[Crosses to sofa,L.Sits.Parburyexchanges a look withGunning.Gunning.[Coming down quickly.] Mrs. Parbury, I mustreluctantly say good-night. Your charming house is almost in the country, and I’ve to get back to London. I thank you for——Mrs. Parbury.[Interrupting.] Please don’t go, Mr. Gunning. It’s quite early, and Clement and you, as suchvery oldfriends, must still have a great deal to talk about.Parbury.[TakingGunning’sarm.] No, George, you really mustn’t go.[Leads him up to window,R.Gunning.I assure you, my dear chap——Parbury.[Interrupting.] But I make it a personal favour. Dear student of life, stay and observe.[They remain up at window.Mrs. Parbury.Dear father, I wish you to take me home with you to-night.Colonel.[Surprised.] Certainly, dear, but——Mrs. Parbury.Don’t question me. [Puts her hand on his shoulder.] You love me, don’t you?Colonel.Naturally, my dear. But nowadays, of course, I take second place.Mrs. Parbury.I thought so too, but I was wrong. Wait for me a few minutes.Colonel.[Hesitatingly, after glancing atParburyand again at his daughter.] One moment, Mabel. This is all so sudden.Mrs. Parbury.Father, do you hesitate to receive me?Colonel.Good heavens, no! But Clement——Mrs. Parbury.Shhh![Puts her hand over his mouth.Colonel.Oh! I was thinking, my dear, that unfortunately there is no mother to receive you now. I’m only an old bachelor, and you’ll be—er—give me a word.Mrs. Parbury.[Kisses him, and goes to door,L.She looks across the room at her husband, and then whispers to herself.] He’ll never let me go.[Exit,L.Parbury.[ToGunning.] She’ll not go, my dear fellow.Gunning.Humph! You think not? Anyway,Imust,Parbury.Don’t.Gunning.The domestic atmosphere is volcanic, and I feel remorseful.Parbury.Nonsense, it had to come. You must see me through it now.Gunning.How beastly selfish you married men are![They come down.Colonel.Clement, I’m in a difficulty.Parbury.You mean about Mabel, Colonel?Colonel.Yes.Parbury.She proposes going home with you.Colonel.Yes.Parbury.[Smiling confidently.] I don’t think she’ll go.EnterEvans,L.Evans.[ToColonel.] Your carriage, sir. [Parburylooks uneasy.][ExitEvans,L.Colonel.[Whistles. Looks at his watch.] I think she meansit. I ordered my man to wait in the Avenue till he was called. Mabel has evidently had him called.[Parburyis thoughtful.Colonel.I don’t wish to be in the least degree meddlesome; but, well, there it is!Parbury.The question, I suppose, is what’s it all about?Colonel.Well, yes. I suppose that’s it; although I don’t in the least wish to know.Parbury.You hear, George; what’s it all about?Gunning.[DownR.,almost angrily.] Now, how the deuce should I know? Colonel, you would be very kind if you would use your authority to prevent Clement dragging me into his domestic difficulties. Married men have a cowardly way of endeavouring to involve their friends. Perhaps you have noticed it.Colonel.I have, Mr. Gunning. My experience of married life extended over a period of twenty-six years.Gunning.May one discreetly express the hope that they were very happy years?Colonel.Very happy years, with, however, I must admit,intermittent troubles. Mabel’s mother was one of the best women in the world, but, if I may say so without disloyalty, she was just a little—a little—er—give me a word.Parbury.Would the wordexigeantapply?Colonel.Admirably. Perhaps you have noticed in Mabel the slightest tendency? Eh?Parbury.Well, well!Colonel.Her mother’s jealousy, too, was something amazing. I hope I’m not conceited, but in those days I was just a little—er—popular, and perhaps I ought not to confess it, a little—er—give me a word.Gunning.Human.[They laugh slightly.Colonel.[With affected severity.] Clement, I hope you are not too human?Parbury.Quite the contrary, I assure you, Colonel.Colonel.Then why—I suppose, after all, it is my duty to ask—why does Mabel come home with me to-night?Parbury.She is simply using pressure to get her own way in a matter in which I think her way the wrong way.Colonel.Gad! they do like their own way, don’t they? Well, no doubt she’ll be more reasonable to-morrow. I think I may trust you.Parbury.You may—absolutely.EnterMrs. Parbury.She has put on a hat and a cloak.Mrs. Parbury.[Going toGunning.] You’ll forgive me, I’m sure, Mr. Gunning. Good-night. You’ll have Clement all to yourself.Gunning.Good-night, Mrs. Parbury.[They shake hands.Parburyjoins her,C.Parbury.[In a low voice.] Don’t go, Mabel. It’s very foolish.Mrs. Parbury.[Softening.] You could prevent me if you wished.Parbury.I’m opposed to all violence.Mrs. Parbury.[Hard again.] Which way is it to be?Parbury.[Firmly.] My way, dear.[Goes upC.to fireplace.Mrs. Parbury.[Alone,C.] Good heavens! He’ll really let me go. [Hesitates for a moment, then draws herself up.] Come, father.Colonel.Good-night, Mr. Gunning. Good-night, Clement.ParburyandGunning.Good-night, Colonel.[ExeuntMrs. Parburyand theColonel.Parbury.[Comes down, a little astonished.] By Jove, she’s really going![Gunningsits.ParburystandsC.,listening. Pause. Then there is the noise of a carriage door being shut.Evans.[Outside.] Home![Parburysomewhat unsteadily lights a cigarette. He then catchesGunning’seye. They look at each other.Slow Curtain.END OF ACT II.ACT IIIScene.—The Rose Garden atParbury’shouse. A garden table, seat, and chairs. The next morning.[EnterMiss Woodward.She is dressed simply, but less severely than before. Her hair is dressed more loosely. She carries a little basket full of roses. She places some roses upon the table, which is laid for two for breakfast. She plucks more roses and fastens them in her dress. Meanwhile she hums an air and conveys the impression of being happier than in the previous Acts.][EnterGunning,R.He wears a light morning suit, a round hat and brown boots, and carries a stick and gloves.]Gunning.Good-morning, Miss Woodward.Miss Woodward.Good-morning.[They shake hands.Gunning.Shall I resist the temptation to pay you a compliment?Miss Woodward.[Gathering more roses.] Yes, please.Gunning.I thought you would say so. All the same, I feel it to be a deprivation.Miss Woodward.Isn’t that remark itself the cloven foot of compliment?Gunning.Eh—well, perhaps it is. I’m sorry.Miss Woodward.And therefore unlike you.Gunning.Unlike me? What does that mean?Miss Woodward.That it isn’t much in your way to pay women compliments.Gunning.I hope you are doing me an injustice.Miss Woodward.I don’t think so. You haven’t a very lofty opinion of women as a sex, have you?Gunning.Pretty well—pretty well; but what makes you think so?Miss Woodward.I heard you talk, you know, yesterday afternoon.Gunning.Oh yes; one does talk a lot of rot sometimes, doesn’t one?Miss Woodward.Yes.[Embarrassed pause.Gunning.Is Mr. Parbury down yet?Miss Woodward.No. But he is sure to be in a few minutes. He is generally early. Breakfast, as you see, will be served here. Perhaps—perhaps you would rather wait indoors.Gunning.No; I’ll stay here if I may. . . . I’m afraid we made rather a late night of it.[He sits.Miss Woodward.Really?Gunning.Three o’clock.Miss Woodward.You had much to talk of. I envy people with pleasant memories.Gunning.I don’t remember that we talked much of old times. I think we talked of the present.Miss Woodward.[Rather hardly.] Then my envy has flown.Gunning.You are right. This affair is rather boring.Miss Woodward.[Innocently.] What affair, Mr. Gunning?Gunning.Miss Woodward, you are a triumph of the inscrutable.Miss Woodward.[Leaning on chair,L.C.] I’m sure that is very clever, because I can’t quite understand it.Gunning.Quite seriously, Miss Woodward, you interest me more than any person I have ever met.Miss Woodward.Do you always say that to girls, Mr. Gunning?Gunning.No. Why?Miss Woodward.You ought to. I’m sure it’s very encouraging.[She picks another rose.Gunning.[Doubtfully.] Ahem!Miss Woodward.Are you quite sure you wouldn’t rather wait indoors?Gunning.Oh, quite. I like being here.Miss Woodward.But I’m sure you find it difficult getting down to one’s level. I often think that the very wise must be very lonely.Gunning.[Rising.] What an extremely unpleasant remark!Miss Woodward.I’m sorry. [She sighs.] We don’t seem to get on very well, do we?Gunning.[With sincerity and coming close to her.] I’d like to get on well with you.[Pause. They look in each other’s faces, both at table.Gunning.Will you give me a rose?Miss Woodward.No, Mr. Gunning.Parbury.[Outside.] Are you there, George?[Miss Woodwardgets letters from table.Gunning.Yes.Parbury.[Outside, toEvans.] Serve breakfast.EnterParbury,L.Good-morning. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting. Oh, you are here, Miss Woodward. Good-morning.[Looks at the table.] And you have managed to find us some roses. How very kind of you! [Miss Woodwardgives him letters. He runs them over.] No, no, no, no! Will you kindly see what they’re all about? [She is about to go.] Oh, not now—after breakfast will do.Miss Woodward.I have breakfasted, thank you.Parbury.Really! I suppose I’m horribly late. [Looks at his watch. Then, noticing the roses she carries in her hand.] How very beautiful they are! Look, George! [She selects one and hands it to him.] For me? Thank you. [He fastens it in his buttonhole.][ExitMiss Woodward,L.[ToGunning.] Lovely, isn’t it?Gunning.[Gruffly.] Yes, it’s all right.Parbury.What’s the matter? Cross?Gunning.Not at all. But, really, you married men are very tiresome.Parbury.Oh, I see—wanted a rose yourself. Shall I call Miss Woodward back and ask for you?Gunning.Don’t trouble. I’ve done that myself.Parbury.You have? Ha, ha! [Begins to laugh, but stopssuddenly.] Oh! [Holding his head.] Dear, dear, what a head I have!Gunning.You haven’t asked aftermyhead.Parbury.[Sits at table.] Your pardon. How is it?Gunning.[Sits at table.] I’d like to sell it this morning. Do you know, Clement, I’m not quite certain about that whisky of yours.Parbury.I am. It’s fifteen years old.EnterEvans,L.,with, breakfast-tray.But you always had a way of mixing your drinks over-night and growling in the morning.Gunning.[Drawing up his chair.] Put it at that, if you like. I do know that I always had a way of disliking you particularly in the morning. I regret I don’t appear to have grown out of it.Parbury.I’m so glad. I hate being too popular. [Evansoffers bacon toMr. Parbury.He pushes the dish away.] Take it away. Have some bacon, George?[Takes a piece of toast, looks at it, then puts it down.Gunning.Thank you.[Helps himself to bacon.[ExitEvans,L.,with bacon dish.Parbury.I must say I think your display of temper is in the worst possible taste under the circumstances.Gunning.[Buttering toast.] What do you mean by “under the circumstances”?Parbury.You know what I mean. How much sleep do you think I’ve had?Gunning.I’m sure I don’t know. What concerns me is that you detained me in this outlandish place—what county is it?—till past three o’clock, and then insisted, with alcoholic tears in your eyes, on my returning to breakfast.Parbury.Tea or coffee?Gunning.Tea—no; coffee—no, neither.Parbury.Have some hot milk?[Offers him the jug.Gunning.Ugh! Don’t.[Takes an egg. Shells it.Parbury.[Lifts the lid of the tea-pot, then of the coffee-pot, and closes them gently with a look of distaste.] No, not this morning. Still, we must drink something. What shall it be?Gunning.I am your guest.Parbury.Perhaps we had better split a bottle.Gunning.Please be frank. Do you mean Bass or champagne?Parbury.Champagne, of course. [He calls loudly.] Evans! Evans!Evans.[Outside.] Yes, sir.EnterEvans,L.Parbury.Bring a bottle of champagne.Evans.[Starting ever so slightly.] Cham——Parbury.[Irritably.] Champagne and glasses.Evans.[Recovering his composure.] Yes, sir.[ExitEvans,L.,wearing a discreet smile.Parbury.It’s a thing I haven’t done for years—taken wine in the morning.Gunning.Five years.Parbury.Exactly.Gunning.In what I may venture to describe as the pre-domestic period it was rather a way of yours.Parbury.You mean ours.Gunning.Ours, if you prefer it. Where’s the salt?Parbury.There it is, right before your eyes. Why don’t you look?Gunning.Pass the mustard, please. What a good chap you were in those days.Parbury.Yes. Strange, you were always——Gunning.Always what?Parbury.Toast?Gunning.Thanks, I’ve got some. Always what?Parbury.It’s quite pleasant out here, isn’t it?Gunning.Delightful. You were saying I was always——Parbury.Oh, it doesn’t matter.Gunning.Of course, being about me it wouldn’t matter.Parbury.I’m afraid of offending you.Gunning.You couldn’t do that.Parbury.Well, I was going to say you were always rather sour-natured.Gunning.Really![He takes up a daily paper and glances through it, continuing to do so whileParburyspeaks.Parbury.And that has, I fancy, quite unconsciously to you, I am sure, a disturbing influence on others of happier nature.[Taking an egg.Gunning.[Drawlingly.] Yes.[He continues to read.Parbury.Take yesterday, for instance. Of course, you didn’t intend it. I wouldn’t suggest that for a moment. But, damn it, look at the result?Gunning.[In the same manner as before.] Yes.[He reads.Parbury.[Taking the top off his boiled egg.] Simply deplorable. I’ve broken loose from my moorings. I’m at the mercy of every breeze. I feel that I’ve lost moral stability. Confound it, why doesn’t that champagne come?EnterEvans,L.,with champagne. Pours out two glasses and hands them toGunningandParbury.Parbury.I’m not quite certain that for a man like me—[Gunninggroans and returns to his newspaper]—a man, if I may say so, of generous instincts and large sympathies—a groove isn’t a good thing, even if it be a little narrow. Of course, for a man of your nature, it’s a different matter.Gunning.[Suddenly puts down the paper, draws his chair closer to the table, and takes an egg with apparent cheerfulness.] What were you saying, old man?Parbury.Nothing.Gunning.[Affecting heartiness.] Let’s talk about you.Parbury.[Fingering the rose in his buttonhole.] Dear, dear, how cross you are to-day!Evans.Excuse me, sir, may I speak to you?Parbury.Yes—what is it?Evans.It’s about cook, sir.Parbury.What’s the matter with her?Evans.Well, sir, so to speak, she wants to know where she stands.Parbury.[Looks atEvans,then atGunning.] How can I help her?Evans.I mean, sir, or rather she means, now mistress has gone away——Parbury.I presume my wife has a right to go away for a few days without cook’s permission.Evans.Yes, sir, certainly. But excuse me, sir; there’s been gossip. Emma, the ’ousemaid, accidentally overheard something between Mrs. Parbury and her maid. Servants is as nervous as race-horses, sir, and cook’s nerves is particularly sensible. So to speak, dismoralisation’s set up in the kitchen.Parbury.Well, you had better go and set it down again, Evans, and don’t bother me any more.Evans.Yes, sir, certainly. Excuse me, sir, I was to ask you who cook is to take her orders from.Parbury.In my wife’s absence, from me, of course.Evans.Not from Miss Woodward, sir?Parbury.[Staring slightly.] Why, has Miss Woodward given any orders?Evans.No, sir, but cook thought——Parbury.That will do, Evans.Evans.Yes, sir.[ExitEvans,L.[There is a pause.ParburyandGunningexchange looks.Gunning.Devilish awkward.Parbury.What bores servants are![Parburyslowly drinks a glass of wine.Gunningalso drinks.Parburyre-fills the glasses.EnterColonel Armitage,R.Armitage.Am I an intruder?Parbury.Good-morning, Colonel. [He rises and shakes hands.] Not in the least.Armitage.[At back of table,C.] Good-morning, Mr. Gunning.Gunning.Good-morning, Colonel.[They shake hands.Parbury.Have you breakfasted?Armitage.Thanks, yes, but poorly. I didn’t get to bed till four.Parbury.Nor did I.Gunning.Nor I.Armitage.And then I had but little sleep.Parbury.The same with me.Gunning.And with me.Armitage.[With a touch of asperity.] Your troubles, Clement, you have, of course, brought upon yourself; but I think it’s a little hard on your friends that they should be made to suffer with you.Gunning.Hear, hear!EnterEvanswith fruit.GunningandParburyeach take an apple.Armitage.[Tapping the champagne bottle with his stick.] What’s this! Some new kind of table water, I suppose.Parbury.Champagne.Armitage.Champagne at this hour! Well, I suppose you know best how to regulate your life. Have you an extra glass?Parbury.Another glass, Evans.Evans.Yes, sir.[ExitEvans.Armitage.It’s a thing I haven’t done for many years.Parbury.I trust, Colonel, you won’t accuse me of leading you from the path of morning abstinence.Armitage.Really, Clement, I think this display of ill-humour is scarcely in—er—give me a word.Gunning.Good taste.Armitage.Exactly! Good taste, considering that we are suffering from the effects of your domestic—er—er——Gunning.Maladministration.Armitage.Maladministration—exactly.Gunning.I quite agree with you, Colonel.Armitage.Look at your friend there. If he’ll allow me to say so, he’s put on ten years since yesterday. Look at me! Last evening, I suggest—I hope I’m not conceited—I suggest I didn’t look a day over forty-seven.Gunning.Not an hour.Armitage.While to-day—what would you say, Mr Gunning?Gunning.[Looks at him critically, then falls back in his chair.] Fifty-two.[Parburylooks savagely atGunning,throws his apple on table, and turns away.Armitage.I feared so; but I like you for your frankness.[He cuts a cigar.EnterEvans,with tumbler on tray; he places tumbler on table, and collects the breakfast things. Pause.Armitagelights his cigar with a matchEvanshands him.Armitage.You haven’t asked me if I have a message for you.Parbury.Prenez-garde!Gunning.[Loudly.] You mean about Newmarket.Armitage.[After a glance atEvans.] Yes; Allerton doesn’t run any of his horses. Death in the family, you know.Parbury.So I heard. That will do, Evans. You may leave the champagne.[They all keep their glasses.Evans.Yes, sir.[ExitEvanswith breakfast tray,L.Parbury.[WatchesEvansoff; then toArmitage.] Of course, you know, I’m really most anxious about Mabel. How is she?Armitage.I think I told you that I was up practically all night with her.Parbury.Was she ill?Armitage.Bodily, no. We supped in the kitchen at two. It’s amazing how emotion stimulates the appetite. No, Clement, her indisposition is of the mind. She wept.Parbury.All the time?Armitage.All the time. [Slight pause. Then he adds with a sigh.] I had rather a trying night.[They all drink champagne;Gunningrises, bends over a rose-bush, and hums the air of the music-hall song, “’E ’as my sympathy.”Armitage.I’m not without experience. Poor dear Mabel’s mother, for instance—one of the best women in the world—shewould cry at times, and if she got well off the scratch, she was—er—hard to beat. Mind you, I’ll be fair; I was much to blame—very much to blame. But as for Mabel, bless you, that dear child could have given her poor mother a stone and—er—what’s the expression?Gunning.Romped home.Armitage.That’s it—romped home.Parbury.Come, Colonel, give me the message.Armitage.I have no message for you. I may tell you, you are not in very great favour. [Gunningsmiles.] You’re not well spoken of, Clement.Parbury.Oho! Perhaps my wife had a good word for my old friend, Gunning.Armitage.In regard to Mr. Gunning, I think the word “serpent” was employed. [Parburylaughs quietly;Gunningbecomes serious.] All the same, I have a message for him.Gunning.Really.Parbury.[Rising.] In that case, I’ll get out of the way. I shall be in my study if I’m wanted.Armitage.[ComesC.] Very well. But I must say, Clement, that I find you, very much to my surprise and regret, just a little—a little—er—give me a word.Gunning.Callous!Armitage.Thanks, yes—callous; and, dearly fond as I am of my daughter, I think I have a right to ask how long you intend leaving your wife on my hands.Gunning.Perfectly reasonable—perfectly——Parbury.Shut up, George! [He goes toArmitage.] My dear old friend——Armitage.[Interrupting.] Hear me out, please. My dear daughter is, of course, always more than welcome to my home, but I trust you will not misunderstand me when I say that I require notice. Since I regained my liberty—I mean, since the death of your wife’s dear mother, I’ve drifted into my own—er—little ways. This affair has deranged my plans. Without being indiscreet, I may tell you that I’ve had to send telegrams.Gunning.Deuced hard lines!Parbury.Send her back to me, Colonel. Consult at once your happiness and mine by using your authority. Tell her that cook is in revolt, and that Evans is impertinent. Tell her that I only want my own way when I know I am absolutely right, as in this case. And above all, tell her that I prefer her society to that of a second-class cynic who bellows for champagne at ten o’clock in the morning.[ExitParbury,L.Gunning.In regard to your son-in-law, Colonel, you have my respectful sympathy.Armitage.A good fellow, but inconsiderate. [He lowers his voice.] I may tell you in confidence, Gunning, that I had been looking forward to keeping a rather pleasant appointment to-night——Gunning.[Falling into the confidential manner.] Really!Armitage.Yes, rather pleasant—rather pleasant.[He takes a miniature from his pocket and looks at it.Gunning.[Leaning towards him.] Might one venture to——Armitage.[Keeping the miniature away from him.] Oh, no, no, no, no—wouldn’t be fair. Oh, no. Besides, you might know her hus—you might—er——Gunning.Yes, yes, of course; one can’t be too discreet.Armitage.[Quickly.] Not, mind you, that there’s anything the whole world mightn’t know, only she—er—she’s not happy at home, and a quiet evening at a theatre—you understand?Gunning.Quite, quite!Armitage.Now you, my dear fellow, can do me a friendly turn.Gunning.I should be delighted to, but—I don’t see——Armitage.I’ll explain. My daughter wishes to see you. She seems to think that you hold the key of the situation.Gunning.But I don’t. I should very much object to.Armitage.Never mind—never mind! See her and do your utmost to make it up between her and Clement.Gunning.It’s no business of mine.Armitage.To put it bluntly, I shall not be able to keep my appointment to-night if I still have my daughter on my hands.Gunning.That would be a pity.Armitage.In which case my friend will be vexed—very vexed.I should have mentioned that on her mother’s side my friend is Spanish.Gunning.[Smiling. Shakes hands.] That decides me. Where is your daughter now?Armitage.She’s there, my boy, quite close. We walked over the heath together. One moment. [He brings a chair forward.] Would you kindly lend me your arm? [WithGunning’sassistance he mounts a chair, then he raises his hat on his stick.] That’s the signal the coast is clear. Trust an old campaigner. There she is! I say, put that wine away! [Gunningputs the bottle under table upL.C.,and places the glasses on table and covers them over with serviette.] It’s all right! Thank you, thank you! [AsGunninghelps him down.] Remember, my dear fellow, that I’ve trusted you implicitly. My happiness is in your hands. If we men didn’t stand shoulder to shoulder in these little matters, society would—er—would——Gunning.Crumble to dust.Armitage.Exactly.EnterMrs. Parbury,R.Advancing cautiously, she bows very stiffly toGunning,who takes his hat off.Gunning.Good-morning, Mrs. Parbury.Mrs. Parbury.[Coldly.] Good-morning.Armitage.Well, I’ll leave you. There’s nothing further I can do for you at present, dear?Mrs. Parbury.You might stay in the garden and give me a signal if Clement is coming. I have no intention of meeting him under the circumstances.Armitage.Very well, I’ll give you an unmistakable signal. “I’ll sing thee songs of Araby.”[ExitArmitage,L.Mrs. Parbury.[Grimly.] Well, Mr. Gunning, I hope you’re satisfied with your work.Gunning.My work, Mrs. Parbury—come, come!Mrs. Parbury.Oh, I hope you won’t dispute that. Clement and I were living together in perfect harmony, in perfect happiness, until you turned up yesterday.Gunning.Like a bad penny, eh?Mrs. Parbury.I was going to say like the snake in the garden.Gunning.Better still. Our conversation doesn’t open propitiously. Don’t you think it would conduce to the comfort of us both if we didn’t pursue it any further?Mrs. Parbury.Isn’t that a little cowardly?Gunning.I acknowledge cowardice in regard to other people’s affairs.Mrs. Parbury.Yesterday you were a hero.Gunning.Believe me, Mrs. Parbury, you are mistaken. I didn’t interfere in any way.Mrs. Parbury.You did worse.Gunning.How?Mrs. Parbury.You sneered.Gunning.Really, Mrs. Parbury, I——Mrs. Parbury.You aired opinions to me—pernicious opinions. I have a right to assume that you aired the same opinions to Clement, over whom you have some sort of influence.Gunning.I?Mrs. Parbury.Not, I think, a good influence, Mr. Gunning. I’ve been thinking things over since midnight. Hitherto I’ve been obliged to think very little of serious things.Perhaps trouble sharpens the intelligence. I’ve discovered that your influence over Clement is the influence of ridicule—the ridicule of the untamed for the tamed.Gunning.Say of the disreputable for the respectable, if you like, Mrs. Parbury.Mrs. Parbury.Thank you. That quite expresses my present opinion. Of course it is in your power at least to modify it.Gunning.I should be grateful if you would show me the way.Mrs. Parbury.You are not sincere.Gunning.’Pon my word, I am. [Mrs. Parburyraises her hand protestingly.] No, but really—I assure you, dear Mrs. Parbury—I’m not nearly such a bad fellow as you think. What can I do?Mrs. Parbury.Something—anythingto remove Miss Woodward from this house.Gunning.Miss Woodward! What has she to do with your quarrel with Clement?Mrs. Parbury.Everything. Sit down. [He does so. She makes sure that they are unobserved, then takes a chair nexthim.] Mr. Gunning, strange as it may appear after all that has occurred, I am going to trust you.[Lowering her voice.Gunning.You are very good.Mrs. Parbury.That wretched girl is in love with Clement.Gunning.[Starting from his chair as if shot.] What!Mrs. Parbury.Sit down! Sit down!Gunning.Miss Woodward is in love with——Mrs. Parbury.Sit down,please,Mr. Gunning.Gunning.[Laughs—sitting.] No, no, no; I simply can’t believe it.Mrs. Parbury.Why not?Gunning.It seems such a monstrous absurdity.[Laughs.Mrs. Parbury.[Drawing herself up.] I see nothing monstrously absurd in any one falling in love with my husband. I did!Gunning.Oh, of course—a charming chap; but she’s such an original girl.Mrs. Parbury.[Indignant.] You infer that I am not?Gunning.Not at all, Mrs. Parbury. You are really most interesting.Mrs. Parbury.I don’t think you are very tactful.Gunning.I’m a boor—a perfect boor.Mrs. Parbury.You appear to take an interest in Miss Woodward.Gunning.[Confused.] Only the interest of the student. I still think you must be mistaken.Mrs. Parbury.[Emphatically.] I caught her in the act of kissing his photograph.Gunning.You saw her— [Laughs.] My dear Mrs. Parbury, a day-dream!Mrs. Parbury.A fact. When pressed, she didn’t deny it.Gunning.Does Clement know?Mrs. Parbury.No; I thought it wise not to tell him.Gunning.[Heartily.] You were right—very right.Mrs. Parbury.I’m glad you think so.Gunning.Some men are so weak.Mrs. Parbury.[Drawing herself up again.] Mr. Gunning!Gunning.So easily flattered.Mrs. Parbury.[With more emphasis.] Mr. Gunning!Gunning.In nine cases out of ten it’s vanity that leads men astray.Mrs. Parbury.[With growing wrath.] Mr. Gunning, we are speaking of my husband.Gunning.Yes, yes, dear old Clement has his share of vanity, of course. [Aside.] Damn him!
[Crosses to sofa,L.Sits.Parburyexchanges a look withGunning.
Gunning.
[Coming down quickly.] Mrs. Parbury, I mustreluctantly say good-night. Your charming house is almost in the country, and I’ve to get back to London. I thank you for——
Mrs. Parbury.
[Interrupting.] Please don’t go, Mr. Gunning. It’s quite early, and Clement and you, as suchvery oldfriends, must still have a great deal to talk about.
Parbury.
[TakingGunning’sarm.] No, George, you really mustn’t go.
[Leads him up to window,R.
Gunning.
I assure you, my dear chap——
Parbury.
[Interrupting.] But I make it a personal favour. Dear student of life, stay and observe.
[They remain up at window.
Mrs. Parbury.
Dear father, I wish you to take me home with you to-night.
Colonel.
[Surprised.] Certainly, dear, but——
Mrs. Parbury.
Don’t question me. [Puts her hand on his shoulder.] You love me, don’t you?
Colonel.
Naturally, my dear. But nowadays, of course, I take second place.
Mrs. Parbury.
I thought so too, but I was wrong. Wait for me a few minutes.
Colonel.
[Hesitatingly, after glancing atParburyand again at his daughter.] One moment, Mabel. This is all so sudden.
Mrs. Parbury.
Father, do you hesitate to receive me?
Colonel.
Good heavens, no! But Clement——
Mrs. Parbury.
Shhh!
[Puts her hand over his mouth.
Colonel.
Oh! I was thinking, my dear, that unfortunately there is no mother to receive you now. I’m only an old bachelor, and you’ll be—er—give me a word.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Kisses him, and goes to door,L.She looks across the room at her husband, and then whispers to herself.] He’ll never let me go.
[Exit,L.
Parbury.
[ToGunning.] She’ll not go, my dear fellow.
Gunning.
Humph! You think not? Anyway,Imust,
Parbury.
Don’t.
Gunning.
The domestic atmosphere is volcanic, and I feel remorseful.
Parbury.
Nonsense, it had to come. You must see me through it now.
Gunning.
How beastly selfish you married men are!
[They come down.
Colonel.
Clement, I’m in a difficulty.
Parbury.
You mean about Mabel, Colonel?
Colonel.
Yes.
Parbury.
She proposes going home with you.
Colonel.
Yes.
Parbury.
[Smiling confidently.] I don’t think she’ll go.
EnterEvans,L.
Evans.
[ToColonel.] Your carriage, sir. [Parburylooks uneasy.]
[ExitEvans,L.
Colonel.
[Whistles. Looks at his watch.] I think she meansit. I ordered my man to wait in the Avenue till he was called. Mabel has evidently had him called.
[Parburyis thoughtful.
Colonel.
I don’t wish to be in the least degree meddlesome; but, well, there it is!
Parbury.
The question, I suppose, is what’s it all about?
Colonel.
Well, yes. I suppose that’s it; although I don’t in the least wish to know.
Parbury.
You hear, George; what’s it all about?
Gunning.
[DownR.,almost angrily.] Now, how the deuce should I know? Colonel, you would be very kind if you would use your authority to prevent Clement dragging me into his domestic difficulties. Married men have a cowardly way of endeavouring to involve their friends. Perhaps you have noticed it.
Colonel.
I have, Mr. Gunning. My experience of married life extended over a period of twenty-six years.
Gunning.
May one discreetly express the hope that they were very happy years?
Colonel.
Very happy years, with, however, I must admit,intermittent troubles. Mabel’s mother was one of the best women in the world, but, if I may say so without disloyalty, she was just a little—a little—er—give me a word.
Parbury.
Would the wordexigeantapply?
Colonel.
Admirably. Perhaps you have noticed in Mabel the slightest tendency? Eh?
Parbury.
Well, well!
Colonel.
Her mother’s jealousy, too, was something amazing. I hope I’m not conceited, but in those days I was just a little—er—popular, and perhaps I ought not to confess it, a little—er—give me a word.
Gunning.
Human.
[They laugh slightly.
Colonel.
[With affected severity.] Clement, I hope you are not too human?
Parbury.
Quite the contrary, I assure you, Colonel.
Colonel.
Then why—I suppose, after all, it is my duty to ask—why does Mabel come home with me to-night?
Parbury.
She is simply using pressure to get her own way in a matter in which I think her way the wrong way.
Colonel.
Gad! they do like their own way, don’t they? Well, no doubt she’ll be more reasonable to-morrow. I think I may trust you.
Parbury.
You may—absolutely.
EnterMrs. Parbury.She has put on a hat and a cloak.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Going toGunning.] You’ll forgive me, I’m sure, Mr. Gunning. Good-night. You’ll have Clement all to yourself.
Gunning.
Good-night, Mrs. Parbury.
[They shake hands.Parburyjoins her,C.
Parbury.
[In a low voice.] Don’t go, Mabel. It’s very foolish.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Softening.] You could prevent me if you wished.
Parbury.
I’m opposed to all violence.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Hard again.] Which way is it to be?
Parbury.
[Firmly.] My way, dear.
[Goes upC.to fireplace.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Alone,C.] Good heavens! He’ll really let me go. [Hesitates for a moment, then draws herself up.] Come, father.
Colonel.
Good-night, Mr. Gunning. Good-night, Clement.
ParburyandGunning.
Good-night, Colonel.
[ExeuntMrs. Parburyand theColonel.
Parbury.
[Comes down, a little astonished.] By Jove, she’s really going!
[Gunningsits.ParburystandsC.,listening. Pause. Then there is the noise of a carriage door being shut.
Evans.
[Outside.] Home!
[Parburysomewhat unsteadily lights a cigarette. He then catchesGunning’seye. They look at each other.
Slow Curtain.
END OF ACT II.
Scene.—The Rose Garden atParbury’shouse. A garden table, seat, and chairs. The next morning.
[EnterMiss Woodward.She is dressed simply, but less severely than before. Her hair is dressed more loosely. She carries a little basket full of roses. She places some roses upon the table, which is laid for two for breakfast. She plucks more roses and fastens them in her dress. Meanwhile she hums an air and conveys the impression of being happier than in the previous Acts.]
[EnterGunning,R.He wears a light morning suit, a round hat and brown boots, and carries a stick and gloves.]
Gunning.
Good-morning, Miss Woodward.
Miss Woodward.
Good-morning.
[They shake hands.
Gunning.
Shall I resist the temptation to pay you a compliment?
Miss Woodward.
[Gathering more roses.] Yes, please.
Gunning.
I thought you would say so. All the same, I feel it to be a deprivation.
Miss Woodward.
Isn’t that remark itself the cloven foot of compliment?
Gunning.
Eh—well, perhaps it is. I’m sorry.
Miss Woodward.
And therefore unlike you.
Gunning.
Unlike me? What does that mean?
Miss Woodward.
That it isn’t much in your way to pay women compliments.
Gunning.
I hope you are doing me an injustice.
Miss Woodward.
I don’t think so. You haven’t a very lofty opinion of women as a sex, have you?
Gunning.
Pretty well—pretty well; but what makes you think so?
Miss Woodward.
I heard you talk, you know, yesterday afternoon.
Gunning.
Oh yes; one does talk a lot of rot sometimes, doesn’t one?
Miss Woodward.
Yes.
[Embarrassed pause.
Gunning.
Is Mr. Parbury down yet?
Miss Woodward.
No. But he is sure to be in a few minutes. He is generally early. Breakfast, as you see, will be served here. Perhaps—perhaps you would rather wait indoors.
Gunning.
No; I’ll stay here if I may. . . . I’m afraid we made rather a late night of it.
[He sits.
Miss Woodward.
Really?
Gunning.
Three o’clock.
Miss Woodward.
You had much to talk of. I envy people with pleasant memories.
Gunning.
I don’t remember that we talked much of old times. I think we talked of the present.
Miss Woodward.
[Rather hardly.] Then my envy has flown.
Gunning.
You are right. This affair is rather boring.
Miss Woodward.
[Innocently.] What affair, Mr. Gunning?
Gunning.
Miss Woodward, you are a triumph of the inscrutable.
Miss Woodward.
[Leaning on chair,L.C.] I’m sure that is very clever, because I can’t quite understand it.
Gunning.
Quite seriously, Miss Woodward, you interest me more than any person I have ever met.
Miss Woodward.
Do you always say that to girls, Mr. Gunning?
Gunning.
No. Why?
Miss Woodward.
You ought to. I’m sure it’s very encouraging.
[She picks another rose.
Gunning.
[Doubtfully.] Ahem!
Miss Woodward.
Are you quite sure you wouldn’t rather wait indoors?
Gunning.
Oh, quite. I like being here.
Miss Woodward.
But I’m sure you find it difficult getting down to one’s level. I often think that the very wise must be very lonely.
Gunning.
[Rising.] What an extremely unpleasant remark!
Miss Woodward.
I’m sorry. [She sighs.] We don’t seem to get on very well, do we?
Gunning.
[With sincerity and coming close to her.] I’d like to get on well with you.
[Pause. They look in each other’s faces, both at table.
Gunning.
Will you give me a rose?
Miss Woodward.
No, Mr. Gunning.
Parbury.
[Outside.] Are you there, George?
[Miss Woodwardgets letters from table.
Gunning.
Yes.
Parbury.
[Outside, toEvans.] Serve breakfast.
EnterParbury,L.
Good-morning. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting. Oh, you are here, Miss Woodward. Good-morning.[Looks at the table.] And you have managed to find us some roses. How very kind of you! [Miss Woodwardgives him letters. He runs them over.] No, no, no, no! Will you kindly see what they’re all about? [She is about to go.] Oh, not now—after breakfast will do.
Miss Woodward.
I have breakfasted, thank you.
Parbury.
Really! I suppose I’m horribly late. [Looks at his watch. Then, noticing the roses she carries in her hand.] How very beautiful they are! Look, George! [She selects one and hands it to him.] For me? Thank you. [He fastens it in his buttonhole.]
[ExitMiss Woodward,L.
[ToGunning.] Lovely, isn’t it?
Gunning.
[Gruffly.] Yes, it’s all right.
Parbury.
What’s the matter? Cross?
Gunning.
Not at all. But, really, you married men are very tiresome.
Parbury.
Oh, I see—wanted a rose yourself. Shall I call Miss Woodward back and ask for you?
Gunning.
Don’t trouble. I’ve done that myself.
Parbury.
You have? Ha, ha! [Begins to laugh, but stopssuddenly.] Oh! [Holding his head.] Dear, dear, what a head I have!
Gunning.
You haven’t asked aftermyhead.
Parbury.
[Sits at table.] Your pardon. How is it?
Gunning.
[Sits at table.] I’d like to sell it this morning. Do you know, Clement, I’m not quite certain about that whisky of yours.
Parbury.
I am. It’s fifteen years old.
EnterEvans,L.,with, breakfast-tray.
But you always had a way of mixing your drinks over-night and growling in the morning.
Gunning.
[Drawing up his chair.] Put it at that, if you like. I do know that I always had a way of disliking you particularly in the morning. I regret I don’t appear to have grown out of it.
Parbury.
I’m so glad. I hate being too popular. [Evansoffers bacon toMr. Parbury.He pushes the dish away.] Take it away. Have some bacon, George?
[Takes a piece of toast, looks at it, then puts it down.
Gunning.
Thank you.
[Helps himself to bacon.
[ExitEvans,L.,with bacon dish.
Parbury.
I must say I think your display of temper is in the worst possible taste under the circumstances.
Gunning.
[Buttering toast.] What do you mean by “under the circumstances”?
Parbury.
You know what I mean. How much sleep do you think I’ve had?
Gunning.
I’m sure I don’t know. What concerns me is that you detained me in this outlandish place—what county is it?—till past three o’clock, and then insisted, with alcoholic tears in your eyes, on my returning to breakfast.
Parbury.
Tea or coffee?
Gunning.
Tea—no; coffee—no, neither.
Parbury.
Have some hot milk?
[Offers him the jug.
Gunning.
Ugh! Don’t.
[Takes an egg. Shells it.
Parbury.
[Lifts the lid of the tea-pot, then of the coffee-pot, and closes them gently with a look of distaste.] No, not this morning. Still, we must drink something. What shall it be?
Gunning.
I am your guest.
Parbury.
Perhaps we had better split a bottle.
Gunning.
Please be frank. Do you mean Bass or champagne?
Parbury.
Champagne, of course. [He calls loudly.] Evans! Evans!
Evans.
[Outside.] Yes, sir.
EnterEvans,L.
Parbury.
Bring a bottle of champagne.
Evans.
[Starting ever so slightly.] Cham——
Parbury.
[Irritably.] Champagne and glasses.
Evans.
[Recovering his composure.] Yes, sir.
[ExitEvans,L.,wearing a discreet smile.
Parbury.
It’s a thing I haven’t done for years—taken wine in the morning.
Gunning.
Five years.
Parbury.
Exactly.
Gunning.
In what I may venture to describe as the pre-domestic period it was rather a way of yours.
Parbury.
You mean ours.
Gunning.
Ours, if you prefer it. Where’s the salt?
Parbury.
There it is, right before your eyes. Why don’t you look?
Gunning.
Pass the mustard, please. What a good chap you were in those days.
Parbury.
Yes. Strange, you were always——
Gunning.
Always what?
Parbury.
Toast?
Gunning.
Thanks, I’ve got some. Always what?
Parbury.
It’s quite pleasant out here, isn’t it?
Gunning.
Delightful. You were saying I was always——
Parbury.
Oh, it doesn’t matter.
Gunning.
Of course, being about me it wouldn’t matter.
Parbury.
I’m afraid of offending you.
Gunning.
You couldn’t do that.
Parbury.
Well, I was going to say you were always rather sour-natured.
Gunning.
Really!
[He takes up a daily paper and glances through it, continuing to do so whileParburyspeaks.
Parbury.
And that has, I fancy, quite unconsciously to you, I am sure, a disturbing influence on others of happier nature.
[Taking an egg.
Gunning.
[Drawlingly.] Yes.
[He continues to read.
Parbury.
Take yesterday, for instance. Of course, you didn’t intend it. I wouldn’t suggest that for a moment. But, damn it, look at the result?
Gunning.
[In the same manner as before.] Yes.
[He reads.
Parbury.
[Taking the top off his boiled egg.] Simply deplorable. I’ve broken loose from my moorings. I’m at the mercy of every breeze. I feel that I’ve lost moral stability. Confound it, why doesn’t that champagne come?
EnterEvans,L.,with champagne. Pours out two glasses and hands them toGunningandParbury.
Parbury.
I’m not quite certain that for a man like me—[Gunninggroans and returns to his newspaper]—a man, if I may say so, of generous instincts and large sympathies—a groove isn’t a good thing, even if it be a little narrow. Of course, for a man of your nature, it’s a different matter.
Gunning.
[Suddenly puts down the paper, draws his chair closer to the table, and takes an egg with apparent cheerfulness.] What were you saying, old man?
Parbury.
Nothing.
Gunning.
[Affecting heartiness.] Let’s talk about you.
Parbury.
[Fingering the rose in his buttonhole.] Dear, dear, how cross you are to-day!
Evans.
Excuse me, sir, may I speak to you?
Parbury.
Yes—what is it?
Evans.
It’s about cook, sir.
Parbury.
What’s the matter with her?
Evans.
Well, sir, so to speak, she wants to know where she stands.
Parbury.
[Looks atEvans,then atGunning.] How can I help her?
Evans.
I mean, sir, or rather she means, now mistress has gone away——
Parbury.
I presume my wife has a right to go away for a few days without cook’s permission.
Evans.
Yes, sir, certainly. But excuse me, sir; there’s been gossip. Emma, the ’ousemaid, accidentally overheard something between Mrs. Parbury and her maid. Servants is as nervous as race-horses, sir, and cook’s nerves is particularly sensible. So to speak, dismoralisation’s set up in the kitchen.
Parbury.
Well, you had better go and set it down again, Evans, and don’t bother me any more.
Evans.
Yes, sir, certainly. Excuse me, sir, I was to ask you who cook is to take her orders from.
Parbury.
In my wife’s absence, from me, of course.
Evans.
Not from Miss Woodward, sir?
Parbury.
[Staring slightly.] Why, has Miss Woodward given any orders?
Evans.
No, sir, but cook thought——
Parbury.
That will do, Evans.
Evans.
Yes, sir.
[ExitEvans,L.
[There is a pause.ParburyandGunningexchange looks.
Gunning.
Devilish awkward.
Parbury.
What bores servants are!
[Parburyslowly drinks a glass of wine.Gunningalso drinks.Parburyre-fills the glasses.
EnterColonel Armitage,R.
Armitage.
Am I an intruder?
Parbury.
Good-morning, Colonel. [He rises and shakes hands.] Not in the least.
Armitage.
[At back of table,C.] Good-morning, Mr. Gunning.
Gunning.
Good-morning, Colonel.
[They shake hands.
Parbury.
Have you breakfasted?
Armitage.
Thanks, yes, but poorly. I didn’t get to bed till four.
Parbury.
Nor did I.
Gunning.
Nor I.
Armitage.
And then I had but little sleep.
Parbury.
The same with me.
Gunning.
And with me.
Armitage.
[With a touch of asperity.] Your troubles, Clement, you have, of course, brought upon yourself; but I think it’s a little hard on your friends that they should be made to suffer with you.
Gunning.
Hear, hear!
EnterEvanswith fruit.GunningandParburyeach take an apple.
Armitage.
[Tapping the champagne bottle with his stick.] What’s this! Some new kind of table water, I suppose.
Parbury.
Champagne.
Armitage.
Champagne at this hour! Well, I suppose you know best how to regulate your life. Have you an extra glass?
Parbury.
Another glass, Evans.
Evans.
Yes, sir.
[ExitEvans.
Armitage.
It’s a thing I haven’t done for many years.
Parbury.
I trust, Colonel, you won’t accuse me of leading you from the path of morning abstinence.
Armitage.
Really, Clement, I think this display of ill-humour is scarcely in—er—give me a word.
Gunning.
Good taste.
Armitage.
Exactly! Good taste, considering that we are suffering from the effects of your domestic—er—er——
Gunning.
Maladministration.
Armitage.
Maladministration—exactly.
Gunning.
I quite agree with you, Colonel.
Armitage.
Look at your friend there. If he’ll allow me to say so, he’s put on ten years since yesterday. Look at me! Last evening, I suggest—I hope I’m not conceited—I suggest I didn’t look a day over forty-seven.
Gunning.
Not an hour.
Armitage.
While to-day—what would you say, Mr Gunning?
Gunning.
[Looks at him critically, then falls back in his chair.] Fifty-two.
[Parburylooks savagely atGunning,throws his apple on table, and turns away.
Armitage.
I feared so; but I like you for your frankness.
[He cuts a cigar.
EnterEvans,with tumbler on tray; he places tumbler on table, and collects the breakfast things. Pause.Armitagelights his cigar with a matchEvanshands him.
Armitage.
You haven’t asked me if I have a message for you.
Parbury.
Prenez-garde!
Gunning.
[Loudly.] You mean about Newmarket.
Armitage.
[After a glance atEvans.] Yes; Allerton doesn’t run any of his horses. Death in the family, you know.
Parbury.
So I heard. That will do, Evans. You may leave the champagne.
[They all keep their glasses.
Evans.
Yes, sir.
[ExitEvanswith breakfast tray,L.
Parbury.
[WatchesEvansoff; then toArmitage.] Of course, you know, I’m really most anxious about Mabel. How is she?
Armitage.
I think I told you that I was up practically all night with her.
Parbury.
Was she ill?
Armitage.
Bodily, no. We supped in the kitchen at two. It’s amazing how emotion stimulates the appetite. No, Clement, her indisposition is of the mind. She wept.
Parbury.
All the time?
Armitage.
All the time. [Slight pause. Then he adds with a sigh.] I had rather a trying night.
[They all drink champagne;Gunningrises, bends over a rose-bush, and hums the air of the music-hall song, “’E ’as my sympathy.”
Armitage.
I’m not without experience. Poor dear Mabel’s mother, for instance—one of the best women in the world—shewould cry at times, and if she got well off the scratch, she was—er—hard to beat. Mind you, I’ll be fair; I was much to blame—very much to blame. But as for Mabel, bless you, that dear child could have given her poor mother a stone and—er—what’s the expression?
Gunning.
Romped home.
Armitage.
That’s it—romped home.
Parbury.
Come, Colonel, give me the message.
Armitage.
I have no message for you. I may tell you, you are not in very great favour. [Gunningsmiles.] You’re not well spoken of, Clement.
Parbury.
Oho! Perhaps my wife had a good word for my old friend, Gunning.
Armitage.
In regard to Mr. Gunning, I think the word “serpent” was employed. [Parburylaughs quietly;Gunningbecomes serious.] All the same, I have a message for him.
Gunning.
Really.
Parbury.
[Rising.] In that case, I’ll get out of the way. I shall be in my study if I’m wanted.
Armitage.
[ComesC.] Very well. But I must say, Clement, that I find you, very much to my surprise and regret, just a little—a little—er—give me a word.
Gunning.
Callous!
Armitage.
Thanks, yes—callous; and, dearly fond as I am of my daughter, I think I have a right to ask how long you intend leaving your wife on my hands.
Gunning.
Perfectly reasonable—perfectly——
Parbury.
Shut up, George! [He goes toArmitage.] My dear old friend——
Armitage.
[Interrupting.] Hear me out, please. My dear daughter is, of course, always more than welcome to my home, but I trust you will not misunderstand me when I say that I require notice. Since I regained my liberty—I mean, since the death of your wife’s dear mother, I’ve drifted into my own—er—little ways. This affair has deranged my plans. Without being indiscreet, I may tell you that I’ve had to send telegrams.
Gunning.
Deuced hard lines!
Parbury.
Send her back to me, Colonel. Consult at once your happiness and mine by using your authority. Tell her that cook is in revolt, and that Evans is impertinent. Tell her that I only want my own way when I know I am absolutely right, as in this case. And above all, tell her that I prefer her society to that of a second-class cynic who bellows for champagne at ten o’clock in the morning.
[ExitParbury,L.
Gunning.
In regard to your son-in-law, Colonel, you have my respectful sympathy.
Armitage.
A good fellow, but inconsiderate. [He lowers his voice.] I may tell you in confidence, Gunning, that I had been looking forward to keeping a rather pleasant appointment to-night——
Gunning.
[Falling into the confidential manner.] Really!
Armitage.
Yes, rather pleasant—rather pleasant.
[He takes a miniature from his pocket and looks at it.
Gunning.
[Leaning towards him.] Might one venture to——
Armitage.
[Keeping the miniature away from him.] Oh, no, no, no, no—wouldn’t be fair. Oh, no. Besides, you might know her hus—you might—er——
Gunning.
Yes, yes, of course; one can’t be too discreet.
Armitage.
[Quickly.] Not, mind you, that there’s anything the whole world mightn’t know, only she—er—she’s not happy at home, and a quiet evening at a theatre—you understand?
Gunning.
Quite, quite!
Armitage.
Now you, my dear fellow, can do me a friendly turn.
Gunning.
I should be delighted to, but—I don’t see——
Armitage.
I’ll explain. My daughter wishes to see you. She seems to think that you hold the key of the situation.
Gunning.
But I don’t. I should very much object to.
Armitage.
Never mind—never mind! See her and do your utmost to make it up between her and Clement.
Gunning.
It’s no business of mine.
Armitage.
To put it bluntly, I shall not be able to keep my appointment to-night if I still have my daughter on my hands.
Gunning.
That would be a pity.
Armitage.
In which case my friend will be vexed—very vexed.I should have mentioned that on her mother’s side my friend is Spanish.
Gunning.
[Smiling. Shakes hands.] That decides me. Where is your daughter now?
Armitage.
She’s there, my boy, quite close. We walked over the heath together. One moment. [He brings a chair forward.] Would you kindly lend me your arm? [WithGunning’sassistance he mounts a chair, then he raises his hat on his stick.] That’s the signal the coast is clear. Trust an old campaigner. There she is! I say, put that wine away! [Gunningputs the bottle under table upL.C.,and places the glasses on table and covers them over with serviette.] It’s all right! Thank you, thank you! [AsGunninghelps him down.] Remember, my dear fellow, that I’ve trusted you implicitly. My happiness is in your hands. If we men didn’t stand shoulder to shoulder in these little matters, society would—er—would——
Gunning.
Crumble to dust.
Armitage.
Exactly.
EnterMrs. Parbury,R.Advancing cautiously, she bows very stiffly toGunning,who takes his hat off.
Gunning.
Good-morning, Mrs. Parbury.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Coldly.] Good-morning.
Armitage.
Well, I’ll leave you. There’s nothing further I can do for you at present, dear?
Mrs. Parbury.
You might stay in the garden and give me a signal if Clement is coming. I have no intention of meeting him under the circumstances.
Armitage.
Very well, I’ll give you an unmistakable signal. “I’ll sing thee songs of Araby.”
[ExitArmitage,L.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Grimly.] Well, Mr. Gunning, I hope you’re satisfied with your work.
Gunning.
My work, Mrs. Parbury—come, come!
Mrs. Parbury.
Oh, I hope you won’t dispute that. Clement and I were living together in perfect harmony, in perfect happiness, until you turned up yesterday.
Gunning.
Like a bad penny, eh?
Mrs. Parbury.
I was going to say like the snake in the garden.
Gunning.
Better still. Our conversation doesn’t open propitiously. Don’t you think it would conduce to the comfort of us both if we didn’t pursue it any further?
Mrs. Parbury.
Isn’t that a little cowardly?
Gunning.
I acknowledge cowardice in regard to other people’s affairs.
Mrs. Parbury.
Yesterday you were a hero.
Gunning.
Believe me, Mrs. Parbury, you are mistaken. I didn’t interfere in any way.
Mrs. Parbury.
You did worse.
Gunning.
How?
Mrs. Parbury.
You sneered.
Gunning.
Really, Mrs. Parbury, I——
Mrs. Parbury.
You aired opinions to me—pernicious opinions. I have a right to assume that you aired the same opinions to Clement, over whom you have some sort of influence.
Gunning.
I?
Mrs. Parbury.
Not, I think, a good influence, Mr. Gunning. I’ve been thinking things over since midnight. Hitherto I’ve been obliged to think very little of serious things.Perhaps trouble sharpens the intelligence. I’ve discovered that your influence over Clement is the influence of ridicule—the ridicule of the untamed for the tamed.
Gunning.
Say of the disreputable for the respectable, if you like, Mrs. Parbury.
Mrs. Parbury.
Thank you. That quite expresses my present opinion. Of course it is in your power at least to modify it.
Gunning.
I should be grateful if you would show me the way.
Mrs. Parbury.
You are not sincere.
Gunning.
’Pon my word, I am. [Mrs. Parburyraises her hand protestingly.] No, but really—I assure you, dear Mrs. Parbury—I’m not nearly such a bad fellow as you think. What can I do?
Mrs. Parbury.
Something—anythingto remove Miss Woodward from this house.
Gunning.
Miss Woodward! What has she to do with your quarrel with Clement?
Mrs. Parbury.
Everything. Sit down. [He does so. She makes sure that they are unobserved, then takes a chair nexthim.] Mr. Gunning, strange as it may appear after all that has occurred, I am going to trust you.
[Lowering her voice.
Gunning.
You are very good.
Mrs. Parbury.
That wretched girl is in love with Clement.
Gunning.
[Starting from his chair as if shot.] What!
Mrs. Parbury.
Sit down! Sit down!
Gunning.
Miss Woodward is in love with——
Mrs. Parbury.
Sit down,please,Mr. Gunning.
Gunning.
[Laughs—sitting.] No, no, no; I simply can’t believe it.
Mrs. Parbury.
Why not?
Gunning.
It seems such a monstrous absurdity.
[Laughs.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Drawing herself up.] I see nothing monstrously absurd in any one falling in love with my husband. I did!
Gunning.
Oh, of course—a charming chap; but she’s such an original girl.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Indignant.] You infer that I am not?
Gunning.
Not at all, Mrs. Parbury. You are really most interesting.
Mrs. Parbury.
I don’t think you are very tactful.
Gunning.
I’m a boor—a perfect boor.
Mrs. Parbury.
You appear to take an interest in Miss Woodward.
Gunning.
[Confused.] Only the interest of the student. I still think you must be mistaken.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Emphatically.] I caught her in the act of kissing his photograph.
Gunning.
You saw her— [Laughs.] My dear Mrs. Parbury, a day-dream!
Mrs. Parbury.
A fact. When pressed, she didn’t deny it.
Gunning.
Does Clement know?
Mrs. Parbury.
No; I thought it wise not to tell him.
Gunning.
[Heartily.] You were right—very right.
Mrs. Parbury.
I’m glad you think so.
Gunning.
Some men are so weak.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Drawing herself up again.] Mr. Gunning!
Gunning.
So easily flattered.
Mrs. Parbury.
[With more emphasis.] Mr. Gunning!
Gunning.
In nine cases out of ten it’s vanity that leads men astray.
Mrs. Parbury.
[With growing wrath.] Mr. Gunning, we are speaking of my husband.
Gunning.
Yes, yes, dear old Clement has his share of vanity, of course. [Aside.] Damn him!