Now then, we’re quite safe unless somebody comes and calls. Perhaps I
had better tell Mary that I am not at home?
JOHN (_impatiently_). Nobody will call. The position then is this:
you had arranged to go off with Meldrum. You were to go first, and he
was to follow you by a certain train?
ARIADNE. Yes, dear. Tea, Hester?
JOHN (_violently_). Oh, damn the tea! Tea, tea, tea! How can we
settle anything when you’re always talking about tea?
ARIADNE (_soothingly_). The sooner we start drinking it, the sooner
we shall stop talking about it. Hester?
HESTER (_haughtily_). No, thank you.
ARIADNE (_coldly_). Hector, pass Hester a bun.
HESTER. I don’t want anything, thank you.
ARIADNE. Hector? You do, don’t you?
HECTOR (_taking a cup_). Thank you. After all, it’s a stimulant.
One wants to keep a very clear head. (_He takes a bun--another
stimulant._)
ARIADNE. Did you say you wouldn’t have any, John?
JOHN (_gruffly_). No, thank you.
ARIADNE (_pouring herself a cup_). There! Now, then, where were we?
Oh, yes--I was to go first and he was to follow me by a certain
train. That’s right.
JOHN. And he didn’t follow you?
ARIADNE. Not by that train.
HECTOR. Let me see, if he missed the 12.5, he’d probably catch
the----(_Out comes the time-table_) Now, then.
HESTER. What does it matter what train he went by?
HECTOR (_turning the pages rapidly with a moistened finger_). In a
case like this nothing is immaterial.
JOHN. Well, then, you got a telegram at your club saying that he’d
missed his train.
ARIADNE. And was coming by the next. (_Taking a telegram from her
bag_) Here it is.
JOHN. Ah! (_He reads it._)
HECTOR. May I? (_He takes it and reads_) Ah! Handed in at Melchester
Central, 12.20. Received Knightsbridge, 12.38. “Missed train. Expect
me at three. Horace.”
JOHN. And what did you do?
HECTOR. One moment, dear boy. (_Returning to time-table)_ He would
catch the 1.17. Runs into town--runs into town----(_He turns a page._)
JOHN (_his temper rising_). And what did you do, when you read the
telegram?
ARIADNE. Came home again.
HECTOR. Change at West Hutton. I knew it wasn’t a good train. Yes, he
ought to have caught the 12.5.
ARIADNE. He ought. That’s what I keep saying.
JOHN (_sarcastically_). And as he didn’t, you have decided that you
don’t want to go into the unknown with him after all?
ARIADNE. No. It would be so very unknown if he kept on missing trains.
JOHN. Whereupon you come coolly back here, as if nothing had
happened, and order tea?
ARIADNE. I was too excited to have lunch. Thinking of him.
JOHN. And now what do you propose to do?
ARIADNE (_at last saying the right thing_). Wait to hear what you
propose to do with me, John.
JOHN. Ah!
HECTOR. Exactly. Now we are getting to grips with the problem. To
take the possibilities. Divorce.
JOHN (_staggered_). Divorce?
HESTER. Rubbish!
HECTOR (_with dignity_). Divorce, I was about to say, is impossible.
ARIADNE. Not impossible, but very bad for business.
JOHN (_sharply_). Why not impossible?
ARIADNE. John! And you a solicitor! Is anything impossible to a
really good solicitor? Think of me in the witness box! How your
counsel would rend me! I wonder who you would brief.
HESTER. It’s absurd, anyway. We don’t want a divorce in the family.
ARIADNE. Of course we don’t.
HECTOR. So be it. We rule out divorce and come to the second
alternative. Separation. Judicial or otherwise.
ARIADNE (_shaking her head_). So expensive.
HECTOR. What would a separation figure out at, John, all told?
(_It is as much as_ JOHN _can do not to shriek_.)
ARIADNE. I was thinking of the expense afterwards. It would mean two
establishments for John. Even as it is, with me helping him by making
love to his clients, we can only just keep this one going. Isn’t it
so, John?
(_But at this_ JOHN _gives way altogether_.)
JOHN (_shouting_). What do you want? What do you think is going to
happen? Do you think you can come back here----
HECTOR (_always helpful_). The past blotted out----
JOHN. Do you think you can go off as you please----
HECTOR (_still helping_). Here to-day and gone to-morrow.
JOHN. Do you think you can just go away and come back when you
like----
HECTOR (_explanatorily_). Without so much as a with-your-leave or a
by-your-leave----
JOHN (_swinging round on_ HECTOR). _Shut up!_
HESTER (_appalled_). John!
ARIADNE (_gleefully to herself_). He’s angry!
JOHN (_still shouting_). Why do _you_ come interfering? Can’t I
manage my own affairs? You keep talking and talking and talking----
HECTOR. My dear John!
JOHN. I can’t say anything, but what you must say something----
HECTOR. I am dumbfounded.
JOHN (_almost crying_). Why can’t you leave me alone? She’s my wife,
isn’t she?
ARIADNE (_under her breath_). Well done!
HECTOR (_to the world_). I am absolutely at a loss! In this very
distressing business I am merely putting my brains, such as they are,
at your disposal. And _this_ happens! I am absolutely at a loss!
HESTER (_hurrying to her wounded husband’s aid_). After all, John,
you asked for our advice----
HECTOR. You took us into your confidence----
HESTER (_stroking her wounded husband’s head_). Hector only wants to
help.
HECTOR (_sadly_). It is beyond me. I am out of my depth.
ARIADNE (_recalling_ JOHN _to the present_). Dear, Hector is out of
his depth.
JOHN (_ashamed of himself_). I am sorry, Hector. (_He holds out his
hand which_ HECTOR _shakes heartily_.)
HECTOR (_happily, the perfect gentleman_). Say no more, my dear
fellow! An apology--between friends----
JOHN (_opening the door_). Would you mind? Forgive me, Hester.
(HESTER _gets up and he shakes her hand._) I think perhaps Ariadne
and I----It was very kind of you to----Perhaps to-morrow we may----Of
course you won’t say anything until----
(_He has got them to the door._)
HESTER. That’s all right, John.
HECTOR (_vaguely_). An apology--between friends. (_Under his breath
to_ HESTER) My dear, do we----(_He indicates saying good-bye to_
ARIADNE) No? Doubtful taste, perhaps. Perhaps better not. Quite so.
(JOHN _takes them out. While he is away_ ARIADNE _touches herself
up in front of the glass and comes back to her tea_.)
JOHN (_as he comes back_). Damn that fellow!
ARIADNE. Hector? Such a nice man.
JOHN. Gas-bag.
ARIADNE. It’s your brother-in-law. Your own sister’s husband, and
making lots of money. You can’t call a man like that a gas-bag.
JOHN. Never mind that. (_Firmly. A husband and a solicitor_) Now
then, Ariadne.
ARIADNE. Yes, John.
JOHN. I want some explanation of this. Why did you go away with that
fellow?
ARIADNE. You told me to be nice to him.
JOHN. (_to Heaven_). _Nice_ to him!
ARIADNE. Yes, it was the nicest thing I could think of.
JOHN. And when your husband asks you to be friendly to a man who is a
good client of his, that’s how you do it.
ARIADNE. Yes. When they don’t miss their train.
JOHN. Well!
ARIADNE (_anxiously_). You don’t think I was too friendly? I had to
think of the business, and he’s such a very important client, isn’t
he?
JOHN. Look here, if you think that by ridiculous exaggeration of my
words like that----
ARIADNE. Don’t sneer at exaggeration. All art is exaggeration. It
isn’t until you look at a thing a little out of its perspective that
you see it as it really is.
JOHN. I don’t want a lecture on art.
ARIADNE. No, John. And it means using such long words. But I want you
to understand that my heart was in the right place if--if the rest of
me wasn’t. I overdid the faithful wife, that’s all.
JOHN. _Faithful_ wife! You have a sense of humour, Ariadne.
ARIADNE. I have, John. Nothing can take that from me.
JOHN (_suddenly_). I don’t believe a word you’ve been saying. You
ran away with him because you loved him. (_She says nothing. He goes
over to her and shakes her by the shoulders._) Answer! Do you love
this fellow?
ARIADNE. Why do you call him a fellow? Only yesterday you were
telling me what a good sort he was.
JOHN (_to himself_). Meldrum! Good God! How little one knows one’s
friends! That sort of man!
ARIADNE. But I told you yesterday he was that sort of man.
JOHN. God! I’ll break his neck for him.
ARIADNE (_interested_). Is that legal?
JOHN (_grimly_). I’ll--break--his--neck for him.
ARIADNE. Is it businesslike? Of course you’d have the winding up of
the estate----
JOHN. If he thinks he can try any of those games in this house----
ARIADNE. Isn’t it funny? Yesterday you liked him and I didn’t, and
to-day you don’t like him and I----
JOHN (_turning to her suddenly_). Supposing he had caught that train!
Where would you be now?
ARIADNE. Ah, but he didn’t. He was detained by business. Business
first.
JOHN (_melodramatically_). In all but actual fact you are unfaithful
to me!
ARIADNE. Ah, but facts are what count in this hard-headed town.
JOHN. But for the trifling accident of missing a train----
ARIADNE (_excusing him_). I suppose he is very busy just now.
JOHN (_the husband forgotten in the solicitor_). Those new houses. I
told you.
ARIADNE. I suppose he suddenly decided that they could be run up for
less or that they didn’t really want bathrooms. I must ask him what
it was.
JOHN (_the husband roused_). You’ll do nothing of the sort! I’ll take
damned good care you never see him again.
ARIADNE. Darling, is that wise?
JOHN. What do you mean?
ARIADNE. We don’t want to offend him, do we?
JOHN. Offend! That’s funny! That’s very funny! (_He laughs bitterly._)
ARIADNE. Yes, dear, but we mustn’t let our sense of humour interfere
with our sense of business.
JOHN (_very sarcastic_). He hasn’t offended _me_. Oh no! He has only
run away with my wife.
ARIADNE. But you must save something from the wreck. You don’t want
to lose a wife _and_ a good client on the same day.
JOHN (_now entirely unmanned_). Damn my clients!
ARIADNE. John, you’re losing your head. You’re saying things you’ll
be sorry for one day.
JOHN (_violently_). And you’re saying things _you’ll_ be sorry for.
And what’s more, my girl, you’ll be sorry for them now. I tell
you I’ve had about enough of this. (_He goes up to her fiercely_)
You shame me in front of my relations, you insult me, you ruin my
business for me, you----
ARIADNE (_triumphantly_). Ah ha! I knew that would come in. Business!
Business!
JOHN (_seizing her wrists_). Stop it, do you hear? Stop it, or by
God, I’ll----
(_The door opens very quietly and HECTOR creeps in._)
HECTOR (_in a stage whisper_). It’s all right, I’m not staying. I
just----Did I leave a small pine--ah, there it is. Thank you, thank
you.
(_He picks up his pineapple and tip-toes softly out of the room._)
ACT III
_Monday._ ARIADNE _is alone in the drawing-room, reading_. MARY
_is clearing away tea. The front door bell rings._
ARIADNE. I am at home to anybody, Mary. From the Mayor
downwards--(_after thought_)--upwards--(_after further
thought_)--downwards.
MARY. Yes, madam.
(_She goes out, leaving the door open. In a little while_
HECTOR’S _voice is heard booming_.)
HECTOR’S VOICE. Ah, Mary! Is Mr. Winter in? I just dropped in on my
way next door.... (MARY’S _voice is not heard_.) ... Ah! No, I think
perhaps.... No, it was your master I particularly wished--in the
circumstances perhaps hardly----Thank you, thank you.
(_He goes_, MARY _comes back_.)
MARY. It was Mr. Chadwick, madam. He said----
ARIADNE (_smiling_). I heard him, Mary. He talks very clearly.
MARY. Thank you, madam.
[_She goes out._
(ARIADNE _returns to her book_.)
ARIADNE (_to herself_). Cut by Hector. (JOHN _comes in, evening paper
in hand. She jumps up_) Darling! (JOHN _takes no notice._) Cut--by
John. (_She goes back to the sofa and picks up her book_) And now
I’ve lost the place. That comes of being impetuous. (JOHN _settles
down with the paper._) Did you see Hector? (JOHN _grunts_.) Yes or
no, as the case may be.... He’s just gone out.... He’s coming back
again.... (_After a long pause_) How delightful.
JOHN (_sulkily_). What?
ARIADNE. Oh, nothing. (_After a pause_) Anything in the paper?
JOHN. No.
ARIADNE. Nothing in the paper. (_After a pause_) Did you have a good
day?
JOHN. H’m.
ARIADNE. A good day. Now what shall I say next? (_Brightly, after a
pause_) I’m reading a book about bees.
JOHN. H’m.
ARIADNE. What a mercy! I’ve found a subject which interests him....
It says in my book about bees that when the queen bee has finished
with her husband she kills him. Did you know that? It’s a funny idea,
isn’t it? You’d have thought that she’d have kept him to talk to her
in the evenings. It must be so lonely for her without anybody.
JOHN. H’m.
ARIADNE. He isn’t as fascinated as I thought. (_After a pause_) I
wish I had been married to Hector. Whatever his faults, nobody can
say that he doesn’t _talk_.
JOHN (_rudely_). And nobody can say that his wife ran away from him.
ARIADNE (_sweetly_). Oh, is _that_ what it is? I knew there was
something the matter.
JOHN (_throwing down his paper_). What do you expect me to do? Thank
you for coming back to me, and then chatter away gaily as though
nothing had happened?
ARIADNE. No, but I think that, after two days of completely silent
thought, you ought to do _some_thing. What _are_ you going to do,
John?
JOHN (_mumbling_). Haven’t decided.
ARIADNE. Would you like me to go away for a few days until you _have_
decided?
JOHN (_brutally_). With whom?
ARIADNE. Oh, John! (_She shakes her head at him._)
JOHN (_angrily_). Why do you make me say things like that? I was just
reading my paper--and then you make me say horrible things like that.
What do you expect me to do? I’ve tried to see Meldrum, I keep on
trying to see Meldrum, but if he’s away, what can I do?
ARIADNE (_surprised_). Away?
JOHN. Of course he’s away. At least he’s never at home or at his
office when I go to see him.
ARIADNE (_eagerly_). What are you going to say to him?
JOHN. Tell him that, if I see him inside my house again, I’ll knock
his head off.
ARIADNE. John! My darling! (_She goes to him and puts her arms round
his neck._)
JOHN. Go away! (_He tries to unloose her arms._)
ARIADNE. And you are prepared to lose all his business?
JOHN (_bravely_). If necessary.
ARIADNE (_admiringly_). John!
JOHN (_hopefully_). It may not come to that, of course.
ARIADNE. But it must!
JOHN (_uncomfortably_). My dear child, you can’t let sentiment
interfere with business. No business man does. If it’s convenient to
Meldrum that I should continue to act for him, naturally he will want
me to.
ARIADNE. And naturally you will?
JOHN. Naturally.
ARIADNE (_leaving him_). I think I shall go on with my book about
bees.
_Enter_ MARY.
MARY. Miss Ingleby is at the door and wants to know if you’re
engaged, madam.
ARIADNE. Oh no, ask her in, Mary.
MARY. Yes, madam.
[_She goes out._
ARIADNE. You’d better pretend you’re busy, hadn’t you, dear? Janet
would know at once that you didn’t love me any more.
JOHN (_sulkily_). Right.
[_He goes out and is heard speaking to_ JANET.
JOHN (_outside_). How are you? You’ll find Ariadne in there. I’ve got
one or two letters to write.
JANET. Thanks. (_She comes in._)
ARIADNE. Good-evening, dear. I suppose you’ve had tea.
JANET. Oh, Lord, yes, ages ago. (_She sits down._) I rather want your
advice, that’s why I came.
ARIADNE. Well, as long as you promise not to take it----
JANET. That’s something about you that makes you different from most
of the people here.
ARIADNE. I suppose Hector would think it uncivic of me to take that
as a compliment.
JANET. Well, anyway, I’ll tell you what’s happened; though, I know
pretty well what you’ll say.
ARIADNE. How disappointing of you!... Go ahead. (_Tucking them away_)
I’m all ears.
JANET. Well, I went to London on Saturday.
ARIADNE. London! On Saturday! Fancy!
JANET. To have lunch with some friends. I was coming back by that 5
train----
ARIADNE. I know. It isn’t a very good one.
JANET. How funny! That was just what Horace Meldrum said.
ARIADNE (_surprised_). Horace Meldrum? When?
JANET. When he saw me catching it.
ARIADNE (_innocently_). Oh, did _he_ go to London on Saturday?
JANET. He had to run up to see a man about something.
ARIADNE. Oh, I see.
JANET. We were both catching the 5 train back.
ARIADNE. Fancy! So _he_ was coming back too?
JANET. Well, he was at the station anyway.
ARIADNE. Looking for somebody perhaps.
JANET. Well, anyhow we met just outside the platform, and naturally
we got talking, and he said that the best train of the day was the
10.45.
ARIADNE. Yes, I’ve heard that very well spoken of.
JANET. And he thought it would be rather fun if we had dinner
somewhere and came back by that train together.
ARIADNE. He likes a little bit of fun, I know.
JANET. _I_ thought it would be rather fun, too. So we did.
ARIADNE (_anxiously_). He didn’t mention any--better trains?
JANET. No, that was the best.
ARIADNE. And you caught it?
JANET. Yes.
ARIADNE (_with a sigh of relief_). Then what do you want my advice
about?
JANET. Well, I’m telling you.
ARIADNE. Sorry.
JANET. He got a bit wuzzy at dinner--well, I don’t mind that, I’ve
seen a bit of it in my time.
ARIADNE. However old are you? A hundred and one?
JANET. When I say wuzzy, I don’t mean--well, he could have driven
a car all right. I mean fond of himself--and of me--and of the
waiters--_you_ know.
ARIADNE. I know.
JANET. And in the train--we had a carriage to ourselves----
ARIADNE. Really? First class, I suppose?
JANET. Yes, and the guard was a friend of his.
ARIADNE. Mr. Meldrum has a great many friends in the guards.
JANET. Well, in the train----
ARIADNE. I suppose he kissed you.
JANET. Well, of course! You don’t think I am making a song about
that, do you?
ARIADNE. I’m sorry, go on.
JANET. Well, in the train he asked me to marry him.
ARIADNE (_awed_). Janet, I wish I could have heard him.
JANET. It _was_ rather funny. He asked me to share his little nest,
and things like that. Well, I told him that I couldn’t say off-hand,
and he said, “That’s right, little woman, you think it over.” But
he’s been practically living with us since, talking business with
Father, and _he_ thinks it’s settled, and Father thinks it’s settled,
and----
ARIADNE. And Janet?
JANET. Janet isn’t quite certain. Because, you see, there’s a lot to
be said on both sides.
ARIADNE. I see. And which side do you want me to say it on?
JANET. I know what _you’ll_ say--you’ll say, “Of _course_ you
mustn’t.”
ARIADNE (_indignantly_). I shan’t say anything of the sort.
JANET. You’re a bit old-fashioned in some ways. Don’t you think so?
ARIADNE. I’m trying not to be.
JANET. I feel that at any moment you’ll ask me if I’m in _love_ with
Horace.
ARIADNE. My dear child--I mean, my dear elderly friend, how could I
ask you anything so ridiculous?
JANET. Mind you, I’m not saying that I have no use for love. But what
I feel is that love and marriage are two different things.
ARIADNE. They are sometimes, of course.
JANET. Well, look round a bit, at all the married couples you know.
How many of them are in love with each other? Are the Chadwicks?
ARIADNE (_twinkling_). You must ask Hector one day--when I’m there.
JANET (_suddenly_). I’ll ask somebody else. Are you and John?
ARIADNE. Oh, my dear! How embarrassing of you!
JANET. Well, tell me.
ARIADNE (_after a pause_). I think so, Janet.... In our hearts....
It gets covered up from time to time with business, and domestic
worries, and other things, but I think it’s there.
JANET (_a little taken aback_). Oh!
ARIADNE. That’s what makes marriage such terrible fun. Trying to keep
it. Trying to find it again. The other thing is so ridiculously easy.
Any fool can get married, and throw her hand in.
JANET. Y-yes.
ARIADNE. You and I are much too good for that, Janet. We’re in a
different class. Any brainless little fluffity girl can marry, and
fall in love with somebody else, and be fallen in love with. It takes
a real woman to keep marriage intact.... _You_ could do it.... And it
_is_ such fun. But you must have the right husband to start with....
Oh yes, John and I are all right ... really ... though perhaps he
doesn’t know it just at this moment.
JANET (_thoughtfully_). I felt perhaps it was a bit cheap.
ARIADNE. Cheap ... yes.... Free love--and free verse. They may be
better, but--(_with a smile_)--but they’re a damn sight easier. I
like difficult things. (_There is a short silence._)
JANET (_getting up slowly_). Yes. Horace is too easy.
ARIADNE. Much.
JANET. Thanks, Ariadne.
ARIADNE. Do something for me.
JANET. Of course.
ARIADNE (_smiling to herself_). Let him think--for to-day
anyhow--that it _is_ settled.
JANET. My dear, it will take me more than a day to persuade him that
it isn’t.
ARIADNE. And it really isn’t?
JANET. It isn’t. Horace is off.... Charlie was off.... I suppose I
shall find somebody one day.
ARIADNE. Why not find a job of work to do while you’re looking round?
JANET (_struck by the novelty of it_). Good idea! I will. So long.
(_She goes ... wondering what she could do._)
(_Left alone_, ARIADNE _waits until_ JANET _is out of the house,
and then opens the door and calls across to_ JOHN’S _study_.)
ARIADNE. John!... John.... It’s all right, Janet has gone. We can
resume our silence from where we left off.... Bother! (_She wanders
round the room in an undecided way, and then goes back to the sofa
and picks up her book._) I suppose it will have to be bees again.
_Enter_ MARY.
MARY. Oh, Mr. Meldrum rang up, madam, while you were engaged with
Miss Ingleby. I couldn’t quite catch whether it was Mr. or Mrs.
Winter he was asking for. He just wanted to know if you was in.
ARIADNE (_hopefully_). Yes, Mary?
MARY. He was coming round, I understood him to say, madam. I think
the master has gone up to dress. I think I heard him going into the
bathroom.
(_The front door bell rings._)
ARIADNE. Oh! Well, you’d better show Mr. Meldrum in here in case
it’s very urgent business.
MARY. Yes, madam, I think that’s him now.
ARIADNE. Very well, Mary. (MARY _goes out and_ ARIADNE _smiles to
herself on the sofa_.) Dear Horace!
MARY (_announcing_). Mr. Meldrum.
HORACE _comes in_.
HORACE (_advancing airily, hand extended_). Ah, dear lady, I just
looked round to say how sorry I was----
ARIADNE (_rising dramatically_). Horace!
HORACE (_less airily_). How sorry I was our little luncheon fell
through----
ARIADNE. My darling!
HORACE (_startled_). Eh?
ARIADNE. I was afraid something had happened to you.
HORACE. Oh no, no, no. A little bit of business turned up. You know
how it does. And I said to myself, “Mrs. John is a sensible woman,
she’ll understand how it is when a little bit of business turns up.
She’ll let me off that little bit of lunch I promised her.” But I
thought I’d just come round--only polite----
ARIADNE (_bewildered_). Horace!
HORACE. What’s the matter?
ARIADNE. Ah, I understand. How tactful of you. But you can speak
quite safely now. We are alone. My husband is upstairs having a bath.
Darling!
HORACE. I--I--I--Really!
ARIADNE. As if business would have kept you away from me! What was
it, dear? You had an accident? You fell down?
HORACE. Really, Mrs. Winter, I don’t quite--I think you must have
made----(_He breaks off, not knowing what to say._)
ARIADNE. Ah, but never mind! We are all right now.
HORACE (_mechanically_). All right now.
ARIADNE. Quite sure?
HORACE. Quite sure.
ARIADNE. Then when do we start?
HORACE. When do we----?
ARIADNE. When do we start?
HORACE (_mechanically_). Start.
ARIADNE. Yes, start.
HORACE. Start where?
ARIADNE. That’s for you to say, Horace. What about Spain?
HORACE. Spain?
ARIADNE. Yes, Spain.
HORACE (_mechanically_). Spain.... Spain.... Spain.... Spain....
ARIADNE. Spain--until it’s all blown over.
HORACE. Spain until it’s all blown over.... (_With an effort_) My
dear lady, I--I don’t know what you’re talking about.
ARIADNE (_horrified_). Horace!
HORACE. I don’t know what you’re talking about.
ARIADNE. Have I made a terrible mistake?
HORACE (_seeming to find some comfort in the phrase_). I don’t know
what you’re talking about.
ARIADNE. You did ask me to come away with you?
HORACE. I don’t know what----
ARIADNE. To leave my husband and come away with you?
HORACE (_with energy_). Never! Never! Never! Never!
ARIADNE. Not on that Friday night when I wore your rose?
HORACE. Never!
ARIADNE. And you wore mine?
HORACE. Never!
ARIADNE. We _are_ thinking of the same Friday? I mean this last one.
HORACE. Never thought of such a thing. Never entered my head.
ARIADNE (_wrinkling her forehead_). I’m sure you said something.
HORACE (_awkwardly_). Just a little bit of lunch--I don’t say I
didn’t suggest a little bit of lunch. What’s the harm in that?
ARIADNE. Was that really all?
HORACE. Absolutely all, ’pon my honour.
ARIADNE. Oh! How awful!
HORACE. Awful? What’s awful?
ARIADNE. What have I done?
HORACE. What _have_ you done?
ARIADNE. Why, you see, I left a note for John.
HORACE (_faintly_). You left what?
ARIADNE. You see, I misunderstood you, and I left a note for John
saying we were going away together.
HORACE. But--but--but----
ARIADNE. And then you didn’t meet me as we arranged, and I thought
you must have had some terrible accident, so I hurried back here to
wait until you were well again.
HORACE (_anxiously_). Yes, but what about the note?
ARIADNE. It was too late. John had read it.
HORACE. But--but--but--my dear lady----
ARIADNE. Wasn’t it a pity?
HORACE. But wha--wha--what did it say?
ARIADNE. Oh, just that you and I were going away together, and he
wasn’t to follow us. I didn’t say anything about Spain, because I
wasn’t quite sure.
HORACE. Well, of all the--well, of all the--well, of all the----
ARIADNE (_penitently_). I was hasty, I see that now. But what are we
going to do?
HORACE. What’s _he_ going to do, that’s the point?
ARIADNE. Do you mean John?
HORACE (_anxiously_). What’s he been doing these last two days?
ARIADNE (_simply_). Waiting for _you_, Horace.
HORACE (_nervously_). How do you mean, waiting for me?
ARIADNE. Just waiting for you. I think he wants to speak to you.
HORACE (_hopefully_). Ah, yes, yes. Perhaps that’s it. There _is_ a
little matter of business between us----
ARIADNE. This wasn’t business, Horace. He talked as though it would
be a pleasure. He’s been looking for you everywhere.
HORACE. What do you think he’s going to say?
ARIADNE. He didn’t tell me. All he _said_ was that he was going to
break your neck for you.
HORACE (_in alarm_). But--but--but--but--but----
ARIADNE. But I suppose he’ll say, “Ah, Meldrum, here you are,” first.
HORACE. But--but--but I’ve just fixed things up with old Ingleby.
Little Miss Janet and I--well, but that shows how ridiculous the
whole thing is. I’m marrying Miss Ingleby.
ARIADNE (_reproachfully_). Not with a broken neck!
HORACE (_anxiously_). But look here, my dear lady, you must explain.
Tell him the whole thing was a horrible mistake.
ARIADNE. Oh, I shall. In fact I’m sure he’ll feel it for himself.
He’ll look down at the body and say, “Yes, it was a mistake. I
oughtn’t to have done it.” And I shall say, “I told you so, John.
You see, we’ve got nowhere to put it.” And he’ll say, “What about
the cellar?” and I shall say, “It’s much too big for the cellar,”
and he will say----(_But the sight of_ HORACE’S _face is too much
for her. Weakly she adds_) And he will say----(_and then breaks down
altogether, and laughs hysterically_).
HORACE (_anxiously_). There, there, my dear lady! _(He tries to
pat her back. She waves him away, and goes on laughing._) There!
there!... There! there!... Try holding the breath ... there, there!
ARIADNE (_shaking her head at him_). Oh, Mr. Meldrum! (_She laughs
again._)
HORACE (_with sudden relief_). You were joking? Of course! That’s it!
You were just joking about John and the letter you left for him! You
haven’t told him anything. Of course you haven’t.
ARIADNE (_still rather weak_). Oh, Mr. Meldrum!
HORACE (_anxious again_). What? Wasn’t it----
ARIADNE. And the poor man actually thought I was attracted by him!
HORACE (_indignantly_). What?
ARIADNE. He thought I wanted to share a first-class carriage with him!
HORACE. Who?
ARIADNE. Have a little bit of lunch with him--a little bit of dinner
with him--in pink muslin!
HORACE (_utterly undone_). Well, I’m damned!
ARIADNE. Catch the last train with him! Good gracious, the man even
thought I wanted to _miss_ the last train with him! With _him_! (_She
points to him, and goes off into laughter again._)
HORACE. Well, upon my word----
ARIADNE. Oh, Mr. Meldrum, you funny, funny man!
HORACE (_hardly able to believe it_). You mean to tell me that you
were pulling my leg from the word “Go”?
ARIADNE (_weakly_). Yes. At least, from the word “nesting.”
HORACE. You’ve just been making a fool of me?
ARIADNE. No, no. Looking on while you made a fool of yourself.
HORACE. Well, upon my soul! (_He stares at her in wonderment._)
ARIADNE. You really mustn’t make love to married women, you know. You
haven’t got the figure for it. I’m not sure that you ought to make
love to anybody.
HORACE. Fooled me! Fooled poor old Horace Meldrum!
ARIADNE. From the word muslin.
HORACE (_gazing at her in admiration_). You _are_ a little devil!
ARIADNE. But then you like them to show a bit of spirit, don’t you?
HORACE. By gad, I do! To think that a bit of a woman like you----
ARIADNE. Oh, I’m rather more than that. I’m almost all of it.
HORACE (_beginning to laugh reminiscently_). Right from the
beginning! Poor old Horace bringing round his flowers ... poor old
Horace arranging his little bit of dinner.... Why, I’d actually
telephoned for a table--what do you think of that? At least my clerk
had.... Well, well, well--and you were fooling me all the time!
Fooling poor old Horace Meldrum! What the boys would say if they
knew! Ha, ha, ha! (_He goes off into happy laughter._)
ARIADNE. It _is_ funny, isn’t it? (_She laughs too._)
HORACE (_rolling with laughter_). The way you kept it up!
ARIADNE. If you could have seen your face!
HORACE. Fooled by a woman! Ha, ha, ha!
JOHN (_outside_). Is that Meldrum?
HORACE (_still laughing weakly--his back to the door_). And of course
_he’s_ in the joke too! Ha, ha, ha!
(JOHN _comes down the stairs two at a time, and bursts in, in his
shirt sleeves, his coat in his hand._)
JOHN (_fiercely_). Ah, Meldrum, here you are!
HORACE (_weakly_). That’s how you said he’d begin! Ha, ha, ha....
Yes, John, old boy, here I am ... oh dear, oh dear! (_He mops at his
eyes, still shaking with laughter._)
JOHN. Stand up!
HORACE (_chuckling to_ ARIADNE). He’s going through with it. (_Meekly
as he stands up_) Yes, John.
JOHN. Don’t call me John.
ARIADNE. No, John. (_To_ ARIADNE) And he’s taken his coat off and all!
ARIADNE (_going to_ JOHN). Shall I help you on, dear?
JOHN (_to_ ARIADNE). I think you had better leave us.
HORACE. That’s good! “I think you had better leave us.” That’s damned
good. (_He chuckles._)
ARIADNE (_helping him on_). Why, dear?
HORACE. He’s going to break my neck, Mrs. Winter. You can’t do that
in the presence of ladies. It isn’t polite.
JOHN (_stiffly_). I wish to have a few words in private with Mr.
Meldrum.
HORACE. A few words in private. Capital!
ARIADNE. As this concerns _me_, I feel that I ought to be present.
HORACE. Of course she ought. Come, come, John, you can’t spoil the
fun by sending her away.
JOHN (_grimly_). Fun!
HORACE (_chuckling_). As pretty a little bit of fun as ever I saw.
And I like a joke. Nobody can say I don’t like a joke. I like a joke
with any man. _(He sinks into the sofa again._)
JOHN. Stand up!
ARIADNE. John, he’s tired.
HORACE (_getting up_). No, no, I’ll play the game. You don’t catch
Horace Meldrum spoiling a bit of fun.... Do I hold my hands up? (_He
winks at_ ARIADNE.)
JOHN. You ran away with my wife.
HORACE. Yes, that’s right. Spain.
JOHN. What?
HORACE. Spain. We were going to Spain. (_To_ ARIADNE) It was Spain,
wasn’t it?
ARIADNE (_nodding_). Ronda.
HORACE. That’s right. What she said. In Spain.
JOHN. Oh, so it was to be Spain, was it? And, but for the accident of
missing your train, you would be in Spain together now?
HORACE (_murmuring to himself_). But for the accident of missing the
train, Mrs. Winter and I would have been in Spain. That’s good. I
thought there was a bit of poetry there. (_Putting it to music_) But
for the accident----
JOHN (_terrifyingly_). Answer! Is it so?
HORACE. Well, I don’t know what the trains--(_hastily_) that is to
say, I did look them up, of course--(_looking at his watch_)--yes, we
should just about have been there now--where she said.
JOHN. And what the devil do you mean by it?
HORACE (_playing up nobly_). I can only say, as one gentleman to
another, I’m sorry. (_To_ ARIADNE) That’s pretty good for an amateur.
JOHN. What are you saying to my wife?
HORACE. That was what they call an “aside,” old boy.
JOHN. How dare you address my wife at all! Kindly confine your
remarks to me in future.
HORACE (_chuckling_). Oh, damn good, damn good, on my soul.
JOHN (_suddenly_). What’s the matter with you? Have you been drinking?
HORACE (_earnestly_). Not a drop, my dear fellow, not a drop since
tea--well, just after tea.
JOHN. You can understand what I’m saying?
HORACE. Perfectly. And believe me, my dear boy, I appreciate it. I
didn’t know you had it in you.
JOHN (_a trifle bewildered_). Then if you can understand, listen to
_me_.
HORACE (_weakly_). Yes, John. Don’t make it too difficult for me.
JOHN (_very impressively_). First: If I ever catch you in my house
again, I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life. Secondly: Your
deeds and papers will be sent back to you to-morrow, and after that I
won’t soil my fingers by touching any of your dirty business again.
ARIADNE (_to herself, meaning it_). Oh, well done, John!
HORACE (_meaning something else_). Isn’t he good?
JOHN. And thirdly: If you so much as put a foot into my office again,
I’ll tell one of my clerks to kick you out.
HORACE (_in sheer admiration_). Marvellous, my dear fellow,
marvellous. (_He chuckles to himself._) Wonderful touch that about
soiling your fingers--with _my_ business!
JOHN (_to_ ARIADNE). Is he mad? What’s the matter with him?
ARIADNE. I think he thinks you’re joking, dear. I think he thinks
you’ve been joking all the time.
JOHN (_staggered_). Joking?
ARIADNE. Yes, I think that’s what he thinks. I don’t think he’s
taking you quite seriously.
JOHN (_grimly_). Oh!... So you think I’m joking, eh?
HORACE (_comfortably_). My dear man, I _know_ you’re joking.
JOHN. And how do you know that?
HORACE. Good Lord, I’m not a fool. You wouldn’t be talking about
business like that if you weren’t joking.
ARIADNE. Ah, John, you see!
JOHN (_nettled_). I’ll soon show you if I’m joking or not.
HORACE. You did it so damn well that just for a moment you almost
took me in. But when you talk about throwing away good business--all
the nice little jobs I’ve given you, and all the nice little jobs I’m
going to give you--(_chuckling_) why then, bless you, I _know_ you’re
trying to pull my leg. That’s _over_-acting, my boy.
JOHN. So you think I’m joking when I say that I won’t do any more
business for a man who tries to run away with my wife?
HORACE. Course I do.
JOHN. Damn you, I mean it.
HORACE (_waving him down_). No, no, dear boy.
JOHN (_appealingly_). Ariadne, tell him I mean it. Tell him I’m
serious.
ARIADNE. But it sounds so silly, John.
JOHN (_to_ HORACE). I mean it, do you hear?
HORACE (_chuckling comfortably_). No, no, dear boy. You’ve put up
a very good performance, but now you’re getting carried away. It’s
going to your head. As long as you talk about breaking my neck, and
thrashing me within an inch of my life, that’s all right, I say
nothing against that. That’s all in the character. But for a man to
talk of throwing away good business, just because his wife and his
best client----
JOHN (_grimly_). Now I’m going to kill you.
HORACE (_chuckling_). Ah, stick to that and you can’t go wrong.
That’s expected of a husband. That’s in the character. All I say----
JOHN (_advancing threateningly_). I shouldn’t waste your breath
talking. Put your hands up!
HORACE (_in an ecstasy of admiring laughter_). Oh, John, John, you’ll
be the death of me. You ought to have gone on the stage.
JOHN. Put them up!
HORACE (_retreating behind_ ARIADNE). Keep him off, Mrs. Winter. Stop
him! Oh Lord, oh Lord, I haven’t laughed like this----
JOHN. Out of the way, Ariadne.
ARIADNE. What are you going to do, John?
HORACE (_between laughs_). He’s going to kill me.
ARIADNE. You mustn’t do that.
HORACE. He’s doing it, Mrs. Winter, he’s doing it. I shall never get
over this.
ARIADNE. I think you had better go, Mr. Meldrum.
HORACE. Yes, yes, I’ll go. Oh Lord, oh Lord! (_As he goes to the
door_, JOHN _makes a move after him_.)
ARIADNE. John! (JOHN _stops_.) Stay here, please. I want to talk to
you. (JOHN _hesitates_.) You’d better sit down. (JOHN _sits down_.)
Thank you, dear. (_Coldly_) Good-bye, Mr. Meldrum.
HORACE (_at the door, still rather weak_). Good-bye, dear lady,
good----(_Suddenly recovering himself_) Why, bless my soul, I’d
almost forgotten what I came about. Our little joke put it clean out
of my head. (_Very businesslike_) John, I want to see you to-morrow
about my marriage settlement--Janet and I have fixed things up--I
arranged with old Ingleby to meet him at your office. Eleven o’clock
suit you? Right. I’ll tell him. So long. (_He nods to_ JOHN, _and
then slowly begins to chuckle to himself again_.) You wag!
[_He goes out._
JOHN (_rather bewildered--after a pause_). What was that he said?
Marriage settlement?
ARIADNE. Yes, dear.
JOHN. Getting married? To Janet?
ARIADNE. He thinks so.
JOHN. Then how----But in that case he couldn’t----
ARIADNE. Exactly.
JOHN (_after a pause, still puzzling it out_). He said he thought it
was all a joke my being angry. Why did he think it was all a joke?
ARIADNE. Because of what you said about giving up good business.
JOHN. Ridiculous nonsense!
ARIADNE. That was what he thought.
JOHN. Why shouldn’t I have given it up? Of course, to a man like
Meldrum business _would_ seem the only thing that mattered. But to
any decent man----(_He stops._)
ARIADNE. To any decent man----?
JOHN (_still thinking_). But that wasn’t it. Directly I came in he
treated the whole thing as a joke. Why?
ARIADNE. Perhaps because I told him that the whole thing _was_ a joke.
JOHN. You told him? (_He stares at her._) Good Lord, then, you mean
it wasn’t true that you were going off with him?
ARIADNE (_reproachfully_). True!
JOHN. Your letter----(_He feels in his pocket for it._)
ARIADNE. John, did you really think I could possibly----
JOHN. But that telegram. You had made _some_ sort of an arrangement
with him.
ARIADNE. I might have had lunch with him if he’d caught his train. I
don’t know. Would you mind that? Your favourite client.
JOHN (_having found the letter_). But if it was just lunch, why do
you say this about going into the unknown together.
ARIADNE. We were lunching at Frascati’s.
JOHN. And that was all? Did he only suggest lunch? (_She says
nothing._) Did he?
ARIADNE (_smiling to herself_). Well, I led him on a little. Just to
see how far he _would_ go.
JOHN. Why? Oh, I see, to teach him a lesson.
ARIADNE. Mr. Meldrum? You can’t teach _him_ anything.
JOHN. Then why?
ARIADNE. Well, perhaps to teach somebody else a lesson.
JOHN (_blustering_). I can’t make women out. How you could ever have
thought of lunching with a man like that. But women are all the same,
they never know a bounder when they see one.
ARIADNE. I suppose they don’t.
JOHN. Meldrum! And Janet Ingleby is going to marry him! There you are
again. Just what I say.
ARIADNE. Women _are_ funny, of course.
JOHN (_still with the letter_). Oh, then there’s this: “We are
poles asunder, as Hector--We are poles asunder on the most vitally
important thing in life.” What does that mean? What is the most
vitally important thing in life?
ARIADNE (_quietly_). The order in which you put things. What comes
first?
JOHN (_uncomfortably_). I don’t know what you mean. (_Pathetically_)
God, I _have_ had a rotten week-end.
ARIADNE (_sympathetically_). Have you, darling?
JOHN. I’ve been perfectly miserable. (_Awkwardly_) I told Meldrum off
all right, didn’t I?
ARIADNE. You did, dear.
JOHN. I suppose he did go pretty far?
ARIADNE. Pretty far.
JOHN. That’s what I thought. That’s why I said I wouldn’t have any of
his business in my office again. You heard me say that?
ARIADNE. Didn’t you hear me clapping?
JOHN (_eagerly_). Did you?
ARIADNE. Didn’t you see the pride of me?
JOHN (_after a pause_). I suppose I shall just have to do this
marriage settlement for him. I can hardly get out of that very well.
I mean--old Ingleby----
ARIADNE. You needn’t be afraid. I fancy you’ll find that he has been
rather hopeful about that.
JOHN. You mean she won’t marry him after all?
ARIADNE. Not she.
JOHN. Oh!... (_Thoughtfully_) What a pity! That might have led
to something with old Ingleby. Well then (_bravely, but a little
reluctantly_), I wash my hands of Meldrum’s business altogether.
That’s settled.
ARIADNE. I don’t think you need go quite as far as that, John.
JOHN (_relieved_). Oh!... (_Very firmly_) Well, anyhow, he never
comes into this house again.
ARIADNE. You know, I don’t think it would matter if he did. I think
we understand each other now, and he rather amuses me.
JOHN (_relieved_) Oh! ... well--well, anyhow----
(_But there he stops. There seems to be no other heroic gesture
available._)
ARIADNE. Well, I must be dressing. You’re ready. (_She gets up._)
JOHN. I’ll come up. I’ve got one or two things to do. (_He looks at
his watch and mechanically goes to the clock to put it right. While
he is doing this, his back to her, he says shyly_) Ariadne!
ARIADNE. Yes?
JOHN (_very shyly, very humbly_). Thank you for not going away from
me. (_He holds out a hand behind him._)
ARIADNE (_taking it_). Oh, John!
(_Hand in hand they walk to the door. He opens it for her._)
JOHN (_with a little smile_). Ariadne first!
ARIADNE (_smiling too_). Just for a little longer.
[_She goes out._
(_He waits to turn off the switch. The lamps by the fire are
still alight--good money thrown away. Firmly, without hurrying,
he begins to walk across the room----_)
ARIADNE (_from outside_). Come along, darling!
(_He stops; looks at the light. After all, what is twopence?_
ARIADNE _first! Magnificently he switches all the lights on, and
goes after her._)
PORTRAIT OF A GENTLEMAN IN SLIPPERS
A COMEDY IN ONE ACT
CHARACTERS
KING HILARY XXIV.
OTHO (_his body-servant_).
PRINCESS AMARIL.
THE STRANGER.
_A room in the King’s Palace--once upon a time_
_It is mid-morning, and His Majesty (aged 30, shall we say?) is
being shaved by_ OTHO _in one of the rooms in his Palace. It
is not his bedroom, for he does not sleep there; nor is it a
reception room, though he is soon to receive his Chancellor. Let
us call it his dressing-room, and assume that a man, so fond of
posing as he, will spend much of his time within it._
_He is all the Kings that there have been in fairy-tales
and history. All the stories which have been told of the
condescension of Kings were first told of him. When the workman’s
little child falls down in front of the King’s carriage; when
the intoxicated reveller, unaware of his identity, treats him
as a boon-companion and a fellow-republican; when the sentry
challenges him at the Palace gates, and refuses to let him pass;
in these and a hundred emergencies none so conventionally royal
as_ HILARY. _He sees himself always as the hero of a royal story,
or as sitter for a royal portrait._
_At the moment he is the King condescending to his faithful
servant--one of his favourite poses. We must assume that he is
wearing his crown--or will as soon as_ OTHO _has finished with
him. In those days they always did._
OTHO. There! As pretty a shave as ever your Majesty has had.
KING. I am indebted to you, good Otho.
OTHO. It is a pleasure to deal with a beard like your Majesty’s.
(_Sponging his face_) A beard so--so--if I may use the phrase----
KING. You have my permission.
OTHO. So responsive. A beard like your Majesty’s, which, in a manner
of speaking, meets the razor half-way----
KING. I don’t know that I am interested in the assignations of my
beard.
OTHO. As your Majesty pleases. (_He prepares to spray the royal
face_) If you will condescend to close your Majesty’s eyes----
KING (_closing them_). Gladly. I was fast wearying of the pattern of
the ceiling. It has a sort of----
OTHO. If it were also your Majesty’s pleasure to close the
mouth--Thank you, your Majesty. (_He sprays him_) The towel. (_He
hands it._)
KING (_dabbing his face_). You are the only man in my kingdom who
dare tell me to shut my mouth. It is an unusual privilege. You have
no children?
OTHO. No, your Majesty, nor likely to.
KING. If I were sure of that, I should make the privilege hereditary.
It would be an appropriate reward for your services.
OTHO (_gracefully_). The pleasure and privilege of serving your
Majesty----
KING. Is enough? Is that what you were about to say?
OTHO. To tell truth, your Majesty, I proposed to leave the
sentence in the air, as a simple expression of loyalty. There were
difficulties in the way of finishing it.
KING. Wise Otho.
OTHO. One must live.
KING. True. (_With a yawn_) And we must marry, it seems.
OTHO. It is generally expected of a King.
KING. So much is expected of a King. He has nothing to do but to
fulfil expectations.
OTHO. The approaching ceremony is a matter of the utmost rejoicing,
your Majesty.
KING. Another simple expression of loyalty?
OTHO. Not only on my lips this time, your Majesty, but in the hearts
of your devoted subjects.
KING. Ah! (_He permits himself a faint smile_) Now, Otho, here is a
question for you. See how you answer it.
OTHO. I will answer it truthfully, your Majesty.
KING. Can loyalty and truth be combined?
OTHO. By one who has made it his particular study, your Majesty.
KING. Come, then! Is it for my sake that the people most rejoice, or
for the sake of Her Royal Highness?
OTHO. For both, your Majesty. But in their great loyalty they do not
lose sight of the fact that the day is proclaimed a national holiday.
KING (_on his dignity_). Otho!
OTHO. (_bowing_). Your Majesty!
KING (_recovering his sense of humour_). You are a good fellow, Otho.
(_He laughs._)
OTHO. Thank you, your Majesty. Your Majesty will understand how
devoted I am to your Majesty’s service.
KING. A good fellow. But there are moments when I weary of being
called Your Majesty more than three times in a sentence. Particularly
when, as now, in undress. (_Graciously_) After all, Otho, I am only a
man like yourself.
OTHO. It is very condescending of your Majesty.
KING. “Of you.”
OTHO (_surprised_). Of me?
KING. No, no!... Well, well, call me what you like.
OTHO. Thank you, your Majesty. It is, I assure your Majesty, no
trouble to me at all.
KING. You will hardly believe it, but that was not in my mind at the
moment.
OTHO. Naturally, your Majesty.... (_He busies himself
professionally._)
KING. So our good people rejoice at the marriage?
OTHO. Men and women, your Majesty, young and old. Indeed, some of the
old women, in a spirit of loyal anticipation, have already named the
first baby for your Majesty.
KING (_airily_). Boy or girl?
OTHO. They have taken the liberty of anticipating a beautiful young
Prince of the name of Rollo.
KING. Remind me when the time comes.
OTHO. Thank you, your Majesty.
KING. Rollo--it is as good a name as any other.
OTHO. The people will be much gratified by your Majesty’s choice.
KING. What more can a King desire, my good Otho?
OTHO. It depends a little on the King, your Majesty.
KING (_ironically_). Their gratification would not be lessened by
the fact that any such happy event might be made the occasion for
_another_ national holiday?
OTHO. Speaking as one who will probably not be participating in it, I
should imagine not, your Majesty.
KING. Otho!
OTHO (_bowing_). Your Majesty!
KING (_recovering his sense of humour_). You are irresistible. I
give you the day now. Make your arrangements. I regret that I cannot
guarantee the weather.
OTHO. Your Majesty is gracious as ever to his humble servant. I shall
take the liberty of anticipating King’s Weather.
KING. That should be easy to a man who has already anticipated the
baby.
(_There is a knock at the door._)
A VOICE. May I come in?
OTHO. Her Royal Highness.
KING (_loftily_). See to it, Otho.
(AMARIL _comes in, as pretty as a princess in a story-book. The
only fault that we can find in her is that she has a sense of
humour. Poor girl._)
PRINCESS. But I _am_ in. (_She curtseys_) Good morning!
KING (_royally_). We are delighted to see your Royal Highness. (_He
advances towards her._)
PRINCESS (_kissing his hand_). Your Majesty!
KING (_raising her to her feet and kissing her formally on the
cheek_). Princess! (_He leads her to a couch._) You wish to see me?
PRINCESS. Do I? I suppose I do. Is it too early--or too late? Are you
at business--or at rest? To come to a point, have I chosen the wrong
moment, or are you glad that I am here?... How difficult for you to
answer!
KING. Leave us, Otho.
OTHO (_bowing_). Your Majesty! Your Royal Highness!
[_He goes out._
PRINCESS. Well?
KING (_stiffly_). No moment is the wrong moment for your Royal
Highness, no hour too early, nor too late.
PRINCESS. And yet----?
KING. And yet?
PRINCESS. You are the King, and I should have craved audience?
KING. Five minutes ago I was being shaved.
PRINCESS (_happily_). I wish I had seen you.
KING. So that even were I not the King----
PRINCESS. And even were we already married----
KING. I should have wished to know that your Royal Highness----
PRINCESS. “Your Majesty” in that case.
KING. --that your Majesty were coming.
PRINCESS. I understand. I have been forward, ill-bred, unroyal.
KING. My dear Amaril! (_But he looks a little uncomfortable._)
PRINCESS (_after a pause_). Hilary!
KING. Yes?
PRINCESS (_anxiously_). I may call you Hilary--before we are married?
KING. It is for your Royal Highness to call me whatever she is
pleased to call me.
PRINCESS (_smiling_). I used to call you Toto. Do you remember?
KING. I beg you not to call me Toto in front of the Chancellor. He
would undoubtedly resign.
PRINCESS. Do you remember?
KING (_stiffly_). We were very young in those days.
PRINCESS. We are not very old now.
KING (_wearily_). I am a hundred and nine. Or is it a hundred and ten?
PRINCESS. I think I could make you younger than that.... We used to
kiss when we were children. Do you remember?
KING (_gracefully_). It is a privilege which is still granted to me
from time to time.
PRINCESS (_shaking her head_). Oh, no! It is not a privilege ...
which is granted ... from time to time. It just happens.... Do you
remember how it happened that first time?
KING. How does it happen with children? They are told to kiss each
other good-night. Did I have my mouth wiped for me first? I forget.
PRINCESS (_smiling to herself_). We were playing in the gardens. You
said you wanted to practise rescues, and you asked me if I minded
falling into the pond, so that you could jump in and save me. And I
said I would. And I fell in ... and a gardener jumped in after me and
pulled me out. And I taunted you, and said you had been afraid, and
that I should have drowned if the gardener hadn’t saved me. And you
said you were just going to jump, only your foot slipped; and I said,
No, you were a coward, and the gardener was a much braver man, and
I would tell my father, and he would let me marry the gardener when
I grew up. And I put my tongue out, and kept saying “Coward!” And
suddenly you smacked my face--oh, with all your strength--and cried
that you _weren’t_ a coward, you _weren’t_, you _weren’t_, and you
burst into tears ... and then your arms were round my neck and you
kissed me, and sobbed, “_Don’t_ marry the gardener. My foot did slip,
_really_--but I promise you it will _never_ slip again.” And so we
clung to each other, and cried together. And I promised you that I
would marry _you_, not the gardener.... And that is why I am marrying
you to-morrow--because I promised.... (_There is a silence between
them._)
KING (_coldly_). I struck you, I betrayed you, I was a coward; and
you choose this moment to remind me of it.
PRINCESS (_distressed_). Oh _no_, Hilary, no!... It was just the
little boy I loved. I wanted to remind you of _him_.
KING. Do you think I need to be reminded? Do you think I am not
ashamed? A coward!
PRINCESS. No, no, your foot slipped.
KING (_bitterly_). And a liar!
PRINCESS. Oh, let me say it did! Let me find excuses for you!
KING. We can be honest with each other now.
PRINCESS (_sadly_). Am I going to lose that little boy?
KING. I want you to know me as I am. Yes, you were right to remind
me of what I was, but you will have nothing to fear from me in the
future. That I can promise you. I shall not betray you again.
PRINCESS. I was not frightened, Hilary.
KING. Even now, if you were afraid--if you wished to return to your
own country--even now----
PRINCESS. Do you want me to go?
KING (_formally_). How can you ask me?
PRINCESS (_wistfully_). How can you not answer?
KING (_gallantly_). Your Royal Highness has made me the proudest man
in my Kingdom--and her most devoted subject.
PRINCESS (_with a sigh_). And I once called him Toto!
KING. I think we may assume that Toto is dead.
PRINCESS (_sadly_). I think we may.
KING. But Hilary remains.
PRINCESS. Toto the First is dead. Long live Hilary the Twenty-fourth!
KING. And Long live the Queen!
PRINCESS (_with a sigh_). So long as it doesn’t seem long. (_She gets
up_) Have I permission to leave your Majesty?
KING (_smiling_). My reluctant permission. (_He comes to her._)
PRINCESS. Reluctantly I avail myself of it. (_She kisses his hand. He
raises her and kisses her cheek._)
KING (_whispering as he kisses her_). Don’t marry the gardener!
PRINCESS (_turning to him eagerly_). Toto! (_But he is the King
again. She says coldly_) I beg your pardon, Hilary. (_She moves
away._)
KING. Otho!
OTHO (_coming in_). Your Majesty! (_He opens the door for the_
PRINCESS) Your Royal Highness!
[_She goes out._
KING. Is the Chancellor here?
OTHO. Not yet, your Majesty. But there is a sort of person outside
who craves admittance into your Majesty’s presence.
KING. What sort of person?
OTHO. Just a sort of person, your Majesty.
KING. What does he want?
OTHO. What he actually said was: “I want to see the King.”
KING. And that is what you call “craving admittance”?
OTHO. Another form of it, your Majesty. I fancy that he brings a gift
for your Majesty’s gracious consideration.
KING (_doubtfully_). H’m!
OTHO (_helpfully_). The gift appears to be about two feet by one.
KING (_ironically_). One deduces that it is neither a horse nor a
diamond.
OTHO. Of which your Majesty has already a sufficiency.
KING. Why is it that you wish me to see him?
OTHO. I assure your Majesty that I know nothing of him. Yet there is
an air about him....
KING (_resigned_). Well, let him come. (_He seats himself regally._)
OTHO. Yes, your Majesty.
(_He goes out and returns with the_ STRANGER. _The_ STRANGER _has
something wrapped up, two feet by one, under his arm. He bows to
the_ KING.)
KING. Otho! (OTHO, _who was going, remains_.) You wish to see me?
STRANGER. I wish to see your Majesty.... I have already had the
privilege of seeing your Majesty’s body-servant.
KING (_coldly_). Well, now you see us both.
STRANGER. It would seem to be so, your Majesty, but, alas! it is
not. In my great humility, my eyes keep resting upon the humble
countenance of your Majesty’s servant.
KING. If you have anything to say, you may say it in front of him. He
does not talk.
STRANGER. You mean that your Majesty does not listen.
KING (_after a pause_). Leave us, Otho.
OTHO. Your Majesty!
[_He goes._
KING (_coldly_). Well?
STRANGER. I have a marriage gift for your Majesty.
KING. Which my servant may not see?
STRANGER. Your Majesty would wish to see it first.
KING. Is it so very alarming?
STRANGER. It is just a mirror.
KING. And what shall I see there?
STRANGER. Your Majesty will see--himself.
KING (_picking up the hand-mirror_). What else do I see in this?
STRANGER. Your Majesty sees only the King.
KING (_with a sigh_). True, they are different. The mirror does not
show what the skilled painter can show. The portrait of me in my
coronation robes which the Court Painter----
STRANGER (_smilingly_). Oh, your Majesty, the Court Painter!
KING (_coldly_). You are in error, sir. I ordered him on this
occasion to paint me as I really am. The man beneath the King.
STRANGER (_thoughtfully_). The Court Painter has an extravagant wife
and many children.
KING. Well?
STRANGER. I think he painted the King.
KING (_warningly_). You are a brave man.
STRANGER. I have neither wife nor children.
KING. And a foolish one. There are men, and not Kings only, whose
secret selves are hidden from the world. So much is true. Indeed,
with a King it must be so. His life is so public that he must needs
build himself a private life in which he may take refuge. There
are men, yes, and Kings, whose secret selves are hidden even from
themselves. They know not of what they are capable. Sometimes I wish
that I were one of them. For, oh! my friend, if ever there was a man
who knew himself, and was weary of himself, it is I.
STRANGER. Now, where have I heard that said?
KING. And so, if your mirror be truly as you say it be, I shall greet
the face which I see there as that of an old friend; the face of a
lonely man; a man who wishes what he will never achieve--to be loved
for himself, as he is, with all his faults.
STRANGER. I seem to have heard _that_ said too.
KING (_with a sentimental sigh_). With all his faults!
STRANGER. What particular faults were you thinking of, your Majesty?
KING (_warming to it_). I have, perhaps, an impetuosity which I do
not show my people; a nature capable of more passion than I will
let be seen. At heart I am indolent; I would gladly spend my day
listening to music, or in contemplation of nature. I am rash; it may
be that I jump to conclusions too quickly. Extravagant, yes; those
who really knew me would say, “Recklessly so.” Ah yes, sir, there is
indeed a very humble fellow beneath the King.
STRANGER. He sounds an attractive fellow.
KING (_with a sigh_). I would that I could think so.
STRANGER. I have often noticed that the faults to which humble
people most readily confess are those which, in less humble men,
would be regarded as virtues.
KING (_coldly_). Explain yourself.
STRANGER. I have yet to meet a man who says: “Alas, I know myself! I
know that I am a liar and a coward.”
KING (_rising furiously_). Sir!
STRANGER. But I have met many who say: “Alas, I am full of faults! My
generosity is extravagance; my courage, recklessness; my chivalry,
mere foolishness!”
KING (_grimly_). Of your generosity and chivalry I know nothing, but
certainly your courage has the appearance of recklessness.
STRANGER. How so, your Majesty?
KING. You are at my mercy.
STRANGER. I am content to be so. To every man there comes a time when
life has no longer the charm which once he found in it ... and even
to a King there must come a day when the sudden death of another man
loses its first beauty.
KING (_sulkily_). I suffer no man to call me coward.
STRANGER. I call your Majesty nothing. It is the mirror which will
tell your Majesty the truth.
KING. You think I am afraid to look?
STRANGER. If your Majesty knows himself, he has no reason to be
afraid.
(_He begins to unwrap it_.)
KING (_hesitating_). Why do you bring it to me now?
STRANGER. Your Majesty is to be married to-morrow.
KING. But what of that?
STRANGER. A man can hide from himself what he cannot hide from his
wife. Within a year Her Majesty will know what you will never know,
unless you have seen it here--the truth about yourself.
KING. Is it well that I should know?
STRANGER. A wife should have no secrets from her husband.
(_He stands the mirror on the table._)
KING (_suspiciously_). This is some trick. (_He comes slowly to the
mirror, looking doubtfully at the_ STRANGER _as he comes._)
STRANGER. No trick, your Majesty.
(_The_ KING _stands in front of the mirror. Suddenly he starts
back in horror._)
KING (_furiously_). It is a trick!
STRANGER. No, your Majesty.
(_The_ KING _looks more closely. He moves his head, his hands,
his eyes ... and watches himself, fascinated._)
KING (_in a low voice_). It is no trick.
STRANGER. What does your Majesty see?
KING (_his eyes still on the mirror, and beckoning with his hand_).
Look!
STRANGER (_not moving_). What does your Majesty see?
KING (_slowly_). Cruelty, cowardice, deceit, vanity, cunning,
arrogance----
STRANGER. It is a catalogue of the lesser virtues.
KING. Treachery, meanness, false humility----
STRANGER. False humility. One must avoid that.
KING. Never have I seen such a face.
STRANGER. It is remarkable how most of us carry it off.
KING. And this man--can I call him a man?--this monster is to be
married to-morrow.... Poor girl!
STRANGER (_calmly_). Doubtless she knows.
KING (_turning to him_). How can she know? Until two days ago, we had
not met since we were children.
STRANGER. True. I was forgetting. It is thus that royalty marries.
KING. She must know.
STRANGER. She will find out.
KING. But it will be too late.
STRANGER. Is it not too late now?
KING. No! No! She must see! She must be warned!
STRANGER. Is it a marriage of love, then?
KING (_in a low voice_). I love her.... Can a King love? But I do
love her.
STRANGER. Let her see, then.
KING (_still at the mirror_). Yes, yes! (_He rings a bell._)
OTHO (_coming in_). Your Majesty!
KING. Otho! Here! (_He beckons him to the mirror._)
STRANGER (_warningly_). Your Majesty! (_He shakes his head._)
KING (_taking the hint_). Otho, ask Her Royal Highness if she can
give me a moment of her time.
OTHO (_withdrawing_). Yes, your Majesty.
KING. You are right. Otho must not know the truth about me.
STRANGER (_with a smile_). I was not thinking of that, your Majesty.
I was thinking that it would be unwise for you to know the truth
about Otho.
KING. Unwise?
STRANGER. The world is at an end if we lose our illusions about our
friends. It is a small matter that they should lose theirs about us.
KING (_haughtily_). Otho is my servant.
STRANGER. Yet if he is not your friend, who is?
KING (_sadly_). True. A King can have no friends.
STRANGER. Which is an excellent reason why he should seek one in the
woman he marries. Perhaps it would be better not to show the mirror
to Her Royal Highness.
KING. My mind is made up. It is her right.
STRANGER. Then may I suggest that your Majesty stands a little to one
side of the mirror, and avoids looking into it, lest he should see
Her Royal Highness there.
KING (_angrily_). Do you dare to suggest----
STRANGER. Your Majesty would see nothing but truth and goodness in
her face; yet--what is a woman if she has no secrets from us?
OTHO (_announcing_). Her Royal Highness!
(_The_ STRANGER _covers the mirror again_.)
PRINCESS (_coming in_). Your Majesty wanted me?
STRANGER. Have I your Majesty’s permission to retire?
KING (_regally_). We are indebted to you for your gift.
STRANGER (_bowing_). Your Majesty is most gracious.
[OTHO _takes him off_.
PRINCESS. Nice-looking man.... Is it a present, Hilary?
KING. Come here, Amaril.
PRINCESS (_coming_). Yes?
KING (_taking her by the shoulders and looking at her_). You will be
brave? But I can see that you are brave.
PRINCESS. What is it? Are you trying to frighten me? What has
happened? Why are you so strange?
KING (_bitterly_). Strange--yes. (_After a pause_) Amaril, what do
you really know of me?
PRINCESS. Nothing, Hilary.
KING. You see the King, wearing his crown--and his mask. But what do
you know of the man beneath?
PRINCESS. Nothing, Hilary.
KING. Yet you are willing to marry me?
PRINCESS. We have not much choice in our world.
KING. If I could show you the real man; if the sight of him filled
you with horror; would you have the courage, even at this hour, to
leave him and go back to your own country?
PRINCESS. I am not a coward, Hilary. I would have the courage to
leave him, if I wished to leave him--and I would have the courage to
stay with him, if I wished to help him.
KING (_bitterly_). No, _you_ are not a coward. But what am I?
PRINCESS. I think you are a little morbid about yourself sometimes.
KING. And I have reason to be.
PRINCESS. You have a picture of yourself to show me. Is that it?
KING. A mirror in which you shall see me as I really am.
(_He takes the cover off._)
PRINCESS. Ah!
KING. When you have seen it, you will know ... and I shall not see
you again. (_He motions her to stand in front of it._) Come!
PRINCESS (_not moving_). Is it so terrible?
KING. To me, yes. To you, also, when you have seen it.
PRINCESS. Yet you are willing to show it to me?
KING (_with dignity_). It is only fair to your Royal Highness. As a
man of honour----
PRINCESS. As a man of honour you are prepared to throw away your
chance of happiness with me?
KING (_heroically_). As a man of honour I must.
PRINCESS. It is happiness? You still wish me to marry you?
KING. If your Royal Highness could stoop so low. But I am ashamed to
ask.
PRINCESS (_her temper rising_). At least, then, I shall see in the
mirror the portrait of a man of honour. There will be humility also,
and shame. Is it so terrible a picture? (_The_ KING _says nothing.
She goes on scornfully_) Or shall I see none of these things? Is His
Majesty still posing, still wearing his crown and mask, still making
a portrait of himself for his own delight?
KING (_regally_). Madam, you go too far!
PRINCESS (_exhibiting him to the world_). Portrait of King Hilary the
Twenty-Fourth on his royal dignity: “Madam, you go too far.” One more
portrait for your private gallery! Portrait of the King condescending
royally to his body-servant: “Amuse me, good Otho. I am aweary of
this world.” Portrait of the King graciously accepting marriage
gifts from strangers: “Sir, we thank you. We Kings are lonely
men....” Portrait of the King discovering that he is full of evil and
resolving to enter a monastery--portrait of the King deciding that
for the sake of his beloved people he will remain outside--portrait
of the----
KING (_furiously_). You _dare_ to say these things to me?
PRINCESS. I dare to say these things to you! _I_ am not a false,
dressed-up coward like--_that_ man! (_In her anger she has been
walking up and down, and now finds herself enough in front of the
mirror to see the_ KING’S _face in it. She points scornfully at it as
she says, “That man.” Then suddenly her expression changes; she looks
in amazement at the mirror--at the_ KING--_at the mirror again_.)
Toto!
KING (_staggered_). What?
PRINCESS (_turning eagerly to him_). Toto! My darling! You’ve come
back to me!
KING. What madness is this?
PRINCESS (_to the mirror_). My ugly little, stupid little, vain
little, bad little, _funny_ little Toto! (_She goes to him and throws
her arms round him._) My darling, why didn’t you tell me?
KING (_with dignity_). Really, Amaril, this is most----(_He tries to
disengage himself._)
PRINCESS (_soothing him_). There, there!
OTHO (_outside_). Your Majesty?
KING (_frantically_). Amaril!... Enter, Otho!
(OTHO _comes in, as the_ PRINCESS _slips away from the_ KING.
_The latter hastily covers the mirror._)
OTHO. Your Majesty, the Chancellor is without.
KING (_very regal_). We will receive him, Otho. (_He seats himself._)
PRINCESS (_with immense dignity_). Have I your Majesty’s leave to
withdraw?
KING (_offering a royal hand_). Your Royal Highness!
PRINCESS (_kissing it_). Your Majesty!
(OTHO _conducts her out by the one door, and returns to the
other for the Chancellor. The_ KING _assumes the portrait of
“Hilary XXIV. receiving his Chancellor in audience.” Just as his
expression is at its best, the_ PRINCESS _pops her head in at the
door_.)
PRINCESS (_in a babyish sing-song voice_). To-to!
(_He turns angrily. She blows a kiss to him and disappears
again._)
OTHO (_announcing_). His Excellency the Chancellor!
(_The_ KING _awaits him regally_.)
SUCCESS
A PLAY IN THREE ACTS
CHARACTERS
THE RT. HON. R. SELBY MANNOCK, M.P.
LADY JANE MANNOCK.
ARTHUR MANNOCK.
FREDA MANNOCK.
DIGBY.
EDWARD EVERSLEY.
BERTIE CAPP.
JOHN READER.
LORD CARCHESTER.
NITE.
SQUIER.
BUTEUS MAIDEN.
SALLY.
Act I. Cavendish Square. Evening.
Act II. Enderways, Yorkshire.
_Scene_ 1: Dick’s Room. Midnight ... and after.
_Scene_ 2: A Corner of the Wilderness. Early Morning.
Act III. Cavendish Square.
_Scene_ 1: Afternoon.
_Scene_ 2: Afternoon, two days later.
This play was first produced at the Haymarket Theatre on June 21,
1923, with the following cast:
_The Rt. Hon. R. Selby Mannock, M.P._ CHARLES CHERRY.
_Lady Jane Mannock_ GRACE LANE.
_Arthur Mannock_ JOHN WILLIAMS.
_Freda Mannock_ JOYCE KENNEDY.
_Digby_ EUGENE LEAHY.
_Edward Eversley_ HALLIWELL HOBBES.
_Bertie Capp_ REGINALD OWEN.
_John Reader_ REGINALD BACH.
_Lord Carchester_ ERIC STANLEY.
_Nite_ SYDNEY BROMLEY.
_Squier_ LEWIS SHAW.
_Buteus Maiden_. RITA SEYMOUR.
_Sally_ MOYNA MACGILL.
ACT I
SCENE: _Cavendish Square. Evening. The_ MANNOCK _family has
finished with the grosser forms of eating, and is now dealing
politely with the nuts and wine. It does this in what is called
the library (though_ MANNOCK _is not much of a reader), leaving
the debris of the dinner, and the airs which cling to it, to
the dining-room. The four of them, very clean, very proper,
very safe, sit round the polished mahogany, cracking, munching,
talking._ SELBY MANNOCK, _that rising young Cabinet Minister
in the late forties, is intent on a particularly tiresome nut
which won’t declare itself. He deals with it methodically, his
grave, handsome face showing no sign of anxiety. Probably he was
human once, but now the official manner has descended on him. He
can say things like “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have nailed our
colours to the mast,” or “Our glorious Empire on which the sun
never sets,” without feeling uncomfortable. He is obviously an
important man; not pompously so, but with the quiet assurance
which only middle-aged politicians can bring to the pretence that
any of us matters more to Heaven than another. There was a time
when he had a conscience, but it gave up the struggle some years
ago, and is now as departmental as his manner._ LADY JANE, _his
wife, has the manner too. She was born in high politics, whereas_
MANNOCK _has only acquired them. She still has the prettiness,
though it is colder now, which, with her position and money,
carried him off his feet twenty-five years ago, and replaced him
a dozen rungs of the ladder ahead of his contemporaries. Her
world is divided into people who matter at the moment, and people
who don’t; to the former she can be very pleasant indeed; to
the latter also, if there is a chance of their mattering later
on. On the other side of her is their only son_ ARTHUR, _just
down from the Varsity. At the moment he is rebellious, hating
the manner as much as a Vicar’s son hates the Litany. But it is
doubtful if he has the moral backbone to fight against it for
long. Success will have him for her own; let him make the most of
his freedom meanwhile by denouncing the dishonesty of politics
and the servitude of a career. At any rate he will amuse_ FREDA,
_his younger sister. She also will be successful--probably at St.
Margaret’s, possibly in the Abbey--but her sense of humour will
do something to save her. Their leisurely, well-fed talk has been
going on intermittently since the wine went round...._
ARTHUR (_suddenly, after a drink_). Well, all I can say is that, if
that’s the case, you ought to resign! (_He waits with an air, as if
for the reporters to write “Sensation.”_)
LADY JANE (_after a pause_). Nutcrackers, Arthur.
FREDA. Father’s got them. (_Taking them from him_) Here you are.
LADY JANE. Thank you.
ARTHUR (_trying again_). It’s the only honest thing to do!
LADY JANE (_languidly_). You’re very young, dear. (_Crack!_)
ARTHUR. I suppose I ought to be crushed by that, Mother, but I’m
afraid I’m not. I might just as well say that Father’s very
middle-aged. That isn’t the point.
FREDA. What _is_ the point? I seem to have missed it. After you with
the crackers, Mother.
ARTHUR. Honesty, even in politics, isn’t a question of age. At least
it oughtn’t to be.
FREDA (_to_ LADY JANE). Thanks.... It’s a question of what you call
honesty.
ARTHUR. Exactly! You have two standards; one for private life and one
for public life. That’s what I protest against.
FREDA. Exit protesting.
LADY JANE. My dear boy, what do you expect? It always has been so,
and always will be.
ARTHUR (_aggressively_). Why?
LADY JANE. Don’t ask _me_. Why does the sun go round the earth----
FREDA. It doesn’t.
LADY JANE (_taken aback, but recovering gallantly_). Well then, why
doesn’t it? Why----(_with a wave of her hand_) Why anything? _I_
don’t know. You’ve got to take the world as you find it. When you’re
young, you think that you’re going to make a wonderful new world of
it, all by yourself. As you grow up, you realise that you can’t, and
that, as you haven’t very long to be in it, you’ll be happier if you
make the best you can of the old world.
ARTHUR (_with an air_). Again I protest.
FREDA. Protesting’s never any good. You want to break something.
(_And now, at last_, SELBY MANNOCK _has finished his nut_.)
MANNOCK (_wiping his mouth_). There!... What were you saying, Arthur?
(_This is too much for_ ARTHUR, _who, after one indignant look, drops
into sulky silence_. FREDA _laughs_.) Ring the bell, will you,
there’s a good boy.
LADY JANE. What is it?
(ARTHUR _slouches out of his chair and rings the bell_.)
MANNOCK. Thanks, old fellow.... Why don’t I send in my resignation
from the Cabinet? Because my resignation would certainly be accepted.
LADY JANE (_to her son_). It’s ridiculous, dear, to expect your
Father to throw up his whole career just for nothing at all. What
good would it do?
FREDA (_with interest_). _Would_ the P.M. accept it, Father?
MANNOCK. I think undoubtedly.
FREDA. I thought that that was where Marjory came in. The Duke
wouldn’t allow it, would he?
MANNOCK. He mightn’t like it, but----In any case that isn’t the point
now. Arthur wants, not a mock resignation, but a real one. Why?
ARTHUR (_mumbling_). The Redistribution Bill.
MANNOCK. Well?
ARTHUR. You said that you thought it monstrous.
MANNOCK. Monstrous was _your_ word.
LADY JANE. Your Father only said that he didn’t like the Bill.
MANNOCK. And if you had given me time, Arthur, I should have added
that I didn’t like it because it didn’t go far enough.
ARTHUR. Good Lord!
FREDA. It goes pretty far. It will dish Labour jolly well at the next
election.
MANNOCK. Well, what am I in politics for at all, if not to do that?
ARTHUR (_rudely_). You can fight fair, I suppose?
MANNOCK (_calmly_). My dear Arthur, how on earth is any one to say
what distribution of seats is fair and what isn’t?
ARTHUR. You admit that the Government wants redistribution just so as
to improve its own electoral chances?
FREDA (_to her Mother_). Its own electoral chances----Arthur is
getting quite the manner, isn’t he?
(_But_ LADY JANE _does not smile. She has been brought up on the
manner._)
MANNOCK. Certainly I admit it.
ARTHUR (_with a shrug_). Well!
MANNOCK. And I suppose _you_ admit that Labour is opposing it just
because it spoils _its_ own electoral chances?
ARTHUR. Er--naturally----
MANNOCK (_with Arthur’s shrug_). Well!
FREDA. Each for himself, and himself for--for himself. Our motto.
ARTHUR (_contemptuously_). Exactly.
MANNOCK. And rightly.
LADY JANE (_with conviction_). Certainly.
MANNOCK. _We_ paint England Blue, and Labour comes and paints it
Red, and the result is the Purple which suits her. But only if we
have the courage to put our whole hearts into the True Blue. If we
begin weakly dabbing on a sort of purply blue, what’s the result? Not
purple at all, but a dirty red. And nobody wants that.
LADY JANE (_interested_). Have you ever used that in the House,
Richard? It’s rather good.
MANNOCK (_doubtfully_). I don’t think so. (_Trying to remember_) No,
I don’t think so. It would be better on the platform, I think. It
isn’t altogether sound.
LADY JANE. Sound enough.
MANNOCK. For the platform, yes.... Oh, Digby!
[DIGBY _the butler is there_.
DIGBY. Yes, sir?
MANNOCK. Mr. Edward Eversley is coming in this evening. Show him in
here.
DIGBY. Yes, sir.
MANNOCK. He’ll probably have coffee.
DIGBY. Very good, sir.
[_He goes out._
MANNOCK (_to his wife_). I’m sorry, dear, I meant to have told you.
LADY JANE (_trying to place him_). Eversley.... Eversley.
MANNOCK. No, you don’t know him. At least, you’ve met him, I suppose.
He was at our wedding.
LADY JANE. Oh!
(_One gathers that many strange friends of her husband’s youth
were there._)
MANNOCK. No, I’m not sure that he was.
LADY JANE. What does he do? (_Not that it matters._)
MANNOCK. He’s become a great authority on gardens, I believe. Writes
in the papers about them.
LADY JANE (_brightening_). Oh! We might ask him down to Drayton. He
could help us with the terraces. Mr. Ferris is so conventional--and
so expensive. Not next week--the week after. No, that won’t do,
because----(_She tries to remember._)
FREDA. Have you suddenly found him again, Father, or has he always
been about?
MANNOCK. I met him to-day at the Club. He was lunching with somebody.
I hadn’t seen him for twenty years.... More.... (_He is thoughtful._)
FREDA. Twenty years! Almost good enough for a dinner, I should have
thought.
MANNOCK. He was only up from the country for a night. He hadn’t got
any clothes with him.
LADY JANE. I suppose he has some at home?
MANNOCK. I imagine so.
LADY JANE. Then we’d better make it the 23rd. That’s the Saturday.
ARTHUR (_aggressively_). Why shouldn’t he dine in a tweed suit? And
anyway, what’s the difference between dining in a tweed suit and
coming in after dinner in a tweed suit?
FREDA. About two hours, Arthur.
MANNOCK (_thoughtfully_). I hardly knew him at first. He’s gone very
grey.
FREDA. Was he your fag at school, or were you his? It’s always one or
the other.
MANNOCK. Neither. We were contemporaries. And we lived in the same
village. He might be a year older. I forget now.
LADY JANE. Well, we’ll leave you to talk about the old days together.
Is there a Mrs. Eversley?
MANNOCK. Yes. In the country. There was a son, I believe. But that
was twenty years ago. I don’t know what’s happened to him; we didn’t
get as far as that.
LADY JANE. I suppose she’d have to be asked. (_Hopefully_) Perhaps
she’s an invalid.
(DIGBY _opens the door and announces_ EDWARD EVERSLEY. _He
is the same age as_ MANNOCK, _but looks older and greyer. A
pleasant, kindly man, but with the absurd air of being a dear old
gentleman. As boys together_, MANNOCK _was his hero, and even now
there is something of that simple boyish admiration and love left
in his eyes_.)
DIGBY. Mr. Eversley!
[_He goes out._
MANNOCK (_getting up_). Good! You’re just in time for a glass of
port. Let me see, you have met my wife, haven’t you?
EVERSLEY (_shaking hands_). How do you do?
LADY JANE (_graciously_). How do you do?
EVERSLEY. You will forgive my clothes, won’t you? Dick explained to
you how it was----
LADY JANE (_wondering who Dick is_). Dick?... Oh, my husband, yes! Of
course!
(_She smiles pleasantly at him. After all, he is going to
do the gardens at Drayton for nothing, and he may even be a
constituent._)
MANNOCK. My younger daughter, Freda. My son, Arthur. (_They bow and
murmur to each other._) Freda, you must make room for Mr. Eversley.
FREDA (_making room_). Come on, Mr. Eversley. We’re longing to hear
how you and Father robbed the apple orchard together, and were chased
by the farmer, and thrashed by the headmaster, and all that sort of
thing.
(DIGBY _and a parlourmaid have come in with coffee, and glasses
for the visitor. The coffee is put in front of_ LADY JANE. DIGBY
_walks round the table with the port and fills_ EVERSLEY’S
_glass_.)
LADY JANE. Don’t be ridiculous, Freda.
EVERSLEY (_sadly_). Alas, there are no such stories. We were model
boys. Your father made a false quantity once--let me see, that would
be in ’88--but otherwise we gave no trouble at all. (_With a smile_)
Eh, Dick? (_He drinks his port._)
MANNOCK (_without enthusiasm for the subject_). We were pretty
ordinary boys, I expect. Cigars, Arthur.
LADY JANE (_handing him a cup_). For Freda. You’ll have coffee?
EVERSLEY. No, thank you.
ARTHUR. Cigar or cigarette?
EVERSLEY. Neither, thank you.
ARTHUR. Father?
MANNOCK (_taking one_). Thank you.
FREDA. Thank you, Arthur.
ARTHUR. Sorry. (_He holds out the box to her and takes one himself,
and then goes back to his place._)
LADY JANE. I hear you’re a great authority on gardens.
EVERSLEY. I have a great love for gardens.
LADY JANE. Oh!... But you do write about them?
EVERSLEY. Oh yes, yes.
LADY JANE. How delightful! Richard, Mr. Eversley must come down to
Drayton--(_to_ EVERSLEY) our house in Sussex--and see the gardens
there. It would be nice, wouldn’t it? (_To_ EVERSLEY) We’ve been
making some alterations lately. We should value your opinion--and
help.
EVERSLEY. That’s very kind of you.
LADY JANE (_with a gesture of “Not at all”_). We must fix up a
week-end. Mrs. Eversley too, if she would come. _(She waits hopefully
for an announcement that the lady is bedridden, but_ EVERSLEY _only
bows._) That will be nice.
FREDA. You’ll like Drayton, it’s terribly beautiful.
EVERSLEY. I’m sure I shall.
LADY JANE. You write a great deal, I expect?
EVERSLEY. Well, yes, about things which interest me.
LADY JANE. And know all the editors.... Arthur wants to write. It’s
difficult at first, unless you know the people. A word in the right
ear----
EVERSLEY. Ah, but which is the right ear?
LADY JANE. Oh well, of course!
EVERSLEY. I think I should want to whisper a word in the ear of Mr.
Arthur. “Trust to yourself. Never mind about introductions. They
can’t help you.”
MANNOCK (_with authority, cigar in mouth_). Naturally, you have to
have it in you. Dickens would always be Dickens, that’s true enough.
But human nature being what it is.... pass the port, Arthur.
EVERSLEY. No more, thank you.
MANNOCK. And what of your own boy, Eversley? You have a son, haven’t
you?
EVERSLEY (_gently_). Yes, I have a son. I suppose I should say, “I
had a son.” (_They all look elaborately unconcerned._) He was killed
in the war.
LADY JANE (_shocked_). Oh!
MANNOCK. My dear fellow, I beg your pardon.
EVERSLEY (_going on quietly_). But you know, we still say to
ourselves, “We have a son.” We still have--what made him our son--our
love and our pride in him--and we have the sure knowledge that we
shall see him again.
(_They look at each other, and away from each other,
uncomfortably. Really, the man is being almost irreligious._)
MANNOCK (_hastily_). Of course, of course!
FREDA. Was he in the Flying Corps?
EVERSLEY. At the end, yes. But he was in the infantry long enough for
me to salute him.
[_They all look at him in amazement._
LADY JANE. To--to salute him?
EVERSLEY (_smiling_). Yes. You remember all those comic pictures at
the time--the manager saluting his clerk--the father saluting his
son. Well, we really did it. I was in his battalion, actually in his
company, as a private when he was a second lieutenant. (_He beams at
them proudly._)
LADY JANE (_with a glance from him to her husband and back again_).
But--but however old were you?
EVERSLEY. Oh, not too old in those days. I’ve aged since. And, you
see, my boy was just a little under the limit. So he borrowed two
years from me, and that made us both quite happy.
(_Now you can almost see_ LADY JANE _looking from that dead boy
to her own son, and back again._)
FREDA. Were you in France together?
EVERSLEY. In different parts of the line. But we managed to meet once
or twice.
ARTHUR. _You_ were in France?
EVERSLEY. Yes! Why not?
ARTHUR. Really in France? At the front? In the trenches?
EVERSLEY. Of course.
ARTHUR. And your boy. How old was he when war broke out?
MANNOCK (_knowing what is coming_). Arthur! (_To_ LADY JANE) My dear!
ARTHUR. How old----
LADY JANE (_getting up_). How extraordinarily interesting, Mr.
Eversley. But you and Richard must have a great deal to talk about
with each other. (_They are all up now_) Freda! Arthur! You must
bring Mr. Eversley upstairs before he goes, Richard.
MANNOCK. Of course. (_He is opening the door for her._)
LADY JANE. Thank you.... Arthur! (_Reluctantly ARTHUR follows the
ladies out._)
(_As soon as they are alone_ EVERSLEY _turns to his friend._)
EVERSLEY. I say, may I smoke a pipe?
MANNOCK (_absently_). Of course!
EVERSLEY. Good! (_He fills it._)
MANNOCK (_still absently_). We’ve taken to coming in here at the nuts
and wine stage--an old custom of my wife’s people.
EVERSLEY. They used to do it at Cambridge--the Dons. Oxford too, I
suppose.
MANNOCK. Yes.... It’s my room really.... (_Getting to the point_)
What you were saying--about the Army--of course you were younger than
I was----
EVERSLEY. One day--don’t you remember? (MANNOCK _looks inquiringly at
him_) Our birthdays? Mine was the day after yours.
MANNOCK. Oh, was that all? I knew you were younger.... You were lucky
to be your own master--free to join up. I--I was--it was impossible.
EVERSLEY. My dear Dick, of course! You were an important member of
the Government, running the war for us. I was just at your orders.
MANNOCK. It was my one regret that my--my responsibilities prevented
me from shouldering a rifle with--with my friends.
EVERSLEY (_reflectively_). It’s funny how people always talked about
“shouldering” a rifle. You only shoulder arms in a Rifle Regiment.
_We_ sloped ’em. (_With a laugh_) There! That’s about all of my
soldiering that I remember now. Funny how it slips away.
MANNOCK (_still justifying himself_). Arthur was very anxious to run
away from school. Naturally. So was every boy. He wasn’t actually
eighteen until the last summer.... The war was finishing then, and I
... it seemed a pity, his last term ... I arranged----
EVERSLEY (_helping him out_). Tell me about your children, Dick. Have
I seen them all?
MANNOCK. There’s my elder girl. Marjory.
EVERSLEY. Ah, what about _her_?
MANNOCK. She married young Robert Harlow.
EVERSLEY (_no wiser_). Oh!
MANNOCK. The Duke’s second son, you know.
EVERSLEY. Oh!... I am afraid I am very ignorant. Is there only one
Duke?
MANNOCK. In politics, at present, yes. Only one that matters.
EVERSLEY. Oh!
MANNOCK. It all helps.
EVERSLEY. Oh! (_With a smile_) But it’s no good your trying to
pretend that she married him just so as to help your political
career, Dick.
MANNOCK. Not “just so” of course. She’s keen on politics too. Young
Harlow is in the House. It helps him to have married my daughter; it
helps me that she married _him_.
EVERSLEY. Oh! (_After a pause_) Whom is Miss Freda marrying?
MANNOCK. She’s only a child. There’s nothing settled.
EVERSLEY. Is she keen on politics too?
MANNOCK. Naturally.
EVERSLEY. And the boy? He wants to write?
MANNOCK. Every young man of intelligence wants to write. He’ll get
over it.
EVERSLEY. Is he destined for politics too?
MANNOCK. Naturally the choice is his. But I imagine that that’s what
he will settle down to directly. He has great opportunities.
EVERSLEY. He has indeed....
MANNOCK (_after a pause_). You only had the one boy?
EVERSLEY. Yes.
MANNOCK. A pity.
EVERSLEY. You believe in the large family, Dick?
MANNOCK (_cigar in mouth_). Three or possibly four, yes.
Childless marriages in a country like ours--with our Empire, our
responsibilities--well, where should we be in another hundred years?
EVERSLEY (_quietly_). We were very poor when we were first married.
When my boy was born, we lived in two rooms. Mary was in one; I was
in the other. The walls are thin in those houses. I realised then
that it was she who was saving the Empire, not I. It was not for me
to say how many children we should have.
MANNOCK. Oh, come! A man can’t escape his responsibilities like that.
EVERSLEY. Where were you, Dick, when your first child was born?
MANNOCK. Well, really! I don’t know that----Let me see, what year
would that be?
EVERSLEY (_to himself_). Ah, then you weren’t in the other room.
MANNOCK. No, I was down in Liverpool; of course! My by-election
was on. Yes, I remember now. I got a telegram the evening before
polling-day. It was just in time. I used to tell Arthur that he won
the seat for me. (_Blowing out smoke_) A little human touch like that
helps enormously at election time.
EVERSLEY. I see.... But of course one can never be quite certain when
an election is coming on.
MANNOCK (_taking it literally_). No.
EVERSLEY (_keeping the joke to himself_). Well, well, you haven’t
much to complain of, Dick. Cabinet Minister! Prime Minister one day,
perhaps.
MANNOCK (_with a shrug_). It’s just possible, I suppose.
EVERSLEY. Who would have guessed it in the old days?
MANNOCK. I’ve been lucky, of course. And my wife has helped me
enormously.
EVERSLEY. I am sure she has.
MANNOCK. I couldn’t have done it without her. It is difficult for an
outsider, as I was in the early days. Of course it _has_ been done,
but only by very exceptional people, and I never claimed to be that.
She knew everybody; introduced me to the right people; kept me in
front of them. I suppose you would say that I played my cards well,
but she dealt me the hand.
EVERSLEY (_to himself_). Yes, yes, I think I understand.
MANNOCK (_with a laugh at the absurdity of it_). In the old days,
when we were boys, I used to think it was you who were going to do
the big things.
EVERSLEY. No, no. It was always you. Don’t you remember? It was
always you who were Nite, and I was your Squier. Don’t you remember?
MANNOCK (_remembering_). Yes, Nite, Squier and--Yes.
EVERSLEY And Buteus Maiden.
MANNOCK (_he has never quite forgotten_). And Buteus Maiden.
(_They are silent for a little._)
EVERSLEY (_humming to himself_). _How_ did it go?
MANNOCK. The War Song of the--what was it?----
EVERSLEY The Dreadnought Knight.
MANNOCK. Dreadnought?
EVERSLEY Don’t you remember? She said you were her Red Cross Knight,
and I said you weren’t a Cross, you were only a Nought--you were a
Red Nought Knight.
MANNOCK. That’s right. And _I_ said----
EVERSLEY No, _she_ said----
MANNOCK. Yes. _She_ said I was her Dreadnought Knight.
(_He is a little ashamed of all this, but for the first time you
see something of that eager boy who died twenty-five years ago._)
EVERSLEY (_humming again_). How did it go?
MANNOCK (_awkwardly; yet, in some unaccountable way, happy even to be
singing it again_).
“Half a pound of tuppenny rice,
Half a pound of treacle,
That’s the way the money goes--
Pop goes the weasel!”
EVERSLEY (_eagerly_). That’s it!
MANNOCK. Do you remember how I said----
EVERSLEY. No, _I_ said----
MANNOCK (_after thinking_). That’s right. _You_ said that you didn’t
like rice----
EVERSLEY. And I was always going to say, “Half a pound of ham and
eggs”----
MANNOCK. And _I_ said that the Squier _always_ had to sing the same
song as the Nite----
EVERSLEY. And I said anyhow I would jolly well _think_ ham and
eggs----
MANNOCK (_very eagerly_). And _she_ said----(_He breaks off suddenly,
and there is a little silence._)
EVERSLEY (_gently_). Dick, have you--do you ever--have you ever seen
Sally--well, I mean, since we----
MANNOCK (_in a low voice_). No. Not since----
EVERSLEY. That last summer?
MANNOCK (_shaking his head_). No. I went to London----
EVERSLEY. We both went to London.
MANNOCK. I had just been called.
EVERSLEY. I had just got a job in the City.
MANNOCK. Didn’t _you_ ever go down to Enderways again?
EVERSLEY. No.
MANNOCK. Why not?
EVERSLEY. I was afraid to.
MANNOCK. How do you mean?
EVERSLEY (_awkwardly_). I thought I--I thought you----Of course, a
little later, when I met Mary, I knew that I never had been really
in love with Sally, but I thought I was then, and I thought you--it
seemed to be understood. (_To himself_) You were her Dreadnought
Knight.
MANNOCK (_with a self-conscious laugh_). Just a boy and girl romance.
I--it was impossible. She--we had no money. How could we? Better to
make a clean sweep of it all, and begin again.
EVERSLEY (_to himself_). So you began again.... And gradually success
closed in on you.
MANNOCK (_looking at him sharply_). What an extraordinary remark!
EVERSLEY (_surprised_). What?
MANNOCK. Success “closed in” on you.