Dr. Alliot trots in. He is a pleasant, roundabout, clean little old man, with a twinkling face and brisk chubby movements of the hands. He is upright and his voice is strong. He wears his seventy odd years like a good joke that he expects you to keep up, in spite of the fact that he is really your own age and understands you better than you do yourself. But behind his comfortable manner is a hint of authority which has its effect, especially onHilary.
Dr. Alliot trots in. He is a pleasant, roundabout, clean little old man, with a twinkling face and brisk chubby movements of the hands. He is upright and his voice is strong. He wears his seventy odd years like a good joke that he expects you to keep up, in spite of the fact that he is really your own age and understands you better than you do yourself. But behind his comfortable manner is a hint of authority which has its effect, especially onHilary.
Dr. Alliot.What’s all this I hear? Well, well! Good afternoon, Mrs. Fairfield! Good afternoon, Miss Fairfield! Merry Christmas, Sydney! Now then, now for him! Welcome back, Fairfield! Welcome back, my boy!
Hilary.It’s—it’s old Alliot, isn’t it?
Dr. Alliot.Your memory’s all right I see.
Hilary.I suppose they’ve sent for you—
Dr. Alliot.Well, well, you see, you’ve arrived rather unconventionally. I’ve been in touch with—
Hilary.That place?
Dr. Alliot.Why, yes! You may have to go back, you know. Formalities! Formalities!
Hilary.I don’t mind. I’m well. I’m well, Alliot! I’m not afraid of what you’ll say. I’m not afraid of any of you.
Dr. Alliot.Well, well, well! that sounds hopeful.
Hilary.But I can’t go yet, Doctor.
Dr. Alliot.Only for a day or two.
Hilary.It’s my wife. I lost my temper. I do lose my temper. It means nothing. Go slow, eh? My wife’s ill, Doctor. She’s not right in her head.
Dr. Alliot.[Alert] Ah!
Hilary.[With a wave of his hand] So are the rest of them. Mad as hatters.
Dr. Alliot.Hm!
Hilary.[Checked, glances at him keenly a moment. Then chuckling] Oh, you’re thinking that’s a delusion.
Dr. Alliot.[Humouring him] Between you and me, it’s a common one.
Hilary.[Half flattered] Ah, we know, don’t we? Served in the same shop, eh? Only the counter between us.
Dr. Alliot.[Feeling his way] Well, well—
Hilary.But look here! She says she’s not my wife.
Dr. Alliot.[Enlightened] Oh! Oh, that’s the trouble!
Hilary.She says she’s not my wife.
Dr. Alliot.[Soberly] It’s a hard case, Fairfield.
Hilary.What d’you mean by that?
Dr. Alliot.It’s the old wisdom of the scape-goat—it is expedient—how does it go? expedient—?
Sydney.“It is expedient that one man should die for the people.”
Dr. Alliot.That’s it! A hard word, but a true one.
Hilary.What has that got to do with me?
Dr. Alliot.Well, the situation is this—
Hilary.There is no situation. I married Meg. I fell ill. Now I’m well again. I want my wife.
Dr. Alliot.Why, yes—yes—
Hilary.[Picking it up irritably] “Yes—yes—” “Yes—yes—” I suppose that’s what you call humouring a lunatic.
Dr. Alliot.Why, I hope to be convinced, Fairfield, that that trouble’s over, but—
Hilary.But you’re going to lock me up again because I want my wife.
Dr. Alliot.[Patiently] Will you let me put the case to you?
Hilary.You can put fifty cases. It makes no difference.
Sydney.[At his elbow, softly] Father, I’d listen.
Hilary.[Slipping his arm through hers] Eh? Sydney? that you? You’re not against me, Sydney?
Sydney.Nobody’s against you. We only want you to listen.
Hilary.Well, out with it!
Dr. Alliot.D’you remember—can you throw your mind back to the beginning of the agitation against the marriage laws? No, you were a schoolboy—
Hilary.Deceased wife’s sister, eh? That’s the law that lets a man marry his sister-in-law and won’t let a woman marry her brother-in-law. Pretty good, that, for your side of the counter.
Dr. Alliot.Well, well, that hardly matters now.
Hilary.It shows what your rotten, muddle-headed laws are worth, anyhow.
Sydney.Father.
Hilary.All right! Go ahead! Go ahead!
Dr. Alliot.Well, as the result of that agitation—and remember, Hilary, what thousand, thousand tragedies must have had voice in such an outcry—a commission was appointed to enquire into the working of the divorce laws. It made its report, recommended certain drastic reforms, and there, I suppose, as is the way with commissions, would have been the end of the subject, if it hadn’t been for the war—and the war marriages.
Hilary.[Lowering] So that’s where I come in! Margaret, is that where I come in?
Dr. Alliot.Never, I suppose, in one decade were there so many young marriages. Happy? that’s another thing! Marry in haste—
Margaret.They weren’t all happy.
Dr. Alliot.But they wereyoung, those boys and girls who married. As young as Kit, and as impatient as Sydney. And that saved them. That young, young generation found out, out of their own unhappiness, the war taught them, what peace couldn’t teach us—that when conditions are evil it is not your duty to submit—that when conditions are evil, your duty, in spite of protests, in spite of sentiment, your duty, though you trample on the bodies of your nearest and dearest to do it, though you bleed your own heart white, your duty is to see that those conditions are changed. If your laws forbid you, you must change your laws. If your church forbids you, you must change your church; and if your God forbids you, why then, you must change your God.
Miss Fairfield.And we who will not change?
Margaret.Or cannot change—?
Dr. Alliot.Stifle. Like a snake that can’t cast its skin. Grow or perish—it’s the law of life. And so, when this young generation—yours, not mine, Hilary—decided that the marriage laws were, I won’t say evil, but outgrown, they set to work to change them.
Miss Fairfield.You needn’t think it was without protest, Hilary. I joined the anti-divorce league myself.
Dr. Alliot.No, it wasn’t without protest. Mrs. Grundy and the churches are protesting still. Butin spite of protest, no man or woman to-day is bound to a drunkard, an habitual criminal, or—
Hilary.Or—?
Dr. Alliot.Or to a partner who, as far as we doctors know—
Hilary.But you can’t be sure!
Dr. Alliot.I say as far as we know, is incurably insane—in practice, is insane for more than five years.
Hilary.And if he recovers? Look at me!
Dr. Alliot.[With a sigh] “It is expedient—”
Hilary.And you call that justice!
Margaret.At least call it mercy. All the days of your life to stand at the window, Hilary, and watch the sun shining on the other side of the road—it’s hard, it’s hard on a woman.
Dr. Alliot.At least call it common sense. If a man can’t live his normal life, it’s as if he were dead. If he’s an incurable drunkard, if he’s shut away for life in prison—
Hilary.But I’m not a drunkard. I’m not a convict. I’ve done nothing. I’ve been to the war, to fight, for her, for all of you, for my country, for this law-making machine that I’ve called my country. And when I’ve got from it, not honourable scars, not medals and glory, but sixteen years in hell, then when I get out again, then the country I’ve fought for, the laws I’ve fought for, the woman I’ve fought for, they say to me, “As you’ve done without her for fifteen years you can do withouther altogether.” That’s what it is. When I was helpless they conspired behind my back to take away all I had from me. [ToMargaret] Did I ever hurt you? Didn’t I love you? Didn’t you love me? Could I help being ill? What have I done?
Sydney.You died, Father.
Margaret.Sydney, don’t be cruel.
Miss Fairfield.Ah, we cry after the dead, but I’ve always wondered what their welcome back would be.
Hilary.Well, you know now.
Dr. Alliot.I don’t say it isn’t hard—
Hilary.Ah, you don’t say it isn’t hard. That’s good of you. That’s sympathy indeed. And my wife—she’s full of it too, isn’t she? “Poor dear! I was married to him once. I’d quite forgotten.”
Margaret.For pity’s sake, Hilary!
Dr. Alliot.Why, face it, man! One of you must suffer. Which is it to be? The useful or the useless? the whole or the maimed? the healthy woman with her life before her, or the man whose children ought never to have been born?
Hilary.[In terrible appeal] Margaret!
Sydney.Is that true, Dr. Alliot? Is that true?
Margaret.[Her voice shaking] I think you go too far.
Dr. Alliot.Mrs. Fairfield, in this matter I cannot go too far.
Miss Fairfield.For me, at any rate—too farand too fast altogether! Before ladies! It’s not nice. It’s enough to call down a judgment.
Bassett.[Entering] Mr. Pumphrey to see you, ma’am. [ToSydney] And Mr. Kit.
Miss Fairfield.[Justified] Ah!
Margaret.I can’t see anyone.
Bassett.He said, ma’am, it was important.
Hilary.Who? Who?
Miss Fairfield.The Rector. I expect he’s heard about you.
Hilary.I can’t see him. I won’t see him. Let me go. I’ve met the Levites. Spare me the priest. [He breaks away from them and goes stumbling out at the other door.]
Sydney.[Following him anxiously] Father!
Dr. Alliot.[Preventing her] No, no, my child! I’ll look after him. [He goes out quickly.]
TheRectoris an insignificant man, with an important manner and a plum in his mouth. He enters withKit,who is flushed and perturbed.
TheRectoris an insignificant man, with an important manner and a plum in his mouth. He enters withKit,who is flushed and perturbed.
Rector.Ah, good afternoon, Mrs. Fairfield—Miss Fairfield—
Margaret.[Mechanically. She is very tired and inattentive] A happy Christmas, Mr. Pumphrey!
Rector.Ah! Just so! Christmas afternoon. An unusual day to call, Mrs. Fairfield, and, I fear, an inconvenient hour—
Margaret.Not at all, Mr. Pumphrey.
Rector.I can give myself [he takes out his watch] till three fifteen, no longer. The children’s service is at three thirty.
Margaret.[Turning to the bell] Mayn’t I order you an early cup of tea?
Rector.Thank you, thank you, no. Busy as I am, I should not have disturbed you—
Miss Fairfield.Rector, it’s as if you had been sent!
Rector.Ah! gratifying! I did not see you at the morning service, Miss Fairfield. But last night—latelast night—
Miss Fairfield.[With a look atSydney] Three A.M., Rector?
Rector.Three fifteen, Miss Fairfield.
Kit.Look here, Father—
Rector.I received certain information from my son—
Kit.No, you don’t, Father. I’ll have my say first. It’s just this, Mrs. Fairfield—
Rector.[Fussed] Christopher? Christopher?
Kit.[He is very much in earnest and he addresses himself solely toMargaret] I want you to know that it is nothing to do with me, Mrs. Fairfield. I don’t agree with my father. [Confidentially] You wouldn’t think it but I never do.
Rector.Christopher?
Kit.[Ignoring him] And it was only coming upthe drive that he sprung on me why he wanted to see you, or I wouldn’t have come—
Margaret.[Liking him] I think Sydney would have been sorry, Kit.
Kit.[With a touch of his father’s manner] Yes, well, Sydney and I have talked it over—and I know I’m going into the church myself—but I think he’s all wrong, Mrs. Fairfield. [Unconscious of plagiarism] I’m not nineteenth century. [ButSydneygiggles.]
Miss Fairfield.Rector, what’s the matter with the young man?
Kit.[Forging ahead] You see, I’m pretty keen about Sydney, and so, naturally, I’m pretty keen about you, Mrs. Fairfield.
Rector.Miss Fairfield, I’m without words.
Kit.[Burdened]—and I just wanted to tell you that I can’t tell you what I think of my father over this business. It makes me wild.
Sydney.Kit, you’d better shut up.
Kit.[Turning toSydney] Well, I only wanted her to understand that I’m not responsible for my father—that he’s not my own choice, if you know what I mean. [They talk aside.]
Rector.His mother’s right hand! I don’t know what’s come over him.
Miss Fairfield.[Grimly] A pretty face, Rector!
Rector.Ah! the very point! I shall be glad to see you alone, Mrs. Fairfield—not you, of course,Miss Fairfield, but—er— [He glances atKitandSydney.]
Margaret.[Resignedly] Sydney, have you shown Kit all your presents?
Sydney.[Reluctantly taking the hint, but continuing the conversation as they go out] What did you let him come for? Oh, you’re no good! [The door bangs behind them.]
Margaret.[Half smiling] Well, Mr. Pumphrey, I suppose it’s about Sydney and Kit?
Rector.Mrs. Fairfield, until last night we encouraged, we were gratified—
Margaret.Last night? Oh, the dance!
Rector.I sat up for my son until three fifteen of Christmas morning. His excuse was your daughter—
Margaret.[With dignity] Do you take objection to Sydney, Mr. Pumphrey?
Rector.Now, my dear lady, you mustn’t misunderstand me—
Margaret.[Quietly] To me, then?
Rector.Mrs. Fairfield, I beg—But in the course of a slight—er—altercation between Christopher and myself it transpired—
Margaret.[She has been prepared for it] I see, it’s her father—
Rector.I am grieved—grieved for you.
Margaret.But his illness was no secret.
Rector.My heart, Mrs. Fairfield, and Mrs. Pumphrey’s heart has gone out to you in your affliction. When the light of reason—
Margaret.Then you did know.ThenI don’t follow.
Rector.But according to Christopher—
Margaret.Well?
Rector.Mrs. Fairfield, is your husband alive or dead?
Margaret.My former husband is alive.
Rector.[With a half deprecatory, half triumphant gesture] Out of your own mouth, Mrs. Fairfield—
Margaret.[Bewildered] But you say you knew he was insane?
Rector.But I didn’t know he was alive.
Miss Fairfield.[Irritated] Don’t be so foolish, Margaret. It’s not the insanity, it’s the divorce.
Rector.When I realised that I had been within a week of re-marrying a divorced person—
Margaret.[Coldly] Why didn’t you go to Mr. Meredith?
Rector.Mr. Meredith is—er—a difficult man to—er—approach. I felt that an appeal to your feelings, as a Christian, as a mother—
Margaret.You mean you’ll prevent Kit marrying Sydney—?
Rector.It depends on you, Mrs. Fairfield. I won’t let him marry the child of a woman who remarries while her husband is alive.
Margaret.But the church allows it?
Miss Fairfield.[Correcting her] Winks at it, Margaret.
Rector.[With dignity] “Winks” is hardly the word—
Margaret.Then what word would you use, Mr. Pumphrey?
Rector.I am not concerned with words.
Margaret.But I want to know. I care about my church. It lets me and it doesn’t let me—what does it mean?
Rector.[Much moved] I am not concerned with meanings, Mrs. Fairfield. I am concerned with my own conscience.
Miss Fairfield.Margaret—you’ve no business to upset the Rector. Why don’t you tell him that the situation has changed?
Margaret.Nothing has changed.
Rector.Changed?
Miss Fairfield.My nephew has recovered—returned. He’s in the house now.
Rector.Providence! It’s providence! [With enthusiasm] I never knew anything like providence. Changed indeed, Miss Fairfield! My objection goes. Dear little Sydney! Ah, Mrs. Fairfield, in a year you and your husband will look back on this—episode as on a dream—a bad dream—
Margaret.[Stonily] I have no husband.
Rector.Ah! the re-marriage—a mere formality—
Miss Fairfield.Simpler still—the decree can be rescinded.
Margaret.[Stunned] Aunt Hester, knowing his history, knowing mine, is it possible that you expect me to go back to him?
Miss Fairfield.He’s come back to you.
Rector.A wife’s duty—
Margaret.[Slowly] I think you’re wicked. I think you’re both wicked.
Rector.Mrs. Fairfield!
Miss Fairfield.Control yourself, Margaret!
Margaret.[With a touch of wildness in her manner] You—do you love your wife?
Rector.Mrs. Fairfield!
Margaret.Do you?
Rector.Mrs. Pumphrey and I—most attached—
Margaret.Suppose you weren’t. Think of it—to want so desperately to feel—and to feel nothing. Do you know what it means to dread a person who loves you? To stiffen at the look in their eyes? To pity and—shudder? You should not judge.
Hilary,unseen, opens the door and shuts it again quickly.
Hilary,unseen, opens the door and shuts it again quickly.
Rector.I—I—
Miss Fairfield.There it is, you see, Rector! She doesn’t carewhatshe says.
Dr. Alliotenters.
Dr. Alliot.[Gravely, holding the door behind him] Margaret, my child— [He sees the others and his voice changes] Hullo, Pumphrey! You here still? Well, well—you’re cutting it fine.
Rector.The service! [He pulls out his watch, stricken.]
Dr. Alliot.I’ll run you down there if you’ll wait a minute. [ToMargaret,privately, poking a wise forefinger] What you want, my child, is a good cry and a cup of tea.
Rector.[Coming up toMargaret,stiffly] Goodday, Mrs. Fairfield! You will not—reconsider—?
Margaret.I will not.
Rector.I regret—I regret— [ToMiss Fairfield] My dear lady, you have my sympathy. I think I left my hat— [Miss Fairfieldescorts him into the hall.]
Dr. Alliot.Hilary’s coming home with me, Margaret. He wants a word with you first. Can you manage that?
Margaret.Of course.
Dr. Alliot.[Abruptly] Where’s Meredith?
Margaret.[Eagerly] He’s coming. He’s taking me away.
Dr. Alliot.Good. The sooner the better.
Rector.[Reappearing at the door] Dr. Alliot—it now wants seven minutes to the half.
Dr. Alliot.Coming! Coming! See now—you can be gentle with him—
Margaret.Of course.
Dr. Alliot.[With a keen look at her] Nor yet too gentle. Well, well, God be with you, child! [He trots out.]
Hilarycomes in, hesitating. If he is without dignity, he is, nevertheless, too much like a hectored, forlorn child to be ludicrous.
Hilarycomes in, hesitating. If he is without dignity, he is, nevertheless, too much like a hectored, forlorn child to be ludicrous.
Hilary.Have they gone? [Reassuring her] It’s all right. I’m going too. [He waits for her to answer. She says nothing] I’m going. I’ve got to. I see that. He’s made me see.
Margaret.Dr. Alliot?
Hilary.I’m going to stay with him till I can look round. He’s going to make it right with that place.
Margaret.I’m glad you’ve got a good friend, Hilary.
Hilary.Yes, he’s a good chap. He’s talked to me. He’s made me see. [He comes a little closer.] He says—and I do see—It’s too late, of course— [his look at her is a petition, but she makes no sign] isn’t it? [He comes nearer.] Yes—it’s too late. It wouldn’t be fair—to ask you— [again the look] would it?
Margaret.[Imploringly] Oh, Hilary, Hilary!
Hilary.[Encouraged to come closer] No woman could be expected—you couldn’t be expected— [she makes no sign] could you? [Repeating his lesson] It’s what he says—you’ve made a new life for yourself— [he waits] haven’t you? There’s no room in it—for me—is there? [He is close to her. She does not move.] So it’s just a case of—saying good-bye and going, because—because—I quite see—there’sno chance— [Suddenly he throws himself down beside her, catching at her hands, clinging to her knees] Oh! Meg, Meg, Meg! isn’t there just a chance?
Margaret.[Faintly] Hilary, I can’t stand it.
Hilary.[And from now to the end of the scene he is at full pelt, tumbling over his words, frantic] Yes, but listen to me! Listen to me! You don’t listen. Listen to me! I’ve been alone so long—
Margaret.Gray! Gray! Why don’t you come?
Hilary.I’ll not trouble you. I’ll not get in your way—but—don’t leave me all alone. Give me something—the rustle of your dress, the cushion where you’ve lain—your voice about the house. You can’t deny me such little things, that you give your servant and your dog.
Margaret.It’s madness—
Hilary.It’s naked need!
Margaret.What good should I be to you? I don’t love you, Hilary—poor Hilary. I love him. I never think of anything but him.
Hilary.But it’s me you married. You promised—you promised—better or worse—in sickness in health—You can’t go back on your promise.
Margaret.It isn’t fair.
Hilary.Anything’s fair! You don’t know what misery means.
Margaret.I’m learning.
Hilary.But you don’tknow. You couldn’t leave me to it if you knew. Why, I’ve never known you hurt a creature in all your life! Rememberthe rat-hunts in the barn, the way we used to chaff you? and the starling? and the kitten you found? Why, I’ve seen you step aside for a little creeping green thing on the path. You’ve never hurt anything. Then how can you hurt me so? You can’t have changed since yesterday—
Margaret.[In despairing protest] It’s half my life ago—
Hilary.It’s yesterday, it’s yesterday!
Margaret.[With the fleeting courage of a half caught bird] Yes, itisyesterday. It’s how you took me—yesterday—and now you’re doing it again!
Hilary.[Catching at the hope of it] Am I? Am I? Is it yesterday? yesterday come back again?
Margaret.[In the toils] No—no! Hilary, I can’t!
Hilary.[At white heat] No, you can’t. You can’t leave me. You can’t do it to me. You can’t drive me out—the wilderness—alone—alone—alone. You can’t do it, Meg—you can’t do it—you can’t!
Margaret.[Beaten] I suppose—I can’t.
Hilary.You—you’ll stay with me? [Breaking down utterly] Oh, God bless you, Meg, God bless you, God bless you—
She resigns her hands to him while she sits, flattened against the back of her chair, quivering a little, like a crucified moth.
She resigns her hands to him while she sits, flattened against the back of her chair, quivering a little, like a crucified moth.
Margaret.[Puzzling it out] You mean—God help me?
CURTAIN.
The scene is the same as inAct 1.Miss Fairfieldsits reading.Sydneyis fidgeting about the room.Bassettcomes in and begins to lay the cloth.Kit,who enters unseen behind her, seesMiss Fairfieldand makes hastily up the stair on tip-toe.
The scene is the same as inAct 1.Miss Fairfieldsits reading.Sydneyis fidgeting about the room.Bassettcomes in and begins to lay the cloth.Kit,who enters unseen behind her, seesMiss Fairfieldand makes hastily up the stair on tip-toe.
Sydney.[Turning] Oh, Bassett, isn’t it rather early for tea? Lunch was so late.
Bassett.[Desisting] Oh, very well, miss.
Miss Fairfield.Now, Sydney! Always trying to upset things! I’m more than ready for my tea. Bring it in at once, Bassett.
Bassett.Very well, ma’am!
Sydney.Auntie, I know Mother won’t want to be disturbed.
Miss Fairfield.It’s high time she was. Talk! Talk! No consideration. She’ll tire Hilary out. [She goes towards the drawing-room.]
Sydney.[Worried] Auntie, I think—
Miss Fairfield.Then you shouldn’t! [She goes out.]
Bassett.Shall I bring in tea, Miss Sydney?
Sydney.[With a twinkle] I think we’ll wait half an hour.
Bassett.[With an answering twinkle] Very well, miss.
Sydney.Oh—Bassett—tell Mr. Kit that—er—that the coast’s clear.
Bassett.He didn’t stay out with us, miss. Him and the puppy together was a bit too much for cook, with the turkey on her hands. [Looking round] He’s here somewhere, miss. [She goes out.]
Sydney.[Addressing space] Kit, you idiot, come out!
Kit.[Appearing at the head of the stairs] I spend half my life dodging your aunt. [As he runs downstairs he rakes a bunch of mistletoe from the top of a picture.] She spoilt the whole effect this morning, but now— [He advances onSydney.]
Sydney.[Enjoying herself] What do you want now?
Kit.[Chanting] “The mistletoe hung in the old oak hall!”—
Sydney.[Eluding him] Shut up, Kit! [They dodge and scuffle like two puppies till the drawing-room door opens, letting in the sound of voices.]
Kit.Sst! [He dashes up the stairs and comes down again much more soberly asSydneysays over her shoulder—]
Sydney.It’s only Mother.
Margaretcomes dragging into the room, shutting the door behind her.
Margaretcomes dragging into the room, shutting the door behind her.
Sydney.[The laughter dying out of her] Oh, Mother, how white you look!
Margaret.Has Kit gone?
Sydney.No, but I can get rid of him if you want me to.
Margaret.I want him to wait. I want him to take a letter for me to Gray.
Sydney.Do you want Gray to come here?
Margaret.I want him not to come here.
Sydney.Oh, I see, not till after Father’s gone.
Margaret.He’s not going.
Sydney.Mother!
Margaretlooks at her with twitching lips.
Margaretlooks at her with twitching lips.
Sydney.Mother, you haven’t—
Margaret.I can’t talk to you now, Sydney.
Sydney.But Mother—
Margaret.Please.
Sydney.But Mother—
Margaret.Ask Kit to wait a few minutes.
Sydney.But—
Margaretgoes into the inner room and sits down to write at a little desk near the window. Her back is turned to them and she is soon absorbed in her letter.Sydneystands deep in thought.
Margaretgoes into the inner room and sits down to write at a little desk near the window. Her back is turned to them and she is soon absorbed in her letter.Sydneystands deep in thought.
Kit.[At the foot of the stairs] All serene?
Sydneymakes no answer.Kitprances up behind her with the bunch of mistletoe.
Sydneymakes no answer.Kitprances up behind her with the bunch of mistletoe.
Kit.[Repeating his success] “The mistletoe hung in the old oak hall!”
Sydney.[Violently] Oh, for God’s sake, stop it!
Kit.[Quenched] What’s the row?
Sydney.You never know when to stop.
Kit.Well, you needn’t snap out at a person—
Sydney.[Impulsively] Sorry! Oh, sorry, old man! I’m jumpy to-day.
Kit.[Chaffing her] Nervy old thing!
Sydney.[Stricken] I—I suppose I am.
Kit.One minute you’re as nice as pie, and then you fizz up like a seidlitz powder, all about nothing.
Sydney.All about nothing. Sorry, my old Kit, sorry! [She flings herself down on the sofa. Then, with an effort] Come and talk. What’s the news?
Kit.I told you it all this morning. What’s yours?
Sydney.I like yours better. How’s the pamphlet going?
Kit.Nearly done. I put in all your stuff.
Sydney.[Absently] Good.
Kit.Though you know, I don’t agree with it. What I feel is—you’re not listening.
Sydney.[Slowly] Kit, talking of that paper—I read somewhere—suppose now—is it true it can skip a generation?
Kit.It? What?
Sydney.Oh—any illness. Consumption or—well, say insanity. Suppose—you, for instance—suppose you were a queer family—a little, youknow. Say your mother or your father was queer—and you weren’t. You were perfectly fit, you understand, perfectly fit—
Kit.Well?
Sydney.What about the children?
Kit.I wouldn’t risk it. Thank the Lord your father’s only shell-shock.
Sydney.Why?
Kit.You can’t pass on shell-shock.
Sydney.Then you can pass on insanity—even if you’re fit yourself?
Kit.Of course you can.
Sydney.It would be very wicked, wouldn’t it—to children? Oh, it would be wicked. I suppose when people are in love they don’t think.
Kit.Won’t think.
Sydney.But isn’t there a school that says there’s no such thing as heredity?
Kit.Well, all I know is I wouldn’t risk it.
Sydney.It—it’s hard on people.
Kit.My word, yes. They say that’s why old Alliot never married.
Sydney.[High and mightily] Oh, village gossip.
Kit.[Apologetically] Well, you know what the mater is.
Sydney.[Abandoning her dignity] Who was it, Kit?
Kit.Old Miss Robson.
Sydney.Rot!
Kit.Fact.
Sydney.But she’s all right.
Kit.Had a game sister.
Sydney.Of course! I just remember her. She used to scare me.
Kit.Oh, it must be true. They’re such tremendous pals still.
Sydney.Poor old things!
Kit.Rotten for her.
Sydney.Rottener for him! What did she go on being pals with him for?
Kit.Why shouldn’t she?
Sydney.Well it stopped him marrying anyone else. She oughtn’t to have let him.
Kit.You can’t stop a person being fond of you.
Sydney.When it’s a man you can.
Kit.My dear girl, you don’t know what you’re talking about.
Sydney.My dear boy, if a girl finds out that it’s not right for her to marry a man, it’s up to her to choke him off.
Kit.Rot!
Sydney.Well, I think so.
Kit.Couldn’t be done.
Sydney.Couldn’t it just?
Kit.Any man would see through it.
Sydney.As if any man ever saw through anything! As if I couldn’t choke you off in five minutes if I wanted to!
Kit.I’d like to see you try!
Sydney.Would you?
Kit.My dear girl, we’re not all fools where women are concerned.
Sydney.I admire your air of conviction.
Kit.Don’t be clever-clever, old thing. Be— [His arm slips round her.]
Sydney.[Edging away] Don’t.
Kit.[He glances round hastily atMargaret,but she is deep in writing.] Why not?
Sydney.[Deliberately] I hate being pawed. [A pause.]
Kit.Look here, Sydney, d’you call this a way of spending Christmas afternoon?
Sydney.[Her lip quivering] It isn’t much of a way, is it?
Kit.Well then, old thing! [Again the arm.]
Sydney.[Icily] I told you to leave me alone.
Kit.[Rising, huffed] Oh, well, if you can’t be decent, I’m going.
Sydney.[Sweetly] Counter attraction?
Kit.[Wheeling round on her] Now, my dear old thing, look here. I know it’s only a sort of way you’ve got into; but when you say—“men!”—with a sort of sneer, and “other attractions”—like that, in that voice, it just sounds cheap. I hate it. It’s not like you. I wish you wouldn’t.
Sydney.Dear me!
Kit.Now I suppose you’re annoyed.
Sydney.Oh, no, I’m only amused.
Kit.[Heavily] There’s nothing amusing about me, Sydney. I’m in earnest.
Sydney.I’m sure you are. You got out of answering an innocent little question quite neatly. It looks like practice.
Kit.[Harried] Now, look here, Sydney, I swear to you—
Sydney.[Like the ghost in Hamlet] Swear!
Kit.If you’re thinking of Alice Hewitt I’ve only met her four times.
Sydney.Oh, so her name’s Alice!
Kit.Didn’t you know?
Sydney.Never heard of her till this minute.
Kit.Then what on earth have you been driving at.
Sydney.Trying an experiment.
Kit.If it’s because you’re jealous—
Sydney.Jealous! Jealous of a—What colour are her eyes?
Kit.[Carelessly] How’d I know?
Sydney.[With a sudden spurt of suspicion] Kit! What colour are mine?
Kit.[Helplessly] Oh, er—oh—
Sydney.[Terribly] Kit! What colour are mine? [Relenting] Look at my frock, you donkey! What do you suppose I wear blue for? So Alice has got blue eyes!
Kit.How do you know?
Sydney.I know you, Kit. You’re conservative.
Kit.As a matter of fact, she isn’t unlike you. That’s what made me talk to her.
Sydney.Oh, you’ve talked to her?
Kit.[Warming] Oh, yes—quite a lot. She’s a friend of my sister’s.
Sydney.She always is.
Kit.What d’you mean—“she always is”? I tell you I’ve only met her four times. I can’t make you out.
Sydney.No?
Kit.I wish I could make you out.
Sydney.[An ache in her voice] Oh, I wish you could.
Kit.[Responding instantly] I say, old thing, is anything really the matter?
Sydney.[With a glance atMargaret] I’m worried.
Kit.Oh, that! Yes, it’s beastly for your mother.
Sydney.Oh, it’s not that. At least—
Kit.What?
Sydney.[Lightly] Oh, I don’t know.
Kit.[Puzzled] Can’t you tell me?
Sydney.No, old man.
Kit.[As inAct. I.] But—look here—marriage has got to be a sort of mutual show, hasn’t it? Confidence, and all that?