Chapter 5
LINA. No: that is popular low-class business. In our family we touch nothing but classical work. Anybody can do lamps and hatstands. _I_ can do silver bullets. That is really hard. _[She passes on to Lord Summerhays, and looks gravely down at him as he sits by the writing table]._
MRS TARLETON. Well, I'm sure I dont know what youre talking about; and I only hope you know yourselves. However, you shall have what you want, of course. _[She goes up the steps and leaves the room]._
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Will you forgive my curiosity? What is the Bible for?
LINA. To quiet my soul.
LORD SUMMERHAYS _[with a sigh]_ Ah yes, yes. It no longer quiets mine, I am sorry to say.
LINA. That is because you do not know how to read it. Put it up before you on a stand; and open it at the Psalms. When you can read them and understand them, quite quietly and happily, and keep six balls in the air all the time, you are in perfect condition; and youll never make a mistake that evening. If you find you cant do that, then go and pray until you can. And be very careful that evening.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Is that the usual form of test in your profession?
LINA. Nothing that we Szczepanowskis do is usual, my lord.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Are you all so wonderful?
LINA. It is our profession to be wonderful.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Do you never condescend to do as common people do? For instance, do you not pray as common people pray?
LINA. Common people do not pray, my lord: they only beg.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. You never ask for anything?
LINA. No.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Then why do you pray?
LINA. To remind myself that I have a soul.
TARLETON. _[walking about]_ True. Fine. Good. Beautiful. All this damned materialism: what good is it to anybody? Ive got a soul: dont tell me I havnt. Cut me up and you cant find it. Cut up a steam engine and you cant find the steam. But, by George, it makes the engine go. Say what you will, Summerhays, the divine spark is a fact.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. Have I denied it?
TARLETON. Our whole civilization is a denial of it. Read Walt Whitman.
LORD SUMMERHAYS. I shall go to the billiard room and get the balls for you.
LINA. Thank you.
_Lord Summerhays goes out through the vestibule door._
TARLETON. _[going to her]_ Listen to me. _[She turns quickly]._ What you said just now was beautiful. You touch chords. You appeal to the poetry in a man. You inspire him. Come now! Youre a woman of the world: youre independent: you must have driven lots of men crazy. You know the sort of man I am, dont you? See through me at a glance, eh?
LINA. Yes. _[She sits down quietly in the chair Lord Summerhays has just left]._
TARLETON. Good. Well, do you like me? Dont misunderstand me: I'm perfectly aware that youre not going to fall in love at first sight with a ridiculous old shopkeeper. I cant help that ridiculous old shopkeeper. I have to carry him about with me whether I like it or not. I have to pay for his clothes, though I hate the cut of them: especially the waistcoat. I have to look at him in the glass while I'm shaving. I loathe him because hes a living lie. My soul's not like that: it's like yours. I want to make a fool of myself. About you. Will you let me?
LINA. _[very calm]_ How much will you pay?
TARLETON. Nothing. But I'll throw as many sovereigns as you like into the sea to shew you that I'm in earnest.
LINA. Are those your usual terms?
TARLETON. No. I never made that bid before.
LINA. _[producing a dainty little book and preparing to write in it]_ What did you say your name was?
TARLETON. John Tarleton. The great John Tarleton of Tarleton's Underwear.
LINA. _[writing]_ T-a-r-l-e-t-o-n. Er--? _[She looks up at him inquiringly]._
TARLETON. _[promptly]_ Fifty-eight.
LINA. Thank you. I keep a list of all my offers. I like to know what I'm considered worth.
TARLETON. Let me look.
LINA. _[offering the book to him]_ It's in Polish.
TARLETON. Thats no good. Is mine the lowest offer?
LINA. No: the highest.
TARLETON. What do most of them come to? Diamonds? Motor cars? Furs? Villa at Monte Carlo?
LINA. Oh yes: all that. And sometimes the devotion of a lifetime.
TARLETON. Fancy that! A young man offering a woman his old age as a temptation!
LINA. By the way, you did not say how long.
TARLETON. Until you get tired of me.
LINA. Or until you get tired of me?
TARLETON. I never get tired. I never go on long enough for that. But when it becomes so grand, so inspiring that I feel that everything must be an anti-climax after that, then I run away.
LINA. Does she let you go without a struggle?
TARLETON. Yes. Glad to get rid of me. When love takes a man as it takes me--when it makes him great--it frightens a woman.
LINA. The lady here is your wife, isnt she? Dont you care for her?
TARLETON. Yes. And mind! she comes first always. I reserve her dignity even when I sacrifice my own. Youll respect that point of honor, wont you?
LINA. Only a point of honor?
TARLETON. _[impulsively]_ No, by God! a point of affection as well.
LINA. _[smiling, pleased with him]_ Shake hands, old pal _[she rises and offers him her hand frankly]._
TARLETON. _[giving his hand rather dolefully]_ Thanks. That means no, doesnt it?
LINA. It means something that will last longer than yes. I like you. I admit you to my friendship. What a pity you were not trained when you were young! Youd be young still.
TARLETON. I suppose, to an athlete like you, I'm pretty awful, eh?
LINA. Shocking.
TARLETON. Too much crumb. Wrinkles. Yellow patches that wont come off. Short wind. I know. I'm ashamed of myself. I could do nothing on the high rope.
LINA. Oh yes: I could put you in a wheelbarrow and run you along, two hundred feet up.
TARLETON. _[shuddering]_ Ugh! Well, I'd do even that for you. Read The Master Builder.
LINA. Have you learnt everything from books?
TARLETON. Well, have you learnt everything from the flying trapeze?
LINA. On the flying trapeze there is often another woman; and her life is in your hands every night and your life in hers.
TARLETON. Lina: I'm going to make a fool of myself. I'm going to cry _[he crumples into the nearest chair]._
LINA. Pray instead: dont cry. Why should you cry? Youre not the first I've said no to.
TARLETON. If you had said yes, should I have been the first then?
LINA. What right have you to ask? Have I asked am _I_ the first?
TARLETON. Youre right: a vulgar question. To a man like me, everybody is the first. Life renews itself.
LINA. The youngest child is the sweetest.
TARLETON. Dont probe too deep, Lina. It hurts.
LINA. You must get out of the habit of thinking that these things matter so much. It's linendraperish.
TARLETON. Youre quite right. Ive often said so. All the same, it does matter; for I want to cry. _[He buries his face in his arms on the work-table and sobs]._
LINA. _[going to him]_ O la la! _[She slaps him vigorously, but not unkindly, on the shoulder]._ Courage, old pal, courage! Have you a gymnasium here?
TARLETON. Theres a trapeze and bars and things in the billiard room.
LINA. Come. You need a few exercises. I'll teach you how to stop crying. _[She takes his arm and leads him off into the vestibule]._
_A young man, cheaply dressed and strange in manner, appears in the garden; steals to the pavilion door; and looks in. Seeing that there is nobody, he enters cautiously until he has come far enough to see into the hatstand corner. He draws a revolver, and examines it, apparently to make sure that it is loaded. Then his attention is caught by the Turkish bath. He looks down the lunette, and opens the panels._
HYPATIA. _[calling in the garden]_ Mr Percival! Mr Percival! Where are you?
_The young man makes for the door, but sees Percival coming. He turns and bolts into the Turkish bath, which he closes upon himself just in time to escape being caught by Percival, who runs in through the pavilion, bareheaded. He also, it appears, is in search of a hiding-place; for he stops and turns between the two tables to take a survey of the room; then runs into the corner between the end of the sideboard and the wall. Hypatia, excited, mischievous, her eyes glowing, runs in, precisely on his trail; turns at the same spot; and discovers him just as he makes a dash for the pavilion door. She flies back and intercepts him._
HYPATIA. Aha! arnt you glad Ive caught you?
PERCIVAL. _[illhumoredly turning away from her and coming towards the writing table]_ No I'm not. Confound it, what sort of girl are you? What sort of house is this? Must I throw all good manners to the winds?
HYPATIA. _[following him]_ Do, do, do, do, do. This is the house of a respectable shopkeeper, enormously rich. This is the respectable shopkeeper's daughter, tired of good manners. _[Slipping her left hand into his right]_ Come, handsome young man, and play with the respectable shopkeeper's daughter.
PERCIVAL. _[withdrawing quickly from her touch]_ No, no: dont you know you mustnt go on like this with a perfect stranger?
HYPATIA. Dropped down from the sky. Dont you know that you must always go on like this when you get the chance? You must come to the top of the hill and chase me through the bracken. You may kiss me if you catch me.
PERCIVAL. I shall do nothing of the sort.
HYPATIA. Yes you will: you cant help yourself. Come along. _[She seizes his sleeve]._ Fool, fool: come along. Dont you want to?
PERCIVAL. No: certainly not. I should never be forgiven if I did it.
HYPATIA. Youll never forgive yourself if you dont.
PERCIVAL. Nonsense. Youre engaged to Ben. Ben's my friend. What do you take me for?
HYPATIA. Ben's old. Ben was born old. Theyre all old here, except you and me and the man-woman or woman-man or whatever you call her that came with you. They never do anything: they only discuss whether what other people do is right. Come and give them something to discuss.
PERCIVAL. I will do nothing incorrect.
HYPATIA. Oh, dont be afraid, little boy: youll get nothing but a kiss; and I'll fight like the devil to keep you from getting that. But we must play on the hill and race through the heather.
PERCIVAL. Why?
HYPATIA. Because we want to, handsome young man.
PERCIVAL. But if everybody went on in this way--
HYPATIA. How happy! oh how happy the world would be!
PERCIVAL. But the consequences may be serious.
HYPATIA. Nothing is worth doing unless the consequences may be serious. My father says so; and I'm my father's daughter.
PERCIVAL. I'm the son of three fathers. I mistrust these wild impulses.
HYPATIA. Take care. Youre letting the moment slip. I feel the first chill of the wave of prudence. Save me.
PERCIVAL. Really, Miss Tarleton _[she strikes him across the face]_ --Damn you! _[Recovering himself, horrified at his lapse]_ I beg your pardon; but since weve both forgotten ourselves, youll please allow me to leave the house. _[He turns towards the inner door, having left his cap in the bedroom]._
HYPATIA. _[standing in his way]_ Are you ashamed of having said "Damn you" to me?
PERCIVAL. I had no right to say it. I'm very much ashamed of it. I have already begged your pardon.
HYPATIA. And youre not ashamed of having said "Really, Miss Tarleton."
PERCIVAL. Why should I?
HYPATIA. O man, man! mean, stupid, cowardly, selfish masculine male man! You ought to have been a governess. I was expelled from school for saying that the very next person that said "Really, Miss Tarleton," to me, I would strike her across the face. You were the next.
PERCIVAL. I had no intention of being offensive. Surely there is nothing that can wound any lady in--_[He hesitates, not quite convinced]._ At least--er--I really didnt mean to be disagreeable.
HYPATIA. Liar.
PERCIVAL. Of course if youre going to insult me, I am quite helpless. Youre a woman: you can say what you like.
HYPATIA. And you can only say what you dare. Poor wretch: it isnt much. _[He bites his lip, and sits down, very much annoyed]._ Really, Mr Percival! You sit down in the presence of a lady and leave her standing. _[He rises hastily]._ Ha, ha! Really, Mr Percival! Oh really, really, really, really, really, Mr Percival! How do you like it? Wouldnt you rather I damned you?
PERCIVAL. Miss Tarleton--
HYPATIA. _[caressingly]_ Hypatia, Joey. Patsy, if you like.
PERCIVAL. Look here: this is no good. You want to do what you like?
HYPATIA. Dont you?
PERCIVAL. No. Ive been too well brought up. Ive argued all through this thing; and I tell you I'm not prepared to cast off the social bond. It's like a corset: it's a support to the figure even if it does squeeze and deform it a bit. I want to be free.
HYPATIA. Well, I'm tempting you to be free.
PERCIVAL. Not at all. Freedom, my good girl, means being able to count on how other people will behave. If every man who dislikes me is to throw a handful of mud in my face, and every woman who likes me is to behave like Potiphar's wife, then I shall be a slave: the slave of uncertainty: the slave of fear: the worst of all slaveries. How would you like it if every laborer you met in the road were to make love to you? No. Give me the blessed protection of a good stiff conventionality among thoroughly well-brought up ladies and gentlemen.
HYPATIA. Another talker! Men like conventions because men made them. I didnt make them: I dont like them: I wont keep them. Now, what will you do?
PERCIVAL. Bolt. _[He runs out through the pavilion]._
HYPATIA. I'll catch you. _[She dashes off in pursuit]._
_During this conversation the head of the scandalized man in the Turkish bath has repeatedly risen from the lunette, with a strong expression of moral shock. It vanishes abruptly as the two turn towards it in their flight. At the same moment Tarleton comes back through the vestibule door, exhausted by severe and unaccustomed exercise._
TARLETON. _[looking after the flying figures with amazement]_ Hallo, Patsy: whats up? Another aeroplane? _[They are far too preoccupied to hear him; and he is left staring after them as they rush away through the garden. He goes to the pavilion door and looks up; but the heavens are empty. His exhaustion disables him from further inquiry. He dabs his brow with his handkerchief, and walks stiffly to the nearest convenient support, which happens to be the Turkish bath. He props himself upon it with his elbow, and covers his eyes with his hand for a moment. After a few sighing breaths, he feels a little better, and uncovers his eyes. The man's head rises from the lunette a few inches from his nose. He recoils from the bath with a violent start]._ Oh Lord! My brain's gone. _[Calling piteously]_ Chickabiddy! _[He staggers down to the writing table]._
THE MAN. _[coming out of the bath, pistol in hand]_ Another sound; and youre a dead man.
TARLETON. _[braced]_ Am I? Well, youre a live one: thats one comfort. I thought you were a ghost. _[He sits down, quite undisturbed by the pistol]_ Who are you; and what the devil were you doing in my new Turkish bath?
THE MAN. _[with tragic intensity]_ I am the son of Lucinda Titmus.
TARLETON. _[the name conveying nothing to him]_ Indeed? And how is she? Quite well, I hope, eh?
THE MAN. She is dead. Dead, my God! and youre alive.
TARLETON. _[unimpressed by the tragedy, but sympathetic]_ Oh! Lost your mother? Thats sad. I'm sorry. But we cant all have the luck to survive our mothers, and be nursed out of the world by the hands that nursed us into it.
THE MAN. Much you care, damn you!
TARLETON. Oh, dont cut up rough. Face it like a man. You see I didnt know your mother; but Ive no doubt she was an excellent woman.
THE MAN. Not know her! Do you dare to stand there by her open grave and deny that you knew her?
TARLETON. _[trying to recollect]_ What did you say her name was?
THE MAN. Lucinda Titmus.
TARLETON. Well, I ought to remember a rum name like that if I ever heard it. But I dont. Have you a photograph or anything?
THE MAN. Forgotten even the name of your victim!
TARLETON. Oh! she was my victim, was she?
THE MAN. She was. And you shall see her face again before you die, dead as she is. I have a photograph.
TARLETON. Good.
THE MAN. Ive two photographs.
TARLETON. Still better. Treasure the mother's pictures. Good boy!
THE MAN. One of them as you knew her. The other as she became when you flung her aside, and she withered into an old woman.
TARLETON. She'd have done that anyhow, my lad. We all grow old. Look at me! _[Seeing that the man is embarrassed by his pistol in fumbling for the photographs with his left hand in his breast pocket]_ Let me hold the gun for you.
THE MAN. _[retreating to the worktable]_ Stand back. Do you take me for a fool?
TARLETON. Well, youre a little upset, naturally. It does you credit.
THE MAN. Look here, upon this picture and on this. _[He holds out the two photographs like a hand at cards, and points to them with the pistol]._
TARLETON. Good. Read Shakespear: he has a word for every occasion. _[He takes the photographs, one in each hand, and looks from one to the other, pleased and interested, but without any sign of recognition]_ What a pretty girl! Very pretty. I can imagine myself falling in love with her when I was your age. I wasnt a bad-looking young fellow myself in those days. _[Looking at the other]_ Curious that we should both have gone the same way.
THE MAN. You and she the same way! What do you mean?
TARLETON. Both got stout, I mean.
THE MAN. Would you have had her deny herself food?
TARLETON. No: it wouldnt have been any use. It's constitutional. No matter how little you eat you put on flesh if youre made that way. _[He resumes his study of the earlier photograph]._
THE MAN. Is that all the feeling that rises in you at the sight of the face you once knew so well?
TARLETON. _[too much absorbed in the portrait to heed him]_ Funny that I cant remember! Let this be a lesson to you, young man. I could go into court tomorrow and swear I never saw that face before in my life if it wasnt for that brooch _[pointing to the photograph]._ Have you got that brooch, by the way? _[The man again resorts to his breast pocket]._ You seem to carry the whole family property in that pocket.
THE MAN. _[producing a brooch]_ Here it is to prove my bona fides.
TARLETON. _[pensively putting the photographs on the table and taking the brooch]_ I bought that brooch in Cheapside from a man with a yellow wig and a cast in his left eye. Ive never set eyes on him from that day to this. And yet I remember that man; and I cant remember your mother.
THE MAN. Monster! Without conscience! without even memory! You left her to her shame--
TARLETON. _[throwing the brooch on the table and rising pepperily]_ Come, come, young man! none of that. Respect the romance of your mother's youth. Dont you start throwing stones at her. I dont recall her features just at this moment; but Ive no doubt she was kind to me and we were happy together. If you have a word to say against her, take yourself out of my house and say it elsewhere.
THE MAN. What sort of a joker are you? Are you trying to put me in the wrong, when you have to answer to me for a crime that would make every honest man spit at you as you passed in the street if I were to make it known?
TARLETON. You read a good deal, dont you?
THE MAN. What if I do? What has that to do with your infamy and my mother's doom?
TARLETON. There, you see! Doom! Thats not good sense; but it's literature. Now it happens that I'm a tremendous reader: always was. When I was your age I read books of that sort by the bushel: the Doom sort, you know. It's odd, isnt it, that you and I should be like one another in that respect? Can you account for it in any way?
THE MAN. No. What are you driving at?
TARLETON. Well, do you know who your father was?
THE MAN. I see what you mean now. You dare set up to be my father. Thank heaven Ive not a drop of your vile blood in my veins.
TARLETON. _[sitting down again with a shrug]_ Well, if you wont be civil, theres no pleasure in talking to you, is there? What do you want? Money?
THE MAN. How dare you insult me?
TARLETON. Well, what do you want?
THE MAN. Justice.
TARLETON. Youre quite sure thats all?
THE MAN. It's enough for me.
TARLETON. A modest sort of demand, isnt it? Nobody ever had it since the world began, fortunately for themselves; but you must have it, must you? Well, youve come to the wrong shop for it: youll get no justice here: we dont keep it. Human nature is what we stock.
THE MAN. Human nature! Debauchery! gluttony! selfishness! robbery of the poor! Is that what you call human nature?
TARLETON. No: thats what you call it. Come, my lad! Whats the matter with you? You dont look starved; and youve a decent suit of clothes.
THE MAN. Forty-two shillings.
TARLETON. They can do you a very decent suit for forty-two shillings. Have you paid for it?
THE MAN. Do you take me for a thief? And do you suppose I can get credit like you?
TARLETON. Then you were able to lay your hand on forty-two shillings. Judging from your conversational style, I should think you must spend at least a shilling a week on romantic literature.
THE MAN. Where would I get a shilling a week to spend on books when I can hardly keep myself decent? I get books at the Free Library.
TARLETON _[springing to his feet]_ What!!!
THE MAN. _[recoiling before his vehemence]_ The Free Library. Theres no harm in that.
TARLETON. Ingrate! I supply you with free books; and the use you make of them is to persuade yourself that it's a fine thing to shoot me. _[He throws himself doggedly back into his chair]._ I'll never give another penny to a Free Library.
THE MAN. Youll never give another penny to anything. This is the end: for you and me.
TARLETON. Pooh! Come, come, man! talk business. Whats wrong? Are you out of employment?
THE MAN. No. This is my Saturday afternoon. Dont flatter yourself that I'm a loafer or a criminal. I'm a cashier; and I defy you to say that my cash has ever been a farthing wrong. Ive a right to call you to account because my hands are clean.
TARLETON. Well, call away. What have I to account for? Had you a hard time with your mother? Why didnt she ask me for money?
THE MAN. She'd have died first. Besides, who wanted your money? Do you suppose we lived in the gutter? My father maynt have been in as large a way as you; but he was better connected; and his shop was as respectable as yours.
TARLETON. I suppose your mother brought him a little capital.
THE MAN. I dont know. Whats that got to do with you?
TARLETON. Well, you say she and I knew one another and parted. She must have had something off me then, you know. One doesnt get out of these things for nothing. Hang it, young man: do you suppose Ive no heart? Of course she had her due; and she found a husband with it, and set him up in business with it, and brought you up respectably; so what the devil have you to complain of?
THE MAN. Are women to be ruined with impunity?
TARLETON. I havnt ruined any woman that I'm aware of. Ive been the making of you and your mother.
THE MAN. Oh, I'm a fool to listen to you and argue with you. I came here to kill you and then kill myself.
TARLETON. Begin with yourself, if you dont mind. Ive a good deal of business to do still before I die. Havnt you?