ACT III.

_The scene is the same as in_ ACT 1. MISS FAIRFIELD _sits reading_. SYDNEY _is fidgeting about the room_. BASSETT _comes in and begins to lay the cloth_. KIT, _who enters unseen behind her, sees_ MISS FAIRFIELD _and makes hastily up the stair on tip-toe_.

SYDNEY. [_Turning_] Oh, Bassett, isn’t it rather early for tea? Lunch was so late.

BASSETT. [_Desisting_] Oh, very well, miss.

MISS FAIRFIELD. Now, Sydney! Always trying to upset things! I’m more than ready for my tea. Bring it in at once, Bassett.

BASSETT. Very well, ma’am!

SYDNEY. Auntie, I know Mother won’t want to be disturbed.

MISS FAIRFIELD. It’s high time she was. Talk! Talk! No consideration. She’ll tire Hilary out. [_She goes towards the drawing-room._]

SYDNEY. [_Worried_] Auntie, I think--

MISS FAIRFIELD. Then you shouldn’t! [_She goes out._]

BASSETT. Shall I bring in tea, Miss Sydney?

SYDNEY. [_With a twinkle_] I think we’ll wait half an hour.

BASSETT. [_With an answering twinkle_] Very well, miss.

SYDNEY. Oh--Bassett--tell Mr. Kit that--er--that the coast’s clear.

BASSETT. He didn’t stay out with us, miss. Him and the puppy together was a bit too much for cook, with the turkey on her hands. [_Looking round_] He’s here somewhere, miss. [_She goes out._]

SYDNEY. [_Addressing space_] Kit, you idiot, come out!

KIT. [_Appearing at the head of the stairs_] I spend half my life dodging your aunt. [_As he runs downstairs he rakes a bunch of mistletoe from the top of a picture._] She spoilt the whole effect this morning, but now-- [_He advances on_ SYDNEY.]

SYDNEY. [_Enjoying herself_] What do you want now?

KIT. [_Chanting_] “The mistletoe hung in the old oak hall!”--

SYDNEY. [_Eluding him_] Shut up, Kit! [_They dodge and scuffle like two puppies till the drawing-room door opens, letting in the sound of voices._]

KIT. Sst! [_He dashes up the stairs and comes down again much more soberly as_ SYDNEY _says over her shoulder_--]

SYDNEY. It’s only Mother.

MARGARET _comes dragging into the room, shutting the door behind her_.

SYDNEY. [_The laughter dying out of her_] Oh, Mother, how white you look!

MARGARET. Has Kit gone?

SYDNEY. No, but I can get rid of him if you want me to.

MARGARET. I want him to wait. I want him to take a letter for me to Gray.

SYDNEY. Do you want Gray to come here?

MARGARET. I want him not to come here.

SYDNEY. Oh, I see, not till after Father’s gone.

MARGARET. He’s not going.

SYDNEY. Mother!

MARGARET _looks at her with twitching lips_.

SYDNEY. Mother, you haven’t--

MARGARET. I can’t talk to you now, Sydney.

SYDNEY. But Mother--

MARGARET. Please.

SYDNEY. But Mother--

MARGARET. Ask Kit to wait a few minutes.

SYDNEY. But--

MARGARET _goes into the inner room and sits down to write at a little desk near the window. Her back is turned to them and she is soon absorbed in her letter._ SYDNEY _stands deep in thought_.

KIT. [_At the foot of the stairs_] All serene?

SYDNEY _makes no answer_. KIT _prances up behind her with the bunch of mistletoe_.

KIT. [_Repeating his success_] “The mistletoe hung in the old oak hall!”

SYDNEY. [_Violently_] Oh, for God’s sake, stop it!

KIT. [_Quenched_] What’s the row?

SYDNEY. You never know when to stop.

KIT. Well, you needn’t snap out at a person--

SYDNEY. [_Impulsively_] Sorry! Oh, sorry, old man! I’m jumpy to-day.

KIT. [_Chaffing her_] Nervy old thing!

SYDNEY. [_Stricken_] I--I suppose I am.

KIT. One minute you’re as nice as pie, and then you fizz up like a seidlitz powder, all about nothing.

SYDNEY. All about nothing. Sorry, my old Kit, sorry! [_She flings herself down on the sofa. Then, with an effort_] Come and talk. What’s the news?

KIT. I told you it all this morning. What’s yours?

SYDNEY. I like yours better. How’s the pamphlet going?

KIT. Nearly done. I put in all your stuff.

SYDNEY. [_Absently_] Good.

KIT. Though you know, I don’t agree with it. What I feel is--you’re not listening.

SYDNEY. [_Slowly_] Kit, talking of that paper--I read somewhere--suppose now--is it true it can skip a generation?

KIT. It? What?

SYDNEY. Oh--any illness. Consumption or--well, say insanity. Suppose--_you_, for instance--suppose you were a queer family--a little, you know. Say your mother or your father was queer--and you weren’t. You were perfectly fit, you understand, perfectly fit--

KIT. Well?

SYDNEY. What about the children?

KIT. I wouldn’t risk it. Thank the Lord your father’s only shell-shock.

SYDNEY. Why?

KIT. You can’t pass on shell-shock.

SYDNEY. Then you can pass on insanity--even if you’re fit yourself?

KIT. Of course you can.

SYDNEY. It would be very wicked, wouldn’t it--to children? Oh, it would be wicked. I suppose when people are in love they don’t think.

KIT. Won’t think.

SYDNEY. But isn’t there a school that says there’s no such thing as heredity?

KIT. Well, all I know is I wouldn’t risk it.

SYDNEY. It--it’s hard on people.

KIT. My word, yes. They say that’s why old Alliot never married.

SYDNEY. [_High and mightily_] Oh, village gossip.

KIT. [_Apologetically_] Well, you know what the mater is.

SYDNEY. [_Abandoning her dignity_] Who was it, Kit?

KIT. Old Miss Robson.

SYDNEY. Rot!

KIT. Fact.

SYDNEY. But she’s all right.

KIT. Had a game sister.

SYDNEY. Of course! I just remember her. She used to scare me.

KIT. Oh, it must be true. They’re such tremendous pals still.

SYDNEY. Poor old things!

KIT. Rotten for her.

SYDNEY. Rottener for him! What did she go on being pals with him for?

KIT. Why shouldn’t she?

SYDNEY. Well it stopped him marrying anyone else. She oughtn’t to have let him.

KIT. You can’t stop a person being fond of you.

SYDNEY. When it’s a man you can.

KIT. My dear girl, you don’t know what you’re talking about.

SYDNEY. My dear boy, if a girl finds out that it’s not right for her to marry a man, it’s up to her to choke him off.

KIT. Rot!

SYDNEY. Well, I think so.

KIT. Couldn’t be done.

SYDNEY. Couldn’t it just?

KIT. Any man would see through it.

SYDNEY. As if any man ever saw through anything! As if I couldn’t choke you off in five minutes if I wanted to!

KIT. I’d like to see you try!

SYDNEY. Would you?

KIT. My dear girl, we’re not all fools where women are concerned.

SYDNEY. I admire your air of conviction.

KIT. Don’t be clever-clever, old thing. Be-- [_His arm slips round her._]

SYDNEY. [_Edging away_] Don’t.

KIT. [_He glances round hastily at_ MARGARET, _but she is deep in writing_.] Why not?

SYDNEY. [_Deliberately_] I hate being pawed. [_A pause._]

KIT. Look here, Sydney, d’you call this a way of spending Christmas afternoon?

SYDNEY. [_Her lip quivering_] It isn’t much of a way, is it?

KIT. Well then, old thing! [_Again the arm._]

SYDNEY. [_Icily_] I told you to leave me alone.

KIT. [_Rising, huffed_] Oh, well, if you can’t be decent, I’m going.

SYDNEY. [_Sweetly_] Counter attraction?

KIT. [_Wheeling round on her_] Now, my dear old thing, look here. I know it’s only a sort of way you’ve got into; but when you say--“men!”--with a sort of sneer, and “other attractions”--like that, in that voice, it just sounds cheap. I hate it. It’s not like you. I wish you wouldn’t.

SYDNEY. Dear me!

KIT. Now I suppose you’re annoyed.

SYDNEY. Oh, no, I’m only amused.

KIT. [_Heavily_] There’s nothing amusing about me, Sydney. I’m in earnest.

SYDNEY. I’m sure you are. You got out of answering an innocent little question quite neatly. It looks like practice.

KIT. [_Harried_] Now, look here, Sydney, I swear to you--

SYDNEY. [_Like the ghost in Hamlet_] Swear!

KIT. If you’re thinking of Alice Hewitt I’ve only met her four times.

SYDNEY. Oh, so her name’s Alice!

KIT. Didn’t you know?

SYDNEY. Never heard of her till this minute.

KIT. Then what on earth have you been driving at.

SYDNEY. Trying an experiment.

KIT. If it’s because you’re jealous--

SYDNEY. Jealous! Jealous of a--What colour are her eyes?

KIT. [_Carelessly_] How’d I know?

SYDNEY. [_With a sudden spurt of suspicion_] Kit! What colour are mine?

KIT. [_Helplessly_] Oh, er--oh--

SYDNEY. [_Terribly_] Kit! What colour are mine? [_Relenting_] Look at my frock, you donkey! What do you suppose I wear blue for? So Alice has got blue eyes!

KIT. How do you know?

SYDNEY. I know you, Kit. You’re conservative.

KIT. As a matter of fact, she isn’t unlike you. That’s what made me talk to her.

SYDNEY. Oh, you’ve talked to her?

KIT. [_Warming_] Oh, yes--quite a lot. She’s a friend of my sister’s.

SYDNEY. She always is.

KIT. What d’you mean--“she always is”? I tell you I’ve only met her four times. I can’t make you out.

SYDNEY. No?

KIT. I wish I could make you out.

SYDNEY. [_An ache in her voice_] Oh, I wish you could.

KIT. [_Responding instantly_] I say, old thing, is anything really the matter?

SYDNEY. [_With a glance at_ MARGARET] I’m worried.

KIT. Oh, that! Yes, it’s beastly for your mother.

SYDNEY. Oh, it’s not that. At least--

KIT. What?

SYDNEY. [_Lightly_] Oh, I don’t know.

KIT. [_Puzzled_] Can’t you tell me?

SYDNEY. No, old man.

KIT. [_As in_ ACT. I.] But--look here--marriage has got to be a sort of mutual show, hasn’t it? Confidence, and all that?

SYDNEY _goes off into a peal of laughter_.

KIT. What’s the matter now?

SYDNEY. Do you preach this sort of sermon to Alice?

KIT. Sydney--that’s--that’s rude--that’s--that’s--

SYDNEY. Take time, darling!

KIT. You’re being simply insulting.

SYDNEY. Too bad! I should go and tell Alice.

KIT. Damn Alice!

SYDNEY. Oh, no, Kit, she’s got blue eyes.

KIT. [_Storming_] Look here, what’s up?

SYDNEY. Nix.

KIT. Have you really got your back up? What’s the matter with you, Sydney?

SYDNEY. D’you want to know?

KIT. [_With a certain dignity_] I think I’d better.

SYDNEY. Well, it’s [_yawning_] “jam to-morrow, jam yesterday, but--” Surely you know how it ends?

KIT. I don’t. And I don’t want to.

SYDNEY. [_Drearily_] “But never jam to-day.”

KIT. [_Startled_] Why, Sydney!

SYDNEY. [_Recovering herself, lightly_] D’you know what that’s out of?

KIT. No.

SYDNEY. [_Mischievously_] You ought to--“Alice”--

KIT _makes a furious gesture_.

SYDNEY. [_Appeasing him_] No, no, no! “Alice through the Looking-glass!” [_More soberly_] I can’t help it, Kit. When I look in the looking-glass I see--Alice.

KIT. Once and for all, Sydney, will you shut up about Alice?

SYDNEY. Can’t. It’s her jam to-day.

KIT. I wish you’d talk sense for a change.

SYDNEY. But I am. I’m conveying to you as nicely and tactfully as possible that I’m--

KIT. [_Apprehensive at last_] What, Sydney?

SYDNEY. Tired of jam.

KIT. [_Heavily_] D’you mean you’re tired of me?

SYDNEY. That would be putting it crudely.

KIT. What’s got into you? I don’t know you.

SYDNEY. P’raps you’re beginning to.

KIT. But what have I done?

SYDNEY. [_Flaring effectively_] Well, for one thing you shouldn’t have told your father we were engaged. What girl, do you suppose, would stand it? You ask Alice.

KIT. [_Flaring in reality_] If you’re not jolly careful I will.

SYDNEY. [_Egging him on_] Good for you!

KIT. [_Furious_] And if I do I’ll ask her more than that.

SYDNEY. [_Clapping her hands_] I should go and do it now, if I were you. Strike while the iron’s hot.

KIT. You’re mad.

SYDNEY. [_With intense bitterness_] Yes, I suppose that’s the right word to fling at me.

KIT. [_Between injury and distress_] I never meant that. You’re twisting the words in my mouth. You’re just picking a quarrel.

SYDNEY. [_Lazily_] Well, what’s one to do with a little boy who won’t take his medicine? I tried to give it you in jam.

KIT. [_Curt_] You want me to go?

SYDNEY. Yes.

KIT. For good?

SYDNEY. Yes.

KIT. Honest?

SYDNEY. Yes.

KIT. Right. [_He turns from her and goes out._]

MARGARET. [_Looking up_] Was that Kit? Sydney, don’t let him go.

SYDNEY. Kit! Ki-it!

KIT. [_Returning joyfully_] Yes! Yes, old thing?

SYDNEY. [_Impassively_] Mother wants you.

MARGARET. Oh, Kit--would you take this for me? It’s for Mr. Meredith. I expect you’ll meet him, but if not, I want you to take it on. At once, Kit.

KIT. Right, Mrs. Fairfield!

MARGARET. [_Detaining him_] What’s the matter, Kit?

KIT. [_His head up_] Nothing, Mrs. Fairfield.

SYDNEY. Mother, Kit’s got to go.

KIT. [_Resentfully_] It’s all right. I’m going. You needn’t worry.

MARGARET. [_Humorously, washing her hands of them_] Oh, you two!

_She turns away from them and stands, her arm on the mantel-piece, staring into the fire._ KIT _marches to the door_.

SYDNEY. [_In spite of herself, softly_] Kit!

KIT. [_Quickly_] Yes?

SYDNEY. [_Recovering herself, impishly_] You’ll give her my love?

KIT. You’re a beast, Sydney Fairfield! [_He goes out with a slam._]

SYDNEY. [_In a changed voice_] You’ll give her _my_ love. [_Running to the door._] Kit! [_The door opens again, but it is_ GRAY MEREDITH _who comes in_.]

GRAY. Sydney, what’s wrong with Kit? He went past me like a gust of wind.

MARGARET. [_Coming up to them_] He didn’t give you my note?

GRAY. He never looked at me. What note?

MARGARET. I--

GRAY. Aren’t you ready? Why aren’t you dressed?

MARGARET. I--

GRAY. You must be quick, dearest.

MARGARET. I-- [_She sways where she stands._]

GRAY _goes to her, and half clinging to him, half repulsing him, she sits down with her arm on the table and her head on her arm_.

GRAY. Of course! Worn out! You should have come an hour ago.

MARGARET. Yes.

GRAY. Never mind that now. Sydney, get your mother’s wraps.

MARGARET. [_Agitated_] Sydney--wait--no.

GRAY. Warm things. It’s bitter, driving.

SYDNEY. [_Uncertainly_] Gray, I think--

GRAY. Get them, please.

_After a tiny pause and look at him_ SYDNEY _obeys. You see her go upstairs and disappear along the gallery._

GRAY. [_Solicitous_] I was afraid it would come hard on you. Has he--? But you can tell me all that later.

MARGARET. I must tell it you now.

GRAY. Be quick, then. We’ve got a fifty mile drive before us.

MARGARET. [_Not looking at him_] I--I’m not coming.

GRAY. [_Smiling_] Not? There, sit quiet a moment. My dear--my dear heart--you’re all to pieces.

MARGARET. I’m not coming.

GRAY. [_Checking what he takes for hysteria]_ Margaret--Margaret--

MARGARET. I’m not coming. It’s Hilary.

GRAY. What? Collapsed again? I thought as much.

MARGARET. I--

GRAY. Tragic! But--it simplifies his problem, poor devil. Has Alliot charge of him?

MARGARET. No, no. It’s not that. He’s not ill. He’s well. That’s it. He’s well--and--he won’t let me go.

GRAY. He won’t, won’t he? [_He turns from her._]

MARGARET. Where are you going?

GRAY. To settle this matter. Where is he?

MARGARET. Leave him alone. It’s me you must punish. I’ve made up my mind. Oh, how am I to tell you? He convinced me. He--cried, Gray. [_Then, as_ GRAY _makes a quick gesture_] You mustn’t sneer. You must understand. He’s so unhappy. And there’s Sydney to think of. And Gray, he won’t marry us.

GRAY. What’s that?

MARGARET. The Rector. He’s been here.

GRAY. [_Furious_] My God, why wasn’t I?

MARGARET. And Aunt Hester--she made it worse. [_Despairingly_] You see what it is--they all think I’m wicked.

GRAY. Damned insolence!

MARGARET. But it’s not them--it’s Hilary. I did fight them. I can’t fight Hilary. I see it. It’s my own fault. I ought never to have let myself care for you.

GRAY. Talk sense.

MARGARET. But there it is. It’s too much for me. I’ve got to stay with him.

GRAY. [_For the first time taking her seriously_] Say that again, Margaret, if you dare--

MARGARET. I’ve got to--stay-- [_With a sharp crying note in her voice_] Gray, Gray, don’t look at me like that!

_He turns abruptly away from her and walks across to the hearth. He stands a moment, deep in thought, takes out and lights a cigarette, realises what he is doing, and with an exclamation flings it into the fire. Then he comes to_ MARGARET, _who has not moved_.

GRAY. [_Very quietly_] This--this is rather an extraordinary statement, isn’t it?

MARGARET. [_Shrinking_] Don’t use--that tone.

GRAY. I am being as patient as I can. But--it’s not easy.

MARGARET. Easy--?

GRAY. Do you mind telling me exactly what you mean?

MARGARET. I can’t talk. You know I’m not clever. I’m trying to do what’s right--

GRAY. Then shall I tell you?

MARGARET _makes a little quick movement with her hands, but she says nothing_.

GRAY. [_Watching her keenly while he speaks_] You mean that you’ve made a mistake--

MARGARET. [_Misunderstanding_] Yes.

GRAY.--that the last five years goes for nothing--that you don’t care for me.

MARGARET. Gray!

GRAY. Wait. That you’ve never cared for me--that you don’t want to marry me--

MARGARET. How can you say these things to me?

GRAY. But aren’t they true?

MARGARET. You know--you know they’re not true.

GRAY. Then what do you mean when you say, “I won’t come?”

MARGARET. I mean--Hilary. I’ve got to put him first because--because he’s weak. You--you’re strong.

GRAY. Not strong enough to do without my birthright. I want my wife and my children. I’ve waited a long while for you. Now you must come.

SYDNEY _comes down the stairs, a red furred cloak over her arm. She pauses a few steps from the bottom, afraid to break in on them._

MARGARET. If Hilary’s left alone he’ll go mad again.

GRAY. Margaret--come.

MARGARET. How can I?

GRAY. Margaret, my own heart--come.

MARGARET. You oughtn’t to torture me. I’ve got to do what’s right.

GRAY. [_Darkening_] Are you coming with me? I shan’t ask it again.

MARGARET. Oh, God--You hear him! What am I to do?

SYDNEY _comes down another step_.

GRAY. Why, you’re to do as you choose. I shan’t force you. I’m not your turn-key. I’m not your beggar. We’re free people, you and I. It’s for you to say if you’ll keep your--conscience, do you call it?--and lose--

MARGARET. I’ve lost what I love. There’s no more to lose.

GRAY. You sing as sweetly as a toy nightingale. Almost I’d think you were real.

MARGARET. [_Wounded_] I don’t know what you mean.

GRAY. “What you love!” You don’t know the meaning of the notes you use.

MARGARET. [_Very white, but her voice is steady_] Don’t deceive yourself. I love you. I ache and faint for you. I starve--

SYDNEY. [_Appalled, whispering_] What is it? I don’t know her.

MARGARET. I’m withering without you like cut grass in the sun. I love you. I love you. Can’t you see how it is with me? But--

GRAY. There’s no “but” in love.

MARGARET. What is it in me? There’s a thing I can’t do. I can’t see such pain.

GRAY. [_Hoarsely_] Do you think _I_ can’t suffer?

MARGARET. I _am_ you. But he--he’s so defenceless. It’s vivisection--like cutting a dumb beast about to make me well. I can’t do it. I’d rather die of my cancer.

GRAY. [_The storm breaking_] Die then--you fool--you fool!

SYDNEY _descends another step. The cloak slides from her hands on to the baluster._

GRAY. [_Without expression_] Good-bye.

MARGARET. [_Blindly_] Forgive--

GRAY. How can I?

MARGARET. I would you--

GRAY. D’you think I bear you malice? It’s not I. Why, to deny me, that’s a little thing. I’ll not go under because you’re faithless. But what you’re doing is the sin without forgiveness. You’re denying--not me--but life. You’re denying the spirit of life. You’re denying--you’re denying your mate.

SYDNEY. [_Strung up to breaking point_] Mother, you shall not.

MARGARET. [_As they both turn_] Sydney!

SYDNEY. [_Coming down to them_] I tell you--I tell you, you shall not.

MARGARET. [_Sitting down, with a listless gesture_] I must. There’s no way out.

SYDNEY. There is. For _you_ there is. I’ve thought it all along, and now I know. Father--he’s my job, not yours.

MARGARET. [_With a last flicker of passion_] D’you think I’ll make a scape-goat of my own child?

SYDNEY. [_Sternly_] Can you help it? I’m his child. [_She throws herself down beside her_] Mother! Mother darling, don’t you see? You’re no good to him. You’re scared of him. But I’m his own flesh and blood. I know how he feels. I’ll make him happier than you can. Be glad for me. Be glad I’m wanted somewhere.

MARGARET. [_Struggling against the hope that is flooding her_] But Kit, Sydney--Kit?

SYDNEY. [_With a queer little laugh that ends, though it does not begin, quite naturally_] Bless him, I’ll be dancing at his wedding in six months.

MARGARET. But all you ought to have--

SYDNEY. [_Jumping up flippantly_] Oh, I’m off getting married. I’m going to have a career.

MARGARET.--the love--the children--

SYDNEY. [_Strained_] No children for me, Mother. No children for me. I’ve lost my chance for ever.

MARGARET. [_Weakly_] No--no--

SYDNEY. [_Smiling down at her_] But you--you take it. I give it to you.

MARGARET. But--

SYDNEY. [_Dominant_] What’s the use of arguing? I’ve made up my mind.

MARGARET. But if your father--

SYDNEY. [_At the end of her endurance_] Go away, Mother. Go away quickly. This is my job, not yours. [_She turns abruptly from them to the window, and stands staring out into the darkening garden._]

MARGARET. [_Dazed_] So--so-- [_She sways, hesitating, unbelieving, like a bird at the open door of its cage_] So--I can come.

GRAY _makes no answer_.

MARGARET. [_With a new full note in her voice_] Gray, I can come.

GRAY. [_Without moving_] Can you, Margaret?

MARGARET. [_In heaven_] I can come.

GRAY. [_Impassively_] Are you sure?

MARGARET. [_In quick alarm_] What do you mean?

GRAY. [_Stonily_] Why, you could deny me. You’ve chopped and changed. I want proof that you’ve still a right to come.

MARGARET. [_Like a child_] You’re angry with me?

GRAY. No.

MARGARET. You’re angry with me.

GRAY. I want proof.

MARGARET. I get frightened. I’m made so. Always I’ve been afraid--of Hilary--of everyone--of life. But now--you--you’re angry, you’re so angry, you’re very angry with me--and I-- [_She goes steadily across the room to him. He makes no movement_] I’m not afraid. [_She puts up her hands, and drawing him down to her kisses him on the mouth._] Is that proof?

GRAY. [_Quietly_] Proof enough. Come.

_He takes the cloak and throws it round her. They go out together. As_ SYDNEY, _forgotten, stands looking after them_, BASSETT _enters with the tea-tray. She puts it down on the table and turns up the lights._

BASSETT. Is the gentleman staying to tea, miss?

SYDNEY. [_Correcting her_] Mr. Fairfield. It’s my father, Bassett.

BASSETT. We thought so, miss?

SYDNEY. [_Smiling faintly_] Did you, Bassett?

BASSETT. He’s got your way, miss! Quick-like! [_She opens the drawing-room door_] Tea’s ready, ma’am. [_Outside the motor drives away._]

MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Entering with_ HILARY] Tea’s very late. [BASSETT _goes out_.]

HILARY. I thought I heard the sound of a car. [_Suspiciously_] Where’s your mother?

SYDNEY. She’s gone away.

HILARY. [_Stricken_] Gone?

SYDNEY. Gone away for good.

HILARY. Where?

SYDNEY. Out of our lives.

HILARY. With--?

SYDNEY. [_Quickly_] Out of our lives.

MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Furiously_] This is your doing, Sydney.

HILARY. [_Dazed_] Gone. Everything gone.

SYDNEY. I’m not gone.

HILARY. But that boy--?

SYDNEY. That’s done with.

MISS FAIRFIELD. You’ve jilted him?

SYDNEY. Yes.

MISS FAIRFIELD. Like mother, like daughter.

SYDNEY. Just so.

MISS FAIRFIELD. I pray you get your punishment.

SYDNEY. Your prayers will surely be answered, Auntie.

HILARY. [_Slowly_] It was a cruel thing to do.

SYDNEY. He’ll get over it. Men--they’re not like us.

HILARY. [_Timidly_] You loved him?

SYDNEY. What’s that to anyone but me?

HILARY. [_Peering at her_] You’re crying.

SYDNEY. I’m not.

HILARY. You love him?

SYDNEY. I suppose so.

HILARY. Then why? Then why?

SYDNEY. We’re in the same boat, Father.

MISS FAIRFIELD. Yes, that’s the way they talk now, Hilary. They know too much, the young women. It upsets everything.

HILARY _sits down on the sofa_.

HILARY. [_Broken_] I don’t see ahead. I don’t see what’s to become of me. There’s no-one.

SYDNEY. There’s me.

HILARY. [_Not looking at her_] I should think you hate me.

SYDNEY. I need you just as badly as you need me.

HILARY. [_Fiercely_] It’s your damn-clever doing that she went. D’you think I can’t hate you?

SYDNEY. [_Close to him_] No, no, Father, you want me too much. We’ll make a good job of it yet.

HILARY. [_His head in his hands_] What job?

SYDNEY. [_Petting him, coaxing him, loving him, her hands quieting his twitching hands, her strong will already controlling him_] Living. I’ve got such plans already, Father--Father dear. We’ll do things. We’ll have a good time somehow, you and I--you and I. Did you know you’d got a clever daughter? Writing--painting--acting! We’ll go on tour together. We’ll make a lot of money. We’ll have a cottage somewhere. You see, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make you proud of me.

MISS FAIRFIELD. [_Surveying them_] Proud of her! D’you see, Hilary? That’s all she thinks of--self--self--self! Money, ambition--and sends that poor boy away. A parson’s son! Not good enough for her, that’s what it is. She’s like the rest of the young women. Hard as nails! Hard as nails!

SYDNEY. [_Crying out_] Don’t you listen to her, Father! Father, don’t believe her! I’m not hard. I’m not hard.

_His arm goes round her with a gesture, awkward, timid, yet fatherly._

THE CURTAIN FALLS.

_May-June, 1920._

WOODS & SONS, LTD., Printers, London, N. 1. (W.W.A.)