Transcriber's note.
Minor punctuation inconsistencies have been silently repaired. A list
of other changes made, can be found at the end of the book.
Mark up: _italics_
VOTES FOR WOMEN
A PLAY IN THREE ACTS
BY
ELIZABETH ROBINS
MILLS & BOON, LIMITED
49 WHITCOMB STREET
LONDON W. C.
1909
COURT THEATRE PLAYBILL
VOTES FOR WOMEN!
A Dramatic Tract in Three Acts
By ELIZABETH ROBINS
Lord John Wynnstay Mr. ATHOL FORDE
The Hon. Geoffrey Stonor Mr. AUBREY SMITH
Mr. St. John Greatorex Mr. E. HOLMAN CLARK
Mr. Richard Farnborough Mr. P. CLAYTON GREENE
Mr. Freddy Tunbridge Mr. PERCY MARMONT
Mr. Allen Trent Mr. LEWIS CASSON
[1]Mr. Walker Mr. EDMUND GWENN
Lady John Wynnstay Miss MAUD MILTON
Mrs. Heriot Miss FRANCES IVOR
Miss Vida Levering Miss WYNNE-MATTHISON
[1]Miss Beatrice Dunbarton Miss JEAN MACKINLAY
Mrs. Freddy Tunbridge Miss GERTRUDE BURNETT
Miss Ernestine Blunt Miss DOROTHY MINTO
A Working Woman Miss AGNES THOMAS
ACT I. Wynnstay House in Hertfordshire.
ACT II. Trafalgar Square, London.
ACT III. Eaton Square, London.
The Entire Action of the Play takes place between Sunday noon and six
o'clock in the evening of the same day.
[1] In the text these characters have been altered to Mr. PILCHER and
Miss JEAN Dunbarton.
CAST
LORD JOHN WYNNSTAY
LADY JOHN WYNNSTAY _His wife_
MRS. HERIOT _Sister of Lady John_
MISS JEAN DUNBARTON _Niece to Lady John
and Mrs. Heriot_
THE HON. GEOFFREY STONOR _Unionist M.P. affianced
to Jean Dunbarton_
MR. ST. JOHN GREATOREX _Liberal M.P._
THE HON. RICHARD FARNBOROUGH
MR. FREDDY TUNBRIDGE
MRS. FREDDY TUNBRIDGE
MR. ALLEN TRENT
MISS ERNESTINE BLUNT _A Suffragette_
MR. PILCHER _A working man_
A WORKING WOMAN
_and_
MISS VIDA LEVERING
PERSONS IN THE CROWD: SERVANTS IN THE TWO HOUSES.
ACT I
WYNNSTAY HOUSE IN HERTFORDSHIRE
ACT II
TRAFALGAR SQUARE, LONDON
ACT III
EATON SQUARE
(_Entire Action of Play takes place between Sunday noon and six
o'clock in the evening of the same day._)
ACT I.
THE HALL OF WYNNSTAY HOUSE.
[Illustration: Stage setting.]
_Twelve o'clock Sunday morning at end of June._
_Action takes place between twelve and six same day._
VOTES FOR WOMEN
ACT I
HALL OF WYNNSTAY HOUSE.
_Twelve o'clock, Sunday morning, end of June. With the rising of
the Curtain, enter the_ BUTLER. _As he is going, with majestic
port, to answer the door_ L., _enter briskly from the garden, by
lower French window_, LADY JOHN WYNNSTAY, _flushed, and flapping
a garden hat to fan herself. She is a pink-cheeked woman of
fifty-four, who has plainly been a beauty, keeps her complexion,
but is "gone to fat."_
LADY JOHN. Has Miss Levering come down yet?
BUTLER (_pausing_ C.). I haven't seen her, m'lady.
LADY JOHN (_almost sharply as_ BUTLER _turns_ L.). I won't have
her disturbed if she's resting. (_To herself as she goes to
writing-table._) She certainly needs it.
BUTLER. Yes, m'lady.
LADY JOHN (_sitting at writing-table, her back to front door_). But I
want her to know the moment she comes down that the new plans arrived
by the morning post.
BUTLER (_pausing nearly at the door_). Plans, m'la----
LADY JOHN. She'll understand. There they are. (_Glancing at the
clock._) It's very important she should have them in time to look over
before she goes----
(BUTLER _opens the door_ L.)
(_Over her shoulder._) Is that Miss Levering?
BUTLER. No, m'lady. Mr. Farnborough.
[_Exit_ BUTLER.
(_Enter the_ HON. R. FARNBOROUGH. _He is twenty-six; reddish hair,
high-coloured, sanguine, self-important._)
FARNBOROUGH. I'm afraid I'm scandalously early. It didn't take me
nearly as long to motor over as Lord John said.
LADY JOHN (_shaking hands_). I'm afraid my husband is no authority on
motoring--and he's not home yet from church.
FARN. It's the greatest luck finding _you_. I thought Miss Levering was
the only person under this roof who was ever allowed to observe Sunday
as a real Day of Rest.
LADY JOHN. If you've come to see Miss Levering----
FARN. Is she here? I give you my word I didn't know it.
LADY JOHN (_unconvinced_). Oh?
FARN. Does she come every week-end?
LADY JOHN. Whenever we can get her to. But we've only known her a
couple of months.
FARN. And I have only known her three weeks! Lady John, I've come to
ask you to help me.
LADY JOHN (_quickly_). With Miss Levering? I can't do it!
FARN. No, no--all that's no good. She only laughs.
LADY JOHN (_relieved_). Ah!--she looks upon you as a boy.
FARN (_firing up_). Such rot! What do you think she said to me in
London the other day?
LADY JOHN. That she was four years older than you?
FARN. Oh, I knew that. No. She said she knew she was all the charming
things I'd been saying, but there was only one way to prove it--and
that was to marry some one young enough to be her son. She'd noticed
that was what the _most_ attractive women did--and she named names.
LADY JOHN (_laughing_). _You_ were too old!
FARN. (_nods_). Her future husband, she said, was probably just
entering Eton.
LADY JOHN. Just like her!
FARN. (_waving the subject away_). No. I wanted to see you about the
Secretaryship.
LADY JOHN. You didn't get it, then?
FARN. No. It's the grief of my life.
LADY JOHN. Oh, if you don't get one you'll get another.
FARN. But there _is_ only one.
LADY JOHN. Only one vacancy?
FARN. Only one man I'd give my ears to work for.
LADY JOHN (_smiling_). I remember.
FARN. (_quickly_). Do I always talk about Stonor? Well, it's a habit
people have got into.
LADY JOHN. I forget, do you know Mr. Stonor personally, or (_smiling_)
are you just dazzled from afar?
FARN. Oh, I know him. The trouble is he doesn't know me. If he did he'd
realise he can't be sure of winning his election without my valuable
services.
LADY JOHN. Geoffrey Stonor's re-election is always a foregone
conclusion.
FARN. That the great man shares that opinion is precisely his weak
point. (_Smiling._) His only one.
LADY JOHN. You think because the Liberals swept the country the last
time----
FARN. How can we be sure any Conservative seat is safe after----
(_As_ LADY JOHN _smiles and turns to her papers._)
Forgive me, I know you're not interested in politics _qua_ politics.
But this concerns Geoffrey Stonor.
LADY JOHN. And you count on my being interested in him like all the
rest of my sex.
FARN. (_leans forward_). Lady John, I've heard the news.
LADY JOHN. What news?
FARN. That your little niece--the Scotch heiress--is going to become
Mrs. Geoffrey Stonor.
LADY JOHN. Who told you that?
FARN. Please don't mind my knowing.
LADY JOHN (_visibly perturbed_). She had set her heart upon having
a few days with just her family in the secret, before the flood of
congratulations breaks loose.
FARN. Oh, that's all right. I always hear things before other people.
LADY JOHN. Well, I must ask you to be good enough to be very
circumspect. I wouldn't have my niece think that I----
FARN. Oh, of course not.
LADY JOHN. She will be here in an hour.
FARN. (_jumping up delighted_). What? To-day? The future Mrs. Stonor!
LADY JOHN (_harassed_). Yes. Unfortunately we had one or two people
already asked for the week-end----
FARN. And I go and invite myself to luncheon! Lady John, you can buy me
off. I'll promise to remove myself in five minutes if you'll----
LADY JOHN. No, the penalty is you shall stay and keep the others amused
between church and luncheon, and so leave me free. (_Takes up the
plan._) Only _remember_----
FARN. Wild horses won't get a hint out of me! I only mentioned it to
you because--since we've come back to live in this part of the world
you've been so awfully kind--I thought, I hoped maybe you--you'd put in
a word for me.
LADY JOHN. With----?
FARN. With your nephew that is to be. Though I'm _not_ the slavish
satellite people make out, you can't doubt----
LADY JOHN. Oh, I don't doubt. But you know Mr. Stonor inspires a
similar enthusiasm in a good many young----
FARN. They haven't studied the situation as I have. They don't know
what's at stake. They don't go to that hole Dutfield as I did just to
hear his Friday speech.
LADY JOHN. Ah! But you were rewarded. Jean--my niece--wrote me it was
"glorious."
FARN. (_judicially_). Well, you know, _I_ was disappointed. He's too
content just to criticise, just to make his delicate pungent fun of the
men who are grappling--very inadequately, of course--still _grappling_
with the big questions. There's a carrying power (_gets up and faces
an imaginary audience_)--some of Stonor's friends ought to point it
out--there's a driving power in the poorest constructive policy that
makes the most brilliant criticism look barren.
LADY JOHN (_with good-humoured malice_). Who told you that?
FARN. You think there's nothing in it because _I_ say it. But now that
he's coming into the family, Lord John or somebody really ought to
point out--Stonor's overdoing his rôle of magnificent security!
LADY JOHN. I don't see even Lord John offering to instruct Mr. Stonor.
FARN. Believe me, that's just Stonor's danger! Nobody saying a
word, everybody hoping he's on the point of adopting some definite
line, something strong and original that's going to fire the public
imagination and bring the Tories back into power.
LADY JOHN. So he will.
FARN. (_hotly_). Not if he disappoints meetings--goes calmly up to
town--and leaves the field to the Liberals.
LADY JOHN. When did he do anything like that?
FARN. Yesterday! (_With a harassed air._) And now that he's got this
other preoccupation----
LADY JOHN. You mean----
FARN. Yes, your niece--that spoilt child of Fortune. Of course!
(_Stopping suddenly._) She kept him from the meeting last night. Well!
(_sits down_) if that's the effect she's going to have it's pretty
serious!
LADY JOHN (_smiling_). _You_ are!
FARN. I can assure you the election agent's more so. He's simply
tearing his hair.
LADY JOHN (_more gravely and coming nearer_). How do you know?
FARN. He told me so himself--yesterday. I scraped acquaintance with the
agent just to see if--if----
LADY JOHN. It's not only here that you manoeuvre for that
Secretaryship!
FARN. (_confidentially_). You can never tell when your chance might
come! That election chap's promised to keep me posted.
(_The door flies open and_ JEAN DUNBARTON _rushes in._)
JEAN. Aunt Ellen--here I----
LADY JOHN (_astonished_). My dear child!
(_They embrace. Enter_ LORD JOHN _from the garden--a benevolent,
silver-haired despot of sixty-two._)
LORD JOHN. I thought that was you running up the avenue.
(JEAN _greets her uncle warmly, but all the time she and her aunt
talk together. "How did you get here so early?" "I knew you'd be
surprised--wasn't it clever of me to manage it? I don't deserve
all the credit." "But there isn't any train between----" "Yes,
wait till I tell you." "You walked in the broiling sun----" "No,
no." "You must be dead. Why didn't you telegraph? I ordered the
carriage to meet the 1.10. Didn't you say the 1.10? Yes, I'm sure
you did--here's your letter."_)
LORD J. (_has shaken hands with_ FARNBOROUGH _and speaks through the
torrent_). Now they'll tell each other for ten minutes that she's an
hour earlier than we expected.
(LORD JOHN _leads_ FARNBOROUGH _towards the garden._)
FARN. The Freddy Tunbridges said _they_ were coming to you this week.
LORD J. Yes, they're dawdling through the park with the Church Brigade.
FARN. Oh! (_With a glance back at_ JEAN.) I'll go and meet them.
[_Exit_ FARNBOROUGH.
LORD J. (_as he turns back_). That discreet young man will get on.
LADY JOHN (_to_ JEAN). But _how_ did you get here?
JEAN (_breathless_). "He" motored me down.
LADY JOHN. Geoffrey Stonor? (JEAN _nods_.) Why, where is he, then?
JEAN. He dropped me at the end of the avenue and went on to see a
supporter about something.
LORD J. You let him go off like that without----
LADY JOHN (_taking_ JEAN'S _two hands_). Just tell me, my child, is it
all right?
JEAN. My engagement? (_Radiantly._) Yes, absolutely.
LADY JOHN. Geoffrey Stonor isn't going to be--a little too old for you?
JEAN (_laughing_). Bless me, am I such a chicken?
LADY JOHN. Twenty-four used not to be so young--but it's become so.
JEAN. Yes, we don't grow up so quick. (_Gaily._) But on the other hand
we _stay_ up longer.
LORD J. You've got what's vulgarly called "looks," my dear, and that
will help to _keep_ you up!
JEAN (_smiling_). I know what Uncle John's thinking. But I'm not the
only girl who's been left "what's vulgarly called" money.
LORD J. You're the only one of our immediate circle who's been left so
beautifully much.
JEAN. Ah, but remember Geoffrey could--everybody _knows_ he could have
married any one in England.
LADY JOHN (_faintly ironic_). I'm afraid everybody does know it--not
excepting Mr. Stonor.
LORD J. Well, how spoilt is the great man?
JEAN. Not the least little bit in the world. You'll see! He so wants to
know my best-beloved relations better. (_Another embrace._) An orphan
has so few belongings, she has to make the most of them.
LORD J. (_smiling_). Let us hope he'll approve of us on more intimate
acquaintance.
JEAN (_firmly_). He will. He's an angel. Why, he gets on with my
grandfather!
LADY JOHN. _Does_ he? (_Teasing._) You mean to say Mr. Geoffrey Stonor
isn't just a tiny bit--"superior" about Dissenters.
JEAN (_stoutly_). Not half as much as Uncle John and all the rest
of you! My grandfather's been ill again, you know, and rather
difficult--bless him! (_Radiantly._) But Geoffrey---- (_Clasps her
hands._)
LADY JOHN. He must have powers of persuasion!--to get that old
Covenanter to let you come in an abhorred motor-car--on Sunday, too!
JEAN (_half whispering_). Grandfather didn't know!
LADY JOHN. Didn't know?
JEAN. I honestly meant to come by train. Geoffrey met me on my way
to the station. We had the most glorious run. Oh, Aunt Ellen, we're
so happy! (_Embracing her._) I've so looked forward to having you to
myself the whole day just to talk to you about----
LORD J. (_turning away with affected displeasure_). Oh, very well----
JEAN (_catches him affectionately by the arm_). _You'd_ find it dreffly
dull to hear me talk about Geoffrey the whole blessed day!
LADY JOHN. Well, till luncheon, my dear, you mustn't mind if I----
(_To_ LORD JOHN, _as she goes to writing-table._) Miss Levering wasn't
only tired last night, she was ill.
LORD J. I thought she looked very white.
JEAN. Who is Miss---- You don't mean to say there are other people?
LADY JOHN. One or two. Your uncle's responsible for asking that old
cynic, St. John Greatorex, and I----
JEAN (_gravely_). Mr. Greatorex--he's a Radical, isn't he?
LORD J. (_laughing_). _Jean!_ Beginning to "think in parties"!
LADY JOHN. It's very natural now that she should----
JEAN. I only meant it was odd he should be here. Naturally at my
grandfather's----
LORD J. It's all right, my child. Of course we expect now that you'll
begin to think like Geoffrey Stonor, and to feel like Geoffrey Stonor,
and to talk like Geoffrey Stonor. And quite proper too.
JEAN (_smiling_). Well, if I do think with my husband and feel with
him--as, of course, I shall--it will surprise me if I ever find myself
talking a tenth as well----
(_Following her uncle to the French window._)
You should have heard him at Dutfield----(_Stopping short,
delighted._) Oh! The Freddy Tunbridges. What? Not Aunt Lydia! Oh-h!
(_Looking back reproachfully at_ LADY JOHN, _who makes a discreet
motion "I couldn't help it."_)
(_Enter the_ TUNBRIDGES. MR. FREDDY, _of no profession and of
independent means. Well-groomed, pleasant-looking; of few
words. A "nice man" who likes "nice women" and has married one
of them._ MRS. FREDDY _is thirty. An attractive figure, delicate
face, intelligent grey eyes, over-sensitive mouth, and naturally
curling dust-coloured hair._)
MRS. FREDDY. What a delightful surprise!
JEAN (_shaking hands warmly_). I'm so glad. How d'ye do, Mr. Freddy?
(_Enter_ LADY JOHN'S _sister_, MRS. HERIOT--_smart, pompous,
fifty--followed by_ FARNBOROUGH.)
MRS. HERIOT. My dear Jean! My darling child!
JEAN. How do you do, aunt?
MRS. H. (_sotto voce_). _I_ wasn't surprised. I always prophesied----
JEAN. Sh! _Please!_
FARN. We haven't met since you were in short skirts. I'm Dick
Farnborough.
JEAN. Oh, I remember.
(_They shake hands._)
MRS. F. (_looking round_). Not down yet--the Elusive One?
JEAN. Who is the Elusive One?
MRS. F. Lady John's new friend.
LORD J. (_to_ JEAN). Oh, I forgot you hadn't seen Miss Levering; such a
nice creature! (_To_ MRS. FREDDY.)--don't you think?
MRS. F. Of course I do. You're lucky to get her to come so often. She
won't go to other people.
LADY JOHN. She knows she can rest here.
FREDDY (_who has joined_ LADY JOHN _near the writing-table_). What does
she do to tire her?
LADY JOHN. She's been helping my sister and me with a scheme of ours.
MRS. H. She certainly knows how to inveigle money out of the men.
LADY JOHN. It would sound less equivocal, Lydia, if you added that the
money is to build baths in our Shelter for Homeless Women.
MRS. F. Homeless women?
LADY JOHN. Yes, in the most insanitary part of Soho.
FREDDY. Oh--a--really.
FARN. It doesn't sound quite in Miss Levering's line!
LADY JOHN. My dear boy, you know as little about what's in a woman's
line as most men.
FREDDY (_laughing_). Oh, I say!
LORD J. (_indulgently to_ MR. FREDDY _and_ FARNBOROUGH). Philanthropy
in a woman like Miss Levering is a form of restlessness. But she's a
_nice_ creature; all she needs is to get some "nice" fella to marry her.
MRS. F. (_laughing as she hangs on her husband's arm_). Yes, a woman
needs a balance wheel--if only to keep her from flying back to town on
a hot day like this.
LORD J. Who's proposing anything so----
MRS. F. The Elusive One.
LORD J. Not Miss----
MRS. F. Yes, before luncheon!
[_Exit_ FARNBOROUGH _to garden._
LADY JOHN. She must be in London by this afternoon, she says.
LORD J. What for in the name of----
LADY JOHN. Well, _that_ I didn't ask her. But (_consults watch_) I
think I'll just go up and see if she's changed her plans.
[_Exit_ LADY JOHN.
LORD J. Oh, she must be _made_ to. Such a nice creature! All she
needs----
(_Voices outside. Enter fussily, talking and gesticulating_, ST.
JOHN GREATOREX, _followed by_ MISS LEVERING _and_ FARNBOROUGH.
GREATOREX _is sixty, wealthy, a county magnate, and Liberal
M.P. He is square, thick-set, square-bearded. His shining bald
pate has two strands of coal-black hair trained across his
crown from left ear to right and securely pasted there. He has
small, twinkling eyes and a reputation for telling good stories
after dinner when ladies have left the room. He is carrying a
little book for_ MISS LEVERING. _She (parasol over shoulder), an
attractive, essentially feminine, and rather "smart" woman of
thirty-two, with a somewhat foreign grace; the kind of whom men
and women alike say, "What's her story? Why doesn't she marry?"_)
GREATOREX. I protest! Good Lord! what are the women of this country
coming to? I _protest_ against Miss Levering being carried off to
discuss anything so revolting. Bless my soul! what can a woman like you
_know_ about it?
MISS LEVERING (_smiling_). Little enough. Good morning.
GREAT. (_relieved_). I should think so indeed!
LORD J. (_aside_). You aren't serious about going----
GREAT. (_waggishly breaking in_). We were so happy out there in the
summer-house, weren't we?
MISS L. Ideally.
GREAT. And to be haled out to talk about Public _Sanitation_ forsooth!
(_Hurries after_ MISS LEVERING _as she advances to speak to the_
FREDDYS, _&c._)
Why, God bless my soul, do you realise that's _drains_?
MISS L. I'm dreadfully afraid it is! (_Holds out her hand for the small
book_ GREATOREX _is carrying._)
(GREATOREX _returns_ MISS LEVERING'S _book open; he has been
keeping the place with his finger. She opens it and shuts her
handkerchief in._)
GREAT. And we in the act of discussing Italian literature! Perhaps
you'll tell me that isn't a more savoury topic for a lady.
MISS L. But for the tramp population less conducive to savouriness,
don't you think, than--baths?
GREAT. No, I can't understand this morbid interest in vagrants.
_You're_ much too--leave it to the others.
JEAN. What others?
GREAT. (_with smiling impertinence_). Oh, the sort of woman who smells
of indiarubber. The typical English spinster. (_To_ MISS LEVERING.)
_You_ know--Italy's full of her. She never goes anywhere without a
mackintosh and a collapsible bath--rubber. When you look at her, it's
borne in upon you that she doesn't only smell of rubber. _She's_ rubber
too.
LORD J. (_laughing_). This is my niece, Miss Jean Dunbarton, Miss
Levering.
JEAN. How do you do? (_They shake hands._)
GREAT. (_to_ JEAN). I'm sure _you_ agree with me.
JEAN. About Miss Levering being too----
GREAT. For that sort of thing--_much_ too----
MISS L. What a pity you've exhausted the more eloquent adjectives.
GREAT. But I haven't!
MISS L. Well, you can't say to me as you did to Mrs. Freddy: "You're
too young and too happily married--and too----"
(_Glances round smiling at_ MRS. FREDDY, _who, oblivious, is
laughing and talking to her husband and_ MRS. HERIOT.)
JEAN. For what was Mrs. Freddy too happily married and all the rest?
MISS L. (_lightly_). Mr. Greatorex was repudiating the horrid rumour
that Mrs. Freddy had been speaking in public; about Women's Trade
Unions--wasn't that what you said, Mrs. Heriot?
LORD J. (_chuckling_). Yes, it isn't made up as carefully as your
aunt's parties usually are. Here we've got Greatorex (_takes his
arm_) who hates political women, and we've got in that mild and
inoffensive-looking little lady----
(_Motion over his shoulder towards_ MRS. FREDDY.)
GREAT. (_shrinking down stage in comic terror_). You don't mean she's
_really_----
JEAN (_simultaneously and gaily rising_). Oh, and you've got me!
LORD J. (_with genial affection_). My dear child, he doesn't hate the
charming wives and sweethearts who help to win seats.
(JEAN _makes her uncle a discreet little signal of warning._)
MISS L. Mr. Greatorex objects only to the unsexed creatures who--a----
LORD J. (_hastily to cover up his slip_). Yes, yes, who want to act
independently of men.
MISS L. Vote, and do silly things of that sort.
LORD J. (_with enthusiasm_). Exactly.
MRS. H. It will be a long time before we hear any more of _that_
nonsense.
JEAN. You mean that rowdy scene in the House of Commons?
MRS. H. Yes. No decent woman will be able to say "Suffrage" without
blushing for another generation, thank Heaven!
MISS L. (_smiling_). Oh? I understood that so little I almost imagined
people were more stirred up about it than they'd ever been before.
GREAT. (_with a quizzical affectation of gallantry_). Not people like
you.
MISS L. (_teasingly_). How do you know?
GREAT. (_with a start_). God bless my soul!
LORD J. She's saying that only to get a rise out of you.
GREAT. Ah, yes, your frocks aren't serious enough.
MISS L. I'm told it's an exploded notion that the Suffrage women are
all dowdy and dull.
GREAT. Don't you believe it!
MISS L. Well, of course we know you've been an authority on the subject
for--let's see, how many years is it you've kept the House in roars
whenever Woman's Rights are mentioned?
GREAT. (_flattered but not entirely comfortable_). Oh, as long as I've
known anything about politics there have been a few discontented old
maids and hungry widows----
MISS L. "A few!" That's really rather forbearing of you, Mr. Greatorex.
I'm afraid the number of the discontented and the hungry was
96,000--among the mill operatives alone. (_Hastily._) At least the
papers said so, didn't they?
GREAT. Oh, don't ask me; that kind of woman doesn't interest me, I'm
afraid. Only I am able to point out to the people who lose their heads
and seem inclined to treat the phenomenon seriously that there's
absolutely nothing new in it. There have been women for the last forty
years who haven't had anything more pressing to do than petition
Parliament.
MISS L. (_reflectively_). And that's as far as they've got.
LORD J. (_turning on his heel_). It's as far as they'll ever get.
(_Meets the group up_ R. _coming down._)
MISS L. (_chaffing_ GREATOREX). Let me see, wasn't a deputation sent to
you not long ago? (_Sits_ C.)
GREAT. H'm! (_Irritably._) Yes, yes.
MISS L. (_as though she has just recalled the circumstances_). Oh, yes,
I remember. I thought at the time, in my modest way, it was nothing
short of heroic of them to go asking audience of their arch opponent.
GREAT. (_stoutly_). It didn't come off.
MISS L. (_innocently_). Oh! I thought they insisted on bearding the
lion in his den.
GREAT. Of course I wasn't going to be bothered with a lot of----
MISS L. You don't mean you refused to go out and face them!
GREAT. (_with a comic look of terror_). I wouldn't have done it for
worlds. But a friend of mine went and had a look at 'em.
MISS L. (_smiling_). Well, did he get back alive?
GREAT. Yes, but he advised me not to go. "You're quite right," he said.
"Don't you think of bothering," he said. "I've looked over the lot," he
said, "and there isn't a week-ender among 'em."
JEAN (_gaily precipitates herself into the conversation_). You remember
Mrs. Freddy's friend who came to tea here in the winter? (_To_
GREATOREX.) He was a member of Parliament too--quite a little young
one--he said women would never be respected till they had the vote!
(GREATOREX _snorts, the other men smile and all the women except_
MRS. HERIOT.)
MRS. H. (_sniffing_). I remember telling him that he was too young to
know what he was talking about.
LORD J. Yes, I'm afraid you all sat on the poor gentleman.
LADY JOHN (_entering_). Oh, _there_ you are!
(_Greets_ MISS LEVERING.)
JEAN. It was such fun. He was flat as a pancake when we'd done with
him. Aunt Ellen told him with her most distinguished air she didn't
want to be "respected."
MRS. F. (_with a little laugh of remonstrance_). My _dear_ Lady John!
FARN. Quite right! Awful idea to think you're _respected_!
MISS L. (_smiling_). Simply revolting.
LADY JOHN (_at writing-table_). Now, you frivolous people, go away.
We've only got a few minutes to talk over the terms of the late Mr.
Soper's munificence before the carriage comes for Miss Levering----
MRS. F. (_to_ FARNBOROUGH). Did you know she'd got that old horror to
give Lady John £8,000 for her charity before he died?
MRS. F. Who got him to?
LADY JOHN. Miss Levering. He wouldn't do it for me, but she brought him
round.
FREDDY. Yes. Bah-ee Jove! I expect so.
MRS. F. (_turning enthusiastically to her husband_). Isn't she
wonderful?
LORD J. (_aside_). Nice creature. All she needs is----
(MR. _and_ MRS. FREDDY _and_ FARNBOROUGH _stroll off to the
garden._ LADY JOHN _on far side of the writing-table._ MRS.
HERIOT _at the top._ JEAN _and_ LORD JOHN, L.)
GREAT. (_on divan_ C., _aside to_ MISS LEVERING). Too "wonderful" to
waste your time on the wrong people.
MISS L. I shall waste less of my time after this.
GREAT. I'm relieved to hear it. I can't see you wheedling money for
shelters and rot of that sort out of retired grocers.
MISS L. You see, you call it rot. We couldn't have got £8,000 out of
_you_.
GREAT. (_very low_). I'm not sure.
(MISS LEVERING _looks at him._)
GREAT. If I gave you that much--for your little projects--what would
you give me?
MISS L. (_speaking quietly_). Soper didn't ask that.
GREAT. (_horrified_). Soper! I should think not!
LORD J. (_turning to_ MISS LEVERING). Soper? You two still talking
Soper? How flattered the old beggar'd be!
LORD J. (_lower_). Did you hear what Mrs. Heriot said about him? "So
kind; so munificent--so _vulgar_, poor soul, we couldn't know him in
London--_but we shall meet him in heaven_."
(GREATOREX _and_ LORD JOHN _go off laughing._)
LADY JOHN (_to Miss Levering_). Sit over there, my dear. (_Indicating
chair in front of writing-table._) You needn't stay, Jean. This won't
interest you.
MISS L. (_in the tone of one agreeing_). It's only an effort to meet
the greatest evil in the world?
JEAN (_pausing as she's following the others_). What do you call the
greatest evil in the world? (_Looks pass between_ MRS. HERIOT _and_
LADY JOHN.)
MISS L. (_without emphasis_). The helplessness of women.
(JEAN _stands still._)
LADY JOHN (_rising and putting her arm about the girl's shoulder_).
Jean, darling, I know you can think of nothing but (_aside_) _him_--so
just go and----
JEAN (_brightly_). Indeed, indeed, I can think of everything better
than I ever did before. He has lit up everything for me--made
everything vivider, more--more significant.
MISS L. (_turning round_). Who has?
JEAN. Oh, yes, I don't care about other things less but a thousand
times more.
LADY JOHN. You _are_ in love.
MISS L. Oh, that's it! (_Smiling at_ JEAN.) I congratulate you.
LADY JOHN (_returning to the outspread plan_). Well--_this_, you see,
obviates the difficulty you raised.
MISS L. Yes, quite.
MRS. H. But it's going to cost a great deal more.
MISS L. It's worth it.
MRS. H. We'll have nothing left for the organ at St. Pilgrim's.
LADY JOHN. My dear Lydia, we're putting the organ aside.
MRS. H. (_with asperity_). We can't afford to "put aside" the elevating
effect of music.
LADY JOHN. What we must make for, first, is the cheap and humanely
conducted lodging-house.
MRS. H. There are several of those already, but poor St. Pilgrim's----
MISS L. There are none for the poorest women.
LADY JOHN. No, even the excellent Soper was for multiplying Rowton
Houses. You can never get men to realise--you can't always get women----
MISS L. It's the work least able to wait.
MRS. H. I don't agree with you, and I happen to have spent a great deal
of my life in works of charity.
MISS L. Ah, then you'll be interested in the girl I saw dying in a
Tramp Ward a little while ago. _Glad_ her cough was worse--only she
mustn't die before her father. Two reasons. Nobody but her to keep the
old man out of the workhouse--and "father is so proud." If she died
first, he would starve; worst of all he might hear what had happened up
in London to his girl.
MRS. H. She didn't say, I suppose, how she happened to fall so low.
MISS L. Yes, she had been in service. She lost the train back one
Sunday night and was too terrified of her employer to dare ring him up
after hours. The wrong person found her crying on the platform.
MRS. H. She should have gone to one of the Friendly Societies.
MISS L. At eleven at night?
MRS. H. And there are the Rescue Leagues. I myself have been connected
with one for twenty years----
MISS L. (_reflectively_). "Twenty years!" Always arriving "after the
train's gone"--after the girl and the Wrong Person have got to the
journey's end.
(MRS. HERIOT's _eyes flash._)
JEAN. Where is she now?
LADY JOHN. Never mind.
MISS L. Two nights ago she was waiting at a street corner in the rain.
MRS. H. Near a public-house, I suppose.
MISS L. Yes, a sort of "public-house." She was plainly dying--she was
told she shouldn't be out in the rain. "I mustn't go in yet," she said.
"_This_ is what he gave me," and she began to cry. In her hand were two
pennies silvered over to look like half-crowns.
MRS. H. I don't believe that story. It's just the sort of thing some
sensation-monger trumps up--now, who tells you such----
MISS L. Several credible people. I didn't believe them till----
JEAN. Till----?
MISS L. Till last week I saw for myself.
LADY JOHN. _Saw?_ Where?
MISS L. In a low lodging-house not a hundred yards from the church you
want a new organ for.
MRS. H. How did _you_ happen to be there?
MISS L. I was on a pilgrimage.
JEAN. A pilgrimage?
MISS L. Into the Underworld.
LADY JOHN. _You_ went?
JEAN. How _could_ you?
MISS L. I put on an old gown and a tawdry hat---- (_Turns to_ LADY
JOHN.) You'll never know how many things are hidden from a woman in
good clothes. The bold, free look of a man at a woman he believes
to be destitute--you must _feel_ that look on you before you can
understand--a good half of history.
MRS. H. (_rises_). Jean!----
JEAN. But where did you go--dressed like that?
MISS L. Down among the homeless women--on a wet night looking for
shelter.
LADY JOHN (_hastily_). No wonder you've been ill.
JEAN (_under breath_). And it's like that?
MISS L. No.
JEAN. No?
MISS L. It's so much worse I dare not tell about it--even if you
weren't here I couldn't.
MRS. H. (_to_ JEAN). You needn't suppose, darling, that those wretched
creatures feel it as we would.
MISS L. The girls who need shelter and work aren't all serving-maids.
MRS. H. (_with an involuntary flash_). We know that all the women
who--_make mistakes_ aren't.
MISS L. (_steadily_). That is why every woman ought to take an interest
in this--every girl too.
JEAN Yes--oh, yes!
(_simultaneously_)
LADY JOHN No. This is a matter for us older----
MRS. H. (_with an air of sly challenge_). Or for a person who has some
special knowledge. (_Significantly._) _We_ can't pretend to have access
to such sources of information as Miss Levering.
MISS L. (_meeting_ MRS. HERIOT'S _eye steadily_). Yes, for I can give
you access. As you seem to think, I have some first-hand knowledge
about homeless girls.
LADY JOHN (_cheerfully turning it aside_). Well, my dear, it will all
come in convenient. (_Tapping the plan._)
MISS L. It once happened to me to take offence at an ugly thing
that was going on under my father's roof. Oh, _years_ ago! I was an
impulsive girl. I turned my back on my father's house----
LADY JOHN (_for_ JEAN'S _benefit_). That was ill-advised.
MRS. H. Of course, if a girl does _that_----
MISS L. That was what all my relations said (_with a glance at_ JEAN),
and I couldn't explain.
JEAN. Not to your mother?
MISS L. She was dead. I went to London to a small hotel and tried to
find employment. I wandered about all day and every day from agency to
agency. I was supposed to be educated. I'd been brought up partly in
Paris; I could play several instruments, and sing little songs in four
different tongues. (_Slight pause._)
JEAN. Did nobody want you to teach French or sing the little songs?
MISS L. The heads of schools thought me too young. There were people
ready to listen to my singing, but the terms--they were too hard. Soon
my money was gone. I began to pawn my trinkets. _They_ went.
JEAN. And still no work?
MISS L. No; but by that time I had some real education--an unpaid hotel
bill, and not a shilling in the world. (_Slight pause._) Some girls
think it hardship to have to earn their living. The horror is not to be
allowed to----
JEAN. (_bending forward_). What happened?
LADY JOHN (_rises_). My dear (_to_ MISS LEVERING), have your things
been sent down? Are you quite ready?
MISS L. Yes, all but my hat.
JEAN. Well?
MISS L. Well, by chance I met a friend of my family.
JEAN. That was lucky.
MISS L. I thought so. He was nearly ten years older than I. He said he
wanted to help me. (_Pause._)
JEAN. And didn't he?
(LADY JOHN _lays her hand on_ MISS LEVERING'S _shoulder._)
MISS L. Perhaps after all he did. (_With sudden change of tone._) Why
do I waste time over myself? I belonged to the little class of armed
women. My body wasn't born weak, and my spirit wasn't broken by the
_habit_ of slavery. But, as Mrs. Heriot was kind enough to hint, I
do know something about the possible fate of homeless girls. I found
there were pleasant parks, museums, free libraries in our great rich
London--and not one single place where destitute women can be sure of
work that isn't killing or food that isn't worse than prison fare.
That's why women ought not to sleep o' nights till this Shelter stands
spreading out wide arms.
JEAN. No, no----
MRS. H. (_gathering up her gloves, fan, prayer-book, &c._). Even when
it's built--you'll see! Many of those creatures will prefer the life
they lead. They _like_ it.
MISS L. A woman told me--one of the sort that knows--told me many of
them "like it" so much that they are indifferent to the risk of being
sent to prison. "_It gives them a rest_," she said.
LADY JOHN. A rest!
(MISS LEVERING _glances at the clock as she rises to go upstairs._)
(LADY JOHN _and_ MRS. HERIOT _bend their heads over the plan,
covertly talking._)
JEAN (_intercepting_ MISS LEVERING). I want to begin to understand
something of--I'm horribly ignorant.
MISS L. (_Looks at her searchingly_). I'm a rather busy person----
JEAN. (_interrupting_). I have a quite special reason for wanting _not_
to be ignorant. (_Impulsively_). I'll go to town to-morrow, if you'll
come and lunch with me.
MISS L. Thank you--I (_catches_ MRS. HERIOT'S _eye_)--I must go and put
my hat on.
[_Exit upstairs._
MRS. H. (_aside_). How little she minds all these horrors!
LADY JOHN. They turn me cold. Ugh! (_Rising, harassed._) I wonder if
she's signed the visitors' book!
MRS. H. For all her Shelter schemes, she's a hard woman.
JEAN. Miss Levering is?
MRS. H. Oh, of course _you_ won't think so. She has angled very
adroitly for your sympathy.
JEAN. She doesn't look hard.
LADY JOHN (_glancing at_ JEAN _and taking alarm_). I'm not sure but
what she does. Her mouth--always like this ... as if she were holding
back something by main force!
MRS. H. (_half under her breath_). Well, so she is.
[_Exit_ LADY JOHN _into the lobby to look at the visitors' book._
JEAN. Why haven't I seen her before?
MRS. H. Oh, she's lived abroad. (_Debating with herself._) You don't
know about her, I suppose?
JEAN. I don't know how Aunt Ellen came to know her.
MRS. H. That was my doing. But I didn't bargain for her being
introduced to you.
JEAN. She seems to go everywhere. And why shouldn't she?
MRS. H. (_quickly_). You mustn't ask her to Eaton Square.
JEAN. I have.
MRS. H. Then you'll have to get out of it.
JEAN (_with a stubborn look_). I must have a reason. And a very good
reason.
MRS. H. Well, it's not a thing I should have preferred to tell you, but
I know how difficult you are to guide ... so I suppose you'll have to
know. (_Lowering her voice._) It was ten or twelve years ago. I found
her horribly ill in a lonely Welsh farmhouse. We had taken the Manor
for that August. The farmer's wife was frightened, and begged me to go
and see what I thought. I soon saw how it was--I thought she was dying.
JEAN. _Dying!_ What was the----
MRS. H. I got no more out of her than the farmer's wife did. She had
had no letters. There had been no one to see her except a man down
from London, a shady-looking doctor--nameless, of course. And then
this result. The farmer and his wife, highly respectable people, were
incensed. They were for turning the girl out.
JEAN. _Oh!_ but----
MRS. H. Yes. Pitiless some of these people are! I insisted they
should treat the girl humanely, and we became friends ... that is,
"sort of." In spite of all I did for her----
JEAN. What did you do?
MRS. H. I--I've told you, and I lent her money. No small sum either.
JEAN. Has she never paid it back?
MRS. H. Oh, yes, after a time. But I _always_ kept her secret--as much
as I knew of it.
JEAN. But you've been telling me!
MRS. H. That was my duty--and I _never_ had her full confidence.
JEAN. Wasn't it natural she----
MRS. H. Well, all things considered, she might have wanted to tell me
who was responsible.
JEAN. Oh! Aunt Lydia!
MRS. H. All she ever said was that she was ashamed--(_losing her temper
and her fine feeling for the innocence of her auditor_)--ashamed that
she "hadn't had the courage to resist"--not the original temptation but
the pressure brought to bear on her "not to go through with it," as she
said.
JEAN (_wrinkling her brows_). You are being so delicate--I'm not sure I
understand.
MRS. H. (_irritably_). The only thing you need understand is that she's
not a desirable companion for a young girl.
(_Pause._)
JEAN. When did you see her after--after----
MRS. H. (_with a slight grimace_). I met her last winter at the
Bishop's. (_Hurriedly._) She's a connection of his wife's. They'd got
her to help with some of their work. Then she took hold of ours. Your
aunt and uncle are quite foolish about her, and I'm debarred from
taking any steps, at least till the Shelter is out of hand.
JEAN. I do rather wonder she can bring herself to talk about--the
unfortunate women of the world.
MRS. H. The effrontery of it!
JEAN. Or ... the courage! (_Puts her hand up to her throat as if the
sentence had caught there._)
MRS. H. Even presumes to set _me_ right! Of course I don't _mind_
in the least, poor soul ... but I feel I owe it to your dead mother
to tell you about her, especially as you're old enough now to know
something about life----
JEAN (_slowly_).--and since a girl needn't be very old to suffer for her
ignorance. (_Moves a little away._) I _felt_ she was rather wonderful.
MRS. H. _Wonderful!_
JEAN (_pausing_). ... To have lived through _that_ when she was ... how
old?
MRS. H. (_rising_). Oh, nineteen or thereabouts.
JEAN. Five years younger than I. To be abandoned and to come out of it
like this!
MRS. H. (_laying her hand on the girl's shoulder_). It was too bad to
have to tell you such a sordid story to-day of all days.
JEAN. It is a very terrible story, but this wasn't a bad time. I feel
very sorry to-day for women who aren't happy.
(_Motor horn heard faintly._)
(_Jumping up._) That's Geoffrey!
MRS. H. Mr. Stonor! What makes you think...?
JEAN. Yes, yes. I'm sure, I'm sure----
(_Checks herself as she is flying off. Turns and sees_ LORD JOHN
_entering from the garden._)
(_Motor horn louder._)
LORD J. Who do you think is motoring up the drive?
JEAN (_catching hold of him_). Oh, dear! how am I ever going to be able
to behave like a girl who isn't engaged to the only man in the world
worth marrying?
MRS. H. You were expecting Mr. Stonor all the time!
JEAN. He promised he'd come to luncheon if it was humanly possible; but
I was afraid to tell you for fear he'd be prevented.
LORD J. (_laughing as he crosses to the lobby_). You felt we couldn't
have borne the disappointment.
JEAN. I felt I couldn't.
(_The lobby door opens._ LADY JOHN _appears radiant, followed by
a tall figure in a dust-coat, &c., no goggles. He has straight,
firm features, a little blunt; fair skin, high-coloured; fine,
straight hair, very fair; grey eyes, set somewhat prominently
and heavy when not interested; lips full, but firmly moulded._
GEOFFREY STONOR _is heavier than a man of forty should be, but
otherwise in the pink of physical condition. The_ FOOTMAN _stands
waiting to help him off with his motor coat._)
LADY JOHN. Here's an agreeable surprise!
(JEAN _has gone forward only a step, and stands smiling at the
approaching figure._)
LORD J. How do you do? (_As he comes between them and briskly shakes
hands with_ STONOR.)
(FARNBOROUGH _appears at the French window_.)
FARN. Yes, by Jove! (_Turning to the others clustered round the
window._) What gigantic luck!
(_Those outside crane and glance, and then elaborately turn their
backs and pretend to be talking among themselves, but betray as
far as manners permit the enormous sensation the arrival has
created._)
STONOR. How do you do?
(_Shakes hands with_ MRS. HERIOT, _who has rushed up to him with
both hers outstretched. He crosses to_ JEAN, _who meets him half
way; they shake hands, smiling into each other's eyes._)
JEAN. Such a long time since we met!
LORD J. (_to_ STONOR). You're growing very enterprising. I could hardly
believe my ears when I heard you'd motored all the way from town to see
a supporter on Sunday.
STONOR. I don't know how we covered the ground in the old days. (_To_
LADY JOHN.) It's no use to stand for your borough any more. The
American, you know, he "runs" for Congress. By and by we shall all be
flying after the thing we want.
(_Smiles at_ JEAN.)
JEAN. Sh! (_Smiles and then glances over her shoulder and speaks low._)
All sorts of irrelevant people here.
FARN. (_unable to resist the temptation, comes forward_). How do you
do, Mr. Stonor?
STONOR. Oh--how d'you do.
FARN. Some of them were arguing in the smoking-room last night whether
it didn't hurt a man's chances going about in a motor.
LORD J. Yes, we've been hearing a lot of stories about the unpopularity
of motor-cars--among the class that hasn't got 'em, of course. What do
you say?
LADY JOHN. I'm sure you gain more votes by being able to reach so many
more of your constituency than we used----
STONOR. Well, I don't know--I've sometimes wondered whether the charm
of our presence wasn't counterbalanced by the way we tear about
smothering our fellow-beings in dust and running down their pigs and
chickens, not to speak of their children.
LORD J. (_anxiously_). What on the whole are the prospects?
(FARNBOROUGH _cranes forward_.)
STONOR (_gravely_). We shall have to work harder than we realised.
FARN. Ah!
(_Retires towards group._)
JEAN (_in a half-aside as she slips her arm in her uncle's and smiles
at_ GEOFFREY). He says he believes I'll be able to make a real
difference to his chances. Isn't it angelic of him?
STONOR (_in a jocular tone_). Angelic? Macchiavelian. I pin all my
hopes on your being able to counteract the pernicious influence of my
opponent's glib wife.
JEAN. You want me to have a _real_ share in it all, don't you,
Geoffrey?
STONOR (_smiling into her eyes_). Of course I do.
(FARNBOROUGH _drops down again on pretence of talking to_ MRS.
HERIOT.)
LORD J. I don't gather you're altogether sanguine. Any complication?
(JEAN _and_ LADY JOHN _stand close together_ (C.), _the girl
radiant, following_ STONOR _with her eyes and whispering to the
sympathetic elder woman._)
STONOR. Well (_taking Sunday paper out of pocket_), there's this
agitation about the Woman Question. Oddly enough, it seems likely to
affect the issue.
LORD J. Why should it? Can't you do what the other four hundred have
done?
STONOR (_laughs_). Easily. But, you see, the mere fact that four
hundred and twenty members have been worried into promising
support--and then once in the House have let the matter severely
alone----
LORD J. (_to_ STONOR). Let it alone! Bless my soul, I should think so
indeed.
STONOR. Of course. Only it's a device that's somewhat worn.
(_Enter_ MISS LEVERING, _with hat on; gloves and veil in her hand._)
LORD J. Still if they think they're getting a future Cabinet Minister
on their side----
STONOR. ... it will be sufficiently embarrassing for the Cabinet
Minister.
(STONOR _turns to speak to_ JEAN. _Stops dead seeing_ MISS
LEVERING.)
JEAN (_smiling_). You know one another?
MISS L. (_looking at_ STONOR _with intentness but quite calmly_).
Everybody in this part of the world knows Mr. Stonor, but he doesn't
know me.
LORD J. Miss Levering.
(_They bow._)
(_Enter_ GREATOREX, _sidling in with an air of giving_ MRS. FREDDY
_a wide berth._)
JEAN (_to_ MISS LEVERING _with artless enthusiasm_). Oh, have you been
hearing him speak?
MISS L. Yes, I was visiting some relations near Dutfield. They took me
to hear you.
STONOR. Oh--the night the Suffragettes made their customary row.
MISS L. The night they asked you----
STONOR (_flying at the first chance of distraction, shakes hands with_
MRS. FREDDY). Well, Mrs. Freddy, what do you think of your friends now?
MRS. F. My friends?
STONOR (_offering her the Sunday paper_). Yes, the disorderly women.
MRS. F. (_with dignity_). They are not my friends, but I don't think
you must call them----
STONOR. Why not? (_Laughs._) I can forgive them for worrying the late
Government. But they _are_ disorderly.
MISS L. (_quietly_). Isn't the phrase consecrated to a different class?
GREAT. (_who has got hold of the Sunday paper_). He's perfectly right.
How do you do? Disorderly women! That's what they are!
FARN. (_reading over his shoulder_). Ought to be locked up! every one
of 'em.
GREAT. (_assenting angrily_). Public nuisances! Going about with dog
whips and spitting in policemen's faces.
MRS. F. (_with a harassed air_). I wonder if they did spit?
GREAT. (_exulting_). Of _course_ they did.
MRS. F. (_turns on him_). You're no authority on what they do. _You_
run away.
GREAT. (_trying to turn the laugh_). Run away? Yes. (_Backing a few
paces._) And if ever I muster up courage to come back, it will be to
vote for better manners in public life, not worse than we have already.
MRS. F. (_meekly_). So should I. Don't think that _I_ defend the
Suffragette methods.
JEAN. (_with cheerful curiosity_). Still, you _are_ an advocate of the
Suffrage, aren't you?
MRS. F. _Here?_ (_Shrugs._) I don't beat the air.
GREAT. (_mocking_). Only policemen.
MRS. F. (_plaintively_). If you cared to know the attitude of the real
workers in the reform, you might have noticed in any paper last week
we lost no time in dissociating ourselves from the little group of
hysterical---- (_Catches her husband's eye, and instantly checks her
flow of words._)
MRS. H. They have lowered the whole sex in the eyes of the entire world.
JEAN (_joining_ GEOFFREY STONOR). I can't quite see what they
want--those Suffragettes.
GREAT. Notoriety.
FARN. What they want? A good thrashin'--that's what I'd give 'em.
MISS L. (_murmurs_). Spirited fellow!
LORD J. Well, there's one sure thing--they've dished their goose.
(GREATOREX _chuckles, still reading the account._)
I believe these silly scenes are a pure joy to you.
GREAT. Final death-blow to the whole silly business!
JEAN (_mystified, looking from one to the other_). The Suffragettes
don't seem to _know_ they're dead.
GREAT. They still keep up a sort of death-rattle. But they've done for
themselves.
JEAN (_clasping her hands with fervour_). Oh, I hope they'll last till
the election's over.
FARN. (_stares_). Why?
JEAN. Oh, we want them to get the working man to--(_stumbling and a
little confused_)--to vote for ... the Conservative candidate. Isn't
that so?
(_Looking round for help. General laughter._)
LORD J. Fancy, Jean----!
GREAT. The working man's a good deal of an ass, but even he won't
listen to----
JEAN (_again appealing to the silent_ STONOR). But he _does_ listen
like anything! I asked why there were so few at the Long Mitcham
meeting, and I was told, "Oh, they've all gone to hear Miss----"
STONOR. Just for a lark, that was.
LORD J. It has no real effect on the vote.
GREAT. Not the smallest.
JEAN (_wide-eyed, to_ STONOR). Why, I thought you said----
STONOR (_hastily, rubbing his hand over the lower part of his face and
speaking quickly_). I've a notion a little soap and water wouldn't do
me any harm.
LORD J. I'll take you up. You know Freddy Tunbridge.
(STONOR _pauses to shake hands. Exeunt all three._)
JEAN (_perplexed, as_ STONOR _turns away, says to_ GREATOREX). Well,
if women are of no importance in politics, it isn't for the reason you
gave. There is now and then a week-ender among them.
GREAT. (_shuffles about uneasily_). Hm--Hm. (_Finds himself near_ MRS.
FREDDY.) Lord! The perils that beset the feet of man!
(_With an air of comic caution, moves away_, L.)
JEAN (_to_ FARNBOROUGH, _aside, laughing_). Why does he behave like
that?
FARN. His moral sense is shocked.
JEAN. Why, I saw him and Mrs. Freddy together at the French Play the
other night--as thick as thieves.
MISS L. Ah, that was before he knew her revolting views.
JEAN. What revolting views?
GREAT. Sh! Sunday.
(_As_ GREATOREX _sidles cautiously further away._)
JEAN (_laughing in spite of herself_). I can't believe women are so
helpless when I see men so afraid of them.
GREAT. The great mistake was in teaching them to read and write.
JEAN (_over_ MISS LEVERING'S _shoulder, whispers_). _Say_ something.
MISS L. (_to_ GREATOREX, _smiling_). Oh no, that wasn't the worst
mistake.
GREAT. Yes, it was.
MISS L. No. Believe me. The mistake was in letting women learn to talk.
GREAT. _Ah!_ (_Wheels about with sudden rapture._) I see now what's to
be the next great reform.
MISS L. (_holding up the little volume_). When women are all dumb, no
more discussions of the "Paradiso."
GREAT. (_with a gesture of mock rapture_). The thing itself! (_Aside._)
That's a great deal better than talking about it, as I'm sure _you_
know.
MISS L. Why do you think I know?
GREAT. Only the plain women are in any doubt.
(JEAN _joins_ MISS LEVERING.)
GREAT. Wait for me, Farnborough. I cannot go about unprotected.
[_Exeunt_ FARNBOROUGH _and_ GREATOREX.
MRS. F. It's true what that old cynic says. The scene in the House has
put back the reform a generation.
JEAN. I wish 'd been there.
MRS. F. I _was_.
JEAN. Oh, was it like the papers said?
MRS. F. Worse. I've never been so moved in public. No tragedy, no great
opera ever gripped an audience as the situation in the House did that
night. There we all sat breathless--with everything more favourable to
us than it had been within the memory of women. Another five minutes
and the Resolution would have passed. Then ... all in a moment----
LADY JOHN (_to_ MRS. HERIOT). Listen--they're talking about the female
hooligans.
MRS. H. No, thank you! (_Sits apart with the "Church Times."_)
MRS. F. (_excitedly_). All in a moment a horrible dingy
little flag was poked through the grille of the Woman's
Gallery--cries--insults--scuffling--the police--the ignominious turning
out of the women--_us_ as well as the---- Oh, I can't _think_ of it
without----
(_Jumps up and walks to and fro._)
(_Pauses._) Then the next morning! The people gloating. Our friends
antagonised--people who were wavering--nearly won over--all thrown
back--heart breaking! Even my husband! Freddy's been an angel about
letting me take my share when I felt I must--but of course I've always
known he doesn't really like it. It makes him shy. I'm sure it gives
him a horrid twist inside when he sees my name among the speakers on
the placards. But he's always been an angel about it before this. After
the disgraceful scene he said, "It just shows how unfit women are for
any sort of coherent thinking or concerted action."
JEAN. To think that it should be women who've given the Cause the worst
blow it ever had!
MRS. F. The work of forty years destroyed in five minutes!
JEAN. They must have felt pretty sick when they woke up the next
morning--the Suffragettes.
MRS. F. I don't waste any sympathy on _them_. I'm thinking of the
penalty _all_ women have to pay because a handful of hysterical----
JEAN. Still I think I'm sorry for them. It must be dreadful to find
you've done such a lot of harm to the thing you care most about in the
world.
MISS L. Do you picture the Suffragettes sitting in sackcloth?
MRS. F. Well, they can't help realising _now_ what they've done.
MISS L. (_quietly_). Isn't it just possible they realise they've waked
up interest in the Woman Question so that it's advertised in every
paper and discussed in every house from Land's End to John o'Groats?
Don't you think _they_ know there's been more said and written about it
in these ten days since the scene, than in the ten years before it?
MRS. F. You aren't saying you think it was a good way to get what they
wanted?
MISS L. (_shrugs_). I'm only pointing out that it seems not such a bad
way to get it known they _do_ want something--and (_smiling_) "want it
bad."
JEAN (_getting up_). Didn't Mr. Greatorex say women had been politely
petitioning Parliament for forty years?
MISS L. And men have only laughed.
JEAN. But they'd come round. (_She looks from one to the other._) Mrs.
Tunbridge says, before that horrid scene, everything was favourable at
last.
MISS L. At last? Hadn't it been just as "favourable" before?
MRS. F. No. We'd never had so many members pledged to our side.
MISS L. I thought I'd heard somebody say the Bill had got as far as
that, time and time again.
JEAN. Oh no. Surely not----
MRS. F. (_reluctantly_). Y-yes. This was only a Resolution. The Bill
passed a second reading thirty-seven years ago.
JEAN (_with wide eyes_). And what difference did it make?
MISS L. The men laughed rather louder.
MRS. F. Oh, it's got as far as a second reading several times--but we
never had so many friends in the House before----
MISS L. (_with a faint smile_). "Friends!"
JEAN. Why do you say it like that?
MISS L. Perhaps because I was thinking of a funny story--he said it
was funny--a Liberal Whip told me the other day. A Radical Member went
out of the House after his speech in favour of the Woman's Bill, and
as he came back half an hour later, he heard some Members talking in
the Lobby about the astonishing number who were going to vote for the
measure. And the Friend of Woman dropped his jaw and clutched the man
next him: "My God!" he said, "you don't mean to say they're going to
give it to them!"
JEAN. Oh!
MRS. F. You don't think all men in Parliament are like that!
MISS L. I don't think all men are burglars, but I lock my doors.
JEAN (_below her breath_). You think that night of the scene--you think
the men didn't _mean_ to play fair?
MISS L. (_her coolness in contrast to the excitement of the others_).
Didn't the women sit quiet till ten minutes to closing time?
JEAN. Ten minutes to settle a question like that!
MISS L. (_quietly to_ MRS. FREDDY). Couldn't you see the men were at
their old game?
LADY JOHN (_coming forward_). You think they were just putting off the
issue till it was too late?
MISS L. (_in a detached tone_). _I_ wasn't there, but I haven't heard
anybody deny that the women waited till ten minutes to eleven. Then
they discovered the policeman who'd been sent up at the psychological
moment to the back of the gallery. Then, I'm told, when the women saw
they were betrayed once more, they utilised the few minutes left, to
impress on the country at large the fact of their demands--did it in
the only way left them.
(_Sits leaning forward reflectively smiling, chin in hand._)
It does rather look to the outsider as if the well-behaved women had
worked for forty years and made less impression on the world then those
fiery young women made in five minutes.
MRS. F. Oh, come, be fair!
MISS L. Well, you must admit that, next day, every newspaper reader
in Europe and America knew there were women in England in such dead
earnest about the Suffrage that the men had stopped laughing at last,
and turned them out of the House. Men even advertised how little they
appreciated the fun by sending the women to gaol in pretty sober
earnest. And all the world was talking about it.
(MRS. HERIOT _lays down the "Church Times" and joins the others._)
LADY JOHN. I have noticed, whenever the men aren't there, the women sit
and discuss that scene.
JEAN (_cheerfully_). _I_ shan't have to wait till the men are gone.
(_Leans over_ LADY JOHN'S _shoulder and says half aside_) He's in
sympathy.
LADY JOHN. How do you know?
JEAN. He told the interrupting women so.
(MRS. FREDDY _looks mystified. The others smile._)
LADY JOHN. Oh!
(MR. FREDDY _and_ LORD JOHN _appear by the door they went out of.
They stop to talk._)
MRS. F. Here's Freddy! (_Lower, hastily to_ MISS LEVERING.) You're
judging from the outside. Those of us who have been working for years
... we all realise it was a perfectly lunatic proceeding. Why, _think_!
The only chance of our getting what we want is by _winning over_ the
men.
(_Her watchful eye, leaving her husband for a moment, catches_ MISS
LEVERING'S _little involuntary gesture._)
What's the matter?
MISS L. "Winning over the men" has been the woman's way for centuries.
Do you think the result should make us proud of our policy? Yes? Then
go and walk in Piccadilly at midnight.
(_The older women glance at_ JEAN.)
No, I forgot----
MRS. H. (_with majesty_). Yes, it's not the first time you've forgotten.
MISS L. I forgot the magistrate's ruling. He said no decent woman had
any business to be in London's main thoroughfare at night unless she
has _a man with her_. I heard that in Nine Elms, too. "You're obliged
to take up with a chap!" was what the woman said.
MRS. H. (_rising_). JEAN! Come!
(_She takes_ JEAN _by her arm and draws her to the window, where
she signals_ GREATOREX _and_ FARNBOROUGH. MRS. FREDDY _joins her
husband and_ LORD JOHN.)
LADY JOHN (_kindly, aside to_ MISS LEVERING). My dear, I think Lydia
Heriot's right. We oughtn't to do anything or _say_ anything to
encourage this ferment of feminism, and I'll tell you why: it's likely
to bring a very terrible thing in its train.
MISS L. What terrible thing?
LADY JOHN. Sex antagonism.
MISS L. (_rising_). It's here.
LADY JOHN (_very gravely_). Don't say that.
(JEAN _has quietly disengaged herself from_ MRS. HERIOT, _and
the group at the window returns and stands behind_ LADY JOHN,
_looking up into_ MISS LEVERINGS'S _face._)
MISS L. (_to_ LADY JOHN). You're so conscious it's here, you're afraid
to have it mentioned.
LADY JOHN (_turning and seeing_ JEAN. _Rising hastily_). If it's here,
it is the fault of those women agitators.
MISS L. (_gently_). No woman _begins_ that way. (_Leans forward with
clasped hands looking into vacancy._) Every woman's in a state of
natural subjection (_smiles at_ JEAN)--no, I'd rather say allegiance to
her idea of romance and her hope of motherhood. They're embodied for
her in man. They're the strongest things in life--till man kills them.
(_Rousing herself and looking into_ LADY JOHN'S _face._)
Let's be fair. Each woman knows why that allegiance died.
(LADY JOHN _turns hastily, sees_ LORD JOHN _coming down with_ MR.
FREDDY _and meets them at the foot of the stairs._ MISS LEVERING
_has turned to the table looking for her gloves, &c., among the
papers; unconsciously drops the handkerchief she had in her
little book._)
JEAN (_in a low voice to_ MISS LEVERING). All this talk against the
wicked Suffragettes--it makes me want to go and hear what they've got
to say for themselves.
MISS L. (_smiling with a non-committal air as she finds the veil she's
been searching for_). Well, they're holding a meeting in Trafalgar
Square at three o'clock.
JEAN. This afternoon? But that's no use to people out of town----
Unless I could invent some excuse....
LORD J. (_benevolently_). Still talking over the Shelter plans?
MISS L. No. We left the Shelter some time ago.
LORD J. (_to_ JEAN). Then what's all the chatterment about?
(JEAN, _a little confused, looks at_ MISS LEVERING.)
MISS L. The latest thing in veils. (_Ties hers round her hat._)
GREAT. The invincible frivolity of woman!
LORD J. (_genially_). Don't scold them. It's a very proper topic.
MISS L. (_whimsically_). Oh, I was afraid you'd despise us for it.
BOTH MEN (_with condescension_). Not at all--not at all.
JEAN (_to_ MISS LEVERING _as_ FOOTMAN _appears_). Oh, they're coming
for you. Don't forget your book.
(FOOTMAN _holds out a salver with a telegram on it for_ JEAN.)
Why, it's for me!
MISS L. But it's time I was----
(_Crosses to table._)
JEAN (_opening the telegram_). May I? (_Reads, and glances over the
paper at_ MISS LEVERING.) I've got your book. (_Crosses to_ MISS
LEVERING, _and, looking at the back of the volume_) Dante! Whereabouts
are you? (_Opening at the marker._) Oh, the "Inferno."
MISS L. No; I'm in a worse place.
JEAN. I didn't know there was a worse.
MISS L. Yes; it's worse with the Vigliacchi.
JEAN. I forget. Were they Guelf or Ghibelline?
MISS L. (_smiling_). They weren't either, and that was why Dante
couldn't stand them. (_More gravely._) He said there was no place in
Heaven nor in Purgatory--not even a corner in Hell--for the souls who
had stood aloof from strife. (_Looking steadily into the girl's eyes._)
He called them "wretches who never lived," Dante did, because they'd
never felt the pangs of partizanship. And so they wander homeless on
the skirts of limbo among the abortions and off-scourings of Creation.
JEAN (_a long breath after a long look. When_ MISS LEVERING _has turned
away to make her leisurely adieux_ JEAN'S _eyes fall on the open
telegram_). Aunt Ellen, I've got to go to London.
(STONOR, _re-entering, hears this, but pretends to talk to_ MR.
FREDDY, _&c._)
LADY JOHN. My dear child!
MRS. H. Nonsense! Is your grandfather worse?
JEAN (_folding the telegram_). No-o. I don't think so. But it's
necessary I should go, all the same.
MRS. H. Go away when Mr. Stonor----
JEAN. He said he'd have to leave directly after luncheon.
LADY JOHN. I'll just see Miss Levering off, and then I'll come back and
talk about it.
LORD J. (_to_ MISS LEVERING). Why are you saying goodbye as if you were
never coming back?
MISS L. (_smiling_). One never knows. Maybe I shan't come back. (_To_
STONOR.) Goodbye.
(STONOR _bows ceremoniously. The others go up laughing._ STONOR
_comes down_.)
JEAN (_impulsively_). There mayn't be another train! Miss Levering----
STONOR (_standing in front of her_). What if there isn't? I'll take you
back in the motor.
JEAN (_rapturously_). _Will_ you? (_Inadvertently drops the telegram._)
I must be there by three!
STONOR (_picks up the telegram and a handkerchief lying near, glances
at the message_). Why, it's only an invitation to dine--Wednesday!
JEAN. Sh! (_Takes the telegram and puts it in her pocket._)
STONOR. Oh, I see! (_Lower, smiling._) It's rather dear of you to
arrange our going off like that. You _are_ a clever little girl!
JEAN. It's not that I was arranging. I want to hear those women in
Trafalgar Square--the Suffragettes.
STONOR (_incredulous, but smiling_). How perfectly absurd! (_Looking
after_ LADY JOHN.) Besides, I expect she wouldn't like my carrying you
off like that.
JEAN. Then she'll have to make an excuse and come too.
STONOR. Ah, it wouldn't be quite the same----
JEAN (_rapidly thinking it out_). We could get back here in time for
dinner.
(GEOFFREY STONOR _glances down at the handkerchief still in his
hand, and turns it half mechanically from corner to corner._)
JEAN (_absent-mindedly_). Mine?
STONOR (_hastily, without reflection_). No. (_Hands it to_ MISS
LEVERING _as she passes._) Yours.
(MISS LEVERING, _on her way to the lobby with_ LORD JOHN _seems not
to notice._)
JEAN (_takes the handkerchief to give to her, glancing down at the
embroidered corner; stops_). But that's not an L! It's Vi----!
(GEOFFREY STONOR _suddenly turns his back and takes up the
newspaper._)
LADY JOHN (_from the lobby_). Come, Vida, since you will go.
MISS L. Yes; I'm coming.
[_Exit_ MISS LEVERING.
JEAN. _I_ didn't know her name was Vida; how did you?
(STONOR _stares silently over the top of his paper_.)
CURTAIN.