Lily.
Coldly.I didn’t bring this to the theatre.
Farncombe.
No?
Lily.
I found it with a lot of other flowers at the stage-door. It’s from the gallery boys—looking at him for a moment steadily—and I attach some value to it.
The bearded waiter enters at the right-hand door at the back, takes a box of cigars from the counter, and goes out at the door on the left.Lilywalks away fromFarncombeand seats herself upon the further settee in the centre.
Farncombe.
After the waiter has withdrawn, producing his programme.Number Nine. “Two Step. Mind the Paint.”ToLily.Of course, you—you are engaged for this?
Lily.
And you, surely?
Farncombe.
No, I—I kept it open, in case—in case——
Lily.
Decidedly.I dance it with Morrie.
Farncombe.
Mr. Cooling?
Lily.
Morrie Cooling.
Farncombe.
After another pause, sitting, behind her, upon the nearer settee.Miss Parradell.
Lily.
Well?
Farncombe.
I wonder whether Mr. Cooling would let you off.
Lily.
I shouldn’t dream of asking him.
Farncombe.
No, but—mayI?
Lily.
Haughtily.I beg you’ll do nothing of the sort.
Farncombe.
Forgive me.
There is a further pause and then she turns to him.
Lily.
Why I spoke so—so sharply to you—was——
Farncombe.
You didn’t speak sharply to me.
Lily.
Was because I’ve been very nasty with Morrie—wrote him a furious letter—and I want to make it up to him.
Farncombe.
Ah, yes.
Lily.
I called him a pig, and other things; I hate myself for it.
Farncombe.
A pig?
Lily.
Smiling.Still, that’s no reason why I should be nasty withyou.
Farncombe.
Laughingly.And callmea pig.
Lily.
Impulsively, kneeling upon the settee so that she may compare her programme with his.Look here! Fifteen—the last but one. Are you fixed up for Fifteen?
Farncombe.
No.
Lily.
No!
Farncombe.
I kept it open—in case——
Lily.
Merrily.Ha, ha—!Checking herself, severely.Imightbe able to give you Fifteen.Farncombescribbles on his programme eagerly.Don’t count on it, please; but it’s booked to Mr. Fulkerson, and Bertie’s not always to be depended upon at that hour.
Farncombe.
Thank you—thank you—thank you.She resumes her seat and he jumps up and goes to her.That reminds me. May I ask who is going to see you home, Miss Parradell?
Lily.
See me home?
Farncombe.
It would be an honour that I should—appreciate—more than I can—find words to express.
Lily.
Rising, sternly.I am very much obliged to you.Walking away from him again.I dare say Mr. Roper will see me home—and Mr. de Castro—and Mr. Bland——
Farncombe.
Following her, unhappily.I—I hope—I—I hope I haven’t offended you.
Lily.
Not in the least;in a frigid toneonly I am in the habit of relying on old friends for those little services.
Stidulphenters from the landing and again wanders to the counter and to the cigarettes. The “Mind the Paint” air, to the time of a Two Step, is played in the distance.
Farncombe.
Bowing toLilyslightly and drawing himself up.Shall I—take you to Mr. Cooling?
Lily.
With dignity, inclining her head.Will you?She is putting her hand through his arm when the look upon his face softens her. She drops her voice to a whisper.Have I hurt you?
Farncombe.
Oh, I deserve the rebuke.
Lily.
No, you don’t.Gently.You may leave me at my door, with the others, if it will give you any satisfaction.
As they walk to the door on the left, they are met byCooling.
Cooling.
ToLily, breathlessly.Haw! Here you are!
Lily.
LeavingFarncombe, her manner altering completely.Come on, Morrie!Her feet moving to the music.Tra, lal, la! Tra, lal, la!Giving her bouquet toFarncombe.Hi-i-i-i-i! Bring my flowers!
Cooling and Lily.
Tra, lal, la! Tra, lal, la——!
They run out, half dancing.
Stidulph.
Calling toFarncombe, who is following them.Lord Farncombe!
Farncombe.
Yes?
Stidulph.
Going to him.Will you spare me a moment?
Farncombe.
A little impatiently.Er—certainly.
Stidulph.
Laying a shaky hand onFarncombe’sarm and leading him away from the door.Excuse me for what I’m going to say to you. I—I know your father—knew him very well years ago—and your mother.With deep feeling.My boy—my dear boy——
Farncombe.
Surprised.Colonel?
Stidulph.
I—I—I’m sorry to find you in this set.
Farncombe.
Stiffly.What do you mean?
Stidulph.
Don’t be angry with me. I’m an old man—and an old fool; but it’s from the fools that the useful lessons are to be learned.
Farncombe.
Withdrawing his arm fromStidulph.I really don’t understand you.
Stidulph.
Try to. Not now—another time; when this music isn’t exciting you, nor these pretty women. Think it out by yourself! You’re at the beginning of your career, my boy. Remember me—the old fool who’s broughthisto a miserable end—and that I cautioned you—cautioned you—!
Luigihurries in at the door on the left, followed by a waiter carrying a tray, and by the waiter with the beard.
Luigi.
Laughing.He, he, he, he!Behind the counter, preparing drinks.Look out, gentlemen; you are losing it all. They are having a romp—a fine lark.Farncombegoes out at the door on the left.Make haste, Colonel; make haste!Stidulphgoes out, slowly, at the right-hand door at the back.Whiskey-and-soda for Mr. Tavish; liqueur of brandy—Mr. Grimwood.The waiter carrying the tray goes out with the drinks at the door on the left.Ha, ha, ha!Singing to the music.Tra, lal, la! Tra, lal, la——!
Luigiis following the waiter who has carried out the tray when the bearded waiter, coming to the nearer settee in the centre, calls to him.
The Bearded Waiter.
Sitting upon the settee, gruffly.Luigi.
Luigi.
Halting.Eh?
The Bearded Waiter.
Taking out a handful of money and selecting some gold from it.Here!Putting the gold intoLuigi’spalm.For your chaps.
Luigi.
Oh, you are spoiling them.
The Bearded Waiter.
Giving some more gold pieces toLuigi.For you.
Luigi.
Bowing low.Thank you very much.With a polite grin, as he disposes of the coins in different pockets.Hope you have enjoyed yourself, Captain.
The Bearded Waiter.
Speaking in the voice ofJeyes.Thoroughly.Quietly, between his teeth.Warm work, though!Rising slowly, like a man with stiff joints.I’ll be off now, with your permission.
Luigi.
See you at lunch, Captain?
Jeyes.
Probably.Nodding.Good-night. Good morning.He slouches away to the door on the left and there stops, listening. There is the sound of people approaching,singing uproariously and shouting and laughing.Hullo!
Luigi.
At his elbow.Ho, ho, ho, ho!
Luigigoes out into the corridor andJeyesretreats behind the counter. The noise increases and presentlyFulkersonrushes in, flourishing his arms madly. He is followed byGlynnandShirleywho are carryingLilyupon their interlocked hands, and byPalkwho is helping to support her. Then comeHeneageandNita,GrimwoodandDaphne,TavishandFlo,Von RettenmayerandEnid,de CastroandGabrielle,RoperandMrs. Stidulph,FarncombeandJimmie,BlandandEvangeline,CoolingandSybil, andSmytheandOlga. Singing the chorus of the “Mind the Paint” song, and dancing to it wildly, they circle the saloon twice, go out at the right-hand door at the back, return at the door on the left, and finally disappear through the double-door and along the landing. The waiters, who have brought up the rear of the procession, gather, withLuigi, in the left-hand corner, clapping their hands, andStidulphreturns, entering at the right-hand door at the back.
Lily.
Waving her bouquet and shrieking with laughter.Ha, ha, ha, ha! Don’t drop me! Don’t drop me!
Heneage and Grimwood.
Yelling.Whoop! Whoop!
Fulkerson.
Deliriously, endeavouring to stand upon his head.Wh-o-o-op!
Jimmie.
Breaking from the rank and jumping on to the further settee—singing.“Mind the paint! Mind the paint! A girl is not a sinner just because she’s not a saint!——”
Lily.
Ha, ha, ha! You’ll drop me! Oh——!
As the procession passes out of sight, followed byLuigiand the waiters,Jeyesdeparts at the door on the left andStidulphonce more goes to the counter and lights a cigarette.
The scene isLily’sboudoir—a room upon the second floor of her house, adjoining her bedroom. The decorations, though delicate, are gay, with a good deal of pink in them.
In the wall facing the spectator are two doors, one on the left, the other in the centre. The left-hand door opens into the room from the landing, where the staircase is shown; the centre door admits to the bedroom. In the right-hand wall there are two sash-windows giving a view of the tops of trees growing in a square; in the opposite wall, the grate hidden by a low, painted screen, is the fireplace.
A prettily designed “fitment” runs along the left-hand wall and the further wall, taking in the fireplace and doors as part of its scheme. On either side of the fireplace there is a cupboard with drawers beneath it; between the door on the left and the door in the centre is a similar cupboard; and on the right of the centre door, extending to the right-hand wall, there is a wardrobe with sliding doors. The cupboard doors are glazed and curtained in pink silk.
In the middle of the room, a little to the right, there is a large and comfortable settee, and on theleft of the settee is a table littered with books, magazines, a scent-atomizer, a small silver-framed mirror, a case of manicure instruments, a box of cigarettes and a match-stand, and other odds and ends. Behind the table there is a fauteuil-stool, and on the right of the table a cosy arm-chair. A second arm-chair stands apart, between the table in the centre and the fireplace.
On the extreme left of the room, on the nearer side of the fireplace, there is a box-ottoman; on the other side of the room, by the nearer window, are a small writing-table and chair; standing across the right-hand corner, the key-board towards the further window, are a cottage-piano and a music-stool; and at the back of the piano there is another small chair, with some soiled gloves upon it.
A quantity of music is heaped untidily on the top of the piano; one of the wardrobe doors is open, revealing some dresses hanging within; and the edge of a lace petticoat, with its insertion of coloured ribbon, peeps out from under the carelessly-closed lid of the box-ottoman. Two milliner’s hat-boxes are on the floor by the ottoman, and a pair of satin slippers are lying, one here, one there, under the centre table.
The window-blinds are down but the daylight is seen through them.
The door on the left opens andLily, still carrying her bouquet, enters and makes straight for the windows and draws up the blinds, letting in the clear, morning light. She is followed byEnid,Gabrielle,Daphne, andJimmieand they byFarncombe,Von Rettenmayer,de Castro,Roper,Fulkerson, andBland. They are all pale and haggard, and slightly dishevelled, but everybody seems broad awake exceptDaphne, who is borne down by sleepiness. Some of the men are smoking.
Lily.
Laying her bouquet upon the table in the centre as she crosses to the windows—to the women.Come in, dears;drawing up the blind of the nearer windowcome in, boys. Take off your things for a minute.
Fulkerson.
Whose inebriety has reached the argumentative stage.Working classhes! Don’ talk t’ me ’bout th’ working classhes!
Jimmie.
H’sh! Shut up, Bertie.
Fulkerson.
I’m s’h’ick o’ th’ ve’y mention o’ th’ name—working classhes!
Jimmie.
Sit on his head, somebody. We shall wake Ma and the servants.
Lily.
Taking off her wrap and hanging it up in the wardrobe.Don’t worry; you won’t wakemyservants. And mother’s bound to hear us; she sleeps so lightly when I’m out.
Daphne.
Gaping violently.Oh-h-h-h!
Jimmie.
Clapping her hand overDaphne’smouth.Manners!
Fulkerson.
Depositing his overcoat and hat upon the fauteuil-stool.One ’ud ’magine th’ working-man’sh th’ on’y pershon who ever does day’sh work! Ridiculush!
Von Rettenmayer and Bland.
Ha, ha, ha, ha!
De Castro.
Thome truth in what Bertie’th thayin’, though. For inthtanthe——
Fulkerson.
With great disgust.Br’ish working-man!
Roper.
By Jove, yes! When I think o’ the work Mr. Lionel Hesketh Roper manages to dispose of in the course of a day——!
Von Rettenmayerandde Castrohave placed their overcoats and hats upon the chair at the back of the piano andFarncombe,Bland, andRoperhave piled theirs on the arm-chair on the left.EnidandGabriellethrow their wraps upon the settee,Daphnedrops hers upon the box-ottoman, andJimmieputs hers over the arm of the chair by the centre table.
Lily.
To everybody.I’ll just run upstairs and tell mother that all’s serene.She goes to the door on the left;Farncombe, Bland, andRoperget in each other’s way in their desire to open it for her.If any of you want a drink, you must hunt for it yourselves in the dining-room.ToRoper.You play host, Uncle Lal.
She disappears, turning to the left and ascending the stairs.
Roper.
Briskly.Now, then, give your orders, gents!Coming forward.Ladies, don’t all speak at once.
Fulkerson.
Making for the door.I’ll have sma’ whiskeyan’ soda.
He goes along the landing and down the stairs.
Bland.
Following him.No, no! Bertie! Bertie——!
Jimmie.
Seated in the arm-chair by the centre table—toRoper.Stop it. We’ll have trouble enough to get that boy home as it is.
Roperhurries out afterBlandandFulkerson. Von Rettenmayerandde Castroalso move to the door.
Von Rettenmayer.
ToEnid, who is sitting withGabrielleon the settee.Enid——?
Enid.
A glass of soda-water.
Gabrielle.
Same for me, Von.
Von Rettenmayer.
ToJimmie.Jimmie——?
Jimmie.
No, thanks.
Von Rettenmayer.
Looking down uponDaphne, who has curled herself up on the box-ottoman and is already asleep—sentimentally.Baby—baby——
Daphne.
Half sighing, half moaning.Ah-h-h-h!
Jimmie.
ToVon Rettenmayer.Don’t disturb her. Let her have her snooze in peace.
Von Rettenmayer.
Still contemplatingDaphne.Shall I bring you your boddle, you preddy liddle baby?
Enid.
Annoyed.Don’t be an idiot, Karl.Tode Castro, who is talking toFarncombe.Sam, willyoufetch me some soda-water?
Von Rettenmayer.
ToEnid, bestirring himself.I beg bardon.
He goes out, withde Castro.Enidhas taken the mirror from the table and now looks at herself in it.
Enid.
What a sight!ToGabrielle.I wonder whether Lil would mind me going into her bedroom?
Gabrielle.
Taking the mirror fromEnid.Of course she wouldn’t.Viewing herself with dismay.Oh, I’m yellower than you!
She jumps up, throwing the mirror upon the settee, and goes to the door in the centre.Enidfollows her and the two girls open the door narrowly and withdraw.Jimmierises and picks up the mirror.
Jimmie.
With one knee upon the settee, surveying herself.Ugh, you lovely creature!Glancing atFarncombeas she readjusts a comb, and finding that he is gazing at her earnestly.Turn your face to the wall, please; I’m about to use my puff.
Suddenly, with rapid movements, he shuts the door on the left, gives a quick look atDaphne, assures himself that the centre door is closed, and comes toJimmie. She stares at him in astonishment.
Farncombe.
Standing at the back of the settee—in a low voice.Miss Birch, you’re Miss Parradell’s friend—her great friend. Will you be a friend of mine too, and do me a service?
Jimmie.
Startled.It—it all depends——
Farncombe.
Beg her to allow me to remain behind, with you, for a few minutes after the others have gone.
Jimmie.
Remain—you and I?
Farncombe.
And then, if she will, will you wait in the next room while I speak to her? Miss Birch, I—I must speak to her.
Jimmie.
W-w-wouldn’t—to-morrow——?
Farncombe.
Itisto-morrownow. It’s day.
Jimmie.
Dropping her eyes.She’s tired.
Farncombe.
Five minutes—no longer.Entreatingly.Won’t you try to arrange it for me?
Jimmie.
Pursing her lips.H’m!I’dstay; delighted.Demurely.It doesn’t matter how tiredIfeel.
Farncombe.
Contritely.I’m a brute!
Jimmie.
But I really think thearrangingis your job, Lord Farncombe.
Farncombe.
I know I should make a bungle of it with all these people round me, and attract attention.You’reclever.
Jimmie.
Raising her eyes to his, abruptly.Look here! Do I guess correctly?
Farncombe.
What——?
She pulls him towards her and whispers into his ear. He nods. She whispers again, breathlessly, and then releases him.
Jimmie.
Eh? Eh?
Farncombe.
Drawing back and facing her, firmly.Yes.
Jimmie.
Walking away, in a flutter.Oh! Oh! Oh!
Farncombe.
You’ll help me?She pauses, deliberating.You’ll help me?
Jimmie.
Returning to him, with an air of prudence.I tell you what Iwilldo.Pointing to the writing-table.Scribble her a note—a line—and I’ll give it to her. That won’t attract attention. I’ve no objection to dothatfor you. Hurry up!He sits at the writing-table and searches for writing materials.In the drawer.He opens a drawer and takes out a sheet of note-paper. Standing at the other side of the table, she selects a pen and hands it to him.A “J” suit you?
Farncombe.
Taking the pen from her.What shall I say?
Jimmie.
Ho, ho! Well, Inever!He writes.Oh, but it isn’t exactly a love-letter, is it? Simply say—what was the expression you used just now?—“will you allow me to remain behind for a few minutes with Miss Birch after the others have gone?”
Farncombe.
Writing.Thank you.
Jimmie.
With a little wriggle.Call me Jimmie if you like.
Farncombe.
Thank you.
Jimmie.
Knitting her brow thoughtfully.I suppose you ought to give her an inkling, though—the merest hint—of thereason, oughtn’t you?
Farncombe.
Looking up.Ought I?
Jimmie.
Well, you don’t want her to think it’s only to chat about the weather——!
Farncombe.
For heaven’s sake, don’t chaff me!writing“—after the others have gone?”Biting his pen.How would this do? “I know I am presuming a lot, but I—I can’t leave you—I can’t leave you till I—till I have asked you—till I have asked you the most important question a man can put to a woman.”
Jimmie.
Oh, but that’s ideal!Gabriellereappears.Dash these girls!ToGabrielle, whose complexion is much improved.Lord Farncombe is writing me out a remedy for freckles. Isn’t it sweet of him?
Gabrielle.
Mournfully.Freckles! If you want to see a martyr to freckles, knock atmydoor.
Enidreturns, with lips that are a little too red, asVon Rettenmayerandde Castrore-enter at the door on the left. They leave thedoor open.Von Rettenmayeris carrying a syphon of soda-water andde Castrotwo tumblers. The men put the syphon and tumblers on the centre table andVon Rettenmayerfills the glasses and he andde Castrohand them toEnidandGabrielle.
Von Rettenmayer.
ToEnidandGabrielle.I hobe we haf nod kepd you waiding.
De Castro.
Bertie’th been makin’ himthelf a reg’lar nuithanthe downthairth.
Enid.
Poor Bertie! Pity he has this little failing.
Gabrielle.
With mild enthusiasm.Yes, there’s not a nicer boy in London than Bertie, bar that.
De Castro.
Flieth to hith head tho!
The four continue talking.Jimmiehas gone back toFarncombe, who is still writing, and is watching him impatiently.
Jimmie.
ToFarncombe, under her breath.Do be quick!
Hastily he blots his note and folds it.Bland,Fulkerson, andRoperappear on the landing, issuing from the staircase, andthere they are joined byLily, who comes down the stairs.
Fulkerson.
On the landing, toLily, indignantly.Lirry—Misspa’dell——
Jimmie.
ToFarncombe.Here she is!
Roper.
ToFulkerson.Now, then; have it out with Lily!
Lily.
What’s wrong?
Farncomberises and slips his note intoJimmie’shand.
Fulkerson.
ToLily.Mosht unjusht’fiable treatmen’ ’n th’ part ’f these gen’lemen!
Von Rettenmayer.
Listening, with the others at the centre table, to what is going on upon the landing.Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Jimmie.
ToFarncombe, over her shoulder.Good luck!
Bland.
ToLily.The youth is irate with us for cutting off supplies.
Lilyenters withFulkerson;RoperandBlandfollowing.Blandstrolls over to the piano, laughing.
Fulkerson.
ToLily.M’ argumen’ is this. When a gen’leman’sh invited b’ th’ lady ’f th’ house t’ partake ’f refreshmen’——
Lily.
ToFulkerson.Be quiet, Bertie, or I’ll box your ears.Joining the group at the centre table.Ho, ho! I’ve had such a wigging for asking you up. Mother says we girls’ll look as ugly as sin on the stage to-night.
Enid.
So we shall—hags.
Lily.
Sitting in the arm-chair by the centre table.I feel as fresh as paint.ToGabrielle.Give me a sip.
De CastrohandsGabrielle’sglass toLily.
Fulkerson.
GazingatDaphnestupidly and singing to himself.“Oh, the gals! Oh, the gals! I am awfully fond of the gals!——”
Von Rettenmayer, Roper, de Castro, Enid and Gabrielle.
Chiming in withFulkersonlightly.“Be they ebon or blond, Of the gals I am fond;——”! Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Bland.
H’sh, h’sh! Ma’s quite right.Seating himself at the piano.One more turn and then let’s clear out.
Lily.
Jumping up.Hurrah!ToRoper, asBlandruns his hands over the key-board.Shut the door, Uncle Lal.
Von Rettenmayer.
Aha! One more durn!ToEnid.Enid——!
Fulkerson.
Singing.“I am dreadfully fond of the gals!”
Roper.
Closing the door.Choose your partners, gents!Very softlyBlandplays the melody of a languorous song and instantlyVon RettenmayerandEnidandde CastroandGabrielledance to it—Von RettenmayerandEnidat the back,de CastroandGabriellenear the piano.Jimmie——!
JimmiepassesLilyto go toRoper. As she does so, she pressesFarncombe’snote intoLily’spalm.
Jimmie.
ToLily, in a whisper.Rat-tat, says the postman!Catching hold ofRoperand swinging him round.La, ra, ral, la——!
Lily.
ToFarncombe, who is standing by the writing-table.Lord Farncombe——?