[Singing.] "Thy gentle voice my spirit can cheer."
I told Mr. Burroughs I should cut it out. So ridiculously inappropriate!
And that—did it?
[Smiling at him.] That did it.
[Kneeling beside her, and embracing her tearfully.] My ducky! oh, but there are other theatres besides the "Wells"——-
For me? only where the same trash is acted.
[With a sob.] But a few months ago you l—l—liked your work.
Yes [dreamily], and then I went to Cavendish Square, engaged to Arthur——[Tom rises and leans upon the mantelpiece, looking into the fire.] How badly I behaved in Cavendish Square! how unlike a young lady! What if the old folks were overbearing and tyrannical, Arthur could be gentle with them. "They have not many more years in this world," he said—dear boy!—"and anything we can do to make them happy——" And whatdidI do?Therewas a chance for me—to be patient, and womanly; and I proved to them that I was nothing but—an actress.
[Rising, hurt but still tearful.] It doesn't follow, because one is a—-
[Rising.] Yes, 'Vonia, it does! We are only dolls, partly human, with mechanical limbs thatwillfall into stagey postures, and heads stuffed with sayings out of rubbishy plays. It isn't the world we live in, merelyaworld—such a queer little one! I was less than a month in Cavendish Square, and very few people came there; but they wererealpeople—real!For a month I lost the smell of gas and oranges, and the hurry and noise, and the dirt and the slang, and the clownish joking, at the "Wells." I didn't realize at the time the change that was going on in me; I didn't realize it till I came back. And then, by degrees, I discovered what had happened——
[Tom is now near her. She takes his hand and drops her head upon Avonia's shoulder. Wearily.]
Oh, Tom! oh, 'Vonia———[From the next room comes the sound of the throwing about of heavy objects, and of Gadd's voice uttering loud imprecations. Alarmed.] Oh——!
[Listening attentively.] Sounds like Ferdy. [She goes to the center door. At the keyhole.] Ferdy! aint you well, darling?
[On the other side of the door.]Avonia!
I'm in Miss Trelawny's room.
Ah!
[To Rose and Tom.] Now, what's put Ferdy out? [Gadd enters with a wild look.] Ferdinand!
Anything wrong, Gadd?
Wrong! wrong! [Sitting.] What d'ye think?
Tell us!
I have been asked to appear in the pantomime.
[Shocked.] Oh, Ferdy! you!
I, a serious actor, if ever there was one; a poetic actor——!
What part, Ferdy?
The insult, the bitter insult! the gross indignity!
What part, Ferdy?
I have not been seen in pantomime for years, not since I shook the dust of the T. R. Stockton from my feet.
Ferdy, what part?
I simply looked at Burroughs, when he preferred his request, and swept from the theatre.
What part, Ferdy?
A part, too, which is seen for a moment at the opening of the pantomime, and not again till its close.
Ferdy.
Eh?
.
What part?
A character called the Demon of Discontent.
[Rose turns away to the fireplace; Tom curls himself up on the sofa and is seen to shake with laughter.]
.
[Walking about indignantly.]Oh! [Returning to Gadd.] Oh, it's a rotten part! Rose, dear, I assure you, as artist to artist, that part is absolutely rotten. [To Gadd.] You won't play it, darling?
[Rising.] Play it! I would see the "Wells" in ashes first.
.
We shall lose our engagements, Ferdy. I know Burroughs; we shall be out, both of us.
Of course we shall. D'ye think I have not counted the cost?
[Putting her hand in his.] I don't mind, dear—for the sake of your position—[struck by a sudden thought] oh!
What——-?
There now—we haven't put by!
[There is a knock at the door.]
Who is that?
[Outside the door.] Is Gadd here, Miss Trelawny?
Yes.
I want to see him.
Wrench, I'll trouble you. Ask Mr. Colpoys whether he approaches me as a friend, an acquaintance, or in his capacity of stage manager at the "Wells"—the tool of Burroughs.
[Tom opens the door slightly. Gadd and Avonia join Bose at the fireplace.]
[At the door, solemnly.]Colpoys, are you here as Gadd's bosom friend, or as a mere tool of Burroughs?
[An inaudible colloquy follows between Tom and Colpoys. Tom's head is outside the door; his legs are seen to move convulsively, and the sound of suppressed laughter is heard.]
[Turning.] Well, well?
[Closing the door sharply, and facing Gadd with great seriousness.] He is here as the tool of Burroughs.
I will receive him.
[Tom admits Colpoys, who carries a mean-looking "part," and a letter.]
[After formally bowing to the ladies.] Oh, Gadd, Mr. Burroughs instructs me to offer you this part in the pantomime. [Handing the part to Gadd.] Demon of Discontent.
[Gadd takes the part and flings it to the ground; Avonia picks it up and reads it.]
You refuse it?
I do. [With dignity.] Acquaint Mr. Burroughs with my decision, and add that I hope his pantomime will prove an utterly mirthless one. May Boxing-night, to those unfortunate enough to find themselves in the theatre, long remain a dismal memory; and may succeeding audiences, scanty and dissatisfied——! [Colpoys presents Gadd with the letter. Gadd opens it and reads.] I leave. [Sitting.] The Romeo, the Orlando, the Clifford—leaves!
[Coming to Gadd, indicating some lines in the part.] Ferdy, this aint so bad. [Reading.]
"I'm Discontent! from Orkney's isle to Dover
To make men's bile bile-over I endover-"
'Vonia! [Taking the part from Avonia, with mingled surprise and pleasure.] Ho, ho! no, that's not bad. [Reading.]
Tempers, though sweet, I whip up to a lather,
Make wives hate husbands, sons wish fathers farther."
'Vonia, there's is something to lay hold of here! I'll think this over. [Rising, addressing Colpoys.] Gus, I have thought this over. I play it.
[They all gather round him, and congratulate him. Avonia embraces and kisses him.]
That's right!
I'm very pleased, Ferdinand.
[Tearfully.] Oh, Ferdy!
[In high spirits.] Egad, I play it! Gus, I'll stroll back with you to the "Wells." [Shaking hands with Rose.] Miss Trelawny———-! [Avonia accompanies Colpoys and Gadd to the door, clinging to Gadd, who is flourishing the part.] 'Vonia, I see myself in this! [Kissing her.] Steak for dinner!
[Gadd and Colpoys go out. Tom shrieks with laughter.]
[Turning upon him, angrily and volubly.]Yes, I heard you with Colpoys outside that door, if Gadd didn't. It's a pity, Mr. Wrench, you can't find something better to do——!
[Pacifically.] Hush, hush, 'Vonia! Tom, assist me with my basket; I'll give 'Vonia her belt——
[Tom and Rose go behind the curtains and presently emerge, carrying the dress-basket, which they deposit.]
[Flouncing across the room.] Making fun of Gadd! an artist to the roots of his hair! There's more talent in Gadd's little finger——!
[Rummaging among the contents of the basket] 'Vonia, 'Vonia!
And if Gadd is to play a demon in the pantomime, what doyoufigure as, Tom Wrench, among the half a dozen other things? Why, as part of a dragon! Yes, andwhich end—-?
[Quietly to Tom.] Apologize to 'Vonia at once, Tom.
[Meekly.] Mrs. Gadd, I beg your pardon.
[Coming to him and kissing him.] Granted, Tom; but you should be a little more considerate——
[Holding up the belt.] Here——!
[Taking the belt, ecstatically.] Oh, isn't it lovely! Rose, you dear! you sweet thing! [Singing a few bars of the Jewel song from Faust, then rushing at Rose and embracing her.] I'm going to try my dress on, to show Mrs. Burroughs. Come and help me into it. I'll unlock my door on my side——
[Tom politely opens the door for her to pass out.] Thank you, Tom—[kissing him again] only you should be more considerate toward Gadd——
[She disappears.]
[Calling after her.] I will be; I will—[Shutting the door.] Ha, ha, ha!
[Smiling.] Hush! poor 'Vonia! [Mending the fire.] Excuse me, Tom—have you a fire upstairs, in your room, to-day?
Er—n—not to-day—it's Saturday. I never have a fire on a Saturday.
[Coming to him.] Why not?
[Looking away from her.] Don't know—creatures of habit—-
[Gently touching his coat-sleeve.] Because if you would like to smoke your pipe by my fire while I'm with 'Vonia——
[The key is heard to turn in the lock of the center door.]
[From the next room.] It's unlocked.
I'm coming.
[She unbolts the door on her side, and goes into Avonia's room, shutting the door behind her. The lid of the dress-basket is open, showing the contents; a pair of little satin shoes lie at the top. Tom takes up one of the shoes and presses it to his lips. There is a knock at the door. He returns the shoe to the basket, closes the lid, and walks away.]
Yes?
[The door opens slightly and Imogen is heard.]
[Outside.] Is that you, Wrench?
Hullo!
[Imogen, in out-of-door costume, enters breathlessly.]
[Closing the door—speaking rapidly and excitedly.] Mossop said you were in Rose's room——
[Shaking hands with her.] She'll be here in a few minutes.
It's you I want. Let me sit down.
[Going to the armchair.] Here——
[Sitting on the right of the table, panting.] Not near the fire——
What's up?
Oh, Wrench! p'r'aps my fortune's made!
[Quite calmly.] Congratulate you, Jenny.
Do be quiet; don't make such a racket. You see, things haven't been going at all satisfactorily at the Olympic lately. There's Miss Puddifant——
I know—no lady.
Howdo you know?
Guessed.
Quite right; and a thousand other annoyances. And at last I took it into my head to consult Mr. Clandon, who married an aunt of mine and lives at Streatham, and he'll lend me five hundred pounds.
What for?
Towards taking a theatre.
[Dubiously.] Five hundred——
It's all he's good for, and he won't advance that unless I can get a further five, or eight, hundred from some other quarter.
What theatre!
The Pantheon happens to be empty.
Yes; it's been that for the last twenty years.
Don't throw wet blankets—I mean—[referring to her tablets, which she carries in her muff] I've got it all worked out in black and white. There's a deposit required on account of rent—two hundred pounds. Cleaning the theatre—[looking at Tom] what do you say?
Cleaning that theatre?
I say, another two hundred.
That would remove the top-layer——-
Cost of producing the opening play, five hundred pounds. Balance for emergencies, three hundred. You generally have a balance for emergencies.
You generally have the emergencies, if not the balance?
Now, the question is, will five hundred produce the play?
What play?
Your play.
[Quietly.] My——.
Your comedy.
[Turning to the fire—in a low voice.] Rubbish!
Well, Mr. Clandon thinks itisn't.[He faces her sharply.] I gave it to him to read, and he—well, he's quite taken with it.
[Walking about, his hands in his pockets, his head down, agitatedly.]Clandon—Landon—what's his name——-?
Tony Clandon—Anthony Clandon——
[Choking.] He's a—he's a—-
He's a hop-merchant.
No, he's not—[sitting on the sofa, leaning his head on his hands] he's a stunner.
[Rising] So you grasp the position. Theatre—manageress—author—play, found; and eight hundred poundswanted!
[Rising.] Oh Lord!
Who's got it?
[Wildly.] The Queen's got it! Miss Burdett-Coutts has got it!
Don't be a fool, Wrench. Do you remember old Mr. Morfew, of Duncan Terrace? He used to take great interest in us all at the "Wells." He has money.
He has gout; we don't see him now.
Gout! How lucky! That means he's at home. Will you run round to Duncan Terrace——?
[Looking down at his clothes.] I!
Nonsense, Wrench; we're not asking him to advance money on your clothes.
The clothes are the man, Jenny.
And the woman———?
The face is the woman; there's the real inequality of the sexes.
I'll go! Is my face good enough?
[Enthusiastically.] I should say so!
[Taking his hands.] Ha, ha! It has been in my possession longer than you have had your oldest coat, Tom!
Make haste, Jenny!
[Running up to the door.] Oh, it will last till I get to Duncan Terrace. [Turning.] Tom, you may have to read your play to Mr. Morfew. Have you another copy? Uncle Clandon has mine.
[Holding his head.] I think I have—-I don't know——-
Look for it! Find it! If Morfew wants to hear it, we must strike while the iron's hot.
While the gold's hot!
Ha, ha, ha!
[Mrs. Mossop enters, showing some signs of excitement.]
[Pushing her aside.] Oh, get out of the way, Mrs. Mossop—- [Imogen departs.]
Upon my——! [To Tom.] A visitor for Miss Trelawny! Where's Miss Trelawny?
With Mrs. Gadd. Mossop!
Don't bother me now——-
Mossop! The apartments vacated by the Tefferl's. Dare to let 'em without giving me the preference.
You!
[Seizing her hands and swinging her round.] I may be wealthy, sweet Rebecca![Embracing her.] I may be rich and honored!
Oh, have done! [Releasing herself.] My lodgers do take such liberties——
[At the door, grandly.] Beccy, half a scuttle of coal, to start with.
[He goes out, leaving the door slightly open.]
[Knocking at the center door.] Miss Trelawny, my dear! Miss Trelawny!
[The door opens, a few inches.]
[Looking out.] Why, what a clatter you and Mr. Wrench have been making———-!
[Beckoning her mysteriously.] Come here, dear.
[Closing the center door, and entering the room wonderingly.] Eh?
[In awe.] Sir William Gower!
Sir William.
Don't be vexed with me. "I'll see if she's at home," I said. "Oh, yes, woman, Miss Trelawny's at home," said he, and hobbled straight in. I've shut him in the Telfers' room——
[There are three distinct raps, with a stick, at the right-hand door.]
Oh-h!
[Faintly.] Open it.
[Mrs. Mossop opens the door, and Sir William enters. He is feebler, more decrepit, than when last seen. He wears a plaid about his shoulders and walks with the aid of a stick.]
[At the door.] Ah, and a sweet thing Miss Trelawny is——!
[Turning to her.] Are you a relative?
No, I amnota relative——!
Go. [She departs; he closes the door with the end of his stick. Facing Rose.] My mind is not commonly a wavering one, Miss Trelawny, but it has taken me some time—months—to decide upon calling on ye.
Won't you sit down?
[After a pause of hesitation, sitting upon the dress-basket.] Ugh!
[With quiet dignity.] Have we no chairs? Do we lack chairs here, Sir William?
[He gives her a quick, keen look, then rises and walks to the fire.]
[Suddenly, bringing his stick down upon the table with violence.] My grandson! my grandson! where is he?
Arthur!
I had but one.
Isn't he—in Cavendish Square—?
Isn't he in Cavendish Square! no, he is not in Cavendish Square, as you know well.
Oh, I don't know——
Tsch!
When did he leave you?
Tsch!
When?
He made his escape during the night, 22d of August last—[pointing his finger at her] as you know well.
Sir William. I assure you—-
Tsch! [Talcing off his gloves.] How often does he write to ye?
He does not write to me. He did write day after day, two or three times a day, for about a week. That was in June, when I came back here. [With drooping head.] He never writes now.
Visits ye——?
No.
Comes troubadouring——-?
No, no, no. I have not seen him since that night.
I refused to see him———[With a catch in her breath.] Why, he may be——!
[Fumbling in his pocket.] Ah, but he's not. He's alive [producing a small packet of letters]. Arthur's alive, [advancing to her] and full of his tricks still. His great-aunt Trafalgar receives a letter from him once a fortnight, posted in London——
[Holding out her hand for the letters.] Oh!
[Putting them behind his back.] Hey!
[Faintly.] I thought you wished me to read them. [He yields them to her grudgingly, she taking his hand and bending over it.] Ah, thank you.
[Withdrawing his hand with a look of disrelish.] What are ye doing, madam? what are ye doing?
[He sits, producing his snuff-box; she sits, upon the basket, facing him, and opens the packet of letters.]
[Reading a letter.] "To reassure you as to my well-being, I cause this to be posted in London by a friend——"
[Pointing a finger at her again, accusingly.] A friend!
[Looking up, with simple pride.] He would never call me that. [Reading.] "I am in good bodily health, and as contented as a man can be who has lost the woman he loves, and will love till his dying day—" Ah——!
Read no more! Return them to me! give them to me, ma'am! [Rising, she restores the letters, meekly. He peers up into her face.] What's come to ye? You are not so much of a vixen as you were.
[Shaking her head.] No.
[Suspiciously.] Less of the devil—?
I am sorry for having been a vixen, and for all my unruly conduct, in Cavendish Square. I humbly beg your, and Miss Gower's, forgiveness.
[Taking snuff, uncomfortably.]Pi—i—i—sh! extraordinary change.
Aren't you changed, Sir William, now that you have lost him?
Don't you love him now, the more? [His head droops a little, and his hands wander to the brooch which secures his plaid.] Let me take your shawl from you. You would catch cold when you go out——
[He allows her to remove the plaid, protesting during the process.]
I'll not trouble ye, ma'am. Much obleeged to ye, but I'll not trouble ye. [Rising.] I'll not trouble ye—-
[He walks away to the fireplace, and up the room. She folds the plaid and lays it upon the sofa. He looks round—speaking in an altered tone.] My dear, gypsying doesn't seem to be such a good trade with ye, as it used to be by all accounts——
[The center door opens and Avonia enters boldly, in the dress of a burlesque prince—cotton-velvet shirt, edged with bullion trimming, a cap, white tights, ankle boots, etc.]
[Unconsciously.] How's this, Rose———?