a big regret.
PHILIP: Why do you look so happy?
ANN: I am so happy.
PHILIP: How do you manage it?
ANN: You manage most of it.
PHILIP (_showing some faint emotion for the first time_): There are
moments when I wish I had managed it.
ANN (_kisses his hand_): Good-bye.
PHILIP: Good-bye.
[_Exit PHILIP._
[_ANN walks about the room singing to herself._
[_Enter LORD WILLIAM._
ANN: Uncle William, how nice of you to come early.
LORD WILLIAM: One never gets you alone.
ANN: I would always be alone if I knew you were coming.
LORD WILLIAM: You ought not to be wasting your wiles on an old uncle; you
ought to be ruining some young man with them.
ANN: Is it nice for young men to be ruined?
LORD WILLIAM: Delightful.
ANN: When were you first ruined, Uncle Bill?
LORD WILLIAM: When I was twenty-one. That was, quite properly, the method
I selected for coming of age.
ANN: What was she like?
LORD WILLIAM: She was a circus-rider. We did things in style in those
days.
ANN: Was she pretty?
LORD WILLIAM: She was dashing—damned expensive too. I will say that for
her. Now you could ruin a young man without costing him a penny.
ANN: In fact you are recommending me as an economy.
LORD WILLIAM: I’m sorry, my dear. For a moment sordid financial
considerations arose in my mind with the memory of Annette. We were
all so affected by Ouida in those days. It never occurred to us to do
anything simply.
ANN: And now I suppose you think that we none of us do anything well?
LORD WILLIAM: A little slipshod, a little casual, I find you. And your
young men are so lacking in persistence that your young women can’t
afford any subtlety. If men go about taking no for an answer they can’t
expect to get “no” said to them, and there is nothing like affirmatives
for taking the savour out of an affair.
THOMPSON: Lady Emily Cathcart, my lady.
[_Enter LADY EMILY CATHCART. She kisses ANN._
LORD WILLIAM: Emily, do you recollect that year when Molly was first
attentive to you?
LADY EMILY: Very clearly.
LORD WILLIAM: Molly was a buffoon in those days.
LADY EMILY: Really, William, you should not betray the secrets of our
youth. Ann, who is romantic, believes that Molly was the most tender of
lovers.
LORD WILLIAM: Well, even when you lay your _amour propre_ aside you will
admit that Molly was, if possible, far more tender than passionate.
LADY EMILY: Fiddlesticks! Molly was never in the least tender, nor for
that matter was he in the least passionate either. But he was not more
ridiculous than any other young man who adopts an attitude unpropelled by
an impulse.
ANN: What was his attitude?
LADY EMILY: In the year ’80, to which William is referring, his attitude
was one of affection towards myself.
ANN: I am sure that that was quite sincere.
LADY EMILY: Perfectly. He liked me in private and loved me in public.
ANN: You mean that he was shy when he was alone with you?
LADY EMILY: No. I mean that he was frank when he was alone with me.
ANN: What a divine compliment.
LADY EMILY: The truth is the most tiresome of all compliments.
LORD WILLIAM: When I am flattered I always imagine that I have been told
the truth.
LADY EMILY: William has always been vain—whereas I have been selfish,
which is a much more artistic achievement. When William was young, he
succumbed to every temptation—a sad lack both of fastidiousness and of
concentration. I, on the other hand, determined to miss chances and take
opportunities. I succeeded.
LORD WILLIAM: Your aunt means that she remained unmarried.
LADY EMILY: On purpose.
LORD WILLIAM: A misguided objective.
LADY EMILY: Why?
LORD WILLIAM: The stationary is no achievement.
LADY EMILY: There was nothing stationary about it.
LORD WILLIAM: Don’t shock Ann.
[_Enter THOMPSON and SELINA._
THOMPSON: Miss Selina, m’lady.
[_Exit THOMPSON._
SELINA: Papa, you are an outrage.
LORD WILLIAM: I hope so, my love.
SELINA: You forgot me.
LORD WILLIAM: How is that possible?
SELINA: I should have hoped it would be impossible.
LORD WILLIAM: Are you suggesting that my delight as a parent has
triumphed over my indiscretion as a chaperon? That my desire for your
society has prevented me from leaving you at the right moment?
SELINA: I am suggesting no such thing. I am merely mentioning the fact
that you went out without me.
LORD WILLIAM: To be sure, that is what comes of living in the same house.
One never can remember the other person.
[_Enter THOMPSON and MR. MOLYNEUX._
THOMPSON: Mr. Molyneux, m’lady.
ANN: Mr. Molyneux, Uncle Bill and Aunt Emily have been taking your
character away. If you want to find it again you need only come to me.
LORD WILLIAM: Quite right, my dear. At last I have found a profession for
you. A pawnbroker of reputations.
LADY EMILY: Remember not to accept stolen goods.
SELINA: And that, failing a payment, the property becomes your own.
MOLYNEUX: I am not putting my reputation on deposit; I am giving it to
Ann.
LADY EMILY: You are giving away something you don’t possess.
MOLYNEUX: Won’t you lend it to me?
[_Enter NINIAN._
NINIAN: I apologize, Mr. Molyneux. Forgive me, Uncle William. I have been
kept.
LORD WILLIAM: Tut, tut, Ninian, a rich man like you!
NINIAN: I cannot see how being rich can affect the fact that I was
sitting late on a committee. And anyway, I am not rich ... you know
very well, Uncle William, that it is almost impossible nowadays for a
gentleman to be rich.
MOLYNEUX: It was always difficult.
LORD WILLIAM: It is a question of minerals, my boy. There is still coal
in the earth.
MOLYNEUX: But, as Ninian would say, there are unfortunately also miners.
NINIAN: There are, I understand, a number of very rich people in this
country to-day. I know very few of them.
SELINA: What a pity.
MOLYNEUX: Never mind—as the proverb says, if you fail the first time—and
it applies, I imagine, to all of the numerous first times—try, try again.
LADY EMILY: I feel that you ought to make an effort to get into touch
with all these millionaires.
NINIAN: I do not know their names.
SELINA: What a shame!
MOLYNEUX: There must be ways of finding out. Somerset House, for instance.
SELINA: Aren’t they all dead there?
MOLYNEUX: It is difficult not to have an heir.
NINIAN: I have no desire to know any of these profiteers. What could they
do me? I should, I hope, feel at a disadvantage in their company.
[_Enter THOMPSON and MRS. MARTINEAU._
THOMPSON: Mrs. Martineau, m’lady.
[_Exit THOMPSON._
ANN: Dear Mabel.
[_General greetings._
NINIAN: If you were older, Mrs. Martineau, I should say that you look
younger each time I see you.
MRS. MARTINEAU: Please say it—I am not young enough not to have my head
turned.
[_Enter THOMPSON and TIM._
THOMPSON: Mr. Carstairs, m’lady.
ANN: Tim....
TIM: I am so sorry if I am late.
ANN: You’re not late—for dinner.
LADY EMILY (_in the other corner_): Why, Mrs. Martineau?
MOLYNEUX: Why indeed? These nursery friendships never come to any good.
LADY EMILY: Even later friendships rarely come to any good.
MOLYNEUX: But they can easily be taken to the bad.
LADY EMILY: Not easily. Believe me, not easily. Going to the bad is very
difficult.
MOLYNEUX: Why so difficult?
LADY EMILY: Because one’s roots go deeper than one thinks. You find a lot
of odd principles and inhibitions lying about at the bottom of the sea.
If the psychoanalysts hadn’t made the term ridiculous I should talk of
the subconscious.
LORD WILLIAM: Did I hear you use the word subconscious, Emily?
LADY EMILY: You did, William.
LORD WILLIAM: It has played no part in your life.
LADY EMILY: It has played the same part in my life that it plays in other
people’s. It has been the refuge of unwelcome guests.
LORD WILLIAM (_calling_): Ann. Ann! There is something the matter with
Emily to-night. She has become a moralist. Everyone is very odd. Selina
is silent, Tim is restless, Ninian is absent-minded, and Mrs. Martineau
is sunny. Why the devil should they run away from themselves like that?
By the way, Ann, what are you?
ANN (_smiling_): I am happy.
MOLYNEUX: Tell us, Ann, is virtue really its own reward? We should so
like to know. We need cheering up.
[_Enter THOMPSON._
THOMPSON: Dinner is served, m’lady.
[_General bustle._
CURTAIN _for Ten Seconds_