Dorothy (stretching out her hands to him). Roger! (She sinks into a
chair.)
Carey (choosing quite the wrong moment for a proposal). Dorothy, I
love you! Think no more of this traitor, for he will surely hang.
'Tis your father's wish that you and I should wed.
Dorothy (refusing him). Go, lest I call in the grooms to whip you.
Carey. By heaven--(thinking better of it) I go to fetch your father.
[Exit.
Enter Roger by secret door, L.
Dorothy. Roger! You have escaped!
Roger. Knowest not the secret passage from the wine cellar, where we
so often played as children? 'Twas in that same cellar the
thick-skulled knaves immured me.
Dorothy. Roger, you must fly! Wilt wear a cloak of mine to elude our
enemies?
Roger (missing the point rather). Nay, if I die, let me die like a
man, not like a puling girl. Yet, sweetheart--
Enter Lord Carey by ordinary door.
Carey (forgetting himself in his confusion). Odds my zounds, dod
sink me! What murrain is this?
Roger (seizing Sir Thomas's sword, which had been accidentally left
behind on the table, as I ought to have said before, and advancing
threateningly). It means, my lord, that a villain's time has come.
Wilt say a prayer?
[They fight, and Carey is disarmed before they can hurt each other.
Carey (dying game). Strike, Master Dale!
Roger. Nay, I cannot kill in cold blood.
[He throws down his sword. Lord Carey exhibits considerable emotion
at this, and decides to turn over an entirely new leaf.
Enter two soldiers.
Carey. Arrest that man! (Roger is seized again.) Mistress Dorothy,
it is for you to say what shall be done with the prisoner.
Dorothy (standing up if she was sitting down, and sitting down if
she was standing up). Ah, give him to me, my lord!
Carey (joining the hands of Roger and Dorothy). I trust to you,
sweet mistress, to see that the prisoner does not escape again.
[Dorothy and Roger embrace each other, if they can do it without
causing a scandal in the neighbourhood, and the curtain goes down.
"A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING"
The scene is a drawing-room (in which the men are allowed to
smoke--or a smoking-room in which the women are allowed to draw--it
doesn't much matter) in the house of somebody or other in the
country. George Turnbull and his old College friend, Henry Peterson,
are confiding in each other, as old friends will, over their
whiskies and cigars. It is about three o'clock in the afternoon.
George (dreamily helping himself to a stiff soda). Henry, do you
remember that evening at Christ Church College, Oxford, five years
ago, when we opened our hearts to each other...
Henry (lighting a cigar and hiding it in a fern-pot). That moonlight
evening on the Backs, George, when I had failed in my Matriculation
examination?
George. Yes; and we promised that when either of us fell in love the
other should be the first to hear of it? (Rising solemnly.) Henry,
the moment has come. (With shining eyes.) I am in love.
Henry (jumping up and grasping him by both hands). George! My dear
old George! (In a voice broken with emotion.) Bless you, George!
[He pats him thoughtfully on the back three times, nods his own head
twice, gives him a final grip of the hand, and returns to his chair.
George (more moved by this than he cares to show). Thank you, Henry.
(Hoarsely.) You're a good fellow.
Henry (airily, with a typically British desire to conceal his
emotion). Who is the lucky little lady?
George (taking out a picture postcard of the British Museum and
kissing it passionately). Isobel Barley!
[If Henry is not careful he will probably give a start of surprise
here, with the idea of suggesting to the audience that he (1) knows
something about the lady's past, or (2) is in love with her himself.
He is, however, thinking of a different play. We shall come to that
one in a moment.
Henry (in a slightly dashing manner). Little Isobel? Lucky dog!
George. I wish I could think so. (Sighs.) But I have yet to approach
her, and she may be another's. (Fiercely.) Heavens, Henry, if she
should be another's!
Enter Isobel.
Isobel (brightly). So I've run you to earth at last. Now, what have
you got to say for yourselves?
Henry (like a man). By Jove! (looking at his watch)--I had no
idea--is it really--poor old Joe--waiting--
[Dashes out tactfully in a state of incoherence.
George (rising and leading Isobel to the front of the stage). Miss
Barley, now that we are alone, I have something I want to say to
you.
Isobel (looking at her watch). Well, you must be quick. Because I'm
engaged--
[George drops her hand and staggers away from her.
Isobel. Why, what's the matter?
George (to the audience, in a voice expressing the very deeps of
emotion). Engaged! She is engaged! I am too late!
[He sinks into a chair and covers his face with his hands.
Isobel (surprised). Mr Turnbull! What has happened?
George (waving her away with one hand). Go! Leave me! I can bear
this best alone. (Exit Isobel.) Merciful heavens, she is plighted to
another!
Enter Henry.
Henry (eagerly). Well, old man?
George (raising a face white with misery--that is to say, if he has
remembered to put the French chalk in the palms of his hands).
Henry, I am too late! She is another's!
Henry (in surprise). Whose?
George (with dignity). I did not ask her. It is nothing to me.
Good-bye, Henry. Be kind to her.
Henry. Why, where are you going?
George (firmly). To the Rocky Mountains. I shall shoot some bears.
Grizzly ones. It may be that thus I shall forget my grief.
Henry (after a pause). Perhaps you are right, George. What shall I
tell--her?
George. Tell her--nothing. But should anything (feeling casually in
his pockets) happen to me--if (going over them again quickly) I do
not come back, then (searching them all, including the waistcoat
ones, in desperate haste), give her--give her--give her
(triumphantly bringing his handkerchief out of the last pocket)
this, and say that my last thought was of her. Good-bye, my old
friend. Good-bye.
[Exit to Rocky Mountains.
Enter Isobel.
Isabel. Why, where's Mr Turnbull?
Henry (sadly). He's gone.
Isabel. Gone? Where?
Henry. To the Rocky Mountains--to shoot bears. (Feeling that some
further explanation is needed.) Grizzly ones.
Isobel. But he was HERE a moment ago.
Henry. Yes, he's only JUST gone.
Isobel. Why didn't he say good-bye? (Eagerly.) But perhaps he left a
message for me? (Henry shakes his head.) Nothing? (Henry bows
silently and leaves the room.) Oh! (She gives a cry and throws
herself on the sofa.) And I loved him! George, George, why didn't
you speak?
Enter George hurriedly. He is fully dressed for a shooting
expedition in the Rocky Mountains, and carries a rifle under his
arm.
George (to the audience). I have just come back for my
pocket-handkerchief. I must have dropped it in here somewhere. (He
begins to search for it, and in the ordinary course of things comes
upon Isobel on the sofa. He puts his rifle down carefully on a
table, with the muzzle pointing at the prompter rather than at the
audience, and staggers back.) Merciful heavens! Isobel! Dead! (He
falls on his knees beside the sofa.) My love, speak to me!
Isobel (softly). George!
George. She is alive! Isobel!
Isobel. Don't go, George!
George. My dear, I love you! But when I heard that you were
another's, honour compelled me--
Isobel (sitting up quickly). What do you mean by another's?
George. You said you were engaged!
Isobel (suddenly realizing how the dreadful misunderstanding arose
which nearly wrecked two lives). But I only meant I was engaged to
play tennis with Lady Carbrook!
George. What a fool I have been! (He hurries on before the audience
can assent.) Then, Isobel, you WILL be mine?
Isobel. Yes, George. And you won't go and shoot nasty bears, will
you, dear? Not even grizzly ones?
George (taking her in his arms). Never, darling. That was only
(turning to the audience with the air of one who is making his best
point) A Slight Misunderstanding.