Only why should it be with pain at all Why must I 'twix the leaves of corona! Put any kiss of pardon on thy brow? Why should the other women know so much, And talk together—Such the look and such The smile he used to love with, then as now.—Any Wife to any Husband.
SCENE—A Naini Tal dinner for thirty-four. Plate, wines, crockery, and khitmatgars carefully calculated to scale of Rs. 6000 per mensem, less Exchange. Table split lengthways by bank of flowers.
MRS. HERRIOTT. (After conversation has risen to proper pitch.) Ah! 'Didn't see you in the crush in the drawing-room. (Sotto voce.) Where have you been all this while, Pip?
CAPTAIN GADSBY. (Turning from regularly ordained dinner partner and settling hock glasses.) Good evening. (Sotto voce.) Not quite so loud another time. You've no notion how your voice carries. (Aside.) So much for shirking the written explanation. It'll have to be a verbal one now. Sweet prospect! How on earth am I to tell her that I am a respectable, engaged member of society and it's all over between us?
MRS. H. I've a heavy score against you. Where were you at the Monday Pop? Where were you on Tuesday? Where were you at the Lamonts' tennis? I was looking everywhere.
CAPT. G. For me! Oh, I was alive somewhere, I suppose. (Aside.) It's for Minnie's sake, but it's going to be dashed unpleasant.
MRS. H. Have I done anything to offend you? I never meant it if I have. I couldn't help going for a ride with the Vaynor man. It was promised a week before you came up.
CAPT. G. I didn't know—
MRS. H. It really was.
CAPT. G. Anything about it, I mean.
MRS. H. What has upset you today? All these days? You haven't been near me for four whole days—nearly one hundred hours. Was it kind of you, Pip? And I've been looking forward so much to your coming.
CAPT. G. Have you?
MRS. H. You know I have! I've been as foolish as a schoolgirl about it. I made a little calendar and put it in my card-case, and every time the twelve o'clock gun went off I scratched out a square and said: “That brings me nearer to Pip. My Pip!”
CAPT. G. (With an uneasy laugh). What will Mackler think if you neglect him so?
MRS. H. And it hasn't brought you nearer. You seem farther away than ever. Are you sulking about something? I know your temper.
CAPT. G. No.
MRS. H. Have I grown old in' the last few months, then? (Reaches forward to bank of flowers for menu-card.)
PARTNER ON LEFT. Allow me. (Hands menu-card. MRS. H. keeps her arm at full stretch for three seconds.)
MRS. H. (To partner.) Oh, thanks. I didn't see. (Turns right again.) Is anything in me changed at all?
CAPT. G. For Goodness's sake go on with your dinner! You must eat something. Try one of those cutlet arrangements. (Aside.) And I fancied she had good shoulders, once upon a time! What an ass a man can make of himself!
MRS. H. (Helping herself to a paper frill, seven peas, some stamped carrots and a spoonful of gravy.) That isn't an answer. Tell me whether I have done anything.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) If it isn't ended here there will be a ghastly scene somewhere else. If only I'd written to her and stood the racket—at long range! (To Khitmatgar.) Han! Simpkin do. (Aloud.) I'll tell you later on.
MRS. H. Tell me now. It must be some foolish misunderstanding, and you know that there was to be nothing of that sort between us. We, of all people in the world, can't afford it. Is it the Vaynor man, and don't you like to say so? On my honor—
CAPT. G. I haven't given the Vaynor man a thought.
MRS. H. But how d'you know that I haven't?
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Here's my chance and may the Devil help me through with it. (Aloud and measuredly.) Believe me, I do not care how often or how tenderly you think of the Vaynor man.
MRS. H. I wonder if you mean that! Oh, what is the good of squabbling and pretending to misunderstand when you are only up for so short a time? Pip, don't be a stupid!
Follows a pause, during which he crosses his left leg over his right and continues his dinner.
CAPT. G. (In answer to the thunderstorm in her eyes.) Corns—my worst.
MRS. H. Upon my word, you are the very rudest man in the world! I'll never do it again.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) No, I don't think you will; but I wonder what you will do before it's all over. (To Khitmatgar.) Thorah ur Simpkin do.
MRS. H. Well! Haven't you the grace to apologize, bad man?
CAPT. G. (Aside.) I mustn't let it drift back now. Trust a woman for being as blind as a bat when she won't see.
MRS. H. I'm waiting; or would you like me to dictate a form of apology?
CAPT. G. (Desperately.) By all means dictate.
MRS. H. (Lightly.) Very well. Rehearse your several Christian names after me and go on: “Profess my sincere repentance.”
CAPT. G. “Sincere repentance.”
MRS. H. “For having behaved”—
CAPT. G. (Aside.) At last! I wish to Goodness she'd look away. “For having behaved”—as I have behaved, and declare that I am thoroughly and heartily sick of the whole business, and take this opportunity of making clear my intention of ending it, now, henceforward, and forever. (Aside.) If any one had told me I should be such a blackguard—!
MRS. H. (Shaking a spoonful of potato chips into her plate.) That's not a pretty joke.
CAPT. G. No. It's a reality. (Aside.) I wonder if smashes of this kind are always so raw.
MRS. H. Really, Pip, you're getting more absurd every day.
CAPT. G. I don't think you quite understand me. Shall I repeat it?
MRS. H. No! For pity's sake don't do that. It's too terrible, even in fur.
CAPT. G. I'll let her think it over for a while. But I ought to be horsewhipped.
MRS. H. I want to know what you meant by what you said just now.
CAPT. G. Exactly what I said. No less.
MRS. H. But what have I done to deserve it? What have I done?
CAPT. G. (Aside.) If she only wouldn't look at me. (Aloud and very slowly, his eyes on his plate.) D'you remember that evening in July, before the Rains broke, when you said that the end would have to come sooner or later—and you wondered for which of US it would come first?
MRS. H. Yes! I was only joking. And you swore that, as long as there was breath in your body, it should never come. And I believed you.
CAPT. G. (Fingering menu-card.) Well, it has. That's all.
A long pause, during which MRS. H. bows her head and rolls the bread-twist into little pellets; G. stares at the oleanders.
MRS. H. (Throwing back her head and laughing naturally.) They train us women well, don't they, Pip?
CAPT. G. (Brutally, touching shirt-stud.) So far as the expression goes. (Aside.) It isn't in her nature to take things quietly. There'll be an explosion yet.
MRS. H. (With a shudder.) Thank you. B-but even Red Indians allow people to wriggle when they're being tortured, I believe. (Slips fan from girdle and fans slowly: rim of fan level with chin.)
PARTNER ON LEFT. Very close tonight, isn't it? 'You find it too much for you?
MRS. H. Oh, no, not in the least. But they really ought to have punkahs, even in your cool Naini Tal, oughtn't they? (Turns, dropping fan and raising eyebrows.)
CAPT. G. It's all right. (Aside.) Here comes the storm!
MRS. H. (Her eyes on the tablecloth: fan ready in right hand.) It was very cleverly managed, Pip, and I congratulate you. You swore—you never contented yourself with merely Saying a thing—you swore that, as far as lay in your power, you'd make my wretched life pleasant for me. And you've denied me the consolation of breaking down. I should have done it—indeed I should. A woman would hardly have thought of this refinement, my kind, considerate friend. (Fan-guard as before.) You have explained things so tenderly and truthfully, too! You haven't spoken or written a word of warning, and you have let me believe in you till the last minute. You haven't condescended to give me your reason yet. No! A woman could not have managed it half so well. Are there many men like you in the world?
CAPT. G. I'm sure I don't know. (To Khitmatgar.) Ohe! Simpkin do.
MRS. H. You call yourself a man of the world, don't you? Do men of the world behave like Devils when they a woman the honor to get tired of her?
CAPT. G. I'm sure I don't know. Don't speak so loud!
MRS. H. Keep us respectable, O Lord, whatever happens. Don't be afraid of my compromising you. You've chosen your ground far too well, and I've been properly brought up. (Lowering fan.) Haven't you any pity, Pip, except for yourself?
CAPT. G. Wouldn't it be rather impertinent of me to say that I'm sorry for you?
MRS. H. I think you have said it once or twice before. You're growing very careful of my feelings. My God, Pip, I was a good woman once! You said I was. You've made me what I am. What are you going to do with me? What are you going to do with me? Won't you say that you are sorry? (Helps herself to iced asparagus.)
CAPT. G. I am sorry for you, if you Want the pity of such a brute as I am. I'm awf'ly sorry for you.
MRS. H. Rather tame for a man of the world. Do you think that that admission clears you?
CAPT. G. What can I do? I can only tell you what I think of myself. You can't think worse than that?
MRS. H. Oh, yes, I can! And now, will you tell me the reason of all this? Remorse? Has Bayard been suddenly conscience-stricken?
CAPT. G. (Angrily, his eyes still lowered.) No! The thing has come to an end on my side. That's all. Mafisch!
MRS. H. “That's all. Mafisch!” As though I were a Cairene Dragoman. You used to make prettier speeches. D'you remember when you said?—
CAPT. G. For Heaven's sake don't bring that back! Call me anything you like and I'll admit it—
MRS. H. But you don't care to be reminded of old lies? If I could hope to hurt you one-tenth as much as you have hurt me to-night—No, I wouldn't—I couldn't do it—liar though you are.
CAPT. G. I've spoken the truth.
MRS. H. My dear Sir, you flatter yourself. You have lied over the reason. Pip, remember that I know you as you don't know yourself. You have been everything to me, though you are—(Fan-guard.) Oh, what a contemptible Thing it is! And so you are merely tired of me?
CAPT. G. Since you insist upon my repeating it—Yes.
MRS. H. Lie the first. I wish I knew a coarser word. Lie seems so in-effectual in your case. The fire has just died out and there is no fresh one? Think for a minute, Pip, if you care whether I despise you more than I do. Simply Mafisch, is it?
CAPT. G. Yes. (Aside.) I think I deserve this.
MRS. H. Lie number two. Before the next glass chokes you, tell me her name.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) I'll make her pay for dragging Minnie into the business! (Aloud.) Is it likely?
MRS. H. Very likely if you thought that it would flatter your vanity. You'd cry my name on the house-tops to make people turn round.
CAPT. G. I wish I had. There would have been an end to this business.
MRS. H. Oh, no, there would not—And so you were going to be virtuous and blase', were you? To come to me and say: “I've done with you. The incident is clo-osed.” I ought to be proud of having kept such a man so long.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) It only remains to pray for the end of the dinner. (Aloud.) You know what I think of myself.
MRS. H. As it's the only person in he world you ever do think of, and as I know your mind thoroughly, I do. You want to get it all over and—Oh, I can't keep you back! And you're going—think of it, Pip—to throw me over for another woman. And you swore that all other women were—Pip, my Pip! She can't care for you as I do. Believe me, she can't. Is it any one that I know?
CAPT. G. Thank Goodness it isn't. (Aside.) I expected a cyclone, but not an earthquake.
MRS. H. She can't! Is there anything that I wouldn't do for you—or haven't done? And to think that I should take this trouble over you, knowing what you are! Do you despise me for it?
CAPT. G. (Wiping his mouth to hide a smile.) Again? It's entirely a work of charity on your part.
MRS. H. Ahhh! But I have no right to resent it.—Is she better-looking than I? Who was it said?—
CAPT. G. No—not that!
MRS. H. I'll be more merciful than you were. Don't you know that all women are alike?
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Then this is the exception that proves the rule.
MRS. H. All of them! I'll tell you anything you like. I will, upon my word! They only want the admiration—from anybody—no matter who—anybody! But there is always one man that they care for more than any one else in the world, and would sacrifice all the others to. Oh, do listen! I've kept the Vaynor man trotting after me like a poodle, and he believes that he is the only man I am interested in. I'll tell you what he said to me.
CAPT. G. Spare him. (Aside.) I wonder what his version is.
MRS. H. He's been waiting for me to look at him all through dinner. Shall I do it, and you can see what an idiot he looks?
CAPT. G. “But what imports the nomination of this gentleman?”
MRS. H. Watch! (Sends a glance to the Vaynor man, who tries vainly to combine a mouthful of ice pudding, a smirk of self-satisfaction, a glare of intense devotion, and the stolidity of a British dining countenance.)
CAPT. G. (Critically.) He doesn't look pretty. Why didn't you wait till the spoon was out of his mouth?
MRS. H. To amuse you. She'll make an exhibition of you as I've made of him; and people will laugh at you. Oh, Pip, can't you see that? It's as plain as the noonday Sun. You'll be trotted about and told lies, and made a fool of like the others. I never made a fool of you, did I?
CAPT. G. (Aside.) What a clever little woman it is!
MRS. H. Well, what have you to say?
CAPT. G. I feel better.
MRS. H. Yes, I suppose so, after I have come down to your level. I couldn't have done it if I hadn't cared for you so much. I have spoken the truth.
CAPT. G. It doesn't alter the situation.
MRS. H. (Passionately.) Then she has said that she cares for you! Don't believe her, Pip. It's a lie—as bad as yours to me!
CAPT. G. Ssssteady! I've a notion that a friend of yours is looking at you.
MRS. H. He! I hate him. He introduced you to me.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) And some people would like women to assist in making the laws. Introduction to imply condonement. (Aloud.) Well, you see, if you can remember so far back as that, I couldn't, in' common politeness, refuse the offer.
MRS. H. In common politeness I We have got beyond that!
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Old ground means fresh trouble. (Aloud.) On my honor
MRS. H. Your what? Ha, ha!
CAPT. G. Dishonor, then. She's not what you imagine. I meant to—
MRS. H. Don't tell me anything about her! She won't care for you, and when you come back, after having made an exhibition of yourself, you'll find me occupied with—
CAPT. G. (Insolently.) You couldn't while I am alive. (Aside.) If that doesn't bring her pride to her rescue, nothing will.
MRS. H. (Drawing herself up.) Couldn't do it? I' (Softening.) You're right. I don't believe I could—though you are what you are—a coward and a liar in grain.
CAPT. G. It doesn't hurt so much after your little lecture—with demonstrations.
MRS. H. One mass of vanity! Will nothing ever touch you in this life? There must be a Hereafter if it's only for the benefit of—But you will have it all to yourself.
CAPT. G. (Under his eyebrows.) Are you certain of that?
MRS. H. I shall have had mine in this life; and it will serve me right.
CAPT. G. But the admiration that you insisted on so strongly a moment ago? (Aside.) Oh, I am a brute!
MRS. H. (Fiercely.) Will that con-sole me for knowing that you will go to her with the same words, the same arguments, and the—the same pet names you used to me? And if she cares for you, you two will laugh over my story. Won't that be punishment heavy enough even for me—even for me?—And it's all useless. That's another punishment.
CAPT. G. (Feebly.) Oh, come! I'm not so low as you think.
MRS. H. Not now, perhaps, but you will be. Oh, Pip, if a woman flatters your vanity, there's nothing on earth that you would not tell her; and no meanness that you would not do. Have I known you so long without knowing that?
CAPT. G. If you can trust me in nothing else—and I don't see why I should be trusted—you can count upon my holding my tongue.
MRS. H. If you denied everything you've said this evening and declared it was all in' fun (a long pause), I'd trust you. Not otherwise. All I ask is, don't tell her my name. Please don't. A man might forget: a woman never would. (Looks up table and sees hostess beginning to collect eyes.) So it's all ended, through no fault of mine—Haven't I behaved beautifully? I've accepted your dismissal, and you managed it as cruelly as you could, and I have made you respect my sex, haven't I? (Arranging gloves and fan.) I only pray that she'll know you some day as I know you now. I wouldn't be you then, for I think even your conceit will be hurt. I hope she'll pay you back the humiliation you've brought on me. I hope—No. I don't! I can't give you up! I must have something to look forward to or I shall go crazy. When it's all over, come back to me, come back to me, and you'll find that you're my Pip still!
CAPT. G. (Very clearly.) False move, and you pay for it. It's a girl!
MRS. H. (Rising.) Then it was true! They said—but I wouldn't insult you by asking. A girl! I was a girl not very long ago. Be good to her, Pip. I daresay she believes in' you.
Goes out with an uncertain smile. He watches her through the door, and settles into a chair as the men redistribute themselves.
CAPT. G. Now, if there is any Power who looks after this world, will He kindly tell me what I have done? (Reaching out for the claret, and half aloud.) What have I done?
SCENE.—A bachelor's bedroom-toilet-table arranged with unnatural neatness. CAPTAIN GADSBY asleep and snoring heavily. Time, 10:30 A. M.—a glorious autumn day at Simla. Enter delicately Captain MAFFLIN of GADSBY's regiment. Looks at sleeper, and shakes his head murmuring “Poor Gaddy.” Performs violent fantasia with hair-brushes on chairback.
CAPT. M. Wake up, my sleeping beauty! (Roars.)
“Uprouse ye, then, my merry merry men! It is our opening day! It is our opening da-ay!”
Gaddy, the little dicky-birds have been billing and cooing for ever so long; and I'm here!
CAPT. G. (Sitting up and yawning.) 'Mornin'. This is awf'ly good of you, old fellow. Most awf'ly good of you. 'Don't know what I should do without you. 'Pon my soul, I don't. 'Haven't slept a wink all night.
CAPT. M. I didn't get in till half-past eleven. 'Had a look at you then, and you seemed to be sleeping as soundly as a condemned criminal.
CAPT. G. Jack, if you want to make those disgustingly worn-out jokes, you'd better go away. (With portentous gravity.) It's the happiest day in my life.
CAPT. M. (Chuckling grimly.) Not by a very long chalk, my son. You're going through some of the most refined torture you've ever known. But be calm. I am with you. 'Shun! Dress!
CAPT. G. Eh! Wha-at?
CAPT. M. Do you suppose that you are your own master for the next twelve hours? If you do, of course-(Makes for the door.)
CAPT. G. No! For Goodness' sake, old man, don't do that! You'll see through, won't you? I've been mugging up that beastly drill, and can't remember a line of it.
CAPT. M. (Overturning G.'s uniform.) Go and tub. Don't bother me. I'll give you ten minutes to dress in.
(Interval, filled by the noise as of one splashing in the bath-room.)
CAPT. G. (Emerging from dressing-room.) What time is it?
CAPT. M. Nearly eleven.
CAPT. G. Five hours more. O Lord!
CAPT. M. (Aside.) 'First sign of funk, that. 'Wonder if it's going to spread. (Aloud.) Come along to breakfast.
CAPT. G. I can't eat anything. I don't want any breakfast.
CAPT. M. (Aside.) So early! (Aloud) CAPTAIN Gadsby, I order you to eat breakfast, and a dashed good breakfast, too. None of your bridal airs and graces with me!
Leads G. downstairs and stands over him while he eats two chops.
CAPT. G. (Who has looked at his watch thrice in the last five minutes.) What time is it?
CAPT. M. Time to come for a walk. Light up.
CAPT. G. I haven't smoked for ten days, and I won't now. (Takes cheroot which M. has cut for him, and blows smoke through his nose luxuriously.) We aren't going down the Mall, are we?
CAPT. M. (Aside.) They're all alike in these stages. (Aloud.) No, my Vestal. We're going along the quietest road we can find.
CAPT. G. Any chance of seeing Her? CAPT. M. Innocent! No! Come along, and, if you want me for the final obsequies, don't cut my eye out with your stick.
CAPT. G. (Spinning round.) I say, isn't She the dearest creature that ever walked? What's the time? What comes after “wilt thou take this woman”?
CAPT. M. You go for the ring. R'clect it'll be on the top of my right-hand little finger, and just be careful how you draw it off, because I shall have the Verger's fees somewhere in my glove.
CAPT. G. (Walking forward hastily.) D—— the Verger! Come along! It's past twelve and I haven't seen Her since yesterday evening. (Spinning round again.) She's an absolute angel, Jack, and She's a dashed deal too good for me. Look here, does She come up the aisle on my arm, or how?
CAPT. M. If I thought that there was the least chance of your remembering anything for two consecutive minutes, I'd tell you. Stop passaging about like that!
CAPT. G. (Halting in the middle of the road.) I say, Jack.
CAPT. M. Keep quiet for another ten minutes if you can, you lunatic; and walk!
The two tramp at five miles an hour for fifteen minutes.
CAPT. G. What's the time? How about the cursed wedding-cake and the slippers? They don't throw 'em about in church, do they?
CAPT. M. In-variably. The Padre leads off with his boots.
CAPT. G. Confound your silly soul! Don't make fun of me. I can't stand it, and I won't!
CAPT. M. (Untroubled.) So-ooo, old horse You'll have to sleep for a couple of hours this afternoon.
CAPT. G. (Spinning round.) I'm not going to be treated like a dashed child. Understand that!
CAPT. M. (Aside.) Nerves gone to fiddle-strings. What a day we're having! (Tenderly putting his hand on G.'s shoulder.) My David, how long have you known this Jonathan? Would I come up here to make a fool of you—after all these years?
CAPT. G. (Penitently.) I know, I know, Jack—but I'm as upset as I can be. Don't mind what I say. Just hear me run through the drill and see if I've got it all right:-“To have and to hold for better or worse, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, so help me God. Amen.”
CAPT. M. (Suffocating with suppressed laughter.) Yes. That's about the gist of it. I'll prompt if you get into a hat.
CAPT. G. (Earnestly.) Yes, you'll stick by me, Jack, won't you? I'm awfully happy, but I don't mind telling you that I'm in a blue funk!
CAPT. M. (Gravely.) Are you? I should never have noticed it. You don't look like it.
CAPT. G. Don't I? That's all right. (Spinning round.) On my soul and honor, Jack, She's the sweetest little angel that ever came down from the sky. There isn't a woman on earth fit to speak to Her.
CAPT. M. (Aside.) And this is old Gandy! (Aloud.) Go on if it relieves you.
CAPT. G. You can laugh! That's all you wild asses of bachelors are fit for.
CAPT. M. (Drawling.) You never would wait for the troop to come up. You aren't quite married yet, y'know.
CAPT. G. Ugh! That reminds me. I don't believe I shall be able to get into any boots Let's go home and try 'em on (Hurries forward.)
CAPT. M. 'Wouldn't be in your shoes for anything that Asia has to offer.
CAPT. G. (Spinning round.) That just shows your hideous blackness of soul—your dense stupidity—your brutal narrow-mindedness. There's only one fault about you. You're the best of good fellows, and I don't know what I should have done without you, but—you aren't married. (Wags his head gravely.) Take a wife, Jack.
CAPT. M. (With a face like a wall.) Va-as. Whose for choice?
CAPT. G. If you're going to be a blackguard, I'm going on—What's the time?
CAPT. M. (Hums.)—
“An' since 'twas very clear we drank only ginger-beer,Faith, there must ha' been some stingo in the ginger.”
Come back, you maniac. I'm going to take you home, and you're going to lie down.
CAPT. G. What on earth do I want to lie down for?
CAPT. M. Give me a light from your cheroot and see.
CAPT. G. (Watching cheroot-butt quiver like a tuning-fork.) Sweet state I'm in!
CAPT. M. You are. I'll get you a peg and you'll go to sleep.
They return and M. compounds a four-finger peg.
CAPT. G. O bus! bus! It'll make me as drunk as an owl.
CAPT. M. 'Curious thing, 'twon't have the slightest effect on you. Drink it off, chuck yourself down there, and go to bye-bye.
CAPT. G. It's absurd. I sha'n't sleep, I know I sha'n't!
(Falls into heavy doze at end of seven minutes. CAPT. M. watches him tenderly.)
CAPT. M. Poor old Gandy! I've seen a few turned off before, but never one who went to the gallows in this condition. 'Can't tell how it affects 'em, though. It's the thoroughbreds that sweat when they're backed into double-harness.—And that's the man who went through the guns at Amdheran like a devil possessed of devils. (Leans over G.) But this is worse than the guns, old pal—worse than the guns, isn't it? (G. turns in his sleep, and M. touches him clumsily on the forehead.) Poor, dear old Gaddy I Going like the rest of 'em—going like the rest of 'em—Friend that sticketh closer than a brother—eight years. Dashed bit of a slip of a girl—eight weeks! And—where's your friend? (Smokes disconsolately till church clock strikes three.)
CAPT. M. Up with you! Get into your kit.
CAPT. C. Already? Isn't it too soon? Hadn't I better have a shave?
CAPT. M. No! You're all right. (Aside.) He'd chip his chin to pieces.
CAPT. C. What's the hurry?
CAPT. M. You've got to be there first.
CAPT. C. To be stared at?
CAPT. M. Exactly. You're part of the show. Where's the burnisher? Your spurs are in a shameful state.
CAPT. G. (Gruffly.) Jack, I be damned if you shall do that for me.
CAPT. M. (More gruffly.) Dry' up and get dressed! If I choose to clean your spurs, you're under my orders.
CAPT. G. dresses. M. follows suit.
CAPT. M. (Critically, walking round.) M'yes, you'll do. Only don't look so like a criminal. Ring, gloves, fees—that's all right for me. Let your moustache alone. Now, if the ponies are ready, we'll go.
CAPT. G. (Nervously.) It's much too soon. Let's light up! Let's have a peg! Let's—CAPT. M. Let's make bally asses of ourselves!
BELLS. (Without.)—
“Good-peo-ple-all To prayers-we call.”
CAPT. M. There go the bells! Come an—unless you'd rather not. (They ride off.)
BELLS.—
“We honor the King And Brides joy do bring—Good tidings we tell, And ring the Dead's knell.”
CAPT. G. (Dismounting at the door of the Church.) I say, aren't we much too soon? There are no end of people inside. I say, aren't we much too late? Stick by me, Jack! What the devil do I do?
CAPT. M. Strike an attitude at the head of the aisle and wait for Her. (G. groans as M. wheels him into position before three hundred eyes.)
CAPT. M. (Imploringly.) Gaddy, if you love me, for pity's sake, for the Honor of the Regiment, stand up! Chuck yourself into your uniform! Look like a man! I've got to speak to the Padre a minute. (G. breaks into a gentle Perspiration.) your face I'll never man again. Stand up! (Visibly.) If you wipe your face I'll never be your best man again. Stand up! (G. Trembles visibly.)
CAPT. M. (Returning.) She's coming now. Look out when the music starts. There's the organ beginning to clack.
(Bride steps out of 'rickshaw at Church door. G. catches a glimpse of her and takes heart.)
ORGAN.—
“The Voice that breathed o'er Eden,That earliest marriage day,The primal marriage-blessing,It hath not passed away.”
CAPT. M. (Watching G.) By Jove! He is looking well. 'Didn't think he had it in him.
CAPT. G. How long does this hymn go on for?
CAPT. M. It will be over directly. (Anxiously.) Beginning to beltch and gulp. Hold on, Gabby, and think o' the Regiment.
CAPT. G. (Measuredly.) I say there's a big brown lizard crawling up that wall.
CAPT. M. My Sainted Mother! The last stage of collapse!
Bride comes Up to left of altar, lifts her eyes once to G., who is suddenly smitten mad.
CAPT. G. (TO himself again and again.) Little Featherweight's a woman—a woman! And I thought she was a little girl.
CAPT. M. (In a whisper.) Form the halt—inward wheel.
CAPT. G. obeys mechanically and the ceremony proceeds.
PADRE.... only unto her as ye both shall live?
CAPT. G. (His throat useless.) Ha—hmmm!
CAPT. M. Say you will or you won't. There's no second deal here.
Bride gives response with perfect calmness, and is given away by the father.
CAPT. G. (Thinking to show his learning.) Jack give me away now, quick!
CAPT. M. You've given yourself away quite enough. Her right hand, man! Repeat! Repeat! “Theodore Philip.” Have you forgotten your own name?
CAPT. G. stumbles through Affirmation, which Bride repeats without a tremor.
CAPT. M. Now the ring! Follow the Padre! Don't pull off my glove! Here it is! Great Cupid, he's found his voice.
CAPT. G. repeats Troth in a voice to be heard to the end of the Church and turns on his heel.
CAPT. M. (Desperately.) Rein back! Back to your troop! 'Tisn't half legal yet.
PADRE.... joined together let no man put asunder.
CAPT. G. paralyzed with fear jibs after Blessing.
CAPT. M. (Quickly.) On your own front—one length. Take her with you. I don't come. You've nothing to say. (CAPT. G. jingles up to altar.)
CAPT. M. (In a piercing rattle meant to be a whisper.) Kneel, you stiff-necked ruffian! Kneel!
PADRE... whose daughters are ye so long as ye do well and are not afraid with any amazement.
CAPT. M. Dismiss! Break off! Left wheel!
All troop to vestry. They sign.
CAPT. M. Kiss Her, Gaddy.
CAPT. G. (Rubbing the ink into his glove.) Eh! Wha-at?
CAPT. M. (Taking one pace to Bride.) If you don't, I shall.
CAPT. G. (Interposing an arm.) Not this journey!
General kissing, in which CAPT. G. is pursued by unknown female.
CAPT. G. (Faintly to M.) This is Hades! Can I wipe my face now?
CAPT. M. My responsibility has ended. Better ask Misses GADSBY.
CAPT. G. winces as though shot and procession is Mendelssohned out of Church to house, where usual tortures take place over the wedding-cake.
CAPT. M. (At table.) Up with you, Gaddy. They expect a speech.
CAPT. G. (After three minutes' agony.) Ha-hmmm. (Thunders Of applause.)
CAPT. M. Doocid good, for a first attempt. Now go and change your kit while Mamma is weeping over “the Missus.” (CAPT. G. disappears. CAPT. M. starts up tearing his hair.) It's not half legal. Where are the shoes? Get an ayah.
AYAH. Missie Captain Sahib done gone band karo all the jutis.
CAPT. M. (Brandishing scab larded sword.) Woman, produce those shoes Some one lend me a bread-knife. We mustn't crack Gaddy's head more than it is. (Slices heel off white satin slipper and puts slipper up his sleeve.)
Where is the Bride? (To the company at large.) Be tender with that rice. It's a heathen custom. Give me the big bag.
* * * * * *
Bride slips out quietly into 'rickshaw and departs toward the sunset.
CAPT. M. (In the open.) Stole away, by Jove! So much the worse for Gaddy! Here he is. Now Gaddy, this'll be livelier than Amdberan! Where's your horse?
CAPT. G. (Furiously, seeing that the women are out of an earshot.) Where the—is my Wife?
CAPT. M. Half-way to Mahasu by this time. You'll have to ride like Young Lochinvar.
Horse comes round on his hind legs; refuses to let G. handle him.
CAPT. G. Oh you will, will you? Get 'round, you brute—you hog—you beast! Get round!
Wrenches horse's head over, nearly breaking lower jaw: swings himself into saddle, and sends home both spurs in the midst of a spattering gale of Best Patna.
CAPT. M. For your life and your love-ride, Gaddy—And God bless you!
Throws half a pound of rice at G. who disappears, bowed forward on the saddle, in a cloud of sunlit dust.
CAPT. M. I've lost old Gaddy. (Lights cigarette and strolls off, singing absently):—
“You may carve it on his tombstone, you may cut it on his card, That a young man married is a young man marred!”
Miss DEERCOURT. (From her horse.) Really, Captain Mafflin! You are more plain spoken than polite!
CAPT. M. (Aside.) They say marriage is like cholera. 'Wonder who'll be the next victim.
White satin slipper slides from his sleeve and falls at his feet. Left wondering.
SCENE.—Thymy grass-plot at back of the Mahasu dak-bungalow, overlooking little wooded valley. On the left, glimpse of the Dead Forest of Fagoo; on the right, Simla Hills. In background, line of the Snows. CAPTAIN GADSBY, now three weeks a husband, is smoking the pipe of peace on a rug in the sunshine. Banjo and tobacco-pouch on rug. Overhead the Fagoo eagles. MRS. G. comes out of bungalow.
MRS. G. My husband! CAPT. G. (Lazily, with intense enjoyment.) Eb, wha-at? Say that again.
MRS. G. I've written to Mamma and told her that we shall be back on the 17th.
CAPT. G. Did you give her my love?
MRS. G. No, I kept all that for myself. (Sitting down by his side.) I thought you wouldn't mind.
CAPT. G. (With mock sternness.) I object awf'ly. How did you know that it was yours to keep?
MRS. G. I guessed, Phil.
CAPT. G. (Rapturously.) Lit-tle Featherweight!
MRS. G. I won' t be called those sporting pet names, bad boy.
CAPT. G. You'll be called anything I choose. Has it ever occurred to you, Madam, that you are my Wife?
MRS. G. It has. I haven't ceased wondering at it yet.
CAPT. G. Nor I. It seems so strange; and yet, somehow, it doesn't. (Confidently.) You see, it could have been no one else.
MRS. G. (Softly.) No. No one else—for me or for you. It must have been all arranged from the beginning. Phil, tell me again what made you care for me.
CAPT. G. How could I help it? You were you, you know.
MRS. G. Did you ever want to help it? Speak the truth!
CAPT. G. (A twinkle in his eye.) I did, darling, just at the first. Rut only at the very first. (Chuckles.) I called you—stoop low and I'll whisper—“a little beast.” Ho! Ho! Ho!
MRS. G. (Taking him by the moustache and making him sit up.) “A—little—beast!” Stop laughing over your crime! And yet you had the—the—awful cheek to propose to me!
CAPT. C. I'd changed my mind then. And you weren't a little beast any more.
MRS. G. Thank you, sir! And when was I ever?
CAPT. G. Never! But that first day, when you gave me tea in that peach-colored muslin gown thing, you looked—you did indeed, dear—such an absurd little mite. And I didn't know what to say to you.
MRS. G. (Twisting moustache.) So you said “little beast.” Upon my word, Sir! I called you a “Crrrreature,” but I wish now I had called you something worse.
CAPT. G. (Very meekly.) I apologize, but you're hurting me awf'ly. (Interlude.) You're welcome to torture me again on those terms.
MRS. G. Oh, why did you let me do it?
CAPT. G. (Looking across valley.) No reason in particular, but—if it amused you or did you any good—you might—wipe those dear little boots of yours on me.
MRS. G. (Stretching out her hands.) Don't! Oh, don't! Philip, my King, please don't talk like that. It's how I feel. You're so much too good for me. So much too good!
CAPT. G. Me! I'm not fit to put my arm around you. (Puts it round.)
MRS. C. Yes, you are. But I—what have I ever done?
CAPT. G. Given me a wee bit of your heart, haven't you, my Queen!
MRS. G. That's nothing. Any one would do that. They cou-couldn't help it.
CAPT. G. Pussy, you'll make me horribly conceited. Just when I was beginning to feel so humble, too.
MRS. G. Humble! I don't believe it's in your character.
CAPT. G. What do you know of my character, Impertinence?
MRS. G. Ah, but I shall, shan't I, Phil? I shall have time in all the years and years to come, to know everything about you; and there will be no secrets between us.
CAPT. G. Little witch! I believe you know me thoroughly already.
MRS. G. I think I can guess. You're selfish?
CAPT. G. Yes.
MRS. G. Foolish?
CAPT. G. Very.
MRS. G. And a dear?
CAPT. G. That is as my lady pleases.
MRS. G. Then your lady is pleased. (A pause.) D'you know that we're two solemn, serious, grown-up people—CAPT. G. (Tilting her straw hat over her eyes.) You grown-up! Pooh! You're a baby.
MRS. G. And we're talking nonsense.
CAPT. G. Then let's go on talking nonsense. I rather like it. Pussy, I'll tell you a secret. Promise not to repeat?
MRS. G. Ye-es. Only to you.
CAPT. G. I love you.
MRS. G. Re-ally! For how long?
CAPT. G. Forever and ever.
MRS. G. That's a long time.
CAPT. G. 'Think so? It's the shortest I can do with.
MRS. G. You're getting quite clever.
CAPT. G. I'm talking to you.
MRS. G. Prettily turned. Hold up your stupid old head and I'll pay you for it.
CAPT. G. (Affecting supreme contempt.) Take it yourself if you want it.
MRS. G. I've a great mind to—and I will! (Takes it and is repaid with interest.)
CAPT. G, Little Featherweight, it's my opinion that we are a couple of idiots.
MRS. G. We're the only two sensible people in the world. Ask the eagle. He's coming by.
CAPT. G. Ah! I dare say he's seen a good many sensible people at Mahasu. They say that those birds live for ever so long.
MRS. G. How long?
CAPT. G. A hundred and twenty years.
MRS. G. A hundred and twenty years! O-oh! And in a hundred and twenty years where will these two sensible people be?
CAPT. G. What does it matter so long as we are together now?
MRS. G. (Looking round the horizon.) Yes. Only you and I—I and you—in the whole wide, wide world until the end. (Sees the line of the Snows.) How big and quiet the hills look! D'you think they care for us?
CAPT. G. 'Can't say I've consulted em particularly. I care, and that's enough for me.
MRS. G. (Drawing nearer to him.) Yes, now—but afterward. What's that little black blur on the Snows?
CAPT. G. A snowstorm, forty miles away. You'll see it move, as the wind carries it across the face of that spur and then it will be all gone.
MRS. G. And then it will be all gone. (Shivers.)
CAPT. G. (Anxiously.) Not chilled, pet, are you? Better let me get your cloak.
MRS. G. No. Don't leave me, Phil. Stay here. I believe I am afraid. Oh, why are the hills so horrid! Phil, promise me that you'll always love me.
CAPT. G. What's the trouble, darling? I can't promise any more than I have; but I'll promise that again and again if you like.
MRs. G. (Her head on his shoulder.) Say it, then—say it! N-no—don't! The—the—eagles would laugh. (Recovering.) My husband, you've married a little goose.
CAPT. G. (Very tenderly.) Have I? I am content whatever she is, so long as she is mine.
MRS. G. (Quickly.) Because she is yours or because she is me mineself?
CAPT. G. Because she is both. (Piteously.) I'm not clever, dear, and I don't think I can make myself understood properly.
MRS. G. I understand. Pip, will you tell me something?
CAPT. G. Anything you like. (Aside.) I wonder what's coming now.
MRS. G. (Haltingly, her eyes 'owered.) You told me once in the old days—centuries and centuries ago—that you had been engaged before. I didn't say anything—then.
CAPT. G. (Innocently.) Why not?
MRS. G. (Raising her eyes to his.) Because—because I was afraid of losing you, my heart. But now—tell about it—please.
CAPT. G. There's nothing to tell. I was awf'ly old then—nearly two and twenty—and she was quite that.
MRS. G. That means she was older than you. I shouldn't like her to have been younger. Well?
CAPT. G. Well, I fancied myself in love and raved about a bit, and—oh, yes, by Jove! I made up poetry. Ha! Ha!
MRS. G. You never wrote any for me! What happened?
CAPT. G. I came out here, and the whole thing went phut. She wrote to say that there had been a mistake, and then she married.
MRS. G. Did she care for you much?
CAPT. G. No. At least she didn't show it as far as I remember.
MRS. G. As far as you remember! Do you remember her name? (Hears it and bows her head.) Thank you, my husband.
CAPT. G. Who but you had the right? Now, Little Featherweight, have you ever been mixed up in any dark and dismal tragedy?
MRS. G. If you call me Mrs. Gadsby, p'raps I'll tell.
CAPT. G. (Throwing Parade rasp into his voice.) Mrs. Gadsby, confess!
MRS. G. Good Heavens, Phil! I never knew that you could speak in that terrible voice.
CAPT. G. You don't know half my accomplishments yet. Wait till we are settled in the Plains, and I'll show you how I bark at my troop. You were going to say, darling?
MRS. G. I—I don't like to, after that voice. (Tremulously.) Phil, never you dare to speak to me in that tone, whatever I may do!
CAPT. G. My poor little love! Why, you're shaking all over. I am so sorry. Of course I never meant to upset you Don't tell me anything, I'm a brute.
MRS. G. No, you aren't, and I will tell—There was a man.
CAPT. G. (Lightly.) Was there? Lucky man!
MRS. G. (In a whisper.) And I thought I cared for him.
CAPT. G. Still luckier man! Well?
MRS. G. And I thought I cared for him—and I didn't—and then you came—and I cared for you very, very much indeed. That's all. (Face hidden.) You aren't angry, are you?
CAPT. G. Angry? Not in the least. (Aside.) Good Lord, what have I done to deserve this angel?
MRS. G. (Aside.) And he never asked for the name! How funny men are! But perhaps it's as well.
CAPT. G. That man will go to heaven because you once thought you cared for him. 'Wonder if you'll ever drag me up there?
MRS. G. (Firmly.) 'Sha'n't go if you don't.
CAPT. G. Thanks. I say, Pussy, I don't know much about your religious beliefs. You were brought up to believe in a heaven and all that, weren't you?
MRS. G. Yes. But it was a pincushion heaven, with hymn-books in all the pews.
CAPT. G. (Wagging his head with intense conviction.) Never mind. There is a pukka heaven.
MRS. G. Where do you bring that message from, my prophet?
CAPT. G. Here! Because we care for each other. So it's all right.
Mrs. G. (As a troop of langurs crash through the branches.) So it's all right. But Darwin says that we came from those!
CAPT. G. (Placidly.) Ah! Darwin was never in love with an angel. That settles it. Sstt, you brutes! Monkeys, indeed! You shouldn't read those books.
MRS. G. (Folding her hands.) If it pleases my Lord the King to issue proclamation.
CAPT. G. Don't, dear one. There are no orders between us. Only I'd rather you didn't. They lead to nothing, and bother people's heads.
MRS. G. Like your first engagement.
CAPT. G. (With an immense calm.) That was a necessary evil and led to you. Are you nothing?
MRS. G. Not so very much, am I?
CAPT. G. All this world and the next to me.
MRS. G. (Very softly.) My boy of boys! Shall I tell you something?
CAPT. G. Yes, if it's not dreadful—about other men.
MRS. G. It's about my own bad little self.
CAPT. G. Then it must be good. Go on, dear.
MRS. G. (Slowly.) I don't know why I'm telling you, Pip; but if ever you marry again-(Interlude.) Take your hand from my mouth or I'll bite! In the future, then remember—I don't know quite how to put it!
CAPT. G. (Snorting indignantly.) Don't try. “Marry again,” indeed!
MRS. G. I must. Listen, my husband. Never, never, never tell your wife anything that you do not wish her to remember and think over all her life. Because a woman—yes, I am a woman—can't forget.
CAPT. G. By Jove, how do you know that?
MRS. G. (Confusedly.) I don't. I'm only guessing. I am—I was—a silly little girl; but I feel that I know so much, oh, so very much more than you, dearest. To begin with, I'm your wife.
CAPT. G. So I have been led to believe.
MRS. G. And I shall want to know every one of your secrets—to share everything you know with you. (Stares round desperately.)
CAPT. G. So you shall, dear, so you shall—but don't look like that.
MRS. G. For your own sake don't stop me, Phil. I shall never talk to you in this way again. You must not tell me! At least, not now. Later on, when I'm an old matron it won't matter, but if you love me, be very good to me now; for this part of my life I shall never forget! Have I made you understand?
CAPT. G. I think so, child. Have I said anything yet that you disapprove of?
MRS. G. Will you be very angry? That—that voice, and what you said about the engagement—
CAPT. G. But you asked to be told that, darling.
MRS. G. And that's why you shouldn't have told me! You must be the Judge, and, oh, Pip, dearly as I love you, I shan't be able to help you! I shall hinder you, and you must judge in spite of me!
CAPT. G. (Meditatively.) We have a great many things to find out together, God help us both—say so, Pussy—but we shall understand each other better every day; and I think I'm beginning to see now. How in the world did you come to know just the importance of giving me just that lead?
MRS. G. I've told you that I don't know. Only somehow it seemed that, in all this new life, I was being guided for your sake as well as my own.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Then Mafilin was right! They know, and we—we're blind all of us. (Lightly.) 'Getting a little beyond our depth, dear, aren't we? I'll remember, and, if I fail, let me be punished as I deserve.
MRS. G. There shall be no punishment. We'll start into life together from here—you and I—and no one else.
CAPT. G. And no one else. (A pause.) Your eyelashes are all wet, Sweet? Was there ever such a quaint little Absurdity?
MRS. G. Was there ever such nonsense talked before?
CAPT. G. (Knocking the ashes out of his pipe.) 'Tisn't what we say, it's what we don't say, that helps. And it's all the profoundest philosophy. But no one would understand—even if it were put into a book.
MRS. G. The idea! No—only we ourselves, or people like ourselves—if there are any people like us.
CAPT. G. (Magisterially.) All people, not like ourselves, are blind idiots.
MRS. G. (Wiping her eyes.) Do you think, then, that there are any people as happy as we are?
CAPT. G. 'Must be—unless we've appropriated all the happiness in the world.
MRS. G. (Looking toward Simla.) Poor dears! Just fancy if we have!
CAPT. G. Then we'll hang on to the whole show, for it's a great deal too jolly to lose—eh, wife o' mine?
MRS. G. O Pip! Pip! How much of you is a solemn, married man and how much a horrid slangy schoolboy?
CAPT. G. When you tell me how much of you was eighteen last birthday and how much is as old as the Sphinx and twice as mysterious, perhaps I'll attend to you. Lend me that banjo. The spirit moveth me to jowl at the sunset.
MRS. G. Mind! It's not tuned. Ah! How that jars!
CAPT G. (Turning pegs.) It's amazingly different to keep a banjo to proper pitch.
MRS. G. It's the same with all musical instruments, What shall it be?
CAPT. G. “Vanity,” and let the hills hear. (Sings through the first and hal' of the second verse. Turning to MRS. G.) Now, chorus! Sing, Pussy!
BOTH TOGETHER. (Con brio, to the horror of the monkeys who are settling for the night.)—