THE SECOND ACT

[Archibald InsoleyandHenry Cobbettcome in.Archibaldis a pleasant, good-looking man of thirty-four, with a humorous way about him, and a kindly expression. He holds the family living of Kenyon-Fulton, but there is nothing in him of the sanctimoniousness of the cloth.Cobbettis an agreeable youth of four-and-twenty. They are followed byClaude Insoley.

Cobbett.

[SeeingEdith Lewisat the window.] Are you going out?

Edith.

We were—but we won’t.

Grace.

I’ve been preparing Miss Lewis for your mother’s arrival.

Edith.

I’m beginning to tremble in my shoes.

Archibald.

Our mother is what is usually described as a woman of character. With the best intentions in the world and the highest principles she succeeds in making life almost intolerable to every one connected with her.

Claude.

You won’t forget to send the carriage for her to-morrow, Grace?

Grace.

I won’t.... Last time we sent the car by mistake, and she sent it back again.

Miss Vernon.

Good heavens, why did she do that?

Grace.

Mrs. Insoley never has driven in a motor-car, and Mrs. Insoley never will drive in a motor-car.

Claude.

[Not unamiably.] I don’t think you ought to make fun of my mother, Grace.

Grace.

I wouldn’t if I could make anything else of her.

[As she says this she sits down at the piano and rattles her fingers over the keys.

Grace.

Will you sing us a song, Mr. Cobbett?

Cobbett.

No, thank you.

Grace.

I want to be amused.

Archibald.

How desperately you say that!

Grace.

[ToCobbett.] What will you sing?

Cobbett.

I’m afraid I don’t know anything that will fit the occasion.

Grace.

I seem to have heard you warble a graceful little ditty about a top note.

Cobbett.

Thank you very much, but I’m not fond of making a fool of myself.

Grace.

Part of a gentleman’s education should be how to make himself ridiculous with dignity.

Claude.

[ToCobbett.] You make more fuss about singing than a young lady at a tea-party.

Grace.

[Looking at him with smiling lips but with hard eyes.] Let us have no more maidenly coyness.

[She begins to play, andCobbett,shrugging his shoulders, begins with rather bad grace to sing the song, “I can’t reach that top note.” While they are in the middle of it the door opens, and theButlerannouncesMrs. Insoleyand her companion.Mrs. Insoleyis a little old lady of some corpulence, shabbily dressed in rusty black. She looks rather like a charwoman in her Sunday best.Miss Hall,her companion, is a self-effacing silent person of uncertain age. She is always very anxious to make herself useful.

Moore.

Mrs. Insoley, Miss Hall.

Claude.

Mother!

[The singing abruptly ceases. There is general consternation.Mrs. Insoleystops still forone moment, and surveys the party with indignation. Then she sweeps into the room with such majesty as is compatible with her small size and considerable obesity.

Mrs. Insoley.

Is this a lunatic asylum that I have come into?

Grace.

We didn’t expect you till to-morrow.

Mrs. Insoley.

So I imagined by the fact that I found no conveyance at the station. I had to take a fly, and it cost me four-and-sixpence.

Claude.

But why didn’t you let us know you’d changed your plans, mother?

Mrs. Insoley.

I did let you know. I wrote to Grace yesterday. She must have got my letter this morning.

Grace.

Oh, how stupid of me! I recognised your writing, and as it was my birthday I thought I wouldn’t open it till to-morrow.

Claude.

Grace!

Grace.

I’m dreadfully sorry.

Mrs. Insoley.

It was only by the mercy of Providence that I didn’t have to walk.

Grace.

There are always flies at the station.

Mrs. Insoley.

Providence might very well have caused them to be all engaged.

Grace.

I don’t know why you should think Providence has nothing better to do than to play practical jokes on us.

Mrs. Insoley.

[Looking round.] And may I inquire why you have turned the house in which your father died into a bear garden?

Claude.

It’s Grace’s birthday, and we thought there would be no harm in our having a little fun.

Mrs. Insoley.

[Putting up her face-à-main and staring at the company.] I’m old-fashioned enough and well-bred enough to like people to be introduced to me.

Grace.

Nowadays every one’s so disreputable that we think it safer not to make introductions.... This is Miss Lewis.

Edith.

How d’you do?

Mrs. Insoley.

Lewis!

Grace.

[With a little smile of amusement.] I think you know Miss Vernon of Foley.

Mrs. Insoley.

[Very affably.] Of course I know Miss Vernon of Foley. My dear Helen, you’re looking very handsome. It wants a woman of birth to wear the outrageous costumes of the present day.

Miss Vernon.

[Shaking hands with her.] It’s so nice of you to say so.

Grace.

I forget if you know Mr. Cobbett.

Cobbett.

How do you do?

[He bows slightly asMrs. Insoleylooks at him through her glasses.

Mrs. Insoley.

Cobbett!

Cobbett.

[With some asperity.] Cobbett!

Mrs. Insoley.

[Turning toMiss Hall.] We used to have a milkman called Cobbett, Louisa.

Miss Hall.

Our milkman is called Wilkinson now.

Mrs. Insoley.

[Very graciously.] You were singing a song when I came in. What was it called?

Cobbett.

[Rather sulkily.] “I can’t reach that top note.”

Mrs. Insoley.

I wondered why you were trying.... Why are you hiding behind that sofa, Archibald? Do you not intend to kiss your mother?

Archibald.

I’m delighted to see you, my dear mother.

[He kisses her on the forehead.

Mrs. Insoley.

I’m rather surprised to see a clergyman at a dinner-party on a Sunday night.

Archibald.

I find two sermons a day excellent for the appetite. And the Bible tells us that corn makes the young men cheerful.

Grace.

[Smiling.] Aren’t you dreadfully hungry? Wouldn’t you like something to eat?

Mrs. Insoley.

No, I shall go straight to my room. It always upsets me to drive in a hired carriage.

Grace.

I’ll just go and see that everything’s nice and comfortable.

Mrs. Insoley.

Pray don’t put yourself to any trouble on my account. It would distress me.

[Gracegoes out.

Edith.

[Aside toMiss Vernon.] Don’t you think we might go down to the lake?

Miss Vernon.

By all means.... There’s nothing I can get you, Mrs. Insoley?

Mrs. Insoley.

[Graciously.] Nothing, my dear Helen.

[Miss VernonandEdith Lewisgo out, and a moment laterCobbettslips out also.

Mrs. Insoley.

Claude, will you take Miss Hall into the dining-room and give her a sandwich and a glass of port?

Claude.

Certainly.

Miss Hall.

I don’t think I want anything, thank you, Mrs. Insoley.

Mrs. Insoley.

Nonsense, Louisa! Allow me to know what is good for you. You’ll see that she drinks the port, Claude. [As they go out.] I want to talk to Archibald.

Archibald.

My dear mother, I throw myself at your feet.

Mrs. Insoley.

[With a chuckle.] I very much doubt if you could. You’re growing much too fat. It’s quite time they made you something.

Archibald.

[Smiling.] The landed gentry hasn’t its old power. Promotion in the Church nowadays is given with new-fangled ideas about merit and scholarship and heaven knows what.

Mrs. Insoley.

I hope you never eat potatoes or bread?

Archibald.

I fly from them as I would from temptation.

Mrs. Insoley.

Nor soup?

Archibald.

It is as the scarlet woman to me.

Mrs. Insoley.

And I trust you never touch green peas.

Archibald.

Ah, there you have me. Even the saints had their weaknesses. I confess that when green peas are in season I always put on flesh.

Mrs. Insoley.

You want some one to keep a firm hand on you. You must marry.

Archibald.

I saw you approaching that topic by leaps and bounds, mother.

Mrs. Insoley.

It’s a clergyman’s duty to marry.

Archibald.

[Chaffing her.] St. Paul says....

Mrs. Insoley.

[Interrupting.] I know what St. Paul’s views were, Archibald, and I disagree with them.

Archibald.

[Dryly.] I have every reason to believe he was of excellent family, mother.

Mrs. Insoley.

[Giving him a quick look.] We all know that it was a great disappointment to Helen Vernon when—you know what I mean.

Archibald.

I can’t help thinking she showed bad taste in surviving the blow.

Mrs. Insoley.

It was a great disappointment to me. I had set my heart on joining Foley to Kenyon-Fulton.... It wouldn’t be too late even now if you had the sense to appreciate Helen Vernon’s affection for you.

Archibald.

My dear mother, I can’t persuade myself for a moment that Helen Vernon has any affection for me.

Mrs. Insoley.

A woman of her age is prepared to have affection for any one who asks her to marry him.

Archibald.

Even if he’s a poor country parson?

Mrs. Insoley.

You’re a great deal more than a country parson, Archibald. It is unlikely that Grace will have any children, so unless—something happens to allow Claude to marry again....

Archibald.

What d’you mean by that, mother?

Mrs. Insoley.

Grace is not immortal.

Archibald.

On the other hand, she has excellent health.

Mrs. Insoley.

There may be other ways of disposing of her.

Archibald.

What ways?

Mrs. Insoley.

[Looking at him calmly.] Since when have you laboured under the delusion that I am the sort of woman to submit to cross-examination, Archibald?

[The entrance ofGraceinterrupts the conversation.

Grace.

I hope I haven’t kept you waiting. I think you’ll find everything all right.

Mrs. Insoley.

In that case I shall go to my room. Archibald, tell Louisa that I am ready to go to my room.

Archibald.

Certainly.

[He goes out, leavingGracealone withMrs. Insoley.

Mrs. Insoley.

Who is the young lady you have staying with you, Grace?

Grace.

Edith Lewis. She’s a friend of mine.

Mrs. Insoley.

Ah! And who is this Mr. Cobbett?

Grace.

He’s a friend of mine too.

Mrs. Insoley.

I didn’t imagine that you would invite total strangers to stay with you.

Grace.

I don’t know that there’s any other way of describing them.

Mrs. Insoley.

I dare say that is a sufficient description in itself.

[Miss Hallcomes back withClaudeandArchibald.

Mrs. Insoley.

I’m going to my room, Louisa. I shall be ready for you to read to me in a quarter of an hour.

Miss Hall.

Very good, Mrs. Insoley. [ToGrace.] I suppose you don’t have prayers on Sunday night?

Grace.

No, we read our pedigree instead. You’ll find the “Landed Gentry” in your bedroom.

Mrs. Insoley.

[Icily.] In my young days it was thought more important for a young lady to be well-born than to be clever.

Grace.

[Chuckling.] The result has been disastrous for the present generation.

Mrs. Insoley.

Good night.

Grace.

[Shaking hands cordially withMiss Hall.] Be sureand let me know if you’re not quite comfortable. I hope you’ll find everything you want in your room.

Mrs. Insoley.

Of course Louisa will find everything she wants. She wants nothing. Come, Louisa.

[Mrs. InsoleyandMiss Hallgo out.

Archibald.

I think I’ll be toddling back to my rectory.

Claude.

Oh, all right.

Archibald.

Good night, Grace.

Grace.

Good night.

Claude.

[ToArchibald.] I talked to Gann about that matter.

Archibald.

I’m afraid he’s going to make rather a nuisance of himself.

Claude.

I took a good firm line, you know.

Archibald.

That’s right. It’s the only way with those sort of fellows. Good night, old man.

Claude.

Good night.

[Archibaldgoes out.

Claude.

You were asking about Gann just now, Grace?

Grace.

I was.

Claude.

At first I thought I’d better not tell you anything about it, but I’ve been thinking it over....

Grace.

[Interrupting.] It was quite unnecessary. I’m not at all curious.

Claude.

I think perhaps it would be better if I told you what I’d done.

Grace.

I’m sure that whatever you’ve done is right, Claude. [Smiling.] That’s why you’re so detestable.

Claude.

That’s all very fine and large, but I think I’d like to have your approval.

Grace.

We agreed very early in our married life that your acts were such as must necessarily meet with my approval.

Claude.

What’s the matter with you, Grace?

Grace.

With me? Nothing.

Claude.

You’ve been so funny lately. I haven’t been able to make you out at all.

Grace.

I should have thought you had more important things to do than to bother about me.

Claude.

I’ve got nothing in the world to do more important than to bother about you, Grace.

[She looks at him for an instant, with a catch in her breath.

Grace.

Don’t worry me to-night, Claude; my head’s aching so that I feel I could scream.

Claude.

[With the tenderest concern.] My poor child, why didn’t you tell me? I’m so sorry I’ve been bothering you. Is it very bad?

Grace.

What a beast I am! How can you like me when I’m so absolutely horrid to you?

Claude.

My darling, I don’t blame you for having a headache.

Grace.

I’m sorry I was beastly to you just now.

Claude.

What nonsense!

[He tries to take her in his arms, but she draws herself away.

Grace.

Please don’t, Claude.

Claude.

Why don’t you go to bed, darling?

Grace.

[With a cry of something like fright.] Oh, no!

Claude.

Bed’s the best place for everybody at this hour.

Grace.

I want to amuse myself. Go and fetch the others, they’re down by the lake. And we’ll all play poker.

[He is just going to make an observation, but she bursts in vehemently.

Grace.

For God’s sake do as I ask you.

[He looks at her. With a shrug of the shoulders he goes out into the garden.Gracegives a deep sigh. In a momentHenry Cobbettenters.Gracelooks at him silently as he advances into the room.

Cobbett.

I’ve been waiting for the chance of speaking to you by yourself.

Grace.

Have you?

Cobbett.

Why did you make me sing that idiotic song just now?

Grace.

[Her eyes cold and hostile.] Because I chose.

Cobbett.

You made me look a perfect fool.

Grace.

That’s what I wanted to make you look.

Cobbett.

[Surprised.] Did you? Why?

Grace.

I have no explanation to offer.

Cobbett.

You know, I’m hanged if I can make you out. You’re never the same for two minutes together.

Grace.

[Frigidly.] I suppose it is disconcerting. Claude complains of it too.

Cobbett.

Oh, hang Claude.

Grace.

You’re growing more and more like him every day, Harry.

Cobbett.

I don’t quite know what you mean by that.

Grace.

It seems hardly worth while to have—made a long journey to find oneself exactly where one started.

Cobbett.

I never know what people are driving at when they talk metaphorically.

Grace.

[Looking at him deliberately.] I thought I loved you, Harry.

Cobbett.

You’ve said it often enough.

Grace.

[Slowly.] I wonder if I just said it to persuade myself. My heart’s empty! Empty! I know now that it wasn’t love I felt for you.

Cobbett.

It’s rather late in the day to have found that out, isn’t it?

Grace.

[Bitterly.] Yes, that’s just it. It’s late in the day for everything.... Here they are.

[A sound of talking is heard asEdith Lewisapproaches withHelen VernonandClaude.

Claude.

[At the window.] I found them on their way back.

Grace.

[ToCobbett,with a little bitter laugh.] We’re going to play poker.

END OF THE FIRST ACT

The Sceneis the same as in the preceding Act. It is evening, towards seven o’clock, but it is still perfectly light.GraceandPeggy Gannare in the room, both standing.Peggyis a pretty girl, quite young, but very pale, with black rings round her eyes. She is dressed like a housemaid in her going-out things.Graceis evidently much distressed.

Peggy.

You will try, mum, won’t you?

[Peggy’svoice seems to callGraceback with a start from her own thoughts.

Grace.

I ought to have been told before. It was wicked to keep it from me.

Peggy.

I thought you knew, mum. I wasn’t to know that you ’adn’t been told anything.

Grace.

[With a friendly smile.] I’m not blaming you, Peggy.... Mr. Insoley’s out now, but I’ll talk tohim as soon as she come in. You’d better go home and fetch your father.

Peggy.

You know what father is, mum. I’m afraid he won’t come.

Grace.

Oh, but I think it’s very important. Tell him that....

[Henry Cobbettcomes in, and she stops when she sees him.

Cobbett.

Hulloa, am I in the way? Shall I go?

Grace.

[Passing her hand wearily across her forehead.] No. I’ve just finished.... Try and get your father to come, Peggy.

Peggy.

Well, I’ll do what I can, mum.

[She goes out.Gracegives a little exclamation, partly of distress, partly of indignation.

Cobbett.

What’s the matter? You seem rather put out.

Grace.

That’s the daughter of one of the keepers. She came to me just now and asked me to beg Claude togive them a little more time. I hadn’t an idea what she meant. Then she said Claude had told her father he must send her away within twenty-four hours or lose his place.

Cobbett.

[Flippantly.] Oh, yes, I know. She seems to be rather a flighty young person. Claude and your brother-in-law were talking about it after lunch in the smoking-room.

Grace.

Why didn’t you tell me?

Cobbett.

Well, it never struck me you didn’t know. Besides—you haven’t shown any great desire for my society the last day or two.

Grace.

[With a quick look at him.] I’ve had other guests to attend to.

Cobbett.

[Shrugging his shoulders.] And it seemed rather a sordid little story. I don’t think I can interest myself very much at this time of day in the gamekeeper’s daughter who kicks over the traces.

Grace.

[Sarcastically.] It’s so devilish mid-Victorian, isn’t it?

Cobbett.

[Surprised at her tone.] It’s not really bothering you, is it?

Grace.

[With a sudden vehement outburst.] Don’t you see that wretched girl has done no more than I have?

Cobbett.

[With a chuckle.] Great Scott, you haven’t produced an unexpected baby, have you?

Grace.

Oh, don’t, don’t.

Cobbett.

[Coolly.] In point of fact she’s done a great deal more than you have. She’s been found out.

Grace.

How can you be so odiously cynical?

Cobbett.

I notice people always call you odiously cynical when you talk plain horse-sense to them.

Grace.

Can’t you realise what I’m feeling? She had excuses. She was alone, and little more than a child; she had no education. How could she be expected to resist temptation?

Cobbett.

It’s an absolute delusion that the lower classes are less able to resist temptation than their betters. In the first place, they have a much more systematic moral education, and then they’re taught from early youth to look upon virtue as a valuable asset.

Grace.

[Going up to him suddenly.] Harry, would you mind very much if I stopped the whole thing?

Cobbett.

Of course I should mind.

Grace.

Oh, no, don’t say that because it’s the conventional thing to say. I want you to be frank with me.

Cobbett.

[Uneasily.] Why do you ask me now?

Grace.

[After a look at him, a little unwillingly.] I feel so horribly mean.

Cobbett.

Claude?

Grace.

[With a sort of appeal, as if she were excusing herself.] He’s so awfully good to me, Harry. Every present he gives me, every kind word is like a stab in myheart. I’m beastly to him sometimes, I can’t help it, but nothing seems to make any difference to him.... Whatever I do, he loves me.

Cobbett.

Are you beginning to care for Claude—differently?

Grace.

Oh, it’s no use pretending. I never loved him as he loved me. I couldn’t. I was bored by his love. Yes, all the time we’ve been married.... It’s only lately....

[She pauses abruptly.Cobbettgives her a sidelong glance.

Cobbett.

Oh!

Grace.

I don’t know what I feel or what to do. I’m so bewildered and wretched.... He bores me still—oh, horribly sometimes. And yet at moments I feel as though I were a good deal more than half in love with him. It’s too absurd. With Claude—after all these years. Something has changed me.... It’s the last thing that ought to have changed me towards him.

[She flushes hotly, and againCobbettlooks at her, and a rather sulky expression comes into his face.

Cobbett.

It’s not a very pleasant position for me, is it?

Grace.

I shouldn’t have thought it ever had been a very pleasant position considering what a good friend Claude has been to you.

Cobbett.

If you look at it in that way, I dare say it would be better to put an end to the whole thing.

Grace.

You have been rather a blackguard, haven’t you?

Cobbett.

No. I don’t pretend to be better than anybody else, but I’m quite certain I’m no worse. I’m a perfectly normal man in good health. It’s idiotic to abuse me because I’ve done what any other fellow would have done in my place.

Grace.

[Suddenly understanding.] Is that all it was to you?

Cobbett.

What d’you mean?

Grace.

Wasn’t I anything to you at all? Only a more or less attractive woman who happened to cross your path? If I was only that, why couldn’t you leave me alone? What harm did I ever do you? Oh, it was cruel of you. Cruel!

Cobbett.

[Quietly.] No man’s able to have an affair all by himself, you know.

Grace.

What d’you mean by that?

Cobbett.

Well, most fellows are very shy, and they’re dreadfully frightened of a rebuff. A man doesn’t take much risk until—well, until he finds there’s not much risk to take.

Grace.

D’you mean to say I gave you to understand.... Oh, how can you humiliate me like that?

Cobbett.

Isn’t there a certain amount of truth in it?

Grace.

[Looking as it were into her own soul.] Yes.... Oh, I’m so ashamed.

Cobbett.

The world would be a jolly sight easier place to live in if people weren’t such humbugs.

Grace.

[Hardly able to believe the truth that presents itself to her, yet eager to probe it.] D’you think it was onlycuriosity on my side and nothing more than opportunity on yours?

Cobbett.

That’s the foundation of nine love affairs out of ten, you know.

Grace.

[Trying to justify herself in her own eyes.] I was so bored—so lonely. I never felt at home with the people I had to live with. They humiliated me. And you seemed the same sort of person as I was. I felt at my ease with you. At first I thought you cared for the things I cared for—music and books and pictures: it took me quite a time to discover that you didn’t know the difference between a fiddle and a jews’ harp.... I wonder why you troubled to take me in.

Cobbett.

I naturally talked about what I thought would please you.

Grace.

I remember at first I felt as if I were just stepping out of a prison into the fresh air. It seemed to me as if—oh, I don’t know how to put it—as if spring flowers were suddenly blossoming in my heart.

Cobbett.

I’m afraid you were asking more from me than I was able to give you.

Grace.

Oh, I don’t blame you. You’re quite right: it’s Iwho am to blame. [With sudden vehemence.] Oh, how I envy that wretched girl! If she fell it was because she loved. I asked her who the man was, and she wouldn’t tell me. She said she didn’t want to get him into trouble. She must love him still.

Cobbett.

[Moved by the pain which he sees she is suffering.] I hope you don’t think me an awful skunk, Grace. I’m sorry we’ve made such a hash of things.

Grace.

[Going on with her own thoughts.] It would be horrible if that wretched girl were punished while I go scot-free. I can’t let her be turned away like a leper. I should never rest in peace again.

Cobbett.

Claude’s not very fond of going back on his word. He seems to have delivered an ultimatum, and I expect he’ll stick to it.

Grace.

It means so much to me. I feel somehow that if I can only save that poor child it’ll make up in a way—oh, very little—for all the harm I’ve done.... D’you think I’m perfectly absurd?

Cobbett.

Life seems devilish complicated sometimes, doesn’t it?

Grace.

[With a smile.] Devilish.

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