ACT IV.[Two months later. TheTIMBRELL’Sdrawing-room again. Afternoon.ADA.To her entersSHEILAin out-door things.]ADA.Hullo! Sheila.SHEILA.All alone?ADA.Mother’s somewhere about. Take your things off.SHEILA.I don’t think I’ll stop. Ada—ADA.Well?SHEILA.Has Leonard come home? Have you heard from him?ADA.He’s coming, I think. Mother’s sent him three telegrams.SHEILA.What good is it now with the child dead and buried?ADA.He’s dreadful, isn’t he?SHEILA.I want to do something for that girl. I want to be different to her. I’m frightened, Ada. I’m frightened of having a child.ADA.What’s she got to do with it?SHEILA.You must have your conscience clear when you’re going to have a child.ADA.I daresay—only—SHEILA.We’ve not been very nice to her, now, have we?ADA.Well, how could we be?SHEILA.Yes, we couldn’t be expected to receive her with open arms, could we?ADA.Of course not.SHEILA.I suppose she is to blame.ADA.Why, of course she is. She’s not as bad as he is, though.SHEILA.I don’t understand things a bit. I don’t know right from wrong. Only I ought to have been more kind. It’s stupid, Ada, but I’m afraid of its bringing me bad luck.ADA.What’s made you so superstitious?SHEILA.Perhaps you’ll understand better some day. Well, I’m going to ask her to tea.ADA.Oh! That’s all right.SHEILA.Will you come, too?ADA.I don’t mind. Yes.SHEILA.I think Leonard wants whipping.ADA.It was rather decent of Edgar to go to the funeral.SHEILA.It was scoring against Leonard, too.ADA.Well, that’s not very nice to your husband.SHEILA.Oh! I wish I didn’t keep saying things and thinking things against him. He’s my child’s father; he’s not only my husband.ADA.Who’s coming?[Themaidshows inMARYwho stands near the door for a moment.SHEILAgoes to her rapidly and kisses her.MARYis a little startled and discomposed by this.]MARY.[ToADA.] Is your mother in?ADA.[Rather graciously.] How d’y do, Mary? [They shake hands.] Yes, she’s somewhere about. Sit down, won’t you? Er—won’t you take your things off?MARY.No, thank you. I can’t stay long.ADA.Here’s mother, I think. [MRS. TIMBRELLenters. She andMARYgreet one another affectionately.]MRS. TIMBRELL.Has he come?MARY.He hadn’t when I left. He’s coming. I got a telegram.MRS. TIMBRELL.What time does he arrive?MARY.He should be there now.MRS. TIMBRELL.And you are out? Well, perhaps it’s a good idea. Mary, you mustn’t judge him by other people. He’s queer and different.MARY.What must I judge him by?MRS. TIMBRELL.Well, I think you’d better not judge him at all.MARY.No. It’s too late for that now. I’ve just come to say good-bye.MRS. TIMBRELL.Good-bye?SHEILA.Where are you going? [TIMBRELLenters.]TIMBRELL.Ah! Mary. [They shake hands.] Glad to see you. You’ve had a trying time. Where’s Leonard? Home yet?MARY.He’s coming.TIMBRELL.Yes. Well, Sheila, how are you? Yes. I wanted to have a word with you, Mary. I’ve heard from Leonard. I’ve had quite a long letter from him. And a very proper letter in the circumstances. Of course he did very wrong. He acknowledges that. Undoubtedly he ought to have been there. He does make certain explanations and apologies. He expresses himself to me in a suitable manner. Now, Mary, I have been talking to Mrs. Timbrell and we wish you to understand that we are pleased with you. We think that as far as you can—according to your lights—you have made him a good wife. You’ve had rather a hard time. Well, I thought it right that there should be what I may call an ordeal—a period of ordeal. I hope we may consider that over and that things may be made a little easier for you. I think after the letter I have received from Leonard that I may say—I think I may say—MARY.He’s very good at writing letters.TIMBRELL.Yes, yes.MARY.When little Leonard died he wrote me a beautiful letter.MRS. TIMBRELL.A beautiful letter!MARY.It was beautifully expressed.SHEILA.He’s a literary man.TIMBRELL.Well, well. That’s all over.MRS. TIMBRELL.Here’s Leonard.[LEONARDenters and looks around him. Then he walks up toMARYand stands before her.]LEONARD.I’ve come to abase myself, Mary.MARY.You’ve been a long time in coming.LEONARD.You don’t want a lot of apologies. You know what I am.MARY.No. I don’t want any apologies.TIMBRELL.Now I think you are wrong there, Mary. He ought to make very ample apologies to you. Of course he has explained to me the exceptional circumstances of the delay but still—MRS. TIMBRELL.The circumstances of the delay! You begin to excuse him now!LEONARD.Oh! I know. I’ve been a brute and there’s an end of it.MARY.Yes, there’s an end of it.TIMBRELL.Of course, Mary, we must all recognise that Leonard is quite an eccentric person. I am reluctant to suggest the possibility of—of two—or more—moral standards but allowance must be made for exceptional temperament.LEONARD.Very liberal, sir. Very liberal and enlightened. [Turning toMARY,again.] There are some things I hate. All that undertaking business. Black clothes and dark rooms and nodding plumes. Remember that. They’re horrible to me.MARY.There are things that I hate, too.LEONARD.If I could have come in time to see the little lad it would have been different. But I like to think of him as alive and happy. I’ve all sorts of charming memories of him—of him with you, Mary.MARY.Yes. You said so in your letter.LEONARD.I’ve thought about you a great deal.MARY.I find it hard to believe that.LEONARD.I’m a curious kind of brute. I’m rotten with egoism. It startles me to come back to you and find you so steady and calm. I’d nearly forgotten what you are like.—I wish you’d denounce me or curse me or something.MARY.It’s no use doing that now.LEONARD.And how are we all getting on together? All a happy family? I believe it’s you that will unite us yet, Mary.TIMBRELL.I’ve got to talk with you about a few arrangements. And I should like to say before you Leonard that your Mother and I have come to the conclusion that you owe a great deal to your wife and that her influence is a beneficent one. We are pleased—very much pleased—LEONARD.What is it you’re thinking about, Mary. There’s something inscrutable in you. It seems to me that we’re just as uncomfortable as ever. Mother, let’s have a little motherliness or something. I don’t know how it is but I want cheering up. I came from the station most penitentially in a growler—an ancient fourwheeler. It made me think of your father, Mary. How is that good man? Got a job all right? By-the-bye, there’s an extraordinary upset at our place. I wanted to ask you about that. A lot of tin trunks with cords round them and things. Are we leaving? Are we going away?MARY.I’m going away.LEONARD.} { You are!TIMBRELL.} [Together.] { Going away!MRS. TIMBRELL.} { Mary!MARY.I’m going to call for the boxes and things when I leave here.LEONARD.Mary, where are you going?MARY.[Looking steadily at him.] To Canada.LEONARD.Alone?MARY.No.TIMBRELL.What? What’s that?MARY.[Still looking atLEONARD.] I’m going with George Truefit.LEONARD.Don’t do that, Mary. Don’t do that.TIMBRELL.What do you mean? George Truefit?LEONARD.You are leaving me to go with George Truefit?MARY.Yes.LEONARD.Can you do that? Can you really do that?MRS. TIMBRELL.Don’t be hasty, Mary. Think about this.TIMBRELL.Do you mean to say—Who is George Truefit?MRS. TIMBRELL.He was our milkman. He gave us notice a few weeks ago that he was going out of the business.LEONARD.In order to elope with Mary? Did he mention that?TIMBRELL.Do you mean that you are leaving your husband and going away with this person?MARY.Yes.TIMBRELL.I can’t believe it. I can’t understand it.LEONARD.Mary, I’d like to talk to you about this.MARY.I’ll hear what you have to say.LEONARD.Not here. Not now. I want you alone.MARY.It’s only reasons I want. You can give those here.LEONARD.Mother, talk to her.MRS. TIMBRELL.You’ve startled me, Mary. It seems very dreadful.MARY.I’m sorry Ma’am.TIMBRELL.[ToLEONARD.] Confound you, sir, are you going to let your wife go like this?LEONARD.[He knows in his heart thatMARYwill not be shaken and his efforts to retain her seem perfunctory.] What do I do? What’s the right thing? Must I call out Truefit? Or assassinate him? Is there such a person? He sounds to me like a myth or a symbol or something. Mary, will you swear that there is a George Truefit?MARY.I’ll swear that.LEONARD.This is the strangest thing that has ever happened to me.MARY.I thought it would surprise you.LEONARD.But Mary, you’re my wife.MARY.Yes. That’s what I don’t like about it.LEONARD.I did wrong to stay away from you. I acknowledge it. I feel it. I’m going to be good. I’ll try. I’m going to be a good husband. I don’t want you to go. It was dreadful of me to stay away when the little kiddie died. I’m not like that. I’m not like the things I do.MARY.After all, you wrote a beautiful letter.LEONARD.[Despairingly, to the Universe.] She’s taking to irony now.SHEILA.[She has approachedMARYrather timidly and stands beside her.] Don’t go, Mary.MARY.Oh! Miss Sheila!SHEILA.I want you to stay. I do. And I’m so sorry about everything.MARY.Oh! I must. Thank you—thank you. I must.SHEILA.[ToMRS. TIMBRELL.] Won’t you stop her?MRS. TIMBRELL.I don’t know how.TIMBRELL.Perhaps I may have a few words with this young woman. I think I am entitled to a few words. Now, I don’t wish to be harsh with you. Far from it. I had formed—I was forming a high opinion of your character—of some phases of it. I was prepared, as I think I have said, to accept you—to have overlooked the deplorable incident which—I will say no more about that. My son has been rather unfeeling, perhaps. I don’t defend him. He is anxious to make amends. I must remind you that at a time when—that I insisted on his making reparation. It was an unusual course. I conceived it to be my duty. Later I found it necessary in certain painful circumstances to impose what I may call an ordeal. It is over. I am willing to be lenient. I should propose, if your husband remains reasonably—what shall I say?—steady, to make your pecuniary position a much easier one. Now, my good girl, I hope we shall have no more of this nonsense. I can overlook a slip—an error due to—an error of—of youth, but not a deliberate infringement of—are you listening to what I say?MARY.I beg your pardon, sir. I was thinking it was time I was off.TIMBRELL.Oh! This is abominable.MARY.It’s no good your talking, sir. I’ve made up my mind.TIMBRELL.And does he—this person—thisTruefit know the whole of the extraordinary circumstances?MARY.I’ve told him everything.TIMBRELL.Where is he? I’ll see him.MARY.You won’t move George Truefit.LEONARD.I should like to see him. I don’t mean to talk and argue and all that. And I don’t want to break his head. But I should like to have a look at him through a keyhole or something.TIMBRELL.Manly talk.LEONARD.Mary, do you like him better than me?MARY.It’s not the same thing.LEONARD.It’s deuced interesting if one weren’t so close to it. As it is I feel rather uncomfortable. Unmanly. Yes, I suppose so. I suppose things are easy for these manly people. They just go to work with an axe. But how do I know that she isn’t right? Mary, I’m horribly uncomfortable. I’m unhappy. I seem to be losing something. Yes, really losing something. Are you quite sure about George Truefit?MARY.Yes, I’m sure about him.LEONARD.And yourself? Do you think you’ll never want to come back? To me, you know?TIMBRELL.To you or to fifty others.MRS. TIMBRELL.No—no.LEONARD.Oh! he doesn’t understand.TIMBRELL.Understand! I understand that this is an abandoned woman. You are well rid of her. I’ve been mistaken. Yes, I made a mistake. She has been treated with some magnanimity. [Snappishly toLEONARD.] Not by you. Let her go, then, to her life of infamy.MRS. TIMBRELL.For shame!TIMBRELL.Silence!MARY.It’s no good my talking here but I’d like you to understand ma’am.MRS. TIMBRELL.I do understand.SHEILA.Don’t go.LEONARD.No. Don’t go.MARY.I must go. I can’t throw over George Truefit.LEONARD.You are throwing me over.MARY.That doesn’t matter. That’s another thing.LEONARD.Oh! Is it? Why?MARY.It was all wrong from the beginning. I brought it on myself. I’m sorrier for my mother than anyone. She told me there were men like you. I wouldn’t have gone if little Leonard had lived. Not if I’d had to leave him. But now George Truefit and I have talked it over and we think we see what’s right. It can’t be right but it’s not so wrong as other things.LEONARD.Mary, do you love George Truefit?MARY.Now, that’s what I’ve said to myself sometimes. And people talk of love and stories are full of it. I can’t make out rightly what it is. Did you love me when first—They talk about a mother loving. Well—little Leonard—are they the same? If that’s love I don’t love George. But I want to be sure of things. I want things to last. I want to feel that I’m faithful and true. It’s strange for me to be running away from my husband for that. I’m not one of the kind that does it. It’s funny that I’m leaving you because I want to be a proper wife. P’raps I’m all wrong. It’s hard for a girl like me, not very clever, to make out things. It’s all been very unusual. I may be wrong but I can’t help it.MRS. TIMBRELL.You are not wrong, Mary.TIMBRELL.This is madness. Are you going to justify her now?LEONARD.Ah! You don’t understand this, sir. It’s a little out of your line.TIMBRELL.I hope it is out of my line, sir. I trust it is.MRS. TIMBRELL.When are you going, Mary?MARY.We sail to-morrow.LEONARD.I suppose the magnanimous thing would be for me to see you off.MARY.No. I’ll say good-bye here. [ToMRS. TIMBRELL.] I’m sorry to leave you ma’am.MRS. TIMBRELL.Good luck, Mary.MARY.There’ll be no questions asked there. I shall leave it all behind. I should be ashamed here. I’ve felt so all the time. Why! Mrs. Greaves thought I wasn’t married. And I never felt as if I was, properly. Of course it’s wrong, but I can’t be right now whatever I do. It isn’t as if I’d been straight all the time. Somehow that does make me feel a bit freer now. If I’m wrong it’s the best I can do.TIMBRELL.[Angrily toLEONARD.] Do you mean to tell me that you’re going to submit to this?LEONARD.I don’t see that a scrap with George Truefit would help much. I’ve lost Mary. That’s plain.TIMBRELL.Well, well. I’ve no more to say.LEONARD.It has been an extraordinarily interesting episode. The most stimulating thing that ever happened to me. I must thank you for that, Mary.MRS. TIMBRELL.[Turning suddenly onLEONARD.] Doesn’t it hurt you. Can you get outside it like that?LEONARD.Oh! Yes. It hurts me splendidly.TIMBRELL.Your conduct is despicable, sir. The man who allows his wife to leave him is not a man.LEONARD.[Snappishly.] Oh! Don’t talk rubbish.Your wife left you long ago. She never came to you. You’ve never had a wife.TIMBRELL.I don’t understand you. I don’t want to understand you. I pray that I may never understand you.LEONARD.Of course you don’t want to understand. That’s just it. I think sometimes that people like you are just as intelligent as we are but you’re timid, you daren’t let your thoughts stray, you have secrets from yourselves. Well, mother, I shall have to look to you now Mary’s gone.MRS. TIMBRELL.I can do nothing for you. You’ve ceased to be a child.LEONARD.To him—to my father—Yes. Not to you.MRS. TIMBRELL.Yes. You know too much. You can only pretend to be my child.LEONARD.I’m to be alone, then. Mary, I shall be quite alone.MARY.I daresay you’ll pick up somebody.LEONARD.You’ve no sentiment at all.MARY.I must go. Good-bye, ma’am.[MARYandMRS. TIMBRELLembrace.MARYmoves toward the door. The others, with the exception ofTIMBRELL,follow her,LEONARDslowly and wistfully. They go out, meetingEDGARwho stares at them in some astonishment but without greeting and advances to his father.]EDGAR.What’s this?TIMBRELL.[Testily.] What’s what?EDGAR.Some sort of family reconciliation?TIMBRELL.Just the reverse.EDGAR.They seemed to be saying good-bye to her.TIMBRELL.She’s gone.EDGAR.Gone?TIMBRELL.Take care Sheila doesn’t go.EDGAR.Sheila?TIMBRELL.Perhaps she’s gone already.EDGAR.What do you mean?TIMBRELL.I’ve been listening to the ravings of lunacy and they’ve affected my brain. I’m getting old. Do you ever have any doubt about yourself, Edgar? Do you ever think you’re a fool?EDGAR.No, I don’t think I’m a fool.TIMBRELL.Neither am I.EDGAR.But what is it? What’s been going on?[The Curtain falls.]TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH
ACT IV.[Two months later. TheTIMBRELL’Sdrawing-room again. Afternoon.ADA.To her entersSHEILAin out-door things.]ADA.Hullo! Sheila.SHEILA.All alone?ADA.Mother’s somewhere about. Take your things off.SHEILA.I don’t think I’ll stop. Ada—ADA.Well?SHEILA.Has Leonard come home? Have you heard from him?ADA.He’s coming, I think. Mother’s sent him three telegrams.SHEILA.What good is it now with the child dead and buried?ADA.He’s dreadful, isn’t he?SHEILA.I want to do something for that girl. I want to be different to her. I’m frightened, Ada. I’m frightened of having a child.ADA.What’s she got to do with it?SHEILA.You must have your conscience clear when you’re going to have a child.ADA.I daresay—only—SHEILA.We’ve not been very nice to her, now, have we?ADA.Well, how could we be?SHEILA.Yes, we couldn’t be expected to receive her with open arms, could we?ADA.Of course not.SHEILA.I suppose she is to blame.ADA.Why, of course she is. She’s not as bad as he is, though.SHEILA.I don’t understand things a bit. I don’t know right from wrong. Only I ought to have been more kind. It’s stupid, Ada, but I’m afraid of its bringing me bad luck.ADA.What’s made you so superstitious?SHEILA.Perhaps you’ll understand better some day. Well, I’m going to ask her to tea.ADA.Oh! That’s all right.SHEILA.Will you come, too?ADA.I don’t mind. Yes.SHEILA.I think Leonard wants whipping.ADA.It was rather decent of Edgar to go to the funeral.SHEILA.It was scoring against Leonard, too.ADA.Well, that’s not very nice to your husband.SHEILA.Oh! I wish I didn’t keep saying things and thinking things against him. He’s my child’s father; he’s not only my husband.ADA.Who’s coming?[Themaidshows inMARYwho stands near the door for a moment.SHEILAgoes to her rapidly and kisses her.MARYis a little startled and discomposed by this.]MARY.[ToADA.] Is your mother in?ADA.[Rather graciously.] How d’y do, Mary? [They shake hands.] Yes, she’s somewhere about. Sit down, won’t you? Er—won’t you take your things off?MARY.No, thank you. I can’t stay long.ADA.Here’s mother, I think. [MRS. TIMBRELLenters. She andMARYgreet one another affectionately.]MRS. TIMBRELL.Has he come?MARY.He hadn’t when I left. He’s coming. I got a telegram.MRS. TIMBRELL.What time does he arrive?MARY.He should be there now.MRS. TIMBRELL.And you are out? Well, perhaps it’s a good idea. Mary, you mustn’t judge him by other people. He’s queer and different.MARY.What must I judge him by?MRS. TIMBRELL.Well, I think you’d better not judge him at all.MARY.No. It’s too late for that now. I’ve just come to say good-bye.MRS. TIMBRELL.Good-bye?SHEILA.Where are you going? [TIMBRELLenters.]TIMBRELL.Ah! Mary. [They shake hands.] Glad to see you. You’ve had a trying time. Where’s Leonard? Home yet?MARY.He’s coming.TIMBRELL.Yes. Well, Sheila, how are you? Yes. I wanted to have a word with you, Mary. I’ve heard from Leonard. I’ve had quite a long letter from him. And a very proper letter in the circumstances. Of course he did very wrong. He acknowledges that. Undoubtedly he ought to have been there. He does make certain explanations and apologies. He expresses himself to me in a suitable manner. Now, Mary, I have been talking to Mrs. Timbrell and we wish you to understand that we are pleased with you. We think that as far as you can—according to your lights—you have made him a good wife. You’ve had rather a hard time. Well, I thought it right that there should be what I may call an ordeal—a period of ordeal. I hope we may consider that over and that things may be made a little easier for you. I think after the letter I have received from Leonard that I may say—I think I may say—MARY.He’s very good at writing letters.TIMBRELL.Yes, yes.MARY.When little Leonard died he wrote me a beautiful letter.MRS. TIMBRELL.A beautiful letter!MARY.It was beautifully expressed.SHEILA.He’s a literary man.TIMBRELL.Well, well. That’s all over.MRS. TIMBRELL.Here’s Leonard.[LEONARDenters and looks around him. Then he walks up toMARYand stands before her.]LEONARD.I’ve come to abase myself, Mary.MARY.You’ve been a long time in coming.LEONARD.You don’t want a lot of apologies. You know what I am.MARY.No. I don’t want any apologies.TIMBRELL.Now I think you are wrong there, Mary. He ought to make very ample apologies to you. Of course he has explained to me the exceptional circumstances of the delay but still—MRS. TIMBRELL.The circumstances of the delay! You begin to excuse him now!LEONARD.Oh! I know. I’ve been a brute and there’s an end of it.MARY.Yes, there’s an end of it.TIMBRELL.Of course, Mary, we must all recognise that Leonard is quite an eccentric person. I am reluctant to suggest the possibility of—of two—or more—moral standards but allowance must be made for exceptional temperament.LEONARD.Very liberal, sir. Very liberal and enlightened. [Turning toMARY,again.] There are some things I hate. All that undertaking business. Black clothes and dark rooms and nodding plumes. Remember that. They’re horrible to me.MARY.There are things that I hate, too.LEONARD.If I could have come in time to see the little lad it would have been different. But I like to think of him as alive and happy. I’ve all sorts of charming memories of him—of him with you, Mary.MARY.Yes. You said so in your letter.LEONARD.I’ve thought about you a great deal.MARY.I find it hard to believe that.LEONARD.I’m a curious kind of brute. I’m rotten with egoism. It startles me to come back to you and find you so steady and calm. I’d nearly forgotten what you are like.—I wish you’d denounce me or curse me or something.MARY.It’s no use doing that now.LEONARD.And how are we all getting on together? All a happy family? I believe it’s you that will unite us yet, Mary.TIMBRELL.I’ve got to talk with you about a few arrangements. And I should like to say before you Leonard that your Mother and I have come to the conclusion that you owe a great deal to your wife and that her influence is a beneficent one. We are pleased—very much pleased—LEONARD.What is it you’re thinking about, Mary. There’s something inscrutable in you. It seems to me that we’re just as uncomfortable as ever. Mother, let’s have a little motherliness or something. I don’t know how it is but I want cheering up. I came from the station most penitentially in a growler—an ancient fourwheeler. It made me think of your father, Mary. How is that good man? Got a job all right? By-the-bye, there’s an extraordinary upset at our place. I wanted to ask you about that. A lot of tin trunks with cords round them and things. Are we leaving? Are we going away?MARY.I’m going away.LEONARD.} { You are!TIMBRELL.} [Together.] { Going away!MRS. TIMBRELL.} { Mary!MARY.I’m going to call for the boxes and things when I leave here.LEONARD.Mary, where are you going?MARY.[Looking steadily at him.] To Canada.LEONARD.Alone?MARY.No.TIMBRELL.What? What’s that?MARY.[Still looking atLEONARD.] I’m going with George Truefit.LEONARD.Don’t do that, Mary. Don’t do that.TIMBRELL.What do you mean? George Truefit?LEONARD.You are leaving me to go with George Truefit?MARY.Yes.LEONARD.Can you do that? Can you really do that?MRS. TIMBRELL.Don’t be hasty, Mary. Think about this.TIMBRELL.Do you mean to say—Who is George Truefit?MRS. TIMBRELL.He was our milkman. He gave us notice a few weeks ago that he was going out of the business.LEONARD.In order to elope with Mary? Did he mention that?TIMBRELL.Do you mean that you are leaving your husband and going away with this person?MARY.Yes.TIMBRELL.I can’t believe it. I can’t understand it.LEONARD.Mary, I’d like to talk to you about this.MARY.I’ll hear what you have to say.LEONARD.Not here. Not now. I want you alone.MARY.It’s only reasons I want. You can give those here.LEONARD.Mother, talk to her.MRS. TIMBRELL.You’ve startled me, Mary. It seems very dreadful.MARY.I’m sorry Ma’am.TIMBRELL.[ToLEONARD.] Confound you, sir, are you going to let your wife go like this?LEONARD.[He knows in his heart thatMARYwill not be shaken and his efforts to retain her seem perfunctory.] What do I do? What’s the right thing? Must I call out Truefit? Or assassinate him? Is there such a person? He sounds to me like a myth or a symbol or something. Mary, will you swear that there is a George Truefit?MARY.I’ll swear that.LEONARD.This is the strangest thing that has ever happened to me.MARY.I thought it would surprise you.LEONARD.But Mary, you’re my wife.MARY.Yes. That’s what I don’t like about it.LEONARD.I did wrong to stay away from you. I acknowledge it. I feel it. I’m going to be good. I’ll try. I’m going to be a good husband. I don’t want you to go. It was dreadful of me to stay away when the little kiddie died. I’m not like that. I’m not like the things I do.MARY.After all, you wrote a beautiful letter.LEONARD.[Despairingly, to the Universe.] She’s taking to irony now.SHEILA.[She has approachedMARYrather timidly and stands beside her.] Don’t go, Mary.MARY.Oh! Miss Sheila!SHEILA.I want you to stay. I do. And I’m so sorry about everything.MARY.Oh! I must. Thank you—thank you. I must.SHEILA.[ToMRS. TIMBRELL.] Won’t you stop her?MRS. TIMBRELL.I don’t know how.TIMBRELL.Perhaps I may have a few words with this young woman. I think I am entitled to a few words. Now, I don’t wish to be harsh with you. Far from it. I had formed—I was forming a high opinion of your character—of some phases of it. I was prepared, as I think I have said, to accept you—to have overlooked the deplorable incident which—I will say no more about that. My son has been rather unfeeling, perhaps. I don’t defend him. He is anxious to make amends. I must remind you that at a time when—that I insisted on his making reparation. It was an unusual course. I conceived it to be my duty. Later I found it necessary in certain painful circumstances to impose what I may call an ordeal. It is over. I am willing to be lenient. I should propose, if your husband remains reasonably—what shall I say?—steady, to make your pecuniary position a much easier one. Now, my good girl, I hope we shall have no more of this nonsense. I can overlook a slip—an error due to—an error of—of youth, but not a deliberate infringement of—are you listening to what I say?MARY.I beg your pardon, sir. I was thinking it was time I was off.TIMBRELL.Oh! This is abominable.MARY.It’s no good your talking, sir. I’ve made up my mind.TIMBRELL.And does he—this person—thisTruefit know the whole of the extraordinary circumstances?MARY.I’ve told him everything.TIMBRELL.Where is he? I’ll see him.MARY.You won’t move George Truefit.LEONARD.I should like to see him. I don’t mean to talk and argue and all that. And I don’t want to break his head. But I should like to have a look at him through a keyhole or something.TIMBRELL.Manly talk.LEONARD.Mary, do you like him better than me?MARY.It’s not the same thing.LEONARD.It’s deuced interesting if one weren’t so close to it. As it is I feel rather uncomfortable. Unmanly. Yes, I suppose so. I suppose things are easy for these manly people. They just go to work with an axe. But how do I know that she isn’t right? Mary, I’m horribly uncomfortable. I’m unhappy. I seem to be losing something. Yes, really losing something. Are you quite sure about George Truefit?MARY.Yes, I’m sure about him.LEONARD.And yourself? Do you think you’ll never want to come back? To me, you know?TIMBRELL.To you or to fifty others.MRS. TIMBRELL.No—no.LEONARD.Oh! he doesn’t understand.TIMBRELL.Understand! I understand that this is an abandoned woman. You are well rid of her. I’ve been mistaken. Yes, I made a mistake. She has been treated with some magnanimity. [Snappishly toLEONARD.] Not by you. Let her go, then, to her life of infamy.MRS. TIMBRELL.For shame!TIMBRELL.Silence!MARY.It’s no good my talking here but I’d like you to understand ma’am.MRS. TIMBRELL.I do understand.SHEILA.Don’t go.LEONARD.No. Don’t go.MARY.I must go. I can’t throw over George Truefit.LEONARD.You are throwing me over.MARY.That doesn’t matter. That’s another thing.LEONARD.Oh! Is it? Why?MARY.It was all wrong from the beginning. I brought it on myself. I’m sorrier for my mother than anyone. She told me there were men like you. I wouldn’t have gone if little Leonard had lived. Not if I’d had to leave him. But now George Truefit and I have talked it over and we think we see what’s right. It can’t be right but it’s not so wrong as other things.LEONARD.Mary, do you love George Truefit?MARY.Now, that’s what I’ve said to myself sometimes. And people talk of love and stories are full of it. I can’t make out rightly what it is. Did you love me when first—They talk about a mother loving. Well—little Leonard—are they the same? If that’s love I don’t love George. But I want to be sure of things. I want things to last. I want to feel that I’m faithful and true. It’s strange for me to be running away from my husband for that. I’m not one of the kind that does it. It’s funny that I’m leaving you because I want to be a proper wife. P’raps I’m all wrong. It’s hard for a girl like me, not very clever, to make out things. It’s all been very unusual. I may be wrong but I can’t help it.MRS. TIMBRELL.You are not wrong, Mary.TIMBRELL.This is madness. Are you going to justify her now?LEONARD.Ah! You don’t understand this, sir. It’s a little out of your line.TIMBRELL.I hope it is out of my line, sir. I trust it is.MRS. TIMBRELL.When are you going, Mary?MARY.We sail to-morrow.LEONARD.I suppose the magnanimous thing would be for me to see you off.MARY.No. I’ll say good-bye here. [ToMRS. TIMBRELL.] I’m sorry to leave you ma’am.MRS. TIMBRELL.Good luck, Mary.MARY.There’ll be no questions asked there. I shall leave it all behind. I should be ashamed here. I’ve felt so all the time. Why! Mrs. Greaves thought I wasn’t married. And I never felt as if I was, properly. Of course it’s wrong, but I can’t be right now whatever I do. It isn’t as if I’d been straight all the time. Somehow that does make me feel a bit freer now. If I’m wrong it’s the best I can do.TIMBRELL.[Angrily toLEONARD.] Do you mean to tell me that you’re going to submit to this?LEONARD.I don’t see that a scrap with George Truefit would help much. I’ve lost Mary. That’s plain.TIMBRELL.Well, well. I’ve no more to say.LEONARD.It has been an extraordinarily interesting episode. The most stimulating thing that ever happened to me. I must thank you for that, Mary.MRS. TIMBRELL.[Turning suddenly onLEONARD.] Doesn’t it hurt you. Can you get outside it like that?LEONARD.Oh! Yes. It hurts me splendidly.TIMBRELL.Your conduct is despicable, sir. The man who allows his wife to leave him is not a man.LEONARD.[Snappishly.] Oh! Don’t talk rubbish.Your wife left you long ago. She never came to you. You’ve never had a wife.TIMBRELL.I don’t understand you. I don’t want to understand you. I pray that I may never understand you.LEONARD.Of course you don’t want to understand. That’s just it. I think sometimes that people like you are just as intelligent as we are but you’re timid, you daren’t let your thoughts stray, you have secrets from yourselves. Well, mother, I shall have to look to you now Mary’s gone.MRS. TIMBRELL.I can do nothing for you. You’ve ceased to be a child.LEONARD.To him—to my father—Yes. Not to you.MRS. TIMBRELL.Yes. You know too much. You can only pretend to be my child.LEONARD.I’m to be alone, then. Mary, I shall be quite alone.MARY.I daresay you’ll pick up somebody.LEONARD.You’ve no sentiment at all.MARY.I must go. Good-bye, ma’am.[MARYandMRS. TIMBRELLembrace.MARYmoves toward the door. The others, with the exception ofTIMBRELL,follow her,LEONARDslowly and wistfully. They go out, meetingEDGARwho stares at them in some astonishment but without greeting and advances to his father.]EDGAR.What’s this?TIMBRELL.[Testily.] What’s what?EDGAR.Some sort of family reconciliation?TIMBRELL.Just the reverse.EDGAR.They seemed to be saying good-bye to her.TIMBRELL.She’s gone.EDGAR.Gone?TIMBRELL.Take care Sheila doesn’t go.EDGAR.Sheila?TIMBRELL.Perhaps she’s gone already.EDGAR.What do you mean?TIMBRELL.I’ve been listening to the ravings of lunacy and they’ve affected my brain. I’m getting old. Do you ever have any doubt about yourself, Edgar? Do you ever think you’re a fool?EDGAR.No, I don’t think I’m a fool.TIMBRELL.Neither am I.EDGAR.But what is it? What’s been going on?[The Curtain falls.]TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH
[Two months later. TheTIMBRELL’Sdrawing-room again. Afternoon.ADA.To her entersSHEILAin out-door things.]
ADA.Hullo! Sheila.
SHEILA.All alone?
ADA.Mother’s somewhere about. Take your things off.
SHEILA.I don’t think I’ll stop. Ada—
ADA.Well?
SHEILA.Has Leonard come home? Have you heard from him?
ADA.He’s coming, I think. Mother’s sent him three telegrams.
SHEILA.What good is it now with the child dead and buried?
ADA.He’s dreadful, isn’t he?
SHEILA.I want to do something for that girl. I want to be different to her. I’m frightened, Ada. I’m frightened of having a child.
ADA.What’s she got to do with it?
SHEILA.You must have your conscience clear when you’re going to have a child.
ADA.I daresay—only—
SHEILA.We’ve not been very nice to her, now, have we?
ADA.Well, how could we be?
SHEILA.Yes, we couldn’t be expected to receive her with open arms, could we?
ADA.Of course not.
SHEILA.I suppose she is to blame.
ADA.Why, of course she is. She’s not as bad as he is, though.
SHEILA.I don’t understand things a bit. I don’t know right from wrong. Only I ought to have been more kind. It’s stupid, Ada, but I’m afraid of its bringing me bad luck.
ADA.What’s made you so superstitious?
SHEILA.Perhaps you’ll understand better some day. Well, I’m going to ask her to tea.
ADA.Oh! That’s all right.
SHEILA.Will you come, too?
ADA.I don’t mind. Yes.
SHEILA.I think Leonard wants whipping.
ADA.It was rather decent of Edgar to go to the funeral.
SHEILA.It was scoring against Leonard, too.
ADA.Well, that’s not very nice to your husband.
SHEILA.Oh! I wish I didn’t keep saying things and thinking things against him. He’s my child’s father; he’s not only my husband.
ADA.Who’s coming?
[Themaidshows inMARYwho stands near the door for a moment.SHEILAgoes to her rapidly and kisses her.MARYis a little startled and discomposed by this.]
MARY.[ToADA.] Is your mother in?
ADA.[Rather graciously.] How d’y do, Mary? [They shake hands.] Yes, she’s somewhere about. Sit down, won’t you? Er—won’t you take your things off?
MARY.No, thank you. I can’t stay long.
ADA.Here’s mother, I think. [MRS. TIMBRELLenters. She andMARYgreet one another affectionately.]
MRS. TIMBRELL.Has he come?
MARY.He hadn’t when I left. He’s coming. I got a telegram.
MRS. TIMBRELL.What time does he arrive?
MARY.He should be there now.
MRS. TIMBRELL.And you are out? Well, perhaps it’s a good idea. Mary, you mustn’t judge him by other people. He’s queer and different.
MARY.What must I judge him by?
MRS. TIMBRELL.Well, I think you’d better not judge him at all.
MARY.No. It’s too late for that now. I’ve just come to say good-bye.
MRS. TIMBRELL.Good-bye?
SHEILA.Where are you going? [TIMBRELLenters.]
TIMBRELL.Ah! Mary. [They shake hands.] Glad to see you. You’ve had a trying time. Where’s Leonard? Home yet?
MARY.He’s coming.
TIMBRELL.Yes. Well, Sheila, how are you? Yes. I wanted to have a word with you, Mary. I’ve heard from Leonard. I’ve had quite a long letter from him. And a very proper letter in the circumstances. Of course he did very wrong. He acknowledges that. Undoubtedly he ought to have been there. He does make certain explanations and apologies. He expresses himself to me in a suitable manner. Now, Mary, I have been talking to Mrs. Timbrell and we wish you to understand that we are pleased with you. We think that as far as you can—according to your lights—you have made him a good wife. You’ve had rather a hard time. Well, I thought it right that there should be what I may call an ordeal—a period of ordeal. I hope we may consider that over and that things may be made a little easier for you. I think after the letter I have received from Leonard that I may say—I think I may say—
MARY.He’s very good at writing letters.
TIMBRELL.Yes, yes.
MARY.When little Leonard died he wrote me a beautiful letter.
MRS. TIMBRELL.A beautiful letter!
MARY.It was beautifully expressed.
SHEILA.He’s a literary man.
TIMBRELL.Well, well. That’s all over.
MRS. TIMBRELL.Here’s Leonard.
[LEONARDenters and looks around him. Then he walks up toMARYand stands before her.]
LEONARD.I’ve come to abase myself, Mary.
MARY.You’ve been a long time in coming.
LEONARD.You don’t want a lot of apologies. You know what I am.
MARY.No. I don’t want any apologies.
TIMBRELL.Now I think you are wrong there, Mary. He ought to make very ample apologies to you. Of course he has explained to me the exceptional circumstances of the delay but still—
MRS. TIMBRELL.The circumstances of the delay! You begin to excuse him now!
LEONARD.Oh! I know. I’ve been a brute and there’s an end of it.
MARY.Yes, there’s an end of it.
TIMBRELL.Of course, Mary, we must all recognise that Leonard is quite an eccentric person. I am reluctant to suggest the possibility of—of two—or more—moral standards but allowance must be made for exceptional temperament.
LEONARD.Very liberal, sir. Very liberal and enlightened. [Turning toMARY,again.] There are some things I hate. All that undertaking business. Black clothes and dark rooms and nodding plumes. Remember that. They’re horrible to me.
MARY.There are things that I hate, too.
LEONARD.If I could have come in time to see the little lad it would have been different. But I like to think of him as alive and happy. I’ve all sorts of charming memories of him—of him with you, Mary.
MARY.Yes. You said so in your letter.
LEONARD.I’ve thought about you a great deal.
MARY.I find it hard to believe that.
LEONARD.I’m a curious kind of brute. I’m rotten with egoism. It startles me to come back to you and find you so steady and calm. I’d nearly forgotten what you are like.—I wish you’d denounce me or curse me or something.
MARY.It’s no use doing that now.
LEONARD.And how are we all getting on together? All a happy family? I believe it’s you that will unite us yet, Mary.
TIMBRELL.I’ve got to talk with you about a few arrangements. And I should like to say before you Leonard that your Mother and I have come to the conclusion that you owe a great deal to your wife and that her influence is a beneficent one. We are pleased—very much pleased—
LEONARD.What is it you’re thinking about, Mary. There’s something inscrutable in you. It seems to me that we’re just as uncomfortable as ever. Mother, let’s have a little motherliness or something. I don’t know how it is but I want cheering up. I came from the station most penitentially in a growler—an ancient fourwheeler. It made me think of your father, Mary. How is that good man? Got a job all right? By-the-bye, there’s an extraordinary upset at our place. I wanted to ask you about that. A lot of tin trunks with cords round them and things. Are we leaving? Are we going away?
MARY.I’m going away.
LEONARD.} { You are!
TIMBRELL.} [Together.] { Going away!
MRS. TIMBRELL.} { Mary!
MARY.I’m going to call for the boxes and things when I leave here.
LEONARD.Mary, where are you going?
MARY.[Looking steadily at him.] To Canada.
LEONARD.Alone?
MARY.No.
TIMBRELL.What? What’s that?
MARY.[Still looking atLEONARD.] I’m going with George Truefit.
LEONARD.Don’t do that, Mary. Don’t do that.
TIMBRELL.What do you mean? George Truefit?
LEONARD.You are leaving me to go with George Truefit?
MARY.Yes.
LEONARD.Can you do that? Can you really do that?
MRS. TIMBRELL.Don’t be hasty, Mary. Think about this.
TIMBRELL.Do you mean to say—Who is George Truefit?
MRS. TIMBRELL.He was our milkman. He gave us notice a few weeks ago that he was going out of the business.
LEONARD.In order to elope with Mary? Did he mention that?
TIMBRELL.Do you mean that you are leaving your husband and going away with this person?
MARY.Yes.
TIMBRELL.I can’t believe it. I can’t understand it.
LEONARD.Mary, I’d like to talk to you about this.
MARY.I’ll hear what you have to say.
LEONARD.Not here. Not now. I want you alone.
MARY.It’s only reasons I want. You can give those here.
LEONARD.Mother, talk to her.
MRS. TIMBRELL.You’ve startled me, Mary. It seems very dreadful.
MARY.I’m sorry Ma’am.
TIMBRELL.[ToLEONARD.] Confound you, sir, are you going to let your wife go like this?
LEONARD.[He knows in his heart thatMARYwill not be shaken and his efforts to retain her seem perfunctory.] What do I do? What’s the right thing? Must I call out Truefit? Or assassinate him? Is there such a person? He sounds to me like a myth or a symbol or something. Mary, will you swear that there is a George Truefit?
MARY.I’ll swear that.
LEONARD.This is the strangest thing that has ever happened to me.
MARY.I thought it would surprise you.
LEONARD.But Mary, you’re my wife.
MARY.Yes. That’s what I don’t like about it.
LEONARD.I did wrong to stay away from you. I acknowledge it. I feel it. I’m going to be good. I’ll try. I’m going to be a good husband. I don’t want you to go. It was dreadful of me to stay away when the little kiddie died. I’m not like that. I’m not like the things I do.
MARY.After all, you wrote a beautiful letter.
LEONARD.[Despairingly, to the Universe.] She’s taking to irony now.
SHEILA.[She has approachedMARYrather timidly and stands beside her.] Don’t go, Mary.
MARY.Oh! Miss Sheila!
SHEILA.I want you to stay. I do. And I’m so sorry about everything.
MARY.Oh! I must. Thank you—thank you. I must.
SHEILA.[ToMRS. TIMBRELL.] Won’t you stop her?
MRS. TIMBRELL.I don’t know how.
TIMBRELL.Perhaps I may have a few words with this young woman. I think I am entitled to a few words. Now, I don’t wish to be harsh with you. Far from it. I had formed—I was forming a high opinion of your character—of some phases of it. I was prepared, as I think I have said, to accept you—to have overlooked the deplorable incident which—I will say no more about that. My son has been rather unfeeling, perhaps. I don’t defend him. He is anxious to make amends. I must remind you that at a time when—that I insisted on his making reparation. It was an unusual course. I conceived it to be my duty. Later I found it necessary in certain painful circumstances to impose what I may call an ordeal. It is over. I am willing to be lenient. I should propose, if your husband remains reasonably—what shall I say?—steady, to make your pecuniary position a much easier one. Now, my good girl, I hope we shall have no more of this nonsense. I can overlook a slip—an error due to—an error of—of youth, but not a deliberate infringement of—are you listening to what I say?
MARY.I beg your pardon, sir. I was thinking it was time I was off.
TIMBRELL.Oh! This is abominable.
MARY.It’s no good your talking, sir. I’ve made up my mind.
TIMBRELL.And does he—this person—thisTruefit know the whole of the extraordinary circumstances?
MARY.I’ve told him everything.
TIMBRELL.Where is he? I’ll see him.
MARY.You won’t move George Truefit.
LEONARD.I should like to see him. I don’t mean to talk and argue and all that. And I don’t want to break his head. But I should like to have a look at him through a keyhole or something.
TIMBRELL.Manly talk.
LEONARD.Mary, do you like him better than me?
MARY.It’s not the same thing.
LEONARD.It’s deuced interesting if one weren’t so close to it. As it is I feel rather uncomfortable. Unmanly. Yes, I suppose so. I suppose things are easy for these manly people. They just go to work with an axe. But how do I know that she isn’t right? Mary, I’m horribly uncomfortable. I’m unhappy. I seem to be losing something. Yes, really losing something. Are you quite sure about George Truefit?
MARY.Yes, I’m sure about him.
LEONARD.And yourself? Do you think you’ll never want to come back? To me, you know?
TIMBRELL.To you or to fifty others.
MRS. TIMBRELL.No—no.
LEONARD.Oh! he doesn’t understand.
TIMBRELL.Understand! I understand that this is an abandoned woman. You are well rid of her. I’ve been mistaken. Yes, I made a mistake. She has been treated with some magnanimity. [Snappishly toLEONARD.] Not by you. Let her go, then, to her life of infamy.
MRS. TIMBRELL.For shame!
TIMBRELL.Silence!
MARY.It’s no good my talking here but I’d like you to understand ma’am.
MRS. TIMBRELL.I do understand.
SHEILA.Don’t go.
LEONARD.No. Don’t go.
MARY.I must go. I can’t throw over George Truefit.
LEONARD.You are throwing me over.
MARY.That doesn’t matter. That’s another thing.
LEONARD.Oh! Is it? Why?
MARY.It was all wrong from the beginning. I brought it on myself. I’m sorrier for my mother than anyone. She told me there were men like you. I wouldn’t have gone if little Leonard had lived. Not if I’d had to leave him. But now George Truefit and I have talked it over and we think we see what’s right. It can’t be right but it’s not so wrong as other things.
LEONARD.Mary, do you love George Truefit?
MARY.Now, that’s what I’ve said to myself sometimes. And people talk of love and stories are full of it. I can’t make out rightly what it is. Did you love me when first—They talk about a mother loving. Well—little Leonard—are they the same? If that’s love I don’t love George. But I want to be sure of things. I want things to last. I want to feel that I’m faithful and true. It’s strange for me to be running away from my husband for that. I’m not one of the kind that does it. It’s funny that I’m leaving you because I want to be a proper wife. P’raps I’m all wrong. It’s hard for a girl like me, not very clever, to make out things. It’s all been very unusual. I may be wrong but I can’t help it.
MRS. TIMBRELL.You are not wrong, Mary.
TIMBRELL.This is madness. Are you going to justify her now?
LEONARD.Ah! You don’t understand this, sir. It’s a little out of your line.
TIMBRELL.I hope it is out of my line, sir. I trust it is.
MRS. TIMBRELL.When are you going, Mary?
MARY.We sail to-morrow.
LEONARD.I suppose the magnanimous thing would be for me to see you off.
MARY.No. I’ll say good-bye here. [ToMRS. TIMBRELL.] I’m sorry to leave you ma’am.
MRS. TIMBRELL.Good luck, Mary.
MARY.There’ll be no questions asked there. I shall leave it all behind. I should be ashamed here. I’ve felt so all the time. Why! Mrs. Greaves thought I wasn’t married. And I never felt as if I was, properly. Of course it’s wrong, but I can’t be right now whatever I do. It isn’t as if I’d been straight all the time. Somehow that does make me feel a bit freer now. If I’m wrong it’s the best I can do.
TIMBRELL.[Angrily toLEONARD.] Do you mean to tell me that you’re going to submit to this?
LEONARD.I don’t see that a scrap with George Truefit would help much. I’ve lost Mary. That’s plain.
TIMBRELL.Well, well. I’ve no more to say.
LEONARD.It has been an extraordinarily interesting episode. The most stimulating thing that ever happened to me. I must thank you for that, Mary.
MRS. TIMBRELL.[Turning suddenly onLEONARD.] Doesn’t it hurt you. Can you get outside it like that?
LEONARD.Oh! Yes. It hurts me splendidly.
TIMBRELL.Your conduct is despicable, sir. The man who allows his wife to leave him is not a man.
LEONARD.[Snappishly.] Oh! Don’t talk rubbish.Your wife left you long ago. She never came to you. You’ve never had a wife.
TIMBRELL.I don’t understand you. I don’t want to understand you. I pray that I may never understand you.
LEONARD.Of course you don’t want to understand. That’s just it. I think sometimes that people like you are just as intelligent as we are but you’re timid, you daren’t let your thoughts stray, you have secrets from yourselves. Well, mother, I shall have to look to you now Mary’s gone.
MRS. TIMBRELL.I can do nothing for you. You’ve ceased to be a child.
LEONARD.To him—to my father—Yes. Not to you.
MRS. TIMBRELL.Yes. You know too much. You can only pretend to be my child.
LEONARD.I’m to be alone, then. Mary, I shall be quite alone.
MARY.I daresay you’ll pick up somebody.
LEONARD.You’ve no sentiment at all.
MARY.I must go. Good-bye, ma’am.
[MARYandMRS. TIMBRELLembrace.MARYmoves toward the door. The others, with the exception ofTIMBRELL,follow her,LEONARDslowly and wistfully. They go out, meetingEDGARwho stares at them in some astonishment but without greeting and advances to his father.]
EDGAR.What’s this?
TIMBRELL.[Testily.] What’s what?
EDGAR.Some sort of family reconciliation?
TIMBRELL.Just the reverse.
EDGAR.They seemed to be saying good-bye to her.
TIMBRELL.She’s gone.
EDGAR.Gone?
TIMBRELL.Take care Sheila doesn’t go.
EDGAR.Sheila?
TIMBRELL.Perhaps she’s gone already.
EDGAR.What do you mean?
TIMBRELL.I’ve been listening to the ravings of lunacy and they’ve affected my brain. I’m getting old. Do you ever have any doubt about yourself, Edgar? Do you ever think you’re a fool?
EDGAR.No, I don’t think I’m a fool.
TIMBRELL.Neither am I.
EDGAR.But what is it? What’s been going on?
[The Curtain falls.]
TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH