ACT II

SCENE.—_Same room, and same arrangement, except that tea-table is up

back to r., and the easy-chair l. is down centre._ MRS. W. _sits

chair c. sewing._ ROSE _sits on arm of easy-chair r._ AMY _walking

up and down at back._ HELEN _sits chair r. of fireplace._

_Amy (restlessly)._ I am so excited I can’t keep still. If Jack hadn’t

telegraphed when he did, I could never have survived the nervous

strain—but weren’t the men’s faces lovely when you read the despatch at

luncheon! Sly dogs!

_Helen._ I hope it will take the boys so long to clear the snow off

Silverspoon that we can have your cousin alone for a few minutes.

_Rose._ No such luck as that! Our evening’s skating will hardly weigh

with them, compared to the danger of our greeting the supposed Mr.

Parker without their moral support to carry him through.

_Helen._ I almost wish it were Mr. Parker instead of Mr. Williams who is

coming. How we could torture them all by awkward questions!

_Rose._ I don’t think I ever appreciated before how deliciously the

Indian must feel when he takes his enemy’s scalp.

_Mrs. W._ Why, you blood-thirsty little wretch!

_Helen._ Mama, we must make our arrangements so that they will have no

chance to interview him this evening. Then, to-morrow, we will either

fully coach him, or let them find out the trick—according to our wishes.

_Mrs. W._ Let me see,—I will meet him at the front door; the moment the

carriage drives up—

_Helen._ Yes, and you must bring him in here to tea. We won’t let him go

till the bell rings for dressing. Then we will all see him upstairs.

_Mrs. W._ But you can’t watch him after he is once in his room, and any

of the men can go to him.

_Rose._ “Not if the court understand himself, and he thinks he do.” We

will spell each other, so that one of us shall sit in the upper hall

till Mr. Williams comes downstairs. The boys would never dare to run

such a battery without a better excuse than they can invent for going to

the room of an entire stranger.

_Mrs. W._ That makes it safe till we leave them to their cigars.

_Helen (coming down, and sitting on the arm of Mrs. W.’s chair)._ Mama,

you will have to tell the boys that for a particular reason, cause

unspecified, you want to let the servants clear the dining-room early,

so as to set them free. Tell them to smoke in the library; we will sit

with them and put up with the smoke for once.

_Rose._ That will do, and you must break up the party at our usual

bed-time with the excuse that Lord Ferrol, after his journey, will want

to retire early. Take no denial, and we will escort him upstairs. Then

we girls will sit on the divan in the hall and gossip till we feel sure

that all is safe.

_Amy._ And we’ll write a note making an early appointment with him in

the valley summer-house; and then—(_Sounds of laughter outside._) Hush!

_Enter_ GEORGE, STEVEN, _and_ DENNIS, _r. d., and cross over to

fireplace, where they stand and warm their hands._

_Mrs. W._ Ah, what a breath of winter freshness you bring in with you!

_Steven._ It is a simply glorious afternoon. How you girls could stay

indoors and roast over a fire is a puzzle to me!

_Dennis._ You forget, Steve, that telegram which came at luncheon. They

were afraid they might lose a few moments of his society!

_George._ If his ludship isn’t afraid of a little frost, we will show

him how to spend an evening on the ice.

_Dennis._ I’ll bet a box of chocolates that he doesn’t know how to

skate. (_Aside to men._) They don’t have ice in Southern California.

_Amy._ Ten pounds and taken. (_Aside to girls._) Jack is a superb

skater!

_Steven._ Two to one that Dennis wins.

_Rose._ I suppose you think you are betting on a certainty, so I shall

take you up, just to make you feel ashamed when I lose.

_Steven._ Mrs. Wycherly, can’t we have our tea without waiting for his

giblets? I am simply famished!

_Helen (crossing to l.)._ I wonder if men ever really think of anything

besides eating.

_George._ If you think that clearing the drifts off that lake is a light

and ornamental position under the government, try it.

_Mrs. W. (rising and reseating herself at desk chair r.)._ Well, Helen,

you may make it now, only save a cup for Lord Ferrol.

[GEORGE _pulls easy-chair c. back to r., while_ DENNIS _and_ STEVEN

_bring tea-table to former position by chair._ ROSE _exits l. d._

_Helen (coming to tea-table and holding cup up)._ Lord Ferrol’s cup.

_Steven._ Oh, no!

_Dennis._ Never!

[_They try to obtain possession of it._

_Helen (going round table and sitting, still holding cup)._ Not for you.

_Enter_ ROSE _with hot water pot. Men return to fireplace._ AMY _sits

easy-chair l. of tea-table._

_Rose (rubbing teapot against Dennis’s hand as she passes)._ Hot water.

_Dennis (jumping and looking at his hand)._ Not the least doubt of it.

_Helen._ Make the most of it, boys: it’s the last time our tea will be

sweet to you!

_Dennis._ Why is Helen like a “P. & O.” steamer?

_Helen (indignantly)._ I’m not!

_Steven._ Because she’s steaming the tea?

_Dennis._ No.

_Amy._ Don’t keep us in suspense.

_Steven._ Because she’s full of tease.

_George._ You make me tired.

_Steven._ Is that why you sat down so often on the ice?

_Helen._ Isn’t that just like George,—sitting round, while the rest do

the work.

_George._ If you think there’s any particular pleasure in sitting in a

snowdrift, there’s one outside, right against the verandah.

_Steven._ That would never do at present. It might result in a cold, and

so destroy our little plan of winning the maiden affections of—well, I

won’t give him a name till I have seen him!

_Helen._ It is hard to put up with foreign titles, but as long as our

government will not protect that industry, the home product is so rude,

_boorish_, VULGAR, and YOUNG, that we cannot help—

_Rose (interrupting)._ Listen! (_Pause._) There’s the carriage.

[_All rise and start toward r. door._

_Mrs. W. (rising and intercepting them at door)._ Now, don’t all come

running out to frighten the poor man. (_Men return to fireplace; girls

reseat themselves._) Let his first greeting be with me, and then I will

bring him in and let him see you and get a cup of tea.

[_Exit r._

_Dennis (stalking down stage)._

Fe, Fo, Fi, Fum,

I smell the blood of an Englishman;

Be he alive, or be he dead,

I’ll grind his bones to make me bread.

_Rose (pointing at Dennis)._

Ping Wing, the pieman’s son,

Was the very worst boy in all Canton,

He stole his mother’s—

_Mrs. W. (outside)._ No, I’m sure—

_Enter_ MRS. W. _and_ LORD F. _(in goggles and wig) r. d. and come down

c._

_Mrs. W._ You are chilled by your ride, so you must have a cup of tea

before going to your room. Helen, this is Lord Ferrol. My daughter, Miss

Wycherly, Miss Newcome, Miss Sherman, Lord Ferrol—.

_Lord F. (bowing)._ Charmed, I assure you!

_Mrs. W._ My nephews, Mr. George and Steven Harold, and Mr. Grant.

There! the formidable host is reviewed, and you can now make yourself as

comfortable as possible.

_Lord F._ Er, thanks, but if you will allow me, I will go to my room

first,—I am so filthy.

_Mrs. W._ Oh, but you really must have tea first.

_Lord F._ You’re awfully good, I’m sure. Er, will you pardon my glasses,

but I burned my eyes shooting alligators, and, er! that was why I

couldn’t make a more positive date, for I was in the hands of an

oculist.

_Amy (aside)._ Oh! Jack, what a lie!

_Steven (aside)._ Didn’t I tell you the old fellow would come out

strong? I shouldn’t know him myself?

_Amy (rising from easy-chair l.)._ Here, Lord Ferrol, I have been

sitting in the easiest chair to prevent the others from taking it, so

that you should have it when you came.

_Lord F._ Er, thanks, awfully!

[_Sits._ AMY _stands in devoted attitude just at back of his chair._

_Rose (rising and bringing hassock)._ Let me give you this hassock—one

is so uncomfortable in these deep chairs without one.

_Lord F._ Er, Thanks! You’re very kind.

_Helen (tenderly)._ Lord Ferrol, will you tell me how you like your tea?

_Lord F._ Strong, please, with plenty of cream and sugar.

_Amy (admiringly)._ Ah, how nice it is to find a man who takes his tea

as it should be taken! (_looking at men scornfully_). It is really a

mental labor to pour tea for the average man.

_Dennis._ Average is a condition common to many; therefore we are

common. Yet somebody said the common people were never wrong.

_Helen._ Well, they may never be wrong, but they can be uncommonly

disagreeable!

_Lord F._ Yes, that’s very true. You know, at home we don’t have much to

do with that class, but out here you can’t keep away from them.

_Amy (turning to men)._ There! I hope you are properly crushed?

_Lord F. (turning to Amy)._ Eh!

_Amy (leaning over Lord F. tenderly)._ Oh, I wasn’t speaking to you,

dear Lord Ferrol!

_Mrs. W._ I fear that you have had some unpleasant experiences here,

from the way you speak.

_Lord F._ Rather. (_Helen hands cup with winning smile._) Thanks,

awfully!

_George._ Perhaps Lord Ferrol will tell us some of them; we may be able

to free him from a wrong impression.

_Lord F._ The awful bore over here is, that every one tries to make

jokes. Now, a joke is very jolly after dinner, or when one goes to

“Punch” for it.

_Steven._ To what?

_Lord F._ To “Punch,” don’t you know,—the paper.

_Steven._ Oh! Excuse my denseness; I thought we were discussing jokes.

_Lord F._ I beg pardon?

_Amy._ Don’t mind him, Lord Ferrol.

_George._ No, like “Punch,” he’s only trying to be humorous.

_Lord F._ Er, is that an American joke?

_Dennis._ I always thought Punch was a British joke!

_Lord F._ Er, then you Americans do think it funny?

_George._ Singularly!

_Lord F._ What I object to in this country is the way one’s inferiors

joke. It’s such bad form.

_Rose (horrified)._ Surely they haven’t tried to joke you?

_Lord F._ Yes. Now to-day, coming up here, I took my luggage to the

station, and got my brasses, but forgot your direction that it must be

re-labelled at the Junction, so they wer’n’t put off there. I spoke to

the guard, and he was so vastly obliging in promising to have them sent

back that I gave him a deem.

_Omnes._ A what?

_Lord F._ A deem—your small coin that’s almost as much as our sixpence,

don’t you know.

_Omnes._ Oh, yes!

_Lord F._ Well, the fellow looked at it, and then he smiled, and said

loud enough for the whole car to hear: “My dear John Bull, don’t you

sling your wealth about in this prodigal way. You take it home, and put

it out at compound interest, and some day you’ll buy out Gould or

Rockefeller.”

_Helen._ How shockingly rude! What did you do?

_Lord F._ I told him if he didn’t behave himself, I’d give him in

charge. (_Men all laugh._) Now, is that another of your American jokes?

_Dennis (aside)._ Oh! isn’t this rich?

_Amy (aside to Lord F.)._ Oh, you are beautiful!

_Lord F. (bewildered and starting)._ Thanks awfully,—if you really mean

it!

_Steven (coming down to back of Lord F.’s chair)._ What did she say,

Lord Ferrol? You must take Miss Sherman with a grain of allowance.

_Amy._ I’m not a pill, thank you.

_Lord F._ Why, who said you were?

_Dennis._ Only a homœopathic sugarplum.

_Lord F._ I don’t understand.

_Steven (aside to Lord F.)._ Keep it up, old man. It’s superb!

_Lord F._ I beg pardon,—did you speak to me?

_Steven (retreating to fireplace)._ Oh, no! only addressing vacancy.

_Mrs. W._ I hope, Lord Ferrol, that there has been enough pleasant in

your trip to make you forget what has been disagreeable.

_Lord F._ Er, quite so. The trip has been vastly enjoyable.

_Rose._ Where have you been?

_Lord F._ I landed in New York and spent the night there, but it was

such a bore that I went on to Niagara the next day. From there I

travelled through the Rockies, getting some jolly sport, and then went

to Florida.

_Mrs. W._ Why, you have seen a large part of our country; even more than

your father did. I remember his amazement at our autumn foliage. He said

it was the most surprising thing in the trip.

_Amy._ What did you think of it, Lord Ferrol?

_Lord F._ It struck me as rather gaudy.

_Rose._ Why, I had never thought of it, but perhaps it is a little

vivid.

_Dennis (aside to men)._ Oh, how I should like to kick him!

_Steven (aside to Dennis)._ Hush! You forget that “Codlin’s your

friend—not Short.”

_George._ Didn’t you ever see a Venetian sunset?

_Lord F._ Oh, yes. Why do you ask?

_George (sarcastically)._ I merely thought it might be open to the same

objection!

_Lord F._ It might—I don’t remember. I’ll look it up in my journal when

I get home, and see if it impressed me at the time.

_Helen._ Do you keep a journal? (_Rises and sits on footstool at Lord

F.’s feet._) How delightful! (_Beseechingly._) Oh, won’t you let me look

at what you have with you?

_Rose._ Please, Lord Ferrol!

_Amy._ Ah, do!

_Lord F._ It would bore you, I’m sure.

_Dennis (aside)._ I don’t care if he isn’t a double-barrelled earl, I

should like to kick him all the same!

_Helen._ Lord Ferrol, you must let us hear some of it.

_Rose._ If you don’t we shall think you have said something

uncomplimentary of the American women.

_Lord F._ No, I assure you I have been quite delighted.

_Amy._ Then why won’t you let us see it?

_Lord F._ Er, I couldn’t, you know; but if you really are in earnest,

I’ll read you some extracts.

_Omnes._ Oh, do!

_Lord F._ I ought to explain that I started with the intention of

writing a book on America, so this (_producing book_) is not merely what

I did and saw, but desultory notes on the States.

_Rose._ How interesting!

_Lord F._ After your suggestion of what I have written of the American

women, I think it best to give you some of my notes on them.

_Mrs. W._ By all means!

_Lord F. (reading)._ “Reached Washington, the American capital, and went

direct to Mrs. ——. Cabman charged me sixteen shillings. When I made a

row, butler sent for my host, who, instead of calling a constable, made

me pay the fellow, by insisting on paying it himself. Mr. —— is a

Senator, and is seen very little about the house, from which I infer the

American men are not domestic—presumably, because of their wild life—”

_Mrs. W. (with anxiety)._ Their what?

_Lord F._ Their wild life,—spending so much of their time on the plains,

don’t you know.

_Mrs. W. (relieved)._ Oh! Excuse my misapprehension.

_Lord F. (reading)._ “The daughter is very pretty, which Mrs. —— tells

me is unusual in Washington society—as if I could be taken in by such an

obvious Dowager puff! (_Men all point at Mrs. W. and laugh. Mrs. W.

shakes her finger reprovingly._) Miss —— says the Boston girls are plain

and thin, due to their living almost wholly on fads, which are very

unhealthy.” (_Speaking._) I couldn’t find that word in the dictionary.

_Steven._ Sort of intellectual chewinggum, Lord Ferrol.

_Dennis._ Yes, and like gum, you never get beyond a certain point with

it. It’s very fatiguing to the jaw.

_Lord F. (reading)._ “She says the New York girls are the best dressed

in the country, being hired by the dressmakers to wear gowns, to make

the girls of other cities envious, and that this is where they get all

the money they spend. Very remarkable!”

_Helen._ Something like sandwich men, evidently.

_Lord F. (reading)._ “The Philadelphia girls, she says, are very fast,

but never for long at a time, because the men get sleepy and must have

afternoon naps.”

_Amy._ Did she tell you that insomnia is thought to make one very

distinguished there?

_Lord F. (making note in book)._ Er, thanks, awfully. (_Reading._) “She

says that the Baltimore girls are great beauties, and marry so quickly

that there is generally a scarcity. It is proposed to start a joint

stock company to colonise that city with the surplus from Boston, and

she thinks there ought to be lots of money in it! Another extreme case

of American dollar worship! The Western girls, she told me, are all

blizzards.” (_Speaking._) I don’t think I could have mistaken the word,

for I made her spell it. Yet the American dictionary defines blizzard as

a great wind or snow storm.

_George._ That is it, Lord Ferrol. They talk so much that it gives the

effect of a wind storm.

_Lord F._ Ah! much obliged. (_Reading._) “Went to eight receptions in

one afternoon, where I was introduced to a lot of people, and talked to

nobody. Dined out somewhere, but can’t remember the name. Took in a Miss

——, a most charming and lovely—”

_Dennis (interrupting)._ Ah, there!

_Lord F._ I beg pardon.

_Rose._ You must forgive his rude interruption, Lord Ferrol.

_Lord F._ Oh, certainly! You’re sure you’re not bored?

_Omnes._ By no means. Do go on.

_Lord F._ “A most charming and lovely girl from New York. She thinks

Miss —— characterised the cities rightly, except her own. Asked me if I

thought she was only a dressmaking advertisement? As scarcely any of her

dress was to be seen, I replied that as I couldn’t look below the table,

I was sure it was the last thing one would accuse her of being. She

blushed so violently that I had to tell her that I had seen much worse

dresses in London; but that didn’t please her any better, and she talked

to the man next her for the rest of the evening. (_All have difficulty

in suppressing their laughter._) I met a Boston girl afterwards who—”

[_Bell rings._

_Mrs. W._ Lord Ferrol, there is our summons to the upper regions. We

will not make a formal guest of you, but will all guide you to your

room.

[_All rise._

_Lord F._ Er, thanks.

_Mrs. W. (taking Lord F.’s arm)._ Your trunks not having arrived (_exit

r. d. with Lord F._) we will none of us—

[_Exit_ AMY _and_ HELEN _r. d., evidently laughing_. ROSE _exits l. d.

Men all go off into paroxysms of laughter._

_Steven (suddenly)._ Well, I must go and coach him.

_Dennis._ My dear fellow! you can’t paint the lily.

_Enter_ ROSE, _quietly, l. d. Men all check their laughter_.

_Rose._ I came back for my skates. Why, what are you laughing about! And

pray what lily are you going to paint?

_George._ My dear cousin, when a person enters a room already occupied,

without due warning, she must not ask questions relative to the subject

under discussion.

_Rose (talking down stage to conceal her laughter)._ I know very well

what you were talking about. You were making fun of Lord Ferrol.

_Steven._ Give you my solemn word we were not making fun of _Lord

Ferrol_.

_Men._ No! How suspicious you girls are!

[_All laugh._ HELEN _tries to suppress her laughter, and then rushes out

r. d., followed by_ STEVEN.

_Dennis._ That journal was a mighty clever dodge of Parker’s. It staved

off all dangerous questions till Steve could coach him.

_George._ There were some capital notions in it, too. If he will only

give us a few more risqué anecdotes, none of the girls will dare talk to

him.

_Dennis._ Did you see Mrs. Wycherly’s horrified expression when he

alluded to the wild life of the American men? I am sure she thought he

was going to give us some “exposures in high life.”

_Enter_ STEVEN _hurriedly, r. d._

_Steven._ Look here, fellows, you’ve got to help me. The girls have

planted themselves on the divan upstairs, and I can’t go to Ferrol’s

room without their seeing me. Come up and occupy them, while I slip in.

_Dennis._ Decoy ducks, eh?

_Stuart._ That’s it. Come along, George.

[_All exit r. d.,—slight pause._

_Enter_ LORD F. _l. d., dressed as before_.

_Lord F. (looking about)._ I must have made a mistake in the door, for I

got into the butler’s pantry; but this is right, I am sure. Queer place

and queer manners! Will make interesting reading, though. Ah, a good

chance to fill up my journal. (_Seats himself at desk, takes out book,

and writes, speaking aloud and soliloquising as he does so._) “At 5.15

reached some unpronounceable and unspellable place. Was met by Mrs.

Wycherly at front door”—curious fashion that! It made me take her for

the housekeeper at first. “She insisted, in spite of my protests,”—I

suppose it was an American idea of hospitality,—“in taking me at once

into the drawing-room and presenting me to the house-party, and giving

me a cup of tea. I felt very disagreeable, both from the condition I was

in, and the fact that all of them kept making remarks which were

entirely unintelligible to me. The young ladies were very kind, but more

forward even than they are in England, though in a different way.”—I

confess I rather liked it.—“Read some of my journal aloud and had no

corrections. Blizzard applied to Western girls means that they talk a

great deal. Was shown to my room by Mrs. Wycherly and the young ladies,

which was rather embarrassing, especially as they seemed inclined to

linger, and only hurried out on the appearance of the gentlemen. On

leaving, one of the girls slipped her hand into mine and gave it a

distinct squeeze, at the same time asking in a whisper, ‘Did your sister

send her love?’”—Now the idea of Sappho sending her love to a girl of

whom she had never heard!—“I pretended not to hear, but she evidently

knew that she had been too free, for as she left she jerked her head

towards the gentlemen and said, ‘They didn’t see.’ Could not change my

travelling suit, my boxes having gone astray. Found a letter pinned to

my pin-cushion, and when the valet brought the hot water, he gave me

another. Both, judging from the hand-writing and paper, seem to be

written by ladies and gentlemen.”—I should like to know what they mean?

I wonder if it’s good form in America to play jokes on guests?

(_Produces notes and reads._) “Dear F.”—(_Rises and comes to c._) Now

the idea of the fellow writing to me in that way on the acquaintance of

a single afternoon—why, even my best friends only say “Dear

Ferrol.”—“You were simply marvellous. I would have staked my bottom

dollar on your identity, if I had not known who you were.”—Now what does

he mean by that, I wonder?—“You were so real that Dennis wanted to kick

you, and nothing but the presence of the ladies prevented him.”—Gad! I

wonder if these fellows can be gentlemen, and if so, whether they are a

fair specimen—kick me! (_Pause._) Well, I suppose they’re jealous.—“So

don’t be too hard on us. Now as to the future. If we do not see each

other this evening, you must get up before breakfast, go out of the side

door, and strike across the lawn toward the river. Three minutes’ walk

will bring you in sight of a little summer-house. Come to it, and some

of us will be there prepared to instruct you as to yourself, and put you

on your guard as to the girls, who, you see, are making a dead set at

you.”—You know, that’s just what I thought.—“Remember, in the bright

lexicon, etc., etc., Steve.”—Now what does he mean by “bright lexicon?”

And does he think I’m going to tramp through the snow, when it’s so

evidently a joke? (_Opens other note._) “You dear love of a snob”—Now I

should vastly like to know how that is meant. I don’t think it’s a nice

way of beginning a letter, I’m sure. Yet she evidently means it as a

compliment—“You were so perfectly delicious that I could scarcely

forbear from giving you a kiss.”—Extraordinary!—“Indeed I think I will

to-morrow, just to make the boys desperate. I only hope your life is

insured, for Dennis will probably chuck you out of the window, when I

do, and it’s too cold for the window to be opened. Fortunately there is

plenty of soft snow to break the fall.”—Now isn’t that a nasty way of

joking! One would actually think she enjoyed the prospect of seeing me

thrown out the window.—“I have given directions that you are to be

called early, and as soon as you can, I want you to come to the valley

summer-house. Turn to your right, and walk straight towards the river,

and you can’t miss it. There you will find a bevy of maidens waiting to

metaphorically hug and kiss you, and instruct you so that you may play

the part of George Augustus Guelph Dunstan, Earl of Ferrol and Staunton,

with sufficient stupidity and vanity. Amy”—Now I should like to know

what all that means. (_Reflectively._) Amy—she’s the one who told me I

was beautiful the first time she spoke to me. I should like to know what

she means!

_Enter_ MRS. W. _r. d._

_Mrs. W. (crossing to c.)._ Why, I didn’t know you had come downstairs,

Lord—I hardly know whether to call you Lord Ferrol, but I suppose it is

safer.

_Lord F. (surprised)._ Eh?

_Mrs. W. (confidentially)._ I was immensely amused just now in coming

down. There are all the boys and girls sitting in the upper hall, each

intent on getting a few words with you, or of preventing the others.

_Lord F._ I suppose I ought to be vastly flattered. Yet I thought the

gentlemen disliked me.

_Mrs. W. (laughing)._ Oh, they will probably kill you before the end of

your visit.

_Lord F._ Good gracious, Mrs. Wycherly, you’re not speaking seriously!

_Mrs. W._ You play your part so well that I myself should think that you

were to the manner born.

_Lord F. (aside)._ I wonder if it is the fashion of the house to speak

in innuendoes. (_Aloud._) Er! Mrs. Wycherly, I am so new to your ways

that I should really like to ask you about one or two questions of

etiquette. You know that it differs so in countries, and I never want to

seem cold or rude. Now, over here, is it customary for young ladies to

say that they want to kiss fellows (_voices outside_) who are no

relations of theirs?

_Mrs. W._ Why, I never heard—

_Enter all, r. d._ HELEN, GEORGE, _and_ STEVEN _cross to l._ ROSE _comes

down r. to writing-desk_. DENNIS _and_ AMY _stand at fireplace_.

_Amy (to Lord F.)._ Oh, here you are! We’ve all been waiting upstairs

for you.

_Lord F._ Er, thanks.

_Rose._ I hope we are not late, Mrs. Wycherly.

_Mrs. W. (going up stage to fireplace)._ Oh, it doesn’t matter in the

least. You will simply have grieved Seymour over the dinner.

_Rose._ I know I shall grieve him by my appetite. (_Over desk to Lord

F._) Why, Lord Ferrol, I am hungry enough to eat you.

_Lord F. (half turning)._ Er, thanks, awfully. (_Aside._) Now, what does

she mean?

_Amy._ Oh, I wouldn’t eat Lord Ferrol, for you can’t eat your cake and

have it. (_Coming down center to Lord F._) But I should like to kiss

him, if he will let me.

_Lord F._ Er, charmed,—if Mrs. Wycherly thinks it proper.

_Dennis (seizing paper-knife from desk and rushing down between them)._

This is too much, Parker! You are getting more than your share.

(_Turning to Amy._) Avaunt, woman! you have raised the savage in me, and

behold the consequences!

[_Uses the knife as a scalping knife, and then tears off_ LORD F.’S

_wig, revealing a perfectly bald head_.

_Lord F._ Gad, sir! what do you mean?

_Omnes._ Why, who are you?

[AMY _crosses to l. as if bewildered_.

_Lord F._ Who am I?

_Mrs. W. (with horror)._ You are not really Lord Ferrol?

_Lord F._ Who else should I be?

[_Pause._

_Amy (sinking faintly into chair)._ And I asked leave to kiss him!

_Mrs. W. (coming down to c. and speaking with great anxiety)._ Lord

Ferrol, my young people here were each trying to play a joke on the

other, and by a horrible coincidence you have been the victim.

(_Imploringly._) Will you not try to forgive us now, and let me explain

at dinner?

[_All come down stage and seem to plead._

_Lord F._ Well, really, if it’s a mistake, of course I can’t cut up

rough. (_To Amy._) Then you don’t think I’m a dear love of a snob, eh?

_Amy (faintly)._ Oh, no, Lord Ferrol.

_Lord F._ And you don’t want to kiss me?

_Amy (more faintly)._ No, indeed, Lord Ferrol.

_Lord F._ Then, Miss Sherman, I will try to make you do both.

_Steven (coming down c.)._ There, didn’t I tell you the real English

swells were very jolly, gentlemanly fellows?

[_Shakes hands with Ferrol._

_Lord F._ And didn’t I tell you the Americans were always joking in the

wrong place? (_To Dennis._) Er, I’ll thank you for my hair.

CURTAIN

“MAN PROPOSES”

IN

SEVERAL DECLARATIONS

AND

ONE ACT

PLACE

_Morning room at the Wortleys._

TIME

_After dinner, and before the masked ball._

CHARACTERS

MISS AGNES WORTLEY

(_A winner of hearts_).

MRS. VAN TROMP

(_A widow to be won_).

POLLY

(_A serving maid who serves_).

MR. STUART

(_A theoretical bachelor_).

MR. REGINALD DE LANCEY VAN TROMP

(_A man with ancestors_).

MR. CHARLIE NEWBANK

(_A man with money_).

MR. FREDERICK STEVENS

(_A man with neither_).

SCENE.—_Morning room in city house,—doors l. and b. Fireplace with

fire l. c. Writing-desk, with matches, pens, ink, paper, and

handbell back centre—chair at desk. Down stage l., easy-chair, and

an ottoman or light chair c. At extreme down stage r. corner, a bay

window, with practical curtains, and a divan seat. On mantel a clock

which strikes ten as soon as curtain rises._

_Enter_ POLLY _l. d._

_Polly (coming down wearily)._ Mercy, how tired I am! And no chance of

rest for at least six hours (_drops into chair c._). Dinners and balls

may be fun for those who do the eating and dancing, but it’s death on us

poor servants. I’m worked hard enough usually, in all conscience’ sake,

but Miss Agnes has given me just the hardest day I’ve ever seen!

(_Imitates Agnes giving orders._) “Polly, is my bath ready?” “Polly,

give me my dressing-gown.” “Polly, bring me my coffee.” “Now dress my

hair, Polly.” “Get me my habit, Polly.” (_Rises._) “While I’m in the

park, Polly, sew the ribbons on my two dominos.” “Oh, and I’ll be too

busy to-day to write acknowledgments for the bouquets, Polly, so you may

write to Mr. Stevens and Mr. Van Tromp and Mr. Newbank, and any others

that come, thanking them for their lovely flowers, which are now filling

my room with sweetness!” From seven till eight it’s been nothing but

“Polly, do this,” and “Polly, do that,” and “Where’s Polly?” And no one

so much as said “Polly, want a cracker?” I haven’t had a chance to sit

down since I got up. I even had to eat my dinner off the laundry tubs

(_mimics eating with pen and paper-cutter at desk_) standing, because

the caterers were everywhere, getting the dinner and ball supper ready.

Miss Agnes says she’s all “worn out.” I wish she could try my work once

in a while. How I should enjoy telling the rich and sought-after Miss

Agnes Wortley to (_mimicking_) “button my shoes,” (_sticks out foot_) or

(_waves her hand_) “fetch me my gloves!” I would give a month’s wages if

I could only take her place just for to-night at the masked ball.

(_Speaking with excitement._) When she decided that she must have two

dominos, so that she could change in the middle of the ball, I thought

to myself: ‘What’s to prevent your slipping on the domino she isn’t

wearing, and going downstairs?’ (_Muses._) If I only dared! I could

easily slip out before she wanted to change! (_Pause._) No! I mustn’t

even think of it or the temptation will be too great.

[_Goes to fireplace, and sitting on rug pokes the fire._

STUART _appears b. d. and looks in_.

_Polly._ It would be such fun! Think of being Miss Agnes for one evening

and dancing with all her admirers! Oh, my! Supposing one should propose!

Mr. Newbank! (_Laughs._) Or Mr. Van Tromp! (_Laughs again._) I’d know

what I’d say to them! Mr. Stevens? I wonder if she cares for him.

_Stuart._ And how about Mr. Stuart?

_Polly (springing up, flustered)._ Oh, Jiminy! Oh—I beg your pardon, Mr.

Stuart, I was—I—

[_Hesitates._

_Stuart (laughing)._ Poking the fire, eh? Is this room free territory?

_Polly._ Yes, Mr. Stuart. It’s Miss Wortley’s boudoir, but she thought

it would be a nice place for people to come when they were tired of

dancing downstairs.

[_Curtsey's_ _and exits l. d._

_Stuart (calling out r.)._ This way, Fred. Here’s a quiet nook saved

from the universal ruin and bareness of downstairs.

[_Comes down._

_Enter_ FRED, _b. d., slowly_.

_Stuart._ Isn’t this luck?

_Fred (gloomily)._ There isn’t any such thing! Or if there is, I never

get any.

_Stuart._ Now, Fred, you can’t say that after this. You and I don’t want

to stay and smoke with the men. Neither do we want to join the ladies.

The other rooms are as bare and uncomfortable as waxed floors and

camp-chairs can make them. I suggest trying upstairs, and when I

discover and pilot you to this oasis in the desert, you at once begin to

grumble.

_Fred._ I’m sorry I’m bad company, Mr. Stuart; but if I’m so to you,

just think what I must be to myself.

_Stuart._ There is something in that.

_Fred._ And you only see me occasionally, and I’m with myself day and

night.

_Stuart (laughing)._ Pity you can’t hire some one to kill your

disagreeable companion. I wonder if a jury wouldn’t bring in a verdict

of justifiable homicide, if you drowned or hung him.

_Fred._ I’d like to!

_Stuart._ Curious. Such a dinner, even when I know it’s to be followed

by a ball, always puts me in a beatific state of mind.

_Fred (wearily)._ I thought it very long and tedious.

_Stuart._ And what is worse, you looked it. You looked as glum all

through as if you were waiting for the last trump.

_Fred (crossly)._ It wasn’t the last trump I was waiting for. I was—

_Stuart (interrupting)._ No, I misworded my sentence. You were waiting

for the last of Van Tromp.

_Fred._ Oh, pshaw!

[_Rises and crosses to r. angrily._

_Stuart (laughing)._ You don’t seem to enjoy my pun?

_Fred._ Oh, if it pleases you, go ahead.

[_Goes up and sits on desk._

_Stuart._ Fred, you make a mistake to go into society while you are in

this mood. Take a friend’s advice and cut it till you are better

tempered.

_Fred (impatiently)._ I don’t go because I enjoy it.

_Stuart (sarcastically)._ Ah! You go to make it pleasant for others.

_Fred._ No, I go because _she_ goes.

_Stuart (laughing)._ Will you tell me why a woman’s reason is always a

“because,” and a man’s is always a “she”?

_Fred._ _She_‘s an excuse for anything!

_Stuart._ Even for Charlie Newbank?

_Fred (rising angrily)._ Look here, Mr. Stuart, I’ll take a good deal

from you; but there is a limit.

_Stuart (soothingly)._ Excuse me, my boy. It is brutal in me, but I am

trying to see if I can’t laugh you out of it.

_Fred (sits chair l. as if discouraged)._ No use! As they say out West,

it’s come to stay and grow up with the country.

_Stuart._ Oh, I didn’t mean your love for Miss Wortley. She’s a sweet,

unspoiled girl, in spite of her own and her papa’s money, and I hope

you’ll win her. I was only trying to cheer you out of your dumps, and

make you look at the golden side of things.

_Fred._ That’s just what I see all the time, and what comes between us.

I can’t forget her money.

_Stuart (springing to his feet)._ There! That goes to prove a pet little

theory of mine, that it is rather hard for a rich girl to marry well.

_Fred._ I should think you needed a confirmatory evidence.

_Stuart._ You are just like the rest! You take the conventionally

superficial view of it.

_Fred._ Very well, turn lawyer and argue your case before referee Mr.

Frederick Stevens, junior member of the celebrated firm of Mary, Green

and Hart.

_Stuart._ You fire my ambition. Well, (_rising and imitating legal

style_) your honour, and gentlemen of the jury, _a priori_ and

_imprimis_ we start with the postulate that the party of the first part,

otherwise the girl with money, is usually so spoiled that most fellows

won’t care for her. But we will leave that out of the argument and say

that she is a nice girl. Well, by her parents, her friends, and her

reading, she is taught to think that every man who is attentive to her

may be a fortune-hunter. The consequence is that she is suspicious, and

may say or do something to wound or insult a fellow who cares for her,

and so drive him off.

_Fred._ That’s one point for your side.

_Stuart._ But even if she is not made suspicious by her money, (_points

at Fred_) he is. A decent man dreads to have his motives misjudged. He’s

afraid that the girl, or her father, or her mother, or her friends, or

his friends, will think he is fortune-hunting.

_Fred._ I should think he did!

_Stuart._ Finally, her money draws about her a lot of worthless fellows.

As a consequence, she is always beset and engaged. You must remember

that in this country a man, if he amounts to a row of pins, is a worker,

and not a drone. He cannot, therefore, dance the continual attendance

that is necessary to see much of a society girl nowadays. This can only

be done by our rich and leisured young men, who are few and far between;

by foreign titles, who are quite as scarce; and by the idlers and

do-nothings, who, if the girl is worth winning, are as distasteful to

her as they are to the rest of mortal kind. (_Sits chair c._) I submit

my case.

_Fred._ Mr. Stuart, you entirely missed your vocation. Allow me to

congratulate you on your _maiden_ argument. But at the same time the

referee would call your attention to the fact that you have failed to

take the relatives into account. They can overcome all this by heading

off the undesirables and encouraging their choice.

_Stuart._ But that’s just what they won’t do, and which I don’t think

they could to any extent, even if they tried. How much can Mr. Wortley

and Mrs. Van Tromp control Miss Agnes’ companions at the dinners and

dances and other affairs, which are practically the only places where

she meets men?

_Fred._ Here they can.

_Stuart._ But they don’t. You say Mr. Wortley favours Newbank and Mrs.

Van Tromp encourages her brother-in-law. Naturally, then, they don’t

approve your very evident liking for Miss Agnes. Yet I see you here

quite as often as either of the favoured ones. Do you think if this

system of exclusion were possible, it would not have been practised long

ago?

_Fred._ If you ask it as a conundrum I give it up. But I know that

neither of them want me to marry Miss Wortley. Mr. Wortley wishes

Newbank’s millions to add to the family. Mrs. Van Tromp hopes to graft

Miss Wortley on the fine old stock of Van Tromps.

_Stuart._ And what does the person most concerned want? In this glorious

country of ours, where children always know more than parents, the

girl’s consent is really the only requisite. What does Miss Wortley

want?

_Fred._ I only wish I knew!

_Stuart._ Well, how does she treat you compared with the other men?

_Fred._ At first she was very nice and friendly, but latterly she’ll

have nothing to do with me.

_Stuart._ A girl of taste!

_Fred._ I’m in the mood to enjoy such friendly jokes.

_Stuart._ It was meant kindly, Fred, as you will see in a moment. Now,

my boy, I’m going to give you a talking to, and if you resent it, it

will only be further confirmation of another little theory of mine, that

a man’s an ass who concerns himself in other people’s affairs.

_Fred._ Go ahead. I’m blue enough to like anything sour or disagreeable.

[_Sits, desk chair, and leans on desk._

_Stuart._ Now, there at once you give me the text to preach from.

(_Walks behind chair l. and leans on back, speaking over it down r._)

About a year ago a certain gentleman named Fred meets a certain lady

named Agnes. We’ll say he met her at a dance—

_Fred._ No, it was yachting.

_Stuart._ Ah!—excuse my lack of historical accuracy. Well, on a yacht—he

met her; then at a ball—he met her; then at a cotillion—he met her; then

at a dinner—he met her. In short, he met her, and met her, and met her.

_Fred (gloomily)._ Yes, and what is more, he spent hours trying to.

_Stuart._ Well, she was pretty and charming and—I’m short of an

adjective, Fred.

_Fred._ Of course you are! There isn’t one in Webster’s Unabridged which

would do her justice!

_Stuart._ That should have been said to her and not wasted on me. Well,

we’ll say the girl is plu-perfect. The fellow is rather good looking—eh,

Fred?

_Fred._ I don’t know.

_Stuart._ He talks and dances well; and is, in fact, quite a shining

light among her devotees.

_Fred (irritably)._ Oh, cut it, for heaven’s sake!

[_Rises impatiently._

_Stuart (laughing)._ Excuse me,—the story-teller never cuts; it’s the

editor who does that.

_Fred (angrily)._ Oh, go on.

_Stuart._ Well, at first this masculine paragon whom I have so meagrely

described seems to be doing well. She likes his society and shows it.

(_To Fred._) Right?

_Fred._ I thought so.

_Stuart._ But as he gets more interested, he changes. He makes his

attentions and feelings too marked—something no girl likes. Then he is

cross and moody when she does not give him most of her time and dances.

He is inclined to be jealous of every Tom, Dick, and Harry who comes

near her, and absurdly tries to dictate what she shall do and not do;

which she resents. In short, the very strength of his love makes him an

entirely different kind of a man. He is neither companionable nor

entertaining; he is both surly and passionate. Do you blame her for

repulsing him?

_Fred._ No, you are right. I know I’ve given her reason for turning me

the cold shoulder.

_Stuart._ Then if you’ve known this, why haven’t you behaved yourself?

_Fred._ I’ve tried to, over and over again; but when I see such cads as

Van Tromp and Newbank and the rest of the pack around her, I get

perfectly desperate.

_Stuart._ And why? Now, Van Tromp is not only a fool, which I suppose is

the fault of his ancestors, but he is so impecunious that every girl who

has money must suspect his motives. Newbank is wealthy, but is the kind

of man who makes one think of Wendell Phillips’ remark, that “the Lord

showed his estimate of money by the people he gave it to.” Why should

you be jealous of such rivals? You stand at least as good a chance as

they.

_Fred._ No I don’t. Look here, I’ve just been made a member of the firm.

That will give me something like $4,000 a year at first. How can I ask a

girl living as she does to try and get along on that?

_Stuart._ You forget her own income.

_Fred._ That’s just what I can’t do. I’ve tried to tell her that I love

her, but her money makes the words stick in my throat.

_Stuart._ And yet Van Tromp, who hasn’t a cent in the world, and never

will have, if he has to make it himself, will say it as glibly as need

be.

_Fred._ It’s that makes me desperate. I try to be good company, but I

feel all the time as if it weren’t an even race, and so I can’t.

_Stuart._ My dear boy, no race in this world is even. If it were

anything but a woman’s heart in question, I would bet on you as the

winner; but as that commodity is only to be represented by the algebraic

_x_, I never wager on it.

_Fred (scornfully)._ How learnedly a bachelor does talk of women’s

hearts! One would think he had broken a lot in order to examine their

contents.

_Stuart (a little angrily)._ I never lost a girl through faint heart,—or

lost my temper with both her and my best friend.

_Fred (apologetically)._ There! Of course you are right and I am a fool.

_Stuart (looking at watch)._ There being no dissent to that opinion, and

the ladies being now ready to see us, you had better go downstairs and

show Miss Wortley that the Fred Stevens of a year ago is still in the

flesh.

_Fred (going to b. d.)._ And you?

_Stuart._ I’ll stay here and have a cigar.

[_Exit_ FRED, _b. d._

_Stuart (taking out cigar-case)._ How that poor fellow does carry his

heart in view! (_Takes match from desk._) No wonder Miss Wortley keeps

hers to herself, with such an example!

[_Strikes match._

_Enter_ POLLY, _l. d._, _carrying black domino and lace mask_.

_Stuart._ Hello! One minute, please. Whose domino is that?

_Polly (halting)._ I mustn’t tell, sir.

_Stuart._ No, of course not. Quite right. (_Tosses away match and

jingles coins in his pocket._) Perhaps, though, you can tell me to whom

you are carrying it.

_Polly (coming down)._ Perhaps I might, sir.

_Stuart (taking out money)._ Well?

_Polly._ I was carrying it to Mrs. Van Tromp’s room, sir.

_Stuart (giving money)._ Thank you. (_Takes domino and mask from her._)

Mr. Stuart told you Miss Wortley wanted you to come at once to her, and

so you left these in this room—understand? (_Gives more money_) Now be

off to your mistress.

_Polly._ Yes, sir.

[_Exit_ POLLY _l. d._

_Stuart._ It’s better to be born lucky than rich. (_Pats domino

tenderly, and arranges it neatly in chair c._) You’re luckier, though,

for you belong to the dearest and most heartless woman in this world.

(_Looks at mask._) And you! She doesn’t need you to mask her feelings,

confound and bless her inscrutable face! You’ll be pressing against it

ere long. (_Kisses mask._) Take that to her.

_Mrs. V. T. (outside)._ No, I sent Polly for my domino, but she hasn’t

brought it.

_Stuart._ Speaking of angels— And she mustn’t discover that I know.

[_Hurriedly seizes mask and domino and tosses them behind curtains of

bay window; then strikes match as if about to light cigar._

MRS. VAN TROMP _appears at b. d. and looks in_.

_Mrs. V. T._ Shall it be a cigar or my society? “Under which king,

Bezonian? Speak or die.”

_Stuart (throwing match in fire)._ That goes without saying. The cigar

is my slave; I am Mrs. Van Tromp’s!

_Mrs. V. T._ Was that impromptu?

_Stuart._ Coined for the occasion, and needing only the approval of your

majesty to make it gold in my eyes.

[_Bows._

_Mrs. V. T._ I am too good a queen to help stamp worthless money, and

that’s what a compliment is. As the French say, “Fine words cost nothing

and are worth just what they cost.”

_Stuart._ Anglisé in “Fine words butter no parsnips.” You know, I’ve

always wanted to send that proverb to Delmonico. He takes something

uneatable, and by giving it a sauce and a high-sounding French title,

deludes the public into ordering it. You pay five cents for the basis,

ten for the sauce, and the other thirty-five for the French, which no

man can understand or pronounce.

_Mrs. V. T._ He didn’t serve this evening’s dinner.

_Stuart._ Far be it from me to suggest that there was anything wrong in

the cuisine to-night. The only criticism I could possibly make on the

dinner was that there were twenty-four too many people.

_Mrs. V. T. (counting on fingers)._ Twenty-four from twenty-six—that

leaves two?

_Stuart._ Let me congratulate you on your mental arithmetic.

_Mrs. V. T._ Have you actually reached that time of life when one ceases

to enjoy dinners?

_Stuart._ I hope not. I was even flattering myself that my tastes were

becoming more juvenile.

_Mrs. V. T._ In what does that show itself?

_Stuart._ In wanting something I can’t have. I believe it’s considered

infantile to want the moon.

_Mrs. V. T._ You want the moon? Then you must be in love! I’m so sorry I

can’t stay and let you tell me all about her. I came upstairs for my

domino and mustn’t tarry.

[_Starts up back._

_Stuart (standing between her and the door)._ One moment, Mrs. Van

Tromp. I’ll not bore you with my own love affair, but I should like to

ask your help in another.

_Mrs. V. T. (turning and coming down l.)._ I promise my assistance. I

love to help on—other people’s love affairs.

_Stuart._ There is a poor fellow downstairs who is eating his heart out

with love for your cousin Agnes. He thinks you are against him.

_Mrs. V. T._ You mean Mr. Stevens?

_Stuart._ Yes.

_Mrs. V. T._ Why, Mr. Stuart, I like Mr. Stevens, and he would be my

second choice—

_Stuart (interrupting)._ For yourself?

_Mrs. V. T. (laughing)._ No, for Agnes. But surely you don’t expect me

to work against my brother-in-law?

_Stuart._ But Agnes is your cousin. Do consider her!

_Mrs. V. T._ Mr. Stuart, I married Alexander Van Tromp without caring

that (_snaps her fingers_) for him. Yet we hit it off together very

nicely. He obtained income and I won social position. By it I have been

able to introduce my uncle into good society, and give Agnes her pick of

the best. Do you think I do her wrong in planning the same kind of a

marriage for her?

_Stuart._ Has Cupid no rights?

_Mrs. V. T._ He can come later. The Van Tromps are too old a family for

the members to live long. So I am only giving Agnes a few years of

matrimony, like my own; and then—well, you know whether my life is

gloomy or otherwise.

_Stuart._ Mostly otherwise, I should say.

_Mrs. V. T._ No girl of nineteen knows enough to pick out the man she

can breakfast with three hundred and sixty-five days in the year for

half a century. Moreover, a young girl cannot have a large enough

choice. She can only say “yes” or “no” to those who ask her. On the

contrary, a woman of—we’ll say twenty-eight—picks out her man and

fascinates him. To quote the French again: “A girl of sixteen accepts

love; a woman of thirty incites it.”

_Stuart._ As you have been doing?

_Mrs. V. T._ Agnes shall sample matrimony with Regie; see just what it

is like; and then be prepared to select a second time with wisdom and

discrimination—like her aged and venerable cousin.

_Stuart (hesitatingly)._ Will you pardon the question,—but was Mr.—was,

ah, the brother of Reginald anything like, ah, his brother?

_Mrs. V. T. (laughing)._ Very!

_Stuart (confidentially)._ What did you do with him?

_Mrs. V. T._ On the day we married, he put a ring on my finger; I put

one through his nose. Then he led very nicely.

_Stuart._ And is that your ideal of a husband?

_Mrs. V. T._ Unless I find a man capable of not merely doing the

leading, but by whom I shall wish to be led.

_Stuart._ And how is this man to prove his capacity?

_Mrs. V. T._ Oh, it’s merely a matter of cleverness or mastery. Let a

man outwit me, and I will (_curtseys_) ever after sign myself, “Your

obedient, humble servant.”

_Stuart._ Don’t you see that you are bribing your own undoing?

_Mrs. V. T._ How so?

_Stuart._ Why, your conditions are almost in the nature of a challenge.

Now you know, of course, Mrs. Van Tromp, that I don’t love you, yet you

make me want to enter the rather formidable competition just to see if I

couldn’t get the better of you.

_Mrs. V. T. (laughing)._ Well, I have no wish to balk you. But it must

be a game of forfeits. If you fail, you must pay a penalty.

_Stuart._ Isn’t failure to win Mrs. Van Tromp penalty enough?

_Mrs. V. T._ Not to so confirmed a bachelor as Mr. Stuart. Come, if you

beat me, I will do any one thing you wish; if you are beaten, you must

do the one thing I wish. Is it a bargain?

_Stuart._ Done! (_Kissing Mrs. V. T.’s hand._) Perdition have my soul!

_Mrs. V. T._ And now for my domino.

[_Hurries up and exits l. d._

_Stuart (at l. d.)._ But, Mrs. Van Tromp, you haven’t told me in what I

am to beat you?

[_Exit_ STUART, _l. d._

_Enter_ CHARLIE _and_ AGNES, _b. d._

_Charlie._ Thith ith better than down thairth, Mith Wortley, ithn’t it?

_Agnes (sinking into chair c. with sigh)._ Oh, much!

_Charlie._ I’ve been wanting to thuggeth it before, Mith Wortley, but

that bore Van Tromp wath alwayth round, and if he heard me, he would

intrude hith thothiety upon uth.

_Agnes._ Why. Mr. Newbank, I thought you were friends.

_Charlie._ We uthed to be, till the fellowth came out thuth a thnob.

_Agnes._ That is where you men have such an advantage. Now we girls have

to put up with every donkey that comes near us.

_Charlie._ That ith hard, Mith Wortley. But it theemth to me that you

might thave yourthelf by a little diplomathy.

_Agnes (eagerly)._ Do tell me how!

_Charlie._ Why don’t you get rid of Van Tromp?

_Agnes._ Why, I can’t be rude to him. You must remember he is a

relation.

_Charlie._ I didn’t mean rudneth.

_Agnes._ What then?

_Charlie._ Why, he athkth you to danth; you are out of breath or tired.

He thitth down by you; you want a glath of lemonade, or thomething elth,

it dothn’t matter what.

_Agnes (aside)._ Does he really think that’s an original idea?

(_Aloud._) How clever!

_Charlie._ Yeth, I rather think thatth a good nothon.

_Agnes._ Isn’t it warm here?

_Charlie._ Very. I’ve thought of thuggethting that we open a window.

_Agnes._ Oh, I’m so afraid of drafts. Did you see where I left my fan?

_Charlie._ No,—unleth you left it down thairth in the library.

_Agnes._ Won’t you see if I did?

_Charlie (going up l. b.)._ With the greateth of pleathure.

_Agnes._ And, Mr. Newbank, (_Charlie turns_) don’t tell Mr. Van Tromp

I’m here. [REG. _appears at b. d._

_Charlie._ I’ll tell any lie thooner. (_Turns._) Ah!! (_Politely._)

Mither Van Tromp, Mith Wortley ith fatigued and wanth to retht a little.

_Reg._ Aw! Then she shows gweat good sense in sending you away.

_Charlie (angrily)._ Thir, you thouldn’t inflict your thothiety on a

lady who hath juth been athking me how to get rid of you.

_Reg. (coolly)._ I hope you told her it was by keeping you about her.

_Charlie._ If thatth the cathe, I’ll be back very thoon.

[_Exits b. d._

_Reg._ Aw, I’m deucid sowy that boah Newbank has tired you, Miss

Wortley. You weally should not be so awfully good natured, don’tcher

know.

_Agnes._ Oh, we have to be, and he’s no worse than a lot of others.

_Reg._ I jolly wish, you know, that I could save you fwom it.

_Agnes._ Don’t you think it warm here?

_Reg._ Weally, but it is, pon honour.

_Agnes._ And I’m so thirsty. Would it trouble you too much to get me a

glass of water?

_Reg. (rising and going up l.)._ Chawmed, I assure you.

CHARLIE _appears b. d. and they run into each other_.

_Reg._ Aw, I thought you were going to allow Miss Wortley a little west.

_Charlie._ Thatth why I wath coming back. I didn’t think the would thend

you away.

_Reg._ I’ll be back soon, deah boy.

[_Exits b. d._

_Charlie._ I’m thorry, Mith Wortley, but your fan ith not in the

library.

_Agnes (aside)._ Tell me something I don’t know. (_Aloud._) Have the

rest of the men finished their cigars?

_Charlie._ Yeth.

_Agnes._ I suppose I ought to go down.

[_Rises._

_Charlie._ Yeth, we’ll go together, and tho ethcape Van Tromp.

_Agnes (aside)._ What a pity some glue company can’t buy those two and

melt them down into mucilage! (_Aloud._) Yes, but first won’t you see if

I didn’t leave my fan on the piano in the music-room?

_Charlie._ Why, thertainly.

[_Starts up to b. d._

_Agnes (aside)._ While you’re gone I’ll get into my domino, and if you

catch me afterwards, it’s my fault.

[_Exit_ CHARLIE. _Loud exclamation outside._

_Charlie (outside)._ You donkey, you ran into me on purpoth, and

thpilled that water on me.

_Agnes._ Do for once temper the wind to the shorn lamb!

[_Looks around room helplessly, and then rushes to bay window and

hides._

_Reg. (outside)._ I beg pawdon, but it was you who wan into me. Cawnt

cher see where you are going?

REG. _appears b. d. with a glass containing very little water, wiping

his coat sleeve with handkerchief, and looking angrily after_ CHARLIE.

_Reg._ I’m deucid sowy, Miss Wortley, but that clumsy fool has spilled

most of the water (_coming down_). One can always tell the _nouveaux_

wiche by their gaucherwies. (_Finds chair empty—starts, and looks round

room._) Pon honour, if he hasn’t dwiven her away!

[_Stands looking about._

CHARLIE _appears at b. d._

_Charlie._ I met your maid, Mith Wortley, and the thaid your fan wath in

your room, (_coming down r._) and that the’ll get it. (_Discovers Agnes’

absence._) Now then, I hope you are thatithfied with having driven her

away.

_Reg._ Oh, I dwove her away, did I?

_Charlie._ Yeth.

_Reg. (laughing)._ That is wich!

_Charlie._ Well, thath more than you are!

_Reg._ Cholly Newbank, you get worse form everwy day.

_Enter_ POLLY _with fan l. d._

_Polly._ Here is the fan, Mr. Newbank.

_Charlie (taking fan)._ Can you tell me where Mith Wortley ith?

_Polly (starting to go)._ No, sir.

STUART _appears in b. d. and stands and listens_.

_Charlie._ One moment, girl. (_To Reg._) Mither Van Tromp, will you

oblige me by leaving the room?

_Reg._ By Jove! The bwass of the man would start a foundwy.

[_Sits chair l. with emphasis._

_Charlie._ Thir, in the future I thall refuth to recognith you.

_Reg._ Thanks, awfully.

_Charlie (taking bank-note from pocket)._ Girl, do you thee thith?

_Polly._ Oh, yes, sir.

_Charlie._ What ith Mith Wortleyth domino like?

_Polly._ Oh, indeed, sir, I don’t dare to tell you.

_Charlie._ Nonthenth! The’ll never know who told. You might ath well

make five dollarth.

_Polly._ But Mr. Van Tromp might tell.

_Reg. (with extreme dignity)._ Mr. Van Tromp is too much of a gentleman

to either bwibe or tell tales.

_Charlie._ But he’ll lithen all the thame!

_Polly (fearfully)._ She’s going to wear a white silk one with cardinal

ribbons, and a black lace veil.

[_Receives note and exits l._

_Charlie (triumphantly)._ Ah! Now I have her.

_Reg._ Deucid sowy to spoil your little dweam, but I fahncy I shall

speak to her myself this evening.

_Charlie (gleefully)._ All right. The knowth you are after her money.

_Stuart (coming down)._ Ah! Damon and Pythias together as usual. It

really gives one faith in friendship to see how you two fellows run

together.

_Charlie._ Mither Thuart, did you ever hear anything more nonthenthical

than for Van Tromp to thuppothe that Mith Wortley ith going to thave him

from the poorhouth?

_Reg. (with dignity)._ Mr. Stuart will tell you that a born gentleman

can do much that is impossible to the canaille.

_Charlie (angrily)._ What do you mean by that, thir?

_Reg._ Pway dwaw your own conclusions.

_Stuart (sitting on desk)._ And so you two bloods intend to question the

oracle? I hadn’t credited you with the courage.

_Charlie._ It dothn’t need much when one knowth what the anther will be.

_Reg. (confidently)._ I’m not afwaid for my part, but even “no” wouldn’t

make me commit suicide.

_Charlie._ Thath prethuth fortunate for you, but hard on the reth of

uth.

_Stuart (quizzically)._ Oh, it’s easy enough to propose to a girl when

she isn’t present. You fellows forget that Miss Wortley is a masked

battery this evening. It takes pluck to face one of them, and I don’t

believe you’ll either of you dare do it.

_Charlie._ I’d like to bet a monkey I will.

_Stuart._ Done! And do the same with you, Van Tromp.

_Charlie._ He hathn’t the money.

_Reg. (glancing scornfully at Charlie)._ You’ll oblige me gweatly by

minding your own affairs. Done, Mr. Stuart.

_Enter_ FRED _b. d._

_Stuart._ Ah, Fred, you’ve just missed a rare bit of sport.

_Fred._ What was that?

_Stuart._ Why, we’ve just wagered—

_Reg. (dignified)._ I beg pawdon, Mr. Stuart, but I had always supposed

a wager was a confidential mattah.

[_Walks with dignity up r. and exits b. d._

_Charlie._ For onth in hith life, Van Tromp ith right.

[_Bows grandly and goes up l. Exits b. d._

_Stuart (laughing)._ I thought that would get rid of them. Well, have

you shown Miss Wortley that you can still be occasionally jolly?

_Fred (gloomily)._ I haven’t had the chance. She must be in her room,

for I’ve looked everywhere else for her. Not that it’s much loss. I know

I should not have been in the mood to please her.

_Stuart._ That’s because you don’t try hard enough.

_Fred (bitterly)._ Hear the bachelor talk of making love!

_Stuart._ You think me ignorant?

_Fred._ Rather,—judging from the results.

_Stuart (resting hand on Fred’s shoulder)._ Fred, I’m not the kind of a

man who lets the world know what he’s thinking about. With all due

respect to a young fellow who is not far distant, it doesn’t pay to show

one’s feelings too much. But I’m going to tell you my bit of romance as

an object-lesson. Two months ago I met the most charming woman in the

world, and could no more help falling in love—

_Fred (looking up in surprise)._ What! The ideal bachelor in love?

_Stuart._ I don’t see why two and forty should be debarred from that

universal sensation, any more than four and twenty.

_Fred._ Oh, of course not,—only, to make an Irish bull, we had all grown

to think you as wedded to celibacy.

_Stuart._ There are divorces and desertions in celibacy as well as in

matrimony. Well, I love this woman; I don’t think she loves me,—though

you never can tell with a clever one, and sometimes I think she is

beginning to like me, because she—because she tries to make me believe

she is worse than she is. She delights in making me think she’s a devil,

which shows that she is a bit afraid of me. I’ve never said a word of my

love to her, but she knows it as well as I do. But nobody else dreams of

it. I don’t make my attentions so obvious that every one sees them, and

so cause her embarrassment whenever I even come into the room. I don’t

cut up rough if she talks or dances with other fellows. I simply try to

be pleasant and useful enough to make her prefer my society to that of

any other man.

_Fred (sighing)._ Well, of course you are right, but—tell me what you

think I ought to do.

_Stuart (walking to desk and holding bell)._ What do you suppose would

happen if I rang this?

[_Rings._

_Fred._ That doesn’t answer my question.

_Stuart._ I want to see if the bell won’t save me the trouble.

_Enter_ POLLY, _l. d._

_Polly._ Did you ring, sir?

_Stuart._ Yes, I want to find out if you told the truth about Miss

Wortley’s domino?

_Polly (embarrassed)._ Well, sir, Miss Wortley has two dominos, and I

don’t know which she intends to wear first.

_Stuart._ What is the other domino like?

_Polly._ It’s blue with silver lace.

_Stuart._ What will you charge me to wear the white and cardinal one

this evening, leaving Miss Wortley only the blue and silver one?

_Polly (eagerly)._ Oh, Mr. Stuart, that’s just what I’ve wanted to do,

but haven’t dared! Please don’t tempt me.

_Stuart._ Fudge! If you’ll do as I’ll tell you, you shall have a year’s

wages to-morrow.

_Polly._ Gracious!!

_Stuart._ Is it a bargain?

_Polly (eagerly)._ Yes, sir. What am I to do?

_Stuart._ H’m. Can you write a good hand?

_Polly._ Ask Mr. Stevens?

_Stuart (reproachfully)._ Oh, Fred!!

_Fred._ I don’t know what she means.

_Polly._ I wrote that note to-day thanking you for the flowers: I write

nearly all Miss Wortley’s notes.

_Fred._ Bosh!

[_During letter-writing he surreptitiously dives into inside pocket and

produces glove, handkerchief, faded flowers, and letters tied with

ribbon. Examines letters, and then crosses to mantel, tears them up,

and throws them into fire._

_Stuart._ Good! It couldn’t be better. They’ll think it’s Miss Wortley’s

hand-writing. Sit down at that desk and write as I dictate.

_Polly._ Yes, sir.

[_Sits at desk—business of letter-writing._

_Stuart._ “My own: Driven to the verge of desperation by the parasites

who cluster about my wealth, I long for nothing but a refuge. This you

can give me, and if you cherish one emotion of tenderness for me, you

will be in the little morning room at twelve. A.” Address that to

Newbank. Now take another sheet. “Reginald: If you have one spark of

affection for me, keep me no longer in suspense! I shall be in the

little morning room over the supper-room at ten minutes after twelve.

Fly then to your loving but unhappy A.” Address that to Van Tromp. Now,

Polly, you must deliver those notes in person, get into Miss Wortley’s

domino, and be here at that time. Newbank will propose to you, and you

must accept him and get rid of him. Then you must do the same to Van

Tromp. Understand?

_Polly._ Yes, Mr. Stuart.

[_Rises with two notes in hand._

_Stuart._ And you mustn’t let them find out their mistake till

to-morrow.

[_Exits_ POLLY _b. d._

_Fred._ Do you think that’s honourable?

_Stuart._ It’s too soon after dinner for me to discuss ethics. But for

you it’s the chance of a lifetime. You know what Miss Wortley is to

wear. Go and make yourself agreeable to her, and if her mask gives you

courage, tell her that you love her.

_Fred._ You don’t understand. I’m not afraid to tell her that to her

face. It’s not the woman I’m afraid of. If she were poor, I could have

said to her as I say to myself, fifty times a day, “I love you.” But I

can’t say that to her money.

_Stuart._ And so you are going to place your Brunhilde on the top of her

gold and then fear to climb the fiery mountain? Why, Fred, tell her that

you love her, and leave it for her to decide whether it’s the woman or

the wealth you care for.

_Fred._ I can’t bear to give her the chance even to think I’m sordid.

_Stuart._ Nonsense, my boy! Go and tell Miss Wortley that you love her

before it’s too late. Make her the prettiest compliment a man can pay a

woman, and if she has the bad taste to think it’s her money and not her

beauty and sweetness, you are no worse off.

_Fred._ Mr. Stuart, I’ve tried to say it and to write it. I’ve begun

sentence after sentence; I’ve torn up letter after letter. It’s no good.

_Stuart (wearily)._ I don’t see anything to be done, except to get your

proposal made by proxy. (_Stops short in walk._) By Jove, that’s an

idea.

_Fred._ What?

_Stuart (triumphantly)._ I have it. I’ll get into a domino, pass myself

off for you, and propose.

[_Goes up back._

_Fred (angrily)._ You’ll do nothing of the kind!

_Stuart._ Why not?

_Fred._ Mr. Stuart, your proposition is simply insulting. A moment since

you said that a declaration of love was the greatest compliment a man

could pay a woman, and now you would turn it into a joke or trick. Do

you think I will allow the woman I love to be so treated?

_Stuart (soothingly)._ All right. We’ll say no more about it.

[_At b.d._

_Fred._ Then give me your word you won’t.

_Stuart._ That’s another matter.

_Fred._ Then I shall at once find Miss Wortley and—

_Stuart (interrupting)._ Tell her all about it. That’s right. You will

have told her that you love her.

[_Exits b. d._

_Fred (following)._ Not at all! I shall simply keep near her, and if you

make the attempt I shall interfere.

[_Exits b. d._

[AGNES _rises from concealment, peeks out and comes down c. with_ MRS.

V. T.’S _domino and mask on her arm_.

_Agnes._ At last! I began to think I should have to spend the night

there,—though I did nearly burst in on them two or three times. And

that’s the way men discuss women! (_Scornfully._) So, Mr. Van Tromp, I’m

to save you from the poorhouse! And “no” wouldn’t make you commit

suicide! And you’re not afraid of what my answer will be, Mr. Newbank!

Oh!!! (_Laughs._) I should like to hear their proposals to Polly. I’ve

always thought that girl a treasure, but she gets her dismissal

to-morrow. The idea of wearing my domino, and telling all those men what

I was to wear! And telling Mr. Stevens that she wrote my letters for me!

(_Anxiously._) What must he think of me! And the only one of them too

who seemed to think I deserve the commonest courtesy. “I could say to

Miss Wortley, as I say to myself fifty times a day, I love you.”

(_Demurely._) That was nice! I wonder if he— I wonder if Mr. Stuart will

propose to me? I never thought he would behave so badly. (_Pacing across

stage meditatively._) How can I turn the tables and punish them all? Let

me see—(_checking off on fingers_)—the two puppies will be punished by

the loss of their bets and—me! Polly will lose her position. Now—

_Enter_ MRS. V. T. _l. d._

_Mrs. V. T._ Oh, Agnes, I can’t find my domino anywhere, and— Why, you

have it!

_Agnes (as if seized with an inspiration)._ Frances, you must let me

change dominos and masks with you.

_Mrs. V. T._ What for?

_Agnes._ Mr. Stuart has bribed Polly to tell about our dominos,—and he’s

going to propose to my blue one.

_Mrs. V. T. (incredulously)._ What,—to you?

_Agnes (embarrassed)._ Oh! That is— Well—he’s— You see it’s—he’s only

asking for some one else.

_Mrs. V. T._ Oh, I see! Some one who hasn’t dared?

_Agnes._ Yes. Mr. Newbank is so—

_Mrs. V. T._ Of course. He is shy.

_Agnes._ Very. (_Hurriedly._) And so I thought we could change dominos,

and—and—don’t you see?

_Mrs. V. T. (reflectively)._ But then— Wouldn’t— Oh! Why, of course I

will. Here, let me help you on with it; and now run along downstairs.

The dancing is in full swing.

_Agnes (going up)._ I’ll go at once. (_Turns in b. d._) You will find my

domino in my dressing-room.

[_Exits l. d._

_Mrs. V. T. (reflectively)._ And so Mr. Stuart is going to propose to a

blue domino—that’s me—on behalf of Mr. Stevens? (_Laughs._) There’s a

nice game of cross purposes. Ah, sir, you’ll have to be cleverer than

that to— What a chance to beat him! Let me see.

STUART _appears at b. d._

_Stuart._ Not masked yet?

_Mrs. V. T._ Ah! Mr. Stuart, I am ready to name our game of forfeits.

_Stuart (coming down)._ Bravo!

_Mrs. V. T._ You want to win my cousin for Mr. Stevens. Succeed, and you

shall name whatever forfeit you choose. Fail, and I set what penalty I

please.

_Stuart._ Agreed.

_Mrs. V. T._ But I warn you: I shall stoop to anything rather than be

beaten. If a man is honourable he will be at a great disadvantage. Like

Faust, I have made a pact with the devil.

_Stuart._ Better take a partner with whom I am on less friendly

relations.

_Mrs. V. T._ He is not on so good terms with you as with me. Don’t you

know that women are extremes? That they are either a great deal better

or worse than men?

_Stuart._ I have always heard that women said spiteful things of their

sex, but I don’t think it’s nice of you to make such speeches about the

one I care for. One would almost think you were jealous of her.

_Mrs. V. T. (throwing glove on floor)._ There is my challenge to the

combat.

_Stuart (picking it up)._ I accept the gage.

_Mrs. V. T. (holding out hand)._ But not to keep it.

_Stuart._ I will only return the glove without the _g_.

_Mrs. V. T._ And without that letter, I prefer to get a new pair.

[_Going up._

_Stuart (following)._ Then it is real war?

_Mrs. V. T._ War, fierce and merciless.

[_Exit_ MRS. V. T. _and_ STUART, _b. d._

POLLY _peeks in l. d., then enters with white domino and mask on arm_.

_Polly._ I didn’t dare to put this on (_putting on domino and mask_) in

Miss Wortley’s room for fear she might come in. What will she say when

she only finds one? My! I shall have to keep out of her way this

evening, or she will want to know who is wearing it. (_Looking down at

domino._) Oh, I wish I dared go to Miss Wortley’s dressing-room and look

at myself in the glass! (_Walks off, looking behind her._) I will.

(_Goes up to l. d. and starts to exit._) Oh, Jiminy!

[_Turns and rushes out b. d._

_Enter_ AGNES _l. d. in domino, and with mask in her hand_.

_Agnes (coming down)._ I changed my mind about going downstairs, for I

had rather miss all the dancing in the world than puppydom’s love-making

to the back-stairs. I could almost forgive Polly when I think of what I

have in store. (_Crosses r. and looks through curtains at bay window._)

From my hiding-place, I’ll hear every word of it. (_Goes to mantel and

looks at clock._) Quarter to twelve—I’m early!

STUART _appears at b. d. and looks in_.

_Agnes._ Ah!

[_Hurriedly masks herself._

_Stuart (aside)._ That’s the quickest change I ever saw. I only just

left her at the door of her room! (_Comes down._) Are you practising

lightning transformations?

_Agnes._ Comment ça va-t-il, Monsieur?

_Stuart (regretfully)._ I’m sorry, but I don’t understand French.

(_Aside._) Whopper number one.

_Agnes._ Wie gehts?

_Stuart._ Nor German. (_Aside._) Number two.

_Agnes._ Buenas noches, señor?

_Stuart (wearily)._ And on Spanish I’m an entire failure. (_Aside._) The

recording angel didn’t catch me that time!

_Agnes._ Will you kindly tell me what you do speak?

_Stuart (gallantly and bowing)._ In your society only the universal

language.

_Agnes._ And I don’t understand Volapük.

_Stuart._ Volapük! That’s not the one of which I speak.

_Agnes._ And of what, then?

_Stuart._ To the language which without instruction is known around the

world; to the language that’s spoken by all classes, and is never out of

fashion; to the language that has no dictionary; yet which possesses the

most beautiful vocabulary in the universe.

_Agnes._ I don’t remember any such in my text-book on philology.

_Stuart._ It is too real to be taught in schools. Nor were you old

enough to understand it had it been. I speak of the language of love.

_Agnes._ Of course; I suppose it is a universal tongue. (_Satirically._)

But so few can speak it well. Don’t you think it ought to be left to the

poets?

_Stuart._ I love the future of the human race too much to wish that.

Think of the frightful increase of bad rhymers it would cause,—and that

too with the markets already overstocked.

_Agnes._ But would that be any worse than to see the average unromantic

breadwinner make love? It’s very hard on our sex to appear sympathetic.

Most men do it about as successfully as a hippopotamus would waltz.

_Stuart._ Aren’t you a little unfair, Mrs. Van Tromp?

_Agnes._ And so you think I am Mrs. Van Tromp?

_Stuart._ I don’t think it; I know it. Do you think for a moment you

could deceive me? But that doesn’t answer my question.

_Agnes._ As to the justice of my criticism on the way men propose?

(_With affected coyness._) Perhaps I have had too little experience to

speak with knowledge.

_Stuart._ Mrs. Van Tromp would not dare to say that unmasked. Her face

would give her tongue the lie.

_Agnes._ I fancy you are the first man who ever turned calling one a

liar into a compliment.

_Stuart._ Since that is possible, may not a poetic proposal be also?

_Agnes._ Perhaps. And when I hear one that does not make me want to

laugh, I’ll make public recantation.

_Stuart._ It’s a bold man or a fool who’d venture after what you have

said. And yet I should like to try.

_Agnes (laughing)._ Why, Mr. Stuart, what would you do if I were to take

you seriously and say yes?

_Stuart (with mock resignation)._ Bear it—like a man. But I am quite

safe from that danger! I trust you won’t mind if in the passion of the

moment I call you Frances.

_Agnes._ This once I’ll condone the liberty.

_Stuart (coming very close to Agnes)._ And if I should so far forget

myself as to try and—well, behave as lovers generally do?

_Agnes (retreating)._ Oh, Mrs. Van Tromp is quite safe from that.

[_Slips past_ STUART _and crosses to l._

_Stuart (aside)._ Don’t be too sure of that.

_Agnes._ Well, begin.

_Stuart (crossing to chair c.)._ Now that’s no way to give a lover an

opening. I want this to have verisimilitude. In real life you don’t as

good as say to the man (_sits very much on the edge of chair c._)

sitting on the edge of his chair, ‘Please begin.’ Do let’s make it

realistic.

_Agnes (laughing)._ Even to the mitten? Very well. (_Imitating society

manner._) I didn’t see you at Mrs. Grainger’s rosecotillion Tuesday, Mr.

Stuart.

_Charlie (without)._ Ah! My angel, we meet.

_Agnes (seizing Stuart’s hand)._ Quick! Come!

[_Drags him over to bay window, where she conceals both with curtain._

_Enter_ POLLY, _in mask and domino, and_ CHARLIE _b. d._

_Charlie._ My own! What can I do to thow my gratitude?

_Polly._ If you but knew how I have trembled at my unmaidenly imprudence

in writing you!

_Charlie._ My angel, love knowth no prudenth; no boundth can limit it.

_Polly._ And you don’t scorn and despise me?

_Charlie._ Thcorn? Dethpithe? Never.

_Polly._ And you don’t think me unmaidenly?

_Charlie._ It ith impothible. You are nothing but what ith perfect and

beautiful.

_Polly (sighing)._ Ah!

_Charlie (sighing)._ Ah! (_Reaches out and takes her hand._) Mith

Wortley, did you mean what you thaid in your letter?

_Polly (languishing)._ Can you doubt it?

_Charlie._ And you really love your Cholly?

_Polly (tenderly)._ Oh, Cholly!

_Charlie (kneeling)._ And you really want to marry your Cholly?

_Polly (faintly)._ Oh, Cholly!

REGINALD _appears b. d. and enters_.

_Reg._ Miss Wortley, I have hurwied to your side. And none too soon, it

appears.

_Charlie (jumping to his feet and speaking very angrily)._ You

thpethimen of the horroth of heredity, you get out of here!

_Polly (sotto voce to Charlie)._ Oh, please don’t make a disturbance!

Remember whose house it is! Leave us and I’ll get rid of him and follow.

_Charlie._ My angel, I can refuth you nothing. (_Goes up stage and

speaks to Reg._) Thir, you owe your thafety to that lady.

[_Exit b. d._

_Reg. (coming down)._ Miss Wortley, I am deucid sowy that epitome of bad

form has been borwing you.

_Polly._ Oh, I don’t mind that. I was only afraid he was going to

misbehave.

_Reg._ Aw, the cad’s always doing that, don’tcher know.

_Polly._ Oh, Mr. Van Tromp, what must you think of me!

_Reg._ Think of you? The woman Reginald De Lancey Van Tromp loves is

above thought. In but one way can the loveliest of her sex offend me.

_Polly (eagerly)._ Ah! Tell me, so that I may never do it.

_Reg._ By wefusing the heart and hand he (_kneeling_) places at her

feet.

_Polly._ Oh! I am faint with too great happiness. (_Leans on Reg._)

Reginald, support— Oh, Jiminy! Some one’s coming.

[_Recovers, and rushes up l. to l. b., exit l. d. followed by_ REG.

_Enter_ MRS. VAN TROMP _and_ FRED, _b. d._

_Mrs. V. T. (coming down)._ I told you we should find this room empty.

[_Looks about._

_Fred._ But that doesn’t tell me why you asked me to bring you here.

_Mrs. V. T._ Perhaps to cheat you out of your dance with our host’s

pretty daughter.

_Fred._ I might answer you in kind. But it’s fairer to tell you that

your mask is no disguise.

_Mrs. V. T._ You know me?

_Fred._ Yes. You are “our host’s pretty daughter.”

_Mrs. V. T._ I am but a poor actress if I have played my part so badly.

_Fred._ Indeed, no. Even now I find it hard to believe, your acting is

so perfect. If I had not known your domino, I should never have

recognised you.

_Mrs. V. T._ My domino?

_Fred._ I overheard it mentioned. I was sorry to learn your secret, but

really I couldn’t help it.

_Mrs. V. T._ It really does not matter. But I am glad you told me. Most

men would have kept mum and let me talk on about “our host’s pretty

daughter,” and then have never let me hear the last of it.

_Fred._ I’m afraid I’m no better than the rest of my sex, Miss Wortley.

With most women I should have done that.

_Mrs. V. T._ And why am I an exception?

_Fred._ I didn’t want to deceive you.

_Mrs. V. T._ Why not?

_Fred._ Because I wanted you to think well of me.

_Mrs. V. T._ Why, I do that already. If you only knew how I respected

and admired the men who have been real friends, and not seekers of my

money!

_Fred._ Miss Wortley, I thank you for your kind thoughts of me, but you

mustn’t think them any longer.

_Mrs. V. T._ Why not?

_Fred._ Because I don’t deserve them. Do you remember our first meeting?

_Mrs. V. T. (aside)._ Gracious! I hope I’m not to be cross-examined.

(_Aloud, hesitatingly._) It was on a yacht, wasn’t it?

_Fred._ After that cruise I came back to my desk and bachelor quarters,

but neither they nor I have been the same since. It’s always seemed to

me as if a bit of heaven had come into my life in those days. Every hour

since has been consecrated to an ideal. I have worked as I was never

able to work before. And why? Because I was straining every fibre to win

money and position enough to be able to come to you and say: “Miss

Wortley, I love you as a man must love one so sweet and beautiful. I’m

not rich, but if you can care for me enough to make a few sacrifices I

will try and keep you from regretting them, by love and tenderness.”

_Mrs. V. T._ But, Mr. Stevens, you seem to forget that the man I marry

will be made rich at once. (_Aside._) Ugh, I feel like a brute.

_Fred._ I’ve tried to forget it, but I couldn’t. It has come between us

in the past; is it to do so in the future?

_Mrs. V. T._ Mr. Stevens, I can’t tell you my grief in finding you like

the rest of my disinterested masculine friends.

_Fred (hotly)._ You think I care for your money?

_Mrs. V. T._ What else can I think? (_Aside._) You cat!

_Agnes (starting to pull aside curtain, sotto voce to Stuart)._ Oh! I

mustn’t—

_Stuart (checking her)._ No, don’t interfere, Mrs. Van Tromp. Let the

poor fellow take the whole dose while he’s about it.

_Fred (who has gone up back and now comes down)._ Miss Wortley, do you

realize what you are saying? In the last minute you have three times

deliberately insulted me. Say you don’t love me, if that is so, but

don’t impute shameful motives to my love. It is of value to me if

worthless to you.

_Mrs. V. T._ Mr. Stevens, frankness under such circumstances is best for

all. Put yourself in my place. I am an heiress, with expectations from

my father. You acknowledge yourself that you are poor. Don’t blame me if

I draw my own conclusions.

_Fred._ But I will blame you, and it is the last time I shall ever

trouble you. You ask me to put myself in your place: let us try the

reverse. I offer you a love as true and unmercenary as was ever offered

a woman. What do I deserve at your hands? Mercy, at least. But instead,

you—you have not been content to reject it—you have poisoned it forever.

[_Turns and walks up stage to b. d._ MRS. VAN TROMP _begins to take off

mask_. AGNES _springs from bay window, and rushes forward c._

_Agnes._ One moment, Mr. Stevens. (_To Mrs. V. T. tearfully._) Oh,

Frances, how could you?

_Mrs. V. T. (taking off mask)._ I couldn’t. I was unmasking to show him

his mistake.

[FRED _stands hesitating, looking from one to the other_. STUART’S _head

through curtains_.

_Fred._ You are not Miss Wortley?

_Agnes (taking off mask)._ No, Mr. Stevens. Miss Wortley never thought

you a fortune-hunter. She remembers perfectly the first time she met

you. She’s glad she brought a little heaven into your life. She’s glad

that you—that you—

_Fred (rushing down stage)._ That I love you?

_Agnes._ Yes.

_Fred._ And you are willing to make the sacrifice?

_Agnes._ Yes.

_Fred._ And you care for me?

_Agnes._ No (_holds out her hand_), I love you.

_Fred (taking and kissing it)._ My treasure!

[_Both retire up back l._

_Mrs. V. T._ Heigho! That’s what comes of wrong-doing. In trying to win

my wager, I’ve actually helped Mr. Stuart to beat me.

_Stuart (head through curtains)._ For which I can’t thank you enough!

_Mrs. V. T._ You!

_Stuart._ Exactly! Aren’t you ashamed?

[_Comes out c._

_Mrs. V. T._ Of being defeated? Yes. But don’t be too triumphant. You

didn’t win single-handed.

_Stuart._ I certainly did not have much assistance, except from Mrs. Van

Tromp.

_Mrs. V. T._ On the contrary, you had the best assistance in the world.

I ought to have known better than bet against so powerful a coalition as

Mr. Stuart and Cupid. I only hope my behaviour has made me odious to

you!

[_Crosses petulantly to r._

_Stuart._ On the contrary, I’m rather fond of real deviltry! So, if

agreeable, we’ll settle the stakes at once.

_Mrs. V. T._ I throw myself on your mercy.

_Stuart._ And what mercy would you have shown me, had I lost?

_Mrs. V. T._ Yes, but then I’m a woman.

_Stuart._ Deo gratia.

_Mrs. V. T._ And you know, Mr. Stuart, a woman is never expected to pay

her bets.

_Stuart._ There’s one woman who will pay hers to me, and that promptly.

Attention, please. As a forfeit, you are to say to me, “I love you.”

_Mrs. V. T._ Ah, Mr. Stuart, don’t make me tell any more untruths!

_Stuart (taking her hand)._ Don’t say it then; tell me without words.

[_Stoops head and they kiss. Sounds of altercation outside._

_Agnes_ (_coming down with_ FRED). What’s that?

CHARLIE _and_ REG. _enter at b. d. and come down_.

_Charlie._ Well, you reprethentative of a graveyard, you juth athk her.

_Reg._ Ask her? I tell you she’s engaged to me. (_Sees Stuart_). Aw, Mr.

Stuart, you’ve lost your wager.

_Stuart (to Agnes)._ Has Mr. Van Tromp proposed to you this evening?

_Agnes._ No.

_Charlie (reeling with laughter against mantel)._ Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

Oh, thith ith rich! Oh, I thall die of laughing! Oh, thum one thtop me!

To think of the proud and haughty Reginald De Lanthy Van Tromp

propothing to the wrong girl,—ha, ha, ha, ho, ho, ho!

_Stuart._ Laugh away, Newbank. Get it all in now, for it won’t last.

_Charlie._ Won’t latht? I don’t underthtand you.

[POLLY, _with domino on her arm, appears at b. d.—looks in, and starts

back as if frightened_.

_Agnes._ Come here, Polly.

[POLLY _comes down r. between_ CHARLIE _and_ REG.

_Stuart._ Here is the minx who can make all clear. Polly, did Mr.

Newbank propose to you?

_Polly._ Yes, sir.

_Reg._ Oh, deah, how funny! Haw, haw, haw! But then, people in his

station always do take maids. Pwoposing to a servant!

_Polly._ But you proposed to me too, Mr. Van Tromp.

_Charlie (laughing very hard)._ Holy Motheth, but I thall thertainly die

of laughing!

_Polly._ Please, Miss Wortley, forgive me?

_Stuart._ Yes. Remember what she has done for (_points to Fred and

Agnes_) you two.

_Fred._ And for (_pointing at Stuart and Mrs. V. T._) those two.

_Agnes._ But she must have a lesson.

_Stuart._ Why, we’ve all had a lesson—on the mysterious means Cupid

employs to accomplish his purposes.

_Mrs. V. T._ Verily ’tis so:

“Love goes by haps,

Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.”

CURTAIN

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in

spelling.

2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.

3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.