Chapter 5

[Mrs. Dottakes from a drawer of the escritoire one of the licences.

Mrs. Dot.

[Smiling.] Frances Annandale Worthley—James Blenkinsop.

Blenkinsop.

I feel as though some one were walking over my grave.

Aunt Eliza.

But how on earth are you going to get Nellie Sellenger and Freddie to use the other licence?

Mrs. Dot.

When the right moment comes I shall leave it under their noses, and allow them to draw whatconsequences they choose.... If any woman ever earned a husband, I have. I’ve taken every opportunity to snub Gerald till he can hardly contain himself with rage. I’ve thrown him in Nellie’s company till they’re both so bored they could almost cry. I’ve been constantly on the watch to prevent Nellie and Freddie from having two minutes by themselves till they can hardly bear the sight of me. And I’ve made love to you with a persistence that would have melted the heart of a fish. If I fail, it will be your fault.

Blenkinsop.

But what on earth do you want me to do?

Mrs. Dot.

Good heavens, throw a little passion into your behaviour. Look at me as though you’d never seen any one so ravishing in your life. When you take my hand, hold it as if you would never let it go.

[She takes his hand.

Blenkinsop.

Remember, there’s no one but Miss MacGregor present.

Mrs. Dot.

[With a yearning glance.] Look into my eyes like this.

Blenkinsop.

Don’t. You make me feel very uncomfortable.

Mrs. Dot.

[Impatiently.] Oh, you’re too stupid. You’re astock and a stone. You’re an owl. You’re a ridiculous idiot.

Blenkinsop.

Temper, temper.

Mrs. Dot.

You’ll ruin my whole life, because you’re such a perfect fool that you can’t make love to a woman.

[She breaks away from him and begins to cry. He walks up and down, then looks at her with a smile. He makes a sign toMiss MacGregorthatMrs. Dotcannot see.

Blenkinsop.

[In a different voice.] Dot, this little game of ours has lasted long enough.

Mrs. Dot.

[Sobbing in her handkerchief.] Yes, it has. I’m sick to death of the whole thing.

Blenkinsop.

You asked me to play a part, and you didn’t know that it might be deadly earnest.

Mrs. Dot.

Fiddlesticks!

Blenkinsop.

I have a secret that I can no longer keep from you.

Mrs. Dot.

Well, tell it to the horse-marines.

Blenkinsop.

Dot, I love you!

Mrs. Dot.

Oh, don’t be so silly.

Blenkinsop.

But I tell you I’m not joking.

Mrs. Dot.

Thank heaven for that. I’m weary of your bad jokes.

Blenkinsop.

The thing started as a bad joke, but it has ended in something very different. A change has come over me, and I’m ashamed.

Mrs. Dot.

[Looking up.] Eh?

Blenkinsop.

Don’t you see that I’m a different man? Dot, it’s you who’ve changed me.

Mrs. Dot.

I really believe he’s waking up.

Blenkinsop.

If I was shy and awkward, it’s because I wouldn’t give in to myself. I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t understand.

Mrs. Dot.

That’s much better. There really is a ring of emotion in your voice.

Blenkinsop.

How shouldn’t there be, when I’m saying at last what has trembled on the tip of my tongue for ten days?

Mrs. Dot.

[Delighted.] There! That’s just the tone I want. Talk with that quiver in your voice when you ask me to pass you the mustard at dinner.

Blenkinsop.

I lie awake at night thinking of you, and when I fall asleep I seem to hold you in my arms.

Mrs. Dot.

That’s splendid. Why couldn’t you say all this before?

Blenkinsop.

Dot, Dot, don’t torture me. Don’t you see I mean it.

Mrs. Dot.

What!

Blenkinsop.

I’m not jesting now. I wish to heaven I were.

Mrs. Dot.

[Forcing a laugh.] My dear James, you’re really piling it on too much.

Blenkinsop.

You must be mad or blind. Can’t you feel that I love you?

Mrs. Dot.

Don’t be so absurd. You know you’re only—you’re only pulling my leg.

Blenkinsop.

Oh, I’ve been a perfect ass. I should never have consented to play this ghastly trick. If you only knew what tortures I’ve suffered!

Mrs. Dot.

He isn’t really serious, Aunt Eliza?

Aunt Eliza.

[Smiling.] Upon my soul, it looks very much like it.

Blenkinsop.

What did you expect? You’ve played on my heart-strings as though they were an instrument that had no feeling. You’ve put a caress into every tone of your voice.

Mrs. Dot.

[Ruefully.] Of course, I am fascinating. I can’t deny that.

Blenkinsop.

When you touched my hand, every nerve of my body thrilled.

Mrs. Dot.

You’re not really in love with me?

Blenkinsop.

Passionately.

Mrs. Dot.

You’re ridiculous, James Blenkinsop.

Blenkinsop.

I was a fool. I played with fire, and I never dreamed I’d burn myself.

Mrs. Dot.

But you mustn’t be in love with me. I won’t hear of it.

Blenkinsop.

It’s too late to say that now. I adore you.

Mrs. Dot.

But what on earth’s to be done?

Blenkinsop.

You must marry me.

Mrs. Dot.

Nothing will induce me to do anything of the sort.

Blenkinsop.

[Going up to her with outstretched arms.] You can’t realise the wealth of tenderness and affection which I’ll lavish upon you.

Mrs. Dot.

Go away! Don’t come near me.

Blenkinsop.

Why should you care for Gerald? Do you think if he loved you, he would let a trifling engagement with somebody else stand in the way?

Mrs. Dot.

The fact is that men are never to be trusted.

Blenkinsop.

I can’t live without you now. I’ll give up my whole life to make you happy.

Mrs. Dot.

But I’m in love with Gerald. I’m not in love with you. I shall never be in love with you.

Blenkinsop.

You owe me something for all the agony you’ve made me endure. Dot, remember that licence. It was bought in jest, but the Archbishop of Canterbury was in earnest.

Mrs. Dot.

But my dear James, for heaven’s sake be reasonable. You know just as well as I do that you’re not a marrying man.

Blenkinsop.

Give me the chance, and you’ll see.

Mrs. Dot.

I’m sure you wouldn’t like me. I’m horrid really.

Blenkinsop.

I know that you’re full of faults, but, bless you, I love them all.

Mrs. Dot.

I’ve got a beastly temper.

Blenkinsop.

I dote upon you when I see your eyes flash with anger.

Mrs. Dot.

I’m awfully extravagant, and if the Government brings in temperance legislation I shall be ruined.

Blenkinsop.

I’m rich. I should look upon it as the greatest happiness to spend my last penny to gratify your smallest wish.

Mrs. Dot.

I won’t marry you. I won’t marry you. I won’t!

Blenkinsop.

Dot, Dot!

[He catches her in his arms and kisses her. At this momentGeraldcomes in,Mrs. Dotbreaks away fromBlenkinsop.There is an awkward pause.

Mrs. Dot.

[ToGerald.] I thought you were on the river.

Gerald.

Hang the river!

[She goes to the door, whichBlenkinsopopens for her. She goes out. AsAunt Elizafollows, he speaks to her in a low tone.

Blenkinsop.

There’s passion for you.

Aunt Eliza.

You brutes, you can all do it. You positively made my heart beat.

[She goes out.

Gerald.

What did Miss MacGregor say?

Blenkinsop.

A vague suggestion of bigamy if I understood correctly.

Gerald.

[Frigidly.] I’m afraid I came at an inopportune moment.

Blenkinsop.

It appears to be one of your happy little ways.

Gerald.

Every one seems to kiss every one else in this house.

Blenkinsop.

[With effrontery.] You have only to envelop Lady Sellenger in your arms, and the picture will be complete.

Gerald.

Would you kindly explain this incident?

Blenkinsop.

If you’ll allow me to say so, I really can’t see that it’s any business of yours.

Gerald.

[Hotly.] Look here, Blenkinsop, you’ve got no right to play your fool-tricks with Mrs. Dot. She’s a very excitable and thoughtless woman. She’s....

Blenkinsop.

Well?

Gerald.

Oh, damn you!

Blenkinsop.

Not at all, not at all.

Gerald.

[Angrily.] What the deuce is the meaning of all this tomfoolery?

Blenkinsop.

[Blandly.] I suppose you couldn’t be a little more civil, could you?

Gerald.

Look here, Blenkinsop, the best thing you can do is to receive a telegram that requires your immediate presence in town.

Blenkinsop.

Thanks very much, but I’m extremely comfortable down here.

Gerald.

You’d be rather surprised if I threw you out of the window, wouldn’t you?

Blenkinsop.

I should not only be surprised, but I should look upon it as an odious familiarity.

Gerald.

Would you like to know my private opinion of you?

Blenkinsop.

Spare me my blushes, dear boy. It always embarrasses me to be flattered to my face.

Gerald.

You silly old fool.

Blenkinsop.

I believe you’re considerably annoyed.

Gerald.

Not in the least. What the dickens is there about you that should annoy me?

Blenkinsop.

Now that I come to think of it, you are certainly in a passion. Your face is red, your attire is disordered, and you have a slight squint in your eye.

Gerald.

My dear fellow, if I hadn’t the best temper in the world, I should kick you.

Blenkinsop.

You’d far better go and lie down. You’ll only say something which you’ll regret.

Gerald.

I suppose you’re not for a moment under the impression that Mrs. Dot cares twopence about you.

Blenkinsop.

May I ask how that can in the least concern you?

Gerald.

Mrs. Dot is an old friend of mine. I’m not going to see her made ridiculous by a conceited nincompoop.

Blenkinsop.

By the way, has it slipped your memory that you’re engaged to Miss Sellenger?

Gerald.

Good Lord, no!

Blenkinsop.

I daresay you wish it had.

Gerald.

That’s a confounded impertinent thing to say.

Blenkinsop.

My dear fellow, I never saw any one with less common sense in my life. Surely it’s not very extraordinary that the same tender passion which inflames the chaste breasts of yourself and Miss Sellenger, should attack the equally chaste breasts of myself and Mrs. Worthley.

Gerald.

Don’t talk such twaddle.

Blenkinsop.

I suppose you’d be considerably astonished if I told you that I’d just asked Mrs. Dot to be my wife.

Gerald.

She must have screamed with laughter.

Blenkinsop.

You noticed her unconcealed hilarity when you came in.

Gerald.

[Going up to him quickly.] You don’t mean it!

Blenkinsop.

No man is quite safe from the toils of women till he’s safely in his grave. And even then a feminine worm probably makes a dead set at him.

Gerald.

And does Mrs. Dot—reciprocate your affection?

Blenkinsop.

Really you ask me a very delicate question.

Gerald.

By the great Harry, the man thinks she’s in love with him.

Blenkinsop.

[Rather indignant.] And pray, why shouldn’t she be just as much in love with me as with you?

Gerald.

[With a burst of laughter.] Ha, ha, ha.

Blenkinsop.

What the blazes are you laughing at?

Gerald.

Ha! ha! ha!

Blenkinsop.

Shut up, you blithering idiot!

Gerald.

[Still laughing.] Shehasmade a fool of you. Ha! ha! ha! [Seriously.] And did you really think any woman would care for you? My poor Blenkinsop! My poor, poor Blenkinsop!

Blenkinsop.

You’re a jackanapes, sir, you’re an impudent jackanapes. And why not, pray?

Gerald.

[Furiously.] Because you’re revolting to look upon, and your conversation is inexpressibly tedious.

Blenkinsop.

It’s charming of you to say so.

Gerald.

If you want to marry any one, marry Lady Sellenger.

Blenkinsop.

You are evidently under the impression that if a woman can’t be so fortunate as to marry you, she had far better retire into a nunnery.

Gerald.

You’re a cantankerous cynic and a fatuous donkey.

Blenkinsop.

I like the delicacy with which you express your appreciation of my merits.

Gerald.

Listen to me, Blenkinsop! Clear out of the house before you make a greater mess of things than you have already. Mrs. Dot would as soon marry her groom as marry you.

Blenkinsop.

You think it’s quite impossible that she should ever have dreamt of such a thing?

Gerald.

Not only impossible, but grotesque.

[Blenkinsopgoes to the drawer in which is the licence and takes it out.

Blenkinsop.

Perhaps, then, it would interest you to inspect this document.

[Geraldtakes it and looks at it, dumfounded.

Gerald.

It’s a special licence.

Blenkinsop.

So much less bother than banns, you know.

Gerald.

James Blenkinsop.

Blenkinsop.

And Frances Annandale Worthley.

Gerald.

It’s a mistake! It’s all a preposterous mistake.

Blenkinsop.

You see, the Archbishop of Canterbury calls me his right well-beloved brother. Friendly, isn’t it?

[Geraldviolently tears it in pieces and flings them on the ground.Blenkinsopgives a sigh of relief.Geraldstalks out of the room into the garden.Blenkinsopgoes to the door and waves his hand at him.Mrs. Dotcomes in. She has discovered thatBlenkinsophas been making a fool of her.

Blenkinsop.

He’s torn up your precious licence.

Mrs. Dot.

[Quickly.] Which one?

Blenkinsop.

Ours, of course. Three guineas gone bang, my dear.

Mrs. Dot.

[Counting on her fingers.] I’m reckoning how many bottles of beer the British public will have to drink for us to buy another.

Blenkinsop.

But your refusal of my hand will happily prevent you from going to that expense. Thereby considerably forwarding the cause of temperance.

Mrs. Dot.

[With an assumption of overwhelming gravity.]

James, I have been thinking over all you said, and I am willing to marry you.

Blenkinsop.

[A chill going down his spine.] I thank you from the bottom of my heart, but I cannot accept this sacrifice.

Mrs. Dot.

It is no sacrifice when I think that I can make you happy.

Blenkinsop.

But you mustn’t think of me. It’s your happiness that we have to consider. Don’t let a momentary impulse ruin your whole life.

Mrs. Dot.

I’ve thought it over very carefully. I cannot resist your passionate pleading.

Blenkinsop.

I will not be outdone in generosity. You have refused me. I accept your refusal as final.

Mrs. Dot.

I never realised that your nature was so great and tender. Every word you say makes me more determined to devote my life to your happiness.

Blenkinsop.

My dear Dot, much as I appreciate the beauty of your sentiments, I must confess that I could never marry a woman who did not love me.

Mrs. Dot.

[As though she were struggling with her modesty.] I see that you want to force from me the avowal that is so hard to make. Oh, you men!

Blenkinsop.

Good God, you don’t mean to say you’re in love with me?

Mrs. Dot.

[Languishing.] James. Is it so very wonderful?

Blenkinsop.

Half an hour ago you said you couldn’t stand me at any price.

Mrs. Dot.

It’s a woman’s privilege to change her mind. The passion which you threw into your proposal has completely changed me. I am touched by the vehemence with which you flung your heart at my feet. I have struggled, but I cannot resist. Take me in your arms, James, and never let me go.

Blenkinsop.

Dot, I have a confession to make to you. I didn’t mean a word I said.

Mrs. Dot.

Ah, James, do not jest.

Blenkinsop.

I assure you I’m perfectly serious. You tauntedme that I couldn’t make love, so I just let myself go to show you I could. I daresay it was a silly joke, but it certainly was a joke.

Mrs. Dot.

[Unmoved.] James, every word you say increases my admiration for you. I can’t think now how I was ever blind to your great affection.

Blenkinsop.

But don’t you hear what I say?

Mrs. Dot.

Do you think you can take me in so easily?

Blenkinsop.

You don’t believe me?

Mrs. Dot.

Not a word.

Blenkinsop.

[Thoroughly alarmed.] Now, look here. I don’t love you, I’ve never loved you, and I never shall love you. I can’t put it any clearer than that.

Mrs. Dot.

[With rapture.] God, how he adores me!

Blenkinsop.

I say, look here, this is a bit too thick.

Mrs. Dot.

I know you only say these cruel things because you think I should be throwing myself away on you.

Blenkinsop.

[Huffily.] I don’t know about that.

Mrs. Dot.

You cannot bear to think that I should accept you from pity. But it isn’t that, James. You are handsome and noble and chivalrous. How shouldn’t a woman love you?

Blenkinsop.

I repeat that I do not reciprocate your passion.

Mrs. Dot.

You can’t deceive me so easily as that, James. Iknowyou love me. We women have such quick intuitions.

Blenkinsop.

So you always say.

Mrs. Dot.

I see you simply quivering with restrained emotion. Oh, James, James, you’ve made me so happy.

[She flings herself on his bosom and pretends to burst into tears.

Blenkinsop.

I say, take care. Supposing somebody saw us.

Mrs. Dot.

I should like all the world to see us.

Blenkinsop.

But it’s devilish compromising.

Mrs. Dot.

I want to compromise myself. Only thus can I make you certain of my love. Oh, think of the many happy years we shall spend in one another’s arms, James.

Blenkinsop.

[Extricating himself from her embrace.] Is there nothing I can say to undeceive you?

Mrs. Dot.

Nothing! I am yours till death.

Blenkinsop.

I will never give way to my sense of humour again.

Mrs. Dot.

[Archly.] Do you mind if I leave you just for one minute? After so much agitation I must really go and powder my nose.

Blenkinsop.

[Ironically.] Pray don’t let me detain you.

Mrs. Dot.

Remember I am yours till death.

Blenkinsop.

It is very good of you to say so.

[She goes out. He rings the bell impatiently.The Butlercomes in.

Blenkinsop.

Tell my servant I want him.

[The Butlergoes out.Blenkinsopwalks up and down, wringing his hands.The Servantenters.

George, pack up my things at once and get the motor. There’s not a moment to lose.

George.

Are you going away, sir?

Blenkinsop.

[Flying into a passion.] You blithering fool, do you suppose I should want my things packed if I were staying? I’m going abroad to-night.

George.

Very well, sir.

Blenkinsop.

You must take the train and go to Cook’s at once and get some tickets.

George.

Very well, sir. Where to, sir?

Blenkinsop.

Don’t argue, sir, but do as I tell you.

George.

I must know where to get the tickets for, sir.

Blenkinsop.

Oh, what it is to have a fool for a servant! Take a month’s notice. I dismiss you. Where to, sir? Anywhere, sir? Somewhere that’s a damned long way off. South Africa! I’ll go and shoot lions in Uganda. And if there isn’t a boat sailing at once, I’ll go to America and shoot grizzlies in the Rocky Mountains.

George.

Very dangerous climate, sir.

Blenkinsop.

Dangerous climate, sir? I would have you know it’s not half such a dangerous climate as the valley of the Thames.

George.

Very good, sir.

[He goes out.Mrs. Dotcomes in.At the sight of herBlenkinsopat once cools down.

Mrs. Dot.

James, dear, did I hear you give orders for your things to be packed up?

Blenkinsop.

[Calmly.] No, my love. What could have put such an idea in your head?

Mrs. Dot.

You wouldn’t leave me—darling?

Blenkinsop.

My angel, nothing now shall tear me from your side.

Mrs. Dot.

Dearest!

Blenkinsop.

[Trying to restrain himself.] Pet!

[He goes into the garden.Mrs. Dotbegins to laugh.Freddiecomes in, with letters in his hand.

Freddie.

I say, I wish you’d just have a look at these letters.

Mrs. Dot.

Oh, yes. I want to have a little talk with you, Freddie. [She takes one of the letters and reads.] “I am directed by Mrs. Worthley to congratulate you on the recent addition to your family, but to express her regret that she cannot accede to your request.” How brutal you are, Freddie! Surely Mrs. Murphy is an old friend.

Freddie.

I looked her out in my note-book. Six months ago we sent her fifteen pounds because she had nine children. Now she has eleven.

Mrs. Dot.

And yet they complain that the birth-rate is falling. I think we’d better send her five pounds.

Freddie.

You really can’t encourage a woman who has twins twice a year, when her husband is not only bed-ridden but a hopeless lunatic.

Mrs. Dot.

Perhaps sheisa little prolific.

Freddie.

Here is my answer to Mrs. MacTavish, who wants help to bury a husband.

Mrs. Dot.

Poor thing! You’d better send her ten pounds.

Freddie.

I’ve answered: “Madam, I regret to see that this is the third time you have lost your husband within two years. The mortality among the unhappy gentlemen on whom you bestow your hand is so great that I can only recommend you in future to remain a widow. Yours faithfully, Frederick Perkins.”

Mrs. Dot.

[Reading a letter which he hands to her.]“I am pleased to hear that the wooden leg for which Mrs. Worthley paid for last year has proved satisfactory, but I cannot recommend her to provide you with another. To lose one leg in a railway accident is a misfortune, but to lose a second in a colliery explosion points to carelessness.” That’s not original, Freddie.

Freddie.

I’m so hard up, I can only afford to make other people’s jokes.

Mrs. Dot.

[With a shrewd look at him.] Freddie, I’ve been exceedingly pleased with your behaviour during the last week. I’ve watched you carefully, and I’m glad to see that you’ve done all that was possible to destroy poor Nellie’s affection for you.

Freddie.

[Gravely.] I’ve tried to do my duty.

Mrs. Dot.

I know. And in recognition of this I want you to accept a little present. Where is my cheque-book?

Freddie.

[Producing it promptly.] Oh, no, really, I shouldn’t like you to do anything of the sort. [Putting it in front of her, and giving her a pen.] I feel that I’m amply paid for all that I do for you. I simply can’t accept anything more.

Mrs. Dot.

I was afraid you would object.

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