Jeyes.
Unless—unless you’ve an idea of consoling yourself shortly with—with another chap, and prefer not to carry the matter into Court.
Lily.
About to rise.Nicko——!
Jeyes.
Restraining her by a gesture.H’sh! No, no, no.She sinks back.Ah, Lil—Lil—I know you’re full of generous, honest impulses, though Ididtear you to rags in Farncombe’s hearing a few hours ago. But I’m not going to allow you to sacrifice yourself to them; I—I—I’ve come to my senses, and I’m not going to permit it.Bending forward.Oh, my dear, why should I make you pay for the weaknesses of my character? Because that’s what it ’ud amount to. I’ve bullied you for having played skittles with my life, my career. So youhave! Damn it, so you have! But you’ve done it out of blind thoughtlessness; and if I’d been a fairly strong man, with some ballast in me, youcouldn’thave landed me where I am—not you nor fifty Pandora girls!Sitting erect.And that—that’s the moral of the tale; and—and—abruptly, toFarncombeThere’s nothing more, is there, Farncombe?
Farncombe.
Brokenly.Except that—that I’d like to repeat—what I’ve already said to Jeyes—that I—his elbows on the table, his head bowedoh, you make me feel terribly small, Jeyes.
Again there is a pause, and thenLilystruggles to her feet and holds out her hand toJeyesuncertainly, and at once he rises and takes her in his arms.Farncombealso rises and, standing behind the settee, turns his back toJeyesandLily.
Lily.
ToJeyes, choking.Ah, Nicko—I can’t—I can’t——
Jeyes.
Patting her shoulder.Ah——!
Lily.
Why, what—what would become of my resolutions——?
Jeyes.
Resolutions?
Lily.
To—to raise youup, Nicko.
Jeyes.
Youareraising me up—setting me on my legs again.
Lily.
In a fright.And—and drawing Eddie into my net!
Jeyes.
Oh, we’ve talked of that too, he and I. He’s given me an account of what passed between you here. My dear girl, your conscience may be quite clear on thatpoint. Nobody can ever reproachyouwith trying to draw him into your net.
Lily.
Theywould—theywould——
Jeyes.
At all events, the task you have to face now is to prove to the world—hisworld—that Miss Parradell is equal to playing “lead” on a bigger stage than the stage of the Pandora.Holding her at arms’ length and shaking her fondly.And you’lldoit! Ho, ho, ho, ho!You’lldo it! Ha, ha, ha—!His voice dies away miserably and he releases her. Then, pulling himself together, he looks at his watch.Well, I’ve got to lunch with Bob at half-past one at the Junior Carlton——
Lily.
Agitatedly.Ah, it’s not nearly that, Nicko; it’s not nearly that! Nicko—!She passes him, moving towards the door on the left as if to intercept him, and then turns to him. A strip of ribbon lies upon the spot where she has been standing. After gazing at it for a moment, he stoops and picks it up.Oh—!He folds the ribbon carefully and puts it into his pocket.Oh—!Hitching up her stocking through her robe, piteously.Ha, ha!
Jeyes.
Ha, ha, ha——!
They face one another, laughing, and then she sits upon the fauteuil-stool and drops herhead upon the table and he fetches his hat and cane from the box-ottoman.
Lily.
Weeping.Nicko—Nicko——!
Jeyes.
Coming to her.Oh, this isn’t good-bye, Lil, not by any manner o’ means, my dear. We’ll kill the fatted calf several times before I start—you, I, and the boy. Besides, by-and-by, you and he must take a trip and come out to see me. “Seringa Vale” is the farm where I shall be quartered, Bob tells me.Looking into space.Jermyn Street to Seringa Vale!Shaking himself.Ph’h, there are no great distances in these days!ToFarncombe, with a change of tone.Farncombe—Farncombecomes forward.You dine with me to-night, recollect; it’s an engagement.
Farncombe.
Yes.
Jeyes.
Eight o’clock.
Farncombe.
Eight o’clock.
Jeyes.
Catani’s.
Farncombe.
Catani’s.
Without looking atLilyagain,Jeyesgoes to the door and opens it.Farncombefollows him and the two men halt in the doorway.
Jeyes.
ToFarncombe, with a motion of his head towardsLily.And afterwards—youfetch her from the theatre and take her home. That’syourjob.
Lily.
Rising.Oh——!
Farncombegoes out on to the landing withJeyesand parts from him at the top of the stairs. ThenFarncombeslowly returns, closes the door, and findsLilysitting upon the settee in a woeful attitude.
Farncombe.
Coming toLilyand standing before her, thoughtfully.Lily——
Lily.
Feebly.Eh—eh——?
Farncombe.
I’m afraid there’s one thing finer than winning the woman you love and, when you’ve won her, being prepared to go through fire and water for her.
Lily.
What’s that?
Farncombe.
Having the courage to give her up, as Jeyes has done.
Lily.
With a renewed outburst.Oh, Nicko! Poor Nicko! Poor Nicko!
Farncombe.
Sitting beside her and taking her hand consolingly.By George, he’s a brick, isn’t he!
Lily.
After a pause, drying her eyes.Eddie——
Farncombe.
Yes?
Lily.
If—if ever we marry——
Farncombe.
His jaw falling.If——!
Lily.
W-w-when, then. When we marry, you’ll be obliged to resign your commission in the Guards, won’t you?
Farncombe.
Snapping his fingers.P’sh! I shan’t care a rap about that.
Lily.
Snatching her hand away.The snobs! The snobs! They’d let you marry any bit of trash in your own set; but a Pandora girl, though she’s as pure as the Queen of England——! Oh, the contemptible snobs!
Farncombe.
Regaining possession of her hand.H’sh! H’sh! It—it’s the practice——
Lily.
Blow the practice! A cheerful reflection forme, it’ll be. The arrant snobs!
Farncombe.
Stroking her hand.Ah! Ah!
Lily.
And then—poor mother! You—you won’t be very proud of poor mother.
Farncombe.
Your mother?Boyishly.Oh, she—she’s an awfully good sort.
Lily.
She hasn’t an H. to her name.
Farncombe.
Inadvertently.Sheoughtn’tto have.
Lily.
Withdrawing her hand again, sharply.She calls herselfHupjohn, you mean!
Farncombe.
Distressed.No, no, no.In a difficulty.Er—at any rate, h’s don’t lead you to heaven, do they?
Lily.
Gloomily.You’re right; mother’s leadherto’eaven.Rising and walking away.Well, you’d better go now.
Farncombe.
Rising.And to-night——?
Lily.
No; I’ll come home alone.
Farncombe.
Lily——!
Lily.
Imperatively.Please——!
Farncombe.
When——?
Lily.
Moving to the door on the left.Not for two or three days. Give me time to shake down over this.
Farncombe.
Taking up his hat and cane which he has left upon the centre table.Sunday?
Lily.
Fretfully.No.
Farncombe.
Monday?
Lily.
Opening the door.No.
Farncombe.
Joining her at the door.Tuesday?
Lily.
Appealingly.I—I’ll write.Again he takes her hand, she keeping him at a distance. He attempts to lessen the distance, but she checks him, shaking her head.Not just yet, Eddie.He smiles at her tenderly and, with a bow, departs. From the doorway, she watches him disappear; then she shuts the door and wanders listlessly to the door of the bedroom. Her hand lingers upon the knob for a moment, and then she opens the door a little way and calls.Mother! Mother——!
She leaves the door and is returning to the settee whenMrs. Upjohnenters.
Mrs. Upjohn.
All agog.Yes, Lil?Lilyseats herself upon the settee without speaking.Yes, dearie; yes?Advancing to the centre table.’Ave they given you your choice?
Lily.
Dully.No; they’ve given me no choice.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Advancing further.Wot——?
Lily.
Nicko’s going out to South Africa, mother.
Mrs. Upjohn.
South Africa!
Lily.
Well, to Rhodesia.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Then you’re free, Lil!
Lily.
No, I’m not.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Not!
Lily.
Nicko—Nicko’s handed me over, mother.
Mrs. Upjohn.
’Anded you over!
Lily.
To—to Lord Farncombe.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Gasping.An’ you an’ the young gentleman——!
Lily.
I—I suppose so.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Oh—!Sinking into the arm chair by the centre table.Oh, the dear Captain!
Lily.
Transferring herself from the settee toMrs. Upjohn’slap.Oh! Oh! Oh!Putting her arms roundMrs. Upjohn’sneck.Oh, poor Nicko!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Soothingly.’E’ll ’ave ’is reward, Lil; ’e’ll ’ave ’is reward ’ereafter.
Lily.
And poor Carlton Smythe! Oh, poor Carlton!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Poor Carlton——?
Lily.
He’s losing every one of his best girls, mother. Gwennie Harker—Maidie Trevail—Eva Shafto—and nowme! Oh, poor Carlton!
Mrs. Upjohn.
’Ush, dearie; ’ush! Don’t consider’im!RockingLilyto and fro like a baby.Think—think wot a lot o’ good you’re all doin’ to the aristocracy!
The door on the left opens andJimmieandRoperlook in gleefully and then tiptoe towardsLilyandMrs. Upjohn.
All applications respecting amateur performances of this play must be made to Sir Arthur Pinero’s agents, Samuel French, Limited, Southampton St., London, W.C.
All applications respecting amateur performances of this play must be made to Sir Arthur Pinero’s agents, Samuel French, Limited, Southampton St., London, W.C.
Printed byBALLANTYNE & COMPANY LTDAT THE BALLANTYNE PRESSTavistock Street Covent GardenLondon
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