MRS. O’FARREL.
I protest against your giving Patricia and yourself the luxury of private
confession. She owes _me_ her precious confession, not _you_. Have her
out here, and we’ll trounce her together.
DEAN.
Poor woman!
MRS. O’FARREL.
Fiddle-de-dee! She’s having the time of her life. I wonder whether
they’ve confessed to each other.
DEAN.
I shouldn’t think so—but I mean that they shall.
MRS. O’FARREL.
So do I.... Well, Dean, I’ve had it out with my son.
DEAN.
Ah....
MRS. O’FARREL.
Driving home last night I talked about the likelihood of a thunderstorm,
Crême de Menthe and lawn-tennis, and made him thoroughly uncomfortable.
DEAN.
Then you said nothing about——
MRS. O’FARREL.
Not a word. And we both went to bed. He came down to breakfast in a
shocking temper. I cheerfully exhausted two tedious subjects: the House
of Lords and domestic servants. Suddenly he lost his manners—cut me
short—and plunged into the sad story of Patricia and himself.... Now,
I’d had time to think the matter over! I treated the whole thing as a
youthful peccadillo and mildly suggested he had better put an end to it.
The poor dear boy was completely floored. I’m sure he’d prepared himself
against a regular tornado. He simply sat there and stared at me.... Then
abruptly I turned the conversation on to your daughter.
DEAN.
Eh?
MRS. O’FARREL.
I described her conduct as scandalous, herself as a hussy, and wound up
with a burst of gratitude that he’d been Patricia’s victim instead of
hers.
DEAN.
Most remarkable! And what did the young man say?
MRS. O’FARREL.
He dazzled me with an amazing flare-up. Exhausted his vocabulary on my
injustice and Clare’s perfections, and stormed out of the room, leaving
me with tingling ears.
DEAN.
And now?
MRS. O’FARREL.
Presumably he’s gone in search of this maligned young woman. My blessings
attend on him!... Well, Dean, I’m a brilliant and original tactician,
what?
DEAN.
Brilliant, certainly—original, no!
MRS. O’FARREL.
No?
DEAN.
Not ten minutes ago I adopted precisely the same tactics with Clare and
achieved precisely the same result. She’s searching for your worthless
son at present.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Upon my word, I should never have credited you with so much sense!
DEAN.
My dear Eileen, I put down the tragedy of so many women’s lives——
(_Enter JOHN._)
JOHN.
(_Announcing._) Lady Patricia Cosway.
(_Enter LADY PATRICIA. She is dressed in black from head
to foot. JOHN goes out._)
DEAN.
(_Rising._) Lady Patricia, this is indeed an——
MRS. O’FARREL.
No, Dean; it’s neither unexpected nor a pleasure.
DEAN.
I must really beg of you, Eileen! (_To PATRICIA._) Won’t you sit down?
LADY PATRICIA.
(_Who has been standing at the back in an attitude of majestic humility.
She speaks with pleading dignity._) Do you refuse me your hand?...
DEAN.
(_At her side, and taking her black-gloved hand in both of his._) My dear
lady!
LADY PATRICIA.
Ah.... You were always large-minded and gentle and tolerant.... Aunt
Eileen....
MRS. O’FARREL.
Well?
LADY PATRICIA.
They told me you were here, so I came out. I am determined to speak
before you both. It was not what I had meant to do. I had hoped to lay
bare my secret soul in secret to the Dean. Deliberately I have chosen the
fiercer ordeal. For I expect and deserve no sympathy from you, no mercy,
no forgiveness, no understanding....
MRS. O’FARREL.
I think I understand you well enough, Patricia.
LADY PATRICIA.
But do you? Oh, do you? Can any one so sane and practical understand
this living paradox? Can prose ever understand poetry? I am the refined
essence of spirit and sense. I am a thing of fire and dew. I have in me
the making of a great saint and a great courtesan....
DEAN.
(_Hurriedly._) Yes, yes; we quite understand....
MRS. O’FARREL.
Go ahead, Patricia.
LADY PATRICIA.
If you really understand, my task will be so much the easier! For
understanding is the beginning of sympathy. And sympathy ends in
forgiveness.... Dean, Aunt Eileen—will you be patient and listen to me
for a moment?
DEAN.
Of course we will. But won’t you sit down?
LADY PATRICIA.
I should prefer to stand.
MRS. O’FARREL.
It’s more effective, Dean.
LADY PATRICIA.
What you overheard yesterday gave you only a crude outline of my tragedy
and sin. All the colour, all the light and shadow were missing; and
without these you are bound to misjudge me.... Ah! don’t believe for a
moment I am seeking to justify myself! No! No! There _can_ be no real
justification for my sin.... But I _do_ want your understanding—I _do_
want your pity—I _do_ want your pardon. And from you, Dean, I have come
for punishment—for penance——
MRS. O’FARREL.
Hand her over to Baldwin.
LADY PATRICIA.
Baldwin?
DEAN.
Eileen! I beg of you!
LADY PATRICIA.
On the surface my marriage has been perfect. Michael is the husband
of old romance, steel-true, chivalrous, and devoted—oh! as no man was
ever devoted to a woman before! (_MRS. O’FARREL and the DEAN exchange
significant glances._) But he just lacked what the depths of my complex
nature cried out for—passion, simplicity, primeval energy. These he
hadn’t in him to give, and I wanted them, not knowing at first what
I wanted.... But when Bill came into my life—I knew—I knew ... and we
rushed together, drawn by the mystic gravitation of alien soul for soul.
MRS. O’FARREL.
A moment, Patricia. I understand that my son has “primeval energy.” I’ve
never noticed it myself. What are its manifestations?
DEAN.
Don’t you think we can leave that to—er—the imagination?
MRS. O’FARREL.
Oh ... by all means! Then what do you mean by “rushing together”?
LADY PATRICIA.
I use the expression metaphorically ... spiritually. (_With sudden
drama._) Dean—Aunt Eileen—I swear to you by all that is beautiful and
sacred that our love has been pure. You believe me? Ah, say you believe
me!
DEAN.
Why, of course we do!
MRS. O’FARREL.
If you swore to the contrary, I should call you a liar! You’ve neither
the strength nor the courage to do more than play with sin.
LADY PATRICIA.
I? I! Oh, how little you know me! Had you looked into my heart when
first this temptation stole upon me you would have never said anything
so foolish.... Shall I ever forget those long nights of battle when
my skin was dry and fevered—my pillow wet with tears? I lived with
clenched hands and bitten lip, and fixed my thoughts steadfastly on high
and holy things. Yes, I fought the good fight well—and if I was half
defeated ... I am but human.... At last it came—the day came when I lost
the battle.... Spring was in the air, sweet perfumes of budding and
burgeoning things ... above my head a blackbird fluted ... I had an early
snowdrop in my hand. He looked at me; I felt his eyes devouring my face.
Slowly I lifted mine—our eyes met—and no force on earth could have torn
them apart; and the world reeled and sang about us—— _Oh, and that bluer
blue, that greener green!..._
MRS. O’FARREL.
That bluer blue—that——?
LADY PATRICIA.
Stephen Phillips.... Ah, that moment! I was mad—I was drunk with love and
spring!
DEAN Well?
AND (_Excitedly interested._)
MRS. O’FARREL. Yes?
LADY PATRICIA.
Fate intervened and saved us.
MRS. O’FARREL AND DEAN.
(_Unfeignedly disappointed._) Fate?
LADY PATRICIA.
Baldwin returned with the water.
DEAN AND MRS. O’FARREL.
The water?
LADY PATRICIA.
For the snowdrop.
(_The DEAN coughs. MRS. O’FARREL solemnly scrutinises
PATRICIA through her lorgnette._)
MRS. O’FARREL.
Doesn’t it occur to you that was rather funny?
LADY PATRICIA.
Funny? No, oh no! I see a certain ironical humour in such banal
intervention. But it’s far too mysterious to be called funny. After that
I struggled no more against the stream. I drifted; I was carried down the
great ocean of love. But I never once faltered in my high resolve to keep
that ocean pure, and——
MRS. O’FARREL.
Ocean? What ocean?
LADY PATRICIA.
The ocean of love.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Sorry; my fault.
LADY PATRICIA.
To keep that ocean pure, and come what might, to shield Michael from
the least suspicion that his wonderful love was not returned. Deceit?
Oh, yes! But surely, surely deceit is justified when the alternative
means—death!
DEAN.
Death! Dear me!
MRS. O’FARREL.
Do you really think poor Michael would succumb if he learned the dreadful
truth?
LADY PATRICIA.
I know it. Have you ever seen such devotion as his?
MRS. O’FARREL.
It’s certainly remarkable....
DEAN.
(_Briskly._) Now, Lady Patricia, are you prepared to put yourself
unreservedly in my hands?
LADY PATRICIA.
I am.
DEAN.
Then I shall require two things of you. Firstly, that you break off these
relations with young O’Farrel.
LADY PATRICIA.
I have determined on that already. I won’t speak of the suffering it
will cause _me_. I have merited suffering and will bear it in silence.
But when I think of him——! My poor, poor boy! What is to become of
him without me?... Oh, you are his mother—can you devise no means of
softening this blow for him?
MRS. O’FARREL.
(_Reverently._) I think we may safely leave that in the hands of
Providence.
DEAN.
I quite share your opinion. Secondly, Lady Patricia, I wish you to tell
your husband everything.
LADY PATRICIA.
(_Genuinely startled._) Michael!
DEAN.
Everything.
LADY PATRICIA.
(_Very much in earnest._) No—no. It’s impossible. I could never think of
doing that.
DEAN.
You said just now you would place yourself unreservedly in my hands.
LADY PATRICIA.
But I never dreamt you intended to punish the innocent for my sin. Why
should Michael’s life and happiness be blighted because I’ve strayed from
righteousness?
MRS. O’FARREL.
I think it’s just possible Michael may survive the shock.
LADY PATRICIA.
And I know that it will kill him. It’s impossible!
DEAN.
(_Sternly._) I insist.
LADY PATRICIA.
And I refuse.
MRS. O’FARREL.
That brings _me_ into the fray! The Dean, as your confessor, no doubt
considers himself bound to keep your story secret. I don’t. So look here,
Patricia; unless you make a clean breast of this to Michael, I shall go
to him with it myself.
LADY PATRICIA.
You!
MRS. O’FARREL.
I.
LADY PATRICIA.
No! No! I don’t believe you’re capable of such infamy.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Oh, yes I am.
LADY PATRICIA.
I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it! It would be too cruel and wicked!
Aunt Eileen, for pity’s sake——
MRS. O’FARREL.
You won’t get any pity out of me, my dear—not an ounce! Either you or I
tell Michael the story from start to finish—and if _I_ tell him, there
won’t be much left of your character when I’ve finished.
LADY PATRICIA.
(_Wildly._) What am I to do? What am I to do? Dean—Dean—will you allow my
aunt to wreak her horrible vengeance on me by murdering my husband?
DEAN.
Oh, but really, I don’t think it will be quite so bad as that.
LADY PATRICIA.
But I know it—I know it!
DEAN.
Besides, how am I to prevent her—even if I wished to?
LADY PATRICIA.
As the mouthpiece of spiritual authority....
MRS. O’FARREL.
I don’t care a rap for his spiritual authority.
DEAN.
You see.
(_A pause. LADY PATRICIA stands rigid, with clenched
hands. Finally she speaks in a low, dull voice._)
LADY PATRICIA.
Then—you—really—mean—to—do—this?
MRS. O’FARREL.
Certainly.
LADY PATRICIA.
I—am—ruined.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Nonsense! I’ve a strong idea this may be the saving of you both.
LADY PATRICIA.
Ruined.... I should like to sit down.
DEAN.
My dear lady——
(_Brings her a chair._)
LADY PATRICIA.
(_Sits, and points blindly to the breakfast table._) Is that ... milk?
DEAN.
Yes. Would you——
LADY PATRICIA.
I should like a little milk. (_The DEAN gives it to her._) Thank you....
I—I will tell Michael all.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Bravo! We shall make a woman of you yet!
LADY PATRICIA.
You are very hard and cruel and vindictive.... But I forgive you.
(_JOHN enters._)
JOHN.
Mr. Cosway has called, sir.
LADY PATRICIA.
(_In a whisper._) Michael!
DEAN.
Where is he?
JOHN.
In the study, sir.
DEAN.
Lady Patricia——
LADY PATRICIA.
No—no—no.
DEAN.
Just a minute, John.
JOHN.
Yes, sir.
(_Retires to the back._)
LADY PATRICIA.
What does it mean? Why is he here?
DEAN.
He said he might call this morning on the way to church. Lady Patricia,
go to him now. Tell him everything now.
LADY PATRICIA.
I can’t—I can’t——
MRS. O’FARREL.
Get it over, Patricia.
DEAN.
Come, dear lady——
(_He offers her his arm. LADY PATRICIA rises unsteadily,
stares for a moment wildly before her, then sits down
again._)
LADY PATRICIA.
I haven’t the strength—I haven’t the strength to go to him.... My knees
tremble. Bring him here and leave us together....
DEAN.
(_Calling._) John.
(_JOHN re-enters._)
JOHN.
Yes sir?
DEAN.
Ask Mr. Cosway to come here.
JOHN.
Yes sir.
(_JOHN goes out._)
MRS. O’FARREL.
Cheer up, Patricia!
LADY PATRICIA.
_A little since and I was glad, but now_
_I never shall be glad or sad again...._
DEAN.
I—er—beg your pardon?
LADY PATRICIA.
Swinburne.... For the last time—for the last time, Aunt Eileen, I ask you
to spare me.
DEAN.
Perhaps, after all, we had better——
MRS. O’FARREL.
No! Don’t be a fool, Dean! No, Patricia, you’ve got to go through with
this. Believe me, the result will astonish you.
LADY PATRICIA.
What do you mean?
(_MICHAEL enters from the house._)
DEAN.
Ah, good morning, Cosway.
MICHAEL.
(_Standing still at the back and looking at LADY PATRICIA with startled
eyes; whispers._) Patricia!... Have you told her?
DEAN.
Hsh!
(_Without greeting MRS. O’FARREL he goes to PATRICIA, who
stares straight before her._)
MICHAEL.
Patricia, dearest.... I—I didn’t expect to find you here.
LADY PATRICIA.
Nor—I—you....
DEAN.
Lady Patricia wants to speak to you privately. We—er—will leave you
together.
MICHAEL.
(_In a whisper._) Privately?
MRS. O’FARREL.
Good morning, Michael.
MICHAEL.
Er—good morning.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Delightful weather!
MICHAEL.
Yes—er—ver—very nice.
MRS. O’FARREL.
Come along, Dean. (_Takes his arm and leads him to the house._)
DEAN.
(_As they go in._) Poor woman!
MRS. O’FARREL.
Fiddlesticks!
(_They go into the house._)
MICHAEL.
You—you look so white and strange, dearest. Are you ill ... Patricia?
LADY PATRICIA.
I am thirsty.... My throat is parched.... Please give me some milk....
MICHAEL.
Milk?... Yes, dear. (_Moves towards the house._) I’ll be back in a moment.
LADY PATRICIA.
No—no. It is on the table.
MICHAEL.
The milk?... Oh, yes. I see.
(_Pours her out inadvertently some of the hot milk for the
coffee, and kneeling at her side, offers it to her._)
LADY PATRICIA.
(_Taking milk._) Don’t kneel to me—don’t kneel to me! (_She takes a sip
of milk and hands it back to him with a wry face._) It is boiled....
(_He places it back on the table._)
MICHAEL.
(_Returning to her._) Patricia!
LADY PATRICIA.
No—no—no—no! Don’t look at me—don’t touch me—stand up—stand away from
me....
MICHAEL.
Patricia!
LADY PATRICIA.
Do as I say.
MICHAEL.
(_Getting to his feet with a terrified face._) They—they have told
you—they——
LADY PATRICIA.
Hush!... don’t speak. Give me time.... I—I am a broken woman.
MICHAEL.
No, no, no! I will cherish you—I will worship you—I will serve you on my
knees——
LADY PATRICIA.
(_Genuinely puzzled._) Michael!
MICHAEL.
All the rest of my life—every hour—every moment—will be given to making
up for my sin.
LADY PATRICIA.
(_Amazed._) _Your_ sin?
MICHAEL.
My crime then.
LADY PATRICIA.
_Your_——!
MICHAEL.
(_Pouring forth the words in a torrent of passionate entreaty. LADY
PATRICIA stands staring at him first in bewilderment, then in amazement,
then in dawning comprehension, finally in arctic realisation._) It was
cruel of them—it was unfair to steal a march on me like this. For your
sake—for mine—they should have left the confession to me. I would have
withheld nothing. I would have told you all of my own free will. But
they’ve spoken. And I see it—they’ve put the vilest construction on the
few words they overheard last night. They have made you believe the worst
of me. But it’s not true, Patricia. I swear it. It’s not true. (_LADY
PATRICIA makes a gesture as though to speak._) No, no, let _me_ speak!...
I have been faithful to the letter of our marriage vow—I have been
unfaithful to the spirit. I am a man with a man’s passions, but for your
sake I fought and kept my sinful love pure. Doubt all else—but believe
that. You must believe it. You shall.... I am not trying to excuse
myself. There is no excuse for what I have done. But O, Patricia, you
know that to love and not to love isn’t in our control. And if I never
loved you with all the passion I pretended ... I’m really deeply attached
to you. It was for your sake I pretended. I felt it might kill you should
you ever dream that your wonderful love was not returned in full ... that
I loved ... elsewhere.
LADY PATRICIA.
(_In a cold, level voice._) What are you talking about?
MICHAEL.
(_Floored._) Eh ...?
LADY PATRICIA.
You appear to be under the impression that the Dean and Aunt Eileen have
told me something unpleasant about you.
MICHAEL.
Well, haven’t they?
LADY PATRICIA.
They have told me nothing.
MICHAEL.
Oh.... I—I thought they had....
LADY PATRICIA.
And now perhaps you will kindly explain the meaning of all this.
MICHAEL.
I—I’ve told you everything.
LADY PATRICIA.
Who is the woman?
MICHAEL.
Clare Lesley.
LADY PATRICIA.
Clare—Lesley!... I don’t believe it—it’s impossible. I don’t believe
it!... (_MICHAEL is silent._) Do you mean to tell me that you don’t adore
me?
MICHAEL.
I’m—I’m very fond of you.
LADY PATRICIA.
Fond of me? Then all your passion has been a sham, and you’ve been making
love to that—that—oh, what is the horrible word?...
MICHAEL.
(_Deferentially._) Er—impossible ...?
LADY PATRICIA.
No—no ... with two “p’s.” ...
MICHAEL.
Appalling ...?
LADY PATRICIA.
No.... Flapper.... Oh, how I’ve been fooled! And they know it—the Dean
and Aunt Eileen. You’ve made me a figure of fun—something to point and
jeer at.... Oh, I could kill myself and—you!
MICHAEL.
I am not worthy to live.
LADY PATRICIA.
And to think of all I have gone through for your sake—how I’ve forced
myself to take your kisses and return them—how for months and months I
fought and struggled to keep down the one great passion of my life. All
for your sake—all because I thought you loved me! Oh, the bitter irony of
it!
MICHAEL.
What do you mean by this?
LADY PATRICIA.
But now the one obstacle to my love has been removed. I will go to him
now—I will put my arms around him. He shall love me and I will love him.
MICHAEL.
What are you saying, Patricia? Are you mad? Of whom are you speaking?
LADY PATRICIA.
Bill. Bill O’Farrel—Bill, whom I love and who loves me.
MICHAEL.
Bill O’Farrel!
LADY PATRICIA.
For two years he has been the passion of my soul. He will now become my
heart’s delight. Yes, Michael, you have taken my wonderful and unrequited
love for you too much for granted. You have played the infatuated husband
so artistically that I believed in it to the extent of playing the
infatuated wife in return.
MICHAEL.
You!
LADY PATRICIA.
Yes, I! I remained with you—I pretended to be absorbed in you, because I
thought it would kill you if you realised that I wanted something more
than you.
MICHAEL.
Bill O’Farrel....
LADY PATRICIA.
Yes—Bill O’Farrel!
MICHAEL.
Does any one know of this?
LADY PATRICIA.
They all know.
MICHAEL.
That you’ve tricked and fooled me and made a laughing-stock of me? Oh——
LADY PATRICIA.
What have you done with me?
MICHAEL.
When did they find it out?
LADY PATRICIA.
They overheard us last night.
MICHAEL.
You and O’Farrel?
LADY PATRICIA.
Yes.
MICHAEL.
In the tree—when they overheard us?
LADY PATRICIA.
You, too! Ah, I see it all now—I see it all. She said I must confess to
you—that aunt—she said the result would astonish me. And now—now she’s
hugging herself with vindictive joy at having humiliated me to the dust.
But she has not finished with me yet. No! I can still strike back—and
strike I will! You have no love for me. Very well. I know where to go for
love.
MICHAEL.
What do you mean?
LADY PATRICIA.
Bill loves me—he loves me—he worships me. I shall go to him—I shall hold
him to me—I shall love him.
MICHAEL.
I forbid it.
LADY PATRICIA.
Who are you to forbid me?
MICHAEL.
I am your husband.
LADY PATRICIA.
You! You are no husband of mine! He is my husband because he loves me!
MICHAEL.
If you go to him, I will return to Clare.
LADY PATRICIA.
To Clare!
MICHAEL.
To the girl who loves me with all the strength of her young heart and
soul.
LADY PATRICIA.
You shall never do that!
MICHAEL.
And who’s to prevent me?
LADY PATRICIA.
I.
MICHAEL.
You—the woman who has tricked me—fooled me, and now threatens to leave me
for another!
LADY PATRICIA.
Threatens! I don’t threaten. I mean to do it.
MICHAEL.
Very well, then. Leave _me_ to go my own way.
LADY PATRICIA.
Go to her. Go to her. And I will go to him.
(_She turns and moves towards the house. He takes a step
or two to the left, then stops with an exclamation._)
MICHAEL.
Clare!...
LADY PATRICIA.
(_She turns, looks to the left, and starts with a faint cry._) Bill!
(_They both stand irresolute and embarrassed. BILL
and CLARE enter from the left, also irresolute and
embarrassed._)
BILL.
Er—good morning, Cousin Patricia.
LADY PATRICIA.
Good morning, Bill.
CLARE.
Good morning, Mr. Cosway.
MICHAEL.
Good morning, Clare.
BILL.
(_A pause. He says in a whisper to CLARE_:) I say—_you_ tell them.
CLARE.
(_In a whisper._) No—you.
BILL.
Awfully—er—jolly morning, Cousin Patricia, isn’t it.
LADY PATRICIA.
Yes ... very ... jolly.
CLARE.
I’ve been for—for a walk, Mr. Cosway.
MICHAEL.
Oh, yes—it’s nice weather for walking. Are you tired?
CLARE.
Oh, no, thank you. (_To BILL in a whisper_:) Tell them....
BILL.
I say ... I say, Michael.
MICHAEL.
Sir?
BILL.
You’ll be glad—I mean you’ll be awfully surprised to hear that I—that
Clare and I—that’s to say, that we’re—Clare and I, you know——
CLARE.
(_In a whisper._) Oh, get it out!
BILL.
Well, you see—we’re engaged.
LADY PATRICIA AND MICHAEL.
Engaged!
BILL.
Yes. We hadn’t meant to be—but ... we are.
CLARE.
We tried awfully hard to hold out for—for the sake of others ... but——
(_She goes impulsively up to MICHAEL, puts her hand on his
arm and speaks in a low voice._)
I’m awfully sorry, Mike. I’m a beast, I know. But I can’t help it....
MICHAEL.
(_Rigid and staring before him._) How long have you loved him?
CLARE.
Oh ... ages ... I ought to have told you, but——
MICHAEL.
I don’t wish to hear another word.
(_Bill has gone up to LADY PATRICIA, who stands motionless
with a tragic face, staring before her. His appearance is
that of a naughty schoolboy, hat in hand and shifting from
one foot to the other._)
BILL.
(_To LADY PATRICIA._) I—I—I—I’m sorry—I’ve behaved rottenly—but I—I—I’m
awfully fond of you.... Of course I ought—but you see—I—that’s to say—but
she—she’s—you know what I mean—I’m——
LADY PATRICIA.
Enough....
(_BILL goes to CLARE, who gives him her hand._)
CLARE.
Now for the pater....
BILL.
Help!...
(_They go into the house. MICHAEL and LADY PATRICIA stand
motionless, with clenched hands, staring before them. A
long pause. The gateway bell rings. A pause. JOHN enters
from the house and opens the wicket door. BALDWIN enters._)
BALDWIN.
’Scuse me, Mr. John, but I think as I lef’ my ’ymn-book and prayer-book
on the lawn.
JOHN.
I haven’t seen ’em.
BALDWIN.
That’s them yonder. (_Distant sound of church bells._) Lord, if that
ain’t the first bell! (_JOHN goes out._) Beg pardon, m’lady. Beg pardon,
sir. I jest want my prayer-book an’ ’ymn-book. (_Picks them up._) Thank
’ee, m’lady. They was given me by Mrs. Baldwin as was me first wife. I
thought as ’ow I’d lef’ them on ’er grave jest now when I went to ’ave a
look at it. But——
MICHAEL.
That will do, Baldwin.
BALDWIN.
Thank ’ee, sir.
(_He is just about to go out when the house door opens
and the ringing laughter of BILL and CLARE brings him to
a standstill. They enter, followed by the voice of MRS.
O’FARREL: “Be off—both of you!” and her laugh._)
BILL.
I say, darling, weren’t they corking?
CLARE.
(_Pointing to the motionless MICHAEL and LADY PATRICIA and putting a
finger to her lips._) S-sh!...
BILL.
Oh....
(_Very sedately they pass up the path to the gateway, but
just as they go out BILL passes his arm through CLARE’S
and squeezes it. They disappear. MRS. O’FARREL and the
DEAN enter from the house, followed later by JOHN and
ROBERT._)
DEAN.
(_Jovially._) So much for tact and diplomacy!
MRS. O’FARREL.
And common-sense!
DEAN.