Part 4

(_Draws her into the summer-house, closes and locks the door._)

BALDWIN.

(_In unrestrained delight._) Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw!

MICHAEL.

(_Looking around him._) Wasn’t Miss Lesley speaking to you a second ago, Baldwin?

BALDWIN.

She were, sir. Haw! Haw!

MICHAEL.

(_Regarding the amused BALDWIN with severity._) Where did she go to?

BALDWIN.

She’s gorne, sir.

MICHAEL.

I asked you _where_ she had gone to.

BALDWIN.

No, sir; I couldn’t tell yer that, sir. I reely couldn’t.

(_He guffaws again._)

MICHAEL.

Have you been drinking, Baldwin?

BALDWIN.

Me, sir? Drinking? ’Pon me honour, sir, I ain’t touched a drop o’ that whisky. It’s mortal ’ard, sir, that a man o’ my years should be tole ’e’s in liquor twice in one evenin’! An’ me teetotal ’cept for me pint o’ four-’arf at dinner an’ supper and a drop o’ somethin’ on Saturday night.

MICHAEL.

Do you know the day of the week, Baldwin?

BALDWIN.

(_After a pause._) Lor’, sir, if it ain’t Sat’day.... But I give you me word, sir, I ain’t——

MICHAEL.

Very well, Baldwin. But you must admit that your conduct was peculiar. Perhaps now you will be so good as to tell me where Miss Lesley went to.

BALDWIN.

She—she——

(_He starts laughing again._)

MICHAEL.

Do you mean to tell me she has climbed up the tree again?

BALDWIN.

Maybe she ’as, sir, an’ maybe she ’asn’t. Haw! Haw!

MICHAEL.

(_Angrily._) Fool! (_Goes to the trunk, and, standing in the shadow, looks up into the branches._) Clare.... Clare.... I see you, you naughty little girl.... You’ve led me a pretty dance to-night.... Clare.... If you don’t come down I’ll climb up and fetch you....

(_LADY PATRICIA enters quickly on the left._)

LADY PATRICIA.

(_To BALDWIN, her finger on her lip._) Hush!

(_She tiptoes quickly across the stage and seizes MICHAEL by the shoulders._)

MICHAEL.

Oh! (_He faces her and falls back._) Patricia!

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Falling back an amazed step._) Michael!

BALDWIN.

(_In an ecstasy of glee._) The wrong man! Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!

(_He doubles up with laughter. LADY PATRICIA and MICHAEL regard him in silent amazement and consternation._)

LADY PATRICIA.

(_To MICHAEL._) I’m afraid he’s——

(_Touches her forehead._)

MICHAEL.

Good God!...

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Gently._) Don’t you think it’s better you went now, Baldwin?

BALDWIN.

Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!

MICHAEL.

You ought to stay in bed to-morrow.

BALDWIN.

Bed, sir?...

LADY PATRICIA.

Or sit quietly in the sweet sunshine at your cottage door.

BALDWIN.

Yes’m....

LADY PATRICIA.

Good-night, Baldwin.

BALDWIN.

Good-night, mum. Good-night, sir.

(_He walks stolidly to the ladder on the left; then, just before descending, starts once more guffawing and continues as he descends. LADY PATRICIA and MICHAEL look at each other in pitying astonishment._)

LADY PATRICIA.

Poor old man! I fear he is breaking up at last!

MICHAEL.

God forgive me, dearest; I thought he had been drinking.

LADY PATRICIA.

Let us make the twilight of his long day full of peace and fragrance.

MICHAEL.

He shall never want.

(_A nightingale begins its song in the distance._)

LADY PATRICIA.

Ah, listen! Ah, listen, dear heart!

MICHAEL.

The nightingale.

LADY PATRICIA.

We have not far to go, you and I, to reach that land where music and moonlight and feeling are one!

MICHAEL.

Music and moonlight and feeling——

LADY PATRICIA.

Are one....

MICHAEL.

Sweet bird!

(_A pause. They listen “emparadised in one another’s arms.”_)

LADY PATRICIA.

But where have you been, dearest? For the last half-hour I have been looking for you down shadowy paths and by moonlit waters.

MICHAEL.

And I for you.

LADY PATRICIA.

Cousin Bill went indoors as he had something he wished to say to his mother. So I seized the opportunity to find _you_.

MICHAEL.

Miss Lesley left me to speak to her father—and I thought I would snatch a beautiful moment with my wife.

LADY PATRICIA.

Cousin Bill said he would come back to me in a moment.

MICHAEL.

Miss Lesley too. I’m afraid they may be hunting for us.

LADY PATRICIA.

Poor children! But they will forgive us when they know we have been together—and so happy. Tell me, dear, why were you looking so fixedly up the tree when I came just now?

(_MICHAEL looks apprehensively towards the tree._)

MICHAEL.

I—I was looking for a nightingale.

LADY PATRICIA.

A nightingale?...

MICHAEL.

Yes.

LADY PATRICIA.

I thought for a moment some one had climbed the tree, as you seemed to be speaking up into it.

MICHAEL.

I was making fluting sounds so as to encourage the bird to sing.

LADY PATRICIA.

How clever of you, dear! And now it’s singing in the bushes near the pond.

MICHAEL.

Perhaps I frightened it out of the tree.

LADY PATRICIA.

Perhaps you did.... Darling.

MICHAEL.

Yes?

LADY PATRICIA.

Has it ever occurred to you that child may misconstrue your beautiful friendship for her?

MICHAEL.

(_Startled._) Clare!

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Coldly._) Clare?

MICHAEL.

Er—Miss Lesley?

LADY PATRICIA.

Yes.

MICHAEL.

Oh, Patricia, how can you think such a thing! Our friendship is like the friendship of two men or two women, the elder tenderly guiding the younger towards a higher, saner, nobler, larger view of life. (_He glances apprehensively at the tree._)

LADY PATRICIA.

Exquisite! Ideal! But haven’t you noticed, Michael, that the child no longer accepts your companionship with the same frank pleasure as before? I have watched her lately. It seems to me as though she were always trying to avoid you.

MICHAEL.

(_Roused._) Avoid _me_! Clare!

LADY PATRICIA.

Do you call her by her Christian name?

MICHAEL.

Only in moments of excitement. Avoid me! Impossible!

LADY PATRICIA.

No, dear, not impossible. And when a girl pointedly avoids a man, it too often means—pursue me.

MICHAEL.

(_Distinctly relieved._) Ah!... Ah! yes. But I think you must be mistaken.

LADY PATRICIA.

Indeed, I hope so. But you must be careful. You are so attractive, Michael.

MICHAEL.

Oh, nonsense, darling!... Strangely enough, a week or two ago I was on the point of warning you in just the same way.

LADY PATRICIA.

Warning me?

MICHAEL.

I used to watch that boy’s eyes when he looked at you. They were the eyes of a loving spaniel.

LADY PATRICIA.

Cousin Bill’s?

MICHAEL.

Yes; and I felt sorry for him. But I think his infatuation was only temporary.

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Sharply._) Temporary? What do you mean?

MICHAEL.

He no longer sits at your feet and follows you about as much as he used to.

LADY PATRICIA.

You are quite wrong. His cousinly affection is the same now as it ever was. He was never in any way infatuated.

MICHAEL.

How could he help it, dearest? You are so wonderful!

LADY PATRICIA.

Am I? I wonder! (_A pause._) I think we really ought to join the others now, dearest.

MICHAEL.

(_With a glance into the tree._) Very well.

(_LADY PATRICIA, who has moved towards the ladder on the left, turns and notices MICHAEL’S upward gaze._)

LADY PATRICIA.

What is it, dear?

MICHAEL.

I—I was looking for a star.

LADY PATRICIA.

Which star?

MICHAEL.

Arcturus.

LADY PATRICIA.

But Arcturus is low in the west.

MICHAEL.

How stupid of me!

(_They go out. The stage is empty for a moment. The nightingale sings on. Then BALDWIN enters—hurriedly for him—up the central ladder. He goes—softly for him—to the summer-house, after carefully looking over the edge of the platform to see that the coast is quite clear. He listens, nods his head, and grins. Then he taps gently on the door and listens again. Receiving no reply, he taps once more and listens. Finally he speaks in a husky whisper._)

BALDWIN.

It’s all right, sir. It’s all right, miss. They’ve gorne. (_The summer-house remains silent._) They’ve gorne.... It’s all right, sir. (_Taps at the door._) They’ve gorne. (_Taps again after a pause._) They’ve gorne....

(_The door suddenly flies open._)

BILL.

(_In the doorway._) What the devil d’you want, Baldwin?

BALDWIN.

Beg pardon, sir?

BILL.

What do you want?

BALDWIN.

They’ve gorne, sir.

BILL.

I can’t help that, can I?

BALDWIN.

No, sir.

BILL.

Well, then?

BALDWIN.

You see, sir, it’s like this. I thought as ’ow——

CLARE.

(_Invisible in the dark interior of the summer-house._) Oh, Baldwin, for the love of heaven, hook it!

BALDWIN.

’Ook it?

CLARE.

Yes; run away, like a dear.

BALDWIN.

Very good, miss.

(_BALDWIN goes out by the central ladder._)

BILL.

(_Speaking into the summer-house._) Darling.

CLARE.

(_In the summer-house._) You’ve pulled all my hair down——

BILL.

Oh, I——

CLARE.

I’ve lost at least six hair-pins. You needn’t have been so rough.

BILL.

I’m awfully sorry, darling—but—— (_He is about to re-enter the summer-house._)

CLARE.

No, stay where you are....

(_She emerges from the summer-house, and moves past him to the front of the platform. Her hair is all loose and dishevelled. She starts shaking it out._)

BILL.

Darling——

CLARE.

Don’t touch me....

BILL.

Clare!...

CLARE.

Please find those hair-pins, and the two side-combs. They’re all real tortoise-shell.

BILL.

But I say——

CLARE.

Find those hair-pins, or, at any rate, the side-combs.

BILL.

Oh, all right....

(_He goes into the summer-house, strikes a match, and searches about the floor for the missing hair-pins. CLARE stands plaiting her hair into a “pigtail,” and looking straight before her with very grave eyes._)

BILL.

(_Half to himself while searching._) Here are a couple.... By Jove! one of ’em’s got rammed tight behind the seat.... Another—that’s three.... Four!... I’ve found one of the side-combs.... I say, they are jolly pretty!... Where the deuce has t’other one got to?... Oh, Lord, I’m awfully sorry! It’s smashed. I put my clumsy hoof on it.... (_He joins her at the front of the platform._)

CLARE.

It’s all right....

BILL.

But—— (_Looks at her with puzzled eyes._) I say, darling, is anything the matter with you? (_Puts his arm around her._) A moment ago——

CLARE.

(_Freeing herself._) You must never call me that again.

BILL.

Call you what?

CLARE.

“Darling.”

BILL.

But——

CLARE.

Or put your arm round me....

BILL.

But——

CLARE.

(_Passionately._) Oh, Bill, I was mad—I lost my head—I forgot.... It was so—so thrilling in there.... I should never have let you—I should never have let you....

BILL.

But I—I only kissed you.

CLARE.

You—you——

BILL.

And told you that I loved you.

CLARE.

Yes....

BILL.

And you said you loved me....

CLARE.

I didn’t!

BILL.

You kissed me.

CLARE.

That’s not the same thing.

BILL.

Then you don’t love me?

CLARE.

I never said so.

BILL.

Do you love me, Clare?

CLARE.

I should never have kissed you if I didn’t.

BILL.

Clare! (_Tries to take her in his arms._)

CLARE.

(_Decidedly._) No....

BILL.

No?...

CLARE.

I am not free.

BILL.

Not ... free.... Then you’re—you’re—engaged?

CLARE.

No.

BILL.

No?... But——

CLARE.

I am not free.

BILL.

But you’re _not_ engaged?

CLARE.

No.

BILL.

Clare! You don’t mean—you can’t mean that you are married?...

CLARE.

Married?

BILL.

Yes—married!

CLARE.

Don’t be silly.

BILL.

That’s no answer. Are you married?

CLARE.

Of course I’m not.

BILL.

You’re neither engaged nor married—but you’re not free to marry me. What does it all mean?

CLARE.

You must be content with that.

BILL.

Must I? Then you don’t know me. I’ll give you no rest—I’ll persecute you night and day till I get at the truth.

CLARE.

(_After a pause._) You may be right, Bill; perhaps I do owe you an explanation since I allowed you to kiss me....

BILL.

And kissed me....

CLARE.

(_Tragically._) I belong to another man....

BILL.

But you said just now——

CLARE.

Whom I can never marry....

BILL.

What!

CLARE.

Because he is already married.

BILL.

(_Horrified._) Clare! you—you——

CLARE.

(_Loftily._) Our bond is purely of the spirit.

BILL.

Eh?

CLARE.

(_Unconsciously imitating MICHAEL’S manner._) He is a noble and high-souled gentleman. His life is one long self-sacrifice for the woman whom he married. She loves him, and for her sake he fought against his love for me. But that love mastered him: he confessed it. I told him it was returned, though I know now it was the pity and friendship I felt for him which I mistook for love. We promised to be true to each other. I cannot—I dare not break my promise. My love is all he has to make life bearable....

(_BILL is about to speak when LADY PATRICIA’S voice, singing in the distance, brings him up with a jerk. He listens a moment. When he speaks his tone is one of dismay._)

BILL.

Great—Scott!

CLARE.

(_Coldly._) I beg your pardon?

BILL.

I say, Clare, d’you know I’ve made an ass of myself in just the same way as you!

CLARE.

An ass?... Will you kindly explain yourself.

BILL.

I had no right to tell you I loved you, because I am bound to another woman.

CLARE.

Not—not to a married woman?

BILL.

A married woman....

CLARE.

Oh, how dreadful!

BILL.

Our bond is purely of the spirit.

CLARE.

Oh?... What is she like?

BILL.

Noble and high-souled like your——

CLARE.

Is she pretty?

BILL.

Oh, yes, she——

CLARE.

Did you love her?

BILL.

Till I met you five weeks ago I believe I did. Then I—— Anyhow, I’m afraid I’ll have to stick to her. If I threw her over now I don’t know what the poor woman would do.

CLARE.

You have a pretty high notion of your attractions.

BILL.

And you of yours.

CLARE.

You appear to forget that I am a woman.

(_You hear LADY PATRICIA’S voice just beneath talking to MICHAEL. BILL exclaims with a scared look_:)

She’s coming here!...

CLARE.

Well?... (_With dawning comprehension. She seizes his arm._) Bill—you don’t mean to say that she——

(_MICHAEL is heard replying to LADY PATRICIA. CLARE whispers with startled eyes_:)

That’s he!

BILL.

(_Staring at her._) That’s Michael.... Good God! Clare, it’s not—it’s not Michael that you——

CLARE.

Hush!... They’re going past....

BILL.

(_In a fierce undertone._) The blackguard!

CLARE.

What do you mean?

BILL.

If I hadn’t been a blind fool, I would have seen through this precious friendship for you long ago. It never dawned on me that the fellow was such a scoundrel. And a precious hypocrite, too, by Jove! Playing up so as to make that poor, trusting woman believe him madly in love with her....

CLARE.

That poor, trusting woman? Are you, by any chance, speaking of Patricia?

BILL.

Of course I am. Hanging about her neck while all the time he’s making love to an innocent girl! It’s perfectly disgusting!

CLARE.

And what has your noble, high-souled Patricia been doing, I should like to know? Shamming infatuation for poor Michael to hide her shameful flirtation with a callow boy.

BILL.

It was not a shameful flirtation—and I’m no more a callow boy than you are.

CLARE.

What amazes me is that you should ever have allowed yourself to be fooled by a shallow, deceitful _poseuse_ like Patricia.

BILL.

She hasn’t fooled me. She’s deeply and truly in love with me.

CLARE.

Contradiction isn’t argument: it’s merely rude.

BILL.

If it had been any one else but Michael there might have been some excuse for you. But Michael! How could you? A dull, priggish ass——

CLARE.

He’s not a dull, priggish ass!

BILL.

Contradiction isn’t argument: it’s merely rude.

CLARE.

How dare you speak to me like that!

BILL.

(_Sulkily._) I beg your pardon.

(_He moves away from her, and they both stand staring in opposite directions._)

CLARE.

(_After a pause._) I don’t think there’s anything more to be said.

BILL.

Neither do I.

(_A pause._)

CLARE.

Nothing.

BILL.

Nothing.

(_A pause._)

CLARE.

Things must remain as they are.

BILL.

Yes, I suppose they must.

(_A pause._)

CLARE.

Of course, any one who was at all unprejudiced would see at once the—the higher morality of my decision.

BILL.

The what?

CLARE.

The higher morality. Michael has often told me that our pure love and the fact that he does his duty as best he can to his wife are the only things that keep him from suicide....

BILL.

(_Under his breath._) Bosh!

CLARE.

I beg your pardon?

BILL.

Nothing.... It’s awfully funny to think of Michael spooning away with you and Patricia and boring you both to death without knowing it.

CLARE.

I don’t see that it’s any funnier than Patricia doing the same with you and Michael.

BILL.

Well, anyhow, I shall have to stick to Patricia—not because of “higher morality”—whatever that means—but because I know she would pine away if I left her now.

CLARE.

Tchah!

(_They stand miserably silent, looking in opposite directions. The nightingale starts singing, and sings through the next scene. The voices of the DEAN and MRS. O’FARREL come up from beneath._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

Well, I find it chilly, Dean—distinctly chilly.

DEAN.

For Whitsuntide, dear lady—surely not. True, Whitsuntide is very late this year....

(_MRS. O’FARREL enters, followed by the DEAN, up the central ladder._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

Why, here’s the child! All alone, my dear? Whatever have you been doing to your hair?

CLARE.

It’s such a hot night I had to take it down.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Hot?

DEAN.

But, my dear child, you can’t possibly go home like that!

CLARE.

I’ll put it up when I get back to the house.

MRS. O’FARREL.

(_Perceiving BILL._) Is that my son?

BILL.

(_Gloomily._) Hullo, mater....

DEAN.

Enchanting night, my boy!

BILL.

(_As before._) Awfully jolly....

MRS. O’FARREL.

And where are the others?

CLARE.

I don’t know.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Sentimentalising in the moonlight....

CLARE.

I suppose so.

(_MRS. O’FARREL regards both the young people critically through her lorgnette._)

DEAN.

(_Breezily._) And what have you two been up to?

BILL.

Mootching around.

CLARE.

Playing about.

DEAN.

Your mother and I thought we’d like a little stroll before going home.

BILL.

Good idea....

(_The DEAN fixes his monocle, and, slightly puzzled, scrutinises them each in turn._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

What’s the matter with you both?

BILL AND CLARE.

The matter?...

MRS. O’FARREL.

Have you been quarrelling?

BILL AND CLARE.

Quarrelling?...

MRS. O’FARREL.

You’re as sulky as two bears.

BILL AND CLARE.

I?

MRS. O’FARREL.

As two bears. Aren’t they, Dean?

DEAN.

Sulky? No, no; surely not sulky! Chastened! Thoughtful! A little overcome, perhaps, by the beauty of the night—as all sensitive young souls should be.

MRS. O’FARREL.

H’m!... Sensitive young souls!...

(_LADY PATRICIA, followed by MICHAEL, enters on the left._)

LADY PATRICIA.

All of you? But how charming! How delightful!

DEAN.

Dear Lady Patricia!

(_MICHAEL moves towards CLARE, who evades his ardent gaze._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

What have you been doing with yourselves?

LADY PATRICIA.

Looking at the guelder-roses in the moonlight, and wondering whether they were guelder-roses at all or great pearls.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Personally I should say they were guelder-roses.

LADY PATRICIA.

Ah, but dear Aunt Eileen, how can you tell what pranks the fairies may not play on such a night as this?

DEAN.

What an exquisite fancy!

BILL.

(_Who has been looking jealously at CLARE and MICHAEL. He speaks defiantly with eyes on CLARE._) I say, Cousin Patricia....

LADY PATRICIA.

Yes, Cousin Bill?

(_CLARE looks at them._)

BILL.

If it wouldn’t bother you too much, I wonder if you’d care to take me to have a look at those thingumybob roses. It would be simply corking!

LADY PATRICIA.

I shall be charmed, Cousin Bill. We’ll settle the question of guelder-rose or pearl together.

(_They move towards the ladder on the left._)

CLARE.

(_In a low voice to BILL as he passes her._) Worm! (_In a defiant voice to MICHAEL._) Mr. Cosway, you’ve never shown me the—the what’s-its-name....

MICHAEL.

The spiral nebula in Andromeda? It’s scarcely favourable for a view of the nebula to-night. Shall we look at the mountains of the moon?

CLARE.

Thanks awfully.

(_She and MICHAEL move to the central ladder._)

LADY PATRICIA.

(_To BILL as they descend on the left._) Do you believe in fairies, Cousin Bill?

MICHAEL.

(_To CLARE as they descend the central ladder._)

I have often wondered how the night would look if we had nine moons like Jupiter.

(_A pause. The DEAN looks disapprovingly after the disappearing BILL, MRS. O’FARREL through her lorgnette after CLARE._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

H’m....

DEAN.

I beg your pardon?... You were saying?...

MRS. O’FARREL.

I didn’t say anything. I was thinking.

DEAN.

Ah, thinking—yes, thinking.... So was I.... By the way, Eileen, your—er—cherished project for marrying Clare to your son doesn’t appear to be materialising quite—er—satisfactorily.

MRS. O’FARREL.

No, it doesn’t.

DEAN.

Not quite as smoothly as we—as you hoped.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Give me a whisky-and-soda.

DEAN.

A whisky——

MRS. O’FARREL.

And soda.

(_The DEAN pours out a drop of whisky._)

Go on....

(_The DEAN sets the syphon going._)

Nearly full.... When!... And you had better take something as well—to fortify yourself against what I am going to say.

DEAN.

Ah.... A little soda-water. (_Helps himself._) So you are going to be unpleasant, my dear Eileen?

MRS. O’FARREL.

I am. Those two _had_ been quarrelling just now.

DEAN.

That was evident—even to me.

MRS. O’FARREL.

They had been quarrelling bitterly—and I can make a shrewd guess at the cause.

DEAN.

I also.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Indeed. Well, I think it’s high time to speak plainly.

DEAN.

I quite agree with you.

MRS. O’FARREL.

I’m glad to hear it.... Bill had very evidently been taking your daughter to task for her amazing indiscretions.

DEAN.

Amazing indiscretions? Clare’s? Will you kindly be more explicit.

MRS. O’FARREL.

I mean to be. Perhaps you remember some weeks ago I warned you that her intimacy with Michael Cosway ought to be stopped?

DEAN.

Certainly. And I took leave to disagree with you entirely.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Well, you were wrong. You should immediately have put an end to this intimacy—to use the mildest word for her friendship with Michael.

DEAN.

Mrs. O’Farrel, is it possible you are speaking of my daughter?

MRS. O’FARREL.

And it’s your duty to put an end to it at once. I only hope that you may not be too late.

DEAN.

This—this—this is beyond anything!... Perhaps you will be so good——

MRS. O’FARREL.

Now then, Dean, pray don’t lose your temper. It’s neither wise nor becoming, and at our age very bad for the heart. Listen to me quietly for a moment. I refused for a long time to believe any ill of this—er—friendship. I knew Michael to be infatuated with his wife, and Clare to be a healthy-minded girl. But last week Emily Fitzgerald told me she had seen Michael walking in the Stanton Woods with his arm around Clare’s shoulder. She added that the affair was becoming quite notorious in the neighbourhood.... You must act, and act at once.

DEAN.

Is that all? So you condescend to listen to the tittle-tattle of a notorious old gossip like Emily Fitzgerald? Upon my word I’m ashamed of you!

MRS. O’FARREL.

Dean! Have you taken leave of your senses?

DEAN.

I might well put that question to you, Mrs. O’Farrel. But I refrain from vulgar _tu quoque_ repartee. I have no more to say except to warn you that before looking after the morals of my daughter, you had far better look after those of your son.

MRS. O’FARREL.

My son?

DEAN.

Precisely—your son.

MRS. O’FARREL.

What do you mean?

DEAN.

I and others—unlike yourself, I will not drag in the names of outsiders—have for some time past watched your son and Lady Patricia with grief and dismay.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Patricia!

DEAN.