Send Atkinson to me, please. [Then he gets up, keys in hand to lock away Mrs. Murberry's and the Hatherley trust papers.]
Thevoyseydining-room at Chislehurst, when children and grandchildren are visiting, is dining table and very little else. And at this moment in the evening when five or six men are sprawling back in their chairs, and the air is clouded with smoke, it is a very typical specimen of the middle-class English domestic temple; the daily sacrifice consummated, the acolytes dismissed, the women safely in the drawing room, and the chief priests of it taking their surfeited ease round the dessert-piled altar. It has the usual red-papered walls, (like a refection, they are, of the underdone beef so much consumed within them) the usual varnished woodwork which is known as grained oak; there is the usual, hot, mahogany furniture; and, commanding point of the whole room, there is the usual black-marble sarcophagus of a fireplace. Above this hangs one of the two or three oil paintings, which are all that break the red pattern of the walls, the portrait painted in 1880 of an undistinguished looking gentleman aged sixty; he is shown sitting in a more graceful attitude than it could ever have been comfortable for him to assume.mr. voysey'sfather it is, and the brass plate at the bottom of the frame tells us that the portrait was a presentation one. On the mantelpiece stands, of course, a clock; at either end a china vase filled with paper spills. And in front of the fire,—since that is the post of vantage, stands at this momentmajor booth voysey.He is the second son, of the age that it is necessary for a Major to be, and of an appearance that many ordinary Majors in ordinary regiments are. He went into the army because he thought it would be like a schoolboy's idea of it; and, being there, he does his little all to keep it so. He stands astride, hands in pockets, coat-tails through his arms, cigar in mouth, moustache bristling. On either side of him sits at the table an old gentleman; the one ismr. evan colpus,the vicar of their parish, the othermr. george booth,a friend of long standing, and the Major's godfather. Mr. Colpus is a harmless enough anachronism, except for the waste of £400 a year in which his stipend involves the community. Leaving most of his parochial work to an energetic curate, he devotes his serious attention to the composition of two sermons a week. They deal with the difficulties of living the christian life as experienced by people who have nothing else to do. Published in series from time to time, these form suitable presents for bedridden parishioners.mr. george booth,on the contrary, is as gay an old gentleman as can be found in Chislehurst. An only son; his father left him at the age of twenty-five a fortune of a hundred thousand pounds (a plum, as he called it). At the same time he had the good sense to dispose of his father's business, into which he had been most unwillingly introduced five years earlier, for a like sum before he was able to depreciate its value. It wasmr. voysey'sinvaluable assistance in this transaction which first bound the two together in great friendship. Since that time Mr. Booth has been bent on nothing but enjoying himself. He has even remained a bachelor with that object. Money has given him all he wants, therefore he loves and reverences money; while his imagination may be estimatedby the fact that he has now reached the age of sixty-five, still possessing more of it than he knows what to do with. At the head of the table, meditatively cracking walnuts, sitsmr. voysey.He has his back there to the conservatory door—you know it is the conservatory door because there is a curtain to pull over it, and because half of it is frosted glass with a purple key pattern round the edge. Onmr. voysey'sleft isdenis tregoning,a nice enough young man. And at the other end of the table sitsedward,not smoking, not talking, hardly listening, very depressed. Behind him is the ordinary door of the room, which leads out into the dismal draughty hall. The Major's voice is like the sound of a cannon through the tobacco smoke.
major booth voysey.Of course I'm hot and strong for conscription . .
mr. george booth.My dear boy, the country'd never stand it. No Englishman—
major booth voysey.[dropping the phrase heavily upon the poor old gentleman.] I beg your pardon. If we . . the Army . . say to the country . . Upon our honour conscription is necessary for your safety . . what answer has the country? What? [he pauses defiantly.] There you are . . none!
tregoning.Booth will imagine because one doesn't argue that one has nothing to say. You ask the country.
major booth voysey.Perhaps I will. Perhaps I'll chuck the Service and go into the House. [then falling into the sing song of a favourite phrase.] I'm not a conceited man . . but I believe that if I speak out upon a subject I understand and only upon that subject the House will listen . . and if others followed my example we should be a far more business-like and go-ahead community.
He pauses for breath andmr. boothseizes the opportunity.
He pauses for breath andmr. boothseizes the opportunity.
mr. george booth.If you think the gentlemen of England will allow themselves to be herded with a lot of low fellers and made to carry guns—!
major booth voysey.[obliterating him once more.] Just one moment. Have you thought of the physical improvement which conscription would bring about in the manhood of the country? What England wants is Chest! [he generously inflates his own.] Chest and Discipline. I don't care how it's obtained. Why, we suffer from a lack of it in our homes—
mr. voysey.[with the crack of a nut.] Your godson talks a deal, don't he? You know, when Booth gets into a club, he gets on the committee . . gets on any committee to enquire into anything . . and then goes on at 'em just like this. Don't you, Booth?
boothknuckles under easily enough to his father's sarcasm.
boothknuckles under easily enough to his father's sarcasm.
major booth voysey.Well, sir, people tell me I'm a useful man on committees.
mr. voysey.I don't doubt it . . your voice must drown all discussion.
major booth voysey.You can't say I don't listen to you, sir.
mr. voysey.I don't . . and I'm not blaming you. But I must say I often think what a devil of a time the family will have with you when I'm gone. Fortunately for your poor mother, she's deaf.
major booth voysey.And wouldn't you wish me, sir, as eldest son . . . Trenchard not counting . . .
mr. voysey.[with the crack of another nut.] Trenchard not counting. By all means, bully them. Get up your subjects a bit better, and then bully them. I don't manage things that way myself, but I think it's your bestchance . . if there weren't other people present I'd say your only chance, Booth.
major booth voysey.[with some discomfort.] Ha! If I were a conceited man, sir, I could trust you to take it out of me.
mr. voysey.[as he tapsmr. boothwith the nut crackers.] Help yourself, George, and drink to your godson's health. Long may he keep his chest notes! Never heard him on parade, have you?
tregoning.I notice military men must display themselves . . that's why Booth acts as a firescreen. I believe that after mess that position is positively rushed.
major booth voysey.[cheering to find an opponent he can tackle.] If you want a bit of fire, say so, you sucking Lord Chancellor. Because I mean to allow you to be my brother-in-law, you think you can be impertinent.
Sotregoningmoves to the fire and that changes the conversation.
Sotregoningmoves to the fire and that changes the conversation.
mr. voysey.By the bye, Vicar, you were at Lady Mary's yesterday. Is she giving us anything towards that window?
mr. colpus.Five pounds more; she has promised me five pounds.
mr. voysey.Then how will the debt stand?
mr. colpus.Thirty-three . . no, thirty-two pounds.
mr. voysey.We're a long time clearing it off.
mr. colpus.[gently querulous.] Yes, now that the window is up, people don't seem so ready to contribute as they were.
tregoning.We must mention that to Hugh!
mr. colpus.[tactful at once.] Not that the work is not universally admired. I have heard Hugh's design praised by quite competent judges. But certainly I feel now it might have been wiser to have delayed the unveiling until the money was forthcoming.
tregoning.Never deliver goods to the Church on credit.
mr. colpus.Eh? [tregoningknows he is a little hard of hearing.]
mr. voysey.Well, as it was my wish that my son should do the design, I suppose in the end I shall have to send you a cheque.
major booth voysey.Anonymously.
mr. colpus.Oh, that would be—
mr. voysey.No, why should I? Here, George Booth, you shall halve it with me.
mr. george booth.I'm damned if I do.
mr. colpus.[proceeding, conveniently deaf.] You remember that at the meeting we had of the parents and friends to decide on the positions of the names of the poor fellows and the regiments and coats of arms and so on . . when Hugh said so violently that he disapproved of the war and made all those remarks about land-lords and Bibles and said he thought of putting in a figure of Britannia blushing for shame or something . . I'm beginning to fear that may have created a bad impression.
major booth voysey.Why should they mind . . what on earth does Hugh know about war? He couldn't tell a battery horse from a bandsman. I don't pretend to criticise art. I think the window'd be very pretty if it wasn't so broken up into bits.
mr. george booth.[fortified by his "damned" and his last glass of port.] These young men are so ready with their disapproval. Criticism starts in the cradle nowadays. When I was young, people weren't always questioning this and questioning that.
major booth voysey.Lack of discipline.
mr. george booth.[hurrying on.] The way a man now even stops to think what he's eating and drinking. And in religious matters . . Vicar, I put it to you . . there's no uniformity at all.
mr. colpus.Ah . . I try to keep myself free from the disturbing influences of modern thought.
mr. george booth.Young men must be forming their own opinions about this and their opinions about that. You know, Edward, you're worse even than Hugh is.
edward.[glancing up mildly at this sudden attack.] What have I done, Mr. Booth?
mr. george booth.[not the readiest of men.] Well . . aren't you one of those young men who go about the world making difficulties?
edward.What sort of difficulties?
mr. george booth.[triumphantly.] Just so . . I never can make out. Surely when you're young you can ask the advice of your elders and when you grow up you find Laws . . lots of laws divine and human laid down for our guidance. [Well in possession of the conversation he spreads his little self.] I look back over a fairly long life and . . perhaps I should say by Heaven's help . . I find nothing that I can honestly reproach myself with. And yet I don't think I ever took more than five minutes to come to a decision upon any important point. One's private life is, I think, one's own affair . . I should allow no one to pry into that. But as to worldly things . . well, I have come into several sums of money and my capital is still intact . . ask your father. [mr. voyseynods gravely.] I've never robbed any man. I've never lied over anything that mattered. As a citizen I pay my taxes without grumbling very much. Yes, and I sent conscience money too upon one occasion. I consider that any man who takes the trouble can live the life of a gentleman. [and he finds that his cigar is out.]
major booth voysey.[not to be outdone by this display of virtue.] Well, I'm not a conceited man, but—
tregoning.Are you sure, Booth?
major booth voysey.Shut up. I was going to saywhen my young cub of a brother-in-law-to-be interrupted me, thatTraining, for which we all have to be thankful to you, Sir, has much to do with it. [suddenly he pulls his trousers against his legs.] I say, I'm scorching! D'you want another cigar, Denis?
tregoning.No, thank you.
major booth voysey.I do.
And he glances round, buttregoningsees a box on the table and reaches it. The Vicar gets up.
And he glances round, buttregoningsees a box on the table and reaches it. The Vicar gets up.
mr. colpus.M-m-m-must be taking my departure.
mr. voysey.Already!
major booth voysey.[frowning upon the cigar box.] No, not those. Where are the Ramon Allones? What on earth has Honor done with them?
mr. voysey.Spare time for a chat with Mrs. Voysey before you go. She has ideas about a children's tea fight.
mr. colpus.Certainly I will.
major booth voysey.[scowling helplessly around.] My goodness! . . one can never find anything in this house.
mr. colpus.I won't say good-bye then.
He is sliding through the half opened door whenethelmeets him flinging it wide. She is the younger daughter, the baby of the family, but twenty-three now.
He is sliding through the half opened door whenethelmeets him flinging it wide. She is the younger daughter, the baby of the family, but twenty-three now.
mr. voysey.I say, it's cold again to-night! An ass of an architect who built this place . . such a draught between these two doors.
He gets up to draw the curtain. When he turnscolpushas disappeared, whileethelhas been followed into the room byalice maitland,who shuts the door after her.miss alice maitlandis a young lady of any age to thirty. Nor need her appearance alter for the next fifteen years; since her nature is healthy and well-balanced. She possesses indeed the sort of athletic chastity which is acharacteristic charm of Northern spinsterhood. It mayn't be a pretty face, but it has alertness and humour; and the resolute eyes and eyebrows are a more innocent edition ofmr. voysey's,who is her uncle.ethelgoes straight to her father[though her glance is ondenisand his on her]and chirps, birdlike, in her spoiled-child way.
He gets up to draw the curtain. When he turnscolpushas disappeared, whileethelhas been followed into the room byalice maitland,who shuts the door after her.miss alice maitlandis a young lady of any age to thirty. Nor need her appearance alter for the next fifteen years; since her nature is healthy and well-balanced. She possesses indeed the sort of athletic chastity which is acharacteristic charm of Northern spinsterhood. It mayn't be a pretty face, but it has alertness and humour; and the resolute eyes and eyebrows are a more innocent edition ofmr. voysey's,who is her uncle.ethelgoes straight to her father[though her glance is ondenisand his on her]and chirps, birdlike, in her spoiled-child way.
ethel.We think you've stayed in here quite long enough.
mr. voysey.That's to say, Ethel thinks Denis has been kept out of her pocket much too long.
ethel.Ethel wants billiards . . not proper billiards . . snooker or something. Oh, Papa, what a dessert you've eaten. Greedy pig!
aliceis standing behindedward,considering his hair-parting apparently.
aliceis standing behindedward,considering his hair-parting apparently.
alice.Crack me a filbert, please, Edward . . I had none.
edward.[jumping up, rather formally, well-mannered.] I beg your pardon, Alice. Won't you sit down?
alice.No.
mr. voysey.[takingethelon his knee.] Come here, puss. Have you made up your mind yet what you want for a wedding present?
ethel.[rectifying a stray hair in his beard.] After mature consideration, I decide on a cheque.
mr. voysey.Do you!
ethel.Yes, I think that a cheque will give most scope to your generosity. Of course, if you desire to add any trimmings in the shape of a piano or a Turkey carpet you may . . and Denis and I will be very grateful. But I think I'd let yourself go over a cheque.
mr. voysey.You're a minx.
ethel.What is the use of having money if you don't spend it on me?
major booth voysey.[giving up the cigar search.] Here, who's going to play?
mr. george booth.[pathetically as he gets up.] Well, if my wrist will hold out . .
major booth voysey.[Totregoning.] No, don't you bother to look for them. [He strides from the room, his voice echoing through the hall.] Honor, where are those Ramon Allones?
alice.[calling after.] She's in the drawing-room with Auntie and Mr. Colpus.
mr. voysey.Now I should suggest that you and Denis go and take off the billiard table cover. You'll find folding it up is a very excellent amusement.
He illustrates his meaning with his table napkin and by putting together the tips of his forefingers, roguishly.
He illustrates his meaning with his table napkin and by putting together the tips of his forefingers, roguishly.
ethel.I am not going to blush. I do kiss Denis . . occasionally . . when he asks me.
mr. george booth.[teasing her.] You are blushing.
ethel.I am not. If you think we're ashamed of being in love, we're not, we're very proud of it. We will go and take off the billiard table cover and fold it up . . and then you can come in and play. Denis, my dear, come along solemnly and if you flinch I'll never forgive you. [she marches off and reaches the door before her defiant dignity breaks down; then suddenly—] Denis, I'll race you.
And she flashes out.denis,loyal, but with no histrionic instincts, follows her rather sheepishly.
And she flashes out.denis,loyal, but with no histrionic instincts, follows her rather sheepishly.
denis.Ethel, I can't after dinner.
mr. voysey.Women play that game better than men. A man shuffles through courtship with one eye on her relations.
The Major comes stalking back, followed in a fearful flurry by his elder sister,honor.Poorhonor[her female friends are apt to refer to her as Poorhonor]is a phenomenon common to most large families. From her earliest years she has been bottle washer toher brothers. While they were expensively educated she was grudged schooling; her highest accomplishment was meant to be mending their clothes. Her fate is a curious survival of the intolerance of parents towards her sex until the vanity of their hunger for sons had been satisfied. In a less humane society she would have been exposed at birth. But if a very general though patronising affection, accompanied by no consideration at all, can bestow happiness,honoris not unhappy in her survival. At this moment, however, her life is a burden.
The Major comes stalking back, followed in a fearful flurry by his elder sister,honor.Poorhonor[her female friends are apt to refer to her as Poorhonor]is a phenomenon common to most large families. From her earliest years she has been bottle washer toher brothers. While they were expensively educated she was grudged schooling; her highest accomplishment was meant to be mending their clothes. Her fate is a curious survival of the intolerance of parents towards her sex until the vanity of their hunger for sons had been satisfied. In a less humane society she would have been exposed at birth. But if a very general though patronising affection, accompanied by no consideration at all, can bestow happiness,honoris not unhappy in her survival. At this moment, however, her life is a burden.
major booth voysey.Honor, they are not in the dining-room.
honor.But they must be!—Where else can they be?
She has a habit of accentuating one word in each sentence and often the wrong one.
She has a habit of accentuating one word in each sentence and often the wrong one.
major booth voysey.That's what you ought to know.
mr. voysey.[as he moves towards the door.] Well . . will you have a game?
mr. george booth.I'll play you fifty up, not more. I'm getting old.
mr. voysey.[stopping at a dessert dish.] Yes, these are good apples of Bearman's. I think six of my trees are spoilt this year.
honor.Here you are, Booth.
She triumphantly discovers the discarded box, at which the Major becomes pathetic with indignation.
She triumphantly discovers the discarded box, at which the Major becomes pathetic with indignation.
major booth voysey.Oh, Honor, don't be such a fool. These are what we've been smoking. I want the Ramon Allones.
honor.I don't know the difference.
major booth voysey.No, you don't, but you might learn.
mr. voysey.[in a voice like the crack of a very fine whip.] Booth.
major booth voysey.[subduedly.] What is it, sir?
mr. voysey.Look for your cigars yourself. Honor, go back to your reading and your sewing or whatever you were fiddling at, and fiddle in peace.
mr. voyseydeparts, leaving the room rather hushed.mr. boothhas not waited for this parental display. Thenaliceinsinuates a remark very softly.
mr. voyseydeparts, leaving the room rather hushed.mr. boothhas not waited for this parental display. Thenaliceinsinuates a remark very softly.
alice.Have you looked in the Library?
major booth voysey.[relapsing to an injured mutter.] Where's Emily?
honor.Upstairs with little Henry, he woke up and cried.
major booth voysey.Letting her wear herself to rags over the child . . !
honor.Well, she won't let me go.
major booth voysey.Why don't you stop looking for those cigars?
honor.If you don't mind, I want a reel of blue silk now I'm here.
major booth voysey.I daresay they are in the Library. What a house!
He departs.
He departs.
honor.Booth is so trying.
alice.Honor, why do you put up with it?
honor.Someone has to.
alice.[discreetly nibbling a nut, whichedwardhas cracked for her.] I'm afraid I think Master Major Booth ought to have been taken in hand early . . with a cane.
honor.[as she vaguely burrows into corners.] Papa did. But it's never prevented him booming at us . . oh, ever since he was a baby. Now he's flustered me so I simply can't think where this blue silk is.
alice.All the Pettifers desired to be remembered to you, Edward.
honor.I must do without it. [but she goes on looking.] I think, Alice, that we're a very difficult family . . except perhaps Edward.
edward.Why except me?
honor.[Who has only excepted out of politeness to present company.] Well, you may be difficult . . to yourself. [Then she starts to go, threading her way through the disarranged chairs.] Mr. Colpus will shout so loud at Mother and she hates people to think she's so very deaf. I thought Mary Pettifer looking old . . [and she talks herself out of the room.]
alice.[after her.] She's getting old.
Nowalicedoes sit down; as if she'd be glad of her tête-a-tête.
Nowalicedoes sit down; as if she'd be glad of her tête-a-tête.
alice.I was glad not to spend August abroad for once. We drove into Cheltenham to a dance . . carpet. I golfed a lot.
edward.How long were you with them?
alice.Not a fortnight. It doesn't seem three months since I was here, does it?
edward.I'm down so very little.
alice.I'm here a disgraceful deal.
edward.You know they're always pleased.
alice.Well, being a homeless person! But what a cart-load to descend all at once . . yesterday and to-day. The Major and Emily . . Emily's not at all well. Hugh and Mrs. Hugh. And me. Are you staying?
edward.No. I must get a word with my father . .
alice.A business life is not healthy for you, Edward. You look more like half-baked pie-crust than usual.
edward.[a little enviously.] You're very well.
alice.I'm always well and nearly always happy.
major boothreturns. He has the right sort of cigar in his mouth and is considerably mollified.
major boothreturns. He has the right sort of cigar in his mouth and is considerably mollified.
alice.You found them?
major booth voysey.Of course, they were there. Thank you very much, Alice. Now I want a knife.
alice.I must present you with a cigar-cutter, Booth.
major booth voysey.I hate 'em. [he eyes the dessert disparagingly.] Nothing but silver ones.
edwardhands him a carefully opened pocket knife.
edwardhands him a carefully opened pocket knife.
Thank you, Edward. And I must take one of the candles. Something's gone wrong with the library ventilator and you never can see a thing in that room.
alice.Is Mrs. Hugh there?
major booth voysey.Writing letters. Things are neglected, Edward, unless one is constantly on the look out. The Pater only cares for his garden. I must speak seriously to Honor.
He has returned the knife, still open, and now having lit his cigar at the candle he carries this off.
He has returned the knife, still open, and now having lit his cigar at the candle he carries this off.
alice.Honor has the patience of a . . of an old maid.
edward.Her mission in life isn't a pleasant one. [He gives her a nut, about the fifteenth.] Here; 'scuse fingers.
alice.Thank you. [looking at him, with her head on one side and her face more humorous than ever.] Edward, why have you given up proposing to me?
He starts, flushes; then won't be outdone in humour.
He starts, flushes; then won't be outdone in humour.
edward.One can't go on proposing for ever.
alice.[reasonably.] Why not? Have you seen anyone you like better?
edward.No.
alice.Well . . I miss it.
edward.What satisfaction did you find in refusing me?
alice.[as she weighs the matter.] I find satisfaction in feeling that I'm wanted.
edward.Without any intention of giving yourself . . throwing yourself away.
alice.[teasing his sudden earnestness.] Ah, now you come from mere vanity to serious questions.
edward.Mine were always serious questions to you.
alice.That's a fault I find in you, Edward; all questions are serious to you. I call you a perfect littlepocket-guide to life . . all questions and answers; what to eat, drink and avoid, what to believe and what to say . . all in the same type, the same importance attached to each.
edward.[sententiously.] Well . . everything matters.
alice.[making a face.] D'you plan out every detail of your life . . every step you take . . every mouthful?
edward.That would be waste of thought. One must lay down principles.
alice.I prefer my plan, I always do what I know I want to do. Crack me another nut.
edward.Haven't you had enough?
alice.IknowI want one more.
He cracks another, with a sigh which sounds ridiculous in that connection.
He cracks another, with a sigh which sounds ridiculous in that connection.
edward.Well, if you've never had to decide anything very serious . .
alice.[With great gravity.] Everything's serious.
edward.Everything isn't vital.
alice.[skilfully manœvring the subject.] I've answered vital questions. I knew that I didn't want to marry you . . each time.
edward.Oh, then you didn't just make a rule of saying no.
alice.As you proposed . . on principle? No, I always gave you a fair chance. I'll give you one now if you like.
He rouses himself to play up to this outrageous piece of flirting.
He rouses himself to play up to this outrageous piece of flirting.
edward.I'm not to be caught.
alice.Edward, how rude you are. [She eats her nut contentedly.]
edward.Do other men propose to you?
alice.Such a thing may have happened . . when I was young. Perhaps it might even now if I were to allow it.
edward.You encourage me shamelessly.
alice.It isn't everyone who proposes on principle. As a rule a man does it because he can't help himself. And then to be said no to . . hurts.
They are interrupted by the sudden appearance ofmrs. hugh voysey,a brisk, bright little woman, in an evening gown, which she has bullied a cheap dressmaker into making look exceedingly smart.beatriceis as hard as nails and as clever as paint. But if she keeps her feelings buried pretty deep it is because they are precious to her; and if she is impatient with fools it is because her own brains have had to win her everything in the world, so perhaps she does overvalue them a little. She speaks always with great decision and little effort.
They are interrupted by the sudden appearance ofmrs. hugh voysey,a brisk, bright little woman, in an evening gown, which she has bullied a cheap dressmaker into making look exceedingly smart.beatriceis as hard as nails and as clever as paint. But if she keeps her feelings buried pretty deep it is because they are precious to her; and if she is impatient with fools it is because her own brains have had to win her everything in the world, so perhaps she does overvalue them a little. She speaks always with great decision and little effort.
beatrice.I believe I could write important business letters upon an island in the middle of Fleet Street. But while Booth is poking at a ventilator with a billiard cue . . no, I can't.
She goes to the fireplace, waving her half finished letter.
She goes to the fireplace, waving her half finished letter.
alice.[soothingly.] Didn't you expect Hugh back to dinner?
beatrice.Not specially. . He went to rout out some things from his studio. He'll come back in a filthy mess.
alice.Now if you listen . . Booth doesn't enjoy making a fuss by himself . . you'll hear him rout out Honor.
They listen. But what happens is thatboothappears at the door, billiard cue in hand, and says solemnly. .
They listen. But what happens is thatboothappears at the door, billiard cue in hand, and says solemnly. .
major booth voysey.Edward, I wish you'd come and have a look at this ventilator, like a good fellow.
Then he turns and goes again, obviously with the weight of an important matter on his shoulders. With the ghost of a smileedwardgets up and follows him.
Then he turns and goes again, obviously with the weight of an important matter on his shoulders. With the ghost of a smileedwardgets up and follows him.
alice.If I belonged to this family I should hate Booth.
With which comment she joinsbeatriceat the fireplace.
With which comment she joinsbeatriceat the fireplace.
beatrice.A good day's shopping?
alice.'M. The baby bride and I bought clothes all the morning. Then we had lunch with Denis and bought furniture.
beatrice.Nice furniture?
alice.It'll be very good and very new. They neither of them know what they want. [Then suddenly throwing up her chin and exclaiming.] When it's a question of money I can understand it . . but if one can provide for oneself or is independent why get married! Especially having been brought up on the sheltered life principle . . one may as well make the most of its advantages . . one doesn't go falling in love all over the place as men seem to . . most of them. Of course with Ethel and Denis it's different. They've both been caught young. They're two little birds building their nests and it's all ideal. They'll soon forget they've ever been apart.
Nowhonorflutters into the room, patient but wild eyed.
Nowhonorflutters into the room, patient but wild eyed.
honor.Mother wants last week's Notes and Queries. Have you seen it?
beatrice.[exasperated at the interruption.] No.
honor.It ought not to be in here. [so she proceeds to look for it.] She's having a long argument with Mr. Colpus over Oliver Cromwell's relations.
alice.[her eyes twinkling.] I thought Auntie didn't approve of Oliver Cromwell.
honor.She doesn't and she's trying to prove that he was a brewer or something. I suppose someone has taken it away.
So she gives up the search and flutters out again.
So she gives up the search and flutters out again.
alice.This is a most unrestful house.
beatrice.I once thought of putting the Voyseysinto a book of mine. Then I concluded they'd be as dull there as they are anywhere else.
alice.They're not duller than most other people.
beatrice.But how very dull that is!
alice.They're a little noisier and perhaps not quite so well mannered. But I love them.
beatrice.I don't. I should have thought Love was just what they couldn't inspire.
alice.Of course, Hugh is unlike any of the others.
beatrice.He has most of their bad points. I don't love Hugh.
alice.[her eyebrows up, though she smiles.] Beatrice, you shouldn't say so.
beatrice.It sounds affected, doesn't it? Never mind; when he dies I'll wear mourning . . but not weeds; I bargained against that when we were engaged.
alice.[her face growing a little thoughtful.] Beatrice, I'm going to ask questions. You were in love with Hugh when you married him?
beatrice.Well . . I married him for his money.
alice.He hadn't much.
beatrice.I had none . . and I wanted to write books. Yes, I loved him.
alice.And you thought you'd be happy?
beatrice.[considering carefully.] No, I didn't. I hoped he'd be happy.
alice.[a little ironical.] Did you think your writing books would make him so?
beatrice.My dear Alice, wouldn't you feel it a very degrading thing to have your happiness depend upon somebody else?
alice.[after pausing to find her phrase.] There's a joy of service.
beatrice.[ironical herself now.] I forgot . . you've four hundred a year?
alice.What has that to do with it?
beatrice.[putting her case very precisely.] I've had to earn my own living, consequently there isn't one thing in my life that I have ever done quite genuinely for its own sake . . but always with an eye towards bread-and-butter, pandering to the people who were to give me that. Happiness has been my only independence.
The conservatory door opens and through it comemr. voyseyandmr. boothin the midst of a discussion.
The conservatory door opens and through it comemr. voyseyandmr. boothin the midst of a discussion.
mr. voysey.Very well, man, stick to the shares and risk it.
mr. george booth.No, of course, if you seriously advise me—
mr. voysey.I never advise greedy children; I let 'em overeat 'emselves and take the consequences—
alice.[shaking a finger.] Uncle Trench, you've been in the garden without a hat after playing billiards in that hot room.
mr. george booth.We had to give up . . my wrist was bad. They've started pool.
beatrice.Is Booth going to play?
mr. voysey.We left him instructing Ethel how to hold a cue.
beatrice.Perhaps I can finish my letter.
Off she goes.aliceis idly following with a little paper her hand has fallen on behind the clock.
Off she goes.aliceis idly following with a little paper her hand has fallen on behind the clock.
mr. voysey.Don't run away, my dear.
alice.I'm taking this to Auntie . . Notes and Queries . . she wants it.
mr. george booth.Damn . . this gravel's stuck to my shoe.
mr. voysey.That's a new made path.
mr. george booth.Now don't you think it's too early to have put in those plants?
mr. voysey.No, we're getting frost at night already.
mr. george booth.I should have kept that bed a good ten feet further from the tree.
mr. voysey.Nonsense, the tree's to the north of it. This room's cold. Why don't they keep the fire up! [He proceeds to put coals on it.]
mr. george booth.You were too hot in that billiard room. You know, Voysey . . about those Alguazils?
mr. voysey.[through the rattling of the coals.] What?
mr. george booth.[trying to pierce the din.] Those Alguazils.
mr. voyseywith surprising inconsequence points a finger at the silk handkerchief acrossmr. booth'sshirt front.
mr. voysey.What d'you put your handkerchief there for?
mr. george booth.Measure of precau—[at that moment he sneezes.] Damn it . . if you've given me a chill dragging me round your infernal garden—
mr. voysey.[slapping him on the back.] You're an old crock.
mr. george booth.Well, I'll be glad of this winter in Egypt. [He returns to his subject.] And if you think seriously, that I ought to sell out of the Alguazils before I go . . ? [He looks with childlike enquiry at his friend, who is apparently yawning slightly.] Why can't you take them in charge? . . and I'll give you a power of attorney or whatever it is . . and you can sell out if things look bad.
At this momentphoebe,the middle aged parlour-maid comes in, tray in hand. Like an expert fishermanmr. voyseyonce more lets loose the thread of the conversation.
At this momentphoebe,the middle aged parlour-maid comes in, tray in hand. Like an expert fishermanmr. voyseyonce more lets loose the thread of the conversation.
mr. voysey.D'you want to clear?
phoebe.It doesn't matter, sir.
mr. voysey.No, go on . . go on.
Somary,the young housemaid, comes in as well, and the two start to clear the table. All of whichfidgets poormr. boothconsiderably. He sits shrivelled up in the armchair by the fire; and nowmr. voyseyattends to him.
Somary,the young housemaid, comes in as well, and the two start to clear the table. All of whichfidgets poormr. boothconsiderably. He sits shrivelled up in the armchair by the fire; and nowmr. voyseyattends to him.
mr. voysey.What d'you want with high interest at all . . you never spend half your income?
mr. george booth.I like to feel that my money is doing some good in the world. These mines are very useful things and forty two per cent is pleasing.
mr. voysey.You're an old gambler.
mr. george booth.[propitiatingly.] Ah, but then I've you to advise me. I always do as you tell me in the end, now you can't deny that.
mr. voysey.The man who don't know must trust in the man who does! [He yawns again.]
mr. george booth.[modestly insisting.] There's five thousand in Alguazils—what else could we put it into?
mr. voysey.I can get you something at four and a half.
mr. george booth.Oh, Lord . . that's nothing.
mr. voysey.[with a sudden serious friendliness.] I wish, my dear George, you'd invest more on your own account. You know—what with one thing and the other—I've got control of practically all you have in the world. I might be playing old Harry with it for all you know.
mr. george booth.[overflowing with confidence.] My dear feller . . if I'm satisfied! Ah, my friend, what'll happen to your firm when you depart this life! . . not before my time, I hope, though.
mr. voysey.[with a little frown.] What d'ye mean?
mr. george booth.Edward's no use.
mr. voysey.I beg your pardon . . very sound in business.
mr. george booth.May be . . but I tell you he's no use. Too many principles, as I said just now. Men have confidence in a personality, not in principles. Where would you be without the confidence of your clients?
mr. voysey.[candidly.] True!
mr. george booth.He'll never gain that.
mr. voysey.I fear you dislike Edward.
mr. george booth.[with pleasant frankness.] Yes, I do.
mr. voysey.That's a pity.
mr. george booth.[with a flattering smile.] Well, he's not his father and never will be. What's the time?
mr. voysey.[with inappropriate thoughtfulness.] Twenty to ten.
mr. george booth.I must be trotting.
mr. voysey.It's very early.
mr. george booth.Oh, and I've not said a word to Mrs. Voysey . .
As he goes to the door he meetsedward,who comes in apparently looking for his father; at any rate catches his eye immediately, whilemr. boothobliviously continues.
As he goes to the door he meetsedward,who comes in apparently looking for his father; at any rate catches his eye immediately, whilemr. boothobliviously continues.
mr. george booth.Will you stroll round home with me?
mr. voysey.I can't.
mr. george booth.[mildly surprised at the short reply.] Well, good night. Good night, Edward.
He trots away.
He trots away.
mr. voysey.Leave the rest of the table, Phoebe.
phoebe.Yes, sir.
mr. voysey.You can come back in ten minutes.
phoebeandmarydepart and the door is closed. Alone with his sonmr. voyseydoes not move; his face grows a little keener, that's all.
phoebeandmarydepart and the door is closed. Alone with his sonmr. voyseydoes not move; his face grows a little keener, that's all.
mr. voysey.Well, Edward?
edwardstarts to move restlessly about, like a cowed animal in a cage; silently for a moment or two. Then when he speaks, his voice is toneless and he doesn't look at his father.
edwardstarts to move restlessly about, like a cowed animal in a cage; silently for a moment or two. Then when he speaks, his voice is toneless and he doesn't look at his father.
edward.I should like you now, sir, if you don't mind, to drop with me all these protestations about putting thefirm's affairs straight, and all your anxieties and sacrifices to that end. I see now, of course . . what a cleverer man than I could have seen yesterday . . that for some time, ever since, I suppose, you recovered from the first shock and got used to the double dealing, this hasn't been your object at all. You've used your clients' capital to produce your own income . . to bring us up and endow us with. Booth's ten thousand pounds; what you are giving Ethel on her marriage . . It's odd it never struck me yesterday that my own pocket money as a boy was probably withdrawn from some client's account. You've been very generous to us all, Father. I suppose about half the sum you've spent on us would have put things rightfirm's affairs straight, and all your anxieties and sacrifices to that end. I see now, of course . . what a cleverer man than I could have seen yesterday . . that for some time, ever since, I suppose, you recovered from the first shock and got used to the double dealing, this hasn't been your object at all. You've used your clients' capital to produce your own income . . to bring us up and endow us with. Booth's ten thousand pounds; what you are giving Ethel on her marriage . . It's odd it never struck me yesterday that my own pocket money as a boy was probably withdrawn from some client's account. You've been very generous to us all, Father. I suppose about half the sum you've spent on us would have put things right.
mr. voysey.No, it would not.
edward.[appealing for the truth.] Oh . . at some time or other!
mr. voysey.Well, if there have been good times there have been bad times. At present the three hundred a year I'm to allow your sister is going to be rather a pull.
edward.Three hundred a year . . and yet you've never attempted to put a single account straight. Since it isn't lunacy, sir . . I can only conclude that you enjoy being in this position.
mr. voysey.I have put accounts absolutely straight . . at the winding up of a trust for instance . . at great inconvenience too. And to all appearances they've been above suspicion. What's the object of all this rodomontade, Edward?
edward.If I'm to remain in the firm, it had better be with a very clear understanding of things as they are.
mr. voysey.[firmly, not too anxiously.] Then you do remain?
edward.[in a very low voice.] Yes, I remain.
mr. voysey.[quite gravely.] That's wise of you . . I'm very glad. [and he is silent for a moment.] And nowwe needn't discuss the impractical side of it any more.
edward.But I want to make one condition. And I want some information.
mr. voysey.[his sudden cheerfulness relapsing again.] Well?
edward.Of course no one has ever discovered . . and no one suspects this state of things?
mr. voysey.Peacey knows.
edward.Peacey!
mr. voysey.His father found out.
edward.Oh. Does he draw hush money?
mr. voysey.[curling a little at the word.] It is my custom to make a little present every Christmas. Not a cheque . . notes in an envelope. [He becomes benevolent.] I don't grudge the money . . Peacey's a devoted fellow.
edward.Naturally this would be a heavily taxed industry. [then he smiles at his vision of the mild old clerk.] Peacey! There's another thing I want to ask, sir. Have you ever under stress of circumstances done worse than just make use of a client's capital? You boasted to me yesterday that no one had ever suffered in pocket because of you. Is that absolutely true?
mr. voyseydraws himself up, dignified and magniloquent.
mr. voyseydraws himself up, dignified and magniloquent.
mr. voysey.My dear Edward, for the future my mind is open to you, you can discover for yourself how matters stand to-day. But I decline to gratify your curiosity as to what is over and done with.
edward.[with entire comprehension.] Thank you, sir. The condition I wish to make is that we should really do what we have pretended to be doing . . try and put the accounts straight.
mr. voysey.[with a little polite shrug.] I've no doubt you'll prove an abler man of business than I.
edward.One by one.
mr. voysey.Which one will you begin with?
edward.I shall begin, Father, by halving the salary I draw from the firm.
mr. voysey.I see . . Retrenchment and Reform.
edward.And I think you cannot give Ethel this five thousand pounds dowry.
mr. voysey.[shortly, with one of the quick twists of his eye.] I have given my word to Denis.
edward.The money isn't yours to give.
mr. voysey.[in an indignant crescendo.] I should not dream of depriving Ethel of what, as my daughter, she has every right to expect. I am surprised at your suggesting such a thing.
edward.[pale and firm.] I'm set on this, Father.
mr. voysey.Don't be such a fool, Edward. What would it look like . . suddenly to refuse without rhyme or reason? What would old Tregoning think?
edward.[distressed.] You could give them a reason.
mr. voysey.Perhaps you'll invent one.
edward.If need be, Ethel should be told the truth.
mr. voysey.What!
edward.I know it would hurt her.
mr. voysey.And Denis told too, I suppose?
edward.Father, it is my duty to do whatever is necessary to prevent this.
mr. voysey.It'll be necessary to tell the nearest policeman. It is my duty to pay no more attention to these scruples of yours than a nurse pays to her child's tantrums. Understand, Edward, I don't want to force you to continue my partner. Come with me gladly or don't come at all.
edward.[dully.] It is my duty to be of what use I can to you, sir. Father, I want to save you if I can.
He flashes into this exclamation of almost broken-hearted affection.mr. voyseylooks at his son for a moment and his lip quivers. Then he steels himself.
He flashes into this exclamation of almost broken-hearted affection.mr. voyseylooks at his son for a moment and his lip quivers. Then he steels himself.
mr. voysey.Thank you! I have saved myself quitesatisfactorily for the last thirty years, and you must please believe that by this time I know my own business best.
edward.[hopelessly.] Let the money come some other way. How is your own income regulated?
mr. voysey.I have a bank balance and a cheque book, haven't I? I spend what I think well to spend. What's the use of earmarking this or that as my own? You say none of it is my own. I might say it's all my own. I think I've earned it.
edward.[anger coming on him.] That's what I can't forgive. If you'd lived poor . . if you'd really devoted your skill to your clients' good and not to your aggrandisement . . then, even though things were only as they are now, I could have been proud of you. But, Father, own the truth to me, at least . . that's my due from you, considering how I'm placed by all you've done. Didn't you simply seize this opportunity as a means to your own end, to your own enriching?
mr. voysey.[with a sledge hammer irony.] Certainly. I sat that morning in my father's office, studying the helmet of the policeman in the street below, and thinking what a glorious path I had happened on to wealth and honour and renown. [Then he begins to bullyedwardin the kindliest way.] My dear boy, you evidently haven't begun to grasp the A. B. C. of my position. What has carried me to victory? The confidence of my clients. What has earned that confidence? A decent life, my integrity, my brains? No, my reputation for wealth . . that, and nothing else. Business now-a-days is run on the lines of the confidence trick. What makes old George Booth so glad to trust me with every penny he possesses? Not affection . . he's never cared for anything in his life but his collection of prints. No; he imagines that I have as big a stake in the country, as he calls it, as he has and he's perfectly happy.
edward.[stupefied, helpless.] So he's involved!
mr. voysey.Of course he's involved, and he's always after high interest too . . it's little one makes out of him. But there's a further question here, Edward. Should I have had confidence in myself, if I'd remained a poor man? No, I should not. You must either be the master of money or its servant. And if one is not opulent in one's daily life one loses that wonderful . . financier's touch. One must be confident oneself . . and I saw from the first that I must inspire confidence. My whole public and private life has tended to that. All my surroundings . . you and your brothers and sisters that I have brought into, and up, and put out in the world so worthily . . you in your turn inspire confidence.
edward.Not our worth, not our abilities, nor our virtues, but the fact that we travel first class and ride in hansoms.
mr. voysey.[impatiently.] Well, I haven't organised Society upon a basis of wealth.
edward.Is every single person who trusts you involved in your system?
mr. voysey.What new hole are you finding to pick in my conduct?
edward.My mind travelled naturally from George Booth with his big income to old Nursie with her savings which she brought you to invest. You've let those be, at least.
mr. voysey.I never troubled to invest them . . it wasn't worth while.
edward.Father!
mr. voysey.D'you know what she brought me? . . five hundred pounds.
edward.That's damnable.
mr. voysey.Indeed. I give her seventy five pounds a year for it. Would you like to take charge of that account, Edward? I'll give you five hundred to invest to-morrow.
edward,hopelessly beaten, falls into an almost comic state of despair.
edward,hopelessly beaten, falls into an almost comic state of despair.
edward.My dear Father, putting every moral question aside . . it's all very well your playing Robin Hood in this magnificent manner; but have you given a moment's thought to the sort of inheritance you'll be leaving me?
mr. voysey.[pleased for the first time.] Ah! That is a question you have every right to ask.
edward.If you died to-morrow could we pay eight shillings in the pound . . or seventeen . . or five? Do you know?
mr. voysey.And my answer is, that by your help I have every intention, when I die, of leaving a will behind me of property to you all running into six figures. D'you think I've given my life and my talents to this money making for a less result than that? I'm fond of you all . . and I want you to be proud of me . . and I mean that the name of Voysey shall be carried high in the world by my children and grandchildren. Don't you be afraid, Edward. Ah, you lack experience, my boy . . you're not full grown yet . . your impulses are a bit chaotic. You emotionalise over your work, and you reason about your emotions. You must sort yourself. You must realise that money making is one thing, and religion another, and family-life a third . . and that if we apply our energies whole-heartedly to each of these in turn, and realise that different laws govern each, that there is a different end to be served, a different ideal to be striven for in each,—
His coherence is saved by the sudden appearance of his wife, who comes round the door smiling benignly. Not in the least put out, in fact a little relieved, he greets her with an affectionate shout, for she is very deaf.
His coherence is saved by the sudden appearance of his wife, who comes round the door smiling benignly. Not in the least put out, in fact a little relieved, he greets her with an affectionate shout, for she is very deaf.
mr. voysey.Hullo, Mother!
mrs. voysey.Oh, there you are, Trench. I've been deserted.
mr. voysey.George Booth gone?
mrs. voysey.Are you talking business? Perhaps you don't want me.