THE FOURTH ACT

[Exit.

Miss Vernon.

I dare say you’d like me to leave you.

Grace.

You don’t mind, do you?

[With a shake of the head and a smileMiss Vernongoes out.Claudelooks a little uncertainly at his wife. He seeks for something to say.

Claude.

What a nice woman that is! I can’t imagine why Archibald doesn’t hurry up and marry her.

Grace.

Perhaps he’s not in love with her.

Claude.

Any man in his senses would be in love with her.

[Gracedoes not answer, but she gives him a curious glance.Mooreopens the door to showGannin.Gannis dishevelled and untidy, his face haggard and drawn. He is not exactly drunk, but he is stupefied, partly with liquor and partly with grief. He carries his gun. He comes in, his cap on his head, and stands clumsily near the door.

Claude.

Take off your cap, Gann.

[Gannlooks at him unsteadily and slowly takes off his cap.

Gann.

Did you want to speak to me, Squire?

Claude.

I’ve just been round to your cottage, Gann. I saw Peggy.... I want to tell you how awfully sorry I am for what’s happened. I can never forgive myself.

[Gannsteps forward with a lurch and facesClaude.

Gann.

What d’you want me for? Couldn’t you let me be? D’you still want me to go?

Claude.

No. That’s what I wanted to tell you.

Gann.

Give us time and we’ll clear. We don’t want long. Give us time to bury the girl. That’s all we want.

[Gracegives an exclamation of horror.

Claude.

I hope you’ll stay. I want to do everything I can to make up for your loss. I want you to know that I blame myself most awfully.

Gann.

Will that bring ’er back to life, d’you think?

Claude.

I’d give anything for this horrible accident not to have happened. [With a look at Grace.] I’m afraid it’s my fault.

Gann.

She killed ’erself so as I shouldn’t be turned off. That’s why she killed ’erself. You’re a hard master—you always was. She thought it was the only way to save me from the work’us.

Claude.

[Very awkwardly.] In future I’ll try to be different. I didn’t think I was hard. I thought I was only just.

Grace.

It was a cruel rule.

Claude.

I thought I was only doing my duty.

Gann.

She was a good girl, after all, Squire, a good girl.

Claude.

I’m sure she was.

Gann.

It’s easy enough for you people to keep straight. You don’t ’ave temptations like we ’ave.

Claude.

No, that’s true enough. I suppose it’s not really very hard for us to be moderately decent.

Grace.

[In a choking voice.] Where is the child now, Gann?

Gann.

[Violently.] D’you want that too? Ain’t you satisfied yet? Has the child got to go before I stay?

Grace.

No, no. I only wanted to know if there was anything I could do. I wanted to help you.

Gann.

I don’t want your ’elp. I only want you to let me work and earn my wages.

Claude.

That you shall do, I promise you.

Gann.

Can I go now? I’ve got a deal to do this morning.

Claude.

Yes.... Will you shake hands with me before you go?

Gann.

What good’ll that do you?

[Claudegives a gesture of discouragement.

Claude.

I can only repeat that I’m most awfully sorry. I’m afraid there’s absolutely nothing I can do to make up for your great loss.... You can go now.

[Gannturns to go, whileClaudeandGracewatch him silently. Suddenly he comes back and thrusts his gun intoClaude’shand.

Gann.

Look ’ere, Squire, you take my gun. I ain’t fit to keep it.

Claude.

[Sharply.] What the devil d’you mean?

Gann.

Last night when the liquor was in me I swore I’d blow your brains out and swing for it. Don’t let me ’ave the gun. I’m not fit to keep it yet. If I get on the drink again I’ll kill you.

Claude.

What the dickens d’you mean by speaking to me like that! Of course you must have your gun. I can’t allow you to neglect your work.

Grace.

[Almost in a whisper.] Claude, take care.

Claude.

[Looking at the lock.] Why isn’t it loaded?

Gann.

They took the cartridges out. I was about mad, and I don’t know what I said. If I’d come across you then—you wouldn’t be standing where you are now.

Claude.

I suppose you take eights?

[GraceandGannboth look at him.Gracegives a start when she realises what he is going to do.

Gann.

That’s right.

[Claudenods and goes to the door. He hesitates, with a look atGrace.

Grace.

I shall be all right.

[He goes out. In a moment he comes back with two cartridges. He puts them in the gun, and hands it back to the gamekeeper.

Claude.

Here you are. I don’t think I’m afraid. I’ll take my chance of your wanting to shoot me.

[Ganntakes the gun, and his hands close round it convulsively. He half raises it.Claudegoes to the door through which he has just come, and closes it. Then, almost mastered by the temptation,Gannpulls himself together and advances a step towards his master.Gracegives a stifled cry.Claudeturns round and faces the man.

Claude.

That’ll do, Gann. I don’t think I have anything more to say to you. You can go.

[Gannstruggles to command himself. His fingers itch to shoot, butClaude’sunconcern prevents him.

Gann.

By God!

[He turns round to go, and flings the gun violently from him.

Claude.

[Peremptorily.] Gann, take your gun.

[The man stops, looks at his master, and then, cowed, picks it up. He lurches heavily out of the room. There is a pause.Gracedraws a long breath.

Grace.

I’m glad you did that, Claude.

Claude.

[Thinking she refers to his attempts at apology.] It was very difficult to know what to say to him.

Grace.

I didn’t mean that. I meant, I’m glad you made him take the gun.

Claude.

Oh! Hang it all, you didn’t think I was likely to be frightened of one of my own servants, did you?

Grace.

[In a low voice.] I was rather afraid he was going to shoot you.

Claude.

So was I. But I felt pretty sure he saw two of me, and I thought he’d probably shoot at the wrong one.

Grace.

You’re very plucky.

Claude.

Rot! [He hesitates for a moment.] Grace, I’m afraid you think I’ve been an awful skunk.

Grace.

[With a quick look at him.] We none of us knew anything like this was going to happen.

Claude.

Will you forgive me?

Grace.

[Startled.] I?

Claude.

I’ve been feeling such an awful cad. If I’d only done what you wanted me to, this wouldn’t have happened.

Grace.

That’s notyourfault. I didn’t say—what I should have said to make you change your mind.

Claude.

It rather put my back up that you should be so set on letting Peggy stay. But it struck me afterwards, of course you couldn’t feel the same about it as I did. I think if one’s awfully straight, one’s full of charity, don’t you know.

Grace.

My dear Claude, you talk as if I were a girl of eighteen.

Claude.

I don’t suppose you remember, but when Archibald told us, I wanted to say something to you....

Grace.

Yes, your first thought was for me, wasn’t it?

Claude.

[Going on.] And I came near you. And—and you sort of shuddered, and said: “For God’s sake, don’t touch me!”

Grace.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be unkind.

Claude.

No, I know you didn’t. It just came out unawares. And—oh, Grace, I couldn’t bear to think you—you couldn’t stick me, don’t you know.... I suppose I’m a damned fool, but I haven’t made you hate and loathe me, have I?

Grace.

I’m not worth so much troubling about, Claude.

Claude.

I can’t help it. You’ve just somehow got in my blood and bones, and if it didn’t sound such drivel, I’d say you meant everything in the world to me. Only you just laugh at me when I say things like that.

Grace.

[Explaining to herself rather than to him.] It’s very hard for all of us to say what we mean. The words we use are so frayed. One ought to guess at—at the soul within them.

Claude.

I’ve been trying to think about Gann and his daughter, but I can’t really think of anything but you.

Grace.

You know, Claude, no one’s so wonderful as you think me. I’m no longer so young as all that, and you’re the only person who ever thought me very pretty.

Claude.

I don’t mind. Sometimes, so that my love should mean more to you, don’t you know, I’ve wanted you to get older quickly, and I’ve wanted you to be plain.

Grace.

[With a little hysterical laugh.] Oh, my dear, what a horrible prospect.

Claude.

Don’t laugh at me now, Grace.

Grace.

[With tears in her voice.] I’m not laughing at you. God knows I’m not laughing at you.

Claude.

I’m such an ass at explaining myself. What I want to make you understand is that I don’t love you for anything that other people could love you for. I love you because you’re you, don’t you know. Because you’re so awfully good and straight. And you know I respect you so awfully.

Grace.

[In a hoarse voice.] I’m not good, Claude.

Claude.

If I didn’t believe it, I should think the world a pretty rotten place.

Grace.

I haven’t been the sort of wife you wanted. I felt that always.

Claude.

You’ve been the only woman in the world for me. Always.

Grace.

[Deeply moved.] Not many women can say that, can they? One ought to be very grateful.

Claude.

D’you remember the first time I ever saw you?

Grace.

[Looking away from him.] I wonder you didn’t marry Helen Vernon years before you came across me.

Claude.

Hang it all, why on earth should I have done that!

Grace.

Your mother was very anxious that you should.

Claude.

I was just as little in love with Helen Vernon as she was in love with me.

Grace.

I can’t help seeing that she would have made you a much better wife than I have. She would have understood you. I don’t think I ever understood you. I’ve been a wretched failure, Claude.

Claude.

Darling, how can you talk such rot?

Grace.

She might have had children. You wanted them so much, Claude, and I haven’t given you any.

Claude.

That’s been hard luck on both of us, darling.

Grace.

[With deep feeling.] It might have made all the difference.

Claude.

If I wanted children it was chiefly because I thought you’d be happier. You wouldn’t have minded the dull life down here then. And you might have cared a bit more for me because I was their father.

Grace.

It all comes back to me, doesn’t it? I’m in all your thoughts always.

Claude.

D’you mind?

Grace.

I’m so ashamed.

[Archibaldcomes in from the hall.

Archibald.

Oh, Claude, I met the coroner’s officer on my way along here. He wants to see you.

Claude.

All right. I’ll come. Is he in the hall?

Archibald.

[With a nod.] I told him you knew nothing more than I’d said. But I’m afraid they’ll call you at the inquest.

Claude.

The only thing’s to grin and bear it.

[They go out.Gracesinks into a chair at the writing-table and buries her face in her hands. In a momentHenry Cobbettenters. She starts up when she hears his footstep on the gravel. He has his hat in his hand and his coat over his arm.

Cobbett.

I’m just starting. I was looking for you to say good-bye.

Grace.

Is it time for you to go already? I didn’t know it was late.

Cobbett.

Thanks awfully for putting me up. It’s been perfectly topping.

Grace.

It was nice of you to come. I hope you’ll run down again one of these days.

Cobbett.

[In a lower tone.] I suppose you never want to set eyes on me again.

Grace.

Never.

Cobbett.

You’re not awfully unhappy, are you?

Grace.

[With something between a sob and a chuckle.] Awfully.

Cobbett.

I’m dreadfully sorry.

Grace.

That doesn’t do me much good, does it?

Cobbett.

If there’s anything I can do, I’d like awfully to do it if you’d let me.

Grace.

No, whatever happens no one can help me but myself.

Cobbett.

I shouldn’t have played the fool if I’d thought you were going to take things so much to heart.

Grace.

[Ironically.] That’s the nuisance of women, isn’t it? Theywillmake an affair of what’s really only an episode.

Cobbett.

You have a way of saying things that makes one feel an awful bounder. After all, one can’t help falling in love, and one’s not a blackguard because one falls out of it.

Grace.

D’you remember asking me yesterday if I was beginning to care for Claude differently?

Cobbett.

Yes.

Grace.

I love him as I never thought it was possible to love. I don’t know why I love him. It’s come to me suddenly. I—oh, I can’t tell you what it is. It’s like hunger in my soul. And I’m frightened.

Cobbett.

I should have thought that made everything all right.

Grace.

It’s come too late. I’m—soiled. Afterwards—you know what I mean, when you and I—the first thing I felt was surprise because I found myself no different. I thought when a woman had done that everything would seem altered. But I felt just the same as before. It’s only now. It’s like the stain of blood—don’t you remember—not all the perfumes of Arabia....

Cobbett.

[Worried and moved.] You know, it’s absurd to take it like that.

Grace.

[With increasing agitation.] Oh, what have I done! If I’d only had the strength to resist! It’s now that I see it all, the utter degradation of it, the hateful ugliness. Oh, I loathe myself. How can I take my heart to Claude when there’s you standing between us?

Cobbett.

I’m awfully sorry, Grace.

Grace.

I’d give anything in the world if I hadn’t done what I have done. I might be so happy now. I haven’t a chance. The fates are against me. What’s the good of loving Claude now—I’m not fit to be his wife.

[She is beside herself.Cobbett,not knowing what to do, stands looking at her. The sound is heard of a motor-horn blowing.

Cobbett.

[With a slight start.] What’s that?

Grace.

It’s Rooney. He’s afraid you’ll miss the train. You’d better hurry up.

Cobbett.

I can’t leave you like this.

Grace.

[Ironically.] I shouldn’t like you to miss your train.

Cobbett.

I suppose you hate and loathe me.

Grace.

I’d wish you were dead, only it wouldn’t do me much good, would it?

Cobbett.

[Reflectively.] The fact is, only the wicked should sin.... When the virtuous do things they shouldn’t they do make such an awful hash of it.

[Moorecomes in followed by theFootman.

Grace.

What is it?

Moore.

I was going to clear away, madam.

Grace.

Oh, yes, I forgot. [Holding out her hand toCobbett.] You’ll have to look sharp.

END OF THE THIRD ACT

The Sceneis the same as in the first and second Acts, the drawing-room at Kenyon-Fulton.Two days have elapsed. It is about twelve o’clock in the morning.Mrs. Insoleyis seated with her dog on her lap, andMiss Hallis reading the leading article of theTimesto her.

The Sceneis the same as in the first and second Acts, the drawing-room at Kenyon-Fulton.

Two days have elapsed. It is about twelve o’clock in the morning.Mrs. Insoleyis seated with her dog on her lap, andMiss Hallis reading the leading article of theTimesto her.

Miss Hall.

[Reading.] “ ... to whom it would give the suffrage are marked off from all citizens who have ever and anywhere enjoyed the franchise in great civil communities by physical differences which no legislation can affect. Women, they insist, pay rates and taxes as men do, and therefore, they argue, women ought to vote as men do. But rates and taxes may be imposed or abolished by legislation. Men may become ratepayers and taxpayers, or cease to be ratepayers and taxpayers. The one thing that no enthusiasm, no reasoning, no eloquence, demonstrations, or statutes can achieve is to make a woman a man.”

Mrs. Insoley.

How true that is, Louisa.

Miss Hall.

I’ve always thought exactly the same myself, Mrs. Insoley.

Mrs. Insoley.

And there’s another thing, Louisa. No man can become a mother.

Miss Hall.

[Reflectively.] No, I suppose not.

Mrs. Insoley.

Have you any doubts on the subject, Louisa?

Miss Hall.

Oh, no, Mrs. Insoley.

Mrs. Insoley.

[Ironically.] You may take it from me that no man can become a mother. And apparently very few women either nowadays.

[Archibald Insoleycomes in.

Archibald.

Good morning, mother.

Mrs. Insoley.

Good morning, my dear.

[He bends down and kisses her.

Archibald.

Good morning, Miss Hall.

Miss Hall.

Good morning.

Mrs. Insoley.

Louisa, you may read the rest of that article to yourself in the garden.

Miss Hall.

[Getting up.] Very well, Mrs. Insoley. Shall I take the dog?

Mrs. Insoley.

[Handing it over.] Yes. And be very careful with him. He says he’s not very well to-day.

[Miss Halltakes the dog and goes out.

Mrs. Insoley.

I’m glad to have an opportunity of talking to you, Archibald. I’ve fancied that you’ve been rather avoiding me the last day or two.

Archibald.

[Cheerfully.] Oh, no, my dear mother.

Mrs. Insoley.

When I asked Grace to invite Helen Vernon to stay here for a few days, it was in the confident hope that you would make her a proposal of marriage.

Archibald.

I respect and esteem Miss Vernon, but I confess that no warmer feeling has ever entered my bosom.

Mrs. Insoley.

It’s not necessary that warm feelings should enter a clergyman’s bosom, Archibald. She’s of very good family indeed, and an heiress. Five thousand acres and a house that’s only just been done up.

Archibald.

[With a chuckle.] If there only weren’t a wife to be taken along with the property!

Mrs. Insoley.

[With a twinkle in her eyes.] It shouldn’t be necessary for me to tell a person of your profession that none of the pleasures of this world can be had without some drawback.

Archibald.

What a pity it is you weren’t a man, mother. You would have made such a bishop.

Mrs. Insoley.

Are you trying to change the conversation, Archibald?

Archibald.

I don’t think it would be a bad idea.

Mrs. Insoley.

Then I will only say one thing more. I am the meekest woman in the world, and a lamb could lead me. But I should like to remind you that the living of Kenyon-Fulton is not worth more than a hundred and seventy a year, and if you can keep a curate and live like a gentleman it’s only owing to my generosity.

Archibald.

I’m quite prepared to live on a hundred and seventy a year, mother. I dare say it would have just as good an effect on my figure as matrimony.

Mrs. Insoley.

[Rather crossly.] I don’t know what you’re talking about, Archibald.

Archibald.

I understood you to recommend marriage as a sort of heroic remedy for corpulence.

Mrs. Insoley.

You have nothing against Helen, I presume?

Archibald.

[Smiling.] I could have wished that fewer summers had passed over a fringe which I shrewdly suspect to be artificial.

Mrs. Insoley.

Of course it’s artificial, but you’re no chicken yourself, Archibald.

Archibald.

On the contrary, I’m much too old a bird to be caught by chaff.

Mrs. Insoley.

I’m sure we don’t want another flighty young thing in the family.

Archibald.

I don’t think Grace has been very flighty the last day or two.

Mrs. Insoley.

What’s the matter with her? She’s been going about with a face as long as one of your sermons.

Archibald.

I’m afraid Peggy’s death upset her very much.

Mrs. Insoley.

[Irritably.] That’s the worst of those sort of people, they have no self-control. If she’s going to give way like this at the death of a kitchen-maid, what on earth is she going to do at the death of a duchess?

Archibald.

Is it a riddle, mother?

[Gracecomes in. She looks tired and worn. She is in a very nervous state. She gives the impression that any folly, any wildness may be expected from her.

Grace.

Good morning, Archibald.

Archibald.

Good morning.

Grace.

I thought you’d be at the inquest.

Archibald.

No. There was no need for me to go. And Claude seemed to think he’d rather I didn’t.

Mrs. Insoley.

What is this?

Archibald.

The inquest on Peggy Gann.

Grace.

Have you seen Claude?

Archibald.

He looked in at the Rectory for five minutes. I’m afraid he’s awfully worried.

Mrs. Insoley.

I have no patience with Claude. He should have more self-respect than to let such a thing worry him.

Archibald.

He’s afraid he may be asked some very unpleasant questions.

Mrs. Insoley.

You seem entirely to forget the relative positions of the parties concerned. If Claude doesn’t want to answer an impertinent question, it’s the easiest thing in the world for him to fly into a passion and refuse. Who is the coroner?

Grace.

His name is Davies. He’s the local doctor.

Mrs. Insoley.

You’re not going to suggest that the local doctor would dream of asking a question unless he was quite sure Claude was prepared to answer it?

Archibald.

Davies is an advanced Radical. I’m afraid he may take the opportunity to have a fling at Claude.

Mrs. Insoley.

I’m all at sea. In my day we wouldn’t have stood a doctor for five minutes who was a Radical. We’d have made life unbearable for him until he became a Conservative or left the district.

Archibald.

[With a shrug of the shoulders.] You’re looking rather dicky, Grace.

Grace.

Oh, I’m quite well, thank you.

Mrs. Insoley.

Am I mistaken in thinking you have rouge on your cheeks?

Grace.

I’ve not been sleeping very well, and I didn’t want to look ill.

Mrs. Insoley.

In my young days ladies did not paint their faces.

Grace.

[With suppressed rage.] We don’t live in your young days, and I’m not a lady.

Mrs. Insoley.

[With a chuckle at the opportunityGracehas given her.] As you are my hostess, it would be insolent of me to contradict you, my dear Grace.

[Delighted with her repartee, she gets up and walks out of the room.Gracegoes up to the looking-glass over the chimney-piece and rubs her cheeks with a handkerchief.

Archibald.

I wonder if you’d be very angry if I said something to you?

Grace.

[Icily.] Do you object to the way I do my hair, oris it the cut of my skirt that doesn’t quite meet with your approval?

Archibald.

I was going to say something to you about Claude.

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