CHRISTINE, LADY CHESHIRE, DOT, MABEL LANFARNE,
and JOAN, are returning to the hall after dinner.
CHRISTINE. [in a low voice] Mother, is it true about young Dunning
and Rose Taylor?
LADY CHESHIRE. I'm afraid so, dear.
CHRISTINE. But can't they be----
DOT. Ah! ah-h! [CHRISTINE and her mother are silent.] My child, I'm
not the young person.
CHRISTINE. No, of course not--only--[nodding towards JOAN and
Mable].
DOT. Look here! This is just an instance of what I hate.
LADY CHESHIRE. My dear? Another one?
DOT. Yes, mother, and don't you pretend you don't understand,
because you know you do.
CHRISTINE. Instance? Of what?
JOAN and MABEL have ceased talking, and listen, still at the fire.
DOT. Humbug, of course. Why should you want them to marry, if he's
tired of her?
CHRISTINE. [Ironically] Well! If your imagination doesn't carry you
as far as that!
DOT. When people marry, do you believe they ought to be in love with
each other?
CHRISTINE. [With a shrug] That's not the point.
DOT. Oh? Were you in love with Ronny?
CHRISTINE. Don't be idiotic!
DOT. Would you have married him if you hadn't been?
CHRISTINE. Of course not!
JOAN. Dot! You are!----
DOT. Hallo! my little snipe!
LADY CHESHIRE. Dot, dear!
DOT. Don't shut me up, mother! [To JOAN.] Are you in love with
John? [JOAN turns hurriedly to the fire.] Would you be going to
marry him if you were not?
CHRISTINE. You are a brute, Dot.
DOT. Is Mabel in love with--whoever she is in love with?
MABEL. And I wonder who that is.
DOT. Well, would you marry him if you weren't?
MABEL. No, I would not.
DOT. Now, mother; did you love father?
CHRISTINE. Dot, you really are awful.
DOT. [Rueful and detached] Well, it is a bit too thick, perhaps.
JOAN. Dot!
DOT. Well, mother, did you--I mean quite calmly?
LADY CHESHIRE. Yes, dear, quite calmly.
DOT. Would you have married him if you hadn't? [LADY CHESHIRE shakes
her head] Then we're all agreed!
MABEL. Except yourself.
DOT. [Grimly] Even if I loved him, he might think himself lucky if I
married him.
MABEL. Indeed, and I'm not so sure.
DOT. [Making a face at her] What I was going to----
LADY CHESHIRE. But don't you think, dear, you'd better not?
DOT. Well, I won't say what I was going to say, but what I do say
is--Why the devil----
LADY CHESHIRE. Quite so, Dot!
DOT. [A little disconcerted.] If they're tired of each other, they
ought not to marry, and if father's going to make them----
CHRISTINE. You don't understand in the least. It's for the sake of
the----
DOT. Out with it, Old Sweetness! The approaching infant! God bless
it!
There is a sudden silence, for KEITH and LATTER are seen coming
from the dining-room.
LATTER. That must be so, Ronny.
KEITH. No, John; not a bit of it!
LATTER. You don't think!
KEITH. Good Gad, who wants to think after dinner!
DOT. Come on! Let's play pool. [She turns at the billiard-room
door.] Look here! Rehearsal to-morrow is directly after breakfast;
from "Eccles enters breathless" to the end.
MABEL. Whatever made you choose "Caste," DOT? You know it's awfully
difficult.
DOT. Because it's the only play that's not too advanced. [The girls
all go into the billiard-room.]
LADY CHESHIRE. Where's Bill, Ronny?
KEITH. [With a grimace] I rather think Sir William and he are in
Committee of Supply--Mem-Sahib.
LADY CHESHIRE. Oh!
She looks uneasily at the dining-room; then follows the girls
out.
LATTER. [In the tone of one resuming an argument] There can't be
two opinions about it, Ronny. Young Dunning's refusal is simply
indefensible.
KEITH. I don't agree a bit, John.
LATTER. Of course, if you won't listen.
KEITH. [Clipping a cigar] Draw it mild, my dear chap. We've had
the whole thing over twice at least.
LATTER. My point is this----
KEITH. [Regarding LATTER quizzically with his halfclosed eyes]
I know--I know--but the point is, how far your point is simply
professional.
LATTER. If a man wrongs a woman, he ought to right her again.
There's no answer to that.
KEITH. It all depends.
LATTER. That's rank opportunism.
KEITH. Rats! Look here--Oh! hang it, John, one can't argue this out
with a parson.
LATTER. [Frigidly] Why not?
HAROLD. [Who has entered from the dining-room] Pull devil, pull
baker!
KEITH. Shut up, Harold!
LATTER. "To play the game" is the religion even of the Army.
KEITH. Exactly, but what is the game?
LATTER. What else can it be in this case?
KEITH. You're too puritanical, young John. You can't help it--line
of country laid down for you. All drag-huntin'! What!
LATTER. [With concentration] Look here!
HAROLD. [Imitating the action of a man pulling at a horse's head]
'Come hup, I say, you hugly beast!'
KEITH. [To LATTER] You're not going to draw me, old chap. You
don't see where you'd land us all. [He smokes calmly]
LATTER. How do you imagine vice takes its rise? From precisely this
sort of thing of young Dunning's.
KEITH. From human nature, I should have thought, John. I admit that
I don't like a fellow's leavin' a girl in the lurch; but I don't see
the use in drawin' hard and fast rules. You only have to break 'em.
Sir William and you would just tie Dunning and the girl up together,
willy-nilly, to save appearances, and ten to one but there'll be the
deuce to pay in a year's time. You can take a horse to the water,
you can't make him drink.
LATTER. I entirely and absolutely disagree with you.
HAROLD. Good old John!
LATTER. At all events we know where your principles take you.
KEITH. [Rather dangerously] Where, please? [HAROLD turns up his
eyes, and points downwards] Dry up, Harold!
LATTER. Did you ever hear the story of Faust?
KEITH. Now look here, John; with all due respect to your cloth, and
all the politeness in the world, you may go to-blazes.
LATTER. Well, I must say, Ronny--of all the rude boors----[He turns
towards the billiard-room.]
KEITH. Sorry I smashed the glass, old chap.
LATTER passes out. There comes a mingled sound through the
opened door, of female voices, laughter, and the click of
billiard balls, dipped of by the sudden closing of the door.
KEITH. [Impersonally] Deuced odd, the way a parson puts one's back
up! Because you know I agree with him really; young Dunning ought to
play the game; and I hope Sir William'll make him.
The butler JACKSON has entered from the door under the stairs
followed by the keeper STUDDENHAM, a man between fifty and
sixty, in a full-skirted coat with big pockets, cord breeches,
and gaiters; he has a steady self respecting weathered face,
with blue eyes and a short grey beard, which has obviously once
been red.
KEITH. Hullo! Studdenham!
STUDDENHAM. [Touching his forehead] Evenin', Captain Keith.
JACKSON. Sir William still in the dining-room with Mr. Bill, sir?
HAROLD. [With a grimace] He is, Jackson.
JACKSON goes out to the dining-room.
KEITH. You've shot no pheasants yet, Studdenham?
STUDDENHAM. No, Sir. Only birds. We'll be doin' the spinneys and
the home covert while you're down.
KEITH. I say, talkin' of spinneys----
He breaks off sharply, and goes out with HAROLD into the
billiard-room. SIR WILLIAM enters from the dining-room,
applying a gold toothpick to his front teeth.
SIR WILLIAM. Ah! Studdenham. Bad business this, about young
Dunning!
STUDDENHAM. Yes, Sir William.
SIR WILLIAM. He definitely refuses to marry her?
STUDDENHAM. He does that.
SIR WILLIAM. That won't do, you know. What reason does he give?
STUDDENHAM. Won't say other than that he don't want no more to do
with her.
SIR WILLIAM. God bless me! That's not a reason. I can't have a
keeper of mine playing fast and loose in the village like this.
[Turning to LADY CHESHIRE, who has come in from the billiard-room]
That affair of young Dunning's, my dear.
LADY CHESHIRE. Oh! Yes! I'm so sorry, Studdenham. The poor girl!
STUDDENHAM. [Respectfully] Fancy he's got a feeling she's not his
equal, now, my lady.
LADY CHESHIRE. [To herself] Yes, I suppose he has made her his
superior.
SIR WILLIAM. What? Eh! Quite! Quite! I was just telling
Studdenham the fellow must set the matter straight. We can't have
open scandals in the village. If he wants to keep his place he must
marry her at once.
LADY CHESHIRE. [To her husband in a low voice] Is it right to force
them? Do you know what the girl wishes, Studdenham?
STUDDENHAM. Shows a spirit, my lady--says she'll have him--willin'
or not.
LADY CHESHIRE. A spirit? I see. If they marry like that they're
sure to be miserable.
SIR WILLIAM. What! Doesn't follow at all. Besides, my dear, you
ought to know by this time, there's an unwritten law in these
matters. They're perfectly well aware that when there are
consequences, they have to take them.
STUDDENHAM. Some o' these young people, my lady, they don't put two
and two together no more than an old cock pheasant.
SIR WILLIAM. I'll give him till to-morrow. If he remains obstinate,
he'll have to go; he'll get no character, Studdenham. Let him know
what I've said. I like the fellow, he's a good keeper. I don't want
to lose him. But this sort of thing I won't have. He must toe the
mark or take himself off. Is he up here to-night?
STUDDENHAM. Hangin' partridges, Sir William. Will you have him in?
SIR WILLIAM. [Hesitating] Yes--yes. I'll see him.
STUDDENHAM. Good-night to you, my lady.
LADY CHESHIRE. Freda's not looking well, Studdenham.
STUDDENHAM. She's a bit pernickitty with her food, that's where it
is.
LADY CHESHIRE. I must try and make her eat.
SIR WILLIAM. Oh! Studdenham. We'll shoot the home covert first.
What did we get last year?
STUDDENHAM. [Producing the game-book; but without reference to it]
Two hundred and fifty-three pheasants, eleven hares, fifty-two
rabbits, three woodcock, sundry.
SIR WILLIAM. Sundry? Didn't include a fox did it? [Gravely] I was
seriously upset this morning at Warnham's spinney----
SUDDENHAM. [Very gravely] You don't say, Sir William; that
four-year-old he du look a handful!
SIR WILLIAM. [With a sharp look] You know well enough what I mean.
STUDDENHAM. [Unmoved] Shall I send young Dunning, Sir William?
SIR WILLIAM gives a short, sharp nod, and STUDDENHAM retires by
the door under the stairs.
SIR WILLIAM. Old fox!
LADY CHESHIRE. Don't be too hard on Dunning. He's very young.
SIR WILLIAM. [Patting her arm] My dear, you don't understand young
fellows, how should you?
LADY CHESHIRE. [With her faint irony] A husband and two sons not
counting. [Then as the door under the stairs is opened] Bill, now
do----
SIR WILLIAM. I'll be gentle with him. [Sharply] Come in!
LADY CHESHIRE retires to the billiard-room. She gives a look
back and a half smile at young DUNNING, a fair young man dressed
in broom cords and leggings, and holding his cap in his hand;
then goes out.
SIR WILLIAM. Evenin', Dunning.
DUNNING. [Twisting his cap] Evenin', Sir William.
SIR WILLIAM. Studdenham's told you what I want to see you about?
DUNNING. Yes, Sir.
SIR WILLIAM. The thing's in your hands. Take it or leave it. I
don't put pressure on you. I simply won't have this sort of thing on
my estate.
DUNNING. I'd like to say, Sir William, that she [He stops].
SIR WILLIAM. Yes, I daresay-Six of one and half a dozen of the
other. Can't go into that.
DUNNING. No, Sir William.
SIR WILLIAM. I'm quite mild with you. This is your first place. If
you leave here you'll get no character.
DUNNING. I never meant any harm, sir.
SIR WILLIAM. My good fellow, you know the custom of the country.
DUNNING. Yes, Sir William, but----
SIR WILLIAM. You should have looked before you leaped. I'm not
forcing you. If you refuse you must go, that's all.
DUNNING. Yes. Sir William.
SIR WILLIAM. Well, now go along and take a day to think it over.
BILL, who has sauntered moody from the diningroom, stands by the
stairs listening. Catching sight of him, DUNNING raises his
hand to his forelock.
DUNNING. Very good, Sir William. [He turns, fumbles, and turns
again] My old mother's dependent on me----
SIR WILLIAM. Now, Dunning, I've no more to say.
[Dunning goes sadly away under the stairs.]
SIR WILLIAM. [Following] And look here! Just understand this
[He too goes out....]
BILL, lighting a cigarette, has approached the writing-table.
He looks very glum. The billiard-room door is flung open.
MABEL LANFARNE appears, and makes him a little curtsey.
MABEL. Against my will I am bidden to bring you in to pool.
BILL. Sorry! I've got letters.
MABEL. You seem to have become very conscientious.
BILL. Oh! I don't know.
MABEL. Do you remember the last day of the covert shooting?
BITS. I do.
MABEL. [Suddenly] What a pretty girl Freda Studdenham's grown!
BILL. Has she?
MABEL. "She walks in beauty."
BILL. Really? Hadn't noticed.
MABEL. Have you been taking lessons in conversation?
BILL. Don't think so.
MABEL. Oh! [There is a silence] Mr. Cheshire!
BILL. Miss Lanfarne!
MABEL. What's the matter with you? Aren't you rather queer,
considering that I don't bite, and was rather a pal!
BILL. [Stolidly] I'm sorry.
Then seeing that his mother has came in from the billiard-room,
he sits down at the writing-table.
LADY CHESHIRE. Mabel, dear, do take my cue. Won't you play too,
Bill, and try and stop Ronny, he's too terrible?
BILL. Thanks. I've got these letters.
MABEL taking the cue passes back into the billiard-room, whence comes
out the sound of talk and laughter.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Going over and standing behind her son's chair]
Anything wrong, darling?
BILL. Nothing, thanks. [Suddenly] I say, I wish you hadn't asked
that girl here.
LADY CHESHIRE. Mabel! Why? She's wanted for rehearsals. I thought
you got on so well with her last Christmas.
BILL. [With a sort of sullen exasperation.] A year ago.
LADY CHESHIRE. The girls like her, so does your father; personally I
must say I think she's rather nice and Irish.
BILL. She's all right, I daresay.
He looks round as if to show his mother that he wishes to be
left alone. But LADY CHESHIRE, having seen that he is about to
look at her, is not looking at him.
LADY CHESHIRE. I'm afraid your father's been talking to you, Bill.
BILL. He has.
LADY CHESHIRE. Debts? Do try and make allowances. [With a faint
smile] Of course he is a little----
BILL. He is.
LADY CHESHIRE. I wish I could----
BILL. Oh, Lord! Don't you get mixed up in it!
LADY CHESHIRE. It seems almost a pity that you told him.
BILL. He wrote and asked me point blank what I owed.
LADY CHESHIRE. Oh! [Forcing herself to speak in a casual voice]
I happen to have a little money, Bill--I think it would be simpler
if----
BILL. Now look here, mother, you've tried that before. I can't help
spending money, I never shall be able, unless I go to the Colonies,
or something of the kind.
LADY CHESHIRE. Don't talk like that, dear!
BILL. I would, for two straws!
LADY CHESHIRE. It's only because your father thinks such a lot of
the place, and the name, and your career. The Cheshires are all like
that. They've been here so long; they're all--root.
BILL. Deuced funny business my career will be, I expect!
LADY CHESHIRE. [Fluttering, but restraining herself lest he should
see] But, Bill, why must you spend more than your allowance?
BILL. Why--anything? I didn't make myself.
LADY CHESHIRE. I'm afraid we did that. It was inconsiderate,
perhaps.
BILL. Yes, you'd better have left me out.
LADY CHESHIRE. But why are you so--Only a little fuss about money!
BILL. Ye-es.
LADY CHESHIRE. You're not keeping anything from me, are you?
BILL. [Facing her] No. [He then turns very deliberately to the
writing things, and takes up a pen] I must write these letters,
please.
LADY CHESHIRE. Bill, if there's any real trouble, you will tell me,
won't you?
BILL. There's nothing whatever.
He suddenly gets up and walks about. LADY CHESHIRE, too, moves
over to the fireplace, and after an uneasy look at him, turns to
the fire. Then, as if trying to switch of his mood, she changes
the subject abruptly.
LADY CHESHIRE. Isn't it a pity about young Dunning? I'm so sorry
for Rose Taylor.
There is a silence. Stealthily under the staircase FREDA has
entered, and seeing only BILL, advances to speak to him.
BILL. [Suddenly] Oh! well,--you can't help these things in the
country.
As he speaks, FREDA stops dead, perceiving that he is not alone;
BILL, too, catching sight of her, starts.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Still speaking to the fire] It seems dreadful to
force him. I do so believe in people doing things of their own
accord. [Then seeing FREDA standing so uncertainly by the stairs] Do
you want me, Freda?
FREDA. Only your cloak, my lady. Shall I--begin it?
At this moment SIR WILLIAM enters from the drawing-room.
LADY CHESHIRE. Yes, yes.
SIR WILLIAM. [Genially] Can you give me another five minutes, Bill?
[Pointing to the billiard-room] We'll come directly, my dear.
FREDA, with a look at BILL, has gone back whence she came; and
LADY CHESHIRE goes reluctantly away into the billiard-room.
SIR WILLIAM. I shall give young Dunning short shrift. [He moves
over to the fireplace and divides hip coat-tails] Now, about you,
Bill! I don't want to bully you the moment you come down, but you
know, this can't go on. I've paid your debts twice. Shan't pay them
this time unless I see a disposition to change your mode of life.
[A pause] You get your extravagance from your mother. She's very
queer--[A pause]--All the Winterleighs are like that about money....
BILL. Mother's particularly generous, if that's what you mean.
SIR WILLIAM. [Drily] We will put it that way. [A pause] At the
present moment you owe, as I understand it, eleven hundred pounds.
BILL. About that.
SIR WILLIAM. Mere flea-bite. [A pause] I've a proposition to make.
BILL. Won't it do to-morrow, sir?
SIR WILLIAM. "To-morrow" appears to be your motto in life.
BILL. Thanks!
SIR WILLIAM. I'm anxious to change it to-day. [BILL looks at him in
silence] It's time you took your position seriously, instead of
hanging about town, racing, and playing polo, and what not.
BILL. Go ahead!
At something dangerous in his voice, SIR WILLIAM modifies his
attitude.
SIR, WILLIAM. The proposition's very simple. I can't suppose
anything so rational and to your advantage will appeal to you, but
[drily] I mention it. Marry a nice girl, settle down, and stand for
the division; you can have the Dower House and fifteen hundred a
year, and I'll pay your debts into the bargain. If you're elected
I'll make it two thousand. Plenty of time to work up the
constituency before we kick out these infernal Rads. Carpetbagger
against you; if you go hard at it in the summer, it'll be odd if you
don't manage to get in your three days a week, next season. You can
take Rocketer and that four-year-old--he's well up to your weight,
fully eight and a half inches of bone. You'll only want one other.
And if Miss--if your wife means to hunt----
BILL. You've chosen my wife, then?
SIR WILLIAM. [With a quick look] I imagine, you've some girl in
your mind.
BILL. Ah!
SIR WILLIAM: Used not to be unnatural at your age. I married your
mother at twenty-eight. Here you are, eldest son of a family that
stands for something. The more I see of the times the more I'm
convinced that everybody who is anybody has got to buckle to, and
save the landmarks left. Unless we're true to our caste, and
prepared to work for it, the landed classes are going to go under to
this infernal democratic spirit in the air. The outlook's very
serious. We're threatened in a hundred ways. If you mean business,
you'll want a wife. When I came into the property I should have been
lost without your mother.
BILL. I thought this was coming.
SIR WILLIAM. [With a certain geniality] My dear fellow, I don't
want to put a pistol to your head. You've had a slack rein so far.
I've never objected to your sowing a few wild oats-so long as you
--er--[Unseen by SIR WILLIAM, BILL makes a sudden movement] Short of
that--at all events, I've not inquired into your affairs. I can only
judge by the--er--pecuniary evidence you've been good enough to
afford me from time to time. I imagine you've lived like a good many
young men in your position--I'm not blaming you, but there's a time
for all things.
BILL. Why don't you say outright that you want me to marry Mabel
Lanfarne?
SITS WILLIAM. Well, I do. Girl's a nice one. Good family--got a
little money--rides well. Isn't she good-looking enough for you, or
what?
BILL. Quite, thanks.
SIR WILLIAM. I understood from your mother that you and she were on
good terms.
BILL. Please don't drag mother into it.
SIR WILLIAM. [With dangerous politeness] Perhaps you'll be good
enough to state your objections.
BILL. Must we go on with this?
SIR WILLIAM. I've never asked you to do anything for me before; I
expect you to pay attention now. I've no wish to dragoon you into
this particular marriage. If you don't care for Miss Lanfarne, marry
a girl you're fond of.
BILL. I refuse.
SIR WILLIAM. In that case you know what to look out for. [With a
sudden rush of choler] You young.... [He checks himself and stands
glaring at BILL, who glares back at him] This means, I suppose, that
you've got some entanglement or other.
BILL. Suppose what you like, sir.
SITS WILLIAM. I warn you, if you play the blackguard----
BILL. You can't force me like young Dunning.
Hearing the raised voices LADY CHESHIRE has come back from the
billiard-room.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Closing the door] What is it?
SIR WILLIAM. You deliberately refuse! Go away, Dorothy.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Resolutely] I haven't seen Bill for two months.
SIR WILLIAM. What! [Hesitating] Well--we must talk it over again.
LADY CHESHIRE. Come to the billiard-room, both of you! Bill, do
finish those letters!
With a deft movement she draws SIR WILLIAM toward the
billiard-room, and glances back at BILL before going out, but he
has turned to the writing-table. When the door is closed, BILL
looks into the drawing-room, them opens the door under the
stairs; and backing away towards the writing-table, sits down
there, and takes up a pen. FREDA who has evidently been
waiting, comes in and stands by the table.
BILL. I say, this is dangerous, you know.
FREDA. Yes--but I must.
BILL. Well, then--[With natural recklessness] Aren't you going to
kiss me?
Without moving she looks at him with a sort of miserable inquiry.
BILL. Do you know you haven't seen me for eight weeks?
FREDA. Quite--long enough--for you to have forgotten.
BILL. Forgotten! I don't forget people so soon.
FREDA. No?
BILL. What's the matter with you, Freda?
FREDA. [After a long look] It'll never be as it was.
BILL. [Jumping up] How d'you mean?
FREDA. I've got something for you. [She takes a diamond ring out of
her dress and holds it out to him] I've not worn it since Cromer.
BILL. Now, look here
FREDA. I've had my holiday; I shan't get another in a hurry.
BILL. Freda!
FREDA. You'll be glad to be free. That fortnight's all you really
loved me in.
BILL. [Putting his hands on her arms] I swear----
FREDA. [Between her teeth] Miss Lanfarne need never know about me.
BILL. So that's it! I've told you a dozen times--nothing's changed.
[FREDA looks at him and smiles.]
BILL. Oh! very well! If you will make yourself miserable.
FREDA. Everybody will be pleased.
BILL. At what?
FREDA. When you marry her.
BILL. This is too bad.
FREDA. It's what always happens--even when it's not a--gentleman.
BILL. That's enough.
FREDA. But I'm not like that girl down in the village. You needn't
be afraid I'll say anything when--it comes. That's what I had to
tell you.
BILL. What!
FREDA. I can keep a secret.
BILL. Do you mean this? [She bows her head.]
BILL. Good God!
FREDA. Father brought me up not to whine. Like the puppies when
they hold them up by their tails. [With a sudden break in her voice]
Oh! Bill!
BILL. [With his head down, seizing her hands] Freda! [He breaks
away from her towards the fire] Good God!
She stands looking at him, then quietly slips away
by the door under the staircase. BILL turns to
speak to her, and sees that she has gone. He
walks up to the fireplace, and grips the mantelpiece.
BILL. By Jove! This is----!
The curtain falls.