ACT I_The Tyranny of Tears: A Comedy in Four Acts

The Tyranny of Tears

A COMEDY

IN FOUR ACTS

By C. HADDON CHAMBERS

forbidden, and right of representation reserved. Application for the

right of performing the above piece must be made to Charles Frohman,

Empire Theatre, New York.

BOSTON: WALTER H. BAKER & CO.

MCMII

THE TYRANNY OF TEARS

PLEASE READ CAREFULLY.

The acting rights of this play are reserved by the author. Performance

is strictly forbidden unless his express consent, or that of his

representatives, has first been obtained, and attention is called to

the penalties provided by law for any infringements of his rights, as

follows:--

"SEC. 4966:--Any person publicly performing or representing any

dramatic or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained,

without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical

composition, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages

therefor, such damages in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not

less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dollars for

every subsequent performance, as to the court shall appear to be just.

If the unlawful performance and representation be wilful and for

profit, such person or persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and

upon conviction be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one year."--U.

S. REVISED STATUTES, _Title 60, Chap. 3._

MY MOTHER

PERSONS CONCERNED

Mr. Parbury.

Mr. George Gunning.

Colonel Armitage, _Mrs. Parbury's father._

Mrs. Parbury.

Miss Hyacinth Woodward.

Evans, _Parbury's butler._

Caroline, _Mrs. Parbury's maid._

INTRODUCTORY NOTE.

"The Tyranny of Tears," a comedy of the emotions, is most ingeniously

constructed on the simplest lines; it is a triumph of the commonplace.

Played virtually by five characters, and with but one change of scene,

it has that specious appearance of ease which is due to dexterity of

craftsmanship. It is refreshing, free from theatrical expedients, and

save perhaps for the somewhat accelerated wooing in Act Four, knots

which we are accustomed to see snipped by the scissors of an erratic

fate are here gently untangled by the fingers of probability. The germ

of it, a matter of fortunate selection, is a human foible so universal

that if a man is not conscious of it in his own proper person, he has

not failed to smile over it among his neighbors: that combination of

fondness and egoism out of which tyranny is legitimately born. This is

the keynote; it announces itself speedily upon the raising of the

curtain, and it is never for a moment after obscured by those modern

subtilties calculated to provoke discussion among the elect. The

hearer equipped with ordinary experience finds himself listening to it

with an acquiescent stream of running comment. He knows this alphabet.

It spells familiar words, and they come frequently. Here are

commonplaces which he has failed perhaps to formulate; but now they

flash upon the inward eye with a convincing vividness. This, he sees

at once, is a picture of pink and white tyranny, the triumph of the

weak. Domestic life has been caught and fixed at the culmination of a

strain: one of those dramatic moments when the cord snaps because it

has been for a long time fraying. One party to the contract has drawn

up a code and imposed it upon his mate. The tyrant has some piquancy;

she disarms suspicion because, although a despot, she is masquerading

as something else. Another sort of bully we know: the buckram female,

loud-voiced, militant, announcing herself, like the mosquito, by a

vicious trumpeting. Invulnerability sits on her helm; her armor clanks

a little while she strides. But this new tyrant wears another mien.

Behold her! a soft-cheeked, gentle-handed ministrant, who would have

husbands happy, provided they show the chivalrous courtesy of becoming

so in woman's way. She knows the rules of the game according as her

sex interprets them, and it never enters her ingenuous mind that "in

marriage there are two ideals to be realized." Thus does she make her

gentle progress, the victim beside her crowned with garlands, but yet

a victim. She is the arch destroyer, the juggernaut in muslin.

As soon, therefore, as she is recognized, there is a great pricking-up

of ears all over the house. Few are they whose withers are unwrung.

Every man among them, primed with his own warfare or that of some

defeated chum, settles down to the play, and wives follow suit with a

guilty sense that such things are, though "not, thank heaven! under

roof of mine."

A sly humor runs through the piece like a warm-colored thread, a humor

always faithful to those universal traits that make us kin. It asserts

itself robustly from time to time, once, for a notable instance, in

the fact that Parbury is moderately well content in his fool's

paradise until Gunning appears to beckon him out of it. Heretofore he

has accepted his experience like a chronic indigestion or a lameness

to which he was born; but now comes another man like unto himself, and

welds the data of his martyrdom into a cannonball. This man

generalizes, and Parbury at once perceives that husbands are not the

victims of special visitation, but of an epidemic. The thing is

universal. It can be classified; it can even be attacked. He stands

shoulder to shoulder with his suffering brothers, and makes his stroke

for liberty.

This is everyday life and the dialogue expresses it; the lines are

neither too bright nor good for any drawing-room. Here are no

sky-rocketings to make the hearer gasp at the playwright's cleverness,

while at the same time they accentuate the difference between his own

world and the world as it glitters from the stage. It is the talk to

be expected out of the mouths of admirable yet matter-of-fact persons

with whom we are quite at home. This is the man you meet at any

corner, who is living his life as he conceives it, and is vaguely

discomfited when the pattern comes out wrong. He and his fellow

puppets are related in the most intimate and delightful way to our own

cousins and aunts. It is a group of sharply differentiated types:

Parbury, honey-combed with something that passes for amiability; his

charming ruler; worldly-wise Gunning, fitted like a glove with amiable

cynicisms; the Colonel, clad in rejuvenescence like the spring; and

Miss Woodward, an original piquing to the intelligence of any actress

ambitious to "create a part."

"The Tyranny of Tears" was first produced at the Criterion Theatre in

London, April 6, 1899, with the following

CAST OF CHARACTERS:

MR. PARBURY . . . . . . . . MR. CHARLES WYNDHAM

MR. GEORGE GUNNING . . . . . . . MR. FRED KERR

COLONEL ARMITAGE . . . . . . MR. ALFRED BISHOP

MRS. PARBURY . . . . . . . . . MISS MARY MOORE

MISS HYACINTH WOODWARD . . . MISS MAUDE MILLETT

The comedy made an instant and striking success, and ran to enormous

business until the end of the season. It was revived on January 29,

1902, when the press, previously unstinting in its praise, greeted it

with a renewed enthusiasm. The _Times_ says of it, at this second

hearing: "No English dramatist of our time has turned out more

humorous or more human work than this delightful comedy. Every feeling

in it is, as the French say, 'lived,' and every word of it tells.

There is not a false note, no over-strained sentiment, no

over-emphasized phrase in it from one end to the other. Wit it has in

abundance, but not in superabundance--wit, that is, that obviously

belongs to the speaker and does not delusively suggest the author.

Truth, too, it has, but always simple, straightforward, fundamental

truth, truth that comes home to men's business and bosoms, not the

far-fetched truth which costs a headache to master it. . . . The

_Comic Spirit,_ as expounded by Mr. George Meredith, inhabits it. We

laugh at its personages and forgive them with an intimate solace, for

in forgiving them we laughingly forgive ourselves. . . . The whole

tone of the play is quiet, it soothes, it provokes smiles, chuckles,

gentle ripples of laughter. It is a rebuke, a kindly, playful rebuke

to the wild and whirling zealots of theatrical violence. We are

reminded of the praise which Matthew Arnold bestowed upon the style of

Addison--'perfect,' he said, 'in measure, balance and propriety.'"

Equally warm tributes to the comedy as an unusual work of dramatic art

were accorded on its presentation, September 11, 1899, at the Empire

Theatre, New York, with the following

CAST OF CHARACTERS:

MR. PARBURY . . . . . . . . . . . MR. JOHN DREW

MR. GEORGE GUNNING . . . . . . MR. ARTHUR BYRON

COLONEL ARMITAGE . . . . . . MR. HARRY HARWOOD

MRS. PARBURY . . . . . . . . MISS ISABEL IRVING

MISS HYACINTH WOODWARD . . . . MISS IDA CONQUEST

Of this performance Mr. J. Ranken Towse, in the New York _Evening

Post,_ says: "Mr. Drew played Parbury with his accustomed neatness and

dexterity. . . . The play, perhaps, may not be quite highly seasoned

enough with dramatic incident for the great mass of the public, but

its ingenuity, its simplicity, its truthfulness and its humor will

commend it strongly to connoisseurs."

It was afterwards given in the principal cities of the United States

with Mr. Drew as the victimized husband, and met everywhere with the

same enthusiastic favor. This year, 1902, the play was done into

German by Bertha Pozson, and it has been given with extraordinary

success throughout the German Empire.

Mr. Chambers's earlier work lay more in the direction of strong dramas

such as "Captain Swift," "The Idler," and "John a' Dreams," but the

comedy of these plays, especially the last, was of a character to

foreshadow to some extent the praiseworthy achievement represented by

"The Tyranny of Tears."

ALICE BROWN.

THE TYRANNY OF TEARS

ACT I

SCENE.--_MR. CLEMENT PARBURY'S study at his house in the neighbourhood

of Hampstead Heath. The main entrance leading from the hall is C. A

door, R., leads to the dining-room. A glass door, R.C., opens into a

garden. The fireplace is C. The room is comfortably and not severely

furnished. The furniture is made up of "odds and ends" selected with

taste. The couch down L. is a deep and cosy one; the desk or

writing-table about R.C. is a large and serviceable one. There is a

smaller desk higher up, and near it on wall, R., a telephone

apparatus. The apartment altogether represents the workshop of a

literary man of careless good taste. There is a touch, too, of

femininity in its decorations, and a portrait of MRS. PARBURY is the

only picture on the walls, which otherwise are mostly hidden by

bookcases._

[_For a few moments before and when the curtain rises the noise of

street singers is heard. MISS WOODWARD and EVANS are discovered. MISS

WOODWARD is dressed with severe simplicity in a costume of dark

colour, with linen collar and cuffs; her dark hair is drawn back from

her forehead. Her costume, being well cut, does not conceal the

graceful outline of her figure. She is a handsome, innocent, yet

determined-looking girl of twenty. She is at the window looking out._

EVANS.

[_Raising his voice above the outside singers._] They wouldn't listen

to me, Miss Woodward! [_Suddenly the music stops. A pause._] Ah,

they've listened to Mr. Parbury! [_MISS WOODWARD goes to desk, R.,

sits._] Mr. Parbury's a very masterful man--outside his house--isn't

he, Miss? [_MISS WOODWARD favours EVANS with a cold stare, then

resumes work at desk._] [_Aside._] What an iceberg that young woman

is! [_Telephone bell rings._]

[_Exit EVANS, L._

[_MISS WOODWARD goes to telephone and takes line._

MISS WOODWARD.

[_Speaking into telephone--very sweetly._] Yes, are you

there?--yes--who are you? Speak a little louder, please. Oh!--Well?

Yes--I don't know--Mr. Parbury's just coming in now--he'll speak to

you--keep the line.

[_She returns to the desk._

_Enter MR. PARBURY from garden. His hair is untidy; he is flustered

and cross. He is an agreeable-looking man of about forty._

PARBURY.

Thank heaven, they're gone! This house is a mistake! With the nerve

force one expends in swearing at street singers one might do some good

work. Make a note, please--look for house in secluded part of country.

[_MISS WOODWARD makes note._] And make a note--write _Times re_ Street

Music; suggest Local Option.

MISS WOODWARD.

The _Saturday Sentinel_ is waiting to speak to you on the telephone.

PARBURY.

Oh, worrying about the article, I suppose. [_Goes to telephone._]

Hullo! hullo! [_Gives them a ring up._] Are you there? [_Crossly._]

Are you there? Well? [_Pause; he listens._] Oh, of course, still

harping on my article. I suppose that's you, Jackson? Oh, well, if

you'll keep this confounded telephone quiet, and send a man to clear

the neighbourhood of street singers, you'll have a chance of receiving

the copy in half-an-hour. What? All right, old man. Yes, yes. I'll

send it by special messenger. Yes. Goodbye! [_Rings off, and hangs up

tube._] That is another mistake--that telephone.

MISS WOODWARD.

I was afraid you would find it so.

PARBURY.

You were right! You are always right! But my wife thought it would

save me a lot of correspondence and a lot of going out. [_Aside, with

a sigh._] I always liked going out. [_Aloud._] Make a note,

please--get rid of the telephone. [_MISS WOODWARD makes note._] [_Goes

to top of table, R.C._] Now we'll get on, please. I've promised the

article in half-an-hour. [_Looks at his watch._] They go to press this

afternoon.

MISS WOODWARD.

[_Sits at desk, note-book before her._] Shall I read the last

sentence?

PARBURY.

Please.

MISS WOODWARD.

[_Reading._] "The pity of it is that Mr. Theodore Bellevue seems to

enjoy a positively huge contentment of his own achievement----"

PARBURY.

[_Thinking._] The pity of it--yes--yes, of his own achievement. Yes.

[_Walks the stage._] Achievement [_Under his breath._] Damn the street

singers! Damn the telephone! [_Aloud._] What is it? Oh--ah!

Contentment of his own achievement--er--er-- [_Dictates._] "One

gathers from the complacency of his manner--[_Pause_]--that his

iconoclasm is its own reward--" Er--"What follows in the approval of

the unthinking--the applause of the uncultured--" [_Pause._] What's

that?

MISS WOODWARD.

The applause of the uncultured.

PARBURY.

"Makes up--makes up--" Er-- [_Pulls his hair._] Er----

_Enter MRS. PARBURY, L. She is a pretty, fragile, little woman of

about twenty-eight, and is charmingly dressed._

MRS. PARBURY.

I'm not interrupting, am I, darling?

PARBURY.

[_Concealing his irritation._] No, darling, but----

MRS. PARBURY.

I'll be ever so quiet. [_Comes to couch, sits L._]

PARBURY.

Yes, I know, dear--but, I fear--I fear you'll be rather bored. I'm

dictating an article that _must_ be finished this afternoon----

MRS. PARBURY.

Oh, I shall like it! Go on as if I were not in the room. But oh, how

tumbled your hair is. [_Rises, goes to him._] I must put it straight.

Then you'll be able to think better. There! Now I can see his clever

forehead again! [_Goes to couch and sits._]

[_PARBURY walks up C. and back, trying to collect his thoughts; then

he looks at MRS. PARBURY with the wish in his face that she were not

there; finally he goes over to MISS WOODWARD and speaks in a lowered

voice._

PARBURY.

[_At top of table, R._] What was that last?

MISS WOODWARD.

[_Reading in a lowered voice._] "What follows in the approval of the

unthinking, the applause of the uncultured makes up."

PARBURY.

Yes, yes. Makes up! [_Fidgeting._] Makes up-- [_Vaguely._] What does

it make up? I'm damned if I know what it does make up now? I've

forgotten.

MISS WOODWARD.

[_Looking up at him with discreet sympathy after a glance at MRS.

PARBURY._] Shall I go back a little?

PARBURY.

Please do. Cut the other; it doesn't make up anything.

MISS WOODWARD.

[_Reading._] "One gathers from the complacency of his manner that his

iconoclasm is its own reward."

PARBURY.

Thanks. Where's his article?

[_MISS WOODWARD rises, gives him an open magazine, and resumes her

seat._

[_After glancing at the magazine, and still in a low voice._] "His

smug self-sufficiency----" [_Pause._]

MRS. PARBURY.

Darling! I can't hear you.

[_Pause. PARBURY'S and MISS WOODWARD'S eyes meet._

PARBURY.

Can't you, dear? I suppose I must unconsciously have lowered my voice.

MRS. PARBURY.

I'm sure you did.

PARBURY.

I've an idea. [_Comes behind her and touches her shoulders

caressingly._] Suppose I finish the article quickly and give it to you

to read before sending it away?

MRS. PARBURY.

Yes, do.

[_PARBURY looks at her, expecting her to move, but she doesn't._

PARBURY.

Well, dear!

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Wonderingly._] Well?

PARBURY.

You--you're not going?

MRS. PARBURY.

Going!

PARBURY.

Yes, dear. I thought----

MRS. PARBURY.

[_With great reproach, and looking as if about to cry._] Clement!

[_She rises, and with trembling hands begins to gather up her fancy

work._]

PARBURY.

[_Relenting._] Don't go, dear, unless you wish to.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_More tremblingly and tearfully._] I certainly don't wish to remain

where I am unwelcome.

PARBURY.

[_Reproachfully._] Mabel!

MRS. PARBURY.

I thought I had a right to be where my husband was--that the

privileges of a wife were at least equal to those of a secretary.

PARBURY.

[_In a low voice._] Hush, dear! [_Turns to MISS WOODWARD, who has been

a secret but attentive observer of the scene._] Miss Woodward, would

you kindly run what we have done into type? We'll finish presently.

[_MISS WOODWARD rises, takes her notes, and crosses to door, L. At the

screen she pauses a moment, shrugs her shoulders, and exits R.I.E._

[_PARBURY passes his arm round MRS. PARBURY._

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Freeing herself._] Oh, no; you wished me to go, and I'm going.

PARBURY.

It doesn't matter now. [_Grimly._] The article hasn't a million to one

chance of being finished this afternoon.

MRS. PARBURY.

Why did you send Miss Woodward away?

PARBURY.

Frankly?

[_Puts magazine on table, R._

MRS. PARBURY.

Of course.

PARBURY.

Because I hate scenes before other people.

MRS. PARBURY.

Scenes! What do you mean?

PARBURY.

[C.] What! Isn't there to be a scene? How splendid!

MRS. PARBURY.

[L.C.] I don't understand the humour you are in.

PARBURY.

I'm in a capital humour, dear. You've saved me for the moment from a

savage attack on the work of a man whom I respect and admire.

MRS. PARBURY.

You mean simply that I've interrupted your work. You will not have

reason to complain again.

[_Is going._

PARBURY.

Wait, dear.

MRS. PARBURY.

No, no. There are things one can't get over. Perhaps you can explain

why it is that Miss Woodward's presence doesn't disturb you, while

mine does?

PARBURY.

Easily. Miss Woodward is a mouse.

MRS. PARBURY.

I hate mice!

PARBURY.

I mean she is a table--a chair--a desk--a dictionary--a something

useful that is always in the right place at the right moment, and yet

of whose presence one is pleasantly unconscious. She is a triumph of

the negative.

MRS. PARBURY.

And I?

[_Her face is not turned to him._

PARBURY.

Positive, my love--quite positive; you bristle with emotions. When you

are in the room, one knows it. [_MRS. PARBURY takes out her

handkerchief and begins to cry. Pause. PARBURY, who has gone to desk,

looks round inquiringly, then comes down gently and sees what she is

doing._] [_Aside._] Exactly!

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Wiping her eyes._] Of course I quite understand now that you don't

love me.

PARBURY.

[_Comes to her, concealing his impatience._] But I do! I do!

MRS. PARBURY.

Oh no, you don't! When we were first married you didn't object to my

being in the room when you were working.

PARBURY.

I admit I didn't _say_ so then; I was younger, and had more patience

and stronger nerves.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Turning to him with a gleam of anger._] Then you admit you have

always objected to my presence in your study?

PARBURY.

[_Smoothly._] I admit I have always felt that a writing man's writing

hours are sacred hours.

MRS. PARBURY.

They shouldn't be sacred from his wife.

PARBURY.

[_Gently._] They should be sacred _to_ his wife, dear. [_Slight

pause._] If you were a writing woman you would understand what I mean.

MRS. PARBURY.

I'm sure I'm very sorry I'm not a genius, but you understood that when

you married me, didn't you?

PARBURY.

Yes, darling, I quite understood that! [_He appears to say this quite

unconsciously. MRS. PARBURY turns to him deeply offended, then

suddenly goes up to leave the room. He quickly meets her, C._]

[_Taking her hands._] I only knew you were the best little woman in

the world!

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Struggling to free her hands._] Don't, please. I'm going!

PARBURY.

Where?

MRS. PARBURY.

To send Miss Woodward to you, since you prefer her society to mine.

PARBURY.

But I tell you I'm scarcely conscious of the girl's existence; anyway,

it was you who brought her here. You may remember I proposed having a

male secretary.

MRS. PARBURY.

Yes; to make a companion of at my expense. You were always a man's

man! If I had had more experience I would have known that by the host

of men friends you had when we married.

PARBURY.

[_Cheerily._] I haven't them now, dear.

MRS. PARBURY.

You mean--that I-- [_Struggling to release her hands._] You are most

brutal. Let me go!

PARBURY.

Not while you are angry, dear.

[_Gently forces her into a chair, R.C._

[_There is another slight pause. She is certainly angry, but she

doesn't attempt to leave the chair. He looks down at her, and lays a

hand lightly on her hair._

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Brushing his hand away._] Please don't do that. I am not a child!

[_PARBURY takes a chair and sits next to her. Pause._] Perhaps you

will tell me why you have used your superior strength to keep me here

against my will?

PARBURY.

[_Taking her hand._] Do you know that I'm very much in love with you?

MRS. PARBURY.

You in love with me! You don't know what love is! All you feel at this

moment is the sort of insolent pity the strong have for the weak.

PARBURY.

You weak, darling! Oh, come! You know better than that! You can't be

unconscious of your power!

MRS. PARBURY.

I really don't understand you.

PARBURY.

I only meant to remind you that after all you do always get your own

way. I'm really very glad, for I'm sure your way must always be the

best way. Oh, the power and determination of this little hand!

[_Holding her hand._] Do let me, with the deepest submission, kiss

"The Mailed Fist."

[_He kisses her hand._

MRS. PARBURY.

As it pleases you to be rude to me I shall try to bear it patiently.

PARBURY.

I don't mean to be rude. It's my unfortunate way of putting things. I

kissed your hand because of the real tender love my heart holds for

you, and for the same reason I put back this dear, rebellious little

lock of hair which has escaped from over your ear. And what a perfect

ear! It's as delicate and fragile as a shell, and it's just the

daintiest pink possible.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Mollified._] I know my ears are all right, though I think you are

making fun of me.

PARBURY.

I think I'm making love to you.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Suddenly taking one of his hands in hers._] Oh, if you only loved me

in the way I love you!

PARBURY.

I love you in a most excellent way.

MRS. PARBURY.

But it's different--you don't understand. I love to breathe the air

you breathe, to hear your voice even when it's dictating a dry

article, to listen to your footsteps, to watch the changing

expressions on your face. I live by the warmth your life gives me; you

don't grudge me that, do you?

PARBURY.

Why, of course not, darling!

MRS. PARBURY.

I love this room because it is yours, the surroundings are yours, the

atmosphere is yours. When you are out----

PARBURY.

[_Gently patting her hand._] Which is not often, dear.

MRS. PARBURY.

When you are out I always stay here, because here I get most of you;

even the thin odour of cigarette smoke is dear to me. Smoke now.

PARBURY.

Shall I?

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Gives him a cigarette from his case on table, and lights it._]

That's delightful! [_Sniffs the smoke._] But only because it's you! I

used to detest tobacco.

PARBURY.

[_Smiling._] You dear!

[_Puts his arm around her._

MRS. PARBURY.

You understand a little now, don't you?

[_Putting her head on his shoulder._

PARBURY.

Perfectly!

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Rising._] And you are not angry any more?

PARBURY.

Was I angry?

[_Rises._

MRS. PARBURY.

Horribly!

PARBURY.

I'm sorry.

MRS. PARBURY.

Not vexed about the article?

PARBURY.

Bother the article. I knew it hadn't a million to one chance!

MRS. PARBURY.

And it doesn't matter?

PARBURY.

Not in the least!

MRS. PARBURY.

Then we may have tea in here?

PARBURY.

Rather! Let's go the pace.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Goes to him, standing before him, her hands by her sides._] Kiss me!

[_He kisses her. She throws her arms round him and whispers to him. He

whispers a word in reply. They both laugh slightly, and he playfully

pinches her cheek._] Brute! [_She smooths her hair and goes to door,

L.; turns at door and blows him a kiss, to which he responds._]

[_Exit MRS. PARBURY, L._

PARBURY.

[_Standing for moment, C., a whimsical look on his face._] Dear little

woman! What a pity she cries so much! [_Puts chair up, R.; goes to

desk and turns over pages of magazine, still continuing his thought._]

What a pity! What a pity!

_Enter MISS WOODWARD carrying loose type-written MS. PARBURY glances

up from his magazine as she places the leaves on the desk._

Oh, thanks!

MISS WOODWARD.

Do you wish to finish the article now?

PARBURY.

Impossible! Tea will be taken here in a few minutes.

MISS WOODWARD.

[_With a touch of indignant surprise._] Here? . . . Oh, I beg your

pardon!

PARBURY.

Not at all! I said here! [_Throws down magazine, goes up to fireplace,

C. MISS WOODWARD permits a slight groan to escape her._] Eh?

MISS WOODWARD.

Nothing, I didn't speak!

[_Sits and bends over desk._

[_PARBURY looks at her suddenly and keenly as though he had never

noticed her before. Slight pause. She arranges papers at desk. He is

leaning against the mantelpiece._

PARBURY.

Do you know, Miss Woodward, I believe you are more disappointed about

that article than I am.

MISS WOODWARD.

I was certainly very interested.

PARBURY.

Why?

MISS WOODWARD.

It was so strong! I admire strength.

PARBURY.

[_Smiling._] You are not then quite the machine one gets into the

habit of imagining one's secretary to be?

MISS WOODWARD.

[_Meeting his eye calmly and fearlessly for a moment._] I should like

to be what you wish me to be.

PARBURY.

[_A little disconcerted._] Humph! [_Stands with his hands in his

pockets looking at her, while she is busy at the desk._]

[_The door, L., suddenly opens. PARBURY starts almost violently. MRS.

PARBURY puts her head into the room._

MRS. PARBURY.

Darling, I've got rid of a would-be intruder for you. I thought you'd

like to know.

PARBURY.

Thank you, dear; who was it?

MRS. PARBURY.

A horrid person named Gunning. There's the creature's card. [_Throws

card into room on to chair by door L._] I knew you'd be pleased,

darling! Tea in five minutes.

[_Exit MRS. PARBURY, closing door._

PARBURY.

Gunning! Not George surely? [_Quickly gets the card._] It is! My dear

old friend; I wouldn't miss seeing him for worlds! [_Rushes to window,

opens it, and bends out._] Why, there he is, going across the lawn!

[_Shouts._] George! George!! Hi! Gunning!!!

[_Runs off, R._

GUNNING.

[_Outside, very distant._] Hullo, Clement!

PARBURY.

[_Outside._] Wait a moment, old chap!

[_MISS WOODWARD goes up and looks through window, comes down, and with

her handkerchief carefully dusts a photograph of PARBURY which stands

on book-case up L.C., then looks at the portrait of MRS. PARBURY,

which is C. on wall over mantel, shrugs her shoulders slightly,

returns to desk._

_Enter PARBURY and GUNNING, R., through window._

PARBURY.

[_C., speaking as they enter._] Quite a mistake! I assure you, my dear

fellow, my wife gave orders that I was not to be disturbed, thinking I

was engaged upon an important piece of work.

GUNNING.

[_Looking at MISS WOODWARD._] Won't you present me to Mrs.----

PARBURY.

[_Hastily._] To Miss Woodward, my secretary--certainly! Mr. Gunning,

Miss Woodward. [_They bow. MISS WOODWARD moves to go._] Don't go, Miss

Woodward. [_Crosses to top of table, R.C. GUNNING puts his hat and

gloves on chair, L._] You might very kindly get rid of some of this

correspondence for me. [_Takes a bundle of letters from desk._] "Dear

Sir,--I would esteem it a great favour if you would send me your

photograph, together with your autograph." [_Throws letter aside, and

reads another._] "My dear Sir,--I have read with the deepest interest

and the highest pleasure your deservedly successful novel, 'The

Overthrow of Harvey Masterton,' and feel convinced that if you knew

the story of my life----" [_Repeats business._] No one can deal with

these people like Miss Woodward.

GUNNING.

[_Taking off his gloves._] What is your method, Miss Woodward?

MISS WOODWARD.

It is Mr. Parbury's--perfect civility, consistent with finality.

[_Sits at desk and writes letters._

GUNNING.

Excellent! [_Sits and addresses PARBURY._] I suppose being a popular

author entails a lot of correspondence?

PARBURY.

Awful!

GUNNING.

[L.C.] For my part, my correspondence is practically nil.

PARBURY.

I have noticed it with pain.

GUNNING.

Oh, I'd have written to you, but what was the good of it? I'm not

literary, and I'm not married.

PARBURY.

And so you've kept away for five years.

GUNNING.

About that.

[_Sits on arm of sofa, L.C._

PARBURY.

Five years and three months--for I've been married all that time, and

you neither came to the wedding nor called on me afterwards.

GUNNING.

I was discreet.

PARBURY.

Discreet! Damned unfriendly, I call it, considering the years we had

been pals.

GUNNING.

Well, the rest of our old set stuck to you, anyway. What has become of

them? Take Wybrow, for instance--an awful good chap!

PARBURY.

Wybrow, Wybrow--what _has_ become of Wybrow?

GUNNING.

Never comes here, eh?

PARBURY.

Well, he did a few times some years ago, but----

GUNNING.

I understand--a little too Bohemian.

PARBURY.

[_Quickly._] Not for me, George, I assure you.

GUNNING.

No, no, of course not, my dear chap. Exit Bohemian Wybrow. Then there

was Carson--one of the best?

PARBURY.

[_Warmly._] Wasn't he a good fellow?

GUNNING.

Capital! Where is he?

PARBURY.

Married, you know.

GUNNING.

So I heard. You meet constantly, of course?

PARBURY.

No, we met them at Brighton one winter some years ago, but I don't

think our wives quite--you understand, don't you?

GUNNING.

Yes, yes, I understand. You dropped the Carsons. But Burleigh----

PARBURY.

Burleigh--ah!

[_Laughs._

GUNNING.

There was a great spirit if you like; he was your best man.

PARBURY.

Yes; he gave me this watch.

GUNNING.

Which you still wear. Touching constancy! When did you see him last?

PARBURY.

Wait a moment. What is all this interrogation for?

GUNNING.

Idle curiosity if you like--study of life if you like. Come, out with

it, when did you last have dear old Tom Burleigh to dinner?

PARBURY.

[_Almost defiantly._] The day we returned from our honeymoon.

[_Slightly awkward pause._

GUNNING.

[_Musingly._] About five years and six weeks ago.

PARBURY.

Of course, I see a lot of him at the Clubs. That is to say, I used to

when I was still a Club man.

GUNNING.

Which now you are not?

PARBURY.

Which now I am not! What does a man want with a Club when he has a

home of his own?

GUNNING.

Excellent sentiment; but neither the sentiment nor the words are your

own, Clement. [_Their eyes meet and they burst into laughter._] I

know, I know; "and what does a man want with men friends when he has a

wife of his own," and "the husband's old friends are the wife's worst

enemies," and "what I say about Clubs is, down with them!"

[_Laughs, sits on sofa, L.C._

PARBURY.

[_Suddenly serious._] What the devil are you laughing at, George? You

don't presume----

GUNNING.

I--why, of course not, my dear chap. Only now you see how wise I was

not to intrude after your marriage, not to wait for my congé as the

other poor boys did! I knew something.

PARBURY.

You always did, you brute! I believe you were born knowing something.

[_Leans on back of sofa._] But seriously [_lowers his voice_], George,

I assure you she's the best little woman in the world!

GUNNING.

Why, of course; it would be impious to suggest otherwise.

[_Exit MISS WOODWARD._

[_His eyes follow her off._] A perfect wife, and a charming secretary!

You're a lucky fellow, Clement!

PARBURY.

Is Miss Woodward charming? On my word, I hadn't noticed it, but I'm in

love with my wife, you see.

GUNNING.

Of course you would be the last to discover that your secretary was

personally pleasing.

PARBURY.

You're a sinister scoundrel, George, and coarse to a fault. Now, tell

me what you've been doing all these years--shedding your illusions

apparently.

GUNNING.

I've had none to lose since I grew up. I got rid of mine about the

time of measles and whooping-cough.

PARBURY.

It's a pity.

GUNNING.

Not at all. One can't attain the proper philosophical attitude towards

life while one nourishes illusions; one can never gain perspective.

PARBURY.

Great man! How beautifully you talk! I suppose you have quite a nice

thing in perspectives about with you now.

GUNNING.

Pretty well.

PARBURY.

So much for the journey of the soul. What of the body? Where have you

been?

GUNNING.

Round the world twice since I saw you.

PARBURY.

What did you see on the other side?

GUNNING.

Just what one sees on this side; there is always a man--and a woman.

PARBURY.

I know you were adventuring in Upper India last year, for the papers

were full of a rather fine thing you did--saved a lot of miserable

lives--an ordinary, manly, commonplace, heroic, English sort of thing.

GUNNING.

Oh, don't mention that; one was carried away by impulse.

PARBURY.

And so we keep our impulses even when we lose our illusions; I'm glad

of that anyway. [_Then he comes behind GUNNING'S chair, takes him by

the shoulder, and shakes him._] Old fool! I can't help liking you as

much as ever!

GUNNING.

[_Looking up with genuine pleasure._] Really?

PARBURY.

Honestly!

GUNNING.

[_Rises, puts his hands on PARBURY'S shoulders._] Well, I'm glad,

because I've often been weak enough to regret not seeing you. As for

your literary successes, I suppose I ought to congratulate you; but I

always knew you'd be a great man, because you never bored me.

PARBURY.

[_Drily._] Thanks so much. Now tell me how you found me.

GUNNING.

By means of the illustrated press--interview with Mr. Clement

Parbury--copyright. The author of the "Overthrow of Harvey something"

at his pretty retreat at Hampstead--copyright. Snapshot of Mr. Parbury

at work--copyright. View of the study from the garden--view of the

garden from the study--copyright.

PARBURY.

Shut up! You make me blush.

GUNNING.

Forgive me--it's only envy. It's the envious people who call this a

vulgar age, I suppose.

_Enter SERVANT, L., places occasional table for tea in front of sofa,

L.C., and exits L._

PARBURY.

Now you are to see my wife. How do you imagine her? Large, I suppose,

with huge hands and feet and a beetling brow?

GUNNING.

I'm content to wait.

_Re-enter SERVANT, L., with tea service._

PARBURY.

When you have had tea, you will go away to dress. You will return here

to dinner at eight.

GUNNING.

I think not.

PARBURY.

One moment. You will probably meet only my wife's father, Colonel

Armitage, and your dinner will be a fairly plain one, but I promise

that your palate will not be outraged.

GUNNING.

I really think not, old man. I remember the fate of old Burleigh. And

I never even gave you a watch.

PARBURY.

George, you hurt me. [_Slight pause._] Then you refuse?

GUNNING.

I make conditions.

PARBURY.

What are they?

GUNNING.

That you come yachting with me from to-morrow till the end of the

week. I've hired a charming little twenty-tonner, one after your own

heart--that is, if your heart or my memory hasn't entirely changed.

PARBURY.

[_Enthusiastic._] Splendid! There's nothing I should like so much; and

I've no special work on hand just now.

GUNNING.

Then it's agreed?

PARBURY.

Certainly!

GUNNING.

Good; we'll drink of the Cuvée 36, brush up our swearing vocabulary,

and I'll teach you to gain perspective!

PARBURY.

[_His face suddenly falling._] Oh, the deuce!

GUNNING.

What's the matter? What are you afraid of?

PARBURY.

Of nothing in the world!

GUNNING.

[_Slapping him on the back._] Hero!

_Enter MRS. PARBURY, L., wearing a bright smile, which fades when she

sees GUNNING._

PARBURY.

Mabel, I want to present you to my dear old friend, George Gunning. My

wife, George.

[_GUNNING crosses to MRS. PARBURY. Shakes hands._

MRS. PARBURY.

How do you do? I'm very pleased.

[_She gives him simultaneously a cold smile and a stiff handshake._

GUNNING.

I'm very delighted to meet Clement's wife.

MRS. PARBURY.

You'll let me give you some tea?

[_Goes to tea-table; sits on sofa._

GUNNING.

Thank you. [_Aside to PARBURY._] She's charming!

[_PARBURY digs him in the ribs. GUNNING goes to tea-table. PARBURY

sits at desk._

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Handing GUNNING tea-cup._] I've given you no sugar.

GUNNING.

I'll take one piece.

[_Does so._

_Enter MISS WOODWARD, R.I.E., with MS., which she hands to PARBURY._

PARBURY.

Thank you.

[_He reads and signs letters._

MRS. PARBURY.

Clement, come for your tea.

PARBURY.

In one moment, dear.

MRS. PARBURY.

Miss Woodward, you will take tea?

MISS WOODWARD.

Thank you, yes.

GUNNING.

[_To MRS. PARBURY._] Allow me.

[_Takes MISS WOODWARD'S cup to her, and offers her bread and butter,

&c._

MISS WOODWARD.

Thank you.

PARBURY.

You've often heard me speak of Gunning, Mabel; we were at Cambridge

together.

MRS. PARBURY.

Oh yes, I remember! [_To GUNNING._] You were very great friends?

GUNNING.

Inseparables!

PARBURY.

I should say so!

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Uneasily._] Indeed!

PARBURY.

[_Comes over and takes his tea._] You see, Gunning had been my fag at

Harrow, and my ill-treatment of him inspired a dog-like devotion. [_To

MISS WOODWARD._] Let me take your cup. [_Adds in a lower voice._] I've

an idea!

[_MISS WOODWARD goes to desk; PARBURY follows her to desk._]

GUNNING.

Let me.

[_Assists MRS. PARBURY with the tea service._

PARBURY.

[_To MISS WOODWARD in a low voice._] I think I can finish the article

in three sentences. Take your notes into the other room; I'll join you

in a moment.

[_MISS WOODWARD gathers her notes and exits R._]

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Pouring out a fresh cup of tea for GUNNING._] But of course it's not

in the nature of things that college friendships, however strong, can

last always. Time estranges, doesn't it, Mr. Gunning, and fate drives

people into different--well, different ways of life, doesn't it? Some

men marry soon. Are you married, Mr. Gunning?

GUNNING.

Alas, no, Mrs. Parbury!

PARBURY.

He has too much respect for your sex, dear. Forgive me for three

minutes.

[_Exit PARBURY, R._

MRS. PARBURY.

Not married! Well, I should have thought----

GUNNING.

That I'm old enough to know better. I admit it.

[_Sits R.C._

MRS. PARBURY.

Well, I was going to say that in marriage a man changes so much. He

becomes more--more----

GUNNING.

[_Gently._] Respectable?

MRS. PARBURY.

Well, I wasn't going to say quite that; though, as you suggest it, no

doubt it is true. I was going to say more responsible. He enters into

a broader, a fuller life; he gains in nobility, don't you think?

GUNNING.

[_Amused._] Oh, no doubt Clement has improved enormously!

MRS. PARBURY.

I'm so glad you recognise that. You may smoke, Mr. Gunning, if you

care to.

GUNNING.

Thank you. I'll steal one of Clement's cigarettes if I may?

[_Takes cigarette from box on desk._

MRS. PARBURY.

Of course Clement was always good and strong and clever. It only

wanted marriage to--to----

GUNNING.

To perfect him!

MRS. PARBURY.

Well, I was going to say to complete him; but it comes to the same

thing, doesn't it?

GUNNING.

Quite, quite!

MRS. PARBURY.

I found my happiness when I married Clement.

GUNNING.

You had been looking for it?

MRS. PARBURY.

Of course; isn't that every woman's duty?

GUNNING.

Yes, yes; and every man's?

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Less confidently._] Well, yes, I should think so.

GUNNING.

And one's happiness once found is worth fighting for?

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Firmly._] Worth fighting very hard for!

GUNNING.

[_Drily._] Of course. [_Aside._] Poor Burleigh!

[_Lights cigarette._

MRS. PARBURY.

You, I suppose, have never met a woman who could make you happy?

GUNNING.

I have never met a woman whom I was sure of being able to make happy.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Slightly embarrassed._] Oh!

GUNNING.

And, anyway, the state of marriage has always appeared to me to be a

state of warfare.

MRS. PARBURY.

Mr. Gunning, you little know----

GUNNING.

I admit the case of you and Clement to be an exceptional one. I'm

talking of ordinary cases--the average marriage; there you will find,

according to my observation, an endless war--a war of self-interests,

a war of opposing emotions, a war of irreconcilable nervous

organisations----

MRS. PARBURY.

Oh, Mr. Gunning!

GUNNING.

Viewed from the hill-tops rather a pitiful sort of war, in which can

be won neither the full joys of love nor the complete glories of

battle.

MRS. PARBURY.

Oh, Mr. Gunning!

GUNNING.

I remain single, Mrs. Parbury, quite without happiness--except in the

reflection that I am neither an oppressor exercising a daily tyranny,

nor a slave rightly struggling to be free.

MRS. PARBURY.

Of course I don't in the least agree with you. [_The telephone bell

rings._] [_Rising._] There's some one on the telephone--forgive me.

[_Goes to telephone box and puts the communicator to her ear._] Are

you there?--yes--who are you?--the article--yes--no, you can't have it

to-day--no, it hasn't a million to one chance of being finished. [_To

GUNNING, with a smile._] That's Clement's slang, not mine. [_Again

into telephone._] What?

_Enter PARBURY and MISS WOODWARD, R._

I say it hasn't a million to one chance of being finished.

PARBURY.

What? Who is it?

MRS. PARBURY.

It's the _Saturday Sentinel._

PARBURY.

But, my dear, the article is finished. [_Rushes to telephone._] [_MISS

WOODWARD and GUNNING are laughing secretly. MRS. PARBURY stands C.,

rather confused._] [_At telephone._] Hullo! Hullo! Are you there?

[_Rings violently._] Hullo--oh! is that you, Jackson? . . . what's the

matter? [_Rather a long pause. He smiles while listening._] No, no,

not at all, my dear chap. What was said was, 'It's a million to one

you'll have the copy in half-an-hour'--eh?--yes, those were the very

words . . . no, quite a mistake, you don't listen properly. A

messenger has just gone off in a cab with it. What? Yes. [_Laughs._]

All right! Good-bye!

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Seeing MISS WOODWARD laughing._] I really don't know what there is

to laugh at, Miss Woodward.

MISS WOODWARD.

I was only smiling at the messenger in the cab.

[_Folds MS. and puts it in envelope._

PARBURY.

Yes, send some one at once, please, Miss Woodward.

[_Exit MISS WOODWARD, R.V.E._

MRS. PARBURY.

It wasn't my fault, dear. You know you did use those words.

PARBURY.

My fault entirely. [_Aside to GUNNING._] Have you told her?

GUNNING.

What?

PARBURY.

About the yachting?

GUNNING.

Why, of course not. That's your affair, my dear fellow.

PARBURY.

[_His hand on GUNNING'S shoulder._] Mabel, dear, we're going yachting

for a few days. I think I want a little change.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Coming towards them, brightly._] Oh, what a good idea! When do we

go? [_PARBURY and GUNNING look at each other._] Are you coming, Mr.

Gunning?

[_PARBURY presses GUNNING forward. GUNNING looks round at PARBURY

reproachfully. PARBURY goes up stage._

GUNNING.

[_Embarrassed._] Well, it's my yacht, Mrs. Parbury, but she's very

small--only a little tub of a thing; and-- [_Looks at his watch._] By

Jove! I'll never be able to dress and get back for dinner if I don't

hurry. [_Gets his hat and gloves, L. Goes up quickly._] I need only

say _au revoir;_ don't trouble, Clement, I'll find my way out--_au

revoir!_

[_Exit GUNNING, L._

[_MRS. PARBURY, who is puzzled, sits on sofa._

PARBURY.

[_Calling after GUNNING._] Dinner at eight, remember.

GUNNING.

[_Outside._] All right!

PARBURY.

[_Shuts the door._] Capital fellow, George Gunning!

[_Comes to back of sofa._

MRS. PARBURY.

What does he mean by a little tub of a thing? Surely we're not----

PARBURY.

No, dear, certainly not. You're quite right. I wouldn't think of

letting you run any risks.

MRS. PARBURY.

Then we're not going?

PARBURY.

No, dear; that is to say, Gunning and I are going.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Rising, aghast._] Without me?

PARBURY.

Only for a few days, of course.

[_Laughing feebly._

MRS. PARBURY.

You are not serious?

PARBURY.

Quite!

[_His laugh becomes feebler._

MRS. PARBURY.

But--but you never go away without me!

PARBURY.

I haven't hitherto, but----

MRS. PARBURY.

Well?

[_Appears about to cry._

PARBURY.

I've been working very hard, you know, lately. I feel I want a change.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Tearfully._] It doesn't occur to you that I might want a change.

PARBURY.

Well, have one, dear. Aunt Martha would be delighted to have you at

Oaklands.

MRS. PARBURY.

I don't want to go to Aunt Martha. How would you like to go to Aunt

Martha?

PARBURY.

[_Suppressing a groan._] What is it you _do_ want?

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Quickly._] You! I want to be with you! It's very simple--it's not

asking very much. If you don't like my being with you, why did you

marry me?

[_Taking out her handkerchief._

PARBURY.

Now, dear, please don't cry! [_Aside._] If she does, I'm done for!

[_Aloud._] It's only common sense that you can't go knocking about

with a couple of men in a tub of a boat.

MRS. PARBURY.

Of course I quite know now that you don't love me.

[_Bursts into tears. Sits on sofa._

PARBURY.

[_With real irritation._] Oh, damn it! [_Goes up, but turns quickly

and comes down to her._] 'Pon my soul, you make me almost hate----

MRS. PARBURY.

Of course you hate me. Your old friend has done that for me. You are

breaking my heart!

PARBURY.

[_Who has recovered control of his temper and resumed his natural

bantering tone._] Not at all, dear. [_Sits at his desk and affects to

be busy._] I was only going to say that I hated--now, what the deuce

was it I hated?--oh, I know--to see a woman cry. I do think a woman is

wise who does her crying in private, and yet--I wonder--they know

best--millions to one they know best. I must write something about it.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Rises, goes to top of table, R. She is wiping her eyes, her back to

him._] Of course, you're going all the same?

PARBURY.

[_Affecting great pre-occupation._] Going? Going where?

MRS. PARBURY.

With Mr. Gunning.

[_Pause. She continues to cry gently._

PARBURY.

Gunning--Gunning!--who's Gunning? Oh--George--yachting, you mean! Not

I! I'm staying here.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Comes towards him gladly, her arms extended._] Clement!

PARBURY.

Eh? Oh, forgive me for a few minutes.

[_Writes._

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Reproachfully._] I was only going to kiss you.

PARBURY.

[_Writing._] All right, dear--presently--presently, there's a dear

girl! [_MRS. PARBURY has a slow silent exit, looking back at him._]

[_He doesn't look up, but goes on writing. When the door closes, he

puts down his pen._] Oh, the tyranny of it! The tyranny of it!

[_Slow Curtain._

END OF ACT I.