Chapter 7

[Peytoncomes in.

Peyton.

Mrs. Fergusson is in the drawing-room, ma’am.

Dickie.

[Speaking down the telephone.] What! Half a minute. Hold on.

Penelope.

I’ve been expecting her all the afternoon. Ask her if she wouldn’t mind coming up here.

Peyton.

Very well, ma’am.

[Exit.

Dickie.

I say, there’s no getting out of it. [At the telephone.] Hulloa. Why don’t you come round? Mrs. Fergusson is calling on Pen, and you can arrange about your luncheon party then.... All right. Good-bye.... I say, I’m going to bolt.

Penelope.

You coward!

Dickie.

[Pretending to be very dignified.] I’m not a coward, Penelope. I shall be back in two minutes. But I’m thirsty, and I’m going to have a brandy and soda.

[He bends down to kiss her, but she moves away.

Dickie.

I say, hang it all, you needn’t grudge me one kiss.

Penelope.

[Smiling.] Wait till you’re off with the old love, my friend.

Dickie.

I think it’s a bit thick that a man shouldn’t be allowed to embrace the wife of his bosom.

Penelope.

You shall afterwards, if you’re good.

Dickie.

I say, she’s just coming. What a blessing this room has two doors!

[He goes out.Penelopegets up, looks at herself in the glass, arranges a stray lock of hair, and powders her nose.Ada Fergussoncomes in.

Penelope.

[Kissing her effusively.] Dearest ... I hope you don’t mind being dragged up here.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Of course not. I like this room. I always think it’s just the place for a heart-to-heart talk.

Penelope.

How nice you’re looking!

Mrs. Fergusson.

D’you like my frock?

Penelope.

I always think it suits you so well.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[Acidly.] It is the first time I have put it on.

Penelope.

Oh, then I suppose I’ve seen one just like it on other people.

Mrs. Fergusson.

You’ll think I’m coming here a great deal, dearest.

Penelope.

You know that Dickie and I are always glad to see you.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Is Dr. O’Farrell at home? I wanted to ask him something about the medicine he prescribed for me yesterday.

Penelope.

Now don’t say you’ve come to see Dickie. I was hoping you’d come to see me.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I wanted to kill two birds with one stone.

Penelope.

That is a feat of marksmanship which always gives one satisfaction.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I forget if you said that Dr. O’Farrell was at home.

Penelope.

You know, I think you must be the only person who’s known him ten minutes without calling him Dickie.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I should have no confidence in him as a doctor if I did.

Penelope.

I never employ him myself. I always go to Dr. Rogers.

Mrs. Fergusson.

You look as if you had robust health, dearest.

Penelope.

Oh, I just manage to trip along above ground to save funeral expenses.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Is Dr. O’Farrell quite well?

Penelope.

Tired.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[Wondering why.] Oh?

[A slight pause.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I suppose you haven’t the least idea when he’ll be home?

Penelope.

I didn’t know he was out.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought you said he was out.

Penelope.

No.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I must have misunderstood you.

Penelope.

I think he’s lying down. You see he was with poor Mrs. Mack till twelve o’clock last night.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[With a slight start.] Was he?

Penelope.

It’s so bad that she should have had a relapse when she seemed to be going on so well.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[Puzzled, but trying not to show it.] I was more distressed than I can say.

Penelope.

And it must have been so inconvenient for you after you’d made all your arrangements for going to Paris.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Oh, of course, I didn’t think of my convenience at all.

Penelope.

Dickie says the way you’ve nursed her is beyond all praise.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I think in this life we ought to do what we can for one another. I only did my duty.

Penelope.

So few of us do that.

Mrs. Fergusson.

When I think of my husband bravely serving his country in a foreign land, I feel that I ought to do anything I can to help others.

[Penelopemeditatively winks to herself.

Penelope.

Were you there at the end?

Mrs. Fergusson.

[Astounded.] What end?

Penelope.

You don’t mean to say you don’t know?

Mrs. Fergusson.

Penelope, I haven’t an idea what you’re talking about.

Penelope.

But Dickie was with Mrs. Mack all this morning.

Mrs. Fergusson.

That’s absurd.

Penelope.

I wonder you weren’t sent for.

Mrs. Fergusson.

But....

[She is speechless with anger and amazement.

Penelope.

Then you really don’t know?

Mrs. Fergusson.

[Desperately.] I know nothing.

Penelope.

My poor, dear Ada. I’m distracted that I should have to give you this bitter, bitter blow. Mrs. Mack is—dead.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Dead!

Penelope.

She died in Dickie’s arms, thanking him for all he’d done for her.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Impossible!

Penelope.

I don’t wonder you say that. She was quite frisky a day or two ago.... Sit down, dear. You’re quite upset. You were very fond of her, weren’t you?

Mrs. Fergusson.

Dead!

Penelope.

Why don’t you have a good cry? Can’t you find your handkerchief? Take this. It’s very sad, isn’t it? And after all you’d done for her?

[Mrs. Fergussondabs her eyes with the handkerchief.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[Forcing herself to be natural.] It’s a great blow.

Penelope.

Oh, I know. I feel for you, dear. Dickie wasdevoted to her. He said he’d never had such a patient. [Putting her handkerchief to her own eyes.] She died, with a smile on her lips, mentioning her dead husband’s name. Dickie was so moved, he couldn’t eat any lunch, poor boy; and we’re going to have a new landaulette.

[Dickiecomes in and stops at the door for a moment as he sees the two women apparently in tears.

Dickie.

I say, what’s up?

Penelope.

[With a sob.] I’ve just broken the news to poor Ada.

Dickie.

What news?

Penelope.

She didn’t know that Mrs. Mack was—no more.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[Trying to conceal her rage and mystification.] I certainly didn’t!

Penelope.

You ought to have let her know, Dickie. She would have liked to be—in at the death.

Dickie.

I wanted to spare you.

Mrs. Fergusson.

It’s too kind of you.

Penelope.

I knew that was it. Dickie has such a kind heart.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[With restrained anger.] I have already noticed it.

Penelope.

[To her husband.] And you were so fond of her, weren’t you?

Dickie.

I looked upon her as a real friend.

Penelope.

I’ve told Ada that she expired in your arms, darling.

Dickie.

With a smile on her lips.

Penelope.

That’s just what I said. Murmuring the name of her husband, who’d been dead for forty years. What did you say the name was, Dickie?

Dickie.

Walker, darling.

Penelope.

Tell Ada more. She wants to hear the details.

Dickie.

She asked to be remembered to you. She sent her love to your husband.

Penelope.

She seems to have thought of everything. You must go to the funeral, Dickie.

Dickie.

Yes; I should like to show her that sign of respect.

Penelope.

[ToMrs. Fergusson.] Wouldn’t you like a glass of sherry, dearest? I can see you’re quite upset.

Mrs. Fergusson.

The—news has taken me by surprise.

Penelope.

To tell you the truth, I expected it last night. But I quite understand your emotion.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I’m so much obliged for your sympathy.

Penelope.

I’m going to get you some sherry myself.

Dickie.

Oh, let me.

Penelope.

No, stay with Ada, darling. You have such a way with you when one’s in trouble.

Dickie.

[Edging off.] On an occasion like this a woman wants another woman with her.

Penelope.

[Preventing him from moving.] No, you know just the right thing to say. I shall never forget how charming you were when our last cook gave notice.

[She goes out.Mrs. Fergussonsprings to her feet.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Now!

Dickie.

Good heavens! You made me positively jump.

Mrs. Fergusson.

What does all this mean?

Dickie.

It means that Mrs. Mack, like the rest of us, is mortal. The funeral takes place the day after to-morrow at Kensal Green. Friends kindly accept this the only intimation.

Mrs. Fergusson.

How can Mrs. Mack be dead? You know just as well as I do that she never existed.

Dickie.

Upon my word, I’m beginning to be not quite certain. I’ve talked about her so much that she seems much more real than—than my bank balance, for instance. And I could write a beautiful article for theLanceton the case.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[Furiously.] Oh!

Dickie.

After all, she did have a rotten time of it, poor old lady. Operation after operation. Life wasn’t worth living. She was bound to die. And I call it a jolly happy release.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Where were you last night?

Dickie.

I was at Mrs. Mack’s—no, of course, I wasn’t. I’m so used to saying that that it slips out quite naturally. I’m awfully sorry.

Mrs. Fergusson.

How can you tell me such lies?

Dickie.

I don’t know. I suppose it’s growing into a habit.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I recommend you to keep them for Penelope.

Dickie.

I suppose you think, then, they don’t matter?

Mrs. Fergusson.

Oh, she’s your wife. That’s quite another story.

Dickie.

I see.

Mrs. Fergusson.

What d’you mean by saying, I see?

Dickie.

It was the only reply I could think of at the moment.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I’m sure you meant something by it.

[Peytoncomes in with a tray on which are two wine glasses and a decanter. They keep silence till she has gone out.

Dickie.

Have a glass of sherry, will you?

Mrs. Fergusson.

No.

Dickie.

Well, I think I will if you don’t mind. [He pours himself out a glass.] I have an idea that sherry’s coming into fashion again.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Have you?

Dickie.

I always think I have a knack of making myself pleasant under difficulties.

[He drinks a glass of sherry to give himself courage.

Dickie.

Look here, I’ve got something to tell you that I’m afraid you won’t very much like. I daresay you’ll think me an awful brute, but I’m bound to say it. [Mrs. Fergussondoes not answer, and after a moment’s pause he goes on.] The fact is, I’m not built the proper way for intrigue. All these lies make me awfully uncomfortable. I don’t like to think I’m treating Penelope badly. [Another pause.] I may as well tell you the whole truth bang out. I’ve discovered that I’m desperately in love with Penelope.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[Calmly.] And?

Dickie.

[Rather surprised.] And that’s all.

Mrs. Fergusson.

And how do you imagine that interests me?

Dickie.

[Quite embarrassed.] I thought—er....

[Mrs. Fergussongoes into a peal of laughter.Dickie,quite taken aback, looks at her with astonishment.

Mrs. Fergusson.

You haven’t been under the impression that I ever cared for you?

Dickie.

[Trying to make it out.] No, no. Of course a man’s a conceited ass who thinks a woman’s in love with him.

Mrs. Fergusson.

You amused me when I first met you, but you’ve long ceased to do that.

Dickie.

It’s kind of you to say so.

Mrs. Fergusson.

It was convenient to have some one to do things for me. I’m a womanly woman and....

Dickie.

You don’t know your way about.

Mrs. Fergusson.

For the last month you’ve bored me to extinction. I’ve done everything in my power to show you except say it right out.

Dickie.

I’m afraid I’ve been very dense.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Dreadfully dense.

Dickie.

But it was good of you to spare my feelings.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[With an amiable smile.] D’you think it would be rude if I described you in your own words as a conceited ass?

Dickie.

It might make our future acquaintance rather formal.

Mrs. Fergusson.

There will be no future acquaintance.

Dickie.

Then there’s nothing more to be said.

[Mrs. Fergussonsweeps to the door. She stops.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Does Penelope adore you as blindly as when first I met you?

Dickie.

I venture to think she’s as much in love with me as I am with her.

Mrs. Fergusson.

What have you done with the letters I wrote to you?

Dickie.

I did as we agreed. I burnt them at once.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I didn’t. I kept yours.

Dickie.

I shouldn’t have thought they were interesting enough.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I have an idea that Penelope would find them positively absorbing.

Dickie.

Why don’t you send them to her?

Mrs. Fergusson.

If you have no objection, I think I will.

Dickie.

They will tell her nothing that she doesn’t know already.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[Coming back, startled.] You don’t mean to say you’ve told her?

Dickie.

Of course not.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Well?

Dickie.

She’s known it all along.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Known what?

Dickie.

Everything. From the beginning.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[Terrified.] How did she find out?

Dickie.

Heaven only knows.

Mrs. Fergusson.

It’s a trap! I might have known she wasn’t such a fool as she seemed. She wants to divorce you, and she’s used me. My husband will never stand that.

Dickie.

I can imagine that even the most affectionate husband would draw the line there.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Oh, don’t try and be funny now.

Dickie.

I wasn’t. The funny part is yet to come.

Mrs. Fergusson.

What?

Dickie.

Well, you needn’t get into a state about it. Penelope’s not going to do anything.

Mrs. Fergusson.

But then, why ...?

Dickie.

[With a shrug of the shoulders.] She doesn’t care a hang.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I don’t understand.

Dickie.

Don’t you? It’s very simple. It’s a matter of no importance. She’s glad that I’ve been amused. If she only knew how much amusement I’ve got out of it! She looks upon it in the light of a—of a change of air.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[Furiously.] Oh! Oh! Oh! A fortnight’s golf at the seaside, I suppose.

Dickie.

Something like that.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I’d sooner she divorced you.

Dickie.

Thanks, I wouldn’t.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Oh, what a humiliation! I’ve been just a convenience because she had other fish to fry. How sordid it makes the whole thing! And I was yearning for romance. I would never have looked at you if I hadn’t thought she doted on you.

Dickie.

I have an idea that affairs of this sort are only romantic when they happen to other people. When they happen to yourself—well, sordid’s just the word.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[Suddenly remembering.] And Mrs. Mack?

Dickie.

She’s known all about that too.

Mrs. Fergusson.

D’you mean that to-day when we ...?

Dickie.

Mingled your tears? I think hers were about as real as yours.

Mrs. Fergusson.

And she led me on to say one thing after another.

Dickie.

I think she’s been pulling both our legs successfully.

Mrs. Fergusson.

How on earth am I going to meet her now?

Dickie.

She’ll be all right. She’ll be just as charming as ever.

Mrs. Fergusson.

You fool! Don’t you see that if she’s charming to me it’s because she thinks she’s prettier than I am, and cleverer than I am, and more fascinating than I am? She doesn’t even despise me, she’s indifferent to me.

[She goes to the glass and looks at herself.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[Furiously.] A change of air.

[The door opens slowly, andPenelopecomes in. She has changed into motoring things.Mrs. Fergussongives a sudden gasp as she sees her and turns her face away. For a momentPenelopestands still, looking at them reflectively.Dickieaimlessly arranges things on a table.

Penelope.

[With a faint smile.] I’m not disturbing you, am I?

Dickie.

Er....

Penelope.

Yes?

Dickie.

Nothing.

[Suddenly, with a sob,Mrs. Fergussonsinks into a chair, and hiding her face bursts into tears.Penelopegives her a look of surprise and goes swiftly up to her. She leans over her, with her hand onMrs. Fergusson’sshoulder.

Penelope.

[Almost tenderly.] What? Real tears?

Mrs. Fergusson.

[In a broken voice.] I feel so ridiculous.

Penelope.

[With a little smile, as if she were talking to a child.] Don’t. Don’t cry.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I look such a perfect fool.

Penelope.

It’s so tiresome of our little sins to look foolish when they’re found out, instead of wicked.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I shall never respect myself again.

Penelope.

Dry your tears, dear. Uncle Davenport has just come, and he wants to know if it’s respectable to ask you to lunch with him alone.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[With a suspicion of her old manner.] He’s so sympathetic. I’d like to have a heart-to-heart talk with him.

Penelope.

You’ll find the Carlton a most suitable place.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Are my eyes red?

Penelope.

Not a bit. I’ll get you some powder.

[She takes the powder-box off a table, andMrs. Fergussonmeditatively powders her nose.

Mrs. Fergusson.

I like him. He talks of all the duchesses by their Christian names.

[PeytonannouncesBarlowand goes out.

Peyton.

Mr. Davenport Barlow.

[As he comes in,Mrs. Fergussonfinally and entirely regains her usual manner.

Penelope.

[Kissing her uncle.] How d’you do?

Barlow.

[Advancing gallantly toMrs. Fergusson.] This is a pleasing surprise. I was under the impression you were in Paris.

Mrs. Fergusson.

No, poor Mrs. Mack was suddenly taken much worse.

Barlow.

It is my gain.

Mrs. Fergusson.

It’s too nice of you to say so, but I’m leaving London at once all the same.

Barlow.

But this is very sudden. What shall we do without you?

Mrs. Fergusson.

You must blame Dr. O’Farrell.

Dickie.

[Astonished.] Me?

Mrs. Fergusson.

He tells me that now I’m quite strong enough fora foreign climate, and, of course, nothing will induce me to remain an hour away from my husband if I’m not obliged to.

Barlow.

But I thought he was bravely fighting for his country.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Well, you see, there doesn’t happen to be any fighting for him to do just now, and he’s taken a very nice house at Malta. And I shall start to-morrow.

Barlow.

This is more distressing than I can say. And are you going straight through?

Mrs. Fergusson.

No, I shall stop a day or two in Paris on my way.

Barlow.

How very singular! I had made all arrangements to go to Paris to-morrow myself.

Mrs. Fergusson.

Then would you mind looking after me on the journey? You see, I’m a womanly woman, and I’m quite helpless in the train by myself.

Barlow.

I should look upon it as a privilege. And perhaps we might go to one or two plays while you’re there.

Mrs. Fergusson.

If you’ll promise not to take me to anything risky.

Barlow.

Ha, ha, ha.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[ToPenelope.] Well, dear, I must say good-bye to you. I’m afraid we shan’t meet again for some time.

Penelope.

Good-bye.

[They kiss one another affectionately.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[ToDickie.] Good-bye. If you hear of anything good on the Stock Exchange, you might let me know. I think I shall cut my loss on Johannesburg and New Jerusalems.

Dickie.

I would.

Mrs. Fergusson.

[ToBarlow.] I have a cab downstairs. Can I give you a lift anywhere?

Barlow.

It would be very kind of you.

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