John.
John.
John.
[After bowing toMrs. Cloys.] How do you do, Sir Fletcher? [Nodding toClaude.] How are you, Emptage?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[With a wave of the hand towardsMrs. Cloys.] My sister, Mrs. Cloys.
John.
John.
John.
Mrs. Cloys, Sir Fletcher; there have been some most unhappy differences between my wife and myself in the past, as you know too well. Unfortunately, she and I have not been the only sufferers from these differences; we have dragged others along with us. However, we met this evening, half an hour ago, and are—reconciled——
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[In a murmur.] Very proper—very sensible——
John.
John.
John.
And I have my wife’s authority for saying that her feeling towards Mrs. Fraser are now considerably—in fact, entirely—— But she will speak for herself. [PresentingOlive,awkwardly.] Er—my wife.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[ToSir FletcherandMrs. Cloys,graciously.] Pray sit down. [Mrs. Cloyssits again.] Sir Fletcher, we knew each other years ago——
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
I am delighted to renew—[pulling himself up uneasily]—that is, of course——
[Olivesits on the left andSir Fletcheron the right of the table.
Olive.
[AddressingMrs. Cloys.] Mrs. Cloys, it is only fair to you that I should say at once that I don’t expect Mrs. Fraser’s relatives to treat me at all tenderly over the painful proceedings which terminated to-day. [Mrs. Cloysbows stiffly;Sir Fletchereyes her anxiously.] So I beg that you will speak before me entirely without reserve. [Looking atJohn.] It is my husband’s wish that you should do so.
John.
John.
John.
Certainly.
[Mrs. CloysandSir Fletcher Portwoodsit staring before them in a glassy way;Oliveagain glances atJohn,puzzled.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[A little impatiently.] Naturally, Mrs. Cloys, I can’t think that you have taken this inconvenient journey to-night without some very special, some very definite object.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Er—so far as I am concerned, the object of my visit is in a great part attained when I have given Mr. Allingham my assurance that only absolute proof of his unworthiness will ever induce me to withdraw my friendship from him. I am nothing if not a just man——
John.
John.
John.
Genuinely obliged to you, Sir Fletcher.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Oh, I am not ashamed of my simple faith in young English manhood and in the efficacy of a training at one of our most honoured public schools. True, I was never a public-school boy myself——
Claude.
Claude.
Claude.
[Leaning on a chair near the window, with his back to those in the room.] Ha!
[All turn their heads towardsClaude,surprised.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Rising, and going toClaude.] No, but I am still capable of rejoicing when I see the traditions of popular British institutions worthily upheld. The world was my public school——
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Changing her position.] Mrs. Cloys——
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[EyeingOlive,and returning quickly.] Er—is there a question more vital, more absorbing, than this great vexed question of Education? Is there a question which calls more imperatively upon the attention of thinking men——?
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Turning to him with a forced smile.] But, Sir Fletcher, you surely haven’t brought Mrs. Cloys all the way to Epsom that she may hear you discuss Education with my husband?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Disconcerted.] No, no. Good! ha, ha! good! Excellent! Er—— [Suddenly.] Now, this cottage—I wonder whether I may ask how many rooms?
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
How many rooms!
John.
John.
John.
Twelve.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Between her teeth.] Twelve.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
The reason I put the question is this: my dear brother-in-law, the bishop——
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
[Under her breath.] Eh?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Looking atMrs. Cloyssignificantly.] The bishop often suffers from the effects of severe intellectual strain, and it has more than once struck me that for a few weeks in the year this peculiarly invigorating air—— [Going to the dining-room door.] The arrangements appear to be most convenient. May I?
John.
John.
John.
The dining-room.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Opening the door and peeping into the room.] Delightful! I can picture the bishop sitting there, my sister there, myself, perhaps, over there—delightful! [Closing the door and moving away, pointing to the upper door.] The hall and the little card-room I have seen. [Rapping the table.] But the grand question is, Mrs. Allingham—would you let? That’s the point, Allingham—would you feel inclined to let?
John.
John.
John.
Oh, if his lordship did us the honour of expressing a wish——
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
That’s extremely good-natured. [Trying to catchMrs. Cloys’eye.] You hear, Harriet?
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
[With a gulp.] Yes.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Pointing to the steps.] And here?
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Struggling to suppress her anger.] The library—the library.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Have I permission?
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
Oh, by all means.
[Sir Fletcherbustles up the steps and enters the library.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Out of sight.] Cheerful—very cheerful. A paucity of volumes, but the bishop would bring his own books.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Quickly.] Sir Fletcher, while you are there, do examine the little clock on the mantelpiece. The case is modern oriental.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Out of sight.] Ah, yes, yes.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
I gave it to Mr. Allingham some years ago. Countthose curious stones round the dial. [ToMrs. Cloys,rapidly but forcibly, dropping her voice.] Mrs. Cloys, I confess I find it difficult to accept Sir Fletcher’s suggestion that you are engaged at this time of night in hunting for fresh air for the bishop. I——
[UponSir Fletcher’sdisappearance,Claudeadvances and stands waiting for an opportunity to speak.
Claude.
Claude.
Claude.
[Breaking in in a hollow voice.] As Mrs. Fraser’s brother——
[All turn their heads towardsClaudeagain.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[With clenched hands.] Oh! I am endeavouring to speak to Mrs. Cloys——
Claude.
Claude.
Claude.
Pardon me. As Mrs. Fraser’s brother, and as, perhaps, the chief sufferer from the result of to-day’s proceedings——
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Appearing suddenly on top of the steps, no longer carrying his hat.] What’s this? What’s this?
Claude.
Claude.
Claude.
I refuse to be silenced. As Mrs. Fraser’s brother, I desire to say that I did not expect to be received to-night by the lady who has done her best—her utmost——
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sssh! sssh!
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Be quiet, Claude, please!
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Rising and going toJohn.] John, really——
John.
John.
John.
[Hotly.] Look here, Emptage, you’re a boy—at any rate, a very young man——!
Claude.
Claude.
Claude.
I am a truly unfortunate young man. A blight has been cast upon my name at the very outset of my career——
John.
John.
John.
[Bluntly.] What career?
Claude.
Claude.
Claude.
Well, when I am turning various careers over in my mind——
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Enough, Claude——!
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Coming down the steps.] Why, when I was five years younger than he I had already applied my lever to the mountain. I first saw light in ’forty-four——
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[ToJohn.] Oh——!
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
’Forty-four; an easily remembered date—two fours. And what was I doing at his age?
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
Mrs. Cloys——
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Go away, Claude!
Claude.
Claude.
Claude.
[Retiring.] Ha, at least I have had the courage to speak out——!
[He throws himself into a chair at the back, and in course of time falls asleep. His head is seen to drop back upon his shoulder; an arm hangs over the side of the chair.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Advancing to the table, imperatively.] Mrs. Cloys——
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
I——
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
[Firmly.] Excuse me, Fletcher; I believe Mrs. Allingham is looking to me for some further explanation. [Sitting.] Mrs. Allingham, happening to become acquainted to-day, for the first time, with several features of this disagreeable business, I thought—it was a fancy of mine—that I should like to—to meet Mr. Allingham—to talk over—to——
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Sitting.] To talk over——?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
To thresh it all out with John—with Allingham.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Quickly.] It has not been sufficiently threshed out, then, in the Divorce Court?
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
[Hastily.] Quite sufficiently. [EyeingSir Fletcherreprovingly.] My brother doesn’t interpret me correctly. Er—as I have told you, it is a fancy of mine—to meet Mr. Allingham.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
Just to make his acquaintance?
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
[Steadily.] Just to make his acquaintance.
John.
John.
John.
[Uncomfortably.] Very pleased—very gratified——
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[With a hard smile.] This is rather an odd hour for such a call.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
It would have been earlier but for a little difficulty in discovering Mr. Allingham’s whereabouts.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Genially.] When ladies have fancies they don’t study the hour before indulging them.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
I am afraid itisso, in your family, Sir Fletcher.
[Mrs. Cloysmakes a movement, but restrains herself.
John.
John.
John.
[In a low voice.] Olive——!
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Er—the fact is, my sister shares with me the Lavater-like faculty for judging character at sight.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
Judging character by face, manner?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Yes. I possess it in a remarkable degree. I remember——
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[ToMrs. Cloys.] Oh, I see! You are here to—to form an impression of Mr. Allingham?
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Sir Fletcher a little exaggerates my powers; but I confess I am, like many people, very sensitive to receiving impressions through such mediums.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
I hope your impressions of my husband will be to his advantage.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
[Looking atJohn.] I think I may say at once that they are not unfavourable.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
Because the necessity you find for estimating my husband’s character shows—you know what it shows?
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Allingham——?
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
It shows, obviously, that if you are uncertain asto my husband’s innocence, you must be equally doubtful of the innocence of your niece, Mrs. Fraser.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
[Rising.] I—I beg that you will not put such a construction on what I have said——
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Rising.] What other construction——?
John.
John.
John.
Olive, you are not keeping your promise——
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Passionately.] I will keep my promise when I am treated openly and fairly. [Walking away.] I feel something is going on here that I don’t understand, that I am not allowed to understand.
John.
John.
John.
[ToMrs. CloysandSir Fletcher.] I am extremely sorry. But my wife is very fatigued and unstrung to-night——
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Quite so, quite so. We are most inconsiderate, Harriet. Come—come; another time——
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Turning.] No, no! Mrs. Cloys——
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
[FacingOlivefirmly.] Mrs. Allingham, I think, when we look back upon this evening, that you and I will be able to congratulate ourselves upon a considerable exercise of politeness. But there are signs that neither of us is equal to a prolonged strain.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
I beg your pardon; I will be patient. You need have no misgivings on my account.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
[Formidably.] Perhaps not; but I am beginning to be acutely conscious of my own weakness. [Looking round.] Fletcher——
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Angrily.] Oh, oh!
[She paces the room;Johnjoins her, and is seen expostulating.Mrs. CloysjoinsSir Fletcher.
John.
John.
John.
Olive, Olive, be reasonable!
Olive.
I will be, when you and your friends are honest with me.
[She leaves him, asQuaifeenters with a note upon a salver.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Looking at his watch.] Oh, Allingham, the hotel people were to send a carriage up for us; perhaps you’ll get your servant——
John.
John.
John.
Certainly. [ToQuaife.] Quaife—what’s that?
[Upon entering,Quaifehas encounteredMrs. Allingham;her eyes fall upon the letter on the salver.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Under her breath, staring at the letter.] Ah-h-h!
Quaife.
Quaife.
Quaife.
Ma’am?
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Drawing back and speaking toQuaife.] Well, give it to Mr. Allingham.
Quaife.
Quaife.
Quaife.
A boy has brought this, sir—waiting for an answer.
[Johnis about to take the letter; when he sees the writing upon the envelope he hesitates for a moment and draws his hand back; then he picks up the letter deliberately.
John.
John.
John.
[ToQuaife,calmly.] Wait; I’ll ring.
[Quaiferetires.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Pointing to the letter.] Isn’t that letter from Mrs. Fraser?
John.
John.
John.
[After opening the letter.] Yes. [He reads the letter to himself.] Poor little lady! This is bad news.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Agitatedly.] Really, Mr. Allingham, really?
John.
John.
John.
Don’t you know? She has left her husband.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Er—yes, sir, we do know it—certainly we know it. I was almost the last person she spoke to before she quitted her mother’s house. She is deeply attached to me. [Buttoning his coat.] Where is she? Where is she?
John.
John.
John.
I gather she is waiting not very far from this house——
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Breathlessly.] Waiting——!
John.
John.
John.
She—she wishes to see me.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[In a low voice.] Oh, yes. [Sitting, her hands tightly gripped together.] Oh, yes.
John.
John.
John.
[Going to her and handing her the letter.] Read it, please, Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[After a pause, holding the letter between her finger and thumb, reading.] “Station Hotel, Epsom. My dear old Jack”—— [Hastily returning the letter toJohn,with a shudder.] Take it from me!
John.
John.
John.
[Reading aloud.] “My dear old Jack”—[looking round, simply]—we have known each other many years—[reading]—“oh! I have had such a job to find you. I shall plant myself at some quiet spot near your cottage and get a messenger to bring this to you. The messenger will show you where I am, if you will only consent to see me for a few moments on—[looking round]—on a matter of business.”
[Mrs. Cloys,concealed from the others bySir Fletcher,sinks on to the settee.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Ha, a matter of business! Of course, a matter of business.
John.
John.
John.
[Resuming.] “I have left my husband. He turned against me at the end and crushed my one hope of being able to whitewash myself.” The cur! [Resuming.] “Am off to Paris the first thing in the morning. Very likely this is the last chance you will ever have of a word with your poor little friend, Theo.” [ToSir Fletcher.] Sir Fletcher, I congratulate you on finding your niece; please tell her that it is impossible for me to grant her request.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Calmly.] Oh, but wait. [Rising.] Surely it would be rather uncivil to refuse what Mrs. Fraser asks.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
[Rising.] I can be trusted to explain——
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
But she is apparently in need of some business service which my husband can render her.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Now that she is again in the hands of her relatives there can be no necessity for troubling Mr. Allingham.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Not the slightest; not the slightest.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
Perhaps not. But before such a very curt message is sent to Mrs. Fraser, will you do me the favour of letting me have two or three minutes’ conversation with my husband alone?
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
I—I am anxious to go to my niece.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
Two minutes. Please, John.
[Johngoes to the dining-room door and opens it. After a moment’s hesitation,Mrs. Cloysgoes to the door.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
[Turning.] I beg that I may not be detained longer.
[She passes out;Johnfollows her, leaving the door open.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Standing overClaude,shaking him.] Wake up, sir! wake up!
Claude.
Claude.
Claude.
[Waking.] What is it? eh? [Rising.] Hullo, Uncle!
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
You’ve been sleeping, sir; your manners are appalling.
Claude.
Claude.
Claude.
[Stupidly.] Where’s aunt?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Leading him towards the door.] In the next room. Come, sir! You are deficient in tact, delicacy——
[Johnre-enters.Sir Fletcherpasses him and goes out.
Claude.
Claude.
Claude.
[As he passesJohn.] The dining-room?
John.
John.
John.
[ToClaude.] I shan’t keep you more than a minute or two.
Claude.
Claude.
Claude.
[In the doorway, turning toJohn.] Allingham, of course you and I can never again be the same to each other as we have been in the past; but may I take the liberty of foraging for a piece of cake?
John.
John.
John.
[Laying a hand on his shoulder.] Certainly.
[Claudegoes out;Johncloses the door and turns toOlive.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Facing him.] Well?
John.
John.
John.
[Advancing to her.] Well?
Olive.
Oh, could anything be clearer? It’s easy enoughnow to see through the twaddle these people have been talking! Mrs. Fraser runs away from her husband, who believes her guilty; her relatives go in pursuit; they look for her and find her—where?
John.
John.
John.
Her relations chance to be here when Mrs. Fraser sends for me——
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
[Mockingly.] Yes!
John.
John.
John.
[Referring to the letter.] Desiring to see me “for a few moments, upon a matter of business.” That is all that can be made of it.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
A matter of business!
John.
John.
John.
This letter is not quite ingenuous, you infer.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
You’ve caught the tone of the lawyers exactly.
John.
John.
John.
[Hotly.] “A matter of business” is a lie, you mean?
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
Her arrival to-night is a remarkable coincidence.
John.
John.
John.
A perfectly natural one.
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
Why are you so eager, then, to avoid granting her the interview she asks for?
John.
John.
John.
Eager——!
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
You send word to her that it’s impossible.
John.
John.
John.
Don’t you make it impossible?
Olive.
Olive.
Olive.
No, I do not; I do not. I want you to meet her to-night; you’ve heard me say I wish it.