The next day after dinner. CulverandParlourmaid.
CULVER (handingParlourmaida letter). That's for the post. Is Miss Starkey here?
PARLOURMAID. Yes, sir. She is waiting.
CULVER. Ask her to be good enough to keep on waiting. She may come in when I ring twice.
PARLOURMAID. Yes, sir.
EnterMrs. Culver,back.
MRS. CULVER (toParlourmaid,stopping her as she goes out, dramatically). Give me that letter. (She snatches the letter from theParlourmaid.) You can go. (Culverrises.) (ExitParlourmaid.)
MRS. CULVER. I am determined to make a stand this time.
CULVER (soothingly). So I see, darling.
MRS. CULVER. I have given way to you all my life. But I won't give way now. This letter shall not go.
CULVER. As you like, darling.
MRS. CULVER. No. (She tears the envelope open, without having looked at it, and throws the letter into the fire. In doing so she lets fall a cheque.)
CULVER (rising and picking up the cheque). I'll keep the cheque as a memento.
MRS. CULVER. Cheque? What cheque?
CULVER. Darling, once in the old, happy days—I think it was last week—you and I were walking down Bond Street, almost hand in hand, but not quite, and you saw a brooch in a shop window. You simply had to have that brooch. I offered it to you for a Christmas present. You are wearing it now, and very well it suits you. This (indicating the cheque) was to pay the bill.
MRS. CULVER. Arthur!
CULVER. Moral: Look before you burn. Miss Starkey will now have to write a fresh letter.
MRS. CULVER. Arthur! You must forgive me. I'm in a horrid state of nerves, and you said youwere positively going to write to Lord Woking to-night to refuse the title.
CULVER. I did say so.
MRS. CULVER (hopefully). But you haven't written?
CULVER. I haven't.
MRS. CULVER. You don't know how relieved I am!
CULVER (sitting down, drawing her to him, and setting her on his knee). Infant! Cherub! Angel! Dove!... Devil! (Caressing her.) Are we friends?
MRS. CULVER. It kills me to quarrel with you. (They kiss.)
CULVER. Darling, we are absurd.
MRS. CULVER. I don't care.
CULVER. Supposing that anyone came in and caught us!
MRS. CULVER. Well, we're married.
CULVER.—But it's so long since. Hildegarde's twenty-one! John, seventeen!
MRS. CULVER. It seems to me like yesterday.
CULVER. Yes, you're incurably a girl.
MRS. CULVER. I'm not.
CULVER. You are. And I'm a boy. I say we are absurd. We're continually absurd. We were absurd all last evening when we pretended before the others, with the most disastrous results, that nothing was the matter. We were still more absurd when we went to our twin beds and argued savagely with each other from bed to bed until four o'clock this morning. Do you know that I had exactly one hour and fifty-five minutes' sleep? (Yawns.) Do you know that owing to extreme exhaustion my behaviour at my office to-day has practically lost the war? But the most absurd thing of all was you trying to do the Roman matron business at dinner to-night. Mind you, I adore you for being absurd, but—
MRS. CULVER (very endearingly, putting her hand on his mouth). Dearest, you needn't continue. I know you're wiser and stronger than me in every way. But I love that. Most women wouldn't; but I do. (Kisses him.) Oh! I'm so glad you've at last seen the force of my arguments about the title.
CULVER (gently warning). Now, now! You're behaving like a journalist.
MRS. CULVER. Like a journalist?
CULVER. Journalists say a thing that they know isn't true, in the hope that if they keep on saying it long enough itwillbe true.
MRS. CULVER. But you do see the force of my arguments!
CULVER. Quite. But I also see the force of mine, and, as an impartial judge, I'm bound to say that yours aren't in it with mine.
MRS. CULVER. Then you've refused the title after all?
CULVER (ingratiatingly). No. I told you I hadn't. But I'm going to. I was just thinking over the terms of the fatal letter to Lord Woking when you came in. Starkey is now waiting for me to dictate it. You see it positively must be posted to-night.
MRS. CULVER (springing from his knee). Arthur, you're playing with me!
CULVER. No doubt. Like a mouse plays with a cat.
MRS. CULVER. Surely it has occurred to you—
CULVER (firmly, but very pleasantly). Stop! You had till four o'clock this morning to deliver all your arguments. You aren't going to begin again. I understand you've stayed in bed all day. Quite right! But if you stayed in bed merely to think of fresh arguments while I've been slaving away at the office for my country, I say you're taking an unfair advantage of me, and I won't have it.
MRS. CULVER (with dignity). No. I haven't any fresh arguments; and if I had, I shouldn't say what they were.
CULVER. Oh! Why?
MRS. CULVER. Because I can see it's useless to argue with a man like you.
CULVER. Now that's what I call better news from the Front.
MRS. CULVER. I was only going to say this. Surely it has occurred to you that on patriotic grounds alone you oughtn't to refuse the title. I quite agree that Honours have been degraded. Quite! The thing surely is to try and make them respectable again. And how are they ever to be respectable if respectable men refuse them?
CULVER. This looks to me suspiciously like an argument.
MRS. CULVER. Not at all. It's simply a question.
CULVER. Well, the answer is, I don't want Honours to be respectable any more. Proverb: When fish has gone bad ten thousand decent men can't take away the stink.
MRS. CULVER. Now you're insulting your country. I know you often pretend your country's the slackest place on earth, but it's only pretence. You don't really think so. The truth is that inside you you're positively conceited about your country. You think it's the greatest country that ever was. And so it is. And yet when your country offers you this honour you talk about bad fish. I say it's an insult to Great Britain.
CULVER. Great Britain hasn't offered me any title. The fact is that there are a couple of shrewd fellows up a devil of a tree in Whitehall, and they're waving a title at me in the hope that I shall come and stand under the tree so that they can get down by putting their dirty boots on my shoulders. Well, I'm not going to be a ladder.
MRS. CULVER. I wish you wouldn't try to be funny.
CULVER. I'm nottryingto be funny. Iambeing funny.
MRS. CULVER. You might be serious for once.
CULVER. I am serious. Beneath this amusing and delightful exterior, there is hidden the most serious, determined, resolute, relentless, inexorable, immovable man that ever breathed. And let me tell you something else, my girl—something I haven't mentioned before because of my nice feelings. What has this title affair got to do with you? What the dickens has it got to do with you? The title isn't offered as a reward foryourwork; it's offered as a reward formywork.Youaren't the Controller of Accounts,Ihappen to be the Controller of Accounts. I have decided to refuse the title, and I shall refuse it.Nothing will induce me to accept it. Do I make myself clear, or (smiling affectionately) am I lost in a mist of words?
MRS. CULVER (suddenly furious). You are a brute. You always were. You never think of anybody but yourself. My life has been one long sacrifice, and you know it perfectly well. Perfectly well! You talk aboutyourwork. What about my work? Why! You'd be utterly useless without me. You can't even look after your own collars. Could you go down to your ridiculousoffice without a collar? I've done everything for you, everything! And now! (Weeping). I can't even be called 'my lady.' I only wanted to hear the parlourmaid call me 'my lady.' It seems a simple enough thing—
CULVER (persuasively and softly, trying to seize her). You divine little snob!
MRS. CULVER (in a supreme, blazing outbreak escaping him). Let me alone! I told you at the start I should never give way. And I never will. Never! If you send that letter of refusal, do you know what I shall do? I shall go and see the War Cabinet myself. I shall tell them you don't mean it. I'll make the most horrible scandal.... When I think of the Duke of Wellington—
CULVER (surprised and alarmed). The Duke of Wellington?
MRS. CULVER (drawing herself up at the door, L). The Duke of Wellington didn't refuse a title! Hildegarde shall sleep in our room, and you can have hers! (Exit violently, L.)
CULVER (intimidated, as she goes). Look here, hurricane! (He rushes out after her.)
EnterHildegardeandTranto,back.
HILDEGARDE (seeing the room empty). Well, I thought I heard them.
TRANTO (catching noise of high words from the boudoir.) I fancy Idohear them.
HILDEGARDE. Perhaps we'd better go.
TRANTO. But I want to speak to you—just for a moment.
HILDEGARDE (moving uneasily). What about?
TRANTO. I don't know. Anything. It doesn't matter what ... I don't hear them now.
HILDEGARDE (listening and hearing nothing; reassured). I should have thought you wouldn't have wanted to come here any more for a long time.
TRANTO. Why?
HILDEGARDE. After the terrible experiences of last night, during dinner and after dinner.
TRANTO. The general constraint?
HILDEGARDE. The general constraint.
TRANTO. The awkwardness?HILDEGARDE. The awkwardness.
TRANTO. The frightful silences and the forced conversations?
HILDEGARDE (nods). Whydidyou come?
TRANTO. Well—
HILDEGARDE. I suppose you're still confined to this house.
TRANTO (in a new confidential tone). I wish you'd treat me as your father does.
HILDEGARDE. But of course I will—
TRANTO. That's fine. He treats me as an intimate friend.
HILDEGARDE. But you must treat me as you treat papa.
TRANTO (slightly dashed). I'll try. I might tell you that I had two very straight talks with your father last night.
HILDEGARDE. Two?
TRANTO. Yes; one before dinner, and the other just before I left—when you'd gone to bed. He began them—both of them.
HILDEGARDE. Oh! So that you may be said to know the whole situation.
TRANTO. Yes. Up to last thing last night, that is.
HILDEGARDE. Since then it's developed on normal lines. What do you think of it?
TRANTO. I adore your mother, but I think your father's quite right.
HILDEGARDE. Well, naturally! I take that for granted. I was expecting something rather more original.
TRANTO. You shall have it. I think that you and I are very largely responsible for the situation. I think our joint responsibility binds us inextricably together.
HILDEGARDE. Mr. Tranto!
TRANTO. Certainly. There's no doubt in my mind that your father was enormously influenced by Sampson Straight's article on the Honours scandal. In fact he told me so. And seeing that you wrote it and I published it—
HILDEGARDE (alarmed). You didn't tell him I'm Sampson Straight?TRANTO. Can you imagine me doing such a thing?
HILDEGARDE. I hope not. Shall I tell you whatIthink of the situation?
TRANTO. I wish you would.
HILDEGARDE. I think such situations would never arise if parents weren't so painfully unromantic. I'm not speaking particularly of papa and mamma. I mean all parents. But take mamma. She's absolutely matter-of-fact. And papa's nearly as bad. Of course I know they're always calling each other by pet names; but that's mere camouflage for their matter-of-factness. Whereas if they both had in them a little of the real romance of life—everything would be different. At the same time I needn't say that in this affair that we're now in the middle of—there's no question of ratiocination.
TRANTO. Of what?
HILDEGARDE. Ratiocination. Reasoning. On either side.
TRANTO. Oh no!
HILDEGARDE. It's simply a question of mutual attitude, isn't it? Now, if only—. But there!What's the use? Parents are like that, poor dears! They have forgotten! (With emphasis.) They have forgotten—what makes life worth living.
TRANTO. You mean, for instance, your mother never sits on your father's knee.
HILDEGARDE (bravely, after hesitation). Yes! Crudely—that's what I do mean.
TRANTO. Miss Hildegarde, you are the most marvellous girl I ever met. You are, really! You seem to combine all qualities. It's amazing to me. I'm more and more astounded. Every time I come here there's a fresh revelation. Now you mention romance. I'm glad you mentioned it first. But Isawit first. I saw it in your eyes the first time I ever met you. Yes! Miss Hilda, do you see it in mine? Look. Look closely. (Approaching her.) Because it's there. I must tell you. I can't wait any longer. (Feeling for her hand, vainly.)
HILDEGARDE (drawing back). Mr. Tranto, is this the way you treat father?
EnterMr. Culver,back.
CULVER (quickly). Hilda, go to your mother. She's upstairs.HILDEGARDE. What am I to do?
CULVER. I don't know. (With meaning.) Think what the sagacious Sampson Straight would do, and do that.
(Hildegardegives a sharp look first atCulver,and then atTranto,and exit, back.)
CULVER (turning toTranto). My dear fellow, the war is practically over.
TRANTO. Good heavens! There was nothing on the tape when I left the Club.
CULVER. Oh! I don't mean your war. I mean the twenty-two years' war.
TRANTO. The twenty-two years' war?
CULVER. My married life. Over! Finished! Napoo!
TRANTO. Do you know what you're saying?
CULVER. Look here, Tranto. You and I don't belong to the same generation. In fact, if I'd started early enough I might have been your father. But we got so damned intimate last night, and I'm in such a damned hole, and you're so damned wise, that I feel I must talk to you. Not that it'll be any use.
TRANTO. But what's the matter?
CULVER. The matter is—keeping a woman in the house.
TRANTO. Mr. Culver! You don't mean—
CULVER. I mean my wife—of course. I've just had the most ghastly rumpus with my wife. It was divided into two acts. The first took place here, the second in the boudoir (indicating boudoir). The second act was the shortest but the worst.
TRANTO. But what was it all about?
CULVER. Now for heaven's sake don't ask silly questions. You know perfectly well what it was about. It was about the baronetcy. I have decided to refuse that baronetcy, and my wife has refused to let me refuse it.
TRANTO. But what are her arguments?
CULVER. I've implored you once not to ask silly questions. 'What are her arguments' indeed! She hasn't got any arguments. You know that. You're too wise not to know it. She merely wants the title, that's all.
TRANTO. And how did the second act end?
CULVER. I don't quite remember.
TRANTO. Let me suggest that you sit down. (Culversits.) Thanks. Now I've always gathered from my personal observation, that you, if I may say so, are the top dog here when it comes to the point—the crowned head, as it were.
CULVER. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. At least, it did last night, and I shall be greatly surprised if it doesn't to-night.
TRANTO. Naturally. A crown isn't a night-cap. But you are the top dog. In the last resort, what you say, goes. That is so, isn't it? I only want to be clear.
CULVER. Yes, I think that's pretty right.
TRANTO. Well, you have decided on public grounds, and as a question of principle, to refuse the title. You intend to refuse it.
CULVER. I—I do.
TRANTO. Nobody can stop you from refusing it.
CULVER. Nobody.
TRANTO. Mrs. Culver can't stop you from refusing it?
CULVER. Certainly not. It concerns me alone.
TRANTO. Well, then, where is the difficulty? A rumpus—I think you said. What of that? My dear Mr. Culver, believe me, I have seen far more of marriage than you have. You're only a married man. I'm a bachelor, and I've assisted at scores of married lives. A rumpus is nothing. It passes—and leaves the victor more firmly established than ever before.
CULVER (rising). Don't talk to me of rumpuses. I know all about rumpuses. This one is an arch-rumpus. This one is like no other rumpus that ever was. It's something new in my vast experience. I shall win. I have won. But at what cost? (With effect.) The cost may be that I shall never kiss the enemy again. The whole domestic future is in grave jeopardy.
TRANTO. Seriously?
CULVER. Seriously.
TRANTO. Then you musn't win.
CULVER. But what about my public duty? What about my principles? I can't sacrifice my principles.
TRANTO. Why not?
CULVER. I never have.
TRANTO. How old are you?
CULVER. Forty-four.
TRANTO. And you've never sacrificed a principle?
CULVER. Never.
TRANTO. Then it's high time you began. And you'd better begin, before it's too late. Besides, there are no principles in married life.
CULVER. Tranto, you are remarkable. How did you find that out?
TRANTO. I've often noticed it.
CULVER. It's a profound truth. It throws a new light on the entire situation.
TRANTO. It does.
CULVER. Then you deliberately advise me to give way about the title?
TRANTO. I do.
CULVER. Strange! (Casually.) I had thought of doing so, but I never dreamt you'd agree, and I'd positively determined to act on your advice. You know, you're taking an immense responsibility.
TRANTO. I can bear that. What I couldn't bear is any kind of real trouble in this house.
CULVER. Why? What's it got to do with you?
TRANTO. Nothing! Nothing! Only my abstract interest in the institution of marriage.
CULVER (ringing the bell twice). Ah, well, after all, I'm not utterly beaten yet. I've quite half an hour before post goes, and I shall fight to the last ditch.
TRANTO. But hasn't Mrs. Culver retired?
CULVER. Yes.
TRANTO. May I suggest that it would be mistaken tactics to—er—run after her?
CULVER. It would.
TRANTO. Well then?
CULVER. She will return.
TRANTO. How do you know?
CULVER. She always does.... No, Tranto, I may yet get peace on my own terms. You see I'm an accountant. No ordinary people, accountants!For one thing they make their money by counting other people's. I've known accountants do marvellous stunts.
EnterMiss Starkey,back.
TRANTO. I'll leave you.
CULVER. You'll find John somewhere about. I shan't be so very long—I hope. Miss Starkey, kindly take down these two letters. How much time have we before post goes?
(ExitTranto,back.)
MISS STARKEY. Forty minutes.
CULVER. Excellent.
MISS STARKEY (indicating some papers which she has brought). These things ought to be attended to to-night.
CULVER. Possibly. But they won't be.
MISS STARKEY. The Rosenberg matter is very urgent. He leaves for Glasgow to-morrow.
CULVER. I wish he'd leave for Berlin. I won't touch it to-night. Please take down these two letters.
MISS STARKEY. Then it will be necessary for you to be at the office at 9.30 in the morning.
CULVER. I decline to be at the office at 9.30 in the morning.
MISS STARKEY. But I've an appointment for you. I was afraid you wouldn't do anything to-night.
CULVER (resigned). Very well! Very well! Tell them to call me, and see cook about breakfast. (Beginning to dictate.) 'My dear Lord Woking'—
MISS STARKEY (sitting). Excuse me, is this letter about the title?
CULVER. Yes.
MISS STARKEY. Then it ought to be an autograph letter. That's the etiquette.
CULVER. How do you know?
MISS STARKEY. General knowledge.
CULVER. In this case the rule will be broken. That's flat.
MISS STARKEY. Then I must imitate your handwriting.
CULVER. Can you?
MISS STARKEY. You ought to know, Mr. Culver—by this time.
CULVER. I don't know officially. However, have your own way. Forge the whole thing, signature and all. I don't care. 'My dear Lord Woking. Extreme pressure of—er—government business has compelled me to leave till last thing to-night my reply to your letter in which you are good enough to communicate to me the offer of a baronetcy. I cannot adequately express to you my sense of the honour in contemplation, but, comma, for certain personal reasons with which I need not trouble you, comma, I feel bound, with the greatest respect and the greatest gratitude, to ask to be allowed to refuse. (Miss Starkeyshows emotion.) I am sure I can rely on you to convey my decision to the proper quarter with all your usual tact. Believe me, my dear Lord Woking, Cordially yours.' (ToMiss Starkey.) What in heaven's name is the matter with you?
MISS STARKEY. Mr. Culver. I shall have to give you a month's notice.
CULVER (staggered). Have—have you gone mad too?
MISS STARKEY. Not that I am aware of. But I must give a month's notice—for certain personal reasons with which I need not trouble you.CULVER. Young woman, you know that you are absolutely indispensable to me. You know that without you I should practically cease to exist. I am quite open with you as to that—and as to everything. You are acquainted with the very depths of my character and the most horrible secrets of my life. I conceal nothing from you, and I demand that you conceal nothing from me. What are your reasons for giving me notice in this manner?
MISS STARKEY. My self respect would not allow me to remain with a gentleman who had refused a title. Oh, Mr. Culver, to be the private secretary to a baronet has been my life's dream. And—and—I have just had the offer of a place where apeerageis in prospect. Still, I wouldn't have, taken even that if you had not—if you had not—(controlling herself, coldly). Kindly accept my notice. I give it at once because I shall have no time to lose for the peerage.
CULVER. Miss Starkey, you drive me to the old, old conclusion—all women are alike.
MISS STARKEY. Then my leaving will cause you no inconvenience, because you'll easily get another girl exactly like me.
CULVER. You are a heartless creature. (In an ordinary voice.) Did we finish the first letter?This is the second one. (Dictates.) 'My dear Lord Woking'—
MISS STARKEY. But you've just given me that one.
CULVER (firmly.) 'My dear Lord Woking.' Go on the same as the first one down to 'I cannot adequately express to you my sense of the honour in contemplation.' 'Full stop. I need hardly say that, in spite of my feeling that I have done only too little to deserve it, I accept it with the greatest pleasure and the greatest gratitude. Believe me, etc.'
MISS STARKEY. But—
CULVER. Don't imagine that your giving me notice has affected me in the slightest degree. It has not. I told you I had two letters. I have not yet decided whether to accept or refuse the title. (EnterMrs. Culver,back.) Go and copy both letters and bring them in to me in a quarter of an hour, whether I ring or not. That will give you plenty of time for post. Now—run! (ExitMiss Starkey,back. Culverrises, clears his throat, and obviously braces himself for a final effort of firmness. Mrs. Culvercalmly rearranges some flowers in a vase.) Well, my dear, I was expecting you.
MRS. CULVER (very sweetly), Arthur, I was wrong.
CULVER (startled). Good God! (Mrs. Culverbends down to examine the upholstery of a chair. Culvergives a gesture, first of triumph, and then of apprehension.)
MRS. CULVER (looking straight at him). I say I was wrong.
CULVER (lightly, but uneasily). Oh no! Oh no!
MRS. CULVER. Of course I don't mean wrong in my arguments about the title. Not for a moment. I mean I was wrong not to sacrifice my own point of view. I'm only a woman, and it's the woman's place to submit. So I do submit. Naturally I shall always be a true wife to you, but—
CULVER. Now child, don't begin to talk like that. I don't mindreadingnovels, but I won't have raw lumps of them thrownatme.
MRS. CULVER (with a gentle smile), Imusttalk like this. I shall do everything I can to make you comfortable, and I hope nobody, and especially not the poor children, will notice any difference in our relations.
CULVER (advancing, with a sort of menace). But?
MRS. CULVER. But things can never be the same again.
CULVER. I knew the confounded phrase was coming. I knew it. I've read it scores of times. (Picking up the vase.) Hermione, if you continue in that strain, I will dash this vase into a thousand fragments.
MRS. CULVER (quietly taking the vase from him and putting it down). Arthur, I could have forgiven you everything. What do I care—really—about a title? (Falsely.) I only care for your happiness. But I can't forgive you for having laid a trap for me last night—and in front of the children and a stranger too.
CULVER. Laid a trap for you?
MRS. CULVER. You knew all about the title when you first came in last night and you deliberately led me on.
CULVER. Oh! That! Ah well! One does what one can. You've laid many a trap for me, my girl. You're still about ten up and two to play in the trap game.
MRS. CULVER. I've never laid a trap for you.
CULVER. Fibster! Come here. (Mrs. Culverhesitates.) Come hither—and be kissed. (Sheapproaches submissively, and then, standing like a marble statue, allows herself to be kissed. Culverassumes the attitude of the triumphant magnanimous male.) There! That's all right.
MRS. CULVER (having moved away; still very sweetly and coldly). Can I do anything else for you before I go to bed?
CULVER (ignoring the question; grandly and tolerantly). Do you suppose, my marble statue, that after all I've said at the Club about the rascality of this Honours business, I could ever have appeared there as a New Year Baronet? The thing's unthinkable. Why, I should have had to resign and join another Club!
MRS. CULVER (calmly and severely). So that's it, is it? I might have known what was really at the bottom of it all. Your Club again! You have to choose between your wife and your Club, and of course it's your wife that must suffer. Naturally!
CULVER. Go on! You'll be saying next that I've committed bigamy with my Club.
MRS. CULVER (with youthful vivacity). I'm an old woman—
CULVER (flatteringly). Yes, look at you! Hag! When I fell in love with you your hair was still down. The marvel to me is that I ever let you put it up.
MRS. CULVER. I'm only an old woman now. You have had the best part of my life. You might have given me great pleasure with this title. But no! Your Club comes first. And what a child you are! As if there's one single member of your Club who wouldn't envy you your baronetcy! However, I've nothing more to say. (Moving towards the door, back.) Oh yes, I have. (Casually.) I've decided to go away to-morrow and stay with grandma for a long holiday. She needs me, and if I'm not to break down entirely I must have a change. I've told Hildegarde our—arrangements. The poor girl's terribly upset. Please don't disturb me in the morning. I shall take the noon train. Good-night.
CULVER. Hermione!
MRS. CULVER (returning a little from the direction of the door, submissively). Yes, Arthur.
CULVER. If you keep on playing the martyr much longer there will be bloodshed, and you'll know what martyrdom is.
MRS. CULVER (in a slightly relenting tone). Arthur, you were always conscientious. Your conscience is working.
CULVER. I have no conscience. Never had.
MRS. CULVER (persuasively, and with much charm). Yes you have, and it's urging you to give way to your sensible little wife. You know you're only bluffing.
CULVER. Indeed I'm not.
MRS. CULVER. Yes, you are. Mr. Tranto advised you to give way, and you think such a lot of his opinion.
CULVER. Who told you Tranto advised me to give way?
MRS. CULVER. He did.
CULVER. Damn him!
MRS. CULVER (soothingly). Yes, yes.
CULVER. No, no!
MRS. CULVER. And your dear, indispensable Miss Starkey thinks the same. (She tries to kiss him.)CULVER. No, no! (Mrs. Culversucceeds in kissing him.)
EnterMiss Starkey.
(The other two spring apart. A short pause.)
CULVER. Which is the refusal?
MISS STARKEY. This one.
CULVER. Put it in the fire. (Miss Starkeyobeys. Both the women show satisfaction in their different ways.) Give me the acceptance. (He takes the letter of acceptance and reads it.)
MRS. CULVER (while he is reading the letter). Miss Starkey, you look very pale. Have you had any dinner?
MISS STARKEY. Not yet, madam.
MRS. CULVER. You poor dear! (She strokesMiss Starkey.They both look at the tyrannical male.) I'll order something for you at once.
MISS STARKEY. I shall have to go to the post first.
CULVER (glancing up). I'll go to the post myself. I must have air, air! Where's the envelope? (ExitMiss Starkeyquickly, back.)(Mrs. Culvergently takes the letter from her husband and reads it. Culverdrops into a chair.)
MRS. CULVER (putting down the letter). Darling!
CULVER. I thought I was a brute?
MRS. CULVER (caressing and kissing him). I do so love my brute, and I am so happy. Darling! But you are a silly old darling, wasting all this time.
CULVER. Wasting all what time?
MRS. CULVER. Why, the moment I came in again I could see you'd decided to give way. (With a gesture of delight.) I must run and tell the children. (Exit, L.)
EnterMiss Starkeyback.
MISS STARKEY. Here's the envelope.
CULVER (taking it). Tell them to get me my hat and overcoat.
MISS STARKEY. Yes, Sir Arthur. (Culverstarts.) (ExitMiss Starkey,back.)
CULVER (as he puts the letter in the envelope; with an air of discovery). I suppose Idolike being called 'Sir Arthur.'
EnterHildegardandJohnboth disgusted, back.
JOHN (toHildegarde,as they come in). I told you last night he couldn't control even the mater. However, I'll be even with her yet.
CULVER. What do you mean, boy?
JOHN. I mean I'll be even with the mater yet. You'll see.
HILDEGARDE. Papa, you've behaved basely. Basely! What an example to us! I intend to leave this house and live alone.
CULVER. You ought to marry Mr. Sampson Straight. (Hildegardestarts and is silent.)
JOHN. Fancy me having to go back to school the son of a rotten baronet, and with the frightful doom of being a rotten baronet myself. What price the anti-hereditary-principle candidate! Dad, I hope you won't die just yet—it would ruin my political career. Stay me with flagons!
CULVER. Me too!
CURTAIN.