HER HUSBAND. What's that you say?
HE. I say you are a fool and a brute; and if you'll step outside with me
I'll say it again. [Teddy begins to take off his coat for combat]. Those
poems were written to your wife, every word of them, and to nobody else.
[The scowl clears away from Bompas's countenance. Radiant, he replaces
his coat]. I wrote them because I loved her. I thought her the most
beautiful woman in the world; and I told her so over and over again. I
adored her: do you hear? I told her that you were a sordid commercial
chump, utterly unworthy of her; and so you are.
HER HUSBAND [so gratified, he can hardly believe his ears] You don't
mean it!
HE. Yes, I do mean it, and a lot more too. I asked Mrs Bompas to walk
out of the house with me--to leave you--to get divorced from you and
marry me. I begged and implored her to do it this very night. It was her
refusal that ended everything between us. [Looking very disparagingly at
him] What she can see in you, goodness only knows!
HER HUSBAND [beaming with remorse] My dear chap, why didn't you say
so before? I apologize. Come! Don't bear malice: shake hands. Make him
shake hands, Rory.
SHE. For my sake, Henry. After all, he's my husband. Forgive him.
Take his hand. [Henry, dazed, lets her take his hand and place it in
Teddy's].
HER HUSBAND [shaking it heartily] You've got to own that none of your
literary heroines can touch my Rory. [He turns to her and claps her with
fond pride on the shoulder]. Eh, Rory? They can't resist you: none of
em. Never knew a man yet that could hold out three days.
SHE. Don't be foolish, Teddy. I hope you were not really hurt, Henry.
[She feels the back of his head. He flinches]. Oh, poor boy, what a
bump! I must get some vinegar and brown paper. [She goes to the bell and
rings].
HER HUSBAND. Will you do me a great favor, Apjohn. I hardly like to ask;
but it would be a real kindness to us both.
HE. What can I do?
HER HUSBAND [taking up the poems] Well, may I get these printed? It
shall be done in the best style. The finest paper, sumptuous binding,
everything first class. They're beautiful poems. I should like to show
them about a bit.
SHE [running back from the bell, delighted with the idea, and coming
between them] Oh Henry, if you wouldn't mind!
HE. Oh, I don't mind. I am past minding anything. I have grown too fast
this evening.
SHE. How old are you, Henry?
HE. This morning I was eighteen. Now I am--confound it! I'm quoting
that beast of a play [he takes the Candida tickets out of his pocket and
tears them up viciously].
HER HUSBAND. What shall we call the volume? To Aurora, or something like
that, eh?
HE. I should call it How He Lied to Her Husband.