The pleasure of eating is the only pleasure that remains to the old.
Love--what is love when you lose your figure, and your hair grows thin?
Knowledge--one can never know everything, and the desire passes with the
fire of youth. Even ambition fails you in the end. But to those who have
lived wisely and well, there remain three pleasures every day of their
lives: their breakfast, their luncheon, and their dinner.
ALEC.
[_With a laugh._] I wouldn't worry about my old age if I were you, Dick.
DICK.
Why?
ALEC.
Because I think it's ten to one that we shall all be dead to-morrow
morning.
DOCTOR.
What?
[_There is a slight pause while both men stare
at him._
DICK.
Is this one of your little jokes, Alec?
ALEC.
You have often observed that I joke with difficulty.
DOCTOR.
But what's wrong now?
ALEC.
You'll neither of you sleep in your beds to-night. Another sell for the
mosquitoes, isn't it? I propose to break up the camp and start marching
as soon as the moon goes down.
DICK.
I say, it's a bit thick after a day like this. We're all so done up that
we shan't be able to go a mile.
ALEC.
Nonsense, you will have had two hours' rest.
DOCTOR.
But some of those fellows who are wounded can't possibly be moved.
ALEC.
They must!
DOCTOR.
I won't answer for their lives.
ALEC.
We must take the risk. Our only chance is to make a bold dash for it,
and we can't leave the wounded here.
DICK.
I suppose there's going to be a deuce of a row?
ALEC.
[_Grimly._] There is.
DICK.
Your companions seldom have a chance to complain of the monotony of
their existence, Alec. What are you going to do now?
ALEC.
At this moment, I'm going to fill my pipe.
[_There is a pause while_ ALEC _fills and lights
his pipe_.
DICK.
I gather from the general amiability of your demeanour that we're in a
rather tight place?
ALEC.
Tighter than any of your patent-leather boots, my friend.
DICK.
[_Gravely._] Have we any chance of getting through, old man?
ALEC.
[_Lightly._] Oh, I don't know. There's always a chance.
DICK.
Don't grin at me in that irritating fashion.
ALEC.
You must wish you were treading the light fantastic toe in a London
ball-room, Dick.
DICK.
Frankly I do.... I suppose we're going to fight again?
ALEC.
Like Kilkenny cats.
DICK.
[_Briskly._] Well, at all events that's some comfort. If I am going to
be done out of my night's rest, I should like to take it out of some
one.
ALEC.
If things turn out all right, we shall have come near finishing the job,
and there won't be much more slave-raiding in this part of Africa.
DICK.
And if things don't turn out all right?
ALEC.
Why, then I'm afraid the tea-tables of Mayfair will be deprived of your
scintillating repartee forever.
DICK.
Well, I've had a very good time in my life. I've loved a little, I've
looked at some good pictures, read some thundering fine books, and I've
worked and played. If I can only account for a few more of those damned
scoundrels before I die, I shouldn't think I had much to complain of.
ALEC.
[_Smiling._] You're a philosopher, Dick.
DICK.
Doesn't the possibility of an extremely unpleasant demise tempt you to a
few appropriate reflections?
ALEC.
I don't know that it does. I'm a bit of a fatalist, and my theory is
that when my time comes nothing can help me, but at the bottom of my
heart I can't resist the conviction that I shan't die till I let myself.
DOCTOR.
Well, I must go and put things in order. I'll bandage those fellows up,
and I hope they'll stand the jolting.
ALEC.
What about Perkins?
DOCTOR.
Lord knows! I'll try and keep him quiet with chloral.
ALEC.
You needn't say anything about striking camp. I don't propose that any
one should know till a quarter of an hour before we start.
DOCTOR.
But that won't give them time.
ALEC.
It must. I've trained them often enough to get on the march quickly.
DOCTOR.
Very well.
[GEORGE ALLERTON _comes in as the_ DOCTOR _is
on the point of going_.
GEORGE.
Can I come in?
ALEC.
Yes ... Doctor!
DOCTOR.
Hulloa!
ALEC.
You might stay a minute, will you?
DOCTOR.
[_Coming back._] Certainly.
ALEC.
Didn't Selim tell you that I wanted to speak to you?
GEORGE.
That's why I've come.
ALEC.
You've taken your time about it.
GEORGE.
I say, could you give me a drink of brandy? I'm awfully done up.
ALEC.
[_Shortly._] There's no brandy left.
GEORGE.
Hasn't the doctor got some?
ALEC.
No!
[_There is a pause._ ALEC _looks at him slowly_.
GEORGE.
Why are you all looking at me like that? You look as if you were going
to try me for something.
DICK.
Nonsense! Don't be so nervous.
ALEC.
[_Abruptly._] Do you know anything about the death of that Turkana
woman?
GEORGE.
No! How should I?
ALEC.
Come now, you must know something about it. Last Tuesday you came into
camp and told me the Turkana were very excited.
GEORGE.
[_Unwillingly._] Oh, yes! I remember something about it. It had slipped
my memory.
ALEC.
Well?
GEORGE.
I'm not very clear about it. The woman had been shot, hadn't she? One of
our station boys had been playing the fool with her, and he seems to
have shot her.
ALEC.
Have you made no inquiries as to who the man was?
GEORGE.
[_In a surly way._] I haven't had time. We've all been worked off our
legs during these three days.
ALEC.
Do you suspect no one?
GEORGE.
I don't think so.
ALEC.
Think a moment.
GEORGE.
The only man who might have done it is that big scoundrel whom we got on
the coast, the Swahili.
ALEC.
What makes you think that?
GEORGE.
He's been making an awful nuisance of himself, and I know he was running
after her.
ALEC.
I understand she complained about him to you?
GEORGE.
Yes.
ALEC.
Do you think that would be enough evidence to punish him on?
GEORGE.
He's a thorough blackguard, and after all, if one does make a mistake,
he's only a nigger.
ALEC.
You'll be surprised to hear that when the woman was found she wasn't
dead.
[GEORGE _gives a movement of consternation_.
ALEC.
She didn't die for nearly an hour.
GEORGE.
[_After a short pause._] Was she able to say anything?
ALEC.
She accused you of having shot her.
GEORGE.
Me?
ALEC.
It appears that _you_ were playing the fool with her, and when she got
angry you took out a revolver and fired point blank. Presumably that she
should tell no tales.
GEORGE.
It's a stupid lie. You know what they are. It's just like them to tell
an absurd lie like that. You wouldn't believe a parcel of niggers rather
than me, would you? After all, my word's worth more than theirs.
ALEC.
[_Taking from his pocket an exploded cartridge._] This was found about
two yards from the body. As you see, it's a revolver cartridge. It was
brought to me this evening.
GEORGE.
I don't know what that proves.
ALEC.
You know just as well as I do that none of our natives has a revolver.
Besides ourselves only two or three of the servants have them.
[GEORGE _becomes white with fear, he takes out
his handkerchief and wipes his face_.
ALEC.
[_Quietly._] Will you give me your revolver?
GEORGE.
I haven't got it. I lost it in the skirmish this afternoon. I didn't
tell you as I thought you'd be annoyed.
ALEC.
I saw you cleaning it less than an hour ago.
GEORGE.
[_With a shrug of the shoulders._] Perhaps it's in my tent, I'll go and
see.
ALEC.
[_Sharply._] Stop here.
GEORGE.
[_Angrily._] You've no right to talk to me like that. I'm sick to death
of being ordered about. You seem to think I'm a dog. I came out here of
my own free will, and I won't let you treat me as if I were a servant.
ALEC.
If you put your hand to your hip pocket, I think you'll find your
revolver there.
GEORGE.
I'm not going to give it to you.
ALEC.
[_Quietly._] D'you want me to come and take it from you myself?
[_The two men stare at one another for a moment.
Then_ GEORGE _slowly puts his hand to his
pocket. He lakes out the revolver and
suddenly aims at_ ALEC. DICK _beats up
his arm as he fires, and the_ DOCTOR,
_springing forward, seizes him round the
waist_. ALEC _remains still_.
DICK.
[_During the struggle._] You young blackguard!
GEORGE.
Let me go, damn you!
ALEC.
You need not hold him.
[_They leave go of_ GEORGE, _who sinks cowering
into a chair_. DICK _hands the revolver to_
ALEC. _He silently fits into a chamber the
cartridge that had been brought to him._
ALEC.
You see that it fits. Hadn't you better make a clean breast of it?
GEORGE.
[_Cowed._] Yes, I shot her. She made a row, and the devil got into me. I
didn't know I'd done anything till she screamed and I saw the blood....
What a fool I was to throw the cartridge away! I wanted to have all the
chambers charged.
ALEC.
Do you remember that two months ago I hanged a man to the nearest tree
because he'd outraged a native woman?
GEORGE.
[_Springing up in terror._] You wouldn't do that to me, Alec. Oh, God,
no, Alec, have mercy on me. You wouldn't hang me. Oh, why did I ever
come to this damned place?
ALEC.
You need not be afraid. I'm not going to do that. In any case I must
preserve the native respect for the white man.
GEORGE.
I was half drunk when I saw that woman. I wasn't responsible for my
actions.
ALEC.
The result is that the whole tribe has turned against us. The chief is
my friend, and he sent a message to tell me he couldn't hold them in.
It's from him I got the cartridge. It wouldn't be so serious, only the
best fighting part of our forces are the Turkana, and we must expect
treachery. They've stirred up the neighbouring tribes against us, and
all the work we've been doing for a year is undone. That's the
explanation of the Arabs' attack three days ago.
GEORGE.
[_Sullenly._] I knew it was all my fault.
ALEC.
The natives have made up their minds to join the slave-traders, and we
shall be attacked on all sides to-morrow. We can't hold out against God
knows how many thousands.
GEORGE.
D'you mean you'll all be killed?
ALEC.
If we remain here there's no escape.
GEORGE.
[_In a whisper._] What are you going to do to me, Alec?
[ALEC _walks up and down the tent_.
ALEC.
[_Presently._] I think you might go and see your patients now, doctor.
DOCTOR.
Very well.
DICK.
Shall I go too, Alec?
ALEC.
No, you can stay here. But don't open your mouth till you're spoken to.
[THE DOCTOR _goes out_.
GEORGE.
I'm sorry I did that silly thing just now. I'm glad I didn't hit you.
ALEC.
It doesn't matter at all. I'd forgotten all about it.
GEORGE.
I lost my head, I didn't know what I was doing.
ALEC.
You need not trouble about that. In Africa even the strongest people are
apt to get excited and lose their balance.
[ALEC _re-lights his pipe, and there its a very short pause_.
ALEC.
Did you ever know that before we came away I asked Lucy to marry me?
GEORGE.
I knew you cared for her.
ALEC.
She asked me to bring you here in the hope that you would regain the
good name of your family. I think that is the object she has most at
heart in the world. It's as great as her love for you. The plan hasn't
been much of a success, has it?
GEORGE.
She ought to have known that I wasn't suited for this kind of life.
ALEC.
I saw very soon that you were weak and irresolute. But I hoped to make
something of you. Your intentions seemed good enough, but you never had
the strength to carry them out.... I'm sorry if I seem to be preaching
to you.
GEORGE.
[_Bitterly._] Oh, d'you think I care what any one says to me now?
ALEC.
[_Gravely, but not unkindly._] Then I found you were drinking. I told
you that no man could stand liquor in this country, and you gave me your
word of honour that you wouldn't touch it again.
GEORGE.
Yes, I broke it. I couldn't help it; the temptation was too strong.
ALEC.
When we came to the station at Muneas you and Macinnery got blind drunk,
and the whole camp saw you. I ought to have sent you back to the coast
then, but it would have broken Lucy's heart.
GEORGE.
It was Macinnery's fault.
ALEC.
It's because I thought he was to blame that I sent him back alone. I
wanted to give you another chance. It struck me that the feeling of
authority might have some influence on you, and so when we came to the
lake I left you to guard the ferry. I put the chief part of the stores
in your care and marched on. I needn't remind you what happened then.
[GEORGE _looks down sulkily, and in default of excuses keeps silent_.
ALEC.
I came to the conclusion that it was hopeless. You seemed to me rotten
through and through.
GEORGE.
[_With a little laugh._] Like my father before me.
ALEC.
I couldn't believe a word you said. You did everything you shouldn't
have done. The result was that the men mutinied, and if I hadn't come
back in the nick of time they'd have killed you and looted all the
stores.
GEORGE.
You always blame me for everything. A man's not responsible for what he
does when he's down with fever.
ALEC.
It was too late to send you back to the coast then, and I was obliged to
take you on. And now the end has come. Your murder of that woman has put
us all in deadly peril. Already to your charge lie the deaths of
Richardson and almost twenty natives. Tribes that were friendly have
joined with the Arabs, and we're as near destruction as we can possibly
be.
GEORGE.
What are you going to do?
ALEC.
We're far away from the coast, and I must take the law into my own
hands.
GEORGE.
[_With a gasp._] You're not going to kill me?
ALEC.
Are you fond of Lucy?
GEORGE.
[_Brokenly._] You--you know I am. Why d'you remind me of her now? I've
made a rotten mess of everything, and I'm better out of the way. But
think of the disgrace of it. It'll kill Lucy.... And she was hoping I'd
do so much.
ALEC.
Listen to me. Our only chance of escaping from the confounded fix we're
in is to make a sudden attack on the Arabs before the natives join them.
We shall be enormously outnumbered, but we may just smash them if we can
strike to-night. My plan is to start marching as if I didn't know that
the Turkana were going to turn against us. After an hour all the whites
but one, and the Swahilis whom I can trust implicitly, will take a short
cut. The Arabs will have had news of our starting, and they'll try to
cut us off at the pass. I shall fall on them just as they begin to
attack. D'you understand?
GEORGE.
Yes.
ALEC.
Now I must have one white man to head the Turkana, and that man will run
the greatest possible danger. I'd go myself, only the Swahilis won't
fight unless I lead them.... Are you willing to take that post?
GEORGE.
I?
ALEC.
I could order you, but the job's too dangerous for me to force it on any
one. If you refuse, I shall call the others together and ask some one to
volunteer. In that case you will have to find your way back alone as
best you can to the coast.
GEORGE.
No, no! Anything rather than the shame of that.
ALEC.
I won't hide from you that it means almost certain death. But there's no
other way of saving ourselves. On the other hand, if you show perfect
courage at the moment the Arabs attack and the Turkana find that we've
given them the slip, you may escape. If you do, I promise nothing shall
be said of all that has happened here.
GEORGE.
All right. I'll do that. And I thank you with all my heart for giving me
the chance.
ALEC.
I'm glad you've accepted. Whatever happens you'll have done a brave
action in your life. [_He holds out his hand to_ GEORGE, _who takes
it_.] I think there's nothing more to be said. You must be ready to
start in half an hour. Here's your revolver. Remember that one chamber's
empty. You'd better put in another cartridge.
GEORGE.
Yes, I'll do that.
[_He goes out._
DICK.
D'you think he has any chance of escaping?
ALEC.
If he has pluck he may get through.
DICK.
Well!
ALEC.
To-morrow we shall know if he has that last virtue of a
blackguard--courage.
DICK.
And if he hasn't, it's death you're sending him to?
ALEC.
Yes. It's death!
END OF THE SECOND ACT
THE THIRD ACT
SCENE: _A smoking-room at_ LADY KELSEY'S, _leading by an archway
into a drawing-room at the back. On the right is a glass door which
leads into the garden. On one side is a sofa; on the other a table
with cigarettes, matches, whiskey, sodas, etc._
LADY KELSEY _is giving a dance, and the music of the Lancers is
heard vaguely from the ball-room as the curtain rises_. MRS.
CROWLEY _and_ SIR ROBERT BOULGER _are sitting down_. LADY KELSEY
_comes in with the_ REV. JAMES CARBERY.
LADY KELSEY.
Oh, you wretched people, why aren't you dancing? It's too bad of you to
hide yourselves here!
MRS. CROWLEY.
We thought no one would find us in the smoking-room. But why have you
abandoned your guests, Lady Kelsey?
LADY KELSEY.
Oh, I've got them all comfortably settled in the Lancers, and I'm free
to rest myself for a quarter of an hour. You don't know what agonies
I've been suffering the whole evening.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Good gracious me! Why?
LADY KELSEY.
I'm so afraid Alec Mackenzie will come.
BOULGER.
You needn't worry about that, Aunt Alice. He'll never venture to show
his face.
LADY KELSEY.
I didn't know what to do. It was impossible to put the dance off. It's
too dreadful that these horrible revelations should....
CARBERY.
[_Supplying the word._] Transpire.
LADY KELSEY.
Yes, transpire on the very day I've at last persuaded Lucy to come into
the world again. I wish Dick would come.
BOULGER.
Yes, he'll be able to tell us something.
MRS. CROWLEY.
But will he?
CARBERY.
Wherever I go people are talking about Mr. Mackenzie, and I'm bound to
say I've found nobody who has a good word for him.
BOULGER.
[_Bitterly._] Humpty-dumpty's had a great fall.
CARBERY.
I wonder if I might have a cigarette?
MRS. CROWLEY.
I'm sure you might. And if you press me dreadfully, I'll have one, too.
BOULGER.
Don't press her. She's already had far too many.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Well, I'll forego the pressing, but not the cigarette.
CARBERY.
[_Handing her the box and giving her a light._] It's against all my
principles, you know.
MRS. CROWLEY.
What _is_ the use of principles except to give one an agreeable
sensation of wickedness when one doesn't act up to them?
[DICK _comes in as she speaks._
DICK.
My dear lady, you're as epigrammatic as a dramatist. Do you say such
things from choice or necessity?
LADY KELSEY.
_Dick!_
BOULGER.
Dick!
MRS. CROWLEY.
Mr. Lomas!
CARBERY.
Ah!
[_The four exclamations are simultaneous._
DICK.
This enthusiasm at my appearance is no less gratifying than unexpected.
LADY KELSEY.
I'm so glad you've come at last. Now we shall get at the truth.
BOULGER.
[_Impatiently._] Well?
DICK.
My dear people, what _are_ you talking about?
BOULGER.
Oh, don't be such an ass!
MRS. CROWLEY.
Good heavens, didn't you read the _Times_ this morning?
DICK.
I only came back from Paris to-night. Besides, I never read the papers
except in August.
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Raising her eyebrows._] When there's nothing in them?
DICK.
Pardon me, I'm an eager student of the sea-serpent and the giant
gooseberry.
LADY KELSEY.
My dear Dick, it's too shocking. I wish I'd had the courage to write and
ask Mr. Mackenzie not to come. But since you both came back from Africa
a month ago he's been here nearly every day. And he's been so good and
kind to us, I couldn't treat him as though there was no doubt the story
was true.
BOULGER.
There can't be the least doubt about it. By George, I should like to
kick him.
DICK.
[_Dryly._] My dear chap, Alec is a hardy Scot and bigger than you, so I
shouldn't advise you to try.
BOULGER.
I was engaged to dine with him to-night, but I wired to say I had a
headache.
LADY KELSEY.
What will he think if he sees you here?
BOULGER.
He can think what he jolly well likes.
LADY KELSEY.
I hope he has the sense to stay away.
CARBERY.
I think you're pretty safe now, Lady Kelsey. It's growing late.
DICK.
Will some one kindly explain?
MRS. CROWLEY.
D'you mean to say you really don't know--seriously? After all, you were
with him.
LADY KELSEY.
My dear Dick, there are two columns of fiery denunciation in this
morning's _Times_.
[DICK _is a little startled, but at once collects himself_.
DICK.
Oh, that's only the reaction. That's nothing. Since he arrived in
Mombassa, after three years in the heart of Africa, he's made almost a
triumphal progress. Of course, it couldn't last. The reaction was bound
to come.
BOULGER.
[_Looking at him steadily._] The article is signed by a man named
Macinnery.
DICK.
[_Calmly._] Alec found Macinnery half starving at Mombassa, and took him
solely out of charity. But he was a worthless rascal, and he had to send
him back.
BOULGER.
He gives ample proof for every word he says.
DICK.
Whenever an explorer comes home, there's some one to tell nasty stories
about him. People forget that kid gloves are not much use in a tropical
forest, and grow very indignant when they hear that a man has used a
little brute force to make himself respected.
LADY KELSEY.
Oh, my dear Dick, it's much worse than that. First poor Lucy's father
died....
DICK.
You're not going to count that as an overwhelming misfortune? We were
unanimous in describing that gentleman's demise as an uncommonly happy
release.
LADY KELSEY.
But Lucy was heart-broken all the same. And when her life seemed to grow
a little more cheerful, came her brother's tragic death.
DICK.
[_Abruptly, to_ MRS. CROWLEY.] What is it exactly?
MRS. CROWLEY.
The long and short of it is that Mr. Mackenzie was the cause of George
Allerton's death.
DICK.
Lucy's brother was killed by the slave-traders.
BOULGER.
Mackenzie sent him into a confounded trap to save his own dirty skin.
LADY KELSEY.
And the worst of it is that I think Lucy is in love with Mr. Mackenzie.
[BOULGER _makes a slight movement, and for a moment there is an
uncomfortable pause_.
CARBERY.
I saw him this evening in Piccadilly, and I almost ran into his arms. It
was quite awkward.
DICK.
[_Frigidly._] Why?
CARBERY.
I don't think I want to shake the man's hand. He's nothing short of a
murderer.
BOULGER.
[_Savagely._] He's worse than that. He's ten times worse.
LADY KELSEY.
Well, for heaven's sake be polite to him if he comes to-night.
CARBERY.
I really couldn't bring myself to shake hands with him.
DICK.
[_Dryly._] Don't you think you'd better wait for evidence before you
condemn him?
BOULGER.
My dear fellow, the letter in the _Times_ is absolutely damning.
Interviewers went to him from the evening papers, and he refused to see
them.
DICK.
What does Lucy say of it? After all, she's the person most concerned.
LADY KELSEY.
She doesn't know. I took care that she shouldn't see the paper. I wanted
to give her this evening's enjoyment unalloyed.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Take care, here she is.
[LUCY _comes in_.
LADY KELSEY.
[_Smiling and reaching out her hand._] Well, darling?
LUCY.
[_Going to_ LADY KELSEY.] Are you growing very tired, my aunt?
LADY KELSEY.
I can rest myself for the time. I don't think any one else will come
now.
LUCY.
[_Gaily._] You faithless woman, have you forgotten the guest of the
evening?
LADY KELSEY.
Mr. Mackenzie?
LUCY.
[_Bending over her._] My dear, it was charming of you to hide the paper
from me this morning....
LADY KELSEY.
[_Startled._] Did you see the letter? I so wanted you not to till
to-morrow.
LUCY.
Mr. Mackenzie very rightly thought I should know at once what was said
about him and my brother. He sent me the paper himself this evening.
BOULGER.
Did he write to you?
LUCY.
No, he merely scribbled on a card: "I think you should read this."
BOULGER.
Well, I'm damned!
LADY KELSEY.
What did you think of the letter, Lucy?
LUCY.
[_Proudly._] I didn't believe it.
BOULGER.
[_Bitterly._] You must be blinded by your--friendship for Alec
Mackenzie. I never read anything more convincing.
LUCY.
I could hardly believe him guilty of such an odious crime if he
confessed it with his own lips.
BOULGER.
Of course, he won't do that.
DICK.
Did I ever tell you how I made acquaintance with Alec? In the
Atlantic--about three hundred miles from land.
MRS. CROWLEY.
What a perfectly ridiculous place for an introduction.
DICK.
I was a silly young fool in those days, and I habitually played the
giddy goat. In the course of which, I fell overboard and was proceeding
to drown when Alec jumped in after me. It was an incautious thing to do,
because he very nearly got drowned himself.
LUCY.
That's not the only heroic thing he's done.
DICK.
No, it's one of his hobbies to risk his life to save unnecessary and
useless people. But the funny thing is that ever since he saved mine,
he's been quite absurdly grateful. He seems to think I did him an
intentional service and fell into the water on purpose to give him a
chance of pulling me out.
LUCY.
[_With a long look at_ DICK.] It's very kind and good of you to have
told that story.
[_The_ BUTLER _comes in and announces_ ALEC MACKENZIE.
BUTLER.
Mr. Mackenzie.
ALEC.
[_Blandly._] Ah, I thought I should find you here, Lady Kelsey.
LADY KELSEY.
[_Shaking hands with him._] How d'you do? We've just been talking of
you.
ALEC.
Really?
LADY KELSEY.
It's so late, we were afraid you wouldn't come. I should have been
dreadfully disappointed.
ALEC.
It's very kind of you to say so. I've been at the Travellers', reading
various appreciations of my own character.
LADY KELSEY.
[_Somewhat embarrassed._] Oh, I heard there was something about you in
the papers.
ALEC.
There's a good deal. I really had no idea the world was so interested in
me.
LADY KELSEY.
It's charming of you to come to-night. I'm sure you hate dances!
ALEC.
Oh, no, they interest me enormously. I remember, one of the Kings of
Uganda gave a dance in my honour. Ten thousand warriors in war-paint. I
assure you it was most impressive.
DICK.
My dear fellow, if paint is the attraction you really need not go much
farther than Mayfair.
ALEC.
[_Pretending for the first time to notice_ BOULGER.] Ah, there's my
little friend Bobbie. I thought you had a headache?
LADY KELSEY.
[_Quickly._] I'm afraid Bobby is dreadfully dissipated. He's not looking
at all well.
ALEC.
[_Good-humouredly._] You shouldn't keep such late hours, Bobbie. At your
age one wants one's beauty sleep.
BOULGER.
It's very kind of you to take an interest in me. My headache has passed
off.
ALEC.
I'm very glad. What do you use--Phenacetin?
BOULGER.
It went away of its own accord--after dinner.
ALEC.
[_Smiling._] So you resolved to give the girls a treat by coming to Lady
Kelsey's dance? How nice of you not to disappoint them! [_He turns to_
LUCY _and holds out his hand. They look into one another's eyes. She
takes his hand._] I sent you a paper this evening.
LUCY.
It was very good of you.
[CARBERY _comes forward and offers his arm._
CARBERY.
I think this is my dance, Miss Allerton. May I take you in?
ALEC.
Carbery? I saw you in Piccadilly just now! You were darting about just
like a young gazelle. I had no idea you could be so active.
CARBERY.
I didn't see you.
ALEC.
I observed that you were deeply interested in the shop windows as I
passed. How are you?
[_He holds out his hand, and for a moment_ CARBERY _hesitates to take
it. But_ ALEC'S _steady gaze compels him._
CARBERY.
How d'you do?
ALEC.
[_With an amused smile._] So glad to see you again, old man.
[DICK _gives an audible chuckle, and_ CARBERY, _reddening, draws his
hand away angrily. He goes to_ LUCY _and offers his arm._
BOULGER.
[_To_ MRS. CROWLEY.] Shall I take you back?
MRS. CROWLEY.
Do!
LADY KESLEY.
Won't you come, Mr. Mackenzie?
ALEC.
If you don't mind I'll stay and smoke just one cigarette with Dick
Lomas. You know I'm not a dancing man.
LADY KELSEY.
Very well.
[_All go out except_ ALEC _and_ DICK.
DICK.
I suppose you know we were all beseeching Providence you'd have the
grace to stay away to-night?
ALEC.
[_With a smile._] I suspected it, I confess. I shouldn't have come only
I wanted to see Lucy. I've been in the country all day, and I knew
nothing about Macinnery's letter till I saw the placards at the station.
DICK.
Macinnery proposes to make things rather uncomfortable, I imagine.
ALEC.
[_With a smile._] I made a mistake, didn't I? I ought to have dropped
him in the river when I had no further use for him.
DICK.
What are you going to do?
ALEC.
It's not easy to clear myself at a dead man's expense. The earth covers
his crime and his sins and his weakness.
DICK.
D'you mean to say that you are going to sit still and let them throw mud
at you?
ALEC.
When George was dead I wrote to Lucy that he died like a brave man. I
can't now publish to the whole world that he was a coward and a rogue. I
can't rake up again the story of her father's crime.
DICK.
[_Impatiently._] Surely, that's absolutely quixotic.
ALEC.
No, it isn't. I tell you I can't do anything else. I'm bound hand and
foot. Lucy has talked to me of George's death, and the only thing that
has consoled her is the idea that in a manner he had redeemed his
father's good name. How can I rob her of that? She placed all her hopes
in George. How could she face the world with the knowledge that her
brother was rotten to the core, as rotten as her father.
DICK.
It seems awfully hard.
ALEC.
Besides, when all is said and done, the boy did die game. Don't you
think that should count for something? No, I tell you I can't give him
away now. I should never cease to reproach myself. I love Lucy far too
much to cause her such bitter pain.
DICK.
And if it loses you her love?
ALEC.
I think she can do without love better than without self-respect.
[LUCY _comes in with_ MRS. CROWLEY.
LUCY.
I've sent my partner away. I felt I must have a few words alone with
you.
DICK.
Shall I take Mrs. Crowley into a retired corner?
LUCY.
No, we have nothing to say that you can't hear. You and Nellie know that
we're engaged to be married. [_To_ ALEC.] I want you to dance with me.
ALEC.
It's very good of you.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Don't you think that's rather foolish, Lucy?
LUCY.
[_To_ ALEC.] I want to show them all that I don't believe that you're
guilty of an odious crime.
ALEC.
They've said horrible things about me?
LUCY.
Not to me. They wanted to hide it from me, but I knew they were talking.
ALEC.
You'll grow used to hearing shameful things said of me. I suppose I
shall grow used to it, too.
LUCY.
Oh, I hate them.
ALEC.
Ah, it's not that I mind. What torments me is that it was so easy to
despise their praise, and now I can't despise their blame.
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Smiling._] I believe you have some glimmerings of human nature in you
after all.
LUCY.
When you came to-night, so calm and self-possessed, I admired you as I'd
never admired you before.
ALEC.
It's easy enough to command one's face. I learnt to do that in Africa
when often my life depended on my seeming to have no fear. But in my
heart ... I never knew that I could feel so bitter. And yet, after all,
it's only your good opinion that I care for.
LUCY.
I've trusted you implicitly from the first day I saw you.
ALEC.
Thank God for that! To-day is the first time I've wanted to be assured
that I was trusted. And yet I'm ashamed to want it.
LUCY.
Ah, don't be too hard upon yourself. You're so afraid of letting your
tenderness appear.
ALEC.
The only way to be strong is never to surrender to one's weakness.
Strength is merely a habit like everything else. I want you to be
strong, too. I want you never to doubt me whatever you may hear said.
LUCY.
I gave my brother into your hands, and told you that if he died a brave
man's death I could ask for no more.
ALEC.
I should tell you that I've made up my mind to make no answer to the
charges that are made against me.
[_There is a very short pause, while he looks at her steadily._
MRS. CROWLEY.
But why?
ALEC.
[_To_ LUCY.] I can give you my word of honour that I've done nothing
which I regret. I know that what I did was right with regard to George,
and if it were all to come again I would do exactly as I did before.
LUCY.
I think I can trust you.
ALEC.
I thought of you always, and everything I did was for your sake. Every
single act of mine during these four years in Africa has been done
because I loved you.
LUCY.
You must love me always, Alec, for now I have only you. [_He bends down
and kisses her hand._] Come!
[_He gives her his arm and they walk out._
MRS. CROWLEY.
I feel as if I should rather like to cry.
DICK.
Do you really? So do I.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Don't be so silly.
DICK.
By the way, you don't want to dance with me, do you?
MRS. CROWLEY.
Certainly not. You dance abominably.
DICK.
It's charming of you to say so. It puts me at my ease at once.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Come and sit on the sofa and talk seriously.
DICK.
Ah, you want to flirt with me, Mrs. Crowley.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Good heavens, what on earth makes you think that?
DICK.
It's what a woman always means when she asks you to talk sensibly.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I can't bear a man who thinks women are in love with him.
DICK.
Bless you, I don't think that. I only think they want to marry me.
MRS. CROWLEY.
That's equally detestable.
DICK.
Not at all. However old, ugly, and generally undesirable a man is,
he'll find a heap of charming girls who are willing to marry him.
Marriage is still the only decent means of livelihood for a really nice
girl.
MRS. CROWLEY.
But, my dear friend, if a woman really makes up her mind to marry a man,
nothing on earth can save him.
DICK.
Don't say that, you terrify me.
MRS. CROWLEY.
You need not be in the least alarmed, because I shall refuse you.
DICK.
Thanks, awfully. But all the same I don't think I'll risk a proposal.
MRS. CROWLEY.
My dear Mr. Lomas, your only safety is in immediate flight.
DICK.
Why?
MRS. CROWLEY.
It must be obvious to the meanest intelligence that you've been on the
verge of proposing to me for the last month.
DICK.
Oh, I assure you, you're quite mistaken.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Then I shan't come to the play with you to-morrow?
DICK.
But I've taken the seats, and I've ordered an exquisite dinner at the
Carlton.
MRS. CROWLEY.
What have you ordered?
DICK.
Potage Bisque... [_She makes a little face._]
Sole Normande... [_She shrugs her shoulders._]
Wild Duck.
MRS. CROWLEY.
With an orange salad?
DICK.
Yes.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I don't positively dislike that.
DICK.
And I've ordered a soufflé with an ice in the middle of it.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I shan't come.
DICK.
I shouldn't have thought you kept very well abreast of dramatic art if
you insist on marrying every man who takes you to a theatre.
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Demurely._] I was very nicely brought up.
DICK.
Of course, if you're going to make yourself systematically disagreeable
unless I marry you, I suppose I shall have to do it in self-defence.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I don't know if you have the least idea what you're talking about. I'm
sure I haven't!
DICK.
I was merely asking you in a rather well-turned phrase to name the day.
The lamb shall be ready for the slaughter!
MRS. CROWLEY.
Couldn't you infuse a little romance into it? You might begin by going
down on your bended knees.
DICK.
I assure you that's quite out of fashion. Lovers, nowadays, are much too
middle-aged, and their joints are creaky. Besides, it ruins the
trousers.
MRS. CROWLEY.
At all events, there can be no excuse for your not saying that you know
you're utterly unworthy of me.
DICK.
Wild horses wouldn't induce me to make a statement which is so remote
from the truth.
MRS. CROWLEY.
And, of course, you must threaten to commit suicide if I don't consent.
DICK.
Women are such sticklers for routine. They have no originality.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Very well, have it your own way. But I must have a proposal in due form.
DICK.
Only four words are needed. [_Counting them on his fingers._] Will you
marry me?
MRS. CROWLEY.
That is both clear and simple. I reply in one: No!
DICK.
[_As though he were not sure that he had heard correctly._] I beg your
pardon?
MRS. CROWLEY.
The answer is in the negative.
DICK.
You're joking. You're certainly joking.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I will be a sister to you.
DICK.
Do you mean to say you deliberately refuse me?
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Smiling._] I promised you I would.
DICK.
[_With much seriousness._] I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Puzzled._] The man's mad. The man's nothing short of a raving lunatic.
DICK.
I wanted to see if you were really attached to me. You have given me a
proof of esteem which I promise you I will never forget.
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Laughing._] You're a perfect idiot, Mr. Lomas!
DICK.
It's one of my cherished convictions that a really nice woman is never
so cruel as to marry a man she cares for.
MRS. CROWLEY.
You're much too flippant to marry anybody, and you're perfectly odious
into the bargain.
[_She goes out._ DICK, _chuckling, lights a cigarette_. ALEC _comes in
and lies down lazily on the sofa_.
ALEC.
Why, Dick, what's the matter? You look as pleased as Punch.
DICK.
My dear fellow, I feel like the Terrible Turk. I've been wrestling, and
I thought I was going to have a fall. But by the display of considerable
agility I've managed to keep my legs.
ALEC.
What _do_ you mean?
DICK.
Nothing. It's merely the gaiety of forty-two.
[BOULGER _comes into the room, followed immediately by_ MALLINS _and_
CARBERY. _He starts slightly when he sees_ ALEC, _but then goes over to
the table on which is the whiskey_.
MALLINS.
May we smoke here, Bobby?
BOULGER.
Certainly. Dick insisted that this room should be particularly reserved
for that purpose.
[_The_ BUTLER _comes in with a small silver salver, and takes up one or
two dirty glasses_.
DICK.
Lady Kelsey is the most admirable of all hostesses.
ALEC.
[_Taking a cigarette from his case._] Give me a match, Bobby, there's a
good boy. [BOULGER, _with his back turned to_ ALEC, _takes no notice. He
pours himself out some whiskey._ ALEC _smiles slightly._] Bobby, throw
me over the matches!
BOULGER.
[_With his back still turned._] Miller!
BUTLER.
Yes, sir?
BOULGER.
Mr. Mackenzie is asking for something.
BUTLER.
Yes, sir!
ALEC.
You might give me a light, will you?
BUTLER.
Yes, sir!
[_The_ BUTLER _takes the matches to_ ALEC, _who lights his cigarette._
ALEC.
Thank you. [_Complete silence is preserved till the_ BUTLER _leaves the
room._] I perceive, Bobbie, that during my absence you have not added
good manners to your other accomplishments.
BOULGER.
If you want things, you can ask the servants for them.
ALEC.
[_Good-humouredly._] Don't be foolish, Bobbie!
BOULGER.
Would you be so kind as to remember that my name is Boulger?
ALEC.
[_Smiling._] Perhaps you would like me to call you Sir Robert?
BOULGER.
I should prefer that you would call me nothing at all. I have absolutely
no wish to know you.
ALEC.
Which shows that your taste is as bad as your breeding.
BOULGER.
[_Angrily, walking up to him._] By God, I'll knock you down!
ALEC.
You could hardly do that when I'm already lying on my back.
BOULGER.
Look here, Mackenzie, I'm not going to let you play the fool with me. I
want to know what answer you have to make to all these charges that
have been brought against you.
ALEC.
Might I suggest that only Miss Allerton has the least right to receive
answers to her questions? And she hasn't questioned me.
BOULGER.
I've given up trying to understand her attitude. If I were she, it would
make me sick with horror to look at you. Since this morning you've
rested under a direct accusation of causing George's death, and you've
said nothing in self-defence.
ALEC.
Nothing.
BOULGER.
You've been given an opportunity to explain yourself, and you haven't
taken it.
ALEC.
Quite true.
BOULGER.
Are you not going to deny the charge?
ALEC.
I'm not.
BOULGER.
Then I can only draw one conclusion. There appears to be no means of
bringing you to justice, but at least I can refuse to know you.
ALEC.
All is over between us. And shall I return your letters and your
photograph?
BOULGER.
I'm not joking.
ALEC.
It's singular that though I'm Scotch and you are English I should be
able to see how ridiculous you are, while you're quite blind to your own
absurdity.
DICK.
Come, Alec! Remember he's only a boy.
BOULGER.
[_To_ DICK LOMAS.] I'm perfectly able to look after myself, and I'll
thank you not to interfere. [_To_ ALEC.] If Lucy's so indifferent to her
brother's death that she's willing to keep up with you, that's her own
affair ...
DICK.
[_Interrupting._] Come, Bobbie, don't make a scene.
BOULGER.
[_Furiously._] Leave me alone, confound you!
ALEC.
Do you think this is quite the place for an altercation? Wouldn't you
gain more notoriety if you attacked me in my club or at Church parade on
Sunday?
BOULGER.
It's mere shameless impudence that you should come here to-night. You're
using these wretched women as a shield, because you know that as long as
Lucy sticks to you there are people who won't believe the story.
ALEC.
I came for the same reason as yourself, dear boy. Because I was invited.
DICK.
Now then, Bobbie, shut up!
BOULGER.
I shan't shut up. The man's got no right to force himself here.
DICK.
Remember that you're Lady Kelsey's nephew.
BOULGER.
I didn't ask him. D'you think I'd have come if I knew he was going to be
here? He's acknowledged that he has no defence.
ALEC.
Pardon me, I acknowledge nothing and deny nothing.
BOULGER.
That won't do for me. I want the truth, and I'm going to get it. I've
got a right to know.
ALEC.
[_Beginning to lose his temper._] Don't make an ass of yourself, Bobby.
BOULGER.
By God, I'll make you answer!
[_As he says this he goes up to_ ALEC _furiously, but_ ALEC. _with a
twist of his arm, hurls him back._
ALEC.
I could break your back, you silly boy.
[_With a cry of anger_ BOULGER _is about to spring at_ ALEC _when_ DICK
_gets in the way._
DICK.
Now then, no scenes. And you'll only get the worst of it, Bobby. Alec
could just crumple you up. Take him away, Mallins. Don't stand there
like a stuffed owl, Carbery.
BOULGER.
Let me alone, you fool!
MALLINS.
Come along, old chap.
BOULGER.
[_To_ ALEC.] You damned skunk!
DICK.
Now then, be off with you. Don't make a silly ass of yourself.
[BOULGER, MALLINS _and_ CARBERY _go out._
DICK.
Poor Lady Kelsey! To-morrow half London will be saying that you and
Bobby had a stand-up fight in her drawing-room.
ALEC.
[_Furiously._] The damned cubs!
DICK.
The position is growing confoundedly awkward!
ALEC.
They lick my boots till I loathe them, and then they turn against me
like a pack of curs. Oh, I despise them--these silly boys who stay at
home wallowing in their ease while men work. Thank God, I've done with
them all now. They think one can fight one's way through Africa as
easily as one walks down Piccadilly. They think one goes through
hardships and dangers, illness and starvation, to be the lion of a
dinner-party in Mayfair.
DICK.
My dear Alec, keep calm.
ALEC.
[_With a visible effort containing himself completely, with studied
nonchalance._] D'you think that I look wildly excited?
DICK.
[_Ironically._] I don't think butter would melt in your mouth.
[DICK _and_ ALEC _go out into the garden. In a moment_ BOULGER _comes in
with_ LADY KELSEY.
BOULGER.
Thank heaven, there's nobody here.
LADY KELSEY.
I think you're dreadfully foolish, Bobby. You know how Lucy resents any
interference with her actions.
BOULGER.
Won't you sit down? You must be dreadfully tired.
LADY KELSEY.
Why won't you wait till to-morrow?
BOULGER.
I feel that it ought to be settled at once.
[LUCY _appears_.
LUCY.
Did you send for me, my aunt? Mr. Carbery said you wanted to speak to me
here.
LADY KELSEY.
Yes, I gave him that message.
BOULGER.
I asked Aunt Alice to beg you to come here. I was afraid you wouldn't if
I asked you.
LUCY.
[_Lightly._] What nonsense! I'm always delighted to see you.
BOULGER.
I wanted to speak to you about something, and I thought Aunt Alice
should be present.
LUCY.
Is it so important that it can't wait till to-morrow?
BOULGER.
I venture to think it's very important.
LUCY.
[_Smiling._] I'm all attention.
[_He hesitates for a moment, then braces himself to the ordeal._
BOULGER.
I've told you often, Lucy, that I've been in love with you for as many
years as I can remember.
LUCY.
Surely you've not snatched me from the unwilling arm of my partner in
order to make me a proposal of marriage?
BOULGER.
I'm perfectly serious, Lucy.
LUCY.
[_Smiling._] I assure you it doesn't suit you at all.
BOULGER.
The other day I asked you again to marry me, just before Alec Mackenzie
came back.
LUCY.
It was very charming of you. You mustn't think that because I laugh at
you a little I'm not grateful for your affection.
BOULGER.
Except for that letter in this morning's _Times_, I should never have
dared to say anything to you again. But that changes everything.
LUCY.
I don't understand what you mean.
BOULGER.
[_After a little pause._] I ask you again if you'll be my wife? When
Alec Mackenzie came back I understood why you were so indifferent to me,
but you can't marry him now.
LUCY.
You have no right to talk to me like this.
BOULGER.
I'm the only man who's related to you at all, and I love you with my
whole soul.
LADY KELSEY.
I think you should listen to him, Lucy. I'm growing old, and soon you'll
be quite alone in the world.
BOULGER.
I don't ask you to care for me. I only want to serve you.
LUCY.
I can only repeat that I'm very grateful to you. I can never marry you.
BOULGER.
[_Beginning to lose his temper again._] Are you going to continue to
know Mackenzie? If you'll take the advice of any unprejudiced person
about that letter, you'll find that he'll say the same as I. There can
be no shadow of doubt that Mackenzie is guilty of a monstrous crime.
LUCY.
I don't care what the evidence is. I know he can't have done a shameful
thing.
BOULGER.
But have you forgotten that it's your own brother he killed? The whole
country is up in arms against him, and you are quite indifferent.
LUCY.
[_Much moved._] Oh, Bobbie, how can you be so cruel?
BOULGER.
If you ever really cared for George at all, you must wish to punish the
man who caused his death.
LUCY.
Oh, why d'you torment me? I tell you that he isn't guilty. It's because
I'm convinced of that ...
BOULGER.
[_Interrupting._] But have you asked him?
LUCY.
No.
BOULGER.
He might give you the truth.
LUCY.
I couldn't do that.
BOULGER.
Why not?
LADY KELSEY.
It's very strange that he should insist on this silence.
LUCY.
Do you believe that story too?
LADY KELSEY.
I don't know what to believe. It's so extraordinary. If the man's
innocent, why doesn't he speak?
LUCY.
He knows I trust him. I couldn't cause him the great pain of asking him
questions.
BOULGER.
Are you afraid he couldn't answer them?
LUCY.
No, no, no!
BOULGER.
Well, just try. After all, you owe as much as that to the memory of
George.
LADY KELSEY.
I think it's very unreasonable, Lucy. He knows we're his friends. He can
count on our discretion.
LUCY.
I believe in him implicitly. I believe in him with all the strength I've
got.
BOULGER.
Then, surely it can make no difference if you ask him. There can be no
reason for him not to trust you.
LUCY.
Oh, why don't you leave me alone?
BOULGER.
Ask him point blank. If he refuses to answer you ...
LUCY.
[_Hastily._] It would mean nothing. Why should he answer? I believe in
him absolutely. I think he's the greatest and most honourable man I've
ever known. I care more for his little finger than for the whole world.
I love him with all my heart. And that's why he can't be guilty of this
horrible crime. Because I've loved him for years, and he's known it. And
he loves me. And he's loved me always.
[ALEC _and_ DICK _stroll in from the garden_.
LUCY.
Alec, Alec, I want you! Thank God, you've come!
ALEC.
[_Going to her quickly._] What is it?
LUCY.
Alec, you must tell them now about you and me.
[ALEC _looks at_ LUCY _for a moment_, _and then turns to_ LADY KELSEY.
ALEC.
I think perhaps we ought to have told you before, Lady Kelsey. But we
wanted to enjoy our little secret by ourselves.
LADY KELSEY.
I'm afraid to understand.
ALEC.
I have asked Lucy to be my wife, and she....
LUCY.
[_Interrupting him._] She said she would be honoured and deeply
grateful.
LADY KELSEY.
[_Greatly embarrassed._] I hardly know what to say.... How long have you
been engaged?
LUCY.
Won't you tell me you're pleased, my aunt? I know you want me to be
happy.
LADY KELSEY.
Of course, I want you to be happy. But I--I....
[BOULGER _turns on his heel and walks out_.
DICK.
[_Offering his arm to_ LADY KELSEY.] Wouldn't you like to go back to the
drawing-room?
[_She allows herself to be led away, helplessly._
ALEC _and_ LUCY _are left alone_.
ALEC.
[_With a smile._] I don't think our announcement has been received with
enthusiasm.
LUCY.
You're not angry with me, ALEC?
ALEC.
Of course not. Everything you do is right and charming.
LUCY.
I shall really think I'm a wonderful person if I've taught you to pay
compliments.
ALEC.
I'm so glad to be alone with you. Now, at all events, people will have
the sense to leave us by ourselves.
LUCY.
[_Passionately._] I want your love. I want your love so badly.
ALEC.
[_Taking her in his arms._] My darling!
LUCY.
[_Clinging to him._] The moment I'm with you I feel so confident and
happy.
ALEC.
Only when you're with me? [LUCY _looks at him for an instant. He repeats
the question in a caressing voice._] Only when you're with me, darling?
LUCY.
Why d'you think I made you tell them we were engaged?
ALEC.
You took me by surprise.
LUCY.
I had to tell them. I couldn't keep it back. They made me suffer so
dreadfully.
ALEC.
The brutes! Tell me what they did.
LUCY.
Oh, they said horrible things about you.
ALEC.
No more than that?
LUCY.
It's nothing to you. But to me.... Oh, you don't know what agony I
endure. I'm such a coward! I thought I was so much braver.
ALEC.
I don't understand you.
LUCY.
I wanted to burn my ships behind me. I wanted to reassure myself. [ALEC
_makes a slight movement away from her, but she holds him back
anxiously_.] Forgive me, dear. You don't know how terrible it is. I
stand so dreadfully alone. Every one is convinced that you caused poor
George's death--every one but me. [ALEC _looks at her gravely, without
speaking_.] I try to put the thoughts out of my head, but I can't--I
can't. That letter in the _Times_ looks so dreadfully true. Don't you
see what I mean? The uncertainty is more than I can bear. At the first
moment I felt so absolutely sure of you.
ALEC.
And now you don't?
LUCY.
I trust you just as much as ever. I know it's impossible that you
should have done a shameful thing. But there it stands in black and
white, and you have nothing to say in answer.
ALEC.
I know it's very difficult. That is why I asked you to believe in me.
LUCY.
I do, Alec--with all my soul. But have mercy on me. I'm not so strong as
I thought. It's easy for you to stand alone. You're iron, but I'm a weak
woman.
ALEC.
Oh, no, you're not like other women. I was proud of your unconquerable
spirit.
LUCY.
It was easy to be brave where my father was concerned, and George, but
you're the man I love, and it's so different. I don't know any more how
to stand alone.
[ALEC _looks at her, thinking, but does not reply
for a moment_.
ALEC.
Do you remember that only an hour ago I told you that I'd done nothing
which I wouldn't do again? I gave you my word of honour that I could
reproach myself for nothing.
LUCY.
Oh, I know. I'm so utterly ashamed of myself. But I can't bear the
doubt.
ALEC.
Doubt! You've said the word at last.
LUCY.
I tell every one that I don't believe a word of these horrible charges,
and I repeat to myself: I'm certain, I'm certain that he's innocent. And
yet at the bottom of my heart there's a doubt, and I can't crush it.
ALEC.
Is that why you told them we were engaged to be married?
LUCY.
I wanted to kill that gnawing pain of suspicion. I thought if I stood up
before them and cried out that my trust in you was so great, I was
willing to marry you notwithstanding everything, I should at least have
peace in my own heart.
[ALEC _walks up and down. Then he stops in
front of_ LUCY.
ALEC.
What is it precisely you want me to do?
LUCY.
I want you to have mercy on me because I love you. Don't tell the world
if you choose not to, but tell me the truth. I know you're incapable of
lying. If I only have it from your own lips I shall believe, I want to
be certain, certain!
ALEC.
Don't you realise that I would never have asked you to marry me if my
conscience hadn't been quite clear? Don't you realise that the reasons I
have for holding my tongue must be of overwhelming strength?
LUCY.
But I am going to be your wife, and I love you, and you love me.
ALEC.
I implore you not to insist, Lucy. Let us remember only that the past is
gone and we love one another. It's impossible for me to tell you
anything.
LUCY.
Oh, but you must now. If any part of the story is true, you must give me
a chance of judging for myself.
ALEC.
I'm very sorry, I can't.
LUCY.
But you'll kill my love for you. The doubt which lurked at the bottom of
my soul now fills me. How can you let me suffer such maddening torture?
ALEC.
I thought you trusted me.
LUCY.
I'll be satisfied if you'll only tell me one thing: only tell me that
when you sent George on that expedition you didn't know that he'd be
killed. [ALEC _looks at her steadily_.] Only say that, Alec. Say that's
not true, and I'll believe you.
ALEC.
[_Very quietly._] But it is true.
[LUCY _does not answer, but stares at him with
terrified eyes_.
LUCY.
Oh, I don't understand. Oh, my dearest, don't treat me as a child. Have
mercy on me! You must be serious now. It's a matter of life and death to
both of us.
ALEC.
I'm perfectly serious.
LUCY.
You knew that you were sending George into a death-trap? You knew he
couldn't escape alive?
ALEC.
Except by a miracle.
LUCY.
And you don't believe in miracles?
ALEC.
No.
LUCY.
Oh, it can't be true. Oh, Alec, Alec, Alec! Oh, what shall I do?
ALEC.
I tell you that whatever I did was inevitable.
LUCY.
Then if that's true, the rest must be true also. Oh, it's awful. I can't
realise it. Haven't you anything to say at all?
ALEC.
[_In a low voice._] Only that I've loved you always with all my soul.
LUCY.
You knew how much I loved my brother. You knew how much it meant to me
that he should live to wipe out my father's dishonour. All the future
was centred on him, and you sacrificed him.
ALEC.
[_Hesitatingly._] I think I might tell you this. He had committed a
grave error of judgment. We were entrapped by the Arabs, and our only
chance of escape entailed the almost certain death of one of us.
[_An inkling of the truth seizes_ LUCY, _and her
face is suddenly distorted with horror. She
goes up to him impulsively. Her voice
trembles with emotion._
LUCY.
Alec, Alec, he didn't do something--unworthy? You're not trying to
shield him?
ALEC.
[_Hoarsely._] No, no, no!
LUCY.
[_With a gasp of relief, almost to herself._] Thank God! I couldn't have
borne that. [_To_ ALEC, _hopelessly_.] Then I don't understand.
ALEC.
It was not unjust that he should suffer for the catastrophe which he had
brought about.
LUCY.
At those times one doesn't think of justice. He was so young, so frank.
Wouldn't it have been nobler to give your life for his?
ALEC.
Oh, my dear, you don't know how easy it is to give one's life. How
little you know me! Do you think I should have hesitated if my death had
been sufficient to solve the difficulty? I had my work to do. I was
bound by solemn treaties to the surrounding tribes. It would have been
cowardly for me to die. I tell you, my death would have meant the awful
death of every man in my party.
LUCY.
I can only see one thing, that you took George, George of all others.
ALEC.
I knew at the time that what I did might cost me your love, and though
you won't believe this, I did it for your sake.
[_At this moment_ MRS. CROWLEY _enters with_
SIR ROBERT BOULGER. _She has a cloak on._
MRS. CROWLEY.
I was just coming to say good-night. Bobby is going to drive me home.
[_She suddenly notices_ LUCY'S _agitation_.] What on earth's the matter?
[LADY KELSEY _and_ DICK LOMAS _come in_. LADY
KELSEY _looks at_ LUCY _and then goes up to
her impulsively_.
LADY KELSEY.
Lucy, Lucy!
LUCY.
[_Brokenly._] I'm no longer engaged to Mr. Mackenzie. He can't deny that
what is said about him is true.
[_They look at him in astonishment, but he makes
no movement._
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_To_ ALEC.] Haven't you anything to say at all? You must have some
explanation to offer?
ALEC.
No, I have none whatever.
DICK.
Alec, old man, have you realised all that this means?
ALEC.
Quite. I see now that it was inevitable.
LUCY.
[_With a sudden burst of furious anger._] You killed him! You killed him
as surely as if you'd strangled him with your own hands.
[ROBERT BOULGER _goes to the door and flings
it open_. ALEC _gives_ LUCY _a look, then
slightly shrugs his shoulders. He walks
out without a word. The moment he has
gone_ LUCY _sinks down and bursts into
passionate tears_.
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
THE FOURTH ACT
SCENE.--_A library in the house of_ DICK LOMAS _in Portman Square_.
DICK _and his_ VALET. DICK _is putting flowers into a vase_.
DICK.
Has Mr. Mackenzie come in?
CHARLES.
Yes, sir. He's gone to his room.
DICK.
I expect Mrs. Crowley and Miss Allerton to tea. If any one else comes
I'm not at home.
CHARLES.
Very well, sir.
DICK.
And if a caller should ask at what time I'm expected back, you haven't
the least idea.
CHARLES.
Very well, sir.
DICK.
We shall want breakfast at eight to-morrow. I'm going down to
Southampton to see Mr. Mackenzie off. But I shall be home to dinner. How
about those cases in the hall?
CHARLES.
Mr. Mackenzie said they were to be sent for this afternoon. They're only
labelled Zanzibar. Is that sufficient, sir?
DICK.
Oh, I suppose so. Mr. Mackenzie will have given the shippers all
directions. You'd better bring the tea at once. Mrs. Crowley is coming
at four.
CHARLES.
Very well, sir.
[_He goes out._ DICK _continues to arrange the
flowers, than goes to the window and looks
out. He comes back. The door is opened by_
CHARLES, _who announces_ MRS. CROWLEY.
CHARLES.
Mrs. Crowley.
DICK.
[_Going towards her eagerly and taking both her hands._] Best of women!
MRS. CROWLEY.
You seem quite glad to see me?
DICK.
I am. But where is Lucy?
MRS. CROWLEY.
She's coming later.... I don't know why you should squeeze my hands in
this pointed manner.
DICK.
What an age it is since I saw you!
MRS. CROWLEY.
If you bury yourself in Scotland all the summer, you can't expect to see
people who go to Homburg and the Italian lakes.
DICK.
Heavens, how you cultivate respectability!
MRS. CROWLEY.
It's a sensitive plant whose vagaries one has to humour.
DICK.
Aren't you delighted to be back in town?
MRS. CROWLEY.
London's the most charming place in the world to get away from and to
come back to. Now tell me all you've been doing, if I can hear it
without blushing too furiously.
DICK.
My behaviour would have done credit to a clergyman's only daughter. I
dragged Alec off to Scotland after that horrible scene at Lady Kelsey's,
and we played golf.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Was he very wretched, poor thing?
DICK.
He didn't say a word. I wanted to comfort him, but he never gave me a
chance. He never mentioned Lucy's name.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Did he seem unhappy?
DICK.
No. He was just the same as ever, impassive and collected.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Really he's inhuman.
DICK.
He's an anomaly in this juvenile century. He's an ancient Roman who buys
his clothes in Savile Row. An eagle caged with a colony of canaries.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Then he's very much in the way in England, and it's much better for him
that he should go back to Africa.
DICK.
This time to-morrow he'll be half-way down the channel.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I'm really beginning to think you're a perfect angel, Mr. Lomas.
DICK.
Don't say that, it makes me feel so middle-aged. I'd much sooner be a
young sinner than an elderly cherub.
MRS. CROWLEY.
It was sweet of you to look after him through the summer and then insist
on his staying here till he went away. How long is he going for this
time?
DICK.
Heaven knows! Perhaps for ever.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Have you told him that Lucy is coming?
DICK.
No. I thought that was a pleasing piece of information which I'd leave
you to impart.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Thanks!
DICK.
She's only coming to indulge a truly feminine passion for making scenes,
and she's made Alec quite wretched enough already. Why doesn't she marry
Robert Boulger?
MRS. CROWLEY.
Why should she?
DICK.
Half the women I know merely married their husbands to spite somebody
else. It appears to be one of the commonest causes of matrimony.
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_With a quizzical look at him._] Talking of which, what are you going
to do when Mr. Mackenzie is gone?
DICK.
Talking of the weather and the crops, I propose to go to Spain.
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Opening her eyes wide._] How very extraordinary! I thought of going
there, too.
DICK.
Then, without a moment's hesitation, I shall go to Norway.
MRS. CROWLEY.
It'll be dreadfully cold.
DICK.
Dreadfully. But I shall be supported by the consciousness of having done
my duty.
MRS. CROWLEY.
You don't think there would be room for both of us in Spain?
DICK.
I'm convinced there wouldn't. We should always be running against one
another, and you'd insist on my looking out all your trains in
Bradshaw.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I hope you remember that you asked me to tea to-day?
DICK.
Pardon me, you asked yourself. I keep the letter next to my heart and
put it under my pillow every night.
MRS. CROWLEY.
You fibber! Besides, if I did, it was only on Lucy's account.
DICK.
That, I venture to think, is neither polite nor accurate.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I don't think I should so utterly detest you, if you hadn't such a good
opinion of yourself.
DICK.
You forget that I vowed on the head of my maternal grandmother never to
speak to you again.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Oh, I'm always doing that. I tell my maid that time she does my hair
badly.
DICK.
You trifled with the tenderest affection of an innocent and
unsophisticated old bachelor.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Is that you by any chance?
DICK.
Of course, it's me. D'you think I was talking of the man in the moon?
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Looking at him critically._] With the light behind, you might still
pass for thirty-five.
DICK.
I've given up youth and its vanities. I no longer pluck out my white
hairs.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Then how on earth do you occupy your leisure?
DICK.
For the last three months I've been laboriously piecing together the
fragments of a broken heart.
MRS. CROWLEY.
If you hadn't been so certain that I was going to accept you, I should
never have refused. I couldn't resist the temptation of saying "No" just
to see how you took it.
DICK.
I flatter myself that I took it very well.
MRS. CROWLEY.
You didn't. You showed an entire lack of humour. You might have known
that a nice woman doesn't marry a man the first time he asks her. It's
making oneself too cheap. It was very silly of you to go off to Scotland
as if you didn't care.... How was I to know that you meant to wait three
months before asking me again?
DICK.
I haven't the least intention of asking you again.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Then why in heaven's name did you invite me to tea?
DICK.
May I respectfully remind you, first, that you invited yourself ...
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Interrupting._] You're so irrelevant.
DICK.
And, secondly, that an invitation to tea is not necessarily accompanied
by a proposal of marriage.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I'm afraid you're lamentably ignorant of the usages of good society.
DICK.
I assure you it's not done in the best circles.
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_With a little pout._] I shall be very cross with you in a minute.
DICK.
Why?
MRS. CROWLEY.
Because you're not behaving at all prettily.
DICK.
D'you know what I'd do if I were you? Propose to me.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Oh, I couldn't do anything so immodest.
DICK.
I have registered a vow that I will never offer my hand and heart to any
woman again.
MRS. CROWLEY.
On the head of your maternal grandmother?
DICK.
Oh no, far more serious than that. On the grave of my maiden aunt, who
left me all my money.
MRS. CROWLEY.
What will you say if I do?
DICK.
That depends entirely on how you do it. I may remind you, however, that
first you go down on your bended knees.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Oh, I waived that with you.
DICK.
And then you confess you're unworthy of me.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Mr. Lomas, I am a widow. I am twenty-nine and extremely eligible. My
maid is a treasure. My dressmaker is charming. I am clever enough to
laugh at your jokes, and not so learned as to know where they come from.
DICK.
Really you're very long-winded. I said it all in four words.
MRS. CROWLEY.
So could I if I might write it down.
DICK.
You must say it.
MRS. CROWLEY.
But what I'm trying to make you understand is that I don't want to marry
you a bit. You're just the sort of man who'll beat his wife regularly
every Saturday night.... You will say yes if I ask you, won't you?
DICK.
I've never been able to refuse a woman anything.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I have no doubt you will after six months of holy matrimony.
DICK.
I never saw any one make such a fuss about so insignificant a detail as
a proposal of marriage.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Dick. [_She stretches out her hands, smiling, and he takes her in his
arms._] You really are a detestable person.
DICK.
[_With a smile, taking a ring from his pocket._] I bought an engagement
ring yesterday on the off chance of its being useful.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Then you meant to ask me all the time?
DICK.
Of course I did, you silly.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Oh, I wish I had known that before. I'd have refused you again.
DICK.
You absurd creature.
[_He kisses her._
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Trying to release herself._] There's somebody coming.
DICK.
It's only Alec.
[ALEC _comes in_.
ALEC.
Hulloa!
DICK.
Alec, we've made friends, Mrs. Crowley and I.
ALEC.
It certainly looks very much like it.
DICK.
The fact is, I've asked her to marry me, and she....
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Interrupting, with a smile._] After much pressure--
DICK.
Has consented.
ALEC.
I'm so glad. I heartily congratulate you both. I was rather unhappy at
leaving Dick, Mrs. Crowley. But now I leave him in your hands, I'm
perfectly content. He's the dearest, kindest old chap I've ever known.
DICK.
Shut up, Alec! Don't play the heavy father, or we shall burst into
tears.
ALEC.
He'll be an admirable husband because he's an admirable friend.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I know he will. And I'm only prevented from saying all I think of him
and how much I love him, by the fear that he'll become perfectly
unmanageable.
DICK.
Spare me these chaste blushes which mantle my youthful brow. Will you
pour out the tea ... Nellie?
MRS. CROWLEY.
Yes ... Dick.
[_She sits down at the tea-table and_ DICK _makes
himself comfortable in an arm-chair by
her side_.
ALEC.
Well, I'm thankful to say that everything's packed and ready.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I wish you'd stay for our wedding.
DICK.
Do. You can go just as well by the next boat.
ALEC.
I'm afraid that everything is settled now. I've given instructions at
Zanzibar to collect bearers, and I must arrive as quickly as I can.
DICK.
I wish to goodness you'd give up these horrible explorations.
ALEC.
But they're the very breath of my life. You don't know the exhilaration
of the daily dangers--the joy of treading where only the wild beasts
have trodden before. Oh, already I can hardly bear my impatience when I
think of the boundless country and the enchanting freedom. Here one
grows so small, so despicable, but in Africa everything is built to a
nobler standard. There a man is really a man; there one knows what are
will and strength and courage. Oh, you don't know what it is to stand on
the edge of some great plain and breathe the pure keen air after the
terrors of the forest. Then at last you know what freedom is.
DICK.
The boundless plain of Hyde Park is enough for me, and the aspect of
Piccadilly on a fine day in June gives me quite as many emotions as I
want.
MRS. CROWLEY.
But what will you gain by it all, now that your work in East Africa is
over, by all the dangers and the hardships?
ALEC.
Nothing. I want to gain nothing. Perhaps I shall discover some new
species of antelope or some unknown plant. Perhaps I shall find some new
waterway. That is all the reward I want. I love the sense of power and
mastery. What do you think I care for the tinsel rewards of kings and
peoples?
DICK.
I always said you were melodramatic. I never heard anything so
transpontine.
MRS. CROWLEY.
And the end of it, what will be the end?
ALEC.
The end is death in some fever-stricken swamp, obscurely, worn out by
exposure and ague and starvation. And the bearers will seize my gun and
my clothes and leave me to the jackals.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Don't. It's too horrible.
ALEC.
Why, what does it matter? I shall die standing up. I shall go the last
journey as I have gone every other.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Without fear?
DICK.
For all the world like the wicked baronet: Once aboard the lugger and
the girl is mine!
MRS. CROWLEY.
Don't you want men to remember you?
ALEC.
Perhaps they will. Perhaps in a hundred years or so, in some flourishing
town where I discovered nothing but wilderness, they will commission a
second-rate sculptor to make a fancy statue of me. And I shall stand in
front of the Stock Exchange, a convenient perch for birds, to look
eternally upon the various shabby deeds of human kind.
[_During this speech_ MRS. CROWLEY _makes a sign
to_ DICK, _who walks slowly away and goes
out_.
MRS. CROWLEY.
And is that really everything? I can't help thinking that at the bottom
of your heart is something that you've never told to a living soul.
[_He gives her a long look, and then after a
moment's thought breaks into a little smile._
ALEC.
Why do you want to know so much?
MRS. CROWLEY.
Tell me.
ALEC.
I daresay I shall never see you again. Perhaps it doesn't much matter
what I say to you. You'll think me very silly, but I'm afraid I'm
rather--patriotic. It's only we who live away from England who really
love it. I'm so proud of my country, and I wanted so much to do
something for it. Often in Africa I've thought of this dear England, and
longed not to die till I had done my work. Behind all the soldiers and
the statesmen whose fame is imperishable, there is a long line of men
who've built up the Empire piece by piece. Their names are forgotten,
and only students know their history, but each one of them gave a
province to his country. And I, too, have my place among them. For five
years I toiled night and day, and at the end of it was able to hand over
to the Commissioners a broad tract of land, rich and fertile. After my
death England will forget my faults and my mistakes. I care nothing for
the flouts and gibes with which she has repaid all my pain, for I have
added another fair jewel to her crown. I don't want rewards. I only want
the honour of serving this dear land of ours.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Why is it, when you're so nice really, that you do all you can to make
people think you utterly horrid?
ALEC.
Don't laugh at me because you've found out that at heart I'm nothing
more than a sentimental old woman.
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Putting her hand on his arm._] What would you do if Lucy came here
to-day?
[ALEC _starts, looks at her sharply, then answers
with deliberation_.
ALEC.
I have always lived in polite society. I should never dream of outraging
its conventions. If Miss Allerton happened to come, you may be sure I
should be scrupulously polite.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Is that all? Lucy has suffered very much.
ALEC.
And do you suppose I've not suffered? Because I don't whine my misery to
all and sundry, d'you think I don't care? I'm not the man to fall in and
out of love with every pretty face I meet. All my life I've kept an
ideal before my eyes. Oh, you don't know what it meant to me to fall in
love. I felt that I had lived all my life in a prison, and at last Lucy
came and took me by the hand and led me out. And for the first time I
breathed the free air of heaven. Oh God! how I've suffered for it! Why
should it have come to me? Oh, if you knew my agony and the torture!
[_He hides his face, trying to master his emotion._
MRS. CROWLEY _goes to him and puts her
hand on his shoulder_.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Mr. Mackenzie.
ALEC.
[_Springing up._] Go away. Don't look at me. How can you stand there and
watch my weakness? Oh God, give me strength.... My love was the last
human weakness I had. It was right that I should drink that bitter cup.
And I've drunk its very dregs. I should have known that I wasn't meant
for happiness and a life of ease. I have other work to do in the world.
And now that I have overcome this last temptation, I am ready to do it.
MRS. CROWLEY.
But haven't you any pity for yourself, haven't you any thought for Lucy?
ALEC.
Must I tell you, too, that everything I did was for Lucy's sake? And
still I love her with all my heart and soul....
DICK _comes in_.
DICK.
Here is Lucy!
[CHARLES _comes in and announces_ LUCY.
CHARLES.
Miss Allerton!
[_She enters, and_ DICK, _anxious that the meeting
shall not be more awkward than need be,
goes up to her very cordially_.
DICK.
Ah, my dear Lucy. So glad you were able to come.
LUCY.
[_Giving her hand to_ DICK, _but looking at_ ALEC.] How d'you do?
ALEC.
How d'you do? [_He forces himself to talk._] How is Lady Kelsey?
LUCY.
She's much better, thanks. We've been to Spa, you know, for her health.
ALEC.
Somebody told me you'd gone abroad. Was it you, Dick? Dick is an
admirable person, a sort of gazetteer for polite society.
DICK.
Won't you have some tea, Lucy?
LUCY.
No, thanks!
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Trying on her side also to make conversation._] We shall miss you
dreadfully when you're gone, Mr. Mackenzie.
DICK.
[_Cheerfully._] Not a bit of it.
ALEC.
[_Smiling._] London is an excellent place for showing one of how little
importance one is in the world. One makes a certain figure, and perhaps
is tempted to think oneself of some consequence. Then one goes away, and
on returning is surprised to discover that nobody has even noticed one's
absence.
DICK.
You're over-modest, Alec. If you weren't, you might be a great man.
Now, I make a point of telling my friends that I'm indispensable, and
they take me at my word.
ALEC.
You are a leaven of flippancy in the heavy dough of British
righteousness.
DICK.
The wise man only takes the unimportant quite seriously.
ALEC.
[_With a smile._] For it is obvious that it needs more brains to do
nothing than to be a cabinet minister.
DICK.
You pay me a great compliment, Alec. You repeat to my very face one of
my favourite observations.
LUCY.
[_Almost in a whisper._] Haven't I heard you say that only the
impossible is worth doing?
ALEC.
Good heavens, I must have been reading the headings of a copy-book.
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_To_ DICK.] Are you going to Southampton to see Mr. Mackenzie off?
DICK.
I shall hide my face on his shoulder and weep salt tears. It'll be most
affecting, because in moments of emotion I always burst into epigram.
ALEC.
I loathe all solemn leave-takings. I prefer to part from people with a
nod and a smile, whether I'm going for ever or for a day to Brighton.
MRS. CROWLEY.
You're very hard.
ALEC.
Dick has been teaching me to take life flippantly. And I have learnt
that things are only serious if you take them seriously, and that is
desperately stupid. [_To_ LUCY.] Don't you agree with me?
LUCY.
No.
[_Her tone, almost tragic, makes him pause
for an instant; but he is determined
that the conversation shall be purely conventional._
ALEC.
It's so difficult to be serious without being absurd. That is the chief
power of women, that life and death are merely occasions for a change of
costume: marriage a creation in white, and the worship of God an
opportunity for a Paris bonnet.
[MRS. CROWLEY _makes up her mind to force a
crisis, and she gets up_.
MRS. CROWLEY.
It's growing late, Dick. Won't you take me round the house?
ALEC.
I'm afraid my luggage has made everything very disorderly.
MRS. CROWLEY.
It doesn't matter. Come, Dick!
DICK.
[_To_ LUCY.] You don't mind if we leave you?
LUCY.
Oh, no.
[MRS. CROWLEY _and_ DICK _go out. There is a
moment's silence._
ALEC.
Do you know that our friend Dick has offered his hand and heart to Mrs.
Crowley this afternoon?
LUCY.
I hope they'll be very happy. They're very much in love with one
another.
ALEC.
[_Bitterly._] And is that a reason for marrying? Surely love is the
worst possible foundation for marriage. Love creates illusions, and
marriages destroy them. True lovers should never marry.
LUCY.
Will you open the window? It seems stifling here.
ALEC.
Certainly. [_From the window._] You can't think what a joy it is to look
upon London for the last time. I'm so thankful to get away.
[LUCY _gives a little sob and_ ALEC _turns to the
window. He wants to wound her and yet
cannot bear to see her suffer._
ALEC.
To-morrow at this time I shall be well started. Oh, I long for that
infinite surface of the clean and comfortable sea.
LUCY.
Are you very glad to go?
ALEC.
[_Turning to her._] I feel quite boyish at the very thought.
LUCY.
And is there no one you regret to leave?
ALEC.
You see, Dick is going to marry. When a man does that, his bachelor
friends are wise to depart gracefully before he shows them that he needs
their company no longer. I have no relations and few friends. I can't
flatter myself that any one will be much distressed at my departure.
LUCY.
[_In a low voice._] You must have no heart at all.
ALEC.
[_Icily._] If I had, I certainly should not bring it to Portman Square.
That sentimental organ would be surely out of place in such a
neighbourhood.
LUCY.
[_Gets up and goes to him._] Oh, why do you treat me as if we were
strangers? How can you be so cruel?
ALEC.
[_Gravely._] Don't you think that flippancy is the best refuge from an
uncomfortable position. We should really be much wiser merely to discuss
the weather.
LUCY.
[_Insisting._] Are you angry because I came?
ALEC.
That would be ungracious on my part. Perhaps it wasn't quite necessary
that we should meet again.
LUCY.
You've been acting all the time I've been here. D'you think I didn't see
it was unreal when you talked with such cynical indifference. I know you
well enough to tell when you're hiding your real self behind a mask.
ALEC.
If I'm doing that, the inference is obvious that I wish my real self to
be hidden.
LUCY.
I would rather you cursed me than treat me with such cold politeness.
ALEC.
I'm afraid you're rather difficult to please.
[LUCY _goes up to him passionately, but he draws
back so that she may not touch him_.
LUCY.
Oh, you're of iron. Alec, Alec, I couldn't let you go without seeing you
once more. Even you would be satisfied if you knew what bitter anguish
I've suffered. Even you would pity me. I don't want you to think too
badly of me.
ALEC.
Does it much matter what I think? We shall be so many thousand miles
apart.
LUCY.
I suppose that you utterly despise me.
ALEC.
No. I loved you far too much ever to do that. Believe me, I only wish
you well. Now that the bitterness is past, I see that you did the only
possible thing. I hope that you'll be very happy.
LUCY.
Oh, Alec, don't be utterly pitiless. Don't leave me without a single
word of kindness.
ALEC.
Nothing is changed, Lucy. You sent me away on account of your brother's
death.
[_There is a long silence, and when she speaks
it is hesitatingly, as if the words were
painful to utter._
LUCY.
I hated you then, and yet I couldn't crush the love that was in my
heart. I used to try and drive you away from my thoughts, but every word
you had ever said came back to me. Don't you remember? You told me that
everything you did was for my sake. Those words hammered at my heart as
though it were an anvil. I struggled not to believe them. I said to
myself that you had sacrificed George coldly, callously, prudently, but
in my heart I knew it wasn't true. [_He looks at her, hardly able to
believe what she is going to say, but does not speak._] Your whole life
stood on one side and only this hateful story on the other. You couldn't
have grown into a different man in one single instant. I came here
to-day to tell you that I don't understand the reason of what you did. I
don't want to understand. I believe in you now with all my strength. I
know that whatever you did was right and just--because you did it.
[_He gives a long, deep sigh._
ALEC.
Thank God! Oh, I'm so grateful to you for that.
LUCY.
Haven't you anything more to say to me than that?
ALEC.
You see, it comes too late. Nothing much matters now, for to-morrow I go
away.
LUCY.
But you'll come back.
ALEC.
I'm going to a part of Africa from which Europeans seldom return.
LUCY.
[_With a sudden outburst of passion._] Oh, that's too horrible. Don't
go, dearest! I can't bear it!
ALEC.
I must now. Everything is settled, and there can be no drawing back.
LUCY.
Don't you care for me any more?
ALEC.
Care for you? I love you with all my heart and soul.
LUCY.
[_Eagerly._] Then take me with you.
ALEC.
You!
LUCY.
You don't know what I can do. With you to help me I can be brave. Let me
come, Alec?
ALEC.
No, it's impossible. You don't know what you ask.
LUCY.
Then let me wait for you? Let me wait till you come back?
ALEC.
And if I never come back?
LUCY.
I will wait for you still.
ALEC.
Then have no fear. I will come back. My journey was only dangerous
because I wanted to die. I want to live now, and I shall live.
LUCY.
Oh, Alec, Alec, I'm so glad you love me.
THE END
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_A MAN OF HONOUR_
_A TRAGEDY_
_In Four Acts_
_By W. S. MAUGHAM_
_LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN_
_MCMXII_
_Copyright: London William Heinemann 1912_
_TO
GERALD KELLY_
"Ich übersah meine Sache und wusste wohin ich wollte."
ECKERMANN, _Gespräche mit Goethe_.
GENERAL PREFACE
...For Clisthenes, son of Aristonymus, son of Myron, son of Andreas, had
a daughter whose name was Agarista: her he resolved to give in marriage
to the man whom he should find the most accomplished of all the Greeks.
When therefore the Olympian games were being celebrated, Clisthenes,
being victorious in them in the chariot race, made a proclamation; "that
whoever of the Greeks deemed himself worthy to become the son-in-law of
Clisthenes, should come to Sicyon on the sixtieth day, or even before;
since Clisthenes had determined on the marriage in a year, reckoning
from the sixtieth day." Thereupon such of the Greeks as were puffed up
with themselves and their country, came as suitors; and Clisthenes,
having made a race-course and palæstra for them, kept it for this very
purpose. From Italy, accordingly, came Smindyrides, son of Hippocrates,
a Sybarite, who more than any other man reached the highest pitch of
luxury, (and Sybaris was at that time in a most flourishing condition;)
and Damasus of Siris, son of Amyris called the Wise: these came from
Italy. From the Ionian gulf, Amphimnestus, son of Epistrophus, an
Epidamnian; he came from the Ionian gulf. An Ætolian came, Males,
brother of that Titormus who surpassed the Greeks in strength, and fled
from the society of men to the extremity of the Ætolian territory. And
from Peloponnesus, Leocedes, son of Pheidon, tyrant of the Argives, a
decendant of that Pheidon, who introduced measures among the
Peloponnesians, and was the most insolent of all the Greeks, who having
removed the Elean umpires, himself regulated the games at Olympia; his
son accordingly came. And Amiantus, son of Lycurgus, an Arcadian from
Trapezus; and an Azenian from the city of Pæos, Laphanes, son of
Euphorion, who, as the story is told in Arcadia, received the Dioscuri
in his house, and after that entertained all men; and an Elean,
Onomastus, son of Agæus: these accordingly came from the Peloponnesus
itself. From Athens there came Megacles, son of Alcmæon, the same who
had visited Croesus, and another, Hippoclides, son of Tisander, who
surpassed the Athenians in wealth and beauty. From Eretria, which was
flourishing at that time, came Lysanias; he was the only one from
Euboea. And from Thessaly there came, of the Scopades, Diactorides a
Cranonian; and from the Molossi, Alcon. So many were the suitors. When
they had arrived on the appointed day, Clisthenes made inquiries of
their country, and the family of each; then detaining them for a year,
he made trial of their manly qualities, their dispositions, learning,
and morals; holding familiar intercourse with each separately, and with
all together, and leading out to the gymnasia such of them as were
younger; but most of all he made trial of them at the banquet; for as
long as he detained them, he did this throughout, and at the same time
entertained them magnificently. And somehow of all the suitors those
that had come from Athens pleased him most, and of these Hippoclides,
son of Tisander, was preferred both on account of his manly qualities,
and because he was distantly related to the Cypselidæ in Corinth. When
the day appointed for the consummation of the marriage arrived, and for
the declaration of Clisthenes himself, whom he would choose of them all,
Clisthenes, having sacrificed a hundred oxen, entertained both the
suitors themselves and all the Sicyonians; and when they had concluded
the feast, the suitors had a contest about music, and any subject
proposed for conversation. As the drinking went on, Hippoclides, who
much attracted the attention of the rest, ordered the flute-player to
play a dance; and when the flute-player obeyed, he began to dance: and
he danced, probably so as to please himself; but Clisthenes, seeing it,
beheld the whole matter with suspicion. Afterwards, Hippoclides, having
rested awhile, ordered some one to bring in a table; and when the table
came in, he first danced Laconian figures on it, and then Attic ones;
and in the third place, having leant his head on the table he
gesticulated with his legs. But Clisthenes, when he danced the first and
second time, revolted from the thought of having Hippoclides for his
son-in-law, on account of his dancing and want of decorum, yet
restrained himself, not wishing to burst out against him; but when he
saw him gesticulating with his legs, he was no longer able to restrain
himself, and said: "Son of Tisander, you have danced away your
marriage." But Hippoclides answered: "Hippoclides cares not." Hence this
answer became a proverb. (HERODOTUS VI. 126, _Cary's Translation_.)
This play was first performed by the Stage Society at the Imperial
Theatre on February 22, 1903, with the following cast:
BASIL KENT H. GRANVILLE BARKER
JENNY BUSH WINIFRED FRASER
JAMES BUSH O. B. CLARENCE
JOHN HALLIWELL DENNIS EADIE
MABEL GERTRUDE BURNETT
HILDA MURRAY MABEL TERRY-LEWIS
ROBERT BRACKLEY NIGEL PLAYFAIR
MRS. GRIGGS HENRIETTA COWEN
FANNY GERTRUDE DE BURGH
BUTLER A. BOWYER
_A MAN OF HONOUR_
_CHARACTERS_
BASIL KENT
JENNY BUSH
JAMES BUSH
JOHN HALLIWELL
MABEL
HILDA MURRAY
ROBERT BRACKLEY
MRS. GRIGGS
FANNY
BUTLER
TIME: _The Present Day_.