(Lady Patricia, who has moved towards the ladder on the left, turns and noticesMichael’supward gaze.)
(Lady Patricia, who has moved towards the ladder on the left, turns and noticesMichael’supward gaze.)
Lady Patricia.
What is it, dear?
Michael.
I—I was looking for a star.
Lady Patricia.
Which star?
Michael.
Arcturus.
Lady Patricia.
But Arcturus is low in the west.
Michael.
How stupid of me!
(They go out. The stage is empty for a moment. The nightingale sings on. ThenBaldwinenters—hurriedly for him—up the central ladder. He goes—softly for him—to the summer-house, after carefully looking over the edge of the platform to seethat the coast is quite clear. He listens, nods his head, and grins. Then he taps gently on the door and listens again. Receiving no reply, he taps once more and listens. Finally he speaks in a husky whisper.)
(They go out. The stage is empty for a moment. The nightingale sings on. ThenBaldwinenters—hurriedly for him—up the central ladder. He goes—softly for him—to the summer-house, after carefully looking over the edge of the platform to seethat the coast is quite clear. He listens, nods his head, and grins. Then he taps gently on the door and listens again. Receiving no reply, he taps once more and listens. Finally he speaks in a husky whisper.)
Baldwin.
It’s all right, sir. It’s all right, miss. They’ve gorne. (The summer-house remains silent.) They’ve gorne.... It’s all right, sir. (Taps at the door.) They’ve gorne. (Taps again after a pause.) They’ve gorne....
(The door suddenly flies open.)
(The door suddenly flies open.)
Bill.
(In the doorway.) What the devil d’you want, Baldwin?
Baldwin.
Beg pardon, sir?
Bill.
What do you want?
Baldwin.
They’ve gorne, sir.
Bill.
I can’t help that, can I?
Baldwin.
No, sir.
Bill.
Well, then?
Baldwin.
You see, sir, it’s like this. I thought as ’ow——
Clare.
(Invisible in the dark interior of the summer-house.) Oh, Baldwin, for the love of heaven, hook it!
Baldwin.
’Ook it?
Clare.
Yes; run away, like a dear.
Baldwin.
Very good, miss.
(Baldwingoes out by the central ladder.)
(Baldwingoes out by the central ladder.)
Bill.
(Speaking into the summer-house.) Darling.
Clare.
(In the summer-house.) You’ve pulled all my hair down——
Bill.
Oh, I——
Clare.
I’ve lost at least six hair-pins. You needn’t have been so rough.
Bill.
I’m awfully sorry, darling—but—— (He is about to re-enter the summer-house.)
Clare.
No, stay where you are....
(She emerges from the summer-house, and moves past him to the front of the platform. Her hair is all loose and dishevelled. She starts shaking it out.)
(She emerges from the summer-house, and moves past him to the front of the platform. Her hair is all loose and dishevelled. She starts shaking it out.)
Bill.
Darling——
Clare.
Don’t touch me....
Bill.
Clare!...
Clare.
Please find those hair-pins, and the two side-combs. They’re all real tortoise-shell.
Bill.
But I say——
Clare.
Find those hair-pins, or, at any rate, the side-combs.
Bill.
Oh, all right....
(He goes into the summer-house, strikes a match, and searches about the floor for the missing hair-pins.Clarestands plaiting her hair into a “pigtail,” and looking straight before her with very grave eyes.)
(He goes into the summer-house, strikes a match, and searches about the floor for the missing hair-pins.Clarestands plaiting her hair into a “pigtail,” and looking straight before her with very grave eyes.)
Bill.
(Half to himself while searching.) Here are a couple.... By Jove! one of ’em’s got rammed tight behind the seat.... Another—that’s three.... Four!... I’ve found one of the side-combs.... I say, they are jolly pretty!... Where the deuce has t’other one got to?... Oh, Lord, I’m awfully sorry! It’s smashed. I put my clumsy hoof on it.... (He joins her at the front of the platform.)
Clare.
It’s all right....
Bill.
But—— (Looks at her with puzzled eyes.) I say, darling, is anything the matter with you? (Puts his arm around her.) A moment ago——
Clare.
(Freeing herself.) You must never call me that again.
Bill.
Call you what?
Clare.
“Darling.”
Bill.
But——
Clare.
Or put your arm round me....
Bill.
But——
Clare.
(Passionately.) Oh, Bill, I was mad—I lost my head—I forgot.... It was so—so thrilling in there.... I should never have let you—I should never have let you....
Bill.
But I—I only kissed you.
Clare.
You—you——
Bill.
And told you that I loved you.
Clare.
Yes....
Bill.
And you said you loved me....
Clare.
I didn’t!
Bill.
You kissed me.
Clare.
That’s not the same thing.
Bill.
Then you don’t love me?
Clare.
I never said so.
Bill.
Do you love me, Clare?
Clare.
I should never have kissed you if I didn’t.
Bill.
Clare! (Tries to take her in his arms.)
Clare.
(Decidedly.) No....
Bill.
No?...
Clare.
I am not free.
Bill.
Not ... free.... Then you’re—you’re—engaged?
Clare.
No.
Bill.
No?... But——
Clare.
I am not free.
Bill.
But you’renotengaged?
Clare.
No.
Bill.
Clare! You don’t mean—you can’t mean that you are married?...
Clare.
Married?
Bill.
Yes—married!
Clare.
Don’t be silly.
Bill.
That’s no answer. Are you married?
Clare.
Of course I’m not.
Bill.
You’re neither engaged nor married—but you’re not free to marry me. What does it all mean?
Clare.
You must be content with that.
Bill.
Must I? Then you don’t know me. I’ll give you no rest—I’ll persecute you night and day till I get at the truth.
Clare.
(After a pause.) You may be right, Bill;perhaps I do owe you an explanation since I allowed you to kiss me....
Bill.
And kissed me....
Clare.
(Tragically.) I belong to another man....
Bill.
But you said just now——
Clare.
Whom I can never marry....
Bill.
What!
Clare.
Because he is already married.
Bill.
(Horrified.) Clare! you—you——
Clare.
(Loftily.) Our bond is purely of the spirit.
Bill.
Eh?
Clare.
(Unconsciously imitatingMichael’smanner.) He is a noble and high-souled gentleman. His life is one long self-sacrifice for the woman whom he married. She loves him, and for her sake hefought against his love for me. But that love mastered him: he confessed it. I told him it was returned, though I know now it was the pity and friendship I felt for him which I mistook for love. We promised to be true to each other. I cannot—I dare not break my promise. My love is all he has to make life bearable....
(Billis about to speak whenLady Patricia’svoice, singing in the distance, brings him up with a jerk. He listens a moment. When he speaks his tone is one of dismay.)
(Billis about to speak whenLady Patricia’svoice, singing in the distance, brings him up with a jerk. He listens a moment. When he speaks his tone is one of dismay.)
Bill.
Great—Scott!
Clare.
(Coldly.) I beg your pardon?
Bill.
I say, Clare, d’you know I’ve made an ass of myself in just the same way as you!
Clare.
An ass?... Will you kindly explain yourself.
Bill.
I had no right to tell you I loved you, because I am bound to another woman.
Clare.
Not—not to a married woman?
Bill.
A married woman....
Clare.
Oh, how dreadful!
Bill.
Our bond is purely of the spirit.
Clare.
Oh?... What is she like?
Bill.
Noble and high-souled like your——
Clare.
Is she pretty?
Bill.
Oh, yes, she——
Clare.
Did you love her?
Bill.
Till I met you five weeks ago I believe I did. Then I—— Anyhow, I’m afraid I’ll have to stick to her. If I threw her over now I don’t know what the poor woman would do.
Clare.
You have a pretty high notion of your attractions.
Bill.
And you of yours.
Clare.
You appear to forget that I am a woman.
(You hearLady Patricia’svoice just beneath talking toMichael.Billexclaims with a scared look:)
(You hearLady Patricia’svoice just beneath talking toMichael.Billexclaims with a scared look:)
She’s coming here!...
Clare.
Well?... (With dawning comprehension. She seizes his arm.) Bill—you don’t mean to say that she——
(Michaelis heard replying toLady Patricia.Clarewhispers with startled eyes:)
(Michaelis heard replying toLady Patricia.Clarewhispers with startled eyes:)
That’s he!
Bill.
(Staring at her.) That’s Michael.... Good God! Clare, it’s not—it’s not Michael that you——
Clare.
Hush!... They’re going past....
Bill.
(In a fierce undertone.) The blackguard!
Clare.
What do you mean?
Bill.
If I hadn’t been a blind fool, I would have seen through this precious friendship for you long ago.It never dawned on me that the fellow was such a scoundrel. And a precious hypocrite, too, by Jove! Playing up so as to make that poor, trusting woman believe him madly in love with her....
Clare.
That poor, trusting woman? Are you, by any chance, speaking of Patricia?
Bill.
Of course I am. Hanging about her neck while all the time he’s making love to an innocent girl! It’s perfectly disgusting!
Clare.
And what has your noble, high-souled Patricia been doing, I should like to know? Shamming infatuation for poor Michael to hide her shameful flirtation with a callow boy.
Bill.
It was not a shameful flirtation—and I’m no more a callow boy than you are.
Clare.
What amazes me is that you should ever have allowed yourself to be fooled by a shallow, deceitfulposeuselike Patricia.
Bill.
She hasn’t fooled me. She’s deeply and truly in love with me.
Clare.
Contradiction isn’t argument: it’s merely rude.
Bill.
If it had been any one else but Michael there might have been some excuse for you. But Michael! How could you? A dull, priggish ass——
Clare.
He’s not a dull, priggish ass!
Bill.
Contradiction isn’t argument: it’s merely rude.
Clare.
How dare you speak to me like that!
Bill.
(Sulkily.) I beg your pardon.
(He moves away from her, and they both stand staring in opposite directions.)
(He moves away from her, and they both stand staring in opposite directions.)
Clare.
(After a pause.) I don’t think there’s anything more to be said.
Bill.
Neither do I.
(A pause.)
(A pause.)
Clare.
Nothing.
Bill.
Nothing.
(A pause.)
(A pause.)
Clare.
Things must remain as they are.
Bill.
Yes, I suppose they must.
(A pause.)
(A pause.)
Clare.
Of course, any one who was at all unprejudiced would see at once the—the higher morality of my decision.
Bill.
The what?
Clare.
The higher morality. Michael has often told me that our pure love and the fact that he does his duty as best he can to his wife are the only things that keep him from suicide....
Bill.
(Under his breath.) Bosh!
Clare.
I beg your pardon?
Bill.
Nothing.... It’s awfully funny to think of Michael spooning away with you and Patricia and boring you both to death without knowing it.
Clare.
I don’t see that it’s any funnier than Patricia doing the same with you and Michael.
Bill.
Well, anyhow, I shall have to stick to Patricia—not because of “higher morality”—whatever that means—but because I know she would pine away if I left her now.
Clare.
Tchah!
(They stand miserably silent, looking in opposite directions. The nightingale starts singing, and sings through the next scene. The voices of theDeanandMrs. O’Farrelcome up from beneath.)
(They stand miserably silent, looking in opposite directions. The nightingale starts singing, and sings through the next scene. The voices of theDeanandMrs. O’Farrelcome up from beneath.)
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Well, I find it chilly, Dean—distinctly chilly.
Dean.
For Whitsuntide, dear lady—surely not. True, Whitsuntide is very late this year....
(Mrs. O’Farrelenters, followed by theDean, up the central ladder.)
(Mrs. O’Farrelenters, followed by theDean, up the central ladder.)
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Why, here’s the child! All alone, my dear? Whatever have you been doing to your hair?
Clare.
It’s such a hot night I had to take it down.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Hot?
Dean.
But, my dear child, you can’t possibly go home like that!
Clare.
I’ll put it up when I get back to the house.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
(PerceivingBill.) Is that my son?
Bill.
(Gloomily.) Hullo, mater....
Dean.
Enchanting night, my boy!
Bill.
(As before.) Awfully jolly....
Mrs. O’Farrel.
And where are the others?
Clare.
I don’t know.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Sentimentalising in the moonlight....
Clare.
I suppose so.
(Mrs. O’Farrelregards both the young people critically through her lorgnette.)
(Mrs. O’Farrelregards both the young people critically through her lorgnette.)
Dean.
(Breezily.) And what have you two been up to?
Bill.
Mootching around.
Clare.
Playing about.
Dean.
Your mother and I thought we’d like a little stroll before going home.
Bill.
Good idea....
(TheDeanfixes his monocle, and, slightly puzzled, scrutinises them each in turn.)
(TheDeanfixes his monocle, and, slightly puzzled, scrutinises them each in turn.)
Mrs. O’Farrel.
What’s the matter with you both?
Bill and Clare.
The matter?...
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Have you been quarrelling?
Bill and Clare.
Quarrelling?...
Mrs. O’Farrel.
You’re as sulky as two bears.
Bill and Clare.
I?
Mrs. O’Farrel.
As two bears. Aren’t they, Dean?
Dean.
Sulky? No, no; surely not sulky! Chastened! Thoughtful! A little overcome, perhaps, by the beauty of the night—as all sensitive young souls should be.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
H’m!... Sensitive young souls!...
(Lady Patricia, followed byMichael, enters on the left.)
(Lady Patricia, followed byMichael, enters on the left.)
Lady Patricia.
All of you? But how charming! How delightful!
Dean.
Dear Lady Patricia!
(Michaelmoves towardsClare, who evades his ardent gaze.)
(Michaelmoves towardsClare, who evades his ardent gaze.)
Mrs. O’Farrel.
What have you been doing with yourselves?
Lady Patricia.
Looking at the guelder-roses in the moonlight, and wondering whether they were guelder-roses at all or great pearls.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Personally I should say they were guelder-roses.
Lady Patricia.
Ah, but dear Aunt Eileen, how can you tell what pranks the fairies may not play on such a night as this?
Dean.
What an exquisite fancy!
Bill.
(Who has been looking jealously atClareandMichael. He speaks defiantly with eyes onClare.) I say, Cousin Patricia....
Lady Patricia.
Yes, Cousin Bill?
(Clarelooks at them.)
(Clarelooks at them.)
Bill.
If it wouldn’t bother you too much, I wonder if you’d care to take me to have a look at those thingumybob roses. It would be simply corking!
Lady Patricia.
I shall be charmed, Cousin Bill. We’ll settle the question of guelder-rose or pearl together.
(They move towards the ladder on the left.)
(They move towards the ladder on the left.)
Clare.
(In a low voice toBillas he passes her.) Worm! (In a defiant voice toMichael.) Mr. Cosway, you’ve never shown me the—the what’s-its-name....
Michael.
The spiral nebula in Andromeda? It’s scarcely favourable for a view of the nebula to-night. Shall we look at the mountains of the moon?
Clare.
Thanks awfully.
(She andMichaelmove to the central ladder.)
(She andMichaelmove to the central ladder.)
Lady Patricia.
(ToBillas they descend on the left.) Do you believe in fairies, Cousin Bill?
Michael.
(ToClareas they descend the central ladder.)
(ToClareas they descend the central ladder.)
I have often wondered how the night would look if we had nine moons like Jupiter.
(A pause. TheDeanlooks disapprovingly after the disappearingBill,Mrs. O’Farrelthrough her lorgnette afterClare.)
(A pause. TheDeanlooks disapprovingly after the disappearingBill,Mrs. O’Farrelthrough her lorgnette afterClare.)
Mrs. O’Farrel.
H’m....
Dean.
I beg your pardon?... You were saying?...
Mrs. O’Farrel.
I didn’t say anything. I was thinking.
Dean.
Ah, thinking—yes, thinking.... So was I.... By the way, Eileen, your—er—cherished project for marrying Clare to your son doesn’t appear to be materialising quite—er—satisfactorily.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
No, it doesn’t.
Dean.
Not quite as smoothly as we—as you hoped.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Give me a whisky-and-soda.
Dean.
A whisky——
Mrs. O’Farrel.
And soda.
(TheDeanpours out a drop of whisky.)
(TheDeanpours out a drop of whisky.)
Go on....
(TheDeansets the syphon going.)
(TheDeansets the syphon going.)
Nearly full.... When!... And you had better take something as well—to fortify yourself against what I am going to say.
Dean.
Ah.... A little soda-water. (Helps himself.) So you are going to be unpleasant, my dear Eileen?
Mrs. O’Farrel.
I am. Those twohadbeen quarrelling just now.
Dean.
That was evident—even to me.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
They had been quarrelling bitterly—and I can make a shrewd guess at the cause.
Dean.
I also.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Indeed. Well, I think it’s high time to speak plainly.
Dean.
I quite agree with you.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
I’m glad to hear it.... Bill had very evidently been taking your daughter to task for her amazing indiscretions.
Dean.
Amazing indiscretions? Clare’s? Will you kindly be more explicit.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
I mean to be. Perhaps you remember some weeks ago I warned you that her intimacy with Michael Cosway ought to be stopped?
Dean.
Certainly. And I took leave to disagree with you entirely.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Well, you were wrong. You should immediately have put an end to this intimacy—to use the mildest word for her friendship with Michael.
Dean.
Mrs. O’Farrel, is it possible you are speaking of my daughter?
Mrs. O’Farrel.
And it’s your duty to put an end to it at once. I only hope that you may not be too late.
Dean.
This—this—this is beyond anything!... Perhaps you will be so good——
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Now then, Dean, pray don’t lose your temper. It’s neither wise nor becoming, and at our age very bad for the heart. Listen to me quietly for a moment. I refused for a long time to believe any ill of this—er—friendship. I knew Michael to be infatuated with his wife, and Clare to be a healthy-minded girl. But last week Emily Fitzgerald told me she had seen Michael walking in the Stanton Woods with his arm around Clare’s shoulder. She added that the affair was becoming quite notorious in the neighbourhood.... You must act, and act at once.
Dean.
Is that all? So you condescend to listen to the tittle-tattle of a notorious old gossip like Emily Fitzgerald? Upon my word I’m ashamed of you!
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Dean! Have you taken leave of your senses?
Dean.
I might well put that question to you, Mrs. O’Farrel. But I refrain from vulgartu quoquerepartee. I have no more to say except to warn you that before looking after the morals of my daughter, you had far better look after those of your son.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
My son?
Dean.
Precisely—your son.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
What do you mean?
Dean.
I and others—unlike yourself, I will not drag in the names of outsiders—have for some time past watched your son and Lady Patricia with grief and dismay.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Patricia!
Dean.
Just now you believed your son had been impertinently taking Clare to task for her charming friendship with Michael Cosway. I am convinced you were mistaken. It was Clare who had been warning your son that his indiscretions were becoming the talk of the place.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Bill entangled with Patricia! And Clare—Clarepreaching propriety! It’s too laughable! A boy’s innocent homage for a woman at least ten years his senior! You’re a very foolish old man.
Dean.
Again I put away from me thetu quoqueretort.... Add two and two together. I don’t for a moment blameher. I can’t find it in my heart to blame her. The dear and beautiful creature is as God made her: exquisitely sensitive, sentimental and infinitely affectionate.... But I warn you, Mrs. O’Farrel, I warn you.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
I refuse to hear another word. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!... And the saddest part of the whole affair is my poor boy’s undoubted affection for your daughter.
Dean.
Affection for Clare! I don’t believe it!
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Are you his mother?
Dean.
Certainly not!... But I have watched him—with the result that I am convinced of his infatuation for Lady Patricia.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Fiddle-sticks!
Dean.
And I may as well tell you, though you will not believe it, that my poor girl’s affections are centred on your son.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Oh, dam’ foolishness!
Dean.
This has gone far enough, Mrs. O’Farrel.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Quite far enough. I am going home.
Dean.
So am I.