END OF THE SECOND ACT
THE THIRD ACT
The scene represents two rooms, connected by a pair of wide doors, in a set of residential chambers on the upper floor of a house in Gray's Inn. The further room is the dining-room, the nearer room a study. In the wall at the back of the dining-room are two windows; in the right-hand wall is a door leading to the kitchen; and in the left-hand wall a door opens from a vestibule, where, opposite this door, there is another door which gives on to the landing of the common stair.
In the study, a door in the right-hand wall admits to a bedroom; in the wall facing the spectator is a door opening into the room from the vestibule; and beyond the door on the right, in a piece of wall cutting off the corner of the room, is the fireplace. A bright fire is burning.
The rooms are wainscotted to the ceilings and have a decrepit, old-world air, and the odds and ends of furniture—all characteristic of the dwelling of a poor literary man of refined taste—are in keeping with the surroundings. In the dining-room there are half-a-dozen chairs of various patterns, a sideboard or two, a corner-cupboard, a "grandfather" clock, and a large round table. In the study, set out into the room at the same angle as the fireplace, is a writing-table. A chair stands at the writing-table, its back to the fire, and in the front of the table is a well-worn settee. On the left of the settee is a smaller table, on which are an assortment of pipes, a box of cigars and another of cigarettes, a tobacco-jar, an ash-tray, and a bowl of matches; and on the left of the table is a capacious arm-chair. There is an arm-chair on either side of the fireplace; and against the right-hand wall, on the nearer side of the bedroom door, is a cabinet.
On the other side of the room, facing the bedroom door, there is a second settee, and behind the settee is an oblong table littered with books and magazines. At a little distance from this table stands an arm-chair, and against the wall at the back, on the left of the big doors, is a chair of a lighter sort. Also against the back wall, but on the left of the door opening from the vestibule, is a table with a telephone-instrument upon it, and running along the left-hand wall is a dwarf bookcase, unglazed, packed with books which look as if they would be none the worse for being dusted and put in order.
In the vestibule, against the wall on the right, there is a small table on which are Philip's hats, caps, and gloves; and an overcoat and a man's cape are hanging on some pegs.
It is late on a November afternoon. Curtains are drawn across the dining-room windows, and the room is lighted rather dimly by an electric lamp standing upon a sideboard. A warm glow proceeds from the nearer right-hand corner as from a fire. The study is lighted by a couple of standard lamps and a library-lamp on the writing-table, and the vestibule by a lamp suspended from the ceiling.
The big doors are open.
[Philip,a pipe in his mouth and wearing an old velvet jacket, is lying upon the settee on the right, reading a book by the light of the lamp on the writing-table. In the dining-room,Johnand a waiter—the latter in his shirt-sleeves—are at the round table, unfolding a white table-cloth.
John.
[A cheery little man in seedy clothes—to the waiter, softly.] Careful! Don't crease it.
Philip.
[Raising his eyes from his book.] What's the time, John?
John.
Quarter-to-six, sir.
Philip.
Have my things come from the tailor's yet?
John.
[Laying the cloth with the aid of the waiter.] Yes, sir; while you were dozing. [Ecstatically.] They're lovely, sir. [A bell rings in the vestibule.] Expect that's the cook, sir. [He bustles into the vestibule from the dining-room. There is a short pause and then he reappears, entering the study at the door opening from the vestibule, followed byRoope.] It's Mr. Roope, sir!
Philip.
No! [Throwing his book aside and jumping up.] Why, Robbie!
Roope.
[As they shake hands vigorously.] My dear fellow!
Philip.
Return of the wanderer! When did you get back?
Roope.
Last night.
Philip.
Take your coat off, you old ruffian. [Putting his pipe down.] Iamglad.
Roope.
[ToJohn,who relieves him of his hat, overcoat, and neckerchief.] How areyou, John?
John.
Splendid, Mr. Roope. [Beaming.] Our new novel issecha success, sir.
Philip.
Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Roope.
[ToJohn.] So Mr. Mackworth wrote and told me. [Giving his gloves toJohn.] Congratulate you, John.
John.
[Depositing the hat, coat, etc., upon the settee on the left.] Thank you, sir.
Roope.
[Crossing to the fireplace, rubbing his hands, asJohnretires to the dining-room.] Oh, my dear Phil, this dreadful climate after the sunshine of the Lago Maggiore!
Philip.
[Walking about and spouting, in high spirits.] "Italia! O Italia! thou who hast the fatal gift of beauty——!"
Roope.
Sir Loftus and Lady Glazebrook were moving on to Rome, or I really believe I could have endured another month at their villa, bores as they are, dear kind souls! [Looking towards the dining-room, whereJohnand the waiter are now placing a handsome centre-piece of flowers upon the round table.] Hallo! A dinner-party, Phil?
Philip.
Dinner-party? A banquet!
Roope.
To celebrate the success of the book?
Philip.
That and something more. This festival, sir, of the preparations for which you are a privileged spectator—[shouting toJohn] shut those doors, John——
John.
Yessir.
Philip.
[Sitting in the chair on the left of the smoking-table asJohncloses the big doors.] This festival, my dear Robbie—[glancing over his shoulder to assure himself that the doors are closed] this festival also celebrates my formal engagement to Madame de Chaumié.
Roope.
[Triumphantly.] Aha!
Philip.
[Taking a cigarette from the box at his side.] Ottoline and I are to be married soon after Christmas. The civilized world is to be startled by the announcement on Monday.
Roope.
[Advancing.] My dear chap, I've never heard anything that has given me greater pleasure. [PhilipoffersRoopethe cigarette-box.] No, I won't smoke. [Seating himself upon the settee on the right.] When was it settled?
Philip.
[Lighting his cigarette.] The day before yesterday. I got Titterton to write me a letter—Titterton, my publisher—certifying to the enormous sales of the book, and sent it on to Sir Randle Filson. Nothing like documentary evidence, Robbie. [Leaning back in his chair with outstretched legs and exhaling a wreath of tobacco-smoke.] Twenty-five thousand copies, my boy, up to date, and still going strong.
Roope.
Wonderful.
Philip.
Phew! The critics treated me generously enough, but it hung fire damnably at first. At one particularly hellish moment I could have sworn it wouldn't do more than my usual fifteen or eighteen hundred, and I cursed myself for having been such a besotted fool as to pin my faith to it. [Sitting upright.] And then, suddenly, a rush—a tremendous rush! Twenty-four thousand went off in less than six weeks. Almost uncanny, eh? [Touching the tobacco-jar.] Oh, lord, sometimes I think I've been putting opium into my pipe instead of this innocent baccy, and that I shall wake up to the necessity of counting my pence again and apologizing to John for being in arrear with his wages!
Roope.
And Titterton's letter brought the Filsons round?
Philip.
[Nodding.] Brought 'em round; and I must say they've accomplished the change of attitude most graciously.
Roope.
[Oracularly.] Graciously or grudgingly, they couldn't help themselves, dear excellent friend. As you had pledged yourself in effect to resign the lady if your book was a failure, it follows that they were bound to clasp you to their bosoms if it succeeded. I don't want to detract from the amiability of the Filsons for an instant——
Philip.
Anyhow, their opposition is at an end, and all is rosy. [Rising and pacing the room.] Master Bertram is a trifle glum and stand-offish perhaps, but Sir Randle—! Ha, ha, ha! Sir Randle has taken Literature under his wing, Robbie, from Chaucer to Kipling, in the person of his prospective son-in-law. You'd imagine, to listen to him, that to establish ties of relationship with a literary man has been his chief aim in life.
Roope.
[Jerking his head in the direction of the dining-room.] And this is to be a family gathering——?
Philip.
The first in the altered circumstances. I proposed a feast at a smart restaurant, but Sir Randle preferred the atmosphere which has conduced, as he puts it, to the creation of so many of my brilliant compositions. [Behind the smoking-table, dropping the end of his cigarette into the ash-tray—gaily.] Robbie, I've had a magnificent suit of joy-rags made for the occasion!
Roope.
[Earnestly.] Good! I rejoice to hear it, dear excellent friend, and I hope it portends a wholesale order to your tailor and your intention to show yourself in society again freely. [With a laugh,Philipgoes to the fireplace and stands looking into the fire.] Begin leaving your cards at once. No more sulking in your tent! [Rising and crossing to the other side of the room.] You havearrived, my dear chap; I read your name in two papers in my cabin yesterday. [Marching up and down.] Your foot is on the ladder; you bid fair to become a celebrity, if you are not one already; and your approaching marriage sheds additional lustre on you. I envy you, Phil; I do, positively.
Philip.
[FacingRoope.] Oh, of course, I shall be seen about with Ottoline during our engagement. Afterwards——
Roope.
[Halting.] Afterwards——?
Philip.
Everything will depend on my wife—[relishing the word] mywife. Ottoline has rather lost her taste for Society with a capital S, remember.
Roope.
[Testily.] That was her mood last June, when she was hypped and discontented. With a husband she can be proud of, surely——!
Philip.
[Coming forward.] As a matter of fact, Robbie, I'm inclined to agree with you; I've been staring into my fire, or out of my windows here, a jolly sight too much. [Expanding his chest.] It'll be refreshing to me to rub shoulders with people again for a bit—[smiling] even to find myself the object of a little interest and curiosity.
Roope.
[Delighted.] Dear excellent friend!
Philip.
Ha, ha! You see, I'm not without my share of petty vanity. I'm consistent, though. Didn't I tell you in South Audley Street that I was as eager for fame as any man living, if only I could win it in my own way?
Roope.
You did.
Philip.
[Exultingly.] Well, Ihavewon it in my own way, haven't I! [Hitting the palm of his hand with his fist.] I've done what I determined to do, Robbie; what I knew Ishoulddo, sooner or later! I'vegot there—got there!—by simple, honest means! Isn't it glorious?
Roope.
[Cautiously.] I admit——
Philip.
[Breaking in.] Oh, I don't pretend that there haven't been moments in my years of stress and struggle when I've been tempted to join the gaudy, cackling fowl whose feathers I flatter myself I've plucked pretty thoroughly in my book! But I've resisted the devil by prayers and fasting; and, by George, sir, I wouldn't swap my modest victory for the vogue of the biggest boomster in England! [Boisterously.] Ha, ha, ha! Whoop! [SeizingRoopeand shaking him.] Dare to preach your gospel to menow, you arch-apostle of quackery and self-advertisement!
Roope.
[Peevishly, releasing himself.] Upon my word, Phil——!
[The bell rings again.
Philip.
The cook! [ToRoope,seeing that he is putting on his muffler.] Don't go.
Roope.
I must. [Taking up his overcoat.] I merely ran along to shake hands with you, and I'm sorry I took the trouble. [Philiphelps him into his overcoat laughingly.] Thanks.
Philip.
[Suddenly.] Robbie——!
Roope.
[Struggling with an obstinate sleeve.] Hey?
Philip.
It's just struck me. Where areyoudining to-night?
Roope.
At the Garrick, with Hughie Champion. [Picking up his hat and gloves.] He's getting horribly deaf and tedious; but I had nothing better.
Philip.
Bother Colonel Champion! I wish you could have dined withme.
Roope.
[His hat on his head, drawing on his gloves.] Dear excellentfriend! I should be out of place.
Philip.
Rubbish! Your presence would be peculiarly appropriate, my dear Robbie. Wasn't it you who brought Ottoline and me together, God bless yer! [Observing thatRoopeis weakening.] There's heaps of room for an extra chair. Everybody 'ud be delighted.
Roope.
[Meditatively.] I could telephone to Hughie excusing myself. He didn't ask me till this afternoon. [With an injured air.] I resent a short notice.
Philip.
[His eyes twinkling.] Quite right. Mine's short too——
Roope.
That's different.
Philip.
Entirely. You'll come?
Roope.
If you're certain the Filsons and Madame de Chaumié——
Philip.
Certain. [FollowingRoopeto the door admitting to the vestibule.] Eight o'clock.
Roope.
[Opening the door.] Charming.
Philip.
Won't you let John fetch you a taxi?
Roope.
[Shaking hands withPhilip.] No, I'll walk into Holborn. [In the doorway.] Oh, by-the-by, I've a message for you, Phil.
Philip.
From whom?
Roope.
Barradell, of all people in the world.
Philip.
[Surprised.] Sir Timothy?
Roope.
He's home. I crossed with him yesterday, and we travelled in the same carriage from Dover.
Philip.
What's the message?
Roope.
He saw your book in my bag, and began talking about you. He said he hadn't met you for years, but that I was to give you his warm regards.
Philip.
Indeed?
Roope.
[Astutely.] My impression is that he's heard rumours concerning you and Madame de Chaumié while he's been away, and that he's anxious to show he has no ill-will. I suppose your calling so often in Ennismore Gardens has been remarked.
Philip.
Extremely civil of him, if that's the case. [Loftily.] Decent sort of fellow, I recollect.
Roope.
[Going into the vestibule.] Very; very.
Philip.
Poor chap!
Roope.
[Opening the outer door.] Eight o'clock, dear excellent friend.
Philip.
[At his elbow.] Sharp.
Roope.
[Disappearing.]Au revoir!
Philip.
Au revoir![Calling afterRoope.] Mind that corner! [Closing the outer door with a bang and shouting.] John! [Coming back into the study.] John! [Closing the vestibule door.] John! [Going to the big doors and opening the one on the left a little way.] John——!
[Ottoline,richly dressed in furs, steps through the opening and confronts him. Her cheeks are flushed and her manner has lost some of its repose.
Ottoline.
[Shutting the door behind her as she enters—playfully.]Qu'est-ce que vous désirez John?
Philip.
[Catching her in his arms.] My dear girl!
Ottoline.
Ha, ha! I'm not going to stop a minute. [Rapidly.] I've been to tea with Kitty Millington; and as I was getting into my car, I suddenly thought—! [He kisses her.] I waited in there to avoid Robbie Roope.
Philip.
Robbie came back yesterday. I hope I haven't done wrong; I've asked him to dine here to-night.
Ottoline.
Wrong! Dear old Robbie! But I didn't want him just now. [Loosening her wrap and hunting for a pocket in it.] I've brought you a little gift, Phil—en souvenir de cette soirée——
Philip.
[Reprovingly.] Oh——!
Ottoline.
I got it at Cartier's this afternoon. I meant to slip it into your serviette to-night quietly, but it's burning a hole in my pocket. [She produces a small jewel-case and presents it to him.] Will you wear that in your tie sometimes?
Philip.
[Opening the case and gazing at its contents.] Phiou! [She leaves him, walking away to the fireplace.] What a gorgeous pearl! [He follows her and they stand side by side, he holding the case at arm's-length admiringly, his other arm round her waist.] You shouldn't, Otto. You're incorrigible.
Ottoline.
[Leaning her head against his shoulder—softly.] Phil——
Philip.
[Still gazing at the scarf-pin.] To-morrow I'll buy the most beautiful silk scarf ever weaved.
Ottoline.
Phil, I've a feeling that it's from to-night, when I sit at your table—how sweet your flowers are; I couldn't help noticing them!—I've a feeling that it's from to-night that we really belong to each other.
Philip.
[Pressing her closer to him.] Ah——!
Ottoline.
[With a shiver, closing her eyes.] What has gone before has been hateful—hateful!
Philip.
[Looking down upon her fondly.] Hateful?
Ottoline.
Until—until your book commenced to sell, at any rate. Suspense—a horrid sensation of uneasiness, mistrust—the fear that, through your foolish, hasty promise to mother and Dad, you might, after all, unite with them to cheat me out of my happiness! That's what it has been tome, Philip.
Philip.
[Rallying her, but a little guiltily.] Ha, ha, ha! You goose! I knew exactly how events would shape, Otto; hadn't a doubt on the subject. [Shutting the jewel-case with a snap and a flourish.]Iknew——
Ottoline.
[Releasing herself.] Ah, yes, I dare say I've been dreadfully stupid. [Shaking herself, as if to rid herself of unpleasant memories, and again leaving him.] Well!Sans adieu![Fastening her wrap.] Get your hat and take me downstairs.
Philip.
Wait a moment! [Chuckling.] Ho, ho! I'm not to be outdone altogether. [Pocketing her gift, he goes to the cabinet on the right and unlocks it. She watches him from the middle of the room. Presently he comes to her, carrying a little ring-case.] Take off your glove—[pointing to her left hand] that one. [She removes her glove tremulously. He takes a ring from the case, tosses the case on to the writing-table, and slips the ring on her third finger.] By George, I'm in luck; blessed if it doesn't fit!
[She surveys the ring in silence for a while; then she puts her arms round his neck and hides her face on his breast.
Ottoline.
[Almost inaudibly.] Oh, Phil!
Philip.
[Tenderly.] And so this is the end of the journey, Otto!
Ottoline.
[In a whisper.] The end?
Philip.
The dreary journey in opposite directions you and I set out upon nearly eleven years ago in Paris.
Ottoline.
[Quivering.] Ah——!
Philip.
My dear, what does it matter as long as our roads meet at last, and meet where there are clear pools to bathe our vagabond feet and sunshine to heal our sore bodies! [She raises her head and rummages for her handkerchief.] Otto——!
Ottoline.
Yes?
Philip.
In April—eh——?
Ottoline.
[Drying her eyes.] April——?
Philip.
You haven't forgotten the compact we entered into at Robbie Roope's?
Ottoline.
[Brightening.] Ah, no!
Philip.
In April we walk under the chestnut-trees once more in the Champs-Elysées——!
Ottoline.
[Smiling through her tears.] And the Allée de Longchamp——!
Philip.
As husband and wife—we shall be an old married couple by then——!
Ottoline.
[Pulling on her glove.] And drink milk at the d'Armenonville——!
Philip.
And the Pré-Catelan——!
Ottoline.
And we'll make pilgrimages, Phil——!
Philip.
Yes, we'll gaze up at the windows of my gloomy lodgings in the Rue Soufflot—what was the number?——
Ottoline.
[Contracting her brows.]Quarante-trois bis.
Philip.
[Banteringly.] Where you honoured me with a visit, madame, with your maid Nanette——
Ottoline.
[Warding off the recollection with a gesture.] Oh, don't——!
Philip.
Ha, ha, ha! A shame of me——!
Ottoline.
[Turning from him.] Do get your hat and coat.
Philip.
[Going into the vestibule.] Where's your car?
Ottoline.
[Moving towards the vestibule.] In South Square.
Philip.
[Returning to her, a cape over his shoulders, a soft hat on his head.] Eight o'clock!
Ottoline.
Eight o'clock.
[He takes her hands and they stand looking into each other's eyes.
Philip.
[After a pause.] Fancy!
Ottoline.
[Faintly.] Fancy! [He is drawing her to him slowly when, uttering a low cry, she embraces him wildly and passionately.] Oh! [Clinging to him.] Oh, Phil! Oh—oh—oh——!
Philip.
[Responding to her embrace.] Otto—Otto——!
Ottoline.
[Breaking from him.] Oh——!
[She hurries to the outer door. He follows her quickly, closing the vestibule door after him. Then the outer door is heard to shut, and the curtain falls. After a short interval, the curtain rises again, showing all the doors closed and the study in darkness save for the light of the fire. The bell rings, and again there is an interval; and then the vestibule door is opened byJohn—attired for waiting at table—andBertrambrushes past him and enters.Bertramis in evening dress.
Bertram.
[As he enters, brusquely.] Yes, I know I'm a little too soon. I want to speak to Mr. Mackworth—before the others come, I mean t'say——
[Johnswitches on the light of a lamp by the vestibule door. It is now seen thatBertramis greatly flustered and excited.
John.
[TakingBertram'shat, overcoat, etc.] I'll tell Mr. Mackworth, sir. He's dressin'.
[John,eyeingBertramwonderingly, goes to the door of the bedroom.There, having switched on the light of another lamp, he knocks.
Philip.
[From the bedroom.] Yes?
John.
[Opening the door a few inches.] Mr. Filson, sir.
Philip.
[Calling out.] Hallo, Bertram!
John.
Mr. Filson wants to speak to you, sir.
Philip.
I'll be with him in ten seconds. Leave the door open.
John.
Yessir.
[Johnwithdraws, carryingBertram'soutdoor things into the vestibule and shutting the vestibule door.
Philip.
[Calling toBertramagain.] I'm in the throes of tying a bow, old man. Sit down. [Bertram,glaring at the bedroom door, remains standing.] O'ho, that's fine! Ha, ha, ha! I warn you, I'm an overpowering swell to-night. A new suit of clothes, Bertram, devised and executed in less than thirty-six hours! And a fit, sir; every item of it! You'll be green with envy when you see this coat. I'm ready for you. Handkerchief—? [Shouting.] John—! Oh, here it is! [Switching off the light in the bedroom and appearing, immaculately dressed, in the doorway.] Behold! [Closing the door and advancing toBertram.] How are you, Bertram? [BertramrefusesPhilip'shand by putting his own behind his back.Philipraises his eyebrows.] Oh? [A pause.] Anything amiss? [ObservingBertram'sheated look.] You don't look well, Filson.
Bertram.
[Breathing heavily.] No, I'm not well—I mean t'say, I'm sick with indignation——
Philip.
What about?
Bertram.
You've attempted to play us all a rascally trick, Mackworth; a low, scurvy, contemptible——
Philip.
[Frowning.] A trick?
Bertram.
I've just come from Mr. Dunning—a man I've thought it my duty to employ in the interests of my family—Sillitoe and Dunning, the private-inquiry people——
Philip.
Private-inquiry people?
Bertram.
Dunning rang me up an hour ago, and I went down to him. The discovery wasn't clinched till this afternoon——
Philip.
The discovery?
Bertram.
[Derisively.] Ho! This precious book of yours—"The Big Drum"! A grand success, Mackworth!
Philip.
[Perplexed.] I don't——
Bertram.
"The Big Drum"! Wouldn't "The Big Fraud" be a more suitable title, I mean t'say?
Philip.
Fraud?
Bertram.
Reached its twenty-fifth thousand, and the demand still continues! You and Mr. what's-his-name—Titterton—ought to be publicly exposed, Mackworth; and if we were in the least spiteful and vindictive——
Philip.
[Tightening his lips.] Are you sober, Filson?
Bertram.
Now, don't you be insolent, because it won't answer. [Philipwinces, but restrains himself.] The question is, what are we to doto-night—for Ottoline's sake, I mean t'say. We must spare her as much shock and distress as possible. I assume you've sufficient decency left to agree with me there. My father and mother too—they're quite ignorant of the steps I've been taking——
Philip.
[Controlling himself with difficulty.] My good fellow, will you condescend to explain——?
Bertram.
[Walking away.] Oh, it's no use, Mackworth—this air of innocence! [Puffing himself out and strutting to and fro on the left.] It's simply wasted effort, I mean t'say. In five minutes I can have Dunning here with the whole disreputable story. He's close by—bottom of Chancery Lane. He'll be at his office till half-past-eleven——
Philip.
[Between his teeth—thrusting his hands into his trouser-pockets.] Very accommodating of him!
Bertram.
I tried to get on to my father from Dunning's—to ask his advice, I mean t'say—but he'd dressed early and gone to one of his clubs, and they couldn't tell me which one. [Halting and looking at his watch.]Mysuggestion is that you and I should struggle through this farce of a dinner as best we can—as if nothing had happened. I mean t'say—and that I should reserve the disclosure of your caddish conduct till to-morrow. You assent to that course, Mackworth? [Dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief.] Thank heaven, the announcement of the engagement hasn't appeared!
Philip.
[In a calm voice.] Bertram—[pointing to the chair on the left of the smoking-table] Bertie, old man—[seating himself easily upon the settee on the right] you're your sister's brother and I'm not going to lose my temper——
Bertram.
[Sneeringly.] My dear sir——
Philip.
[Leaning back and crossing his legs.] One thing I seem to grasp clearly; and that is that, while I've been endeavouring to conciliate you, and make a pal of you, you've been leaguing yourself with a tame detective with the idea of injuring me in some way with Ottoline and your father and mother. [Folding his arms.] That's correct, isn't it?
Bertram.
[With a disdainful shrug.] If you think it will benefit you to distort my motives, Mackworth, pray do so. [Returning to the middle of the room.] What I've done, I've done, as I've already stated, from a sheer sense of duty——
Philip.
[Again pointing to the chair.] Please! You'll look less formidable, old man——
Bertram.
[Sitting, haughtily.] Knowing what depended on the fate of your book, I felt from the first that you might be unscrupulous enough to induce your publisher to represent it as being a popular success—in order to impose on us, I mean t'say—though actually it was another of your failures to hit the mark; and when Titterton started blowing the trumpet so loudly, my suspicions increased. [Philipslowly unfolds his arms.] As for desiring to injure you with my family at any price, I scorn the charge. I've had the delicacy to refrain from even mentioning my suspicions to my father and mother, let alone Ottoline. [Putting his necktie straight and smoothing his hair and his slightly crumpled shirt-front.] Deeply as I regret your connection with my sister, I should have been only too happy, I mean t'say, if my poor opinion of you had been falsified.
Philip.
[His hands clenched, but preserving his suavity.] Extremely grateful to you, Bertie. I see! And so, burdened by these suspicions, you carried them to Mr.—Mr. Gunning?
Bertram.
Dunning. I didn't regard it as a job for a respectable solicitor——
Philip.
[Politely.]Didn'tyou!
Bertram.
Not that there's anything against Dunning——
Philip.
[Uncrossing his legs and sitting upright.] Well, that brings us to the point, doesn't it?
Bertram.
The point?
Philip.
The precise, and illuminating, details of the fable your friend at the bottom of Chancery Lane is fooling you with.
Bertram.
[In a pitying tone.] Oh, my dear Mackworth! I repeat, it's nouseyour adopting this attitude. You don't realize how completely you're bowled over, I mean t'say. Dunning's got incontestable proofs——
Philip.
[Jumping up, unable to repress himself any longer.] Damn the impudent scoundrel——!
[The bell rings.
Bertram.
[Listening.] Your bell!
Philip.
[Striding to the left and then to the fireplace.] You said he's still at his office, didn't you?
Bertram.
[Rising.] Yes.
Philip.
[Pointing to the telephone, imperatively.] Get him here at once.
Bertram.
[Rather taken aback.] At once?
Philip.
I'll deal with this gentleman promptly.
Bertram.
[Icily.] Not before Ottoline and my parents, I hope?
Philip.
[Seizing the poker and attacking the fire furiously.] Before Ottoline and your parents.
Bertram.
A most painful scene for them, I mean t'say——
Philip.
A painful scene for you and Mr. Dunning.
Bertram.
Afterdinner—when they've gone—you and I'll go down to Dunning——
Philip.
[Flinging the poker into the grate and facingBertram.] Confound you, you don't suppose I'm going to act on your suggestion, and grin through a long meal with this between us! [Pointing to the telephone again.] Ring him up, you treacherous little whelp—quick! [Advancing.] Ifyouwon't——!
Bertram.
[Bristling.] Oh, very good! [Pausing on his way to the telephone and addressingPhilipwith an evil expression.] You were always a bully and a blusterer, Mackworth; but, take my word for it, if you fancy you can bully Mr. Dunning, and bluster to my family, with any satisfactory results to yourself, you're vastly mistaken.
Philip.
[Gruffly.] I beg your pardon; sorry I exploded.
Bertram.
[Scowling.] It's of no consequence. [At the telephone, his ear to the receiver.] I am absolutely indifferent to your vulgar abuse, I mean t'say.
[JohnannouncesRoope.Note:Roopeand the rest of the guests divest themselves of their overcoats, wraps, etc., in the vestibule before entering the room.
John.
Mr. Roope.
Roope.
[GreetingPhilipasJohnwithdraws.] Am I the first——?
Philip.
[Glancing atBertram.] No.
Bertram.
[Speaking into the telephone.] Holborn, three eight nine eight.
Roope.
[Waving his hand to Bertram.] Ah! Howareyou, my dear Mr. Filson?
Bertram.
[ToRoope,sulkily.] How'r you? Excuse me——
Roope.
[ToPhilip.] My dear Phil, these excursions to the east are delightful; they are positively. The sights fill me with amazement. I——
Philip.
[Cutting him short by leading him to the fireplace.] Robbie——
Roope.
Hey?
Philip.
[Grimly, dropping his voice.] Are you hungry?
Roope.
Dear excellent friend, since you put the question so plainly, I don't mind avowing that Iam—devilish hungry. Why——?
Philip.
There may be a slight delay, old chap.
Roope.
Delay?
Philip.
Yes, the east hasn't exhausted its marvels yet, by a long chalk.
Roope.
[Looking at him curiously.] Nothing the matter, Phil?
Bertram.
[Suddenly, into the telephone.] That you, Dunning——?
Philip.
[ToRoope.] Robbie——
[Turning to the fire,Philiptalks rapidly and energetically toRoopein undertones.
Bertram.
[Into the telephone.] Filson.... Mr. Filson.... I'm speaking from Gray's Inn.... Gray's Inn—Mr. Mackworth's chambers—2, Friars Court.... You're wanted, Dunning.... Now—immediately.... Yes, jump into a taxicab and come up, will you?...
Roope.
[ToPhilip,aloud, opening his eyes widely.] My dear Phil——!
Philip.
[With a big laugh.] Ha, ha, ha, ha——!
Bertram.
[ToPhilip,angrily.] Quiet! I can't hear. [Into the telephone.] I can't hear; there's such a beastly noise going on—what?... Dash it, you can get something to eat atanytime! I mean tosay—!... Eh?... [Irritably.] Oh, of course you may have a wash and brush up!... Yes, heis.... You're coming, then?... Right! Goo'bye.
Roope.
[ToPhilip,who has resumed his communication toRoope—incredulously.] Dear excellent friend——!
[The door-bell rings again.
Philip.
Ah—! [Pausing on his way to the vestibule door—toBertram.] Mr. Dunning will favour us with his distinguished company?
Bertram.
[Behind the table on the left, loweringly.] In a few minutes. He's washing.
Philip.
Washing? Some of his customers' dirty linen? [As he opens the vestibule door,JohnadmitsSir Randle Filsonat the outer door.] Ah, Sir Randle!
Sir Randle.
[Heartily.] Well, Philip, my boy! [WhileJohnis taking his hat, overcoat, etc.] Are my dear wife and daughter here yet?
Philip.
Not yet.
Sir Randle.
I looked in at Brooks's on my way to you. I hadn't been there for months. [ToJohn.] My muffler in the right-hand pocket. Thank you. [Entering and shaking hands withPhilip.] Ha! They gave me quite a warm welcome. Very gratifying. [Roopeadvances.] Mr. Roope! [Shaking hands withRoopeasPhilipshuts the vestibule door.] An unexpected pleasure!
Roope.
[Uneasily.] Er—I am rather an interloper, I'm afraid, my dear Sir Randle——
Sir Randle.
[Retaining his hand.] No. [Emphatically.]No.This is one of Philip's many happy inspirations. If my memory is accurate, it was at your charming flat in South Audley Street that he and my darling child—[discoveringBertram,who is now by the settee on the left.] Bertie! [Going to him.] I haven't seen you all day, Bertie dear. [Kissing him on the forehead.] Busy, eh?
Bertram.
[Stiffly.] Yes, father.
Philip.
[At the chair on the left of the smoking-table, dryly.] Bertram has been telling me how busy he has been, Sir Randle——
Sir Randle.
[Not perceiving the general air of restraint.] That reminds me—[moving, full of importance, to the settee on the right—feeling in his breast-pocket] the announcement of the engagement, Philip—[seating himself and producing a pocket-book] Lady Filson and I drew it up this morning. [Hunting among some letters and papers.] Ibelieveit is in the conventional form; but we so thoroughly sympathize with you and Ottoline in your dislike for anything that savours of pomp and flourish that we hesitate, without your sanction, to—[selecting a paper and handing it toPhilip] ah! [ToRoope,who has returned to the fireplace—over his shoulder.] I am treating you as one of ourselves, Mr. Roope——
Roope.
[In a murmur.] Dear excellent friend——!
Sir Randle.
[ToPhilip.] We propose to insert it only in the three or four principal journals——
Philip.
[Frowning at the paper.] Sir Randle——
Sir Randle.
[Blandly.] Eh?
Philip.
Haven't you given me the wrong paper?
Sir Randle.
[With a look of alarm, hurriedly putting on his pince-nez and searching in his pocket-book again.] The wrong——?
Philip.
This has "Universal News Agency" written in the corner of it.
Sir Randle.
[Holding out his hand for the paper, faintly.] Oh——!
Philip.
[IgnoringSir Randle'shand—reading.] "The extraordinary stir, which we venture to prophesy will not soon be eclipsed, made by Mr. Philip Mackworth's recent novel, 'The Big Drum,' lends additional interest to the announcement of his forthcoming marriage to the beautiful Madame de Chaumié—" [The bell rings. He listens to it, and then goes on reading.] "—the beautiful Madame de Chaumié, daughter of the widely and deservedly popular—the widely and deservedly popular Sir Randle and Lady Filson——"
[After reading it to the end silently, he restores the paper toSir Randlewith a smile and a slight bow.
Sir Randle.
[Collecting himself.] Er—Lady Filson and I thought it might be prudent, Philip, to—er—to give a lead to the inevitable comments of the press. [Replacing the paper in his pocket-book.] If you object, my dear boy——
Philip.
[With a motion of the head towards the vestibule door.] That mustbeLady Filson and Ottoline.
[He goes to the door and opens it.Lady FilsonandOttolineare in the vestibule andJohnis takingLady Filson'swrap from her.
Lady Filson.
[Brimming over with good humour.] Ah, Philip! Don't say we're late!
Philip.
[Lightly.] I won't.
Lady Filson.
[Entering and shaking hands with him.] Your staircase is so dark, it takes an age to climb it. [ToRoope,who comes forward, shaking hands with him.] How nice! Ottoline told me, coming along, that we were to meet you.
Roope.
[Bending over her hand.] Dear lady!
Lady Filson.
[Coming toSir Randle.] There you are, Randle! [Nodding toBertram,who is sitting aloof in the chair on the extreme left.] Bertie darling! [Sir Randlerises.] Aren't these rooms quaint and cosy, Randle?
Sir Randle.
[Still somewhat disconcerted.] For a solitary man, ideal. [Solemnly.] If ever I had the misfortune to be left alone in the world——
Lady Filson.
[Sitting on the settee on the right.] Ho, mydear!
[Philiphas joinedOttolinein the vestibule. He now follows her into the room, shutting the vestibule door. She is elegantly dressed in white and, though she has recovered her usual stateliness and composure, is a picture of radiant happiness.
Ottoline.
[Giving her hand toRoope,who raises it to his lips—sweetly.] I am glad you are home, Robbie, and that you are here to-night. [ToLady FilsonandSir Randle.] Mother—Dad—[espyingBertram] oh, and there's Bertram—don't be scandalized, any of you! [ToRoope,resting her hands on his shoulders.]Une fois de plus, mon ami, pour vous témoigner ma gratitude!
[She kisses him.Lady Filsonlaughs indulgently, andSir Randle,wagging his head, moves to the fireplace.
Roope.
Ha, ha, ha——!
Ottoline.
Ha, ha, ha! [Going to the fireplace.] Ah, what a lovely fire! [ToSir Randle,asRoopeseats himself in the chair by the smoking-table and prepares to make himself agreeable toLady Filson.] Share it with me, Dad, and let me warm my toes before dinner. I'm frozen!
Philip.
[Coming to the middle of the room.] My dear Ottoline—Lady Filson—Sir Randle—I fear we shallallhave time to warm our toes before dinner. [Roope,who is about to address a remark toLady Filson,puts his hand to his mouth, andSir RandleandLady Filsonlook atPhilipinquiringly.] You mustn't blame me wholly for the hitch in my poor entertainment——
Lady Filson.
[Amiably.] The kitchen! I guess your difficulties, Philip——
Philip.
No, nor my kitchen either——
Ottoline.
[Turning the chair on the nearer side of the fireplace so that it faces the fire.] The cook wasn't punctual! [Installing herself in the chair.]Ah, la, la! Ces cuisinières causent la moitié des ennuis sur cette terre!
Philip.
Oh, yes, the cook was punctual. [His manner hardening a little.] The truth is, we are waiting for a Mr. Dunning.
Lady Filson.
Mr.——?
Sir Randle.
Mr.——?
Ottoline.
[From her chair, where she is almost completely hidden from the others—comfortably.] Good gracious! Who's Mr. Dunning, Philip?
[Johnand the waiter open the big doors. The dining-table, round which the chairs are now arranged, is prettily lighted by shaded candles.
Philip.
[ToJohn,sharply.] John——
John.
Yessir?
Philip.
Tell the cook to keep the dinner back for a little while. Do you hear?
John.
[Astonished.] Keep dinner back, sir?
Philip.
Yes. And when Mr. Dunning calls—[distinctly] Dunning——
John.
Yessir.
Philip.
I'll see him. Show him in.
John.
Yessir.
Philip.
You may serve dinner as soon as he's gone. I'll ring.
[Johnand the waiter withdraw into the kitchen, whereuponPhilip,after watching their departure, deliberately closes the big doors.Roope,who has been picking at his nails nervously, rises and steals away to the left, andSir Randle,advancing a step or two, exchanges questioning glances withLady Filson.
Ottoline.
[Laughingly.] What a terrible shock! I was frightened that Philip had sprung a strange guest upon us. [AsPhilipis shutting the doors.]Vous êtes bien mystérieux, Phil?Why are we to starve until this Mr. Dunning has come and gone?
Philip.
Because if I tried to eat without having first disposed of the reptile, Otto, I should choke.
Lady Filson.
[Bewildered.] Reptile?
Ottoline.
Philip!
Philip.
[At the chair beside the smoking-table—toLady Filson.] I apologize very humbly for making you and Sir Randle, and dear Ottoline, parties to such unpleasant proceedings, Lady Filson; but the necessity is forced upon me. [Coming forward.] Mr. Dunning is one of those crawling creatures who conduct what are known as confidential inquiries. In other words, he's a private detective—an odd sort of person to present to you!——
Lady Filson.
[Under her breath.] Great heavens!
Philip.
And he has lightened your son's purse, presumably, and crammed his willing ears with some ridiculous, fantastic tale concerning my book—"The Big Drum." Mr. Dunning professes to have discovered that I have conspired with a wicked publisher to deceive you all; that the book's another of my miss-hits, and that I'm a designing rogue and liar. [ToBertram.] Come on, Bertram; don't sit there as if you were a stuffed figure! Speak out, and tell your father and mother what you've been up to!
Lady Filson.
[Open-mouthed.] Bertie!
Sir Randle.
[Moving towardsBertram,mildly.] Bertram, my boy——?
Bertram.
[Curling his lip—toPhilip.] Oh, you seem to be getting on exceedingly well without my assistance, Mackworth. I'm content to hold my tongue till Dunning arrives, I mean t'say.
Philip.
[ApproachingLady Filson.] You see, Lady Filson, Master Bertram is endowed with an exceptionally active brain; and when I gave those assurances to you and Sir Randle last June, it occurred to him that, in the event of my book failing to attract the market, there was a danger of my palming it off, with the kind aid of my publisher, as the out-and-out triumph I'd bragged of in advance; and the loud blasts of Titterton's trumpet strengthened Master Bertie's apprehensions. [Ottoline,unobserved, rises unsteadily and, with her eyes fixed fiercely uponBertram,crosses the room at the back.] So what does he do, bless him for his devotion to his belongings! To safeguard his parents from being jockeyed, and as a brotherly precaution, he enlists the services, on the sly, of the obliging Mr. Dunning. We shall shortly have an opportunity of judging what that individual's game is. [With a shrug.] Hemayhave stumbled legitimately into a mare's nest; but I doubt it. These ruffians'll stick at nothing to keep an ingenuous client on the hook—[He is interrupted by feelingOttoline'shand upon his arm. He lays his hand on hers gently.] Otto dear——
Ottoline.
[Clutching him tightly and articulating with an effort.] It—it's infamous—shameful! My—my brother! It's infamous!
Philip.
Oh, it'll be all over in ten minutes. And then Bertie and I will shake hands—won't we, Bertie?—and forget the wretched incident——
Ottoline.
[ConfrontingBertram,trembling with passion.] How dare you! How dare you meddle with my affairs—mine and Mr. Mackworth's! How dare you!
Bertram.
[Straightening himself.] Look heah, Ottoline——!
Ottoline.
Stand up when I speak to you!
[Bertramgets to his feet in a hurry.
Lady Filson.
[Appealingly.] Otto——!
Ottoline.
[ToBertram.] All your life you've been paltry, odious, detestable——
Bertram.
Look heah——!
Ottoline.
Butthis! My God! For you—for any of us—to impugn the honesty of a man whose shadow we're not fit to walk in——!
Sir Randle.
[ToLady Filson—pained.] Winifred——!
Ottoline.
[ToBertram.] You—you—you're no better than your common, hired spy——!
Lady Filson.
[Rising and going toOttoline.] My child, remember——!
Ottoline.
[Clenching her hands and hissing her words atBertram.]C'est la vérité! Tu n'es qu'une canaille—une vile canaille——!
Lady Filson.
Control yourself, Ibeg!
Ottoline.
[ToLady Filson.] Leave me alone——!
[She passesLady Filsonand sits on the settee on the right with glittering eyes and heaving bosom.Philiphas withdrawn to the fireplace and is standing looking into the fire.
Lady Filson.
[ToBertram.] Bertie dear, I'm surprised at you! To do a thing like this behind our backs!
Bertram.
My dear mother, I knew that you and father wouldn't do it——