The scene is LADY CHESHIRE's morning room, at ten o'clock on the following day. It is a pretty room, with white panelled walls; and chrysanthemums and carmine lilies in bowls. A large bow window overlooks the park under a sou'-westerly sky. A piano stands open; a fire is burning; and the morning's correspondence is scattered on a writing-table. Doors opposite each other lead to the maid's workroom, and to a corridor. LADY CHESHIRE is standing in the middle of the room, looking at an opera cloak, which FREDA is holding out.
LADY CHESHIRE. Well, Freda, suppose you just give it up!
FREDA. I don't like to be beaten.
LADY CHESHIRE. You're not to worry over your work. And by the way,I promised your father to make you eat more. [FREDA smiles.]
LADY CHESHIRE. It's all very well to smile. You want bracing up. Now don't be naughty. I shall give you a tonic. And I think you had better put that cloak away.
FREDA. I'd rather have one more try, my lady.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Sitting doom at her writing-table] Very well.
FREDA goes out into her workroom, as JACKSON comes in from thecorridor.
JACKSON. Excuse me, my lady. There's a young woman from the village, says you wanted to see her.
LADY CHESHIRE. Rose Taylor? Ask her to come in. Oh! and Jackson the car for the meet please at half-past ten.
JACKSON having bowed and withdrawn, LADY CHESHIRE rises with worked signs of nervousness, which she has only just suppressed, when ROSE TAYLOR, a stolid country girl, comes in and stands waiting by the door.
LADY CHESHIRE. Well, Rose. Do come in![ROSE advances perhaps a couple of steps.]
LADY CHESHIRE. I just wondered whether you'd like to ask my advice.Your engagement with Dunning's broken off, isn't it?
ROSE. Yes—but I've told him he's got to marry me.
LADY CHESHIRE. I see! And you think that'll be the wisest thing?
ROSE. [Stolidly] I don't know, my lady. He's got to.
LADY CHESHIRE. I do hope you're a little fond of him still.
ROSE. I'm not. He don't deserve it.
LADY CHESHIRE: And—do you think he's quite lost his affection for you?
ROSE. I suppose so, else he wouldn't treat me as he's done. He's after that—that—He didn't ought to treat me as if I was dead.
LADY CHESHIRE. No, no—of course. But you will think it all well over, won't you?
ROSE. I've a—got nothing to think over, except what I know of.
LADY CHESHIRE. But for you both to marry in that spirit! You know it's for life, Rose. [Looking into her face] I'm always ready to help you.
ROSE. [Dropping a very slight curtsey] Thank you, my lady, but I think he ought to marry me. I've told him he ought.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Sighing] Well, that's all I wanted to say. It's a question of your self-respect; I can't give you any real advice. But just remember that if you want a friend——
ROSE. [With a gulp] I'm not so 'ard, really. I only want him to do what's right by me.
LADY CHESHIRE. [With a little lift of her eyebrow—gently] Yes, yes—I see.
ROSE. [Glancing back at the door] I don't like meeting the servants.
LADY CHESHIRE. Come along, I'll take you out another way. [As they reach the door, DOT comes in.]
DOT. [With a glance at ROSE] Can we have this room for the mouldy rehearsal, Mother?
LADY CHESHIRE. Yes, dear, you can air it here.
Holding the door open for ROSE she follows her out. And DOT, with a book of "Caste" in her hand, arranges the room according to a diagram.
DOT. Chair—chair—table—chair—Dash! Table—piano—fire—window! [Producing a pocket comb] Comb for Eccles. Cradle?—Cradle—[She viciously dumps a waste-paper basket down, and drops a footstool into it] Brat! [Then reading from the book gloomily] "Enter Eccles breathless. Esther and Polly rise-Esther puts on lid of bandbox." Bandbox!
Searching for something to represent a bandbox, she opens the workroom door.
DOT. Freda?
FREDA comes in.
DOT. I say, Freda. Anything the matter? You seem awfully down.[FREDA does not answer.]
DOT. You haven't looked anything of a lollipop lately.
FREDA. I'm quite all right, thank you, Miss Dot.
DOT. Has Mother been givin' you a tonic?
FREDA. [Smiling a little] Not yet.
DOT. That doesn't account for it then. [With a sudden warm impulse]What is it, Freda?
FREDA. Nothing.
DOT. [Switching of on a different line of thought] Are you very busy this morning?
FREDA. Only this cloak for my lady.
DOT. Oh! that can wait. I may have to get you in to prompt, if I can't keep 'em straight. [Gloomily] They stray so. Would you mind?
FREDA. [Stolidly] I shall be very glad, Miss Dot.
DOT. [Eyeing her dubiously] All right. Let's see—what did I want?
JOAN has come in.
JOAN. Look here, Dot; about the baby in this scene. I'm sure I ought to make more of it.
DOT. Romantic little beast! [She plucks the footstool out by one ear, and holds it forth] Let's see you try!
JOAN. [Recoiling] But, Dot, what are we really going to have for the baby? I can't rehearse with that thing. Can't you suggest something, Freda?
FREDA. Borrow a real one, Miss Joan. There are some that don't count much.
JOAN. Freda, how horrible!
DOT. [Dropping the footstool back into the basket] You'll just put up with what you're given.
Then as CHRISTINE and MABEL LANFARNE Come in, FREDA turnsabruptly and goes out.
DOT. Buck up! Where are Bill and Harold? [To JOAN] Go and find them, mouse-cat.
But BILL and HAROLD, followed by LATTER, are already in the doorway. They come in, and LATTER, stumbling over the waste-paper basket, takes it up to improve its position.
DOT. Drop that cradle, John! [As he picks the footstool out of it] Leave the baby in! Now then! Bill, you enter there! [She points to the workroom door where BILL and MABEL range themselves close to the piano; while HAROLD goes to the window] John! get off the stage! Now then, "Eccles enters breathless, Esther and Polly rise." Wait a minute. I know now. [She opens the workroom door] Freda, I wanted a bandbox.
HAROLD. [Cheerfully] I hate beginning to rehearse, you know, you feel such a fool.
DOT. [With her bandbox-gloomily] You'll feel more of a fool when you have begun. [To BILL, who is staring into the workroom] Shut the door. Now. [BILL shuts the door.]
LATTER. [Advancing] Look here! I want to clear up a point of psychology before we start.
DOT. Good Lord!
LATTER. When I bring in the milk—ought I to bring it in seriously— as if I were accustomed—I mean, I maintain that if I'm——
JOAN. Oh! John, but I don't think it's meant that you should——
DOT. Shut up! Go back, John! Blow the milk! Begin, begin, begin!Bill!
LATTER. [Turning round and again advancing] But I think you underrate the importance of my entrance altogether.
MABEL. Oh! no, Mr. Latter!
LATTER. I don't in the least want to destroy the balance of the scene, but I do want to be clear about the spirit. What is the spirit?
DOT. [With gloom] Rollicking!
LATTER. Well, I don't think so. We shall run a great risk, with this play, if we rollick.
DOT. Shall we? Now look here——!
MABEL. [Softly to BILL] Mr. Cheshire!
BILL. [Desperately] Let's get on!
DOT. [Waving LATTER back] Begin, begin! At last![But JACKSON has came in.]
JACKSON. [To CHRISTINE] Studdenham says, Mm, if the young ladies want to see the spaniel pups, he's brought 'em round.
JOAN. [Starting up] Oh! come 'on, John![She flies towards the door, followed by LATTER.]
DOT. [Gesticulating with her book] Stop! You——[CHRISTINE and HAROLD also rush past.]
DOT. [Despairingly] First pick! [Tearing her hair] Pigs! Devils![She rushes after them. BILL and MABEL are left alone.]
MABEL. [Mockingly] And don't you want one of the spaniel pups?
BILL. [Painfully reserved and sullen, and conscious of the workroom door] Can't keep a dog in town. You can have one, if you like. The breeding's all right.
MABEL. Sixth Pick?
BILL. The girls'll give you one of theirs. They only fancy they want 'em.
Mann. [Moving nearer to him, with her hands clasped behind her] You know, you remind me awfully of your father. Except that you're not nearly so polite. I don't understand you English-lords of the soil. The way you have of disposing of your females. [With a sudden change of voice] What was the matter with you last night? [Softly] Won't you tell me?
BILL. Nothing to tell.
MABEL. Ah! no, Mr. Bill.
BILL. [Almost succumbing to her voice—then sullenly] Worried, I suppose.
MABEL. [Returning to her mocking] Quite got over it?
BILL. Don't chaff me, please.
MABEL. You really are rather formidable.
BILL. Thanks.
MABEL, But, you know, I love to cross a field where there's a bull.
BILL. Really! Very interesting.
MABEL. The way of their only seeing one thing at a time. [She moves back as he advances] And overturning people on the journey.
BILL. Hadn't you better be a little careful?
MABEL. And never to see the hedge until they're stuck in it. And then straight from that hedge into the opposite one.
BILL. [Savagely] What makes you bait me this morning of all mornings?
MABEL. The beautiful morning! [Suddenly] It must be dull for poorFreda working in there with all this fun going on?
BILL. [Glancing at the door] Fun you call it?
MABEL, To go back to you,—now—Mr. Cheshire.
BILL. No.
MABEL, You always make me feel so Irish. Is it because you're so English, d'you think? Ah! I can see him moving his ears. Now he's pawing the ground—He's started!
BILL. Miss Lanfarne!
MABEL. [Still backing away from him, and drawing him on with her eyes and smile] You can't help coming after me! [Then with a sudden change to a sort of sierra gravity] Can you? You'll feel that when I've gone.
They stand quite still, looking into each other's eyes andFREDA, who has opened the door of the workroom stares at them.
MABEL. [Seeing her] Here's the stile. Adieu, Monsieur le taureau!
She puts her hand behind her, opens the door, and slips through, leaving BILL to turn, following the direction of her eyes, and see FREDA with the cloak still in her hand.
BILL. [Slowly walking towards her] I haven't slept all night.
FREDA. No?
BILL. Have you been thinking it over?[FREDA gives a bitter little laugh.]
BILL. Don't! We must make a plan. I'll get you away. I won't let you suffer. I swear I won't.
FREDA. That will be clever.
BILL. I wish to Heaven my affairs weren't in such a mess.
FREDA. I shall be—all—right, thank you.
BILL. You must think me a blackguard. [She shakes her head] Abuse me—say something! Don't look like that!
FREDA. Were you ever really fond of me?
BILL. Of course I was, I am now. Give me your hands.
She looks at him, then drags her hands from his, and covers her face.
BILL. [Clenching his fists] Look here! I'll prove it. [Then as she suddenly flings her arms round his neck and clings to him] There, there!
There is a click of a door handle. They start away from each other, and see LADY CHESHIRE regarding them.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Without irony] I beg your pardon.
She makes as if to withdraw from an unwarranted intrusion, but suddenly turning, stands, with lips pressed together, waiting.
LADY CHESHIRE. Yes?
FREDA has muffled her face. But BILL turns and confronts his mother.
BILL. Don't say anything against her!
LADY CHESHIRE. [Tries to speak to him and fails—then to FREDA]Please-go!
BILL. [Taking FREDA's arm] No.
LADY CHESHIRE, after a moment's hesitation, herself moves towards the door.
BILL. Stop, mother!
LADY CHESHIRE. I think perhaps not.
BILL. [Looking at FREDA, who is cowering as though from a blow] It's a d—-d shame!
LADY CHESHIRE. It is.
BILL. [With sudden resolution] It's not as you think. I'm engaged to be married to her.
[FREDA gives him a wild stare, and turns away.]
LADY CHESHIRE. [Looking from one to the other] I don't thinkI—quite—understand.
BILL. [With the brutality of his mortification] What I said was plain enough.
LADY CHESHIRE. Bill!
BILL. I tell you I am going to marry her.
LADY CHESHIRE. [To FREDA] Is that true?
[FREDA gulps and remains silent.]
BILL. If you want to say anything, say it to me, mother.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Gripping the edge of a little table] Give me a chair, please. [BILL gives her a chair.]
LADY CHESHIRE. [To FREDA] Please sit down too.
FREDA sits on the piano stool, still turning her face away.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Fixing her eyes on FREDA] Now!
BILL. I fell in love with her. And she with me.
LADY CHESHIRE. When?
BILL. In the summer.
LADY CHESHIRE. Ah!
BILL. It wasn't her fault.
LADY CHESHIRE. No?
BILL. [With a sort of menace] Mother!
LADY CHESHIRE. Forgive me, I am not quite used to the idea. You say that you—are engaged?
BILL. Yes.
LADY CHESHIRE. The reasons against such an engagement have occurred to you, I suppose? [With a sudden change of tone] Bill! what does it mean?
BILL. If you think she's trapped me into this——
LADY CHESHIRE. I do not. Neither do I think she has been trapped.I think nothing. I understand nothing.
BILL. [Grimly] Good!
LADY CHESHIRE. How long has this-engagement lasted?
BILL. [After a silence] Two months.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Suddenly] This is-this is quite impossible.
BILL. You'll find it isn't.
LADY CHESHIRE. It's simple misery.
BILL. [Pointing to the workroom] Go and wait in there, Freda.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Quickly] And are you still in love with her?
FREDA, moving towards the workroom, smothers a sob.
BILL. Of course I am.
FREDA has gone, and as she goes, LADY CHESHIRE rises suddenly, forced by the intense feeling she has been keeping in hand.
LADY CHESHIRE. Bill! Oh, Bill! What does it all mean? [BILL, looking from side to aide, only shrugs his shoulders] You are not in love with her now. It's no good telling me you are.
BILL. I am.
LADY CHESHIRE. That's not exactly how you would speak if you were.
BILL. She's in love with me.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Bitterly] I suppose so.
BILL. I mean to see that nobody runs her down.
LADY CHESHIRE. [With difficulty] Bill! Am I a hard, or mean woman?
BILL. Mother!
LADY CHESHIRE. It's all your life—and—your father's—and—all of us. I want to understand—I must understand. Have you realised what an awful thins this would be for us all? It's quite impossible that it should go on.
BILL. I'm always in hot water with the Governor, as it is. She andI'll take good care not to be in the way.
LADY CHESHIRE. Tell me everything!
BILL. I have.
LADY CHESHIRE. I'm your mother, Bill.
BILL. What's the good of these questions?
LADY CHESHIRE. You won't give her away—I see!
BILL. I've told you all there is to tell. We're engaged, we shall be married quietly, and—and—go to Canada.
LADY CHESHIRE. If there weren't more than that to tell you'd be in love with her now.
BILL. I've told you that I am.
LADY CHESHIRE. You are not. [Almost fiercely] I know—I know there's more behind.
BILL. There—is—nothing.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Baffled, but unconvinced] Do you mean that your love for her has been just what it might have been for a lady?
BILL. [Bitterly] Why not?
LADY CHESHIRE. [With painful irony] It is not so as a rule.
BILL. Up to now I've never heard you or the girls say a word againstFreda. This isn't the moment to begin, please.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Solemnly] All such marriages end in wretchedness. You haven't a taste or tradition in common. You don't know what marriage is. Day after day, year after year. It's no use being sentimental—for people brought up as we are to have different manners is worse than to have different souls. Besides, it's poverty. Your father will never forgive you, and I've practically nothing. What can you do? You have no profession. How are you going to stand it; with a woman who—? It's the little things.
BILL. I know all that, thanks.
LADY CHESHIRE. Nobody does till they've been through it. Marriage is hard enough when people are of the same class. [With a sudden movement towards him] Oh! my dear-before it's too late!
BILL. [After a struggle] It's no good.
LADY CHESHIRE. It's not fair to her. It can only end in her misery.
BILL. Leave that to me, please.
LADY CHESHIRE. [With an almost angry vehemence] Only the very finest can do such things. And you don't even know what trouble's like.
BILL. Drop it, please, mother.
LADY CHESHIRE. Bill, on your word of honour, are you acting of your own free will?
BILL. [Breaking away from her] I can't stand any more.[He goes out into the workroom.]
LADY CHESHIRE. What in God's name shall I do?
In her distress she walks up and doom the room, then goes to the workroom door, and opens it.
LADY CHESHIRE. Come in here, please, Freda.
After a seconds pause, FREDA, white and trembling, appears in the doorway, followed by BILL.
LADY CHESHIRE. No, Bill. I want to speak to her alone.
BILL, does not move.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Icily] I must ask you to leave us.
BILL hesitates; then shrugging his shoulders, he touches FREDA's arms, and goes back into the workroom, closing the door. There is silence.
LADY CHESHIRE. How did it come about?
FREDA. I don't know, my lady.
LADY CHESHIRE. For heaven's sake, child, don't call me that again, whatever happens. [She walks to the window, and speaks from there] I know well enough how love comes. I don't blame you. Don't cry. But, you see, it's my eldest son. [FREDA puts her hand to her breast] Yes, I know. Women always get the worst of these things. That's natural. But it's not only you is it? Does any one guess?
FREDA. No.
LADY CHESHIRE. Not even your father? [FREDA shakes her head] There's nothing more dreadful than for a woman to hang like a stone round a man's neck. How far has it gone? Tell me!
FREDA. I can't.
LADY CHESHIRE. Come!
FREDA. I—won't.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Smiling painfully]. Won't give him away? Both of you the same. What's the use of that with me? Look at me! Wasn't he with you when you went for your holiday this summer?
FREDA. He's—always—behaved—like—a—gentleman.
LADY CHESHIRE. Like a man you mean!
FREDA. It hasn't been his fault! I love him so.
LADY CHESHIRE turns abruptly, and begins to walk up and down theroom. Then stopping, she looks intently at FREDA.
LADY CHESHIRE. I don't know what to say to you. It's simple madness! It can't, and shan't go on.
FREDA. [Sullenly] I know I'm not his equal, but I am—somebody.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Answering this first assertion of rights with a sudden steeliness] Does he love you now?
FREDA. That's not fair—it's not fair.
LADY CHESHIRE. If men are like gunpowder, Freda, women are not. If you've lost him it's been your own fault.
FREDA. But he does love me, he must. It's only four months.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Looking down, and speaking rapidly] Listen to me.I love my son, but I know him—I know all his kind of man. I'velived with one for thirty years. I know the way their senses work.When they want a thing they must have it, and then—they're sorry.
FREDA. [Sullenly] He's not sorry.
LADY CHESHIRE. Is his love big enough to carry you both over everything?… You know it isn't.
FREDA. If I were a lady, you wouldn't talk like that.
LADY CHESHIRE. If you were a lady there'd be no trouble before either of you. You'll make him hate you.
FREDA. I won't believe it. I could make him happy—out there.
LADY CHESHIRE. I don't want to be so odious as to say all the things you must know. I only ask you to try and put yourself in our position.
FREDA. Ah, yes!
LADY CHESHIRE. You ought to know me better than to think I'm purely selfish.
FREDA. Would you like to put yourself in my position?
LADY CHESHIRE. What!
FREDA. Yes. Just like Rose.
LADY CHESHIRE. [In a low, horror-stricken voice] Oh!
There is a dead silence, then going swiftly up to her, she looks straight into FREDA's eyes.
FREDA. [Meeting her gaze] Oh! Yes—it's the truth. [Then to Bill who has come in from the workroom, she gasps out] I never meant to tell.
BILL. Well, are you satisfied?
LADY CHESHIRE. [Below her breath] This is terrible!
BILL. The Governor had better know.
LADY CHESHIRE. Oh! no; not yet!
BILL. Waiting won't cure it!
The door from the corridor is thrown open; CHRISTINE and DOT run in with their copies of the play in their hands; seeing that something is wrong, they stand still. After a look at his mother, BILL turns abruptly, and goes back into the workroom. LADY CHESHIRE moves towards the window.
JOAN. [Following her sisters] The car's round. What's the matter?
DOT. Shut up!
SIR WILLIAM'S voice is heard from the corridor calling "Dorothy!" As LADY CHESHIRE, passing her handkerchief over her face, turns round, he enters. He is in full hunting dress: well-weathered pink, buckskins, and mahogany tops.
SIR WILLIAM. Just off, my dear. [To his daughters, genially] Rehearsin'? What! [He goes up to FREDA holding out his gloved right hand] Button that for me, Freda, would you? It's a bit stiff!
FREDA buttons the glove: LADY CHESHIRE and the girls watching in hypnotic silence.
SIR WILLIAM. Thank you! "Balmy as May"; scent ought to be first-rate. [To LADY CHESHIRE] Good-bye, my dear! Sampson's Gorse —best day of the whole year. [He pats JOAN on the shoulder] Wish you were cumin' out, Joan.
He goes out, leaving the door open, and as his footsteps and the chink of his spurs die away, FREDA turns and rushes into the workroom.
CHRISTINE. Mother! What——?
But LADY CHESHIRE waves the question aside, passes her daughter, and goes out into the corridor. The sound of a motor car is heard.
JOAN. [Running to the window] They've started—! Chris! What is it? Dot?
DOT. Bill, and her!
JOAN. But what?
DOT. [Gloomily] Heaven knows! Go away, you're not fit for this.
JOAN. [Aghast] I am fit.
DOT. I think not.
JOAN. Chris?
CHRISTINE. [In a hard voice] Mother ought to have told us.
JOAN. It can't be very awful. Freda's so good.
DOT. Call yourself in love, you milk-and-water-kitten!
CHRISTINE. It's horrible, not knowing anything! I wish Runny hadn't gone.
JOAN. Shall I fetch John?
DOT. John!
CHRISTINE. Perhaps Harold knows.
JOAN. He went out with Studdenham.
DOT. It's always like this, women kept in blinkers. Rose-leaves and humbug! That awful old man!
JOAN. Dot!
CHRISTINE. Don't talk of father like that!
DOT. Well, he is! And Bill will be just like him at fifty! Heaven help Freda, whatever she's done! I'd sooner be a private in a German regiment than a woman.
JOAN. Dot, you're awful.
DOT. You-mouse-hearted-linnet!
CHRISTINE. Don't talk that nonsense about women!
DOT. You're married and out of it; and Ronny's not one of these terrific John Bulls. [To JOAN who has opened the door] Looking for John? No good, my dear; lath and plaster.
JOAN. [From the door, in a frightened whisper] Here's Mabel!
DOT. Heavens, and the waters under the earth!
CHRISTINE. If we only knew!
MABEL comes in, the three girls are silent, with their eyes fixed on their books.
MABEL. The silent company.
DOT. [Looking straight at her] We're chucking it for to-day.
MABEL. What's the matter?
CHRISTINE. Oh! nothing.
DOT. Something's happened.
MABEL. Really! I am sorry. [Hesitating] Is it bad enough for me to go?
CHRISTINE. Oh! no, Mabel!
DOT. [Sardonically] I should think very likely.
While she is looking from face to face, BILL comes in from the workroom. He starts to walk across the room, but stops, and looks stolidly at the four girls.
BILL. Exactly! Fact of the matter is, Miss Lanfarne, I'm engaged to my mother's maid.
No one moves or speaks. Suddenly MABEL LANFARNE goes towards him, holding out her hand. BILL does not take her hand, but bows. Then after a swift glance at the girls' faces MABEL goes out into the corridor, and the three girls are left staring at their brother.
BILL. [Coolly] Thought you might like to know.[He, too, goes out into the corridor.]
CHRISTINE. Great heavens!
JOAN. How awful!
CHRISTINE. I never thought of anything as bad as that.
JOAN. Oh! Chris! Something must be done!
DOT. [Suddenly to herself] Ha! When Father went up to have his glove buttoned!
There is a sound, JACKSON has came in from the corridor.
JACKSON. [To Dot] If you please, Miss, Studdenham's brought up the other two pups. He's just outside. Will you kindly take a look at them, he says?
There is silence.
DOT. [Suddenly] We can't.
CHRISTINE. Not just now, Jackson.
JACKSON. Is Studdenham and the pups to wait, Mm?
DOT shakes her head violently. But STUDDENHAM is seen already standing in the doorway, with a spaniel puppy in either side-pocket. He comes in, and JACKSON stands waiting behind him.
STUDDENHAM. This fellow's the best, Miss DOT. [He protrudes the right-hand pocket] I was keeping him for my girl—a proper greedy one—takes after his father.
The girls stare at him in silence.
DOT. [Hastily] Thanks, Studdenham, I see.
STUDDENHAM. I won't take 'em out in here. They're rather bold yet.
CHRISTINE. [Desperately] No, no, of course.
STUDDENHAM. Then you think you'd like him, Miss DOT? The other's got a white chest; she's a lady.
[He protrudes the left-hand pocket.]
DOT. Oh, yes! Studdenham; thanks, thanks awfully.
STUDDENHAM. Wonderful faithful creatures; follow you like a woman.You can't shake 'em off anyhow. [He protrudes the right-hand pocket]My girl, she'd set her heart on him, but she'll just have to dowithout.
DOT. [As though galvanised] Oh! no, I can't take it away from her.
STUDDENHAM. Bless you, she won't mind! That's settled, then. [He turns to the door. To the PUPPY] Ah! would you! Tryin' to wriggle out of it! Regular young limb! [He goes out, followed by JACKSON.]
CHRISTINE. How ghastly!
DOT. [Suddenly catching sight of the book in her hand] "Caste!"[She gives vent to a short sharp laugh.]
The curtain falls.
It is five o'clock of the same day. The scene is the smoking-room, with walls of Leander red, covered by old steeplechase and hunting prints. Armchairs encircle a high ferulered hearth, in which a fire is burning. The curtains are not yet drawn across mullioned windows, but electric light is burning. There are two doors, leading, the one to the billiard-room, the other to a corridor. BILL is pacing up and doom; HAROLD, at the fireplace, stands looking at him with commiseration.
BILL. What's the time?
HAROLD. Nearly five. They won't be in yet, if that's any consolation. Always a tough meet—[softly] as the tiger said when he ate the man.
BILL. By Jove! You're the only person I can stand within a mile of me, Harold.
HAROLD. Old boy! Do you seriously think you're going to make it any better by marrying her?
[Bill shrugs his shoulders, still pacing the room.]
BILL. Look here! I'm not the sort that finds it easy to say things.
HAROLD. No, old man.
BILL. But I've got a kind of self-respect though you wouldn't think it!
HAROLD. My dear old chap!
BILL. This is about as low-down a thing as one could have done, I suppose—one's own mother's maid; we've known her since she was so high. I see it now that—I've got over the attack.
HAROLD. But, heavens! if you're no longer keen on her, Bill! Do apply your reason, old boy.
There is silence; while BILL again paces up and dozen.
BILL. If you think I care two straws about the morality of the thing.
HAROLD. Oh! my dear old man! Of course not!
BILL. It's simply that I shall feel such a d—-d skunk, if I leave her in the lurch, with everybody knowing. Try it yourself; you'd soon see!
HAROLD. Poor old chap!
BILL. It's not as if she'd tried to force me into it. And she's a soft little thing. Why I ever made such a sickening ass of myself, I can't think. I never meant——
HAROLD. No, I know! But, don't do anything rash, Bill; keep your head, old man!
BILL. I don't see what loss I should be, if I did clear out of the country. [The sound of cannoning billiard balls is heard] Who's that knocking the balls about?
HAROLD. John, I expect. [The sound ceases.]
BILL. He's coming in here. Can't stand that!
As LATTER appears from the billiard-room, he goes hurriedly out.
LATTER. Was that Bill?
HAROLD. Yes.
LATTER. Well?
HAROLD. [Pacing up and down in his turn] Rat in a cage is a fool to him. This is the sort of thing you read of in books, John! What price your argument with Runny now? Well, it's not too late for you luckily.
LATTER. What do you mean?
HAROLD. You needn't connect yourself with this eccentric family!
LATTER. I'm not a bounder, Harold.
HAROLD. Good!
LATTER. It's terrible for your sisters.
HAROLD. Deuced lucky we haven't a lot of people staying here! Poor mother! John, I feel awfully bad about this. If something isn't done, pretty mess I shall be in.
LATTER. How?
HAROLD. There's no entail. If the Governor cuts Bill off, it'll all come to me.
LATTER. Oh!
HAROLD. Poor old Bill! I say, the play! Nemesis! What? Moral!Caste don't matter. Got us fairly on the hop.
LATTER. It's too bad of Bill. It really is. He's behaved disgracefully.
HAROLD. [Warningly] Well! There are thousands of fellows who'd never dream of sticking to the girl, considering what it means.
LATTER. Perfectly disgusting!
HAROLD. Hang you, John! Haven't you any human sympathy? Don't you know how these things come about? It's like a spark in a straw-yard.
LATTER. One doesn't take lighted pipes into strawyards unless one's an idiot, or worse.
HAROLD. H'm! [With a grin] You're not allowed tobacco. In the good old days no one would hive thought anything of this. My great-grandfather——
LATTER. Spare me your great-grandfather.
HAROLD. I could tell you of at least a dozen men I know who've been through this same business, and got off scot-free; and now because Bill's going to play the game, it'll smash him up.
LATTER. Why didn't he play the game at the beginning?
HAROLD. I can't stand your sort, John. When a thing like this happens, all you can do is to cry out: Why didn't he—? Why didn't she—? What's to be done—that's the point!
LATTER. Of course he'll have to——.
HAROLD. Ha!
LATTER. What do you mean by—that?
HAROLD. Look here, John! You feel in your bones that a marriage'll be hopeless, just as I do, knowing Bill and the girl and everything! Now don't you?
LATTER. The whole thing is—is most unfortunate.
HAROLD. By Jove! I should think it was!
As he speaks CHRISTINE and KEITH Come in from the billiard-room. He is still in splashed hunting clothes, and looks exceptionally weathered, thin-lipped, reticent. He lights a cigarette and sinks into an armchair. Behind them DOT and JOAN have come stealing in.
CHRISTINE. I've told Ronny.
JOAN. This waiting for father to be told is awful.
HAROLD. [To KEITH] Where did you leave the old man?
KEITH. Clackenham. He'll be home in ten minutes.
DOT. Mabel's going. [They all stir, as if at fresh consciousness of discomfiture]. She walked into Gracely and sent herself a telegram.
HAROLD. Phew!
DOT. And we shall say good-bye, as if nothing had happened.
HAROLD. It's up to you, Ronny.
KEITH, looking at JOAN, slowly emits smoke; and LATTER passing his arm through JOAN'S, draws her away with him into the billiard-room.
KEITH. Dot?
DOT. I'm not a squeamy squirrel.
KEITH. Anybody seen the girl since?
DOT. Yes.
HAROLD. Well?
DOT. She's just sitting there.
CHRISTINE. [In a hard voice] As we're all doing.
DOT. She's so soft, that's what's so horrible. If one could only feel——!
KEITH. She's got to face the music like the rest of us.
DOT. Music! Squeaks! Ugh! The whole thing's like a concertina, and some one jigging it!
They all turn as the door opens, and a FOOTMAN enters with a tray of whiskey, gin, lemons, and soda water. In dead silence the FOOTMAN puts the tray down.
HAROLD. [Forcing his voice] Did you get a run, Ronny? [As KEITH nods] What point?
KEITH. Eight mile.
FOOTMAN. Will you take tea, sir?
KEITH. No, thanks, Charles!
In dead silence again the FOOTMAN goes out, and they all look after him.
HAROLD. [Below his breath] Good Gad! That's a squeeze of it!
KEITH. What's our line of country to be?
CHRISTINE. All depends on father.
KEITH. Sir William's between the devil and the deep sea, as it strikes me.
CHRISTINE. He'll simply forbid it utterly, of course.
KEITH. H'm! Hard case! Man who reads family prayers, and lessons on Sunday forbids son to——
CHRISTINE, Ronny!
KEITH. Great Scott! I'm not saying Bill ought to marry her. She's got to stand the racket. But your Dad will have a tough job to take up that position.
DOT. Awfully funny!
CHRISTINE. What on earth d'you mean, Dot?
DOT. Morality in one eye, and your title in the other!
CHRISTINE. Rubbish!
HAROLD. You're all reckoning without your Bill.
KEITH. Ye-es. Sir William can cut him off; no mortal power can help the title going down, if Bill chooses to be such a—— [He draws in his breath with a sharp hiss.]
HAROLD. I won't take what Bill ought to have; nor would any of you girls, I should think.
CHRISTINE and DOT. Of course not!
KEITH. [Patting his wife's arm] Hardly the point, is it?
DOT. If it wasn't for mother! Freda's just as much of a lady as most girls. Why shouldn't he marry her, and go to Canada? It's what he's really fit for.
HAROLD. Steady on, Dot!
DOT. Well, imagine him in Parliament! That's what he'll come to, if he stays here—jolly for the country!
CHRISTINE. Don't be cynical! We must find a way of stopping Bill.
DOT. Me cynical!
CHRISTINE. Let's go and beg him, Ronny!
KEITH. No earthly! The only hope is in the girl.
DOT. She hasn't the stuff in her!
HAROLD. I say! What price young Dunning! Right about face! Poor old Dad!
CHRISTINE. It's past joking, Harold!
DOT. [Gloomily] Old Studdenham's better than most relations by marriage!
KEITH. Thanks!
CHRISTINE. It's ridiculous—monstrous! It's fantastic!
HAROLD. [Holding up his hand] There's his horse going round. He's in!
They turn from listening to the sound, to see LADY CHESHIRE coming from the billiard-room. She is very pale. They all rise and DOT puts an arm round her; while KEITH pushes forward his chair. JOAN and LATTER too have come stealing back.
LADY CHESHIRE. Thank you, Ronny![She sits down.]
DOT. Mother, you're shivering! Shall I get you a fur?
LADY CHESHIRE. No, thanks, dear!
DOT. [In a low voice] Play up, mother darling!
LADY CHESHIRE. [Straightening herself] What sort of a run, Ronny?
KEITH. Quite fair, M'm. Brazier's to Caffyn's Dyke, good straight line.
LADY CHESHIRE. And the young horse?
KEITH. Carries his ears in your mouth a bit, that's all. [Putting his hand on her shoulder] Cheer up, Mem-Sahib!
CHRISTINE. Mother, must anything be said to father? Ronny thinks it all depends on her. Can't you use your influence? [LADY CHESHIRE shakes her head.]
CHRISTINE. But, mother, it's desperate.
DOT. Shut up, Chris! Of course mother can't. We simply couldn't beg her to let us off!
CHRISTINE. There must be some way. What do you think in your heart, mother?
DOT. Leave mother alone!
CHRISTINE. It must be faced, now or never.
DOT. [In a low voice] Haven't you any self-respect?
CHRISTINE. We shall be the laughing-stock of the whole county. Oh! mother do speak to her! You know it'll be misery for both of them. [LADY CHESHIRE bows her head] Well, then? [LADY CHESHIRE shakes her head.]
CHRISTINE. Not even for Bill's sake?
DOT. Chris!
CHRISTINE. Well, for heaven's sake, speak to Bill again, mother! We ought all to go on our knees to him.
LADY CHESHIRE. He's with your father now.
HAROLD. Poor old Bill!
CHRISTINE. [Passionately] He didn't think of us! That wretched girl!
LADY CHESHIRE. Chris!
CHRISTINE. There are limits!
LADY CHESHIRE. Not to self-control.
CHRISTINE. No, mother! I can't I never shall—Something must be done! You know what Bill is. He rushes at things so, when he gets his head down. Oh! do try! It's only fair to her, and all of us!
LADY CHESHIRE. [Painfully] There are things one can't do.
CHRISTINE. But it's Bill! I know you can make her give him up, if you'll only say all you can. And, after all, what's coming won't affect her as if she'd been a lady. Only you can do it, mother: Do back me up, all of you! It's the only way!
Hypnotised by their private longing for what CHRISTINE has been urging they have all fixed their eyes on LADY CHESHIRE, who looks from, face to face, and moves her hands as if in physical pain.
CHRISTINE. [Softly] Mother!
LADY CHESHIRE suddenly rises, looking towards the billiard-room door, listening. They all follow her eyes. She sits down again, passing her hand over her lips, as SIR WILLIAM enters. His hunting clothes are splashed; his face very grim and set. He walks to the fore without a glance at any one, and stands looking down into it. Very quietly, every one but LADY CHESHIRE steals away.
LADY CHESHIRE. What have you done?
SIR WILLIAM. You there!
LADY CHESHIRE. Don't keep me in suspense!
SIR WILLIAM. The fool! My God! Dorothy! I didn't think I had a blackguard for a son, who was a fool into the bargain.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Rising] If he were a blackguard he would not be what you call a fool.
SIR WILLIAM. [After staring angrily, makes her a slight bow] Very well!
LADY CHESHIRE. [In a low voice] Bill, don't be harsh. It's all too terrible.
SIR WILLIAM. Sit down, my dear.[She resumes her seat, and he turns back to the fire.]
SIR WILLIAM. In all my life I've never been face to face with a thing like this. [Gripping the mantelpiece so hard that his hands and arms are seen shaking] You ask me to be calm. I am trying to be. Be good enough in turn not to take his part against me.
LADY CHESHIRE. Bill!
SIR WILLIAM. I am trying to think. I understand that you've known this—piece of news since this morning. I've known it ten minutes. Give me a little time, please. [Then, after a silence] Where's the girl?
LADY CHESHIRE. In the workroom.
SIR WILLIAM. [Raising his clenched fist] What in God's name is he about?
LADY CHESHIRE. What have you said to him?
SIR WILLIAM. Nothing-by a miracle. [He breaks away from the fire and walks up and down] My family goes back to the thirteenth century. Nowadays they laugh at that! I don't! Nowadays they laugh at everything—they even laugh at the word lady. I married you, and I don't …. Married his mother's maid! By George! Dorothy! I don't know what we've done to deserve this; it's a death blow! I'm not prepared to sit down and wait for it. By Gad! I am not. [With sudden fierceness] There are plenty in these days who'll be glad enough for this to happen; plenty of these d—-d Socialists and Radicals, who'll laugh their souls out over what they haven't the bowels to sees a—tragedy. I say it would be a tragedy; for you, and me, and all of us. You and I were brought up, and we've brought the children up, with certain beliefs, and wants, and habits. A man's past—his traditions—he can't get rid of them. They're—they're himself! [Suddenly] It shan't go on.
LADY CHESHIRE. What's to prevent it?
SIR WILLIAM. I utterly forbid this piece of madness. I'll stop it.
LADY CHESHIRE. But the thing we can't stop.
SIR WILLIAM. Provision must be made.
LADY CHESHIRE. The unwritten law!
SIR WILLIAM. What! [Suddenly perceiving what she is alluding to] You're thinking of young—young——[Shortly] I don't see the connection.
LADY CHESHIRE. What's so awful, is that the boy's trying to do what's loyal—and we—his father and mother——!
SIR WILLIAM. I'm not going to see my eldest son ruin his life. I must think this out.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Beneath her breath] I've tried that—it doesn't help.
SIR WILLIAM. This girl, who was born on the estate, had the run of the house—brought up with money earned from me—nothing but kindness from all of us; she's broken the common rules of gratitude and decency—she lured him on, I haven't a doubt!
LADY CHESHIRE. [To herself] In a way, I suppose.
SIR WILLIAM. What! It's ruin. We've always been here. Who the deuce are we if we leave this place? D'you think we could stay? Go out and meet everybody just as if nothing had happened? Good-bye to any prestige, political, social, or anything! This is the sort of business nothing can get over. I've seen it before. As to that other matter—it's soon forgotten—constantly happening—Why, my own grandfather——!
LADY CHESHIRE. Does he help?
SIR WILLIAM. [Stares before him in silence-suddenly] You must go to the girl. She's soft. She'll never hold out against you.
LADY CHESHIRE. I did before I knew what was in front of her—I said all I could. I can't go again now. I can't do it, Bill.
SIR WILLIAM. What are you going to do, then—fold your hands? [Then as LADY CHESHIRE makes a move of distress.] If he marries her, I've done with him. As far as I'm concerned he'll cease to exist. The title—I can't help. My God! Does that meet your wishes?
LADY CHESHIRE. [With sudden fire] You've no right to put such an alternative to me. I'd give ten years of my life to prevent this marriage. I'll go to Bill. I'll beg him on my knees.
SIR WILLIAM. Then why can't you go to the girl? She deserves no consideration. It's not a question of morality: Morality be d—-d!
LADY CHESHIRE. But not self-respect….
SIR WILLIAM. What! You're his mother!
LADY CHESHIRE. I've tried; I [putting her hand to her throat] can't get it out.
SIR WILLIAM. [Staring at her] You won't go to her? It's the only chance. [LADY CHESHIRE turns away.]
SIR WILLIAM. In the whole course of our married life, Dorothy, I've never known you set yourself up against me. I resent this, I warn you—I resent it. Send the girl to me. I'll do it myself.
With a look back at him LADY CHESHIRE goes out into the corridor.
SIR WILLIAM. This is a nice end to my day!
He takes a small china cup from of the mantel-piece; it breaks with the pressure of his hand, and falls into the fireplace. While he stands looking at it blankly, there is a knock.
SIR WILLIAM. Come in!
FREDA enters from the corridor.
SIR WILLIAM. I've asked you to be good enough to come, in order that—[pointing to chair]—You may sit down.
But though she advances two or three steps, she does not sitdown.
SIR WILLIAM. This is a sad business.
FREDA. [Below her breath] Yes, Sir William.
SIR WILLIAM. [Becoming conscious of the depths of feeling before him] I—er—are you attached to my son?
FREDA. [In a whisper] Yes.
SIR WILLIAM. It's very painful to me to have to do this. [He turns away from her and speaks to the fire.] I sent for you—to—ask— [quickly] How old are you?
FREDA. Twenty-two.
SIR WILLIAM. [More resolutely] Do you expect me to sanction such a mad idea as a marriage?
FREDA. I don't expect anything.
SIR WILLIAM. You know—you haven't earned the right to be considered.
FREDA. Not yet!
SIR WILLIAM. What! That oughtn't to help you! On the contrary. Now brace yourself up, and listen to me!
She stands waiting to hear her sentence. SIR WILLIAM looks ather; and his glance gradually wavers.
SIR WILLIAM. I've not a word to say for my son. He's behaved like a scamp.
FREDA. Oh! no!
SIR WILLIAM. [With a silencing gesture] At the same, time—What made you forget yourself? You've no excuse, you know.
FREDA. No.
SIR WILLIAM. You'll deserve all you'll get. Confound it! To expect me to—It's intolerable! Do you know where my son is?
FREDA. [Faintly] I think he's in the billiard-room with my lady.
SIR WILLIAM. [With renewed resolution] I wanted to—to put it to you—as a—as a—what! [Seeing her stand so absolutely motionless, looking at him, he turns abruptly, and opens the billiard-room door] I'll speak to him first. Come in here, please! [To FREDA] Go in, and wait!
LADY CHESHIRE and BILL Come in, and FREDA passing them, goes into the billiard-room to wait.
SIR WILLIAM. [Speaking with a pause between each sentence] Your mother and I have spoken of this—calamity. I imagine that even you have some dim perception of the monstrous nature of it. I must tell you this: If you do this mad thing, you fend for yourself. You'll receive nothing from me now or hereafter. I consider that only due to the position our family has always held here. Your brother will take your place. We shall—get on as best we can without you. [There is a dead silence till he adds sharply] Well!
BILL. I shall marry her.
LADY CHESHIRE. Oh! Bill! Without love-without anything!
BILL. All right, mother! [To SIR WILLIAM] you've mistaken your man, sir. Because I'm a rotter in one way, I'm not necessarily a rotter in all. You put the butt end of the pistol to Dunning's head yesterday, you put the other end to mine to-day. Well! [He turns round to go out] Let the d—-d thing off!
LADY CHESHIRE. Bill!
BILL. [Turning to her] I'm not going to leave her in the lurch.
SIR WILLIAM. Do me the justice to admit that I have not attempted to persuade you to.
BILL. No! you've chucked me out. I don't see what else you could have done under the circumstances. It's quite all right. But if you wanted me to throw her over, father, you went the wrong way to work, that's all; neither you nor I are very good at seeing consequences.
SIR WILLIAM. Do you realise your position?
BILK. [Grimly] I've a fair notion of it.
SIR WILLIAM. [With a sudden outburst] You have none—not the faintest, brought up as you've been.
BILL. I didn't bring myself up.
SIR WILLIAM. [With a movement of uncontrolled anger, to which his son responds] You—ungrateful young dog!
LADY CHESHIRE. How can you—both?[They drop their eyes, and stand silent.]
SIR WILLIAM. [With grimly suppressed emotion] I am speaking under the stress of very great pain—some consideration is due to me. This is a disaster which I never expected to have to face. It is a matter which I naturally can never hope to forget. I shall carry this down to my death. We shall all of us do that. I have had the misfortune all my life to believe in our position here—to believe that we counted for something—that the country wanted us. I have tried to do my duty by that position. I find in one moment that it is gone— smoke—gone. My philosophy is not equal to that. To countenance this marriage would be unnatural.
BILL. I know. I'm sorry. I've got her into this—I don't see any other way out. It's a bad business for me, father, as well as for you——
He stops, seeing that JACKSON has route in, and is standingthere waiting.
JACKSON. Will you speak to Studdenham, Sir William? It's about young Dunning.
After a moment of dead silence, SIR WILLIAM nods, and the butlerwithdraws.
BILL. [Stolidly] He'd better be told.
SIR WILLIAM. He shall be.
STUDDENHAM enters, and touches his forehead to them all with a comprehensive gesture.