couch_). Come in! (_Seeing ARTHUR._) Oh, it's you? For goodness' sake,
Arthur, don't make such an infernal noise! Do you want to dislocate
that implement of torture?
ARTH. Don't you like it, uncle? I thought you were fond of music!
COL. You don't call that music, do you? (_getting up from couch_). I
accept your friend Fritterly's invitation to his country-house for a
few weeks' quiet--
ARTH. Well, you've got it, haven't you?
COL. Don't interrupt me (_snappishly_).
ARTH. I was merely anticipating--
COL. Who the deuce wants you to anticipate! Take things as I do, and
wait till they come round! My idea of a quiet life is to get up at
eleven, when the world has been thoroughly aired by that beneficent
warming-pan, the sun; next, breakfast at twelve--twelve's a lovely
hour for breakfast--have the morning papers all to yourself, and
escape being dragged round the grounds like the rest of the
visitors--to see the early peas, and the asparagus beds, and spring
onions!
ARTH. Ha! ha! Well, what next?
COL. Breakfast over, a quiet nap; a bit of lunch at three; a heavenly
slumber till dinner-time at seven; a cup of coffee, a cigar, and to
bed at ten! That's my idea of a rational, peaceful existence!
ARTH. You'd better by half shoulder your gun and have a pop at the
partridges!
COL. Thankee--I never went out with a gun but once in my life, and
then I shot a couple of dogs and a game-keeper; so I gave it up; for
if I'd gone on as I began, dogs and game-keepers would have been at a
premium long before this!
ARTH. Ah! it was a bad business for you, uncle, that you didn't take a
wife.
COL. It would have been a precious deal worse for my wife if I had!
ARTH. Well, every one to his taste. What you call existence _I_ call a
state of positive torpidity. It may suit _you;_ but at my age a man
hungers and thirsts after a little more excitement.
COL. Then why the deuce don't you take it? Go out fishing--in the
duck-pond--or go and see the cows milked, or the pigs fed; or, better
still, here's no end of excitement for you under your very nose.
ARTH. Where?
COL. At that window (_pointing to window_); gardener always at work
rolling the lawn, or watering the flowers, or picking up worms, or
killing slugs, and without the slightest fatigue for you; all you have
to do is to settle yourself down at the window--
ARTH. Settle down, eh? My dear uncle, that's the very thing I want to
do! In a word, Myrtle Vane--Lady Fritterly's sister--
COL. Ugh! The old story over again, eh? Lady Fritterly's sister is a
niceish sort of girl--
ARTH. (_indignantly_). Niceish sort of girl! She's an angel!
COL. Rubbish! Besides, as I said before, you're too young to marry
yet; wait another ten or fifteen years, and then begin to look about
you. You haven't popped to her, have you?
ARTH. Popped?
COL. Proposed!
ARTH. No!
COL. Then how do you know she'd have you?
ARTH. Of course I don't _know;_ but I think she _might._
COL. There's a conceited young puppy for you!
ARTH. (_coaxingly_). Especially if you'll encourage my
attentions--like my dear, kind old uncle!
COL. Which your "dear, kind old uncle" doesn't intend to do.
ARTH. You don't, eh? Very well, then listen to me! I shall do
something desperate!
COL. Wait till I get out of the room! (_Feeling his pulse._) I thought
as much! Going like a windmill in a gale of wind! This excitement's
too much for me, I must take a sedative! (_takes pillbox out of his
pocket; opens it, and tosses two pills into his mouth one after the
other_). And now, young fellow, listen to me. If you are so anxious to
_settle,_ as you call it, better begin with your bootmaker! In a word,
you don't marry yet with my consent. Marry _without_ it, and I leave
every shilling I've got to--to the Society for the Suppression of
Virtue--I mean the Propagation of Vice--I don't know what I'm talking
about! (_swallows two more pills, and hurries out at R., slamming door
violently after him_).
ARTH. Just as easy to argue him out of his prejudices as it would be
to make a Quaker kick his mother's-- Oh! here comes Myrtle! What a
contrast!--he all apathy--she all impetuosity! Of course I shall have
to give her an account of my morning's employment, as usual, which
consists of breakfast--three slices of toast, a rasher of bacon, a
couple of eggs, and a cup of coffee! and not a bad morning's work,
either!
_Enter MYRTLE at C. in morning dress--a large garden hat and
gloves._
MYRT. Good-morning, Mr. Vallance! has nature no attractions for you,
that you remain in-doors such a lovely day as this? Following your
uncle's example, as usual, I presume?
ARTH. On the contrary, I've been very hard at work, I assure you,
trying to reduce my uncle's bump of obstinacy.
MYRT. But in vain?--the _protuberance_ defied your efforts. And has
that been your entire morning's work?
ARTH. Physically, yes! Mentally, no!
MYRT. The _physical_ we'll dismiss; the _mental_ consisting
of--reading the newspaper, eh? (_smiling_).
ARTH. What can a man do such weather as this? It's too hot to walk,
too early for billiards--only fit for smoking. By-the-bye, I _did_
manage to get as far as the stables, where I had a cigar.
MYRT. And this is the new leaf you promised me you would turn over--a
tobacco-leaf! You are sadly deficient in energy, Mr. Vallance.
ARTH. I confess it. But brought up as I was from my earliest infancy
under my uncle--
MYRT. (_smiling_). Under your uncle?
ARTH. Yes--(_suddenly_)--no, of course not. I mean under his
_supervision_--how can I be otherwise than I am? He resents the
slightest approach to activity as a slur on himself; and the highest
compliment you can pay him is to yawn in his face (_checking a yawn
with difficulty_).
MYRT. I beg pardon--I'm afraid I'm in the way.
ARTH. Not at all! But why are you in such a hurry to go?
MYRT. To allow you more leisure for (_imitating ARTHUR'S yawn_)--you
know!
ARTH. Oh, Myrtle--do you object to my calling you Myrtle?
MYRT. You should have asked that question before you _did._
ARTH. If my tongue has been silent, surely my eyes must have spoken
for me?
MYRT. (_stiffly_). Mr. Vallance, you forget yourself!
ARTH. Because I was thinking of you (_tenderly_).
MYRT. (_aside_). This is getting too serious. (_Aloud._) But you
really must excuse me. I have my plants to attend to--a favorite
creeper especially that requires nailing up.
ARTH. Let me go with you. I'll make myself so useful--you'll see how
hard I'll work. I'll hold the ladder for you, and hand you up the
hammer and tin-tacks!
MYRT. What an exertion! And all for me! Ha! ha! ha!
ARTH. (_annoyed_). I see how it is, madam; you've no feeling, or you
wouldn't treat me so cruelly, so capriciously! If you had the
slightest particle of regard for me, you'd let me hand you up the
hammer and tin-tacks!
MYRT. You accuse _me_ of caprice! _you,_ who never knew what it is to
be in earnest!
ARTH. I am so _now,_ I assure you.
MYRT. Then listen to me, Arthur Vallance. Let me see that you possess
some energy, some enthusiasm, some strength of will, then I may,
perhaps, give you a better answer. Good-morning.
[_Goes out at C. towards R._
ARTH. (_calling after_). Stop, Myrtle! _Do_ let me come and hand you
up the hammer and tin-tacks! So! I'm to do something energetic, am I?
Drown myself in the duck-pond? Yes!--no. I have it! I'll say good-by
to Fritterly, and cut this place at once! And then, Miss Vane, perhaps
you'll be sorry--perhaps you'll regret that you didn't let me hand you
up the hammer and tin-tacks! Let me see, there's an express to town at
three. (_Looking at his watch._) I can catch that. My traps can follow
(_hurrying up towards door L. H., and coming into collision with SIR
FELIX, who enters at the same time_).
SIR F. Holloa, old fellow, where the deuce are you off to in such a
hurry?
ARTH. Don't ask me--I'm going out of my mind!
SIR F. The deuce you are! Well, if I may judge by appearances, it
won't take you very long to get to the end of _that_ journey! Confound
it, man, will you explain?
ARTH. Well, you know the feelings I entertain towards Miss Vane?
SIR F. Myrtle? Yes.
ARTH. Well, you'll hardly believe it; but when I proposed to her just
now--
SIR F. You proposed to her? (_astonished_).
ARTH. Yes--to hand her up the hammer and tin-tacks--
SIR F. (_astonished_). Hammer and tin-tacks? What the deuce are you
talking about?
ARTH. (_helplessly_). I'm sure I don't know--yes, I do. She said that
when I showed a little energy--a little enthusiasm--a little something
else, she'd perhaps give me a better answer.
SIR F. A better answer! What on earth can that mean?
ARTH. I can't tell! (_Suddenly._) Yes, I can, of course! It can only
mean one thing (_enthusiastically_)--that she _will_ let me hand her
up the hammer--
SIR F. (_shouting_). Confound it, drop that hammer! You've been
hammering that hammer into my ears for the last ten minutes! Now!
(_turning VALLANCE round to him face to face_) speak like a man of
sense--if you've got any left in you!
ARTH. Well, then, I ventured to speak to my uncle--
SIR F. Old Cosey?
ARTH. Yes, old Cosey--about Myrtle, and he coolly told me I mustn't
think of getting married for the next ten or fifteen years!
SIR F. Come, I like that!
ARTH. Do you? It's more than I do--unless, he said, he saw some urgent
necessity for it; but that if I married without his consent he'd
disinherit me.
SIR F. Is that all?
ARTH. All! It strikes me as being quite enough. No, it isn't all--it's
only half, for Myrtle--
SIR F. (_cutting him short_). Never mind Myrtle; I know all about her.
She thinks you a bit of a milksop--s--so do I; that you've no
energy--not an atom! no will of your own--never had! and that in order
to reinstate yourself in her good opinion you must do something
_desperate!_ So you shall! Now what do you mean to do?
ARTH. Show a proper spirit, and--run away!
SIR F. Run away! Certainly not--fling yourself into my arms and I'll
pull you through! So cheer up!
ARTH. It's very easy to say "cheer up" to a fellow who feels himself
between two stools, with the certainty of coming down a cropper!
SIR F. But what's the use of giving you advice? You'd never follow it!
You haven't the pluck to do anything desperate!
ARTH. I told uncle I would! But I'm not going to make away with myself
merely to prove that I'm a man of my word!
SIR F. Pshaw! Now let's understand each other. Myrtle insists on your
giving her a convincing proof of energy--pluck--determination--and all
that sort of thing! You're not limited as to the direction they may
take?
ARTH. Not at all!
SIR F. Good--and your uncle refuses his consent to your marriage
unless he sees some urgent necessity for it?
ARTH. Exactly!
SIR F. Then the same medicine will do for both! Old Cosey has a great
regard for propriety and morality, and all that sort of thing--hasn't
he?
ARTH. Intense!
SIR F. Then we'll give him such a shock on that score, he'll think
that his opposition to your wishes has driven you frantic with
despair!
ARTH. But Myrtle?
SIR F. Has only to imagine there's a chance of your turning out a
"naughty, good-for-nothing reprobate," and she'll be only too glad to
reclaim her lost sheep at once!
ARTH. What then?
SIR F. Oh, then we must borrow a wrinkle from the French! As your
uncle won't hear of your taking a wife of your own, take somebody
else's!--no matter whose. Take _mine;_ she's the handiest!
ARTH. Don't be absurd!
SIR F. I'm perfectly serious! All your uncle wants is to snooze away
his existence. We must wake the old boy up!!
ARTH. How?
SIR F. By an elopement!! A _pretended_ one, of course, which you shall
propose to my wife, and _he_ shall overhear!
ARTH. _I_ propose an elopement to Lady Fritterly? She'll be indignant!
SIR F. How do you know that? She may feel flattered! At any rate I'll
take all the responsibility!--you may be as fascinating as you choose!
Ha! ha!
ARTH. But, man alive, I'm not in the habit of running away with other
people's wives! I shouldn't know how to begin. Something in this
style?--"Please, ma'am, will you run away with me?"
SIR F. Not half tender enough! (_Clasping his hands and with
exaggerated passion._) "Loveliest of women"--then down on your
knee--it don't matter which--both if you like. Then exclaim, "My
bosom's torn with conflicting emotions"--"my brain is in a whirlwind
of agony and despair"--tearing your hair out by handfuls all the time.
Don't forget _that!_
ARTH. Stop! Don't be in such a confounded hurry! Let me see!
"Loveliest of women," one! (_counting on his fingers_)--"conflicting
emotions," two!--"agony," three!--"despair," four! Can't you make it
five--one for each finger?
SIR F. Five--the elopement!--_there_ you must come out a little
stronger--(_declaiming in exaggerated tone_)--"Let us fly, loved
one!--horses are in readiness to bear us to the nearest station, where
the flashing express shall whirl us to--to--" anywhere you
like--Madagascar--Seringapatam--Pegwell Bay--no matter!
ARTH. Oh! that's the style, is it? By Jove, I've half a mind to chance
it! But when is this precious scheme of yours to come off?
SIR F. At once! As soon as I can secure the presence of my wife, and
old Cosey as a listener!--he always takes a nap on this couch when the
coast is clear--(_turns the couch round with back to the audience_).
There!--now, you take a stroll in the grounds--I'll hide behind the
window-curtains and give you the signal to come in. Be off! (_pushing
him up stage_).
ARTH. Wait a minute--(_counting on his fingers_)--"Loveliest of
women," "conflicting emotions," "agony," "paggony"--no, not "paggony,"
"despair." Let me see, what's the little finger?
SIR F. The elopement!
ARTH. All right!
[_Exit at C. towards R., counting his fingers._
SIR F. He's gone at last! I ought to have been born in an atmosphere
of diplomacy to develop my talent for intrigue! Ha, ha, ha! how this
"little game" of mine will astonish them! But they all want waking up
in this house! Cosey's an old hedgehog, all prickles and prejudices!
Arthur's--never mind what! Myrtle's a crab-apple--pleasant to look at,
but occasionally rather tart to the taste! (_here LADY FRITTERLY
enters at door L., unperceived by SIR FELIX_). As for my wife (_here
LADY F. stops and listens_), she's a charming woman; but she has one
fault, for which I'd gladly exchange a good many of her virtues--she's
so dreadfully proper! Shall I take her into my confidence? No! she
hates jokes--especially mine. How she will stare when Arthur opens his
_batteries!_--ha--ha!--run away with my wife!--the notion's too
absurd.
LADY F. (_aside_). Indeed! So, so, husband of mine!--(_comes down and
taps SIR FELIX on the shoulder_). Felix!
SIR F. (_turning_). Grace! (_Aside._) I wonder if she overheard!
LADY F. You seem merry!--laughing at your own jokes? Quite right you
should, for nobody else does!
SIR F. Thank you! (_Aside._) All right! she didn't hear anything.
Perhaps I'd better prepare her, just a little bit, or she might
petrify poor Arthur with one of her tragedy looks before he opens his
mouth, and then he'd take to his heels to a certainty! (_Aloud._)
By-the-bye, my dear Grace, have you noticed anything peculiar in young
Vallance's behavior lately?
LADY F. No; he seems as apathetic as ever; he may, perhaps, have shown
a little more attention to me than usual (_with intention_).
SIR F. (_aside_). The deuce he has! I wonder what she'll say presently
when he comes out with his "agony" and "despair?" (_Aloud._) I don't
mean his behavior to _you_--but to Myrtle! He's not half so spooney--I
mean attentive--as he used to be, and I fear there's a reason for it!
(_with significance_).
LADY F. Indeed!
SIR F. Yes! he _may_ be smitten with _somebody_ else! At _his_ age the
affections are fickle, volatile--skipping like a flea--
LADY F. Felix!
SIR F. I mean _sipping like a bee_ from flower to flower! Myrtle is
young--very young; but even youth like hers _may_ become insipid! The
love of every precocious boy of fifteen is a woman of _thirty!_ I
began at twelve!
LADY F. A woman of thirty--_my_ age! Understand, sir, that no woman
cares to be reminded of her age when she is turned thirty, any more
than that she wears false hair! Your remark, therefore, is scarcely
polite; but with your wife it appears you consider no such politeness
necessary!
SIR F. Politeness! My dear Grace, what is politeness, after
all?--merely the gloss of society! I suppose you'll admit that the
shiny stuff they put on the top of the buns doesn't make them taste
any the sweeter?
LADY F. Spare me your absurd similes, and don't mistake flippancy for
wit!
SIR F. (_aside_). That's a dig in the ribs for me! (_Aloud._) But we
are wandering from our subject! Do you think Myrtle loves Vallance at
all?
LADY F. I fancy she likes him well enough!
SIR F. "Well enough" won't do! She must like him a _great deal_
better--as I believe she would if we could only make her just a little
bit jealous!
LADY F. Perhaps so--but how? My lady's-maid is no beauty! The
house-maid's no chicken! The cook's too fat! And there's no one else!
SIR F. No, exactly! (_Here LADY FRITTERLY turns and goes up stage._)
Are you going out this morning?
LADY F. Yes, unless you wish for the pleasure of my society here!
SIR F. Well, it would be a novelty!
LADY F. And you promise to spare me the infliction of those melancholy
exhibitions which you call jokes?
SIR F. I'll be as dull as an undertaker! Suppose you put a few
stitches into that smoking-cap of mine, which has been your sole
occupation in needle-work for the last two years and a half!
LADY F. Be it so! It's in my room--I'll fetch it! (_Aside as she goes
up stage._) So--so--he's evidently got some "little game" on
hand--which it will be my business to find out! (_Turning to SIR F._)
Ta! ta!
[_Goes out at door L. H._
SIR F. Poor, unsuspecting innocent, it's too bad to take advantage of
her simplicity! Ah! here comes old Cosey for his forty winks--better
and better--but he mustn't see me! (_Hides behind window-curtain._)
_Enter COLONEL at R.; looks round._
COL. Nobody here! got it all to myself! That's just what I like! I was
afraid of meeting Fritterly! He's a pleasant fellow enough in his way,
but I prefer being _out_ of his way! To be within the sound of his
voice is like living over a printing-office--one continual clatter!
Now, then, for a little solitary rumination!--there's nothing equals
it. Look at a cow--how she enjoys it! and isn't she the most peaceful
of all animals? Who ever heard of a cow in a passion? See the touching
resignation with which she allows herself to be milked! I wish Arthur
had more of that docile animal in his composition! he wouldn't talk of
doing something desperate! Now, then, for a delicious nap! (_Ties his
handkerchief over his head and lies down on couch, and no longer in
sight of audience._)
SIR F. (_peeping from behind curtain_). Thank you, colonel, for your
flattering opinion of me; but I'll be even with you! I wonder if he's
asleep? (_advancing on tiptoe to couch_). Yes, sound as a top! Now,
then, to call in Arthur! Stop a bit! let me first perform the part of
the benevolent robin in the "Babes in the Wood," and cover this
"Sleeping Beauty" up! (_Carefully spreading several antimacassars over
COSEY._) There! now for Arthur! (_Runs to window and waves his hand._)
All right; he sees me!
_Enter VALLANCE at C._
ARTH. Well, you still stick to your plan?
SIR F. Like a horse-leech. My wife will be here directly!
ARTH. But Uncle Cosey?
SIR F. Comfortably tucked in there (_pointing to couch_), to be roused
from the land of dreams when the proper time arrives with this
implement (_taking a long feather brush_). Sure you've got your part
in this little domestic drama by heart? Rehearse!
ARTH. "Loveliest of women," "emotions," "agony," "Seringapatam,"
"despair," "Pegwell Bay"--
SIR F. Keep on going over it, like the multiplication-table; but hang
it, man, don't look as lively as if you were waiting in a dentist's
back parlor! (_Suddenly._) Here comes my wife! (_hurriedly hiding
behind curtains_).
_Enter LADY FRITTERLY at L. H., carrying a smoking-cap._
LADY F. (_seeing VALLANCE_). Mr. Vallance?
ARTH. Lady Fritterly! (_bowing_).
LADY F. (_aside_). The ball is about to open! (_Aloud._) Won't you be
seated? (_seating herself at L., ARTHUR moving a chair to some
distance from LADY F., and seating himself_). A lovely morning, is it
not? (_beginning to work at the smoking-cap_).
ARTH. Delicious!
LADY F. Quite cool and pleasant!
ARTH. (_aside_). I feel quite hot and _un_pleasant!
LADY F. By-the-bye, do you know where my husband is?
ARTH. (_fidgeting on his chair_). Not exactly; but I believe he's
somewhere or other, or if not there, somewhere else.
SIR F. (_who has peeped out, listening_). Idiot! (_hiding again_).
LADY F. (_observing the movement of the curtain. Aside_). He's there!
traitor! (_Aloud._) I'm sure I ought to feel deeply grateful to him
for leaving so agreeable a substitute.
SIR F. (_listening_). That ought to encourage him!
ARTH. (_aside_). It's time I began, if I'm going to begin at all!
(_Suddenly, and clasping his hands._) Oh, Lady Fritterly, pardon my
agitation; but agitated as I am with the agitations that agitate
me--the agony, the despair-- (_Aside._) I shall stick fast presently;
I know I shall!
SIR F. (_listening_). That's better.
ARTH. But say--say you forgive me!
LADY F. Forgive you! for what? (_insinuatingly, and moving her chair
nearer to ARTHUR, who draws his back_).
ARTH. For the confession which, alas! (_here a very deep sigh_) I am
about to make.
LADY F. Continue, I beg!
ARTH. Oh, madam, dear madam, dearest madam, if you only knew _all!_
LADY F. Hall? A gentleman of your acquaintance?
ARTH. I didn't say _Hall,_ madam! Let me observe, Lady Fritterly, that
this is no subject for levity.
LADY F. No one would imagine it was, from your countenance, Mr.
Vallance. Its solemnity is positively, painfully ludicrous!
SIR F. (_listening_). Why the deuce don't he open his batteries?
ARTH. (_seeing SIR FELIX, who is making energetic signs to him to
proceed with his love-making. Aside_). Well, since he will insist upon
it, here goes! (_Aloud, and in an ultra impassioned tone._) Loveliest
of women!--pardon the apparent insanity of the remark--I love you!
adore you! in fact, I rather like you! Behold me at your feet!
(_flopping down on one knee. Here SIR F. reaches over and tickles
COSEY with the feather brush, who starts up and shows his head above
the back of couch; then, seeing he is not alone, withdraws his head
again out of sight_).
LADY F. (_with pretended emotion_). Love me, Mr. Vallance? (_Aside._)
So this is the "little game," is it? (_Aloud._) Well, is that all?
ARTH. All? (_Aside_). And pretty well too, I think; what the deuce
_would_ she have? (_Aloud, and very enthusiastically._) No, madam, it
is _not_ all! I've only just begun! Oh, could you but know the
conflicting emotions, the agony, the despair-- (_counting on his
fingers. Aside._) I forgot the rest! (_Aloud._) Say, say that you love
me in return! (_seizing her hand_).
LADY F. (_with pretended emotion_). Oh, Mr. Vallance, you're too
vehement; release my hand!
ARTH. (_aside_). Release her hand! Come, I like that! I wish she'd let
go of _mine_ (_trying to disengage his hand, then catching another
glimpse of SIR F., who by signs encourages him to proceed. Aloud_).
Release this hand? Not till I've finished! Loved one! let us fly;
horses are waiting--flashing express--distant
clime--Seringapatam--Madagascar--the Sandwich Islands--anywhere.
LADY F. (_with pretended emotion and an affecting faintness_). A
sudden faintness (_leaning against VALLANCE_); oh, support me!
SIR F. (_looking out_). Holloa! holloa!
LADY F. (_looking up in ARTHUR'S face, and with mock sentimentality_).
Oh! Arthur, Arthur!
SIR F. (_behind_). Damn it, she calls him Arthur!
ARTH. (_aside_). I've been getting on _too_ fast!
LADY F. (_pathetically to VALLANCE_). Spare my blushes; I guess all
you would say.
ARTH. (_aside_). Do you? That's lucky, for _I'm_ regularly stumped.