Naturally it is the dining room—consecrated as it is to the distinguishing orgie of the season—which bears the brunt of what an English household knows as Christmas decorations. They consist chiefly of the branches of holly (that unyielding tree), stuck cock-eyed behind the top edges of the pictures. The one picture conspicuously not decorated is that which now hangs over the fireplace, a portrait ofmr. voysey,with its new gilt frame and its brassplate marking it also as a presentation.honor,hastily and at some bodily peril, pulled down the large bunch of mistletoe, which a callous housemaid had suspended above it, in time to obviate the shock to family feelings which such impropriety would cause. Otherwise the only difference between the dining room's appearance at half past nine on Christmas eve and on any other evening in the year is that little piles of queer shaped envelopes seem to be lying about, while there is quite a lot of tissue paper and string to be seen peeping from odd corners. The electric light is reduced to one bulb, but when the maid opens the door showing inmr. george boothshe switches on the rest.
phoebe.This room is empty, sir. I'll tell Mr. Edward.
She leaves him to fidget towards the fireplace and back, not removing his comforter or his coat, scarcely turning down the collar, screwing his cap in his hands. In a very short timeedwardcomes in, shutting the door and taking stock of the visitor before he speaks.
She leaves him to fidget towards the fireplace and back, not removing his comforter or his coat, scarcely turning down the collar, screwing his cap in his hands. In a very short timeedwardcomes in, shutting the door and taking stock of the visitor before he speaks.
edward.Well?
mr. george booth.[feebly.] I hope my excuse fornot coming to dinner was acceptable. I did have . . I have a very bad headache.
edward.I daresay they believed it.
mr. george booth.I have come immediately to tell you of my decision . . perhaps this trouble will then be a little more off my mind.
edward.What is it?
mr. george booth.I couldn't think the matter out alone. I went this afternoon to talk it all over with my old friend Colpus. [at this newsedward'seyebrows contract and then rise.] What a terrible shock to him!
edward.Oh, nearly three of his four thousand pounds are quite safe.
mr. george booth.That you and your father . . you, whom he baptised . . should have robbed him! I never saw a man so utterly prostrate with grief. That it should have been your father! And his poor wife! . . though she never got on with your father.
edward.[with cheerful irony.] Oh, Mrs. Colpus knows too, does she?
mr. george booth.Of course he told Mrs. Colpus. This is an unfortunate time for the storm to break on him. What with Christmas Day and Sunday following so close they're as busy as can be. He has resolved that during this season of peace and goodwill he must put the matter from him if he can. But once Christmas is over . . ! [he envisages the Christian old vicar givingedwarda hell of a time then.]
edward.[coolly.] So I conclude you mean to prosecute. For if you don't, you've given the Colpuses a lot of unnecessary pain . . and inflicted a certain amount of loss by telling them.
mr. george booth.[naïvely.] I never thought of that. No, Edward, I have decided not to prosecute.
edwardhides his face for a moment.
edwardhides his face for a moment.
edward.And I've been hoping to escape! Well . . it can't be helped [and he sets his teeth.]
mr. george booth.[with touching solemnity.] I think I could not bear to see the family I have loved brought to such disgrace.
edward.So you'll compound my felony?
mr. george booth.[a little nervous.] That's only your joke!
edward.You'll come to no harm.
mr. george booth.On the contrary. And I want to ask your pardon, Edward, for some of the hard thoughts I have had of you. I consider this effort of yours to restore to the firm the credit which your father lost a very striking one. What improvements have you effected so far?
edward.[wondering what is coming now.] I took the money that my father left . .
mr. george booth.And I suppose you take the ordinary profits of the firm?
edward.Yes. It costs me very little to live.
mr. george booth.Do you restore to the clients all round in proportion to the amount they have lost?
edward.[cautiously.] That's the law.
mr. george booth.D'you think that's quite fair?
edward.No, I don't.
mr. george booth.No, I consider the treachery to have been blacker in some cases than in others.
edward.[his face brightening a little.] Are you going to help me in this work of mine?
mr. george booth.Surely by consenting not to prosecute I am doing so.
edward.Will you do no more?
mr. george booth.Well, as far as my own money is concerned, this is my proposal. [he coughs and proceeds very formally.] Considering how absolutely I trusted your father and believed in him, I think you shouldat once return me the balance of my capital that there is left.
edward.[cold again.] That is being done.
mr. george booth.Good. That you should continue to pay me a fair interest upon the rest of that capital, which ought to exist and does not. And that you should, year by year, pay me back by degrees out of the earnings of the firm as much of that capital as you can afford. We will agree upon the sum . . say a thousand a year. I doubt if you can ever restore me all that I have lost, but do your best and I shan't complain. There . . I think that is fair dealing!
edwarddoes not take his eyes offmr. boothuntil the whole meaning of this proposition has settled in his brain. Then, without warning, he goes off into peals of laughter, much to the alarm ofmr. booth,who has never thought him over-sane.
edwarddoes not take his eyes offmr. boothuntil the whole meaning of this proposition has settled in his brain. Then, without warning, he goes off into peals of laughter, much to the alarm ofmr. booth,who has never thought him over-sane.
edward.How funny! How very funny!
mr. george booth.Edward, don't laugh.
edward.I never heard anything quite so funny!
mr. george booth.Edward, stop laughing.
edward.What will Colpus . . what will all the other Christian gentlemen demand? Pounds of flesh! Pounds of flesh!
mr. george booth.Don't be hysterical. I demand what is mine . . in such quantities as you can afford.
edward'slaughter gives way to the deepest anger of which he is capable.
edward'slaughter gives way to the deepest anger of which he is capable.
edward.I'm giving my soul and body to restoring you and the rest of you to your precious money bags . . and you'll wring me dry. Won't you? Won't you?
mr. george booth.Now be reasonable. Argue the point quietly.
edward.Go to the devil, sir.
And with that he turns away from the flabbergasted old gentleman.
And with that he turns away from the flabbergasted old gentleman.
mr. george booth.Don't be rude.
edward.[his anger vanishing.] I beg your pardon.
mr. george booth.You're excited. Take time to think of it. I'm reasonable.
edward.[his sense of humour returning.] Most! Most! [There is a knock at the door.] Come in. Come in.
honorintrudes an apologetic head.
honorintrudes an apologetic head.
honor.Am I interrupting business? I'm so sorry.
edward.[crowing in a mirthless enjoyment of his joke.] No! Business is over . . quite over. Come in, Honor.
honorputs on the table a market basket bulging with little paper parcels, and, oblivious tomr. booth'sdistracted face, tries to fix his attention.
honorputs on the table a market basket bulging with little paper parcels, and, oblivious tomr. booth'sdistracted face, tries to fix his attention.
honor.I thought, dear Mr. Booth, perhaps you wouldn't mind carrying round this basket of things yourself. It's so very damp underfoot that I don't want to send one of the maids out to-night if I can possibly avoid it . . and if one doesn't get Christmas presents the very first thing on Christmas morning quite half the pleasure in them is lost, don't you think?
mr. george booth.Yes . . yes.
honor.[fishing out the parcels one by one.] This is a bell for Mrs. Williams . . something she said she wanted so that you can ring that for her which saves the maids. Cap and apron for Mary. Cap and apron for Ellen. Shawl for Davis when she goes out to the larder. All useful presents. And that's something for you but you're not to look at it till the morning.
Having shaken each of these at the old gentleman, she proceeds to re-pack them. He is now trembling with anxiety to escape before any more of the family find him there.
Having shaken each of these at the old gentleman, she proceeds to re-pack them. He is now trembling with anxiety to escape before any more of the family find him there.
mr. george booth.Thank you . . thank you! I hope my lot has arrived. I left instructions . .
honor.Quite safely . . and I have hidden them. Presents are put on the breakfast table to-morrow.
edward.[with an inconsequence that still further alarmsmr. booth.] When we were all children our Christmas breakfast was mostly made off chocolates.
Before the basket is packed,mrs. voyseysails slowly into the room, as smiling and as deaf as ever.mr. boothdoes his best not to scowl at her.
Before the basket is packed,mrs. voyseysails slowly into the room, as smiling and as deaf as ever.mr. boothdoes his best not to scowl at her.
mrs. voysey.Are you feeling better, George Booth?
mr. george booth.No. [then he elevates his voice with a show of politeness.] No, thank you . . I can't say I am.
mrs. voysey.You don't look better.
mr. george booth.I still have my headache. [with a distracted shout.] Headache.
mrs. voysey.Bilious, perhaps! I quite understood you didn't care to dine. But why not have taken your coat off? How foolish in this warm room!
mr. george booth.Thank you. I'm just going.
He seizes the market basket. At that momentmrs. hughappears.
He seizes the market basket. At that momentmrs. hughappears.
beatrice.Your shawl, mother. [and she clasps it roundmrs. voysey'sshoulders.]
mrs. voysey.Thank you, Beatrice. I thought I had it on. [then tomr. boothwho is now entangled in his comforter.] A merry Christmas to you.
beatrice.Good evening, Mr. Booth.
mr. george booth.I beg your pardon. Good evening, Mrs. Hugh.
honor.[with sudden inspiration, to the company in general.] Why shouldn't I write in here . . now the table's cleared!
mr. george booth.[sternly, now he is safe by the door.] Will you see me out, Edward?
edward.Yes.
He follows the old man and his basket, leaving the others to distribute themselves about the room. It is a custom of the female members of thevoyseyfamily, especially about Christmas time, to return to the dining room, when the table has been cleared and occupy themselves in various ways which require space and untidiness. Sometimes as the evening wears on they partake of cocoa, sometimes they abstain.beatricehas a little work-basket, containing a buttonless glove and such things, which she is rectifying.honor'swriting is done with the aid of an enormous blotting book, which bulges with apparently a year's correspondence. She sheds its contents upon the end of the dining table and spreads them abroad.mrs. voyseysettles to the fire, opens the Nineteenth Century and is instantly absorbed in it.
He follows the old man and his basket, leaving the others to distribute themselves about the room. It is a custom of the female members of thevoyseyfamily, especially about Christmas time, to return to the dining room, when the table has been cleared and occupy themselves in various ways which require space and untidiness. Sometimes as the evening wears on they partake of cocoa, sometimes they abstain.beatricehas a little work-basket, containing a buttonless glove and such things, which she is rectifying.honor'swriting is done with the aid of an enormous blotting book, which bulges with apparently a year's correspondence. She sheds its contents upon the end of the dining table and spreads them abroad.mrs. voyseysettles to the fire, opens the Nineteenth Century and is instantly absorbed in it.
beatrice.Where's Emily?
honor.[mysteriously.] Well, Beatrice, she's in the library talking to Booth.
beatrice.Talking to her husband; good Heavens! I know she has taken my scissors.
honor.I think she's telling him about you.
beatrice.What about me?
honor.You and Hugh.
beatrice.[with a little movement of annoyance.] I suppose this is Hugh's fault. It was carefully arranged no one was to be told till after Christmas.
honor.Emily told me . . and Edward knows . . and Mother knows . .
beatrice.I warned Mother a year ago.
honor.Everyone seems to know but Booth . . so I thought he'd better be told. I suggested one night so that he might have time to think over it . . but Emily said that'd wake Alfred. Besides she's nearly always asleep herself when he comes to bed.
beatrice.Why do they still have that baby in their room?
honor.Emily considers it her duty.
At this momentemilycomes in, looking rathertrodden upon.honorconcludes in the most audible of whispers. .
At this momentemilycomes in, looking rathertrodden upon.honorconcludes in the most audible of whispers. .
honor.Don't say anything . . it's my fault.
beatrice.[fixing her with a severe forefinger.] Emily . . have you taken my best scissors?
emily.[timidly.] No, Beatrice.
honor.[who is diving into the recesses of the blotting book.] Oh, here they are! I must have taken them. I do apologise!
emily.[more timidly still.] I'm afraid Booth's rather cross . . he's gone to look for Hugh.
beatrice.[with a shake of her head.] Honor . . I've a good mind to make you sew on these buttons for me.
In comes the Major, strepitant. He takes, so to speak, just time enough to train himself onbeatriceand then fires.
In comes the Major, strepitant. He takes, so to speak, just time enough to train himself onbeatriceand then fires.
booth.Beatrice, what on earth is this Emily has been telling me?
beatrice.[with elaborate calm.] Emily, what have you been telling Booth?
booth.Please . . please do not prevaricate. Where is Hugh?
mrs. voysey.[looking over her spectacles.] What did you say, Booth?
booth.I want Hugh, Mother.
mrs. voysey.I thought you were playing billiards together.
edwardstrolls back from despatchingmr. booth,his face thoughtful.
edwardstrolls back from despatchingmr. booth,his face thoughtful.
booth.[insistently.] Edward, where is Hugh?
edward.[with complete indifference.] I don't know.
booth.[in trumpet tones.] Honor, will you oblige me by finding Hugh and saying I wish to speak to him, here, immediately?
honor,who has leapt at the sound of her name, flies from the room without a word.
honor,who has leapt at the sound of her name, flies from the room without a word.
beatrice.I know quite well what you want to talk about, Booth. Discuss the matter by all means if it amuses you . . but don't shout.
booth.I use the voice Nature has gifted me with, Beatrice.
beatrice.[as she searches for a glove button.] Certainly Nature did let herself go over your lungs.
booth.[glaring round with indignation.] This is a family matter, otherwise I should not feel it my duty to interfere . . as I do. Any member of the family has a right to express an opinion. I want Mother's. Mother, what do you think?
mrs. voysey.[amicably.] What about?
booth.Hugh and Beatrice separating.
mrs. voysey.They haven't separated.
booth.But they mean to.
mrs. voysey.Fiddle-de-dee!
booth.I quite agree with you.
beatrice.[with a charming smile.] This reasoning would convert a stone.
booth.Why have I not been told?
beatrice.You have just been told.
booth.[thunderously.] Before.
beatrice.The truth is, dear Booth, we're all so afraid of you.
booth.[a little mollified.] Ha . . I should be glad to think that.
beatrice.[sweetly.] Don't you?
booth.[intensely serious.] Beatrice, your callousness shocks me! That you can dream of deserting Hugh . . a man of all others who requires constant care and attention.
beatrice.May I remark that the separation is as much Hugh's wish as mine?
booth.I don't believe that.
beatrice.[her eyebrows up.] Really!
booth.I don't imply that you're lying. But youmust know that it's Hugh's nature to wish to do anything that he thinks anybody wishes him to do. All my life I've had to stand up for him . . and by Jove, I'll continue to do so.
edward.[from the depths of his armchair.] If you'd taught him to stand up for himself—
The door is flung almost off its hinges byhughwho then stands stamping and pale green with rage.
The door is flung almost off its hinges byhughwho then stands stamping and pale green with rage.
hugh.Look here, Booth . . I will not have you interfering with my private affairs. Is one never to be free from your bullying?
booth.You ought to be grateful.
hugh.Well, I'm not.
booth.This is a family affair.
hugh.It is not!
booth.[at the top of his voice.] If all you can do is to contradict me, you'd better listen to what I've got to say . . quietly.
hugh,quite shouted down, flings himself petulantly into a chair. A hush falls.
hugh,quite shouted down, flings himself petulantly into a chair. A hush falls.
emily.[in a still small voice.] Would you like me to go, Booth?
booth.[severely.] No, Emily. Unless anything has been going on which cannot be discussed before you . . [then more severely still.] and I hope that is not so.
hugh.[muttering rebelliously.] Oh, you have the mind of a . . cheap schoolmaster!
booth.Why do you wish to separate?
hugh.What's the use of telling you? You won't understand.
beatrice.[who sews on undisturbed.] We don't get on well together.
booth.[amazedly.] Is that all?
hugh.[snapping at him.] Yes, that's all. Can you find a better reason?
booth.[with brotherly contempt.] I have given upexpecting common sense from you. But Beatrice—! [his tone implores her to be reasonable.]
beatrice.It doesn't seem to me any sort of sense that people should live together for purposes of mutual irritation.
booth.[protesting.] My dear girl! . . that sounds like a quotation from your last book.
beatrice.It isn't. I do think, Booth, you might read that book . . for the honour of the Family.
booth.[successfully side-tracked. .] I have bought it, Beatrice, and—
beatrice.That's the principal thing, of course—
booth.[. . and discovering it.] But do let us keep to the subject.
beatrice.[with flattering sincerity.] Certainly, Booth. And there is hardly any subject that I wouldn't ask your advice about. But upon this . . do let me know better. Hugh and I will be happier apart.
booth.[obstinately.] Why?
beatrice.[with resolute patience, having vented a little sigh.] Hugh finds that my opinions distress him. And I have at last lost patience with Hugh.
mrs. voysey.[who has been trying to follow this through her spectacles.] What does Beatrice say?
booth.[translating into a loud sing-song.] That she wishes to leave her husband because she has lost patience!
mrs. voysey.[with considerable acrimony.] Then you must be a very ill-tempered woman. Hugh has a sweet nature.
hugh.[shouting self-consciously.] Nonsense, mother.
beatrice.[shouting good-humouredly.] I quite agree with you, mother. [she continues to her husband in an even just tone.] You have a sweet nature, Hugh, and it is most difficult to get angry with you. I have been seven yearsworking up to it. But now that I am angry, I shall never get pleased again.
The Major returns to his subject, refreshed by a moment's repose.
The Major returns to his subject, refreshed by a moment's repose.
booth.How has he failed in his duty? Tell us. I'm not bigoted in his favour. I know your faults, Hugh.
He wags his head athugh,who writhes with irritation.
He wags his head athugh,who writhes with irritation.
hugh.Why can't you leave them alone . . leave us alone?
beatrice.I'd state my case against Hugh, if I thought he'd retaliate.
hugh.[desperately rounding on his brother.] If I tell you, you won't understand. You understand nothing! Beatrice is angry with me because I won't prostitute my art to make money.
booth.[glancing at his wife.] Please don't use metaphors of that sort.
beatrice.[reasonably.] Yes, I think Hugh ought to earn more money.
booth.[quite pleased to be getting along at last.] Well, why doesn't he?
hugh.I don't want money.
booth.You can't say you don't want money any more than you can say you don't want bread.
beatrice.[as she breaks off her cotton.] It's when one has known what it is to be a little short of both . .
Now the Major spreads himself and begins to be very wise, whilehugh,to whom this is more intolerable than all, can only clutch his hair.
Now the Major spreads himself and begins to be very wise, whilehugh,to whom this is more intolerable than all, can only clutch his hair.
booth.You know I never considered Art a very good profession for you, Hugh. And you won't even stick to one department of it. It's a profession that gets people into very bad habits, I consider. Couldn't you take up something else? You could still do those wood-cuts in your spare time to amuse yourself.
hugh.[commenting on this with two deliberate shouts of simulated mirth.] Ha! Ha!
booth.[sublimely superior.] Well, it wouldn't much matter if you didn't do them at all!
beatrice.[subtly.] Booth, there speaks the true critic.
booth.[deprecating any title to omniscience.] Well, I don't pretend to know much about Art but—
hugh.It would matter to me. There speaks the artist.
beatrice.The arrogance of the artist!
hugh.We have a right to be arrogant.
beatrice.Good workmen are humble.
hugh.And look to their wages.
beatrice.Well, I'm only a workman.
With that she breaks the contact of this quiet deadly hopeless little quarrel by turning her head away. The Major, who has given it most friendly attention, comments . .
With that she breaks the contact of this quiet deadly hopeless little quarrel by turning her head away. The Major, who has given it most friendly attention, comments . .
booth.Of course! Quite so! I'm sure all that is a very interesting difference of opinion.
mrs. voyseyleaves her armchair for her favourite station at the dining table.
mrs. voyseyleaves her armchair for her favourite station at the dining table.
mrs. voysey.Booth is the only one of you that I can hear at all distinctly. But if you two foolish young people think you want to separate . . try it. You'll soon come back to each other and be glad to. People can't fight against Nature for long. And marriage is a natural state . . once you're married.
booth.[with intense approval.] Quite right, Mother.
mrs. voysey.I know.
She resumes the Nineteenth Century. The Major, to the despair of everybody, makes yet another start; trying oratory this time.
She resumes the Nineteenth Century. The Major, to the despair of everybody, makes yet another start; trying oratory this time.
booth.My own opinion is, Beatrice and Hugh, that you don't realise the meaning of the word marriage. I don't call myself a religious man . . but dash it all, youwere married in church! . . And you then entered upon an awful compact! . . Surely . . as a woman, Beatrice . . the religious point of it ought to appeal to you. Good Lord, suppose everybody were to carry on like this! And have you considered, Beatrice, that . . whether you're right or whether you're wrong . . if you desert Hugh, you cut yourself off from the Family.
beatrice.[with the sweetest of smiles.] That will distress me terribly.
booth.[not doubting her for a moment.] Of course.
hughflings up his head and finds relief at last in many words.
hughflings up his head and finds relief at last in many words.
hugh.I wish to Heaven I'd ever been able to cut myself off from the family! Look at Trenchard.
booth.[gobbling a little at this unexpected attack.] I do not forgive Trenchard for quarreling with and deserting our father.
hugh.Trenchard quarreled because that was his only way of escape.
booth.Escape from what?
hugh.From tyranny! . . from hypocrisy! . . from boredom! . . from his Happy English Home!
beatrice.[kindly.] Hugh . . Hugh . . it's no use.
booth.[attempting sarcasm.] Speak so that Mother can hear you!
Buthughisn't to be stopped now.
Buthughisn't to be stopped now.
hugh.Why are we all dull, cubbish, uneducated, hopelessly middle-class . . that is hopelessly out of date.
booth.[taking this as very personal.] Cubbish!
hugh.. . Because it's the middle-class ideal that you should respect your parents . . live with them . . think with them . . grow like them. Natural affection and gratitude! That's what's expected, isn't it?
booth.[not to be obliterated.] Certainly.
hugh.Keep your children ignorant of all that you don't know, penniless except for your good pleasure, dependent on you for permission to breathe freely . . and be sure that their gratitude will be most disinterested, and affection very natural. If your father's a drunkard or poor; then perhaps you get free and can form an opinion or two of your own . . and can love him or hate him as he deserves. But our father and mother were models. They did their duty by us . . and taught us ours. Trenchard escaped, as I say. You took to the Army . . so of course you've never discovered how behind the times you are. [the Major is stupent.] I tried to express myself in art . . and found there was nothing to express . . I'd been so well brought up. D'you blame me if I wander about in search of a soul of some sort? And Honor—
booth.[disputing savagely.] Honor is very happy at home. Everyone loves her.
hugh.[with fierce sarcasm.] Yes . . what do we call her? Mother's right hand! I wonder they bothered to give her a name. By the time little Ethel came they were tired of training children . . [his voice loses its sting; he doesn't complete this sentence.]
beatrice.Poor little Ethel . .
booth.Poor Ethel!
They speak as one speaks of the dead, and so the wrangling stops. Thenedwardinterposes quietly.
They speak as one speaks of the dead, and so the wrangling stops. Thenedwardinterposes quietly.
edward.Yes, Hugh, if we'd been poor . .
hugh.I haven't spoken of your fate, Edward. That's too shameful.
edward.. . We should at least have learnt how to spend money.
booth.[pathetically.] Really, Edward, need you attack me?
hugh.Well . . you're so proud of representing the family!
booth.And may I ask what we're discussing now?
beatrice.Yes, Edward. I knew how to get the greatestpossible happiness out of a five pound note years before I had one.
edward.The first man who saved a sovereign has made a prisoner of me.
booth.[determined to capture the conversation again.] Has made a . . ?
edward.Will make . . if you understand that better, Booth.
booth.I don't understand it at all. [they leave him the field.] And why for no earthly reason we must suddenly open up a—a street, which is very painful . . I really cannot see. One never knows who may be listening. [he glances most uneasily towards the door and drops his voice.] In that unhappy business, Edward, you very wisely did what we all felt to be your duty. I'm sure we all hope you have succeeded in your endeavours. But the least we can do now in respect to our poor father's memory is to bury the matter in—in decent oblivion. And please . . please don't talk of prison. I thought you'd given up that idea long ago. [having dismissed that subject unopposed, he takes a long breath.] Now we will return to the original subject of discussion. Hugh, this question of a separation—
Past all patience,hughjumps up and flings his chair back to its place.
Past all patience,hughjumps up and flings his chair back to its place.
hugh.Beatrice and I mean to separate. And nothing you may say will prevent us. The only difficulty in the way is money. Can we command enough to live apart comfortably?
booth.Well?
hugh.Well . . we can't.
booth.Well?
hugh.So we can't separate.
booth.[speaking with bewilderment.] Then what in Heaven's name have we been discussing it for?
hugh.I haven't discussed it! I don't want to discussit! Why can't you mind your own business? Now I'll go back to the billiard room and my book.
He is gone before the poor Major can recover his lost breath.
He is gone before the poor Major can recover his lost breath.
booth.[as he does recover it.] I am not an impatient man . . but really . . [and then words fail him.]
beatrice.[commenting calmly.] Of course Hugh was a spoilt child. They grow to hate their parents sooner than others. He still cries for what he wants. That makes him a wearisome companion.
booth.[very sulky now.] You married him with your eyes open, I suppose?
beatrice.How few women marry with their eyes open!
booth.You have never made the best of Hugh.
beatrice.I have spared him that indignity.
booth.[vindictively.] I am very glad that you can't separate.
beatrice.As soon as I'm reasonably sure of earning an income I shall walk off from him.
The Major revives.
The Major revives.
booth.You will do nothing of the sort, Beatrice.
beatrice.[unruffled.] How will you stop me, Booth?
booth.I shall tell Hugh he must command you to stay.
beatrice.[with a little smile.] Now that might make a difference. It was one of the illusions of my girlhood that I should love a man who would master me.
booth.Hugh must assert himself.
He begins to walk about, giving some indication of how it should be done.beatrice'ssmile has vanished.
He begins to walk about, giving some indication of how it should be done.beatrice'ssmile has vanished.
beatrice.Don't think I've enjoyed taking the lead in everything throughout my married life. But someone had to plan and scheme and be foreseeing . . we weren't sparrows or lilies of the field . . someone had to get up and do something. [she becomes conscious of his struttingand smiles rather mischievously.] Ah . . if I'd married you, Booth!
booth'sface grows beatific.
booth'sface grows beatific.
booth.Well, I must own to thinking that I am a masterful man . . that is the duty of every man to be so. [he adds forgivingly.] Poor old Hugh!
beatrice.[unable to resist temptation.] If I'd tried to leave you, Booth, you'd have whipped me . . wouldn't you?
booth.[ecstatically complacent.] Ha . . well . . !
beatrice.Do say yes. Think how it'll frighten Emily.
The Major strokes his moustache and is most friendly.
The Major strokes his moustache and is most friendly.
booth.Hugh's been a worry to me all my life. And now as Head of the Family . . Well, I suppose I'd better go and give the dear old chap another talking to. I quite see your point of view, Beatrice.
beatrice.Why disturb him at his book?
major boothleaves them, squaring his shoulders as becomes a lord of creation. The two sisters-in-law go on with their work silently for a moment; thenbeatriceadds. .
major boothleaves them, squaring his shoulders as becomes a lord of creation. The two sisters-in-law go on with their work silently for a moment; thenbeatriceadds. .
beatrice.Do you find Booth difficult to manage, Emily?
emily.[putting down her knitting to consider the matter.] No. It's best to allow him to talk himself out. When he's done that he'll often come to me for advice. I let him get his own way as much as possible . . or think he's getting it. Otherwise he becomes so depressed.
beatrice.[quietly amused.] Edward shouldn't hear this. What has he to do with women's secrets?
edward.I won't tell . . and I'm a bachelor.
emily.[solemnly as she takes up her knitting again.] Do you really mean to leave Hugh?
beatrice.[slightly impatient.] Emily, I've said so.
They are joined byalice maitland,who comes in gaily.
They are joined byalice maitland,who comes in gaily.
alice.What's Booth shouting about in the billiard room?
emily.[pained.] On Christmas Eve, too!
beatrice.Don't you take any interest in my matrimonial affairs?
mrs. voyseyshuts up the Nineteenth Century and removes her spectacles.
mrs. voyseyshuts up the Nineteenth Century and removes her spectacles.
mrs. voysey.That's a very interesting article. The Chinese Empire must be in a shocking state! Is it ten o'clock yet?
edward.Past.
mrs. voysey.[asedwardis behind her.] Can anyone see the clock?
alice.It's past ten, Auntie.
mrs. voysey.Then I think I'll go to my room.
emily.Shall I come and look after you, Mother?
mrs. voysey.If you'd find Honor for me, Emily.
emilygoes in search of the harmless necessaryhonorandmrs. voyseybegins her nightly chant of departure.
emilygoes in search of the harmless necessaryhonorandmrs. voyseybegins her nightly chant of departure.
mrs. voysey.Good night, Alice. Good night, Edward.
edward.Good night, Mother.
mrs. voysey.[with sudden severity.] I'm not pleased with you, Beatrice.
beatrice.I'm sorry, Mother.
But without waiting to be answered the old lady has sailed out of the room.beatrice,edward,andaliceare attuned to each other enough to be able to talk with ease.
But without waiting to be answered the old lady has sailed out of the room.beatrice,edward,andaliceare attuned to each other enough to be able to talk with ease.
beatrice.Hugh is right about his family. It'll never make any new life for itself.
edward.There are Booth's children.
beatrice.Poor little devils!
alice.[judicially.] Emily is an excellent mother.
beatrice.Yes . . they'll grow up good men and women. And one will go into the Army and one into the Navy and one into the Church . . and perhaps one to the Devil and the Colonies. They'll serve their country and govern it and help to keep it like themselves . . dull and respectable . . hopelessly middle-class. [she puts down her work now and elevates an oratorical fist.] Genius and Poverty may exist in England, if they'll hide their heads. For show days we've our aristocracy. But never let us forget, gentlemen, that it is the plain solid middle-class man who has made us . . what we are.
edward.[in sympathetic derision.] Hear hear . . ! and cries of bravo!
beatrice.Now, that is out of my book . . the next one. [she takes up her work again.] You know, Edward . . without wishing to open up Painful Streets . . however scandalous it has been, your father left you a man's work to do.
edward.[his face cloudy.] An outlaw's!
beatrice.[whimsical, after a moment.] I meant that. At all events you've not had to be your father's right arm . . or the instrument of justice . . or a representative of the people . . or anything second hand of that sort, have you?
edward.[with sudden excitement.] Do you know what I discovered the other day about [he nods at the portrait.] . . him?
beatrice.[enquiring calmly.] Innocence or guilt?
edward.He saved his firm once . . that was true. A most capable piece of heroism. Then, fifteen years afterwards . . he started again.
beatrice.[greatly interested.] Did he now?
edward.One can't believe it was merely through weakness . .
beatrice.[with artistic enthusiasm.] Of course not.He was a great financier . . a man of imagination. He had to find scope for his abilities or die. He despised these fat little clients living so snugly on their unearned incomes . . and put them and their money to the best use he could.
edward.[shaking his head solemnly.] That's all a fine phrase for robbery.
beatriceturns her clever face to him and begins to follow up her subject keenly.
beatriceturns her clever face to him and begins to follow up her subject keenly.
beatrice.My dear Edward . . I understand you've been robbing your rich clients for the benefit of the poor ones?
alice.[who hasn't missed a word.] That's true.
edward.[gently.] Well . . we're all a bit in debt to the poor, aren't we?
beatrice.Quite so. And you don't possess and your father didn't possess that innate sense of the sacredness of property . . . [she enjoys that phrase.] which alone can make a truly honest man. Nor did the man possess it who picked my pocket last Friday week . . nor does the tax-gatherer . . . nor do I. Your father's freedom from prejudice was tempered by a taste for Power and Display. Yours is by Charity. But that's all the difference I'll admit between you. Robbery! . . it's a beautiful word.
edward.[a little pained by as much of this as he takes to be serious.] I think he might have told me the truth.
beatrice.Perhaps he didn't know it! Would you have believed him?
edward.Perhaps not. But I loved him.
beatricelooks again at the gentle, earnest face.
beatricelooks again at the gentle, earnest face.
beatrice.After as well as before?
edward.Yes. And not from mere force of habit either.
beatrice.[with reverence in her voice now.] That should silence a bench of judges. Well . . well . .
Her sewing finished, she stuffs the things into herbasket, gets up in her abrupt unconventional way and goes without another word. Her brain is busy with the Voysey Inheritance.edwardandaliceare left in chairs by the fire, facing each other like an old domestic couple.
Her sewing finished, she stuffs the things into herbasket, gets up in her abrupt unconventional way and goes without another word. Her brain is busy with the Voysey Inheritance.edwardandaliceare left in chairs by the fire, facing each other like an old domestic couple.
edward.Stay and speak to me.
alice.I want to. Something more serious has happened since dinner.
edward.I'm glad you can see that.
alice.What is it?
edward.[with sudden exultation.] The smash has come . . and not by my fault. Old George Booth—
alice.Has he been here?
edward.Can you imagine it? That old man forced me into telling him the truth. I told him to take what money of his there was, and prosecute. He won't prosecute, but he bargains to take the money . . and further to bleed us, sovereign by sovereign, as I earn sovereign by sovereign with the sweat of my soul. I'll see him in his Christian Heaven first . . the Jew!
alice.[keeping her head.] You can't reason with him?
edward.He thinks he has the whip hand and he means to use it. Also the Vicar has been told . . who has told his wife. She knows how not to keep a secret. The smash has come at last.
alice.So you're glad?
edward.Thankful. My conscience is clear. I've done my best. [then as usual with him, his fervour collapses.] And oh, Alice . . has it been worth doing?
alice.[encouragingly.] Half a dozen people pulled out of the fire.
edward.If only that isn't found out! I've bungled this job, Alice. I feared all along I should. It was work for a strong man . . not for me.
alice.Work for a patient man.
edward.You use kind words. But I've never shirked the truth about myself. My father said mine was a weak nature. He knew.
alice.You have a religious nature.
edward.[surprised.] Oh no!
alice.[proceeding to explain.] Therefore you're not fond of creeds and ceremonies. Therefore . . as the good things of this wordly world don't satisfy you, you shirk contact with it all you can. I understand this temptation to neglect and despise practical things. But if one yields to it one's character narrows and cheapens. That's a pity . . but it's so.
edward.[his eyes far away.] D'you ever feel that there aren't enough windows in a house?
alice.[prosaically.] In this weather . . too many.
edward.Well then . . in a house—especially in a big city—in my office at work, then . . one is out of hearing of all the music of the world. And when one does get back to Nature, instead of being all curves to her roundness, one is all corners.
alice.[smiling at him.] Yes, you love to think idly . . just as Hugh does. You do it quite well, too. [then briskly.] Edward, may I scold you?
edward.For that?
alice.Because of that. You're grown to be a sloven lately . . deliberately letting yourself be unhappy.
edward.Is happiness under one's control?
alice.My friend, you shouldn't neglect your happiness any more than you neglect to wash your face. Here has the squalour of your work been making you poor. Because it was liable to be stopped at any moment uncompleted . . why should that let your life be incomplete? Edward, for the last eighteen months you've been more like a moral portent than a man. You've not had a smile to throw to a friend . . or an opinion upon any subject. You've dropped your Volunteering. [he protests.] I know there'ssomething comic in volunteering . . though Heaven knows what it is! I suppose you found it out of keeping with your unhappy fate. And how slack you were in your politics last November. I don't believe you even voted . .
edward.[contrite at this.] That was wrong of me!
alice.Yes, I expect a man to be a good citizen. And you don't even eat properly.
With that she completes the accusation andedwardsearches round for a defence.
With that she completes the accusation andedwardsearches round for a defence.
edward.Alice, it was always an effort with me to do all those things . . and lately every effort has had to go to my work.
alice.You did them . . on principle.
edward.Don't laugh at me.
alice.[whispering the awful words.] Then truthfully, Edward, once upon a time you were a bit of a prig.
edward.[with enough sense of humour to whisper back.] Was I?
alice.I'm afraid so! But the prig fell ill when your father died . . and had to be buried in his grave. [Then her voice rises stirringly.] Oh, don't you see what a blessing this cursed work was meant to be to you? Why must you stand stiff against it?
edward.[without a smile now.] But lately, Alice, I've hardly known myself. Once or twice I've lost my temper . . I've been brutal.
alice.That's the best news in the world. There's your own wicked nature coming out. That's what we've been waiting for . . that's what we want. That's you.
edward.[still serious.] I'm sorry for it.
alice.Oh, Edward, be a little proud of poor humanity . . take your own share in it gladly. It so discourages the rest of us if you don't.
Suddenly he breaks down completely.
Suddenly he breaks down completely.
edward.I can't let myself be glad and live. There's the future to think of. And I'm so afraid of that. I mustpretend I don't care . . even to myself . . even to you.
alice.[her mocking at an end.] What is it you fear most about the future . . not just the obviously unpleasant things?
edward.They'll put me in prison.
alice.Perhaps.
edward.Who'll be the man who comes out?
alice.Yourself.
edward.No, no! I'm a coward. I can't stand alone, it's too lonely. I need affection . . I need friends. I cling to people that I don't care for deeply . . just for the comfort of it. I've no home of my own. Every house that welcomes me now I like to think of as something of a home. And I know that this disgrace in store will leave me for a long time or a short time . . homeless.
There he sits shaken.alicewaits a moment, not taking her eyes from him; then speaks.
There he sits shaken.alicewaits a moment, not taking her eyes from him; then speaks.
alice.There's something else I want to scold you for. You've still given up proposing to me. Certainly that shows a lack of courage . . and of perseverance. Or is it the loss of what I always considered a very laudable ambition?
edwardis hardly able to trust his ears. Then he looks into her face and his thankfulness frames itself into a single sentence.
edwardis hardly able to trust his ears. Then he looks into her face and his thankfulness frames itself into a single sentence.
edward.Will you marry me?
alice.Yes, Edward.
For a minute he just holds his breath with happiness. But he shakes himself free of it, almost savagely.
For a minute he just holds his breath with happiness. But he shakes himself free of it, almost savagely.
edward.No, no, no, we mustn't be stupid. I'm sorry I asked for that.
alice.[with serene strength.] I'm glad that you want me. While I live . . where I am will be Home.
edward.[struggling with himself.] No, it's too late. If you'd said Yes before I came into my inheritance . .perhaps I shouldn't have given myself to the work. So be glad that it's too late. I am.
alice.[happily.] There was never any chance of my marrying you when you were only a well-principled prig. I didn't want you . . and I don't believe you really wanted me. Now you do. And you must always take what you want.
edward.[turning to her again.] My dear, what have we to start life upon . . to build our house upon? Poverty . . and prison for me.
alice.[mischievous.] Edward, you seem to think that all the money in the world was invested in your precious firm. I have four hundred a year of my own. At least let that tempt you.
edwardcatches her in his arms with a momentary little burst of passion.
edwardcatches her in his arms with a momentary little burst of passion.
edward.You're tempting me.
She did not resist, but nevertheless he breaks away from her, disappointed with himself. She goes on, quietly, serenely.
She did not resist, but nevertheless he breaks away from her, disappointed with himself. She goes on, quietly, serenely.
alice.Am I? Am I playing upon your senses in any way? Am I a silly child looking to you for protection in return for your favour? Shall I hinder or help your life? If you don't think me your equal as woman to man, we'll never speak of this again. But if you do . . look at me and make your choice. To refuse me my work and happiness in life and to cripple your own nature . . or to take my hand.
She puts out her hand frankly, as a friend should. With only a second's thought he, happy too now, takes it as frankly. Then she sits beside him and quite cheerfully changes the subject.
She puts out her hand frankly, as a friend should. With only a second's thought he, happy too now, takes it as frankly. Then she sits beside him and quite cheerfully changes the subject.
alice.Now, referring to the subject of Mr. George Booth. What will he do?
edward.[responsive though impatient.] He'll do nothing. I shall be before him.
alice.What about his proposal?
edward.That needs no answer.
alice.Yes, it does. I know the temptation to hit back at him mock-heroically . . it's natural. Well, we'll consider it done. But he's a silly old man and he doesn't know what he's talking about. I think we can bargain with him to keep the firm going somehow . . and if we can we must.
At thisedwardmakes a last attempt to abandon himself to his troubles.
At thisedwardmakes a last attempt to abandon himself to his troubles.
edward.No, Alice, no . . let it end here. It has done for me . . I'm broken. And of course we can't be married . . that's absurd.
alice.[with firmness enough for two.] We shall be married. And nothing's broken . . except our pride and righteousness . . and several other things we're better without. And now we must break our dignity in to bargaining.
edward.[struggling in the toils of virtue.] But it'll be so useless. Colpus'll be round in a day or two to make his conditions . . he'll tell some intimate friend. They'll all come after their money like wasps after honey. And if they know I won't lift a finger in my own defence . . what sort of mercy will they have?
alice.[triumphantly completing her case.] No, Edward, if you surrender yourself entirely, you'll find them powerless against you. You see, you had something to hope or fear from Mr. Booth . . you hoped in your heart he'd end your trouble. But when you've conquered that last little atom of the selfishness which gets in one's way, I think you'll find you can do what you wish with these selfish men. [and she adds fervently.] Oh, it's a power so seldom used. But the man who is able, and cares deeply, and yet has nothing to hope or fear is all powerful . . even in little things.
edward.Will nothing ever happen to set me free?Shall I never be able to rest for a moment . . turn round and say I've succeeded or I've failed?
alice.That isn't what matters.
edward.If they could all meet and agree, they might syndicate themselves and keep me at it for life.
alice.What more could you wish for?
edward.Than that dreary round!
alice.My dear, the world must be put tidy. That's the work which splendid criminals . . and others leave about for us poor commonplace people to do.
edward.[with a little laugh.] And I don't believe in Heaven either.
alice.[close to him.] But there's to be our life. What's wrong with that?
edward.My dear, when they put me in prison for swindling— [he makes the word sound its worst.]