THE SECOND ACT

[A ring is heard.

Gerald.

There they are.

Mrs. Dot.

Good heavens! I quite forgot about those wretched people in there.

[She opens the door of the dining-room.

Mrs. Dot.

I don’t want to disturb you, but if you’ve quite finished your conversation perhaps you’d like to come and have tea.

[BlenkinsopandFreddiecome in and go to the fire.

Blenkinsop.

I observe with interest that your remark is facetious.

Freddie.

I’m simply freezing.

Mrs. Dot.

You didn’t mind being shut up in there, did you?

Blenkinsop.

Not at all. I rather like sitting in an arctic room without a fire, with a window looking on a blank wall, and the society of your nephew and theSporting Timesof the week before last as my only means of entertainment.

[Charlesenters to announce theSellengers.He goes out and brings in the tea.

Charles.

Lady and Miss Sellenger.

[EnterLady SellengerandNellie.Lady Sellengeris a pompous woman of fifty, stout, alert and clever.Nellieis very pretty and graceful, and fashionably gowned. She appears to be much under her mother’s influence.

Lady Sellenger.

How d’you do? Ah, Mrs. Worthley! Delightful!

Gerald.

[Shaking hands.] How d’you do? I think you know Mr. Blenkinsop?

Lady Sellenger.

Of course. But I don’t approve of him.

Blenkinsop.

Why not?

Lady Sellenger.

Because you’re a cynic, a millionaire, and a bachelor. And no man has the right to be all three.

Mrs. Dot.

And how did you like Italy?

Lady Sellenger.

A grossly over-rated place. So many marriageable daughters and so few eligible men.

Gerald.

[Introducing.] Mr. Perkins, Lady Sellenger—Miss Sellenger.

Mrs. Dot.

My nephew and my secretary.

Lady Sellenger.

Really. How very interesting! Almost romantic.

Freddie.

How d’you do?

Lady Sellenger.

Dear Mrs. Worthley, what a charming gown! You always wear such—striking things.

Mrs. Dot.

It advertises the beer, don’t you know.

Lady Sellenger.

I wish I could drink it, Mrs. Worthley, but it’s so fattening. I understand you always have it on your table.

Mrs. Dot.

I think that’s the least I can do, as it’s only on account of the beer that I can have a table at all.

Nellie.

[ToMrs. Dot.] May I give you some tea?

Mrs. Dot.

[Going to the tea-table.] Thanks so much.

[Geraldcomes over toLady Sellengerwith a cup. She takes it. The others are gathered round the tea-table, which is right at the back, and talk among themselves.

Lady Sellenger.

Come and sit by me, Gerald. I’ve not had a word with you since we came back from Italy.

Gerald.

[Lightly.] What are you going to say to me?

Lady Sellenger.

You can guess why I wrote to ask if we might come and see you to-day?

Gerald.

[Rising.] Yes.

Lady Sellenger.

Now do sit down. And look as if you were talking of the weather.

Gerald.

It’s a little difficult to discuss the matter quite indifferently.

Lady Sellenger.

My dear boy, it’s the little difficulties of life which prevent it from being dull. We should be no betterthan the beasts of the field if we had no anxieties about our soul and our position in society.

Gerald.

I see.

Lady Sellenger.

[Rather impatiently.] My dear Gerald, why don’t you help me? What I have to say is so very unpleasant. You know I have always had a most sincere affection for you. Under other circumstances I would have wanted no better son-in-law.

Gerald.

It’s very kind of you to say so.

Lady Sellenger.

I’ve assured you for the last three years that a marriage was absurd, and now I want to tell you that it’s impossible. Love is all very well in its way, but it doesn’t make up for a shabby house in the suburbs.

Gerald.

You’re not romantic, Lady Sellenger.

Lady Sellenger.

My dear, when you reach my age you’ll agree with me that it’s only the matter of fact which really signifies. Love in a cottage is a delusion of youth. It’s difficult enough after ten years of solid matrimony in Grosvenor Square.

Gerald.

You married for love, Lady Sellenger.

Lady Sellenger.

I’m anxious that my daughter shouldn’t make the same mistake. Now let us be quite frank with one another.... Are you sure they’re not listening?

Gerald.

[Glancing at the others.] They seem very much occupied with their own affairs. What is your ultimatum?

Lady Sellenger.

Well, Gerald, I’m not in the least mercenary. I know that money can’t give happiness. But I do feel that unless you have at least two thousand a year you can’t make my daughter even comfortable.

Gerald.

I’m sure that’s very modest.

Lady Sellenger.

It’s not love in a cottage. It’s not love in a palace. It’s just—matrimony in Onslow Gardens.

Gerald.

I may as well tell you at once that I’ve had very bad luck. I wanted to make money, and I’ve come an absolute cropper.

Lady Sellenger.

My dear Gerald, I’m very sorry. Is it as bad as all that?

Gerald.

It couldn’t be much worse.

Lady Sellenger.

Dear me, that’s very sad. But, of course, it simplifies matters, doesn’t it?

Gerald.

Enormously. It puts marriage entirely out of the question and leaves only one course open to me. I’ll take the earliest opportunity to ask Nellie for my release.

Lady Sellenger.

What a pity it is you’re so poor! Your principles are really excellent.

Gerald.

But what about Nellie? How will she take it?

Lady Sellenger.

She’s so reserved, poor dear! She never speaks of her feelings. But after three London seasons most girls have learnt to bow to the inevitable. And how is Lord Hollington?

Gerald.

He’s to be married as soon as he comes back from India.

Lady Sellenger.

It was dreadfully sad that his uncle and his cousin should die within a year. If anything happened to him you’d be in very different circumstances. But, of course, it would be wicked to wish it. I hope you never do.

Gerald.

Never. I trust he’ll live to a hundred.

Lady Sellenger.

And I daresay he’ll have fifteen children. Those delicate men often do.... Why don’t you speak to Nellie now and get it over?

Gerald.

This very minute? With others in the room?

Lady Sellenger.

That’s just it, I want to give neither of you any opportunity for sentiment.

Gerald.

You’re certainly very practical.

Lady Sellenger.

No woman can afford to be sentimental when she has a marriageable daughter.... For heaven’s sake don’t make Nellie cry, we’re dining out to-night.

Gerald.

I’ll do my best to be very matter of fact.

Lady Sellenger.

[Raising her voice.] Mr. Blenkinsop, I want to quarrel with you!

Blenkinsop.

[Coming forward.] You fill me with consternation.

Lady Sellenger.

You passed us in Pall Mall this afternoon and you cut us dead.

Blenkinsop.

I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you. I’d just been to the War Office to inquire if there was any news of those fellows out in India. By the way, Halstane, isn’t Hollington a relation of yours?

Gerald.

Yes, why?

Blenkinsop.

Haven’t you seen anything in the paper?

Gerald.

No.

Blenkinsop.

Oh, but surely. There’s sure to be something about it in theWestminster.

[He takes up the paper.

Gerald.

That’s an early one.

[Faintly are heard the cries of “Special.”

Freddie.

Listen, there’s the last edition coming along.

Lady Sellenger.

But what is it, Mr. Blenkinsop?

Blenkinsop.

A small force was sent out to punish some local people up in the hills, who’d been making themselves troublesome, and it hasn’t been heard of since. The idea is that there may have been some trouble and they’ve all got cut up.

Mrs. Dot.

But how does it concern Lord Hollington?

Blenkinsop.

He was in command of it.

Gerald.

Good God!

Blenkinsop.

When I was there a couple of hours ago the War Office had no news at all.

Gerald.

But why didn’t you tell me about it?

Blenkinsop.

I thought you knew. I’d forgotten for the momentthat Hollington had anything to do with you. He’s a very distant relation, isn’t he?

Gerald.

Yes, I hardly know him.

Lady Sellenger.

But if anything has happened to him....

[Cries outside of “Special, Special.”

Mrs. Dot.

Why don’t you get a paper? Freddie, run and get one, will you?

Gerald.

No, Charles can go.

[He rings, andCharlesimmediately comes in.

Gerald.

Oh, Charles, get a paper at once. Hurry up!

Charles.

Very good, sir.

[He goes out. Outside, cries of “Terrible catastrophe in India.”

Gerald.

By Jove, did you hear that?

[Cries of “Special, Special.”

Lady Sellenger.

Why doesn’t he make haste?

Gerald.

Nonsense. It can’t have anything to do with Hollington.

Mrs. Dot.

[With her hand on his arm, anxiously.] Gerald.

[Freddie Perkinsis looking out of the window.

Freddie.

Here’s Charles. By Jove, he isn’t hurrying himself much.

Gerald.

Has he got a newsboy?

Freddie.

Yes. What the deuce is he doing?

Gerald.

[At the window.] Good lord, he’s reading the paper.

Lady Sellenger.

The suspense is too awful.

Freddie.

There’s another newsboy running down the street.

[Cries of “Special, Special.”

Gerald.

Thank God, he’s coming upstairs at last. I should like to kick him.

[Cries of “Terrible catastrophe in India. ’Eroic death of Lord ’Ollington.”

Good God!

[They all remain in silence, full of consternation.Charlesenters with the paper.

Hurry up, man! What the deuce have you been doing?

[He snatches the paper from him.

Charles.

[With dignity.] I made all the ’aste I could, my lord.

[Geraldstops for a moment from looking up and down the paper, and stares at him.

Gerald.

What the dickens d’you mean?

[He looks at the paper, reads, and drops it.

Mrs. Dot.

Is it true, Gerald?

[He looks at her and nods.

Gerald.

Poor chap. And just as he was going to be married.

Charles.

Shall I bring your hat and coat, my lord?

Gerald.

What on earth are you talking about?

Charles.

I thought your lordship would like to go round to the War Office.

Gerald.

Shut up!

[ExitCharles.

Lady Sellenger.

My dear boy, I congratulate you with all my heart.

Gerald.

Oh, don’t remind me of that already.

Lady Sellenger.

I can quite understand you’re a little upset, but after all he was only a very distant relation of yours.

Blenkinsop.

I don’t understand what all this means.

Gerald.

Didn’t you hear that fool of a servant? It was the first thing he thought of.

Mrs. Dot.

Gerald succeeds to the peerage!

Gerald.

Yes.

Mrs. Dot.

Wouldn’t you like us to leave you alone? I’m sure you want to think things out a bit?

Lady Sellenger.

Come, Nellie!

Gerald.

I’m sorry to turn you out. Good-bye. I had something to say to you, Nellie.

Nellie.

We’ve not had a chance of speaking to one another.

Lady Sellenger.

[Unctuously.] It’s very fortunate. Now you’ll have much pleasanter things to talk about.

[He stares at her without understanding.

Lady Sellenger.

Things are very different now, Gerald. It just came in time, didn’t it?

Nellie.

Good-bye.

[Lady SellengerandNelliego out.

Blenkinsop.

Good-bye, old man, I’m sorry your cousin has had such an awful death. But after all, we none of us knew him and we do know you. I can’t tell you how glad I am that all your difficulties are at an end.

Gerald.

I would give my right hand to bring Hollington back to life again.

Blenkinsop.

Good-bye.

[He goes out.

Mrs. Dot.

Go away, Freddie. I want to talk to Gerald.

Freddie.

Good-bye, old man. I say, what a nice girl Miss Sellenger is!

Gerald.

Good-bye.

[Freddiegoes out.

Mrs. Dot.

Well?

Gerald.

The news has come just an hour too soon. It’s bound me hand and foot.

Mrs. Dot.

What d’you mean by that?

Gerald.

Nellie accepted me when I was poor and of no account. Now that I’m well off I can’t go to her and say: I’ve changed my mind and don’t want to marry you.

Mrs. Dot.

What d’you mean by being well off?

Gerald.

I believe I shall have six or seven thousand a year.

Mrs. Dot.

But you can’t live on that. It’s absurd.

Gerald.

[With a smile.] There are people who live on much less, you know.

Mrs. Dot.

Besides, she doesn’t care for you in the least. I could see that at a glance.

Gerald.

How?

Mrs. Dot.

A girl who loved you wouldn’t have a skirt cut like that.

Gerald.

I can’t draw back now, Dot. You must see that I can’t.

Mrs. Dot.

If you cared for me, you’d easily find some way out of the difficulty.

Gerald.

I must be honest, Dot.... I don’t want to seem a snob, but I’ve got an ancient name, and it’srather honourable. I’m by way of being the head of the family now. I don’t want to begin by acting like a cad.

Mrs. Dot.

You know, I’m much nicer than Nellie. I’m more amusing, and I’m better dressed, and I’ve got five motor cars. It’s true she’s younger than I am, but I don’t feel a day more than seventeen. [With a little look at him.] And if you had any sense of decency at all you’d say I looked it. You said you loved me just now. Say it again, Gerald. It’s so good to hear.

Gerald.

I don’t see how we can help ourselves.

Mrs. Dot.

[Beginning to lose her temper.] I suppose you just want to finish an awkward scene? I don’t want to harrow you. Why don’t you go to the War Office?

Gerald.

You must see it’s not my fault. If we must part, let us part friends.

Mrs. Dot.

Now, I declare he wants to sentimentalise. Isn’t it enough that you’ve made me frightfully unhappy? D’you want me to say it doesn’t matter at all, as if you’d spilt a cup of tea on me? D’you think I like being utterly wretched?

Gerald.

For heaven’s sake, don’t talk like that. You’re tearing my heart to pieces.

Mrs. Dot.

Yourheart? I should like to bang it on the floor and stamp on it. You must expect to suffer a little. You can’t put it all on me.

Gerald.

I don’t want you to suffer.

Mrs. Dot.

[In a temper.] You were willing enough to marry me when you hadn’t got sixpence to bless yourself with. How fortunate your cousin didn’t die a week later!

Gerald.

Do you think I was proposing to marry you for your money?

Mrs. Dot.

Yes.

Gerald.

Really?

Mrs. Dot.

No, of course not.

Gerald.

Thanks.

Mrs. Dot.

Oh, you needn’t take it as a compliment. I’d much sooner have to deal with a clever knave than an honest fool.

Gerald.

Won’t you say that you bear me no ill-will?

Mrs. Dot.

No.

Gerald.

I really must go to the War Office.

Mrs. Dot.

Very well, you can go.

Gerald.

Won’t you come with me?

Mrs. Dot.

No.

Gerald.

I’m afraid you’ll get rather bored here.

[He rings the bell, andCharlescomes in.

Charles.

Yes, my lord.

Gerald.

I want my hat and coat.

[Charlesgoes out.

Mrs. Dot.

Do you care for Nellie Sellenger?

Gerald.

If you don’t mind, I won’t answer that question. Unless she asks for her freedom, I propose to marry her.

[Charlesbrings in the hat and coat.Mrs. Dotwatches him while he puts them on.

Gerald.

Good-bye.

[He goes out.Mrs. Dotturns round and facesCharles.

Mrs. Dot.

Charles, have you ever been married?

Charles.

Twice, madam.

Mrs. Dot.

And has experience taught you that when a woman wants a thing she generally gets it?

Charles.

[With a sigh.] It has, madam.

Mrs. Dot.

That is my opinion, too, Charles.

[She goes out.Charlesbegins to clear the tea things away.

END OF THE FIRST ACT

The terrace ofMrs. Dot’shouse on the River. There are masses of rose trees in full flower. At the back is the house, covered with creepers.A table is set out for luncheon, with four chairs.Miss MacGregoris sitting in a garden chair, sewing. She is an elderly, quiet woman, thin, somewhat angular, good-humoured and amiable.Mrs. Dotis walking up and down impatiently.

The terrace ofMrs. Dot’shouse on the River. There are masses of rose trees in full flower. At the back is the house, covered with creepers.

A table is set out for luncheon, with four chairs.

Miss MacGregoris sitting in a garden chair, sewing. She is an elderly, quiet woman, thin, somewhat angular, good-humoured and amiable.

Mrs. Dotis walking up and down impatiently.

Aunt Eliza.

My dear, why don’t you sit down and rest yourself? I’m sure you’ve walked at least ten miles up and down this terrace.

Mrs. Dot.

I’m in a temper.

Aunt Eliza.

That must be obvious to the meanest intelligence.

Mrs. Dot.

Have you read the paper to-day?

Aunt Eliza.

I’ve tried to, but as you’ve spent most of themorning in stamping on it, I haven’t had much success.

Mrs. Dot.

Then I beg you to listen to this: [Taking up a “Morning Post” and reading it.] A marriage has been arranged between Lord Hollington and Eleanor, only daughter of the late General Sir Robert Sellenger.

[She crumples up the paper and stamps on it.

Aunt Eliza.

That’s the twenty-third time you’ve read this announcement to me. I assure you that it’s beginning to lose its novelty.

Mrs. Dot.

You can’t deny that it’s rather annoying to take up your paper in the morning and discover an official announcement that the man you’ve made up your mind to marry is taking serious steps to marry somebody else.

Aunt Eliza.

But would you tell me why you want to marry him?

Mrs. Dot.

Why does anybody ever want to marry anybody?

Aunt Eliza.

That is a question to which during the fifty-five years of my life I’ve been totally unable to discover an answer.

Mrs. Dot.

Well, because he’s clever, and handsome, and amusing.

Aunt Eliza.

He’s not really very clever, you know.

Mrs. Dot.

Of course he isn’t. He’s as stupid as an owl. I’ve told him so till I’m blue in the face.

Aunt Eliza.

And he’s not really very good-looking, is he?

Mrs. Dot.

On the contrary, I think he’s rather plain.

Aunt Eliza.

I suppose you find him amusing?

Mrs. Dot.

Not at all. I find him dull.

Aunt Eliza.

Then, perhaps, you can find me some other explanation.

Mrs. Dot.

Well, I’m head over ears in love with him.

Aunt Eliza.

But why, my dear? Why?

Mrs. Dot.

Because I am. That’s the most conclusive reason possible. And I’ve set my heart on marrying him.And the more obstacles there are the more I mean to marry him.

Aunt Eliza.

I can’t imagine why you hadn’t the sense to fall in love with one of the various eligible persons who want to marry you.

Mrs. Dot.

But hedoeswant to marry me. He’s desperately in love with me.

Aunt Eliza.

I should have thought he could find a better way of showing it than by getting engaged to somebody else.

Mrs. Dot.

He’s a sentimentalist, like all his sex. Good heavens, what a mess the world would get into if it weren’t for the practical common sense of the average women.

Aunt Eliza.

And what do you propose to do?

Mrs. Dot.

That’s just it. I don’t in the least know. They’ll all be here in half an hour, and I haven’t the shadow of a scheme. I lie awake all night racking my brains, and I can’t think of anything.

Aunt Eliza.

Why did you ask them to come here?

Mrs. Dot.

I thought I might hit upon something if they were under my eyes. Gerald had promised to spend Whitsun with me and, so that he shouldn’t put me off, I asked the Sellengers, too. Lady Sellenger was only too glad to get a week’s board and lodging for nothing. [The sound is heard of a motor stopping.] There’s Jimmie Blenkinsop. I told you he was going to motor down in time for luncheon, didn’t I? [Blenkinsopcomes in withFreddie.Freddiehas on a gay tweed suit.] Jimmie!

Blenkinsop.

How d’you do?

[He shakes hands withMrs. DotandAunt Eliza.

Mrs. Dot.

Now we’ll have luncheon. You must be starving with hunger.

Blenkinsop.

You must let me wash first.

Mrs. Dot.

No, we’re all far too hungry. Freddie will go and wash his hands for you.

[She rings half a dozen times quickly on a little bell on the table.

Freddie.

I shall be back in one minute.

[He goes out.

Mrs. Dot.

Now sit down. I’m perfectly ravenous.

[The Butlerand theFootmanbring in luncheon, which is eaten during the next scene.

Aunt Eliza.

I perceive that the tender passion hasn’t in the least interfered with your appetite.

Mrs. Dot.

Oh, my dear James, I’m so unhappy.

Blenkinsop.

You look it.

Mrs. Dot.

By the way, how do I look?

Blenkinsop.

All right. You’ve changed your cook.

Mrs. Dot.

Hang my cook.

Blenkinsop.

I wouldn’t if I were you. She’s very good.

Mrs. Dot.

Of course you’ll drink the family ale?

Blenkinsop.

Of course I’ll do nothing of the kind.

Mrs. Dot.

You know it’s one of my principles to have it on the table.

Blenkinsop.

Yes, but it’s one of my principles not to drink it. I seem to remember that you have some particularly fine hock.

Mrs. Dot.

Jimmie, have you never been in love?

Blenkinsop.

Never, thank God.

Mrs. Dot.

I don’t believe it. Every one’s in love. I’m in love.

Blenkinsop.

Not with me, I trust.

Mrs. Dot.

You perfect idiot.

Blenkinsop.

Not at all. I should think it very natural.

Mrs. Dot.

I wonder why you never married, James.

Blenkinsop.

Because I have a considerable gift for repartee. I discovered in my early youth that men propose not because they want to marry, but because on certainoccasions they are entirely at a loss for topics of conversation.

Aunt Eliza.

[Smiling.] It was a momentous discovery.

Blenkinsop.

No sooner had I made it than I began to cultivate my power of small talk. I felt that my only chance was to be ready with appropriate subjects at the shortest notice, and I spent a considerable part of my last year at Oxford in studying the best masters.

Mrs. Dot.

I never noticed that you were particularly brilliant.

Blenkinsop.

I never played for brilliancy. I played for safety. I flatter myself that when prattle was needed I have never been found wanting. I have met the ingenuity of sweet seventeen with a few observations on Free Trade, while the haggard efforts of thirty have struggled in vain against a brief exposition of the higher philosophy. The skittish widow of uncertain age has retired in disorder before a complete acquaintance with the restoration dramatists, and I have routed the serious spinster with religious leanings by my remarkable knowledge of the results of missionary endeavour in Central Africa. Once a dowager sought to ask me my intentions, but I flung at her astonished head an entire article from the “Encyclopædia Britannica.” These are only my serious efforts. I need not tell you how often I haveevaded a flash of the eyes by an epigram or ignored a sigh by an apt quotation from the poets.

Mrs. Dot.

I don’t believe a word you say. I believe you never married for the simple reason that nobody would have you.

Blenkinsop.

Do me the justice to acknowledge that I’m the only man who’s known you ten days without being tempted by your preposterous income to offer you his hand and heart.

Mrs. Dot.

I don’t believe my income has anything to do with it. I put it down entirely to my very considerable personal attractions.

Aunt Eliza.

Here is Freddie, at last. What has he been doing?

Back to Index Next