THE SECOND ACT

The Scene represents a room inMr. Allingham’scottage at Epsom. On the left-hand side is a fireplace, with a fire burning; above this is a door giving on to the hall; while below it is a similar door, over which hangs aportière,drawn aside, admitting to the dining-room. Facing us is a large open French window; and beyond is a view of a pretty garden with trees, laurels, etc. On the right, also facing us, but nearer, are a few balustered steps leading to an arched opening which is about three feet from the ground. The opening, across which runs a rod supporting aportière,admits to a small room, which, although containing no books that are visible, is called the library. All the furniture and accessories are characteristic of a well-to-do bachelor’s residence. It is twilight.

Denzil ShaftoandPeter Elphick,two well-groomed,smart-looking men of about five-and-thirty, dressed for dinner, are shown in byQuaife,a manservant.Quaifeis carrying a banjo in a case.

Shafto.

What time did Mr. Allingham get down?

Quaife.

[Placing the banjo on the table.] Half an hour ago, sir; I’m now dressing him. [ToElphick.] Glad you brought the banjo, Mr. Elphick.

Elphick.

[A heavy-looking man with staring eyes, taking the banjo from its case with great care.] Nearly made me lose the train, Quaife, puzzlin’ whether to bring it or not.

Quaife.

[Laying the case aside.] Do Mr. Allingham a load of good, sir—a little melody after dinner.

Shafto.

Mr. Allingham rather fatigued?

Quaife.

Never saw him so played out, sir. [Closing the windows.] Oh, Mr. Allingham’s compliments, Mr. Shafto, and he says he forgot to inquire whether you and Mr. Elphick would sleep at The Lichens to-night.

Shafto.

Not to-night, thanks. I’ve arranged to take Mr. Elphick on to my father’s place at Leatherhead.

Elphick.

We shan’t keep you up here till the last train, Quaife, or anything like. Dessay Mr. Allingham’ll be glad to turn in early.

Quaife.

Not much goodhimturning in, Mr. Elphick.

Shafto.

Queer nights lately, of sorts?

Quaife.

Shockin’, Mr. Shafto.

[Quaifegoes out.

Shafto.

[Looking round.] Here we are again, Peter.

Elphick.

’Pears so.

Shafto.

[Wandering about.] This is my first visit to this box since Jack came back here after his split with his wife.

Elphick.

And mine; thought he’d sold it.

Shafto.

He merely let it, when he married—let it to a stockbroker. Peter, Jack must have had some sort of a premonition——

Elphick.

Some sort of what?

Shafto.

Premonition——

Elphick.

Stoopid ass of a word.

Shafto.

Some sort of a premonition of his speedy return to single life. [Looking out of the window.] Same spotless white gate, I rejoice to see; same elms; same laurels—[Ascending the steps.] The library——! [Entering the room.] My heart sinks within me. [From within.] No, by Jove! Peter! Peter!

[Elphickgoes and looks into the room through the balustrade.

Elphick.

What’s wrong?

Shafto.

[From within.] Nothing. I breathe again. All the essential features of Jack’s library are undisturbed. [Coming down the steps.] A luxurious sofa, Ruff’s Turf Guide, and the Stud Book.

Elphick.

[Drearily.] Blessed if there’s anything to make fun of in that.

Shafto.

[At a table, examining bottles.] Delightful! Same soda water, same——

Elphick.

[Sitting, nursing his banjo.] No, hang it!

Shafto.

[Pouring out a glass of Vermouth.] Vermouth. Peter, I was totting up things this morning, gently and quietly, in my bath.

Elphick.

[Blowing a speck of dust from his banjo.] Not really?

Shafto.

[Seriously.] Yes. You weren’t at Jack’s weddin’?

Elphick.

No, I was up at Mahabaleshwar that spring with Sandington. You stood best man, didn’t you?

Shafto.

I did. And look here—Jack Allingham is the seventh I’ve been best man to in nine years.

Elphick.

[Abstractedly.] Good figgers.

Shafto.

[Frowning.] And they’ve all managed to get into the Divorce Court since, one way or another. [After a pause.] How’s that?

Elphick.

Good figgers.

John Allinghamenters, a simple, boyish man, of about thirty, looking pale and worn. He is dressed for dinner.

John.

[Shaking hands withShafto.] Halloa, Denzil! [ToElphick,shaking hands with him.] Well, Peter! It’s awfully good of you fellows proposing to see me through this evening.

Elphick.

Not in the least.

Shafto.

Speak for yourself, Peter.

John.

I couldn’t have endured my own company to-night, I can tell you. Sorry you can’t sleep here, though.

Shafto.

My governor hasn’t seen Peter since he’s been home this leave. It’s an old promise——

John.

I understand. [Taking the banjo fromElphick.] And you’ve actually brought the banjo.

Elphick.

Well, when a man’s a bit low, sometimes a little music——

John.

Thanks. [To both of them.] Warm, yesterday and to-day, in that Law Court, wasn’t it?

Elphick.

Agra in June.

John.

Warm in every sense of the word, eh?

Shafto.

Hell.

John.

[With his hand to his brow.] Gurrrh!

Shafto.

[Sharply.] Now, then?

Elphick.

It’s done with now.

John.

[Recovering himself.] True; that cursed nightmare of an approaching trial isn’t waiting for me upstairs, in that bedroom of mine, any longer. And to-morrow morning I shall wake with a start to find—what’ll the feeling be like!—that I’ve no lawyers to interview. Besides, I haven’t much to complain of. You two fellows have kept close at my elbow throughout the whole business—hardly ever left me. Well, that’s friendship—[shaking hands abruptly, first withElphick,then withShafto]—God bless yer!

[He walks away and sits on the settee, looking into the fire.ElphickandShaftostand together, eyeing him uneasily.

Shafto.

[In a whisper, toElphick.] Peter, our bags are here. What d’ye say to not leaving him to-night, after all?

Elphick.

[In a whisper.] Yes, I don’t suppose your guv’nor wants to see me so desperate bad as all that comes to.

Shafto.

No, I don’t suppose he does—I mean, we can go over in the morning.

John.

[Looking up.] Eh?

Shafto.

Nothing.

John.

[Passing his fingers over the strings of the banjo.] You don’t remember, Denzil—nor you, Peter, I suppose;sheused to thrum on this thing—well, hardly this thing—the guitar—much the same. Oh, yes, she used to play it very nicely.

Shafto.

[Puzzled.] Who? Mrs. Fraser?

John.

Mrs. Fraser! No! [Handling the banjo roughly.] My wife.

Elphick.

[Hurrying across to John, taking the banjo from him.] Excuse me, old feller.

John.

[Starting up.] I was close to her to-day; we stared each other right in the eyes. We didn’t mean to—we simply did it. We met in the corridor during lunch-time; I was getting out of the way of old Portwood; I turned sharply—and there we were, my wife and I, face to face. It might have been for ten seconds—it was like an hour.

Elphick.

Did she look angry?

John.

No. Downright ill and distressed. [To both of them.] You’ve seen her in Court?

Shafto.

Yes.

Elphick.

Yes.

John.

Yesterday?

Shafto.

We said “How d’ye do” to her yesterday.

Elphick.

We told you.

John.

Oh, yes, To-day?

Shafto.

Not to speak to.

Elphick.

She nodded to us this morning from the—what do they call it?—not the sink——

Shafto.

Well.

Elphick.

Well of the Court.

John.

Denzil.

Shafto.

’Ullo?

John.

She was very pretty when I married her, wasn’t she?

Shafto.

Undoubtedly.

[Johnsits, leaning his head upon his hands.Shaftowalks away, quietly, to the window.Elphicksits on the settee, and, turning his face to the fire, strikes up a tune on his banjo.

John.

That’s right! tune up, Peter! If I had a savage breast this evening you might soothe it with your Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink, as Kipling says. But I haven’t—isn’t that odd? Boys, do you know, all the bitterness I’ve been feeling towards her seems to have died out of me; and she’s been dragging me pretty thoroughly through the mud lately. Isn’t that odd?

Shafto.

[Leaving the window, and coming to the back of settee.] Well, she’s lost the day, you see.

Elphick.

[Ceasing playing.] She’s beaten; got nothin’ for her pains.

John.

I suppose that’s it. Ah, but her face! I hadn’t seen it for months. And the silence between us was so strange.

Shafto.

Yes, there wasn’t much ofthat, old chap, between you two when you were together.

John.

No;didn’twe quarrel! And yet, this morning, during our little deadly-silent encounter, she seemed to say more to me than she’d ever said in her life before. By Jove, shehassuffered—[starting up]—oh, damn it!

[He paces to and fro;Elphickhurriedly resumes his playing.

Shafto.

[Seating himself on the back of the settee, speaking with a drawl.] Ah, I shouldn’t worry myself too much, if I were you, about that. Other people have suffered.

John.

[Pausing in his walk.] Mrs. Fraser——?

Shafto.

[Indifferently.] Oh, she amongst ’em.

John.

[In a low voice.] Poor little Theo Fraser! I’m forgetting her.

Shafto.

Forget all round, my dear Jack—that’s the ticket; for the future, cultivate a single-minded devotion to yourself——

John.

And the horses! You’re right, Denzil. By the bye, I had a line from O’Halligan yesterday—where is it? [Going to a writing-table and rummaging among the litter there.] He fancies Kildaowen very strongly. The mare’s feeding well; that’s always been their difficulty, you know——

Shafto.

[Quietly, looking towards the window.] Jack.

John.

Eh?

Shafto.

Who’s that woman out there?

[Elphickceases playing.

John.

Where?

Shafto.

In your garden.

[Johnlooks towards the window;Elphickrises and makes one of the group.

John.

[After a pause.] I don’t see anybody.

Shafto.

She’s behind the laurels now.

John.

[About to go to the window.] One of the maids——

Shafto.

[Laying his hand onJohn’sarm.] Wait a bit. [Goes cautiously to the window, peeps out, and comes away.] I say, old chap.

John.

What’s the matter?

Shafto.

I thought so. It’s your wife. [There is a moment’s pause, then an excited movement fromJohn.] Stop! [A pause.] What are you going to do?

John.

[Dazed.] Do!... do!...

Shafto.

Not anything stoopid, Jack?

John.

[Excitedly.] Clear out for a minute, you two fellows.

[Shaftogoes up the steps and into the library, drawing theportièreacross the door as he disappears.

John.

Get out, Peter!

Elphick.

[Going up the steps and pausing at the door.] Jack.

John.

What is it?

Elphick.

[With an empty expression of face and voice.] Don’t do anything weak.

John.

Get out! [Elphickdisappears.Johnhurriedly glances round the room and arranges a displaced chair. Then he discovers thatElphickhas left the banjo upon the settee, and he seizes it impatiently.] Oh—— [Going to the door of the library and drawing aside theportière.] Here! Peter! catch! [He throws the banjo into the room, and readjusts theportière.The instrument is heard to fall with a crash to the floor. He looks into the library, hastily.] I beg your pardon, old fellow. [He descends the steps and goes to the window and opens it, speaking in a low voice.] Is any one there? [A pause.] Someone’s there.

Olive.

[From a little distance.] Yes.

John.

Who is it?

Olive.

John.

[Sternly.] Well?

Olive.

Are you by yourself?

John.

Yes. [After a pause.] Come in.

He draws back to allow her to pass him. After a short delay she enters, and, without looking at him, comes right into the room. He closes the window, but remains at that end of the room.Olive Allinghamis a fashionably and richly dressed woman of a little over thirty years of age—pale, worn red-eyed, but still handsome. In manner she is alternately beseeching and gentle, angry and imperious. The twilight now gradually deepens into dusk.

Olive.

You have some men here?

John.

Shafto and Peter Elphick. I asked them to clear out for a moment.

Olive.

What will they think?

John.

[With a shrug of the shoulder.] They can scarcely know what to think.

Olive.

[Walking to the mantelpiece.] What do you think yourself, of my humbling myself in this fashion? [Turning to him.] What do you——? [As she has crossed to the left of the room, he, still at a distance, has moved over to the right. Speaking with a catch in her breath.] Oh, don’t do that! I’m not poisonous, John. [He approaches stiffly and silently. She advances towards him plaintively.] John, I am quite worn out—[putting her hand to her bosom]—burnt out here. This desperate lawsuit has been my last bolt. I’m finished—spent. I know my regrets won’t avail us much atthis time of day; the future has a most melancholy look-out for both of us; but I want to tell you I am truly conscious, at last, of the evil my jealousy has wrought. [Sitting weakly.] Yes, John, I—I am quite reasonable at last.

[Quaifeenters.

Quaife.

Dinner is s——

[He breaks off, staring atOlive.

Olive.

Good evening, Quaife.

Quaife.

[Aghast.] Good evening, ma’am.

John.

[ToQuaife.] Tell Mrs. Quaife to delay dinner for—for——

Olive.

[Rising and turning away—in an altered tone.] Oh, five minutes—ten at the outside.

John.

For a quarter of an hour. [Sharply.] The lamps.

[Quaifewithdraws, as if in a dream.

Olive.

[Bitterly.] I much regret keeping you and your friends from your dinner. It’s an exceptionably elaborate entertainment to-night, I suppose?

John.

No, no; it’s of no consequence——

Olive.

Dinner! dinner! if every woman in the world was weeping her heart out, men would be found dining—feeding—feasting! What was I saying when Quaife blundered in? Where was I?

John.

[Looking at her steadily.] Quite reasonable at last.

Olive.

[After a brief pause, speaking gently again.] Oh, John——! [Advancing a few steps.] It was inconsiderate of me to break out in that way. But I don’t mean half the brutal things I say; I never did.

John.

You couldn’t have done so.

Olive.

Any jealous woman will tell you what a slave she is to her paroxysms. Oh, they are dreadful, while they last! [Agitatedly.] The flame behind one’s eyes, the buzzing in the ears, the dry tongue, the thumping of the heart——! [Calming herself, breathlessly.] Thank God, I’m cured!

John.

You’ve said something like this to me on other occasions.

Olive.

Never, under such extraordinary circumstances. [Going to him.] The fact that I can drag myself to you, in this spirit, after my defeat, for the sake of a few words with you, must show you what an altered woman I am. [Sitting.] John, I felt I couldn’t go back to that lonely flat of mine to-night without first proving to you how thorough my remorse is. [Looking round.] That dismal flat! [In an altered tone.] You appear to be extremely comfortable here.

John.

Oh, it’s a little place—very cramped——

Olive.

This is where you gave me and papa tea once, when we were engaged to be married.

John.

I remember.

Olive.

And now——[Excitedly.] Ha, I suppose I’m a fool not to indulge myself just as luxuriously, just as——! [She meets his eye and breaks off shamefacedly. Faltering, with her hand to her brow.] Where was I—again?

John.

You were engaged in demonstrating how thorough your remorse is.

Olive.

Oh, yes. [Weakly.] After the case ended this afternoon I walked about the streets quite light-headed, till I summoned up resolution to try to find you. [With an effort.] John, that—that lady——

John.

What lady?

Olive.

[Agitatedly.] Mrs. Fraser of Locheen.

John.

Yes?

Olive.

[Repressing her agitation.] Of course, the judge fully justified my action by the very severe way he spoke of her.

John.

His remarks were infamous! I could have taken him by the throat and thrown him into the body of the Court. No right-thinking person would have blamed me for doing so.

Olive.

However, he gave her the benefit of the doubt——

John.

[Scornfully.] The benefit of the doubt!

Olive.

And paid me the compliment of believing that I would, as one woman to another, prefer such a course being adopted.

John.

[Pacing to and fro.] Poor, wretched little Mrs. Fraser!

Olive.

Wait! EvenIsee the injustice of it.

John.

[Eagerly.] You do?

Olive.

Haven’t I told you I am reasonable at last? For whether she be innocent or guilty is no longer the question.

John.

I’m glad that is no longer the question!

Olive.

The point is, this woman is entitled to the benefit of the doubt. [Rising and walking to and fro.] But how can she ever receive the benefit of the doubt if those words, which imply the doubt, are always to hang over her?

John.

That’s it!

Olive.

And they will hang over her—for ever.

John.

For ever.

Olive.

For ever. [Turning to him.] Unless I cancel them—remove them.

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