(He goes into a shout of lonely laughter.)
(He goes into a shout of lonely laughter.)
Mrs. O’Farrel.
That’s all very well. But what was your idea in playing such a prank? It seems to me rather childish.
Dean.
Primitive....
Michael.
Very.
Clare.
Quite.
Lady Patricia.
(With disarming vivacity.) Oh, my dear, dear friends, why do you take this so heavily? Surely a charming piece of boyishness! May I tell them what happened, Cousin Bill? I saw through the whole thing at once.
Bill.
I’m sure you did.
Lady Patricia.
He so longed to see his mother that he came down by an earlier train.... Didn’t you, Cousin Bill?
Bill.
That’s right.
Lady Patricia.
But when he arrived he found she had gone to a garden party. He was so disappointed.... Weren’t you, Cousin Bill?
Bill.
That’s right.
Lady Patricia.
Did you learn to say “that’s right” in America? It sounds so successful.... When he found his mother was out, he thought he would come and see Michael and—me. Michael had gone to the garden party, but he was told that I was here. He found me asleep....
Clare.
(ImitatingLady Patricia’svoice and manner.) And he kissed me—didn’t you, Cousin Bill?
(Billgoes into a shout of long and lonely laughter.)
(Billgoes into a shout of long and lonely laughter.)
Lady Patricia.
(In a pained voice.) He found me asleep. I had not been feeling very well....
Michael.
Are you better, my darling?
Lady Patricia.
Thank you, Michael dear, a little better.... He found me asleep. He was thirsty, poor fellow!So he helped himself to tea. Providentially, Ellis had brought two cups. Then he saw you all coming, and thought it would be “such jolly fun” to climb up the tree and drop a saucer.... Didn’t you?
Clare.
—Cousin Bill.
(Billlaughs.)
(Billlaughs.)
Lady Patricia.
He had meant to do it at once. But he couldn’t resist the joke of letting Clare and Michael fetch him at the station. And when they had gone he simply had to wait till they came back again—or, perhaps, the Dean and Aunt Eileen were so enjoying each other’s company, he hadn’t the heart to disturb them.... Then Clare and Michael returned, and he thought the joke had gone far enough.
Clare.
So he threw a saucer at us.
(Billindulges in a third lonely laugh.)
(Billindulges in a third lonely laugh.)
Michael.
(Shortly.) Crown Derby....
Bill.
Sorry.
Lady Patricia.
Isn’t that more or less the true story, Cousin Bill?
Bill.
I say, what an awfully clever woman you are!
Lady Patricia.
Am I?... I wonder!
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Clever at writing verses, Patricia. But prose fiction’s not in your line. (Patriciasmiles pityingly and examines her rings.) Bill we must be off. There’s barely time to dress, and some people are dining with us to-night.
Bill.
All right, mother. (He goes toClare.) I say, Miss Lesley, when last we met you had long hair.
Clare.
(Gravely.) I still have long hair, Mr. O’Farrel.
Bill.
Oh, but what I meant was——
Lady Patricia.
(ToClare.) Your father tells me you are dining with us, Clare. I’m so glad!
Clare.
If you don’t mind me in this dress, Lady Patricia. Mr. Cosway has promised to show me the—er—what’s its name?
Michael.
The spiral nebula in Andromeda.
Bill.
How much?
Michael.
A cluster of minute stars in the constellation of Andromeda. I say stars designedly. For I differ from many authorities in believing this nebula to be irresolvable or gaseous. Indeed, the remarkable observations of Sir William McKechnie leave no doubt in my mind that this so-called nebula is an external galaxy. In which case——
Bill.
Oh, help! So you still rot about with a telescope, Michael?
Michael.
(Coldly.) I am greatly interested in astronomy.
Bill.
(ToClare.) You, too?
Clare.
I like the stars....
(She turns loftily from him and talks toMrs. O’FarrelandMichael.)
(She turns loftily from him and talks toMrs. O’FarrelandMichael.)
Lady Patricia.
(To theDean.) I’m so sorry! (ToClare.) I was trying to persuade your father to stay with you, Clare. But he’s bent on putting finishing-touches to to-morrow’s sermon.
Michael.
(To theDean.) I’ll see Miss Lesley home, of course.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Can we drop you at the Deanery?
Dean.
It’s very kind of you.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Come along, Bill. Good-bye, all!
(She goes out. TheDeanshakes hands withLady Patriciaand follows her.)
(She goes out. TheDeanshakes hands withLady Patriciaand follows her.)
Bill.
(ToPatricia, in a low voice.) I’ve left the cup and glass up the tree. (Aloud.) Good-bye, Cousin Patricia.
Lady Patricia.
Good-bye, Cousin Bill.
Bill.
Good-bye, Clare.
Clare.
(Haughtily.) Clare?
Bill.
Yes. (ToMichael, in passing.) Sorry about the saucer. Good-bye.
Clare.
Cheek!
(He goes out. A pause. Voices are heard below and the sound of a departing motor.Michaelwaves good-bye.)
(He goes out. A pause. Voices are heard below and the sound of a departing motor.Michaelwaves good-bye.)
Lady Patricia.
(Stretching out her arms.) Michael!
Michael.
(Putting his arms about her.) Patricia! And the poor head is really better, darling? I’m so glad you were able to sleep!
(Clarelooks at them with bored contempt, shrugs her shoulders, goes to the tree, and starts climbing up it during the following.)
(Clarelooks at them with bored contempt, shrugs her shoulders, goes to the tree, and starts climbing up it during the following.)
Lady Patricia.
And my sleep was full of dreams, Michael. Strange and mystic dreams—oh, and such beautiful dreams! For they all led up to a vision of my dearest’s face.
(Clarehas vanished aloft.)
(Clarehas vanished aloft.)
Michael.
Heart of my heart!
Lady Patricia.
Soul of my soul!
Michael.
Patricia....
Lady Patricia.
Michael....
(Baldwinenters unnoticed with his saw and garden shears. He stares fixedly up the tree.)
(Baldwinenters unnoticed with his saw and garden shears. He stares fixedly up the tree.)
Michael.
One night I shall find a new star in the depths of the sky——
Lady Patricia.
One day I shall write a poem that will ring down the ages——
Michael.
And the star shall be called Patricia.
Lady Patricia.
And the poem—Michael.
Michael.
(Lingering on the word.) Patricia!
Lady Patricia.
(Lingering on the word.) Michael!
Baldwin.
Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but there be summin’ white movin’ about up the tree.
Lady Patricia.
Baldwin!
Baldwin.
It a’most looks to me as though a young lady ’ad climbed up the tree, sir.
Michael.
What on earth——!
Clare.
(Shrilly from above.) Don’t you dare to look up here, Baldwin—nor you, Mi—Mr. Cosway! If there’s something white to be seen it’s certainly not for you to look at! (Baldwincontinues stolidly looking up.) D’you hear me, Baldwin? Oh! Tell him to turn his head somewhere else.
Michael.
Baldwin!
Baldwin.
Yessir?
Lady Patricia.
But, my dear child, what are you doing there?
Clare.
Birds’-nesting.
Michael and Lady Patricia.
Birds’-nesting!
Clare.
I don’t believe there’s a nest here at all. He was simply kidding us.
Baldwin.
If it’s h’eggs you’re wantin’, miss, there’s a rare lot of ’em in the ivy up at the ’ouse. Sparrers—drat’em!
Lady Patricia.
(ToMichael.) What an amazing young creature! (ToClare.) But you’ll ruin your frock, my child.
Clare.
I can’t help that. I mean to find out whether there’s a nest here or not. Besides, I simply couldn’t hang around while you and Mr. Cosway were canoodleing.
Lady Patricia.
(Puzzled.) Canoodleing?
Clare.
Spooning.
Lady Patricia.
How very vulgar you can be!
Clare.
Can’t I!
Lady Patricia.
(Shrugs her shoulders and speaks toMichaelwith a plaintive languor.) I think it would be very pleasant to dine here, Michael. I’ll go indoors and change into something warmer.
Michael.
You’re not cold, my love?
Lady Patricia.
No, no, dear, no. But I might be later on. (ToBaldwin, who has been staring fixedly into the branches.) What are you doing, Baldwin?
Baldwin.
It’s main ’ard to keep a h’eye on the sun, m’lady, an’ mine ain’t no longer w’at they was. Might I arst, mum, if the sun’s ’bout right for loppin’ off they branches?
Michael.
Lopping off the branches?
Clare.
(From above.) Oh! I’ve found a cup!
Michael.
A cup!
Clare.
And a glass!
Michael.
A cup and a glass!
Lady Patricia.
(Languidly.) Oh, I suppose Cousin Bill left them up there. You needn’t trouble to bring them down, Clare. Baldwin can fetch them.
Clare.
He seems to have been doing himself uncommonly well. I daresay I shall find plates, knives and forks, napkins and finger-bowls. What ho!
Michael.
(ToLady Patricia.) Has that fellow gone quite off his head?
Lady Patricia.
(Going out.) Bill? Oh, no, dear! Oh, no! It’s only youth—youth will out! Beautiful rose-white youth!
(She gives him her hand to kiss, and he looks after her with a fatuous smile so long as she is in sight. Then you hear her singing below:)
(She gives him her hand to kiss, and he looks after her with a fatuous smile so long as she is in sight. Then you hear her singing below:)
When all the world is young, lad,And all the trees are green,And every goose a swan, lad,And every lass a queen,Then, hey! for boot and horse, lad,And round the world away!Young blood must have its course, lad,And every dog its day!
When all the world is young, lad,And all the trees are green,And every goose a swan, lad,And every lass a queen,Then, hey! for boot and horse, lad,And round the world away!Young blood must have its course, lad,And every dog its day!
When all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green,
And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen,
Then, hey! for boot and horse, lad,
And round the world away!
Young blood must have its course, lad,
And every dog its day!
(Michaelturns slowly from the railing, heaves a deep sigh, and stands with clenched hands, rigid, looking straight before him with tragic eyes. The beautiful voice grows fainter in the distance. The sun is westering on the right, and sheds a golden light on the scene.Baldwinstands staring out into the sunset.)
(Michaelturns slowly from the railing, heaves a deep sigh, and stands with clenched hands, rigid, looking straight before him with tragic eyes. The beautiful voice grows fainter in the distance. The sun is westering on the right, and sheds a golden light on the scene.Baldwinstands staring out into the sunset.)
Clare.
(From above.) Mike!
Michael.
Yes?
Clare.
Has she gone?
Michael.
Yes.
Clare.
Mike.
Michael.
Yes?
Clare.
Why is she like a collar?
Michael.
I don’t know.
Clare.
Because she’s always round your neck.
Michael.
(With clenched hands.) Oh....
Clare.
You and she are enough to make a saint ill. You ought to have more tact than to spoon about in public. (Michaelstands rigid.) Mike.
Michael.
Yes?
Clare.
Sulky?
Michael.
No.
Clare.
What’s up, then?
Michael.
Nothing.
Clare.
I’m coming down. There’s not a nest to be seen anywhere. By Jove, I am in a mess! It’sall your fault for driving me up a tree with your disgusting billing and cooing.
Michael.
(Hoarsely.) Don’t....
Clare.
Sorry. (Michaelmakes a movement.) No, no! Stay where you are! And don’t look up here. Oh, damn!... Sorry! But I’ve torn my frock and ripped open the hooks behind. All your fault.
Michael.
You shall have another frock.
Clare.
Thanks.
Michael.
Two frocks.
Clare.
No—one and a pinafore. Oh, confound this branch!... I think the pater would draw the line at two frocks.
(She descends into view, and jumps on to the ground. She is sadly dishevelled, her gloves filthy, her dress all open at the back, and with a great tear at the side of the skirt.)
(She descends into view, and jumps on to the ground. She is sadly dishevelled, her gloves filthy, her dress all open at the back, and with a great tear at the side of the skirt.)
At last!... Hullo, Baldwin, I thought you had gone....
Baldwin.
No, miss.
Michael.
What are you doing here, Baldwin?
Baldwin.
The mistress’s orders, sir. I was to keep a h’eye on the sun.
(Clarelaughs.)
(Clarelaughs.)
Michael.
(Mystified.) Keep a h’eye on the sun? What do you mean?
(Clarelaughs.)
(Clarelaughs.)
Baldwin.
’Er ladyship said as I was to keep a h’eye on the sun, so as to lop away the branches.
Michael.
I don’t understand in the least what you are talking about. Come back later on.
Baldwin.
Yessir. But the mistress’s orders——
Michael.
Yes, yes—another time. I’m busy now.
Baldwin.
Yessir....
(He goes out slowly.)
(He goes out slowly.)
Clare.
(Exhibiting the damages in her dress.) And now perhaps, sir, you will keep a h’eye on me, while I show you the result of your ’andiwork!
Michael.
My dear child!... But in common fairness, you can’t put all the blame on me.
Clare.
Well, I shan’t say anything more at present, since you’re going to give me a new frock. (Looking at her hands.) Oh, dear! I wish it were gloves.
Michael.
(With fascinated eyes.) A dozen pair....
Clare.
All right—five and three-quarters. Now then—pins.
Michael.
Pins?
Clare.
Yes, pins. Look alive!
Michael.
(Going.) I’ll be back in a moment.
Clare.
No, stay here. Your tie-pin will do for one.I’ve a safety-pin here (fiddling at her waist), and another somewhere in my collar.... Bring a cushion here.
Michael.
A cushion?...
Clare.
(Still searching for her pins.) Yes—a cushion. (In a dazed way he fetches one fromLady Patricia’schair.) Put it down.
Michael.
The cushion?...
(He stands helplessly holding the cushion, then puts it back, on the chair.)
(He stands helplessly holding the cushion, then puts it back, on the chair.)
Clare.
Don’t play the giddy goat, Mike! Put the cushion on the ground.
Michael.
Oh, yes—yes, of course.
(He places it at her feet.)
(He places it at her feet.)
Clare.
Kneel down.
Michael.
Eh?
Clare.
Kneel on the cushion. I want to spare your old joints.
Michael.
Oh....
(He kneels with a mirthless laugh.)
(He kneels with a mirthless laugh.)
Clare.
Now we’ll see if you’re worth your keep. Here are two safety-pins. Make that tear look respectable.
Michael.
But——
Clare.
If these safety-pins aren’t enough, use your tie-pin.
Michael.
(Setting to work.) Very well.
Clare.
I shall want you afterwards to fasten up the hooks behind.... (A pause.) How are you getting on?
Michael.
All right, thanks.
(He works at her skirt for a moment in silence.)
(He works at her skirt for a moment in silence.)
Clare.
(Abruptly.) What’s that boy like?
Michael.
What boy?
Clare.
Bill O’Farrel.
Michael.
He’s given you a fair specimen of himself in the silly prank he played just now.
Clare.
Oh, that seemed to me rather a sporting thing to do.
Michael.
A sporting thing!
Clare.
Yes. To make an utter ass of himself, and then carry it off with a string of lies. How are you getting on?
Michael.
(Surveying his handiwork.) I think that looks better.
Clare.
It’ll have to do, anyhow.... Now for the hooks. (Michaelsets to work at the back of her dress.) Begin at the top. I daresay some of the eyes have got torn. I gave the dress an awfulwrench on the tree. Do the best you can.... Oh, don’t fumble about like that!
(Michael’shands tremble as he works. A pause.)
(Michael’shands tremble as he works. A pause.)
Michael.
(In a low voice.) Clare....
Clare.
Well?
Michael.
I love you....
(A long pause. He stares with breathless expectation at the back of her head. She looks straight before her.)
(A long pause. He stares with breathless expectation at the back of her head. She looks straight before her.)
Clare.
Have you finished all the hooks?
Michael.
The hooks?... I—I beg your pardon.... (He goes on with his work for a time in silence.) Are you angry with me?
Clare.
I don’t know.
Michael.
You must have known for some time that I loved you.
Clare.
(Turning on him.) Then why do you always annoy me by making love to—to your wife when I’m there? (Michaelstill kneels on the cushion, looking up at her with abject eyes.) Why don’t you speak?
Michael.
Clare——
Clare.
(With a sudden burst of laughter.) Oh, get up from that cushion! You don’t know what a fool you look! (Michaelgets up with a pained expression and stands staring tragically before him. A pause. She speaks in a gentler voice.) Well, Mike?
Michael.
Since I have spoken so much and done you wrong and Patricia wrong, I must tell you all and throw myself on your mercy.... When I married Patricia I sincerely believed I loved her. She seemed to me a kindred spirit—with her sensitive, beautiful nature. I found out too late that love depends as often on mutual difference as mutual sympathy. My love for her never went deeper than the intellect. Oh, the tragedy of it! She is such a fair, white soul, and so worthy of my whole love!...
Clare.
If you don’t love her, why do you pretend to?
Michael.
Can’t you see—can’t you see I have no alternative? Patricia’s love for me is unearthly in its depth and intensity. She worships me, little as I deserve it. If for one moment she thought my love had slackened, that moment would be her last. You don’t know how sensitive she is.... Do you suppose, Clare, I enjoy playing this dreadful game? But I must—it is my duty. I have sworn to love and cherish her.
Clare.
(After a pause, going up to him.) Michael, how long have you loved me?
Michael.
Almost since first I met you, you wild thing! You soul of youth and incarnation of the morning!
(He looks longingly down at her.)
(He looks longingly down at her.)
Clare.
Oh, you poor old thing! (She looks up sideways at him.) Mike, you may if you like.
Michael.
Clare....
(He hesitates.)
(He hesitates.)
Clare.
Get it over soon. (He bends down and kisses her reverently, then turns away from her with tragic eyes.) Didn’t you like it?...
Michael.
But the wrong I am doing you, and the wrong I am doing Patricia....
Clare.
But if Patricia doesn’t know and I don’t mind, I don’t see where the wrong comes in.... Do you?
Michael.
(Taking her hands.) Do you love me, Clare?
Clare.
I don’t know.... Yes, I think I do. You’re such a solemn old donkey!... Michael, if I love you, will it really make you a happier man?
Michael.
Happier? Oh, my dear, with the knowledge of your love I should be able to endure anything!
Clare.
Even Patricia?
Michael.
Hush, Clare, hush!... Patricia’s is a pure and delicate soul. It is I who am unworthy, since I cannot return her wonderful love.... Little girl, do you understand that this love of yours may bring much suffering into your life? I can never, by word or deed, change my attitudetowards Patricia—never! She must never know that I do not love her.... And what of us? Our love must stand alone in the world. It must be something wholly pure and noble and self-sacrificing—the love that asks for nothing, that hopes for nothing—the love of the angels that neither marry nor are given in marriage.... Do you realise all this?
Clare.
Yes.... You see, Mike, I always believe in platonic love.
Michael.
(A little doubtfully.) Platonic....
Clare.
Well, platonic loversdokiss each other now and then ... don’t they?
Michael.
(Solemnly.) I believe they do.
Clare.
And, Mike....
Michael.
Well?
Clare.
I don’t want you to give me that frock.
Michael.
But——
Clare.
Or the gloves.
Michael.
But why not, Clare? I don’t understand....
Clare.
Don’t you, old boy? Neither do I. But I’d much rather you didn’t—now.
Michael.
Surely, dear——
(Lady Patricia’svoice is heard speaking beneath.)
(Lady Patricia’svoice is heard speaking beneath.)
Clare.
Hush!... And I’m going home now. Don’t try to prevent me, like a good chap. And I want to walk back alone.
(Lady Patriciaemerges speaking toBaldwin, who follows her.)
(Lady Patriciaemerges speaking toBaldwin, who follows her.)
Lady Patricia.
We’ve come just at the wonderful moment, Baldwin. All the west is a ritual of gold. (She has a wrap over her of a wonderful sunset hue and a white lily in her hand.) Here’s poor Baldwin deeply grieved because he’s shooed away every time he gets to work!
Michael.
He didn’t seem to be doing anything particular, dearest, when I sent him away.
Lady Patricia.
But, Michael——