No, I can't see them.
Oh, it's all right, my dear boy. I've found them, thanks. They were in my pocket all the time. So silly of me, wasn't it? (Laughs, and goes out, whistling.)
(Enter Primrose by window.)
(Looking in) Business over?
For the present—could it stay for a moment when pleasure in the person of Miss Deane presents herself? (Bows.)
(Curtseying.) I thank you, fair sir. How very agreeable we've become all of a sudden.
"Become!" Ain't I always agreeable?
No. Not when you talk about going away and never coming back, and say you hope it will be a long while before you see any of us again.
I—I don't think I said I "hoped" it would be a long while. I think I said Ifearedit might be.
Oh, well, it's all the same. You needn't go away at all unless you liked.
(Apologetically.) You see my examination is coming on pretty soon now.
Well, anyhow, you could come down again afterwards. (A pause—pettishly as she crosses to window.) But there! of course if you want to avoid any chance of ever seeing any of us any more why—— (Turns her back on him.)
(Speaking low and earnestly.) It would be better perhaps if I did avoid seeing—— one of you any more.
Oh, what an unkind thing to say! Which one? Why?
Because I'm afraid that if I saw very much more of her——
Ofher!
Of her—I might make a fool of myself. (A pause.)
(Who shows she fully understands his drift—coquettishly.) In—in any particular sort of away?
In a way that men often do make fools of themselves, Miss Deane. Perhaps we'd better change the conversation.
I—Ithink it's ra-rather interesting.
(With sudden eager excitement.) Miss Deane—Primrose—do you mean that you could ever——
(Without.) Primrose—Primrose. (Ted stops. Primrose starts, and seems irritated.) (Calling louder.) Primrose.
(Calling.) Yes, Mrs. Ben Dixon, I'm coming. (To Ted.) Don't go away. I'll be back again in a minute. (Runs off.)
By Jove! Am I awake or dreaming! Shemusthave meant she——
(Enter Theo.)
(He is smoking a cigarette.) Oh, I thought Primrose was here.
Yes. She—she'll be back in a minute, I think.
Oh. Just give her that. (Hands him a letter.) Tell her not to be alarmed at the seal. It's only from her guardian—the Lord Chancellor.
The Lord Chancellor!
Yes; didn't you know? She's a ward in Chancery.
No—I—I thought it was only heiresses who were wards in Chancery.
Well, you'd call her an heiress, I suppose. She'll be worth about two thousand a year. (A pause.)
(With a slight laugh, and by a great effort, speaking in natural easy tones.) I—I thought she was a poor little penniless orphan—dependent on Aunt Bella.
No; she doesn't suggest the heiress a bit, does she? Just as well she doesn't, perhaps. One doesn't have to be keeping such a continual look out for the fortune-hunting crew. She'll want to see me about that letter, I expect. I shall be down on the Putting Green. (Goes out.)
(Bitterly.) Yes, I was dreaming. This is the awakening. An heiress with two thousand a year, and I with hardly a second coat to my back! A smart pair they'd have said we were—Nelly and I. Damn the money!
(Enter Primrose.)
(Running over to him.) I haven't been long, have I?
(Turning away from her.) Haven't you? It's seemed a long time. (Handing her the letter without looking at her.) I think Theodore wants to see you about this letter. He's in the garden.
(She takes the letter but hardly glances at it.) Don't—don't you want to see me? You—you were going to ask me if—if I meant—something or other.
(Desperately.) Miss Deane, I—I acted a little strangely just now. Please try to forget it. I—I don't think I quite knew what I was doing.
I will try to forget it, Mr. Morris.
(Enter Mrs. Ben Dixon and Jack.)
(As they come on.) Well, drat the boy, you'll stop and have a cup of tea, and a bit of seed cake. You've got time for that?
Well, I won't say no to that.
Um—well, it's surprising that you don't. (To Primrose.) Ring the bell, dear, and let's have some tea up. Lord help the child, what's the matter withyou?
Nothing, Mrs. Ben Dixon.
(Cherry and Nelly enter.)
For goodness sake, look it then. There's no need for the whole house to be like a funeral party. Ted, do go and find Theodore. That tongue of his will be of some use for once in a way. Tell him that if he'll come in he can have all the conversation to himself—that ought to bring him. (Ted goes out by window.) We'll havesomebodycheerful about.
Shall I see to the tea, aunt? You are looking so worried.
No—no, child. Let me be doing something, then
I don't think. What's brought that artist friend of yours down in such a hurry? There's nothing wrong with Ted, is there?
No—I don't think so, aunt.
Um—just the afternoon for it to happen if there was. Troubles always come together in this world, and they don't even make the usual reduction for taking a quantity.
(Enter Theodore and Ted by window.)
Want me, mater?
Yes, I do—look at us all. Did you ever see a collection of people looking more as if they'd just been fined forty shillings all round? We want some of your light philosophical conversation. Make us a bit cheerful.
(Looks round.) Too big an order for me, mater. You want a soothing and elevating influence here. Where's Ben?
Don't you try to irritate me with that step-father of yours, Theodore, or you and I——
(Enter servant.)
Did you ring, ma'am?
Yes, bring the tea, and tell Davis to——
(Enter Ben Dixon. He has shaved himself. He enters singing. The servant remains, staring at his master.)
(Staring aghast at Ben Dixon.) Lord save us all! What's the man done to himself!
(Cherry, Jack, and Ted have been talking together. They have not yet looked at Ben Dixon. On hearing this, Cherry starts and looks rounds then whips out the photo of Wheedles from his pocket, and looks from it to Ben Dixon. Ted and Jack look over Cherry's shoulder.)
(Sweetly.) Only shaved, Sweety. (Looks round at them all). How do you like me?
(In an excited whisper). By Jove! itis——
Quiet.
Curtain.
Cherry's sitting-room at Mrs. Wheedles'. A comfortable, old-fashioned room furnished in good substantial style. Cherry and Mrs. Wheedles discovered. Cherry smoking pipe in his easy chair before fire. Mrs. Wheedles sits uncomfortably on extreme edge of the other easy-chair.
And you really think, he'll come?
Tolerably sure of it, Mrs. Wheedles. I flatter myself I baited the hook pretty artfully. I wrote him that if he could call here about four o'clock to-day I could introduce him to a lady who I knew took great interest in his schemes, and that I thought some advantage might result from the meeting. (Chuckles.) And so I hope it will.
And he said he would?
He replied that he would not allow such an opportunity for benefiting the human race to escape him for worlds, and that he would be here to the minute.
(Glances at clock over mantel.) It's twenty minutes to four now.
(Looks at his watch.) Ah, that's five minutes fast. Mrs. Ben Dixon's rather late though. She said she'd be here at half-past three.
How has she taken it, poor woman?
Well, of course it's a very unpleasant position for her, but, between ourselves, I fancy she will be very glad if it turns out that heisyour husband, and, consequently, not hers. I expect that's why she's so anxious to be in the "show," as she calls it. She says she wants to see the truth for herself, and fix him down.
She hasn't said a word to him about it, I suppose?
She hasn't had a chance—yet. They quarrelled over money matters (groans to himself) and other things, and she left him before she ever heard of this.
Ah, she could never really have loved him, Mr. Cherry. (Wipes away a tear.)
I'm inclined to agree with you there, Mrs. Wheedles. (He crosses to window, looking at his watch.) I wish she'd come.
(Crying.) Such a good man as he was—before he went wrong. (Bell heard.) She starts up. Oh Lord, that's him, I feel it in my bones.
(Looking out of window.) Your bones have misled you, Mrs. Wheedles. It's Mr. Travers, and—(looking out further), no, it isn't big enough for Mrs. Ben Dixon.
Oh dear, it gave me quite a spasm. I wish I didn't feel in such a fluster.
(The door at back is opened by a maid, and Theodore enters followed by Primrose. Mrs. Wheedles slips quietly out.)
(Greeting Theodore.) Where's Mrs. Ben Dixon?
She'll be here in a minute. It occurred to her when we got to Paddington Station that she hadn't had any lunch, and that this wasn't a scene to be gone through on an empty stomach. So we left her there laying in a beefsteak and a bottle of stout. Miss Deane has come with us. She thought she would like to see Nelly.
(Advancing and shaking hands with Cherry.) Yes, Mr. Cherry. Do you know if she's in?
She's upstairs all alone, my dear. She'll be so pleased to see you, I know.
Oh, I'll run up to her, then. (Moves towards door.)
Yes, do, my dear. (Following her.) Let me——
(Stopping him.) No, don't trouble, Mr. Cherry. I know my way. (Opens door, and goes out.)
I say—I suppose there's no where in this room where I could hide, is there? (Looks round.) It will be a lovely scene, you know—quite a family group, Ben and his two wives. (Enthusiastically.) Why, such an opportunity may not occur again for years. Can't you put me behind these curtains? (He is by window.)
Oh, my dear boy, impossible!
Um! 'Twould be awkward I suppose. Pity! (hopefully,) What sort of a keyhole have you got? (Crossing to door, Right.)
(Laughs.) Not much good to you, I'm afraid. You can't get the key out.
(Who has opened the door—the key being outside—trying it.) Ah, no encouragement to an artist anywhere here. I shall have to pump the scene out of the mater afterwards, and her accounts are always so painfully idealistic.
(Ted enters.)
Hulloa, Ted!
Hulloa! You here?
Yes. (Looks at him.) You've been ploughed then?
Who told you?
You did, by your face. What does it feel like?
(With a cynical laugh) Do you want to make notes?
(Taking out his note-book) If you are sure you don't mind.
Not at all. Delighted to be of service to the cause of literature. Now let me see how does a man feel. Well, at first he feels sick and dazed.
(Writing) Yes.
And then he gets mad and curses himself and the world and everybody in it; and feels——
Half a minute, old chap, I am not a typewriter.
——and feels that he'd like to go to the devil only he hasn't got the travelling expenses.
Quite right. The expensiveness of vice I have always considered to be virtue's greatest safeguard. Poor people can only afford to go as far as the dogs. Yes?
Oh, and then—oh, then he feels very weary of the whole thing and wishes that he could get away from it all, and go to sleep—for a long time. (Throws himself in chair.)
Oh, come, you mustn't despair. You've only been "spun," as you fellows call it, for a few months.
Oh, no, it's nothing very terrible to be "spun," if you've got anything to spin on.
Yes—a top spins best when it's full of air—a man doesn't.
You see, you won't let anybody help you, Ted
(Rising.) Oh, that's only my nonsense, Mr. Cherry. We're not paupers. (To Theodore.) Are you coming upstairs to see Nelly?
Yes, yes; I'll come up with you now. How is she?
Oh, not too jolly. You'll be able to make a few notes. (They go out.)
Poor boy! Ah, well, he won't be able to help my helping him when I'm his brother-in-law! (He takes up a photo of Nelly lying on table.) Dear, dear me, fancy me a married man, with somebody to call "my dear!" You're a lucky dog, Adam Cherry—a lucky dog, even if you have been swindled out of all your savings, and have to go on working for your living! Bah! what'sworkwhen you've got somebody to work for? Why—— (Notices Theodore's note-book left on table and pauses.) Hulloa! Our literary friend's note-book. (Takes it up and turns it about in his hand, musing.) I wonder if there'd be any harm now in looking inside? I should like to see how he goes to work—oh, it's only just the same as an artist's sketch-book, and nobody minds looking into that. (Opens it at end and reads.) "June 28th, Brussels. Good idea for farcical comedy. N.B. Will probably need toning down for English market. Married lady starts to call on elderly gentleman of irreproachable character, she——"(Reads on with broadening smile extending to chuckle—suddenly checks himself.) Yes—it probably would (Turns over more leaves.) Hulloa, what's this marked "Unfinished. Novel or comedy. Characters: Good-hearted, but chuckle-headed old man, knows himself fifty-five, calls himself forty-five, fancies himself thirty-five." (Chuckles): Ah, yes, I know that class of man—very clever, very clever! "Young artist, somewhat conventional type, see page 3. Girl, cross between the romantically heroic and the quaintly practical. Girl loves artist. Artist loves girl. But both are poor. Old chap, well off, proposes to girl. She, tired of poverty, throws love to the dogs and accepts. Old fellow suspects nothing and tells himself that he will soon win her love by his devotion and all that sort of thing. Will he ever find out the truth?" Ah, yes, that ought to make a capital story. I wonder whatwillhappen? (Putting down book.) I feel quite sorry for that old man. Averyinteresting little story indeed. I wonder where he got it from now? (Takes up book again.) He's dated it June 14th—June 14th—why—— Yes, that's the day I proposed to Nelly—and—he was here that day. (Sits thinking. Suddenly a suspicion of the truth flashes across him. He hurriedly takes the book and reads again, this time in a trembling voice.) "Chuckle-headed old man—Young artist." (Thinks). Jack Medbury. "Girl loves artist—artist loves girl—old chap well off—proposes to girl. She, tired of poverty, throws love to the dogs and accepts. Old fellow suspects nothing—tells himself he will soon win her love by his devotion, and—and all that sort of thing." (Lets his hand with book fall on table.) That's the true story. It'sIwho have been building up the romance. Jack used to be here every day. He's never been near the place since. Nelly never smiles even now. I've fancied it was because she was ill and worried, and that I should be able to make her happy as soon as I had her all to myself and could take care of her. (Irritably pushing the book away from him.) I wish people wouldn't leave their things about. (Bows his head between his hands.)
(Primrose pushes open the door gently and enters. Seeing Cherry in this attitude, she comes softly over and lays her hand on his shoulder.)
Are you ill, Mr. Cherry?
(Starting.) No, my dear; no. I was only thinking. How—how do you think Nelly's looking?
(She has brought in some flowers and is arranging them in vase.) Oh, pretty well.
It—it doesn't seem to you, my dear, does it, that she's fretting herself about anything?
(Puzzled how to answer.) Oh no; I expect she's worried about her brother, you know, Mr. Cherry, and poor Mrs. Ben Dixon.
Ah, yes, yes; but don't you think there may be something else besides—something more nearly concerning herself?
Why do you ask, Mr. Cherry? (She comes to him.)
(Rising and taking both her hands.) Because, my dear, I'm a very inexperienced old man, and I want some shrewd little person who understands these matters better than I do to advise me. (Very earnestly.) Do you think, my dear, I shall be making Nelly happy by marrying her?
Truthfully, Mr. Cherry?
Truthfully, my dear, for both our sakes.
Then I don't, Mr. Cherry.
You—you think there's somebody else who could do it better? (Primrose nods her head.) Thank you, my dear (releases her hands).
I'm so sorry, Mr. Cherry.
There'd be more to be sorry for still, my dear, if were too late to mend matters (turning away). We won't talk about it any more. Have you seen Ted?
N-no.
Not! Why he's just gone upstairs.
(Awkwardly.) Y-yes—I—I heard him come in. I was in Nelly's room. I came out by the other door.
(Looking at her with surprise.) I thought you and he were such good friends?
This world's friendships are very fleeting.
(With a smile.) My dear, there's some mistake here. I said just now that I was inexperienced. But there are some things that even dim eyes cannot help seeing, and I'm sure that—forgive me, my dear, I'm only an old fellow—that he cared for you very much.
(Looking out of window.) He—he made me think so.
And then you quarrelled?
No—he changed—all of a sudden just as—as if he had found out something bad against me—and—and I've never done anything bad—not, notverybad (choking a sob). Do you think anybody could have said anything to set him against me?
Oh, impossible! What could—— Wait a minute, though. There's one thing somebody might have told him about you that would have been enough to send Master Ted off at double quick march.
What?
Can't you think?
N-no. Is there anything very dreadful about me, then?
Yes, my dear—to a young fellow as proud as he is poor—your money.
My money! Won't anybody ever lo—like me then because I've got some money?
Plenty, my dear. But pennyless young men who fall in love with heiresses are liable to be dubbed "fortune-hunters," and our high-spirited young friend——
(Interrupting petulantly.) Rather than risk that, would sacrifice all his life's happiness. I call it very horrid and—and very selfish of him.
It's very silly, my dear, but depend upon it that's the explanation. You——
(Primrose, when she entered, left the door a little open, and now Ted is heard whistling as he comes downstairs. Primrose is in front of easy-chair. Cherry pushes her down into it and stands before her.)
Tell him what you think of him.
(Enter Ted, still smoking his pipe.)
Do you mind my sitting down here for a little while, Cherry? I'm tired of walking about the streets, and I'm not feeling in good enough condition to sit out Travers' wit and humour. I've left him upstairs with Nelly.
Certainly, my dear boy. Stop here as long as ever you like and make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a few minutes. (He goes out.)
(He strolls to window, whistling, and looks out.) It's a damned world.
(Primrose coughs.)
(Startled, he looks round and sees Primrose.) I—I beg your pardon, Miss Deane. I had no ideayouwere here.
Is that the way you usually talk when I'mnothere?
(Smiling.) Not always (Gloomily again.) The truth is I'm a bit down on my luck just now, and——
(Kindly) I know. Nelly has been telling me. I am so very sorry.
Thank you, Miss Deane, I knew you would be.
(Frigidly.) Oh, did you? I don't think you had any right to assume it after your conduct at out last interview. I suppose you know that I'm excessively angry with you.
(Dismally.) You have every right to be. (A pause—Ted goes to window.)
I think if I were a gentleman, and had behaved exceedingly rudely to a lady, I should take the first opportunity of begging her pardon, and asking her to—totryand forgive me.
(Still at window.) I do beg your pardon, Miss Deane, from the bottom of my heart. And I should like you to forgive me—if you ever could.
I don't think that's at all the way anybody ought to ask anybody else's pardon (looks across at him) all that way off. And I can't forgive you until I know why you did it. (A pause.) Why—why did you do it?
I—I cannot tell you. Please don't ask me.
I suppose then I must think what I like?
(Gloomily.) I'm afraid so.
I—I thought at one time it might be because—(looking slyly at him) because I had lost all my money.
(Turning suddenly mid eagerly.) Lost all your money?
(Looking carefully away.) Yes. I thought somebody might have told you—people are so fond of telling bad news—and that you didn't care to have anything more to do with me after that. Of course, when people have lost all their money they can't expect people to be so nice as—as they were before.
(Who has stood rooted to the ground.) Then that was what that letter was about. It came just at that very time. And—and you have been thinking that of me! (Rushes across and kneels down beside her, and takes her hands.) Miss Deane—Primrose—let me work for you. Let me take care of you all your life. I can do it now. I feel like a new man. I can face the whole College of Surgeons and the world too, and lick them both. (His manner grows more and more enthusiastic and joyous.)
You—you're not very sympathetic.
I know I'm a selfish brute. I can't help it. You shan't regret it. I'll make another fortune for you and you shall have it all. Primrose, dear, I love you, I love you. I could not speak when you were rich, but now you are poor I can. You—you do care for me a little, dear.
A little, Ted.
Enough to be my wife?
Yes, I think it's enough for that. (Ted draws her face down and kisses her.) And you don't mind the money either way?
Of course not, dear.
And you care for me just the same, rich or poor?
(He sits on arm of chair beside her.) Now and always, sweetheart, rich or poor.
I'm glad of that. I shouldn't like to be cared for merely because I was poor. It would be so awkward if—if one wasn't poor.
But you are poor?
Not—not very, I'm afraid, dear.
You said you'd lost all your money!
No, I didn't, Ted. I said somebody might have told you I had. People do tell things about other people that are not true sometimes. (Ted rises and stands by table, looking troubled. Primrose breaks into a ringing laugh.) You can't get out of it now, Ted. I could bring a breach of promise case against you. (Ted still looks stern. Primrose rises and comes to him, playing with one of his coat buttons.) I've deceived and trapped you into it, haven't I? Please forgive me. It—it isn't soverymuch, and I could give it away to the Salvation Army if you liked, or we could let Mr. Ben Dixon lay it out for us. (Laughs.)
You don't understand, dear.
(Seriously.) Yes—I do, dear. You're a silly stuck-up old thing. You never would have spoken so long as you thought I was rich—and I—(nestling against him) wanted you.
(Relenting.) They'll say I married you for your money.
Don't you care for me sufficiently, dear, not to mind what "they" say? (Looking him earnestly in the face.)
(Looks at her, and then takes her face in his hands and kisses her.) Yes, dear, forgive me. (After this, in loverlike fashion, they commence walking about the room and talking with their arms round each other's waists.)
Let me see. I shall pass my examination in November.
And then we must look about for a nice little practice. We'll have one somewhere in the country, shall we?
Yes. (Musing.) I wish I hadn't been fool enough to let that Ben Dixon have all——
(A knock at front door heard. Primrose runs to window and looks out.)
Yes, I thought so. It's Mrs. Ben Dixon. (Running to door and holding out her hand to Ted.) Let's go upstairs to Nelly. (Ted catches her hand, and they run off, leaving the door wide open behind them. A wait. Then enters Mrs. Ben Dixon, shown in by servant.)
Is Adam Cherry in? (Cherry follows in.) Oh, here you are. I ain't late, am I?
No—not as it happens. But I'm expecting him every minute. (To servant.) Ask Mrs. Wheedles to step up, will you? (Servant goes out.)
I was bound to stop and get a snack. This is going to be a trying scene, you know, Cherry. What does—what's the poor woman's name—Mrs. Wheedles —think about it now?
Oh, much the same. She's still sure he's the man.
I hope to goodness she's right. We shall look silly, you know, Cherry, if he isn't.
And he will look silly if he is. (Enter Mrs. Wheedles. She is nervous but tries to be confident and to behave, as she would term it, "as a lady") Oh here you are, Mrs. Wheedles. This is Mrs.—— (pauses—awkwardly.)
Well, we're not sure who I am at present. That's just what I've come to find out. I suppose there'll be no doubt about your knowing this beauty if he is the man?
(Stiffly.) I think not, madam. I was his wife for ten years.
Ten! Ah, poor soul, no wonder you look sad. I've been it for eighteen months. I hope you mean to be firm, Mrs. Wheedles?
MRS. WHEEDLES. I shall do my duty as a woman.
I'm glad to hear you say so. I hope he'll get two years.
(Sighing.) Ah, so happy as we used to be, too.
If you take my advice, you'll make him fork out something to divide between you, and then let him go.
Now look here, Cherry, don't you suggest anything of the kind. Don't you interfere between us and our husband.
Myhusband, madam.
Oh, all right, your husband. I'm sure you're quite welcome to him. I've saved a good deal more out of the wreck than I expected to, thanks to Theodore; and we shouldn't get anything out of him if we tried. He's deceived me and he's deceived Mrs. Wheedles—as simple and trusting a woman as ever breathed, I should say, from the look of her. I want to think of him as doing some hard work for once in his life.
You're quite right, ma'am. He doesn't deserve any mercy at our hands—a good wife I was to him—none of your flighty sort. (Begins to cry. Bell heard.)
There he is, I expect. I must see him first. You just step in there (indicating door) and wait till I've gone out and closed the door behind me. That will be your cue. (The two women retire towards inner room.) I shall be in the little room the other side of the passage if you want me. (Ben Dixon's voice is heard in passage. Cherry nods and signs the two women to disappear. They do so, closing the door behind them.)
(Enter Ben Dixon. He is dressed for travelling, bag and umbrella. He enters, beaming as usual, and laying down his hat, bag, and umbrella on chair by door, advances to Cherry and shakes hands with him with one hand while holding his watch in the other. )
My dear Cherry, I've only just ten minutes. Is the lady here?
Oh, yes, but—but I'm afraid she'll want to talk to you for more than ten minutes.
(Makes a clicking noise with his tongue.) I'm really afraid I cannot spare her any more. I must catch the afternoon mail from Charing Cross.
(Quickly.) Going abroad?
Yes, Mr. Cherry.
Anything to do with the "Anti-Alcoholic and Mineral Water Union?"
Partly so.
Ah! I thought you'd be having to travel soon in connection with that affair. I'll send the lady to you at once, anyhow. (Moving towards door at back.)
Do, Mr. Cherry; do. And if she's got the cash ready—or a cheque, it really ought not to take long, you know.
I'll leave you to explain the situation to her yourself.
(Cherry goes out slamming the door behind him. Ben Dixon goes to his bag and takes out a prospectus and crossing and standing facing windows begins to read it to himself. While he is doing this Mrs. Ben Dixon and Mrs. Wheedles enter quietly.)
(With prospectus in his hand rehearsing to himself in soft voice what he intends to say to his supposed client.) You will be assisting, my dear madam, in saving many poor souls from destruction; you will also get 15 per cent, for your money. For myself——
(He turns and sees the two women. The paper drops from his hand and he stands looking from one to the other like a trapped rat. For an instant he thinks of escape. He makes a step towards the door at back, but Mrs. Ben Dixon makes a movement to cut him off, then towards door Right, before which Mrs Wheedles stands. Then he makes a movement as if thinking of the window. Then seeing the hopelessness of his case and understanding the situation, he makes up his mind. With an expression of wonder and joy, he advances with outstretched arms towards Mrs. Wheedles.)
What, Gerty! And you'renotdead! Oh, why did they tell me that you were! Why——
(Intercepts him.) Here, that won't do. That's a bit too thin, Ben. You described yourself when you married me as a bachelor.
I know I did, my dear, but I can explain—I can explain everything.
You will have the opportunity of doing so—before the magistrate (regarding him with concentrated disgust), you sanctimonious old scoundrel.
A good wife as I was to you, Henery, how could you do it?
My dear Gertrude, I can explain.
Explain! You'll explain yourself into heaven if they're not sharp. Can you explain why you humbugged and lied an unfortunate fool of a woman into marrying you?
And broke your poor wife's heart.
And tried to swindle her out of every penny she possessed.
And deserted a poor harmless babe as was the very image of him.
I'm sorry for the child; but we'll make him pay for it, Mrs. Wheedles.
If you will only allow me to explain.
Explain? What is there to explain? Do you deny that you are married to Mrs. Wheedles, there?
(Virtuously). No, Bella, I do not! No consideration of consequence to myself shall induce me to deny it. I am proud—as anyone might be—to be the husband of this noble lady! (Crosses over to Mrs. Wheedles' side.)
Oh, well you've been pretty modest about it of late. And do you deny that eighteen months ago you married me?
(More in sorrow than in anger.) No, Bella, much as I may regret it—I do not, Iwillnot deny the truth.
MRS. WHEEDLES. Why did you do it, Henery?
It was wrong of me. I own it. We are none of us perfect. The woman tempted me, and I fell.
I tempted you?
You, Bella. I do not blame you. You loved me—at least you said you did—and you dangled your purse before me. I thought of all the good that I could do to others with your money. I always do think of others—it is my weakness. I sacrificed myself for the good of humanity.
(Too staggered for words). Well, I'm——
You never thought of poorme, Henery.
(With an air of sweet sadness.) Not think of you, Gertrude? Ah, how often have I not longed to seek you—to come to you with outstretched arms and say, "Gertrude, let us forgive and forget, let us be happy again as we were in the dear old days gone by." (Stifles a sob.)
MRS. BEN DIXON. Why didn't you do it?
My dear Bella, do not interrupt. There were reasons rendering it necessary for me to control my longing—you were one of them.
And did you never think of what had become of me—of how I was getting on?
Do you think I could have lived a moment in doubt? I made enquiries. They told me you were well and——
You said just now they told you she was dead.
(Irritably.) My good woman, do be quiet. I'm not addressing you. I'm talking to my wife.
Do let the man explain.
Explain! And do you mean to say you're going to be fool enough to listen to him—you poor ninny-hammer?
(Bridling.) Don't you call me names, ma'am. I'm a respectable married woman, which is more than some people are.
And whose fault if they're not, I should like to know? Why couldn't you keep him when you'd got him?—not let him loose to prey on poor fools like me.
Why did you come with your arts and your tricks and lure him away, ma'am?
I! I lure awaythat!You silly old woman!
No more a silly old woman than you are, ma'am. He was a loving Christian husband till you came between us with your painted face.
(Close to her.) You say I paint my face, and I'll pull your false front off.
(He has hitherto remained standing between them in an attitude expressive of pious indifference, his finger-tips pressed against each other.) Ladies! ladies!
(Turns fiercely on him.) You be quiet (he skips out of her way), and keep your breath to bamboozle that poor fool with. You take him back again, my dear, you haven't had enough of him as yet. I shan't interfere I am only too glad to be rid of him. Only if he makes a fool of you a second time, don't you come to me for sympathy. I've done with you both, and I've done with respectability. I've paid enough for being a prude. For the future give me something wholesome and disreputable. (She sweeps out by door at back which she slams behind her.)
(Calling after her.) Hussy!
(Soothing her.) Don't take any notice of her, dearest; she's a little excited, that's all.
(Clinging to him.) I feel so upset, Henery (crying).
Of course you do. You're not strong, Gertrude. We must take more care of you. (Puts his arm round her while slyly looking at his watch.)
(Looking up lovingly at him!) You won't leave me again?
(He hastily slips watch out of sight.) Leave you! Not now that I have you once again. (Squeezes her to him tenderly—then with joyful playfulness.) And I'll tell you what we'll do, Gerty, to celebrate this joyful reunion. We'll have one of our dear little old evenings out together—do you remember them? The little dinner at the little restaurant with the little bottle of wine, and the Adelphi afterwards. (Mrs. Wheedles answers with a look and a coy laugh.) Run and put your bonnet on and we'll trot off together this very minute and get away from them all.
I must just change my dress, Henery.
Of course, of course you must, you long will it?
But it won't take
Not more than ten minutes.
(He edges her towards the door.) Ah, well, be as quick as you can, dear. I'll wait down here for you.
You—youwillwait, Henery?
(Offended.) Gertrude!
No—I didn't mean that, dear.
I know you didn't. I know you didn't (pushing her playfully out.) And, Gerty! (she stops) you haven't got the cherry coloured one still by you?—the one you used to look so saucy in?
(At open door.) Yes, I have, Henery. I've never worn it since the day you left me.
Put that one on, will you? Eh? (They both laugh playfully and he pats her cheek and she goes off—he watches her off then closes the door.) Poor old soul! (Looks at watch and collects his bag, umbrella, hat, etc.) Now if that fool of a cab isn't gone I can just—— (He has his hat on and with his watch in his hand is opening door when—Enter Cherry, who stands blocking his exit.)
Can't stop a minute, my dear Cherry; so sorry. Good-bye! (Tries to pass.)
(Coming in and closing door.) Don't you say goodbye till you're clear off. You've got to have a chat with me first.
My dear sir, I positively decline. I am not at all pleased with you; I consider you have acted in a most unchristianlike manner. I am disappointed in you, Mr. Cherry. More disappointed that I can say.
Then don't say it. The less you say, the sooner you'll get off, and I take it you want to get clear off before Mrs. Wheedles comes downstairs again.
Mr. Cherry, I do. I frankly admit it. Mrs. Wheedles is an excellent woman—a worthy woman, but—well, I put it toyou, wouldyoulike to live with her—as a husband?
Mr. Wheedles!
Don't be absurd, sir. How dare you misunderstand me? I mean am I to blame for not wanting to?
We won't go into that question. I am with you so far as to think that she will be much better off without you, and I also admit that I have nowishto lodge an information against you on my own account—if we can come to terms.
Come to terms! What do you mean?
I mean I want £4,000 in notes or gold out of you before you leave this house.
£4,000! Do you think, sir, that I'm a travelling bank?
I know that you've made arrangements to go straight from this house on an absconding tour to the continent, and it's not unreasonable to suppose that under the circumstances you've got about you all the cash you could scrape together. Anyhow, if I don't have the satisfaction of getting the £4,000 out of you I'll have the satisfaction of handing you over to the police.
(Mounting the high horse.) My good sir, do you know the legal term for what you are doing? "Endeavouring to extort money by threats." Are you aware that that is an indictable offence?
(Putting his hands in his pockets.) All right. Indict away.
(Looks at watch.) Damn it, here's five minutes gone already. My dear sir, do be reasonable.
My dear Mr. Ben Dixon—or Wheedles—or whatever your name really is, don't argue You are getting off uncommonly cheap. I say nothing about the money you've swindled Mrs. Ben Dixon out of. I say nothing about the money you've swindled me out of. But I want the money you've swindled that poor boy and girl upstairs out of—and I mean to have it.
But if I haven't got it?
Then you'll get five years' penal servitude for bigamy.
Dear, dear me, how Providence does seem against me to-day. Oh, this is a beast of a house (savagely.) What is it you do want? Be quick about it? (Slams down bag and umbrella and seats himself at table.)
(He has brought writing materials from sideboard and placed them.) I want you to write a pleasant little note to Ted and Nelly, explaining the circumstances, and enclosing the £4,000, that's all.
Say £2,000, Mr. Cherry—£2,000 and a little something for yourself. I should like to give you a little something for yourself.
£4,000—or Bow Street. You'd better be quick. You wouldn't look well with your hair short.
(Gives him a look of intense malevolence and begins to write) '.—"My dear children, before leaving England, under circumstances needless to be stated here, my thoughts naturally revert to my beloved ones."—Mr. Cherry, I consider you to be a damned scoundrel.—"It has all along been my intention to make good to you, my dear children, the loss you sustained when Providence ceased to smile upon the Nonconformist Building Society, Limited (with concentrated rage.) My doing so leaves me a comparative pauper, but do not grieve for me."
(Who is standing beside him, looking over.) That's rather needless, isn't it?
(Savagely.) Shut up! (Writing.) "Committing you, my dear beloved ones, to the care of Providence, and trusting that one day we may be all reunited in the bourne of the righteous, I remain your loving and affectionate uncle, Henry." (Lays letter down and addresses envelope.)
(Taking up and looking at letter.) Very good—very good indeed.
(Snatching letter away, and putting it in envelope.) Hypocrite! (Takes out pocket-book and begins counting notes—pausing half-way through.) It's a lot of money, Mr. Cherry, to put all at once into the hands of two inexperienced young persons. Wouldn't it be better for us to give them £2,000 now, and let me send them the rest later on?
Don't be silly! You're wasting time. Mrs. Wheedles will be down in a minute.
(He gives Cherry another savage look and goes on counting; having finished he puts them in an envelope.) All my little savings, and me an old man. (Is about to close envelope.)
(Taking it from him.) You don't mind my counting them?
(Wounded.) Do you mistrust me?
(Counting.) Merely a matter of form. £3,995 here, Mr. Wheedles.
(He has collected his baggage, and is on the point of slipping off. He now draws forth and hands Cherry another note.) I look upon you as a common thief, sir, and if I was a young man, I'd——
There's nothing further that need detain you, Mr. Wheedles.