At once! Bill and Patricia are returning here. You will see for yourself
there’s nothing more between them than cousinly regard.
DEAN.
I refuse to eavesdrop a lady.
MRS. O’FARREL.
But you deliberately did it a moment ago.
DEAN.
Clare is my daughter.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Fiddlesticks! (_Pushes him before her._) Quick now!
DEAN.
I submit——
MRS. O’FARREL.
Hush!
DEAN.
—Under protest....
(_She shepherds the DEAN into the summer-house just as
PATRICIA and BILL come up the central ladder._)
LADY PATRICIA.
Cousin Bill and I have discovered that guelder-roses are guelder-roses
after all.... Why, Bill dear, they’re not here!
BILL.
Got impatient, I suppose, and went back to the house. About time we did
the same. It’s getting late.
LADY PATRICIA.
(_Dreamily._) _Too late, too late! Ye cannot enter now!_
BILL.
What d’you say?
LADY PATRICIA.
I was quoting Tennyson.
BILL.
Oh....
LADY PATRICIA.
You know the lines, don’t you? Listen:
_Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill!_
_Late, late, so late, but we can enter still!_
_Too late, too late! Ye cannot enter now!_
So sweet and sad, are they not? Don’t you love sweet, sad things?
BILL.
Rather.
LADY PATRICIA.
_Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought._
BILL.
Rather.... I say, hadn’t we better be going?
LADY PATRICIA.
Bill....
BILL.
Yes.
LADY PATRICIA.
(_Her hands on his shoulders._) Do you love me as you used to?
BILL.
I say, why d’you—you don’t think——
LADY PATRICIA.
No—no—no—ah, no! I know well enough that your love is deeper and
stronger than it was. But this sacred love—this hopeless love of ours has
swept you suddenly into manhood. You are no longer a boy; you are graver;
you are sadder.... And if sometimes you seem to avoid me now, it’s due
to no cooling of passion, but to the fear lest the pent-up lava at your
heart should overflow and ruin us both.
BILL.
I say, you do put things awfully well!
LADY PATRICIA.
Petrarch and Laura—Paolo and Francesca—Lancelot and Guinevere....
Bill—no, William and Patricia.... Ah, my poor boy, put your arm around
me, and say those lines of Lovelace that I taught you.
BILL.
Oh, I say—really, you know—— On my honour, I’ve forgotten ’em....
LADY PATRICIA.
No, no! You’re merely shy—bashful—boyish! I love to hear you say that
verse. (_She starts him._) _Yet this_——
BILL.
_Yet this—yet this_—— What’s the word?
LADY PATRICIA.
_Yet this inconstancy_——
BILL.
(_In a self-conscious sing-song._)
_Yet this inconstancy is such_
_As you, too, shall adore;_
_I could not love thee, dear, so much,_
_Loved I not honour more._
LADY PATRICIA.
_Loved I not honour more...._ Love—duty—honour—— (_She sighs deeply._)
Come, dear....
(_They go out on the left. A pause. The DEAN comes out of
the summer-house. He barely conceals his triumph under a
mask of outraged propriety. MRS. O’FARREL follows him._)
DEAN.
H’m.... Cousinly regard!...
MRS. O’FARREL.
It’s shocking! Outrageous!
DEAN.
It is indeed.
MRS. O’FARREL.
—That you shouldn’t even pretend to hide your satisfaction at the scene
we have just witnessed.
DEAN.
Satisfaction! I assure you, dear lady, I’m shocked and grieved—deeply
grieved, that your son should prove capable of such depravity.
MRS. O’FARREL.
My son! You know as well as I do that the foolish boy has been bewitched
by that unprincipled woman.
DEAN.
Come, come, Eileen. In common fairness we should apportion the blame
equally—though, indeed, my experience has generally led me to the
conclusion that the _man_ is more to blame in these cases than the woman.
MRS. O’FARREL.
_Your_ experience! Quite so!... I shall give Patricia my plain,
unvarnished opinion of herself and forbid her my house. You will tell
Michael that he’s a scoundrel and a libertine.
DEAN.
No, no, no! Tact, tact, my dear Eileen, tact and diplomacy!... Let us
calmly review the position. Cosway’s and Lady Patricia’s relations with
Clare and your son, though highly culpable, appear to be blameless of the
worst, and considerably more—er—ardent on the part of the married couple
than of the single. So much is—er—unhappily evident. Now, do you still
maintain that your son is—er—interested in Clare?
MRS. O’FARREL.
I am certain of it.
DEAN.
Incredible! Of course, I _know_—in spite of appearances—that Clare feels
strongly for your son.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Fudge!
DEAN.
Now, my dear Eileen, pray don’t fall back on contradiction. What we have
both got to do is to bring these young people together——
MRS. O’FARREL.
Hush! D’you hear? (_She goes quickly to the back and looks out. A
pause._) All four of them! Of course, they went up to the house to look
for us.... What shall we do?
DEAN.
Ah! (_Goes to the railing at the back._) Allow me.... (_Calls._) Clare....
CLARE.
(_Beneath._) Hullo!...
MRS. O’FARREL.
(_Excitedly._) But are you going to let them know——
DEAN.
I beg you, Eileen, to sit down and control yourself.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Well, but I should like to know——
DEAN.
Will you kindly entrust the conduct of the situation entirely to me.
Take your cue from me, and above all, be tactful and dignified. (_He sits
down with unction._)
MRS. O’FARREL.
I really believe you are thoroughly enjoying yourself.
DEAN.
Pray don’t be flippant, Eileen. This is a very serious matter.
(_He crosses his legs and fixes his eyeglass as CLARE
enters up the central ladder followed by LADY PATRICIA,
BILL, and MICHAEL._)
CLARE.
We thought you had gone back to the house.
DEAN.
Indeed.
LADY PATRICIA.
I really believe they went to depreciate the guelder-roses as well!
MRS. O’FARREL.
We did nothing of the sort, Patricia, and let——
DEAN.
Kindly allow me, Mrs. O’Farrel.... No, Lady Patricia, we have not been to
examine the guelder-roses. We have been all the time here.
LADY PATRICIA, BILL, MICHAEL, CLARE.
Here!...
DEAN.
We have been all the time—_here_.
MICHAEL.
But—but I returned a short while ago, and you were certainly not here
then.
DEAN.
Excuse me, sir—we were.
CLARE.
But we never saw you....
DEAN.
That I can quite believe. We, however, saw you and Mr. Cosway quite
distinctly.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Most distinctly! And I——
DEAN.
Allow me, Mrs. O’Farrel....
BILL.
But, I say——
DEAN.
Sir?
BILL.
You can’t have been here a minute or two ago when Patri—— Cousin Patricia
and I——
DEAN.
Pardon me, sir—we were.
BILL.
But, I say, you must have hidden yourselves somewhere, because——
DEAN.
Your mother and I were sitting in the summer-house.
BILL, CLARE.
Oh ...!
LADY PATRICIA.
Oh!... O—oh!... (_She gropes for a chair, she sits down heavily._)
MICHAEL.
What—what is the matter, dear?
LADY PATRICIA.
Nothing.... I—I am a little faint——
MICHAEL.
The—the night is certainly oppressive....
LADY PATRICIA.
I—I’m all right now....
(_A pause. The nightingale starts singing._)
DEAN.
(_To CLARE._) I think it is high time to go.... Did you see whether the
carriage had arrived?
CLARE.
Yes, it’s there.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Come, Bill, we must be getting home.
DEAN.
(_Solemnly._) I have several weighty additions to make to my sermon
to-morrow—additions which certain events to-night have suggested. I
trust you will all be at the Cathedral for morning service. (_An awkward
silence. The DEAN waves his hand towards the central ladder._) Mrs.
O’Farrel.... (_MRS. O’FARREL passes and descends._) Clare.... (_CLARE
passes him and descends. He says with impressive unconcern_:) The
nightingale sings most divinely to-night!
(_He goes out, BILL following him with a hang-dog air.
BALDWIN enters on the left just as LADY PATRICIA and
MICHAEL move to the central ladder._)
BALDWIN.
If you please, sir....
MICHAEL.
What is it, Baldwin? What is it?
BALDWIN.
If you please, sir, will you be using them lanterns agin to-night?
MICHAEL.
No.
BALDWIN.
Then I ’ad better take ’em down, sir?
MICHAEL.
Yes, take them down. (_To LADY PATRICIA._) Come, dear.
(_BALDWIN starts fiddling about with the strings of the
lanterns._)
LADY PATRICIA.
(_Wearily._) Yes, darling.
BALDWIN.
(_Lowering the first lamp._) Whoa!...
LADY PATRICIA.
(_Speaking in a passionate whisper._) Will you love me, Michael,
always—always—and no matter what may happen?
MICHAEL.
(_Taking her hands._) I? How can you ask? But you—could you still love me
if—if——
LADY PATRICIA.
If——?
MICHAEL.
If I were unworthy?
LADY PATRICIA.
You!
(_They descend the central ladder._)
BALDWIN.
(_Lowering the second lantern._) Whoa!... (_He blows out the candle and
folds the lamp up. Then he goes leisurely for the next lantern and lowers
it._) Whoa!... (_He blows it out, folds it up and goes for the next
lantern and the curtain descends while he is lowering it. When it rises
again, he says_:) Whoa!... (_And folds it up._)
(END OF THE SECOND ACT.)
THE THIRD ACT
SCENE:—_The Deanery garden. At the back is a wing of the Deanery,
red-bricked, Norman-arched, with mullioned windows and a heavy door
opening on to the lawn. On the right, three-quarters across the
background, the house ends, and an old machicholated wall begins, with a
great brass-studded double gateway in the middle of it, in the left side
of which is a wicket with grating. The door opens on the Deanery Close
and a view of the Cathedral in the distance. The garden is all lawn,
flower-bed, and old trees. From the great door, and running diagonally
across the stage and out to the left in front, is a stone-flagged path.
Another path from the house-door joins it about the centre of the stage.
On the lawn in the foreground stands a table spread for breakfast, with
two chairs beside it. It is a brilliant Sunday morning in June._
(_When the curtain rises, JOHN, the DEAN’S butler and
verger of the Cathedral, and ROBERT, the page, are putting
finishing touches to the breakfast-table. After a moment
the DEAN enters and goes to the table._)
DEAN.
What a morning! Fragrant! Exquisite! Ha! (_He sniffs the air
appreciatively, fixes his eyeglass and beams around him._) A _happy_
Whitsun, John.
JOHN.
Thank you, sir. Same to you, sir.
DEAN.
Eh?... Oh, certainly!
JOHN.
Yes, sir. It’s mornings like this, sir, that one feels a inclination to
sing the tedium.
DEAN.
To sing the—er——?
JOHN.
The tedium, sir.
DEAN.
The _Te Deum_! Ah, yes, to be sure! To sing the _Te Deum_. Most
appropriate! (_Looks at his watch._) A quarter to ten.
JOHN.
Yes, sir. It’s highly significant to see so many people at early service
this morning, sir. Highly significant.
(_ROBERT goes out._)
DEAN.
Ah, yes!... Is Miss Clare in the garden?
JOHN.
I believe she is, sir.
DEAN.
Well, she’ll be here in a minute. I think, as it’s rather late, I had
better begin at once. Is this all you’re giving me to-day, John?
JOHN.
Oh, no, sir. There’s an omelette with asparagus-tops to come.
DEAN.
Good. Very good! In the meantime these delicious fruits.
(_Sits at the table._)
JOHN.
Yes, sir. If you please, sir, Mr. Cosway’s gardener was here this morning
before you came back from church. As far as I could gather he had some
message from her ladyship which he refused to leave. I gathered he had
instructions to give it to you direct, sir.
DEAN.
Oh ... ah ... h’m.... Is he here now?
JOHN.
No, sir; I told him to come back at ten o’clock. He’s gone to the
cemetery to visit the grave of his first wife.
DEAN.
Bring him here when he comes.
JOHN.
Very good, sir.
(_JOHN goes into the house. The DEAN daintily skins a
peach, humming gently, “Every morn I bring thee violets.”
After a moment CLARE enters from the left, a bunch of pink
and white may in her hand. She is obviously in a shocking
temper._)
CLARE.
Good morning, father.
DEAN.
Good morning, Clare. May! Is it for me?
CLARE.
You can have it if you like.
(_She lays it beside his plate and sits down._)
DEAN.
Thank you, my dear. Fragrant, delicately-tinted, fresh and dewy as
young girls. (_He regards her critically._) But _you_ don’t look quite
yourself, my child.
CLARE.
I?
DEAN.
A little tired. Perhaps you slept badly?
CLARE.
I’m as fit as a fiddle, and I slept like a log.
DEAN.
These peaches are delicious. Try one.
CLARE.
Aren’t there any cherries yet?
DEAN.
I’m afraid not. “Fruits in due season,” you know, my dear!
CLARE.
What about your peaches?
DEAN.
That’s different, quite different. An early peach cannot be too early.
They live in glass houses——
CLARE.
(_Significantly._) And don’t throw their stones.... I’ll have a cup of
tea.
DEAN.
There’s an omelette with asparagus-tops on the way.
CLARE.
I’m not hungry.
DEAN.
Oh, that’s a pity! I suppose it’s this exceptionally early summer.
CLARE.
Yes. I was unbearably hot all night. And so thirsty that I drank nearly
all the water in my jug.
DEAN.
Dear me! Wasn’t there any in the carafe?
CLARE.
I drank that as well.
DEAN.
Really? It seems to me that for a log you were somewhat restive last
night.
CLARE.
A log?
DEAN.
I thought you slept like a log.
CLARE.
I scarcely slept a wink.
DEAN.
Well, well, my dear, so long as you feel—to use your expression—as fit as
a fiddle, it——
CLARE.
I feel rotten.
(_JOHN enters with the omelette, ROBERT with plates._)
DEAN.
I’m sorry. I didn’t go to bed until very late myself. Those little
additions to my sermon took me longer than I had anticipated. (_JOHN and
ROBERT go out, having placed the dish before the DEAN._) This looks most
inviting. And as there doesn’t seem to be much of it, I’m not, on the
whole, sorry that you’ve lost your appetite this morning! It’s an ill
wind that——
CLARE.
May I have some, please?
DEAN.
Changeable young person!
CLARE.
Well, of course, if you grudge me a little piece of your omelette——
DEAN.
Not at all, my dear! Not at all!
(_He offers her a liberal helping._)
CLARE.
You needn’t give me three-quarters of it.
DEAN.
Very well. You had better take the other piece, then.
CLARE.
Oh, it doesn’t matter!
(_Impatiently she takes the larger helping._)
DEAN.
(_Genially._) I don’t mind confessing that I’m very hungry, so unless you
really want it, my dear——
CLARE.
Oh, for goodness’ sake, father, take the whole lot! I’m sure I don’t
want to deprive you of your food!
DEAN.
What a peppery young lady it is! I was only joking.
CLARE.
I may be sadly lacking in humour, but jokes about omelettes and the
condition of one’s stomach never much appealed to me.
DEAN.
Really, my dear child, I should much prefer your not using that word.
CLARE.
Stomach?
DEAN.
Yes.
CLARE.
Oh! I do hope you’re not going to suggest I should say “Little Mary”!
DEAN.
(_Puzzled._) Little Mary? I—er—don’t quite see the connection.... Is
there any reason for alluding to that—er—portion of the anatomy?
CLARE.
I was under the impression that _you_ made the first allusion to it.
DEAN.
My dear, I merely mentioned the fact that I was hungry.
CLARE.
Well, you’re not hungry with your foot, are you?
DEAN.
Don’t you think this bickering rather silly and childish?
CLARE.
Very.
DEAN.
(_After a pause, and with a change of voice but unabated cheerfulness._)
Unclouded sunshine and a sense of deep peace and repose! My ideal of an
English Sunday! John told me just now that he feels inclined to sing the
_Te Deum_ on mornings like this.
CLARE.
Why don’t you come to the point, father?
DEAN.
The point?...
CLARE.
Yes.
DEAN.
I don’t quite understand.
CLARE.
I think you owe me some explanation of your extraordinary action last
night.
DEAN.
_My_ extraordinary action!...
CLARE.
Yes—in deliberately hiding yourself in the summer-house to overhear a
private conversation.
DEAN.
You amaze me, Clare! Instead of being grateful for my silence on the
events of yesterday, you turn on me as though you had a grievance! My
action was amply justified by the circumstances.
CLARE.
I don’t see how eavesdropping can ever be justified. And now you’re bent
on giving us “beans” from the pulpit. I’m awfully sorry to have to say
it, father, but really it’s rotten bad form....
DEAN.
We won’t discuss the matter any further. Believe me, I am the best judge
of my actions.
CLARE.
And I of mine.
DEAN.
You refer to the unhappy discoveries Mrs. O’Farrel and I made last night?
CLARE.
I do.
DEAN.
Certainly, if you’re heartily ashamed of yourself, you’re a competent
judge of your actions.
CLARE.
I’m not in the least ashamed of myself.
DEAN.
Then, my dear child——
CLARE.
And why should I be? I’ve done nothing wrong.
DEAN.
You have done very wrong indeed. But I don’t wish to exaggerate. Of
course, I know this has been nothing more than a foolish flirtation.
Reprehensible—most reprehensible. A grave error, but scarcely a sin. We
will say no more about it.... One thing, however, I am bound to insist
upon after what came to my knowledge last night. You must have nothing
more to do with that young man.
CLARE.
What young man? Michael’s forty, if he’s a day.
DEAN.
I was not speaking of Mr. Cosway. Honestly, your future relations with
him don’t cause me acute anxiety. I was alluding to young O’Farrel.
CLARE.
(_Sitting up._) Bill!
DEAN.
I think, my dear, we will leave the use of his Christian name to the
unhappy lady—or ladies—with whom he is intimate. Certain facts have
come to my knowledge. He is not a fit companion for a young girl. Your
acquaintance with him must cease from to-day.
CLARE.
Oh!... And may I ask what he has done?
DEAN.
It is quite superfluous to go into—er—unsavoury details.
CLARE.
You seriously expect me to cut him because he doesn’t quite meet with
your approval?
DEAN.
I expect you to obey me implicitly.
CLARE.
(_Rising._) I had better tell you at once, father, that I shall do
nothing of the kind.
(_The gateway bell rings._)
DEAN.
Clare! (_The DEAN looks at the gateway and lowers his voice._) You forget
yourself!
CLARE.
His crime hasn’t by chance anything to do with Patricia?
DEAN.
H’m—well, since you appear to know something about this, it would
be—er—affectation on my part to deny it. His conduct has been shameful,
outrageous, and ungentlemanly.
CLARE.
His conduct has been splendid. That detestable creature got hold of him
somehow, and he behaved perfectly from start to finish. Of course you
side with her because you think her pretty. But——
DEAN.
We won’t discuss the matter any further, my child. You are very young and
headstrong and inexperienced, and must learn to repose implicit faith in
your father’s judgment. You are not to see this young man again.
CLARE.
I’m sorry, father, but I refuse to obey you.
DEAN.
Clare!
CLARE.
It’s grossly unjust—it’s mean and horrid. I won’t do such a caddish
thing even for you. I am going to see him now.
(_JOHN enters and goes to the gateway._)
DEAN.
Clare, remember I have forbidden it.
CLARE.
(_Beside herself._) I don’t care! I’m going to him now! I won’t go to
church to be preached at. I’m going to him. You can turn me out of your
house, if you like, father. But I won’t obey you. I won’t.
(_She storms into the house._)
DEAN.
Clare, how dare you! (_Directly she has disappeared, he laughs
heartily._) Oh! Most satisfactory.
(_He changes plates and commences on CLARE’S untouched
omelette. JOHN, who has looked through the grating and
recognised BALDWIN outside, goes to the DEAN._)
JOHN.
Mr. Cosway’s gardener has just called again, sir.
DEAN.
Very well. Bring him round.
JOHN.
Yes, sir.
(_He goes to the gateway and opens the wicket. The DEAN
continues eating his breakfast. BALDWIN enters in Sunday
broadcloth and a broad-brimmed, black, soft felt hat. He
carries an abnormally large prayer-book and hymn-book._)
JOHN.
Mr. Baldwin, sir.
(_JOHN goes out._)
DEAN.
Ah.... Good morning, Baldwin.
BALDWIN.
Mornin’, sir.
DEAN.
You have a message for me from her ladyship?
BALDWIN.
Yessir.
(_He places his two books on the ground, plunges into his
right-hand breast-pocket and produces a letter._)
I would ’a lef’ this at the door, sir, without troublin’ you, but ’er
ladyship when she give it me said most particular as I was to ’and it to
you personal, sir.
DEAN.
Quite so. Quite so.
(_Opens the envelope and reads._)
BALDWIN.
(_After fumbling in the left-hand breast-pocket, produces a second
letter._) And ’ere’s the other letter, sir.
DEAN.
Eh, what? Another?
BALDWIN.
Yessir. As I was leavin’ ’ome, the master come up and give it me, and
said most particular as I was to ’and it to you personal.
DEAN.
Oh.... (_Takes the letter and reads it through._) Er—thank you.... I
understand you’ve been to visit the grave of the late Mrs. Baldwin?
BALDWIN.
I ’ave that, sir. She was a good wife to me, sir, though she did give me
ondly two.... I’ve ’ad thirteen, sir, an’ two of ’em by ’er.
DEAN.
Thirteen! Excellent! Excellent!
BALDWIN.
Yessir. Thirteen’s an onlucky number, I’ve ’eard tell, but I ain’t
suspicious.
DEAN.
(_Laughing gently._) And how many of the thirteen are girls, Baldwin?
BALDWIN.
Nine of ’em, sir—leastways, I think as ’ow nine of ’em is female. (_He
tots them off on his fingers._) H’Annie, and H’Effel, ’Enrietta, Louisa,
Maggie, Victoria ... H’Alice.... H’Edith.... an’—an’ Milly. Yessir—nine.
The rest is boys.
DEAN.
Nine! Dear me! What a terrible responsibility. Their upbringing must have
been very trying. Nine!
BALDWIN.
Yessir. They do give a bit more worry than boys. But Mrs. Baldwin’s a
rare ’and at tacklin’ ’er own sects.
DEAN.
Oh, really? And what measures did she take when they were fractious and
disobedient?
BALDWIN.
She ’anded ’em over to me, sir.
DEAN.
And what did you do?
BALDWIN.
I thrashed ’em.
DEAN.
Did you really! That never dawned on me as a practical measure.... I
wonder—I wonder whether all girls would derive benefit from—er—occasional
chastisement.
BALDWIN.
You take my word for it, sir. All my girls ’ave gorne straight and
married respec’able.
DEAN.
Gone straight and married respectably! All nine of them!... And do you
put down this happy result to your special treatment?
BALDWIN.
Yessir.
DEAN.
Most interesting! Most interesting! I must think it over—I must indeed....
(_JOHN enters._)
JOHN.
Mrs. O’Farrel has called, sir.
DEAN.
Oh.... Ask her out here, John.
JOHN.
Very good, sir.
(_He goes out._)
(_The DEAN takes up the letters and glances through them.
A pause. He looks up and sees BALDWIN standing patiently
watching him._)
DEAN.
Ah, Baldwin—yes.... What was I saying?
BALDWIN.
You said as you’d think it over, sir.
DEAN.
Oh, to be sure! Physical chastisement for girls. Quite so.
(_Enter JOHN from the house followed by MRS. O’FARREL._)
JOHN.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
(_He goes out._)
DEAN.
(_Rising with outstretched hands._) My dear Eileen! This is a most
unexpected pleasure!
MRS. O’FARREL.
Nonsense. You guessed I should turn up.
DEAN.
Well, I may have hoped it.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Good morning, Baldwin.
BALDWIN.
Mornin’, ma’am.
DEAN.
Baldwin has been giving me sage advice on the up-bringing of girls.
MRS. O’FARREL.
You need it.
DEAN.
He’s a great advocate of—er—corporal punishment.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Oh!... That’s all very well when they’re in short frocks, Baldwin. But
afterwards, I don’t exactly see how——
DEAN.
Quite so....
BALDWIN.
I thrashed Milly when she was turned twenty, mum.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Upon my word! What on earth had the girl done?
BALDWIN.
Mrs. Baldwin found ’er sittin ’on Constable ’Iggins’ knee—’e was a
married man, as you may remember, sir, and ’e——
(_MRS. O’FARREL bursts out laughing._)
DEAN.
(_Hastily._) Yes, yes, yes, Baldwin.... Neither of these notes requires
an answer, thank you. Good morning.
BALDWIN.
Mornin’, sir. Mornin’, ma’am.
(_He goes out slowly, inadvertently leaving his books on
the ground. MRS. O’FARREL is still amused._)
DEAN.
Well?
MRS. O’FARREL.
Well?...
DEAN.
I said it first.
MRS. O’FARREL.
And I’m a woman.
DEAN.
True. To begin with I’ve just received these two notes. (_Hands her the
letters._)
MRS. O’FARREL.
(_Opening a letter._) From Patricia!... Now I really wonder whether this
terribly agitated handwriting is put on.
DEAN.
Be generous, Eileen!
MRS. O’FARREL.
What on earth does the woman mean by scrawling “Sunrise” on the top of
the page?
DEAN.
Presumably that was when she wrote the letter.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Oh, I see! She wants you to believe she paced her room in wakeful agony
all night. (_Reads._) “Sunrise. I have need of confession. I will call
at the Deanery before morning service—PATRICIA COSWAY.” Confession!
Evidently she means to enjoy herself!... (_Opens the other note and
reads._) “DEAR DEAN,—I am calling on you before morning service to-day. I
trust, in spite of all that has happened, you will not refuse to receive
me—MICHAEL COSWAY.” Very interesting. What do you intend to do?
DEAN.