Aubrey.
Paula—Paula dear. [Hesitatingly.] My dear Mrs. Cortelyon, this is wonderfully kind of you; I am really at a loss to—eh, Cayley?
Drummle.
[WatchingPaulaapprehensively.] Kind! Now I must say I don't think so! I begged Alice to takemeto Paris, and she declined. I am thrown over for Ellean! Ha! ha!
Mrs. Cortelyon.
[Laughing.] What nonsense you talk, Cayley!
[The laughter dies out.Paularemains quite still.
Aubrey.
Paula dear.
Paula.
[Slowly collecting herself.] One moment. I—I don't quite—— [ToMrs.Cortelyon.] You propose that Ellean leaves Highercoombe almost at once and remains with you some months?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
It would be a mercy to me. You can afford to be generous to a desolate old widow. Come, Mrs. Tanqueray, won't you spare her?
Paula.
Won'tIspare her. [Suspiciously.] Have you mentioned your plan to Aubrey—before I came in?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
No, I had no opportunity.
Paula.
Nor to Ellean?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
Oh, no.
Paula.
[Looking about her, in suppressed excitement.] This hasn't been discussed at all, behind my back?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
My dear Mrs. Tanqueray!
Paula.
Ellean, let us hear your voice in the matter!
Ellean.
I should like to go with Mrs. Cortelyon—
Paula.
Ah!
Ellean.
That is, if—if——
Paula.
If—if what?
Ellean.
[Looking towardsAubrey,appealingly.] Papa!
Paula.
[In a hard voice.] Oh, of course—I forgot. [ToAubrey.] My dear Aubrey, it rests with you, naturally, whether I am—to lose—Ellean.
Aubrey.
Lose Ellean! [Advancing toPaula.] There is no question of losing Ellean. You would see Ellean in town constantly when she returned from Paris; isn't that so, Mrs. Cortelyon?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
Certainly.
Paula.
[Laughing softly.] Oh, I didn't know I should be allowed that privilege.
Mrs. Cortelyon.
Privilege, my dear Mrs. Tanqueray!
Paula.
Ha, ha! that makes all the difference, doesn't it?
Aubrey.
[With assumed gaiety.] All the difference? I should think so! [ToEllean,laying his hand upon her head, tenderly.] And you are quite certain you wish to see what the world is like on the other side of Black Moor?
Ellean.
If you are willing, papa, I am quite certain.
Aubrey.
[Looking atPaulairresolutely, then speaking with an effort.] Then I—I am willing.
Paula.
[Rising and striking the table lightly with her clenched hand.] That decides it! [There is a general movement. Excitedly toMrs. Cortelyon,who advances towards her.] When do you want her?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
We go to town this afternoon at five o'clock, and sleep to-night at Bayliss's. There is barely time for her to make her preparations.
Paula.
I will undertake that she is ready.
Mrs. Cortelyon.
I've a great deal to scramble through at home too, as you may guess. Good-bye!
Paula.
[Turning away.] Mrs. Cortelyon is going.
[Paulastands looking out of the window, with her back to those in the room.
Mrs. Cortelyon.
[ToDrummle.] Cayley——
Drummle.
[To her.] Eh?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
I've gone through it, for the sake of Aubrey and his child, but I—I feel a hundred. Is that a mad-woman?
Drummle.
Of course; all jealous women are mad.
[He goes out withAubrey.
Mrs. Cortelyon.
[Hesitatingly, toPaula.] Good-bye, Mrs. Tanqueray.
[Paulainclines her head with the slightest possible movement, then resumes her former position.Elleancomes from the hall and takesMrs. Cortelyonout of the room. After a brief silence,Paulaturns with a fierce cry, and hurriedly takes off her coat and hat, and tosses them upon the settee.
Paula.
Oh! Oh! Oh! [She drops into the chair asAubreyreturns; he stands looking at her.] Who's that?
Aubrey.
I. You have altered your mind about going out?
Paula.
Yes. Please to ring the bell.
Aubrey.
[Touching the bell.] You are angry about Mrs. Cortelyon and Ellean. Let me try to explain my reasons——
Paula.
Be careful what you say to me just now! I have never felt like this—except once—in my life. Be careful what you say to me!
AServantenters.
Paula.
[Rising.] Is Watts at the door with the cart?
Servant.
Yes, ma'am.
Paula.
Tell him to drive down to the post-office directly, with this.
[Picking up the letter which has been lying upon the table.
Aubrey.
With that?
Paula.
Yes. My letter to Lady Orreyed.
[Giving the letter to theServant,who goes out.
Aubrey.
Surely you don't wish me to countermand any order of yours to a servant? Call the man back—take the letter from him!
Paula.
I have not the slightest intention of doing so.
Aubrey.
I must, then. [Going to the door. She snatches up her hat and coat and follows him.] What are you going to do?
Paula.
If you stop that letter, walk out of the house.
[He hesitates, then leaves the door.
Aubrey.
I am right in believing that to be the letter inviting George Orreyed and his wife to stay here, am I not?
Paula.
Oh yes—quite right.
Aubrey.
Let it go; I'll write to him by-and-by.
Paula.
[Facing him.] You dare!
Aubrey.
Hush, Paula!
Paula.
Insult me again and, upon my word, I'll go straight out of the house!
Aubrey.
Insult you?
Paula.
Insult me! What else is it? My God! what else is it? What do you mean by taking Ellean from me?
Aubrey.
Listen——!
Paula.
Listen tome! And how do you take her? Youpack her off in the care of a woman who has deliberately held aloof from me, who's thrown mud at me! Yet this Cortelyon creature has only to put foot here once to be entrusted with the charge of the girl you know I dearly want to keep near me!
Aubrey.
Paula dear! hear me——!
Paula.
Ah! of course, of course! I can't be so useful to your daughter as such people as this; and so I'm to be given the go-by for any town friend of yours who turns up and chooses to patronise us! Hah! Very well, at any rate, as you take Ellean from me you justify my looking for companions where I can most readily find 'em.
Aubrey.
You wish me to fully appreciate your reason for sending that letter to Lady Orreyed?
Paula.
Precisely—I do.
Aubrey.
And could you, after all, go back to associates of that order? It's not possible!
Paula.
[Mockingly.] What, not after the refining influence of these intensely respectable surroundings? [Going to the door.] We'll see!
Aubrey.
Paula!
Paula.
[Violently.] We'll see!
[She goes out. He stands still looking after her.
The drawing-room at "Highercoombe." Facing the spectator are two large French windows, sheltered by a verandah, leading into the garden; on the right is a door opening into a small hall. The fireplace, with a large mirror above it, is on the left-hand side of the room, and higher up in the same wall are double doors recessed. The room is richly furnished, and everything betokens taste and luxury. The windows are open, and there is moonlight in the garden.Lady Orreyed,a pretty, affected doll of a woman with a mincing voice and flaxen hair, is sitting on the ottoman, her head resting against the drum, and her eyes closed.Paula,looking pale, worn, and thoroughly unhappy, is sitting at a table. Both are in sumptuous dinner-gowns.
The drawing-room at "Highercoombe." Facing the spectator are two large French windows, sheltered by a verandah, leading into the garden; on the right is a door opening into a small hall. The fireplace, with a large mirror above it, is on the left-hand side of the room, and higher up in the same wall are double doors recessed. The room is richly furnished, and everything betokens taste and luxury. The windows are open, and there is moonlight in the garden.
Lady Orreyed,a pretty, affected doll of a woman with a mincing voice and flaxen hair, is sitting on the ottoman, her head resting against the drum, and her eyes closed.Paula,looking pale, worn, and thoroughly unhappy, is sitting at a table. Both are in sumptuous dinner-gowns.
Lady Orreyed.
[Opening her eyes.] Well, I never! I dropped off![Feeling her hair.] Just fancy! Where are the men?
Paula.
[Icily.] Outside, smoking.
AServantenters with coffee, which he hands toLady Orreyed.Sir George Orreyedcomes in by the window. He is a man of about thirty-five, with a low forehead, a receding chin, a vacuous expression, and an ominous redness about the nose.
AServantenters with coffee, which he hands toLady Orreyed.Sir George Orreyedcomes in by the window. He is a man of about thirty-five, with a low forehead, a receding chin, a vacuous expression, and an ominous redness about the nose.
Lady Orreyed.
[Taking coffee.] Here's Dodo.
Sir George.
I say, the flies under the verandah make you swear. [TheServanthands coffee toPaula,who declines it, then toSir George,who takes a cup.] Hi! wait a bit! [He looks at the tray searchingly, then puts back his cup.] Never mind. [Quietly toLady Orreyed.] I say, they're dooced sparin' with their liqueur, ain't they?
[TheServantgoes out at window.
Paula.
[ToSir George.] Won't you take coffee, George?
Sir George.
No, thanks. It's gettin' near time for a whisky and potass. [ApproachingPaula,regardingLady Orreyedadmiringly.] I say, Birdie looks rippin' to-night, don't she?
Paula.
Your wife?
Sir George.
Yaas—Birdie.
Paula.
Rippin'?
Sir George.
Yaas.
Paula.
Quite—quite rippin'.
[He moves round to the settee.Paulawatches him with distaste, then rises and walks away.Sir Georgefalls asleep on the settee.
Lady Orreyed.
Paula love, I fancied you and Aubrey were a little more friendly at dinner. You haven't made it up, have you?
Paula.
We? Oh, no. We speak before others, that's all.
Lady Orreyed.
And how long do you intend to carry on this game, dear?
Paula.
[Turning away impatiently.] I really can't tell you.
Lady Orreyed.
Sit down, old girl; don't be so fidgety. [Paulasits on the upper seat of the ottoman with her back toLady Orreyed.] Of course, it's my duty, as an old friend, to give you a good talking-to—[Paulaglares at her suddenly and fiercely.]—but really I've found one gets so many smacks in the face through interfering in matrimonial squabbles that I've determined to drop it.
Paula.
I think you're wise.
Lady Orreyed.
However, I must say that I do wish you'd look at marriage in a more solemn light—just as I do, in fact. It is such a beautiful thing—marriage, and if people in our position don't respect it, and set a good example by living happily with their husbands, what can you expect from the middle classes? When did this sad state of affairs between you and Aubrey actually begin?
Paula.
Actually, a fortnight and three days ago; I haven't calculated the minutes.
Lady Orreyed.
A day or two before Dodo and I turned up—arrived.
Paula.
Yes. One always remembers one thing by another; we left off speaking to each other the morning I wrote asking you to visit us.
Lady Orreyed.
Lucky for you I was able to pop down, wasn't it, dear?
Paula.
[Glaring at her again.] Most fortunate.
Lady Orreyed.
A serious split with your husband without a pal on the premises—I should say, without a friend in the house—would be most unpleasant.
Paula.
[Turning to her abruptly.] This place must be horribly doleful for you and George just now. Atleast you ought to consider him before me. Why don't you leave me to my difficulties?
Lady Orreyed.
Oh, we're quite comfortable, dear, thank you—both of us. George and me are so wrapped up in each other, it doesn't matter where we are. I don't want to crow over you, old girl, but I've got a perfect husband.
[Sir Georgeis now fast asleep, his head thrown back and his mouth open, looking hideous.
Paula.
[Glancing atSir George.] So you've given me to understand.
Lady Orreyed.
Not that we don't have our little differences. Why, we fell out only this very morning. You remember the diamond and ruby tiara Charley Prestwick gave poor dear Connie Tirlemont years ago, don't you?
Paula.
No, I do not.
Lady Orreyed.
No? Well, it's in the market. Benjamin of Piccadilly has got it in his shop-window, and I've set my heart on it.
Paula.
You consider it quite necessary?
Lady Orreyed.
Yes, because what I say to Dodo is this—a lady of my station must smother herself with hair ornaments. It's different with you, love—people don't look for so much blaze from you, but I've got rank to keep up; haven't I?
Paula.
Yes.
Lady Orreyed.
Well, that was the cause of the little set-to between I and Dodo this morning. He broke two chairs, he was in such a rage. I forgot, they're your chairs; do you mind?
Paula.
No.
Lady Orreyed.
You know, poor Dodo can't lose his temper without smashing something; if it isn't a chair, it's a mirror; if it isn't that, it's china—a bit of Dresden for choice. Dear old pet! he loves a bit of Dresden when he's furious. He doesn't really throw thingsatme, dear; he simply lifts them up and drops them, like agentleman. I expect our room upstairs will look rather wrecky before I get that tiara.
Paula.
Excuse the suggestion, perhaps your husband can't afford it.
Lady Orreyed.
Oh, how dreadfully changed you are, Paula! Dodo can always mortgage something, or borrow of his ma. Whatiscoming to you!
Paula.
Ah!
[She sits at the piano and touches the keys.
Lady Orreyed.
Oh, yes, do play! That's the one thing I envy you for.
Paula.
What shall I play?
Lady Orreyed.
What was that heavenly piece you gave us last night, dear?
Paula.
A bit of Schubert. Would you like to hear it again?
Lady Orreyed.
You don't know any comic songs, do you?
Paula.
I'm afraid not.
Lady Orreyed.
I leave it to you, then.
[Paulaplays.AubreyandCayley Drummleappear outside the window; they look into the room.
Aubrey.
[ToDrummle. ] You can see her face in that mirror. Poor girl, how ill and wretched she looks.
Drummle.
When are the Orreyeds going?
Aubrey.
Heaven knows!
[Entering the room.
Drummle.
Butyou'reentertaining them; what's it to do with Heaven?
[FollowingAubrey.
Aubrey.
Do you know, Cayley, that even the Orreyeds serve a useful purpose? My wife actually speaks to me before our guests—think of that! I've come to rejoice at the presence of the Orreyeds!
Drummle.
I daresay; we're taught that beetles are sent for a benign end.
Aubrey.
Cayley, talk to Paula again to-night.
Drummle.
Certainly, if I get the chance.
Aubrey.
Let's contrive it. George is asleep; perhaps I can get that doll out of the way. [As they advance into the room,Paulaabruptly ceases playing and finds interest in a volume of music.Sir Georgeis now nodding and snoring apoplectically.] Lady Orreyed, whenever you feel inclined for a game of billiards I'm at your service.
Lady Orreyed.
[Jumping up.] Charmed, I'm sure! I really thought you'd forgotten poor little me. Oh, look at Dodo!
Aubrey.
No, no, don't wake him; he's tired.
Lady Orreyed.
I must, he looks so plain. [RousingSir George.] Dodo! Dodo!
Sir George.
[Stupidly.] 'Ullo!
Lady Orreyed.
Dodo, dear, you were snoring.
Sir George.
Oh, I say, you could 'a told me that by-and-by.
Aubrey.
You want a cigar, George; come into the billiard-room. [Giving his arm toLady Orreyed.] Cayley, bring Paula.
[AubreyandLady Orreyedgo out.
Sir George.
[Rising.] Hey, what! Billiard-room! [Looking at his watch.] How goes the——? Phew! 'Ullo, 'Ullo! Whisky and potass!
[He goes rapidly afterAubreyandLady Orreyed.Paularesumes playing.
Paula.
[After a pause.] Don't moon about after me, Cayley; follow the others.
Drummle.
Thanks, by-and-by. [Sitting.] That's pretty.
Paula.
[After another pause, still playing.] I wish you wouldn't stare so.
Drummle.
Was I staring? I'm sorry. [She plays a little longer, then stops suddenly, rises, and goes to the window, where she stands looking out.Drummlemoves from the ottoman to the settee.] A lovely night.
Paula.
[Startled.] Oh! [Without turning to him.] Why do you hop about like a monkey?
Drummle.
Hot rooms play the deuce with the nerves. Now, it would have done you good to have walked in the garden with us after dinner and made merry. Why didn't you?
Paula.
You know why.
Drummle.
Ah, you're thinking of the—difference between you and Aubrey?
Paula.
Yes, Iamthinking of it.
Drummle.
Well, so am I. How long——?
Paula.
Getting on for three weeks.
Drummle.
Bless me, it must be! And this would have been such a night to have healed it! Moonlight, the stars, the scent of flowers; and yet enough darkness to enable a kind woman to rest her hand for an instant on the arm of a good fellow who loves her. Ah, ha! it's a wonderful power, dear Mrs. Aubrey, the power of an offended woman! Only realise it! Just that one touch—the mere tips of her fingers—and, for herself and another, she changes the colour of the whole world!
Paula.
[Turning to him, calmly.] Cayley, my dear man, you talk exactly like a very romantic old lady.
[She leaves the window and sits playing with the knick-knacks on the table.
Drummle.
[To himself.] H'm, that hasn't done it! Well—ha, ha!—I accept the suggestion. An old woman, eh?
Paula.
Oh, I didn't intend——
Drummle.
But why not? I've every qualification—well, almost. And I confess it would have given this withered bosom a throb of grandmotherly satisfaction if I could have seen you and Aubrey at peace before I take my leave to-morrow.
Paula.
To-morrow, Cayley!
Drummle.
I must.
Paula.
Oh, this house is becoming unendurable.
Drummle.
You're very kind. But you've got the Orreyeds.
Paula.
[Fiercely.] The Orreyeds! I—I hate the Orreyeds! I lie awake at night, hating them!
Drummle.
Pardon me, I've understood that their visit is, in some degree, owing to—hem!—your suggestion.
Paula.
Heavens! that doesn't make me like them better. Somehow or another, I—I've outgrown these people. This woman—I used to think her "jolly!"—sickens me. I can't breathe when she's near me: the whiff of her handkerchief turns me faint! And she patronises me by the hour, until I—I feel my nails growing longer with every word she speaks!
Drummle.
My dear lady, why on earth don't you say all this to Aubrey?
Paula.
Oh, I've been such an utter fool, Cayley!
Drummle.
[Soothingly.] Well, well, mention it to Aubrey!
Paula.
No, no, you don't understand. What do you think I've done?
Drummle.
Done! What,sinceyou invited the Orreyeds?
Paula.
Yes; I must tell you——
Drummle.
Perhaps you'd better not.
Paula.
Look here. I've intercepted some letters from Mrs. Cortelyon and Ellean to—him. [Producing three unopened letters from the bodice of her dress.] There are the accursed things! From Paris—two from the Cortelyon woman, the other from Ellean!
Drummle.
But why—why?
Paula.
I don't know. Yes, I do! I saw letters coming from Ellean to her father; not a line to me—not a line. And one morning it happened I was downstairs before he was, and I spied this one lying with his heap on the breakfast-table, and I slipped it into my pocket—out of malice, Cayley, pure devilry! And a day or two afterwards I met Elwes the postman at the Lodge, and took the letters from him, and found these others amongst 'em. I felt simply fiendish when I saw them—fiendish! [Returning the letters to her bodice.] And now I carry them about with me, and they're scorching me like a mustard plaster!
Drummle.
Oh, this accounts for Aubrey not hearing from Paris lately!
Paula.
That's an ingenious conclusion to arrive at! Of course it does! [With an hysterical laugh.] Ha, ha!
Drummle.
Well, well! [Laughing.] Ha, ha, ha!
Paula.
[Turning upon him.] I suppose itisamusing!
Drummle.
I beg pardon.
Paula.
Heaven knows I've little enough to brag about! I'm a bad lot, but not in mean tricks of this sort. In all my life this is the most caddish thing I've done. How am I to get rid of these letters—that's what I want to know? How am I to get rid of them?
Drummle.
If I were you I should take Aubrey aside and put them into his hands as soon as possible.
Paula.
What! and tell him to his face that I——! No, thank you. I supposeyouwouldn't like to——
Drummle.
No, no; I won't touch 'em!
Paula.
And you call yourself my friend?
Drummle.
[Good-humouredly.] No, I don't!
Paula.
Perhaps I'll tie them together and give them to his man in the morning.
Drummle.
That won't avoid an explanation.
Paula.
[Recklessly.] Oh, then he must miss them——
Drummle.
And trace them.
Paula.
[Throwing herself upon the ottoman.] I don't care!
Drummle.
I know you don't; but let me send him to you now, may I?
Paula.
Now! What do you think a woman's made of? I couldn't stand it, Cayley. I haven't slept for nights; and last night there was thunder, too! I believe I've got the horrors.
Drummle.
[Taking the little hand-mirror from the table.] You'll sleep well enough when you deliver those letters. Come, come, Mrs. Aubrey—a good night's rest! [Holding the mirror before her face.] It's quite time.
[She looks at herself for a moment, then snatches the mirror from him.
Paula.
You brute, Cayley, to show me that!
Drummle.
Then—may I? Be guided by a fr—a poor old woman! May I?
Paula.
You'll kill me, amongst you!
Drummle.
What do you say?
Paula.
[After a pause.] Very well. [He nods his head and goes out rapidly. She looks after him for a moment, and calls "Cayley! Cayley!" Then she again produces the letters, deliberately, one by one, fingering them with aversion. Suddenly she starts, turning her head towards the door.] Ah!
Aubreyenters quickly.
Aubrey.
Paula!
Paula.
[Handing him the letters, her face averted.] There! [He examines the letters, puzzled, and looks at her inquiringly.] They are many days old. I stole them, I suppose to make you anxious and unhappy.
[He looks at the letters again, then lays them aside on the table.
Aubrey.
[Gently.] Paula, dear, it doesn't matter.
Paula.
[After a short pause.] Why—why do you take it like this?
Aubrey.
What did you expect?
Paula.
Oh, but I suppose silent reproaches are really the severest. And then, naturally, you are itching to open your letters.
[She crosses the room as if to go.
Aubrey.
Paula! [She pauses.] Surely, surely it's all over now?
Paula.
All over! [Mockingly..] Has my step-daughter returned then? When did she arrive? I haven't heard of it!
Aubrey.
You can be very cruel.
Paula.
That word's always on a man's lips; he uses it if his soup's cold. [With another movement as if to go.] Need we——
Aubrey.
I know I've wounded you, Paula. But isn't there any way out of this?
Paula.
When does Ellean return? To-morrow? Next week?
Aubrey.
[Wearily.] Oh! Why should we grudge Ellean the little pleasure she is likely to find in Paris and in London.
Paula.
I grudge her nothing, if that's a hit at me. But with that woman——!
Aubrey.
It must be that woman or another. You know that at present we are unable to give Ellean the opportunity of—of——
Paula.
Of mixing with respectable people.
Aubrey.
The opportunity of gaining friends, experience, ordinary knowledge of the world. If you are interested in Ellean, can't you see how useful Mrs. Cortelyon's good offices are?
Paula.
May I put one question? At the end of the London season, when Mrs. Cortelyon has done with Ellean, is it quite understood that the girlcomes back to us? [Aubreyis silent.] Is it? Is it?
Aubrey.
Let us wait till the end of the season——
Paula.
Oh! I knew it. You're only fooling me; you put me off with any trash. I believe you've sent Ellean away, not for the reasons you give, but because you don't consider me a decent companion for her, because you're afraid she might get a little of her innocence rubbed off in my company? Come, isn't that the truth? Be honest! Isn't that it?
Aubrey.
Yes.
[There is a moment's silence on both sides.
Paula.
[With uplifted hands as if to strike him.] Oh!
Aubrey.
[Taking her by the wrists.] Sit down. Sit down. [He puts her into a chair; she shakes herself free with a cry.] Now listen to me. Fond as you are, Paula, of harking back to your past, there's one chapter of it you always let alone. I've never asked you to speak of it; you've never offered to speak of it. I mean the chapter that relates to the time when youwere—like Ellean. [She attempts to rise; he restrains her.] No, no.
Paula.
I don't choose to talk about that time. I won't satisfy your curiosity.
Aubrey.
My dear Paula, I have no curiosity—I know what you were at Ellean's age. I'll tell you. You hadn't a thought that wasn't a wholesome one, you hadn't an impulse that didn't tend towards good, you never harboured a notion you couldn't have gossiped about to a parcel of children. [She makes another effort to rise: he lays his hand lightly on her shoulder.] And this was a very few years back—there are days now when you look like a schoolgirl—but think of the difference between the two Paulas. You'll have to think hard, because after a cruel life one's perceptions grow a thick skin. But, for God's sake, do think till you get these two images clearly in your mind, and then ask yourself what sort of a friend such a woman as you are to-day would have been for the girl of seven or eight years ago.
Paula.
[Rising.] How dare you? I could be almost as good a friend to Ellean as her own mother wouldhave been had she lived. I know what you mean. How dare you?
Aubrey.
You say that; very likely you believe it. But you're blind, Paula; you're blind. You! Every belief that a young, pure-minded girl holds sacred—that you once held sacred—you now make a target for a jest, a sneer, a paltry cynicism. I tell you, you're not mistress any longer of your thoughts or your tongue. Why, how often, sitting between you and Ellean, have I seen her cheeks turn scarlet as you've rattled off some tale that belongs by right to the club or the smoking-room! Have you noticed the blush? If you have, has the cause of it ever struck you? And this is the girl you say you love, I admit that youdolove, whose love you expect in return! Oh, Paula, I make the best, the only, excuse for you when I tell you you're blind!
Paula.
Ellean—Ellean blushes easily.
Aubrey.
You blushed as easily a few years ago.
Paula.
[After a short pause.] Well! Have you finished your sermon?
Aubrey.
[With a gesture of despair.] Oh, Paula!
[Going up to the window and standing with his back to the room.
Paula.
[To herself.] A few—years ago! [She walks slowly towards the door, then suddenly drops upon the ottoman in a paroxysm of weeping.] O God! A few years ago!
Aubrey.
[Going to her.] Paula!
Paula.
[Sobbing.] Oh, don't touch me!
Aubrey.
Paula!
Paula.
Oh, go away from me! [He goes back a few steps, and after a little while she becomes calmer and rises unsteadily; then in an altered tone.] Look here——! [He advances a step; she checks him with a quick gesture.] Look here! Get rid of these people—Mabel and her husband—as soon as possible! I—I've done with them!
Aubrey.
[In a whisper.] Paula!
Paula.
And then—then—when the time comes for Ellean to leave Mrs. Cortelyon, give me—give me another chance! [He advances again, but she shrinks away.] No, no!
[She goes out by the door on the right. He sinks on to the settee, covering his eyes with his hands. There is a brief silence, then aServantenters.]
Servant.
Mrs. Cortelyon, sir, with Miss Ellean.
[Aubreyrises to meetMrs. Cortelyon,who enters, followed byEllean,both being in travelling dresses. TheServantwithdraws.
Mrs. Cortelyon.
[Shaking hands withAubrey.] Oh, my dear Aubrey!
Aubrey.
Mrs. Cortelyon! [KissingEllean.] Ellean dear!
Ellean.
Papa, is all well at home?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
We're shockingly anxious.
Aubrey.
Yes, yes, all's well. This is quite unexpected. [ToMrs. Cortelyon.] You've found Paris insufferably hot?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
Insufferably hot! Paris is pleasant enough. We've had no letter from you!
Aubrey.
I wrote to Ellean a week ago.
Mrs. Cortelyon.
Without alluding to the subject I had written to you upon.
Aubrey.
[Thinking.] Ah, of course——
Mrs. Cortelyon.
And since then we've both written and you've been absolutely silent. Oh, it's too bad!
Aubrey.
[Picking up the letters from the table.] It isn't altogether my fault. Here are the letters——
Ellean.
Papa!
Mrs. Cortelyon.
They're unopened.
Aubrey.
An accident delayed their reaching me till this evening. I'm afraid this has upset you very much.
Mrs. Cortelyon.
Upset me!
Ellean.
[In an undertone toMrs. Cortelyon.] Never mind. Not now, dear—not to-night.
Aubrey.
Eh?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
[ToElleanaloud.] Child, run away and take your things off. She doesn't look as if she'd journeyed from Paris to-day.
Aubrey.
I've never seen her with such a colour.
[TakingEllean'shands.
Ellean.
[ToAubrey,in a faint voice.] Papa, Mrs. Cortelyon has been so very, very kind to me, but I—I have come home.
[She goes out.
Aubrey.
Come home! [ToMrs. Cortelyon.] Ellean returns to us, then?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
That's the very point I put to you in my letters, and you oblige me to travel from Paris to Willowmere on a warm day to settle it. I think perhaps it's right that Ellean should be with you just now, although I—— My dear friend, circumstances are a little altered.
Aubrey.
Alice, you're in some trouble.
Mrs. Cortelyon.
Well—yes, Iamin trouble. You remember pretty little Mrs. Brereton who was once Caroline Ardale?
Aubrey.
Quite well.
Mrs. Cortelyon.
She's a widow now, poor thing. She has theentresolof the house where we've been lodging in the Avenue de Friedland. Caroline's a dear chum of mine; she formed a great liking for Ellean.
Aubrey.
I'm very glad.
Mrs. Cortelyon.
Yes, it's nice for her to meet her mother's friends. Er—that young Hugh Ardale the papers were full of some time ago—he's Caroline Brereton's brother, you know.
Aubrey.
No, I didn't know. What did he do? I forget.
Mrs. Cortelyon.
Checked one of those horrid mutinies at some far-away station in India, marched down with a handful of his men and a few faithful natives, and held the place until he was relieved. They gave him his company and a V.C. for it.
Aubrey.
And he's Mrs. Brereton's brother?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
Yes. He's with his sister—was, rather—in Paris. He's home—invalided. Good gracious, Aubrey, why don't you help me out? Can't you guess what has occurred?
Aubrey.
Alice!
Mrs. Cortelyon.
Young Ardale—Ellean!
Aubrey.
An attachment?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
Yes, Aubrey. [After a little pause.] Well, I suppose I've got myself into sad disgrace. But really I didn't foresee anything of this kind. A serious, reserved child like Ellean, and a boyish, high-spirited soldier—it never struck me as being likely. [Aubreypaces to and fro thoughtfully.] I did all I could directly Captain Ardale spoke—wrote to you at once. Why on earth don't you receive your letters promptly, and when you do get them why can't you open them? I endured the anxiety till last night, and then made up my mind—home! Of course, it has worried me terribly. My head's bursting. Are there any salts about? [Aubreyfetches a bottle from the cabinet and hands it to her.] We've had one of those hateful smooth crossings that won't let you be properly indisposed.
Aubrey.
My dear Alice, I assure you I've no thought of blaming you.
Mrs. Cortelyon.
That statement always precedes a quarrel.
Aubrey.
I don't know whether this is the worst or the best luck. How will my wife regard it? Is Captain Ardale a good fellow?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
My dear Aubrey, you'd better read up the accounts of his wonderful heroism. Face to face with death for a whole week; always with a smile and a cheering word for the poor helpless souls depending on him! Of course, it's that that has stirred the depths of your child's nature. I've watched her while we've been dragging the story out of him, and if angels look different from Ellean at that moment, I don't desire to meet any, that's all!
Aubrey.
If you were in my position——? But you can't judge.
Mrs. Cortelyon.
Why, if I had a marriageable daughter of my own and Captain Ardale proposed for her, naturally I should cry my eyes out all night—but I should thank Heaven in the morning.
Aubrey.
You believe so thoroughly in him?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
Do you think I should have only a headache at this minute if I didn't! Look here, you've got to see me down the lane; that's the least you can do, my friend. Come into my house for a moment and shake hands with Hugh.
Aubrey.
What, is he here?
Mrs. Cortelyon.
He came through with us, to present himself formally to-morrow. Where are my gloves? [Aubreyfetches them from the ottoman.] Make my apologies to Mrs. Tanqueray, please. She's well, I hope? [Going towards the door.] I can't feel sorry she hasn't seen me in this condition.
Elleanenters.
Ellean.
[ToMrs. Cortelyon.] I've been waiting to wish you good-night. I was afraid I'd missed you.
Mrs. Cortelyon.
Good-night, Ellean.
Ellean.
[In a low voice, embracingMrs. Cortelyon.] I can't thank you. Dear Mrs. Cortelyon!
Mrs. Cortelyon.
[Her arms roundEllean,in a whisper toAubrey.] Speak a word to her.
[Mrs. Cortelyongoes out.
Aubrey.
[ToEllean.] Ellean, I'm going to see Mrs. Cortelyon home. Tell Paula where I am; explain, dear.
[Going to the door
Ellean.
[Her head drooping.] Yes. [Quickly.] Father! You are angry with me—disappointed?
Aubrey.
Angry?—no.
Ellean.
Disappointed?
Aubrey.
[Smiling and going to her and taking her hand.] If so, it's only because you've shaken my belief in my discernment. I thought you took after your poor mother a little, Ellean; but there's a look on your face to-night, dear, that I never saw on hers—never, never.
Ellean.
[Leaning her head on his shoulder.] Perhaps I ought not to have gone away?
Aubrey.
Hush! You're quite happy?
Ellean.
Yes.
Aubrey.
That's right. Then, as you are quite happy there is something I particularly want you to do for me Ellean.
Ellean.
What is that?
Aubrey.
Be very gentle with Paula. Will you?
Ellean.
You think I have been unkind.
Aubrey.
[Kissing her upon the forehead.] Be very gentle with Paula.
[He goes out and she stands looking after him, then, as she turns thoughtfully from the door, a rose is thrown through the window and falls at her feet. She picks up the flower wonderingly and goes to the window.