ACT I.

SIR JOSEPH BALSTED'S _study, in his house in Hans Place_.

MISS TREABLE, MARGARET'S _companion, a faded lady of uncertain age, is fingering the photograph on the mantelpiece_ R. MRS. MARTELLI, _the housekeeper, a grim-faced, elderly woman, dressed in stiff black silk, opens the door and enters_ L. 3 E. MISS TREABLE, _absorbed in a photograph she holds in her hand, does not notice her_. MRS. MARTELLI _coughs emphatically_.

MISS TRE. (_coming_ C. _turning_) Oh!... Dear Mrs. Martelli, do you know who this is?

MRS. MAR. (C. _shortly_) Sir Joseph's sister.

MISS TRE. What an angelic face! The outline so pure. Such heavenly eyes. (_returns_ R. _and puts frame back_)

MRS. MAR. (C.) She was marked with smallpox, and had a pronounced squint.

MISS TRE. (_disconcerted_) Ah! I have noticed these photographs before. I have a passion for photographs. This one--? (_coming_ C.--_she takes up another_)

MRS. MAR. (_takes photo from_ MISS TRE.) Sir Joseph's mother. The other ladies are his cousin, his aunt by marriage, and--me. (MISS TRE. _goes_ R.)

MISS TRE. (_with surprise_) You!

MRS. MAR. (_with dignity_) My late husband, Captain Martelli, of his Majesty's Indian army, was a friend of Sir Joseph's (C.). I trust you find nothing remarkable in his widow's photograph reposing on Sir Joseph's mantelpiece?

MISS TRE. (_comes down_ R. _and sits_ R. C. _chair_) Oh, not at all, not at all.... My father was Canon Treable--he preached before the Queen.

MRS. MAR. (_puts photo back_ R. _and comes down_ R. C.) So I have frequently heard. But I admit it is a theme on which one cannot dwell too often. None the less I consider it my duty, as Sir Joseph's housekeeper, to inform Canon Treable's daughter that this room is, as it were, consecrated to Sir Joseph.

(MISS TRE. _rises and crosses_ L. _and sits on stool_.)

And that it is his wish, his formally expressed instruction, that none but myself should enter it.

MISS TRE. Oh!

MRS. MAR. (_to desk_ C.) I allow no housemaid here--I dust it myself. Sir Joseph, in common with most legal gentlemen, is partial to dust, but I control his partiality. So you understand--(_down_ C.)

MISS TRE. But the Courts have risen to-day, dear Mrs. Martelli! The Long Vacation, they call it, do they not? For nigh on three months Sir Joseph ceases to be the brilliant advocate; Parliament is not sitting, so the House will not hear his inspired accents--

MRS. MAR. My accents may be less inspired, but they rest on authority; and I beg you to heed them. This room is private.

MISS TRE. (_sweetly_) I can quite understand that, to the servants, it is a sanctuary.

MRS. MAR. To the servants, and the upper servants, Miss Treable. You and I are both upper servants.

MISS TRE. (_rise, indignantly_) Mrs. Martelli! This is intolerable. I am dear Margaret's companion--(_sit on stool_ L. C.) her trusted friend--

MRS. MAR. At so much per annum, paid quarterly. Sir Joseph has confided the government of his household to me.

MISS TRE. (_proudly_) I am not a member of your household, madam! I take orders from Sir Joseph alone--and then they come in form of requests!

MRS. MAR. You compel me, therefore, to inform Sir Joseph of your truculent attitude--and demand your dismissal.

MISS TRE. (_rise_) Dismissal!

MRS. MAR. It would of course be within my province to dismiss you myself--

MISS TRE. (_up to her_ C.) Insolent!

MRS. MAR. But I shall leave that disagreeable duty to Sir Joseph; and I have no doubt that it will come, as you say, in the form of a request. I have the honour to wish you good morning.

(EXIT. L. 1 E.)

(MISS TREABLE _sinks on the sofa_ R. C. _and sobs_. EVERARD _comes in from back_ L. 3 E., _a good-looking youngster of 25_.)

EVERARD. (R. C.) Why, Treaby, what's the matter?

MISS TRE. (_stamping her foot_) How dare you call me Treaby!

EVERARD. Oh, I beg your pardon--but Margaret always does.

MISS TRE. Am I to be forever insulted in this house? First by a wretched servant--then by a mere boy!

EVERARD. A boy--hang it! I shall be a full-fledged doctor soon. But I apologise--there! And Martelli's a hedgehog. Leave off sobbing (_over back of settee_) do!

MISS TRE. (_through her tears_) I will tell Sir Joseph he must choose between her--and me!

EVERARD. She's an awful Tartar--I wonder my uncle puts up with her. But come now, dear Miss--Evangeline--

MISS TRE. (_coyly_) Mr. Swenboys?

EVERARD. (_eagerly_) Did you give Margaret those verses?

MISS TRE. I did.

EVERARD. (_excited, away_ R. C.) Well? Well?

MISS TRE. She--laughed.

EVERARD. (_aghast_) Laughed!

MISS TRE. But really--why did you steal them from Swinburne?

EVERARD. (_comes_ C.) The devil! She spotted it?

MISS TRE. Naturally. She adores Swinburne.

EVERARD. I altered a word or two--I did, I swear. And of course poetry's not in my line. But I didn't think girls were allowed to read Swinburne!

MISS TRE. An old-fashioned prejudice. To-day we throw open the whole book of life.

EVERARD. I didn't know! (_returning to back of settee_ R. C.) But--Miss Treable--you're my friend, aren't you? You'll help me?

MISS TRE. I am always on the side of love.

EVERARD. Have I a chance, do you think? A millionth part of a chance?

MISS TRE. You never speak to her!

EVERARD. How can I? She's too--magnificent--she dazzles me! Her eyes scorch me--I become idiotic! I can talk, as a rule, I've something to say--but not to her, not to her! Although Martelli thinks--

MISS TRE. Martelli! That hateful name! Oh!

(_Her sobs begin again._ MARGARET _enters from back_ L. 3 E.: _she pauses shyly at seeing_ EVERARD.)

MARGARET. (C.) Oh Everard! Have you got the flowers--the white roses?

EVERARD. Yes, here they are. (_up_ L. C.)

MARGARET. How good of you. (_turning to_ MISS TREABLE, _and throwing her arms round her_) What, dearest Treaby! Crying!--(_cross_ R. C.)

EVERARD. (_coming_ C.) Martelli has upset her.

MARGARET. Again! Oh, the wretch! How I wish that my guardian would send her away! (R. C.)

EVERARD. You have only to--to--to ask! Could he--is there a man who--who could--anything, anything, Margaret! Oh!

_(He flies, overcome with confusion, and_ EXIT _back_ L. 3 E.)

MARGARET. Poor Everard! (_she gazes pensively after him for a moment--then turns to_ MISS TREABLE _again_) Do not cry! I will speak to Sir Joseph; he shall see that this woman makes me unhappy.

MISS TRE. (_drying her eyes_) Dearest Margaret!

MARGARET (_looking around--sitting chair_ C.) Oh, how my heart beats when I find myself in his room!

MISS TRE. He is the grandest, greatest of men--

MARGARET. In this morning's paper they mention his name three times. And they've his portrait in the Sketch!

MISS TRE. And so like him!

MARGARET. His speech in that copyright case yesterday! His triumph!

MISS TRE. I felt you quiver as you sat beside me--

MARGARET. He saw us there, I think.... As his eye swept past, I noticed a tremble in his voice. And, after that, I felt that he was speaking--for me!

MISS TRE. His peroration was sublime.

MARGARET. (_rise, down_ R. C. _and sit in chair_) It was odious of that old man's daughter to thank him so effusively. I detest Lady Claude!

MISS TRE. (_rising and_ R. C.) Jealous, my Margaret? They knew each other, in the long ago. I have an idea that he once--but he has not her photograph! I came here to see!

MARGARET. It is not on the mantelpiece.

MISS TRE. Nor in his desk. I looked!

MARGARET. Oh! You should not have done that!

MISS TRE. There is no limit to my devotion. It is true Lady Claude is handsome.

MARGARET. (_indignantly_) Handsome! A widow--and old! Why, she's thirty-five, at least!

MISS TRE. (_tartly away_ L.) My age, Margaret!

MARGARET. (_rise and across to her_) Ah, dear Treaby, forgive me! But--when I am here--in his room--and think of--a possible rival! (_up to desk_ C.) Here, where he sits, and works! Every day I steal in, and let fall a flower. I love to think of him kissing that flower, perhaps--who knows, wearing it next his heart! If he only would speak to me! Little girl, he calls me, then turns his eyes timidly away. Little girl! Oh never did lover's epithet sound so sweet!

(_Since having the flowers_ MARGARET _has been undoing them and dropping them about the room_.)

MISS TRE. (_sit on settee_ L.) I have seen him, when your name was mentioned, change colour, and murmur something beneath his breath.

MARGARET. (_sit on stool_ L.) What was it? Oh, what?

MISS TRE. Nay, I could not catch. But Margaret, tell me--Everard has been imploring--

MARGARET. (_softly_) Ah, poor Everard! It was not till you opened my eyes, dear Treaby, that I--of course I am fond of Everard--oh, very fond! But--can I hesitate! Between a boy--and a great man--a leader of men! Dear Treaby, (_rise and up_ C.) I beseech you--leave me here, for a moment!

MISS TRE. (_rise and up_ L. C.) I go, dear child, I go--I feel that my eyes are red--I must wash away these tears. Plead for me with your guardian, Margaret--rid us of the hateful Martelli!

MARGARET. (_round to_ L. C. _and embracing_ MISS TRE.) I will try--oh, I will try!

(MISS TREABLE _kisses her devotedly and goes_ L. 3 E. MARGARET, _after a glance round the room, to make sure she is unobserved, takes a rose, kisses it, and lays it on_ SIR JOSEPH'S _desk--up_ C. R. _of desk_.)

Speak for me, rose, and tell him of my love! Lie fondly on his heart, dear rose!

(SIR JOSEPH'S _voice is heard outside, talking to_ MRS. MAR. MARGARET _starts and retreats to down_ C. SIR JOSEPH _enters from_ R. _talking to_ MRS. MARTELLI.)

SIR J. (R. C.) Come, come, Mrs. Martelli, she didn't mean anything! She couldn't have, you know! (_he sees_ MARGARET) Ah, little girl, you there? Er--er--Mrs. Martelli and I--

MARGARET. (C.) I go, guardian, I go! But--one word--for poor Miss Treable. She is the only friend I have in the world!

(_She goes out_ L. 3 E.)

SIR J. (C.) There, you hear that? The only friend she has in the world! Now, can I send her away? (_up to desk and sitting_) I put it to you!

MRS. MAR. (_grimly_) Every companion Miss Messilent has had has been her only friend. And let the lady stay by all means, Sir Joseph. (R. C.) Only you will permit me to take my departure.

SIR J. (_very annoyed, sitting at his desk, taking up the rose and dropping it in the waste-paper basket_) I wish that girl wouldn't let her confounded flowers trail all over the place! Why does she come in here? Can't I have one room in the house to myself?

MRS. MAR. (_picking up flowers which_ MARGARET _has dropped_) That was precisely the cause of my altercation with Miss Treable, Sir Joseph. I found her inspecting the photographs on the mantelpiece.

SIR J. Confound her impudence! I'll say a word to her. We'd better keep the door locked in future, eh?

MRS. MAR. (R. C. _adamant_) You will have to choose, Sir Joseph, between Miss Treable and me.

SIR J. (_wheedling, rise and down_ R. C.) Come, come, Mrs. Martelli, you and I have been together too long to allow a trifle like this to part us. Besides, we're all going off in a day or two--Miss Treable may get married in the Long Vacation--

MRS. M. Married--she! She'll never see forty again!

SIR J. Won't she, though? Well, after all, that's no concern of mine. _I_ don't want her to see forty again--for the matter of that I don't want to see _her_ again. But she's the girl's companion--and the girl must have a companion--and if the Treable woman goes I shall have to find another companion. That's so, isn't it?

MRS. MAR. (_still adamant_) Sir Joseph--

SIR J. And I want to be off to Scotland to-morrow! Come, come, Mrs. Martelli--

MRS. MAR. Sir Joseph, that person has made use of certain expressions to me that render further residence with her under the same roof impossible. I regret it--for my dear husband's sake, I regret it. But you will have to choose.

(_She goes_ R. I. E. _with majesty_. SIR JOSEPH _is exceedingly vexed. He pishes and pshaws, seizes his blotting pad, hurls it to the other end of the room, then goes and fetches it--then takes up paper_ R. _and reads, swearing softly to himself_. PETERS, _the butler_, _enters_ L. 3 E.)

PETERS. (_up_ L. C.) Mr. Mollentrave and Lady Claude Derenham have called, Sir Joseph.

SIR J. (_puts paper down eagerly_, R. C.) Ah, I'll go down. They're in the drawing-room, I suppose?

PETERS. (_up_ L. C.) No, Sir Joseph--Miss Messilent and Miss Treable are playing a duet in the drawing-room--

SIR J. (_discontentedly_) Ah--in the library, then?

PETERS. No, Sir Joseph--Mr. Swenboys is smoking a pipe in the library--

SIR J. (_furious_) Not a room in my house! Where in Heaven's name are they?

PETERS. In the dining-room, Sir Joseph.

SIR J. (_stamping his foot_) The dining-room! Bring them up here, Peters--quick!

(PETERS _goes_ L. 3 E. SIR JOSEPH _goes to glass_ R. _and arranges tie, etc._ PETERS _returns with_ MR. MOLLENTRAVE _and_ LADY CLAUDE. MOLLENTRAVE _is a very old man, with masses of snow-white hair; notwithstanding his age, he is alert and agile, with no trace of feebleness_. LADY CLAUDE _is a beautiful and fascinating woman_. LADY C. _enters, shakes hands with_ SIR J. C., _and gets away_ L. C. _as_ MOLLEN. _enters_.)

MOLLEN. (_with outstretched hands_--C.) My dear Balsted! Forgive this intrusion. But I had to come and congratulate you again on the way you conducted my case. You were masterly! Masterly.

SIR J. (C.) You are very good, Mr. Mollentrave. Our copyright law is intricate. (MOL. _crosses behind_ SIR J. _to_ R. _and undoes book_) It was a very nice point (_he shakes hands with_ LADY CLAUDE) And you, Lady Claude, are you pleased?

MOLLEN. (R. C.) Need you ask, when my book was in question! Rosamund is naturally proud of her father's work!

LADY C. (L. C.) And I am especially glad of the opportunity the case has given me of renewing an ancient friendship.

SIR J. (C.) Yes--we are very old friends, you and I! You have been abroad a long time?

LADY C. Yes--in Italy--since my husband's death.

SIR J. I trust you have now returned for good?

MOLLEN. (_comes_ C. _a step_) I don't mean to part with her any more, Balsted! Italian cypresses may set off a widow's weeds--but now, that two years have passed! (LADY C. _sits on stool. He produces a book_) Balsted, I have taken the liberty to bring you my book--the _casus belli_--with an autograph inscription. (C. _he presents it with a flourish_) Allow me to offer it to you!

SIR J. (_taking it_) I am very much obliged.

MOLLEN. (R. C. _rubbing his hands_) "Mollentrave on Women!" I venture to say it is in a fair way to become a classic.

LADY C. (_smiling_) He has given away all our secrets!

MOLLEN. I was an observer from boyhood. Like Dante, I fell in love at the age of nine. Unlike Dante, I made notes. In the interests of my self-imposed study I married three times. (_by chair_ R.) In short, you will find, between these covers, a most careful, complete investigation on scientific principles, of the baffling, perplexing creature known to us as WOMAN!

LADY C. (_in smiling protest_) Papa!

MOLLEN. (_comes_ C. _a step_) Your pardon, my child! You are, of course, the topmost blossom of the spreading tree. You have inherited, if I may say so, my mental energy.

SIR J. (C. _fingering the book_) I am disappointed that Lady Claude's photograph does not figure as frontispiece.

MOLLEN. Ha, ha, very good! (_away_ R. _and returning_) But--in all seriousness (_takes book_), Balsted--it is a guide, a hand-book, a Baedeker! It conducts you personally to the most hidden recesses of the feminine heart, opens every door, strips every cupboard! (R. C.) No marriage license should be issued to the man who cannot pass his examination in Mollentrave! (_Goes_ R. _to table and puts book down_) As a result there would be cobwebs in the Divorce Court! You practise there, by the way?

SIR J. Heaven forbid! No--I am on the Chancery side--

MOLLEN. (C.) Ah--that's a pity--I should have valued expert criticism. I am at present revising the book for its next edition--which will be the twenty-third!

SIR J. (C. _on his_ L.) The twenty-third? Really!

MOLLEN. My dear sir, the work has been translated into every living tongue. I am told there are women's clubs where it is the custom solemnly to execrate me after dinner. In Dover Street "to be mollentraved" has passed into the language. It means--to be found out!

LADY C. (_rising_) Papa, we must not take up Sir Joseph's time.

SIR J. On the contrary! And my interviews with you have been too brief, these many years past, for me to desire to curtail them. Besides, I find myself to-day in a position of some perplexity--and truly, should value your advice!

LADY C. (_archly_) Mine--or papa's?

SIR J. Both! Please sit down. Will you listen to my tale of woe?

(LADY C. _sits settee_ L.)

MOLLEN. Gladly. It is the least we can do for you, after your magnificent service. (MOL. _gets chair_ R. C. _and sits_)

(_They sit._)

SIR J. (_sits up_ C. _front of desk_) Well then, here goes! As you are aware, I am unmarried. Many years ago (_he looks at_ LADY CLAUDE _who drops her eyes_) I loved a lady, who, very wisely, preferred another. (MOLLENTRAVE _points waggishly to the book_) Ah, Mr. Mollentrave, had I then been able to consult your work!

MOLLEN. I was labouring at it for twenty years before I gave it to the world.

SIR J. My misfortune to have been born too soon! Well, I settled down to single blessedness, and worked hard. My existence was tranquil. An elderly lady, widow of a man I had known, kept house for me, and left me undisturbed. My life was all work, with an occasional game at bridge. I had never been a ... lady's man ... the sex did not--let us say, appreciate me--and I, while admiring them from a distance, have avoided their closer neighborhood.

MOLLEN. My dear friend, you have denied yourself one of the most fruitful sources of amusement!

SIR J. That may be, but I am constitutionally shy. And law and politics, you see, took up all my time--I settled down--contentedly enough, into old fogeydom. My one care was a nephew, a good lad, who walked the hospitals and has just passed his final exam. Well, so far all was untroubled. But now comes the catastrophe. A year ago an old friend of mine died in Australia--a companion of my boyhood--and bequeathed me--his daughter!

MOLLEN. (_alert_) Ah!

SIR J. His motherless daughter! I received her letter by the morning's post--she came in the afternoon! A girl! Imagine it! My austere dwelling invaded by a bouncing, flouncing girl!

MOLLEN. (_chuckling_) Terrible!

SIR J. It _was_ terrible. Lady Claude will excuse me--

LADY C. (_smiling_) Oh yes!

SIR J. My feelings at that moment could only be expressed in camera. There was no way out--he had appointed me her guardian--it was a sacred trust--I could do nothing. (_rise_) She was too old to send to school--too young to live alone. And here was I, to whom girls are esoteric, mysterious things, of strange, uncanny ways--I, who don't know what to say to them, how to feed them or amuse them, I who go into no society, have no small-talk, don't dance or play ping-pong--here was I suddenly overwhelmed by this avalanche of laces and muslins!

MOLLEN. Heaven sent you a full-grown daughter, without the expensive preliminaries!

SIR J. Let us hope Heaven meant it kindly--but there are occasions, doubtless, when even Providence nods! Well, after a considerable struggle with myself, I accepted the inevitable. I moved from my comfortable bachelor's quarters, took this house, found her a companion--who at once proceeded to quarrel with the housekeeper. I had to dismiss her and engage another--the same story! (_sits on settee_ L. _by_ LADY C.) In twelve months I have had five companions. To-day another disturbance--for the sixth time I am bidden choose between them--and I had hoped to go to Scotland to-morrow. This may all sound very trivial--but truly I'm in despair!

LADY C. (_laughing_) Poor Sir Joseph!

MOLLEN. (_rise and go_ L. C. _Earnestly_) My dear child, I can enter into our friend's feelings--this is no laughing matter!--Tell me now, Balsted--what is she like, your ward?

SIR J. (_puzzled_) Like? Like all other girls, I imagine. I scarcely have looked at her. Pretty, I suppose, in a feeble kind of way. I have said good morning and good evening, taken her to an occasional theatre, and allowed her to prattle. She is only a child.

MOLLEN. (_quickly_) A mistake! They _never_ are children!--How old is she?

SIR J. Eighteen, I believe--or nineteen, perhaps--possibly twenty.

MOLLEN. Of the sentimental order?

SIR J. (_laughing_) Truly, I've no idea!

MOLLEN. At least you can tell me her taste in literature?

SIR J. (_searching in his memory_) Literature? She reads a good deal--though what, I've no notion. Stay, though--I remember, one night when I couldn't sleep, taking a book of hers upstairs, and having a superb night's rest. It was Somebody's Love-Letters.

LADY C. The Englishwoman's?

SIR J. Yes. That was it.

MOLLEN. Good. Were passages marked?

SIR J. The pages were peppered with lines and crosses.

MOLLEN. The boards protected with a cover?

SIR J. I rather imagine they were.

MOLLEN. Notes scribbled on the margin?

SIR J. I fancy so--yes, I am sure! Heaps of 'em!

MOLLEN. Clue No. 1. Perfect. (_triumphant_) In her clothing she will affect the darker shades?

SIR J. (_with an effort at memory_) Er--yes--

MOLLEN. Fond of flowers?

SIR J. She litters the place with them!

MOLLEN. I have her! Devours poetry, of course? Adores Wagner? Appetite languid, member of the Stage Society, and worships Ibsen?

SIR J. The name's familiar--I've heard her mention it--

MOLLEN. Of course! My dear fellow, I haven't seen the lady--and I prefer, as a rule, to visit the patient before pronouncing upon her case. But here all is simple, and there is no further need of analysis. She belongs to the large class, known as _Invertebrate Sentimentalists_. (_away_ R. C.)

SIR J. (_rise and go_ C.) The deuce she does!

MOLLEN. Harmless, my dear fellow--quite harmless! Now tell me--your nephew?

SIR J. Yes?

MOLLEN. Has he been here all the time?

SIR J. The last month only--he studied in Germany.

MOLLEN. Good. A normal, healthy lad?

SIR J. Quite.

MOLLEN. Age?

SIR J. Twenty-four or twenty-five.

MOLLEN. A little melancholy lately?

SIR J. Ah! The fact is. I _have_ noticed--

MOLLEN. With the quickness of the trained advocate you have guessed my drift! My dear sir, your troubles are at an end. To restore your tranquillity, all you need do is to--add the ward to the nephew!

SIR J. (_gleefully_) By Jove! I should never have thought of it!

MOLLEN. That is where _I_ come in. You talked of a will--she has money?

SIR J. Ten thousand pounds.

MOLLEN. Admirable. Now listen--

(LADY C. _rises and goes up_ L. C.)

MOLLEN. (_sit in chair_ R. C. _down stage_) It will take you exactly ten minutes. You will send for your nephew--meet him coldly--wave him to a chair. A set frown on your face. You will tell him severely you have detected his secret, (SIR J. _sits_ C.) remarked his passion for your ward. You will upbraid him--remember, his adoration is certain! He will confess and beat his bosom. Then you melt--and send for the maiden.

SIR J. (_alarmed_) I? I speak to her? Never!

MOLLEN. In the interests of celerity! If you leave it to him he will bungle it. He will be abject, and she tyrannical. She will say "no" for certain, to see how he takes it. She will demand time--in short, there will be delay. You will find all this set down in my fourteenth chapter, called "The Cat and the Mouse."

SIR J. (_rise and down stage_) I can't do it, Mollentrave. I shouldn't know what to say!

MOLLEN. (_rise, put chair back_ R.) You, the great orator! Imagine you're addressing a jury of--girls! Wallow in sentiment--reek of it! (R. C.) Put the boy's love--draw a pathetic picture--tears in your voice, and so on! In a minute she'll cry, and accept him! Oh, I guarantee the complete success of the operation! And see here--Rosy and I are going to Swanage to-morrow--why not join us there, with the young couple?

SIR J. (C.) That's exceedingly good of you--I had meant to trot off to Scotland--

MOLLEN. You can't--at once! Remember--they are engaged! But you can go in a day or two, and leave them with us. The house is large.

SIR J. Really--that is too kind--

MOLLEN. Copy for me, my dear fellow--They'll be under the microscope, but they won't know. (LADY C. _comes down_ L. C.) And I'll give the boy some wrinkles. You'll come?

SIR J. (_turn_ L.) Does Lady Claude join in the invitation?

LADY C. Most cordially.

MOLLEN. So that's all settled. (_He gets up, goes to the back, and proceeds to wrestle with his overcoat_)

SIR J. (C. _to_ LADY CLAUDE) Though I should ask you to explain a few points in your father's work?

(MOLLEN., _seized by a sudden inspiration, takes book, sits on settee, and turns down pages_ SIR J. _will have to consult_.)

LADY C. (L. C. _merrily_) It contains an index, an appendix, and a glossary.

SIR J. I am very dull. If I needed help--

LADY C. The book will tell you how dangerous it is to invite a woman's assistance.

SIR J. But suppose I seek the danger?

LADY C. There is a chapter on widows.

SIR J. Which I shall not read. There _you_ shall be my author.

LADY C. _My_ book is to be on man.

SIR J. If you need a collaborator!

LADY C. I shall ask your ward to assist--But, Sir Joseph, I thought you could not talk to women?

SIR J. I cannot--but there is one, all these years, to whom I have said so much, and so often!

LADY C. I am glad you have made an exception. Well, you know where we live, at Swanage?

SIR J. I have not forgotten--I have a memory.... There was an elm-tree there--

LADY C. Which still remains, though it has grown older! (MOLLEN. _bustles up_) To-morrow then? You will let us know by what train? Good-bye--and you have my best wishes. (B. _goes up to door_ L. 3 E.) Papa (_goes up_ L. _and_ EXIT L. 3 E.)

MOLLEN. (_rise, round back_ C. _to_ L. C.) Yes--send us a wire! Good-bye, my dear fellow. And remember--gallons of sentiment!

(MOLLENTRAVE _turns to the door; as he goes_ SIR JOSEPH _clutches him_.)

SIR J. (_away_ R. C.) Mollentrave, I can't do it! I can't! At the mere thought of it I feel a chill down my spine. I can't!

MOLLEN. (_coming_ C.) Balsted!

SIR J. Look here, why not speak to her yourself?

MOLLEN. I?

SIR J. Why not? It's your business, after all, this sort of thing. (C.) You're an expert, a professional. I won your case for you yesterday--win mine for me now!

MOLLEN. (L. C.) But it's a delicate subject to bring before a lady one has never met before--

SIR J. I'll introduce you in proper form--tell her you are my mouthpiece--Oh, I'll make _that_ all right. And I'll be there, of course, while you--do it--

MOLLEN. Naturally, if you insist--

SIR J. I do--You will?

MOLLEN. Certainly--though--(_getting away_ L.)

SIR J. (_following him to_ L.) I'm immensely grateful! I'll send for the boy at once and talk to him. I can manage _that_ part. You'll see Lady Claude into her carriage, walk to the corner of the street and come back. Then, if you're right about him--

MOLLEN. _If_ I'm right!

SIR J. (L. C.) You will put the other little matter before her, in your own inimitable fashion. Eh?

MOLLEN. (L.) I'll be back in ten minutes.

(MOLLENTRAVE _exits_ L. 3 E. SIR JOSEPH _has rung_ R. PETERS _comes in_ L. 3 E.)

SIR J. (R. C.) Tell Mr. Swenboys I want him.

PETERS. Yes, Sir Joseph.

(PETERS _goes_ L. 3 E. SIR JOSEPH _hums cheerfully, takes up the book, and glances at it_. EVERARD _enters_. SIR J. _frowns, throws down book and waves him to a chair_.)

EVERARD. (L. C.) You want me, uncle?

SIR J. (R. C.) Yes, sit down, sit down. (EVERARD _sits on stool_ L. C.) Oh, Everard!

(SIR J. _sits in chair_ R. C. _down stage_.)

EVERARD. (_wonderingly_) Why, uncle, what is it? Have I done anything?

SIR J. Done anything, unhappy boy! (_He pauses, perplexedly, then resumes, with melodrama_) I should never have believed it--never!

EVERARD. (_rise and going_ C.) But, uncle, tell me--

SIR J. (_waving him back_) If ever a trust was sacred ... if ever a man had a right to expect--and you--you!

EVERARD. (C. _in absolute dismay_) Why--what--

SIR J. Isn't the world full of girls whom you could fall in love with? Don't they--pullulate? Aren't there a hundred thousand more women than men in London alone? And must you select, out of them all, the very one whom you--shouldn't?

EVERARD. (_sinking his head_) That wretched Treable woman has told you about the verses!

SIR J. Verses! You stooped to verses!

EVERARD. (_humbly_) I cribbed them.

SIR J. An attempt to obtain credit--under false pretences! Confess it then, degenerate boy! You love my ward!

EVERARD. (_drawing himself up_) Uncle, I do! With every drop of my blood!

SIR J. (_delighted, but simulating great grief_) Ha! It is true then!

EVERARD. I was wrong--there is no doubt I was wrong. But could I help it--put it that way--how could I?

SIR J. I must decline to put it that way.

EVERARD. (_passionately_) Why did you let me come here, and be in her presence, day after day? How live in the same house with her, sit opposite her at meals, and not adore? How look upon that matchless face, listen to the sound of her voice, its silvery music (_down_ L.) and not--fall prostrate?

SIR J. (_making a note on his shirt-cuff_) Matchless face--silvery music--

EVERARD. (_to_ R. C.) I worship her, uncle! She is the--very star and loadstone of my existence, the--

SIR J. (_rise_) I see. But, tell me--have you said all this--to her?

EVERARD. (C. _mournfully_) To her not a word! My fingers may have pleaded, as I passed the bread and butter--my eyes may have spoken--but my lips--never! The verses, the fatal verses, merely compared her to the (_away_ L. C.) Capitoline Venus--

SIR J. (R. C.) And the Venus, I suppose, wasn't in it?

EVERARD. (_up to him_ R. C.) Ah, uncle, don't make fun of me! I confess my fault to you frankly--I know it was wrong--I've always known it. Send me away, sir--I'll do what you bid me. Get me a berth in Africa where the climate's deadliest (_sit_ C. _front of table_) I'll go without a word--and you'll soon be rid of me!

SIR J. (_up_ R. C.) But, my dear lad, I don't want to be rid of you--and I'm not sure that I altogether approve of the deadly climate scheme. All I say is--

EVERARD. You can say nothing to me that I have not said already to myself--ah, many times! (_rise_) It was a presumption--a mad presumption. Don't be too hard on me!

SIR J. (_gravely_) Everard, I've tried to do my duty by you--

EVERARD. You have been more than a father to me. Be merciful, sir!

SIR J. I will, I will.

EVERARD. All I ask is--

SIR J. All _I_ ask is that we now drop heroics and descend to more commonplace ground. Leave Olympus and return to the London pavement----

EVERARD. (L. C. _bewildered_) I don't understand--

SIR J. (R. C.) Why, after all, when one comes to think of it, there is no especial crime in a young man falling in love with a young woman--

EVERARD. (_up_ R. C.) A young woman! Margaret!

SIR J. A young goddess, then--but still, it is not unnatural. And, as I say, I don't see--

EVERARD. (_springing wildly to his feet_) You don't mean that there is a hope for me!

SIR J. But I do, I do! I have reason to believe that she is not altogether indifferent.

EVERARD. (_gasping_) Uncle!

SIR J. Has she given you no sign?

EVERARD. (_shyly_) When we played chess last Thursday, she allowed her hand to rest on mine for the appreciable fraction of a second--

SIR J. (_triumphantly_) You see! Mollentrave on Women--the text-book on the subject--would, I am sure, interpret that as encouragement.

EVERARD. Uncle! Don't tell me that you think--(_he rushes wildly about the room_)

SIR J. But I do, I do! What's more, I am convinced! Come, my boy, sit down. (EVERARD _down_ R. _back to_ C. SIR J. _seizes him and sits him_ R. C.) and don't pace the room like an undischarged bankrupt. (_sits_ C.) Let us discuss the matter.

EVERARD. Margaret to be mine!

SIR J. Again I say, why not? I shall buy you a practice as a wedding-present, and--as they say in the fairy-stories, you will live happily ever after. Do you authorize me to--sound the lady?

(EVERARD _rises and away_ R.)

(MOLLENTRAVE _comes bustling into the room_ L. 3 E.)

SIR J. (_rise_ C.--_going eagerly to him and whispering into his ear_) Splendid, Mollentrave, splendid! (_aloud_) Let me introduce my nephew, Mr. Everard Swenboys. Everard, this is an old friend of mine--whom we can admit to our fullest confidence. (_down_ C.) Mollentrave--my nephew has just confessed to me that he loves my ward!

MOLLEN. (L. C.) You don't say so! Remarkable! Really! (_up_ L. C. _puts hat down table_ C. _and crosses to down_ R.)

SIR J. I have your authority, Everard, to--ask the lady?

EVERARD. (R. C.) Oh, uncle, if you would! One word from you!

SIR J. Very well, then--send her to me! At once!

EVERARD. (_with a look at_ MOLLENTRAVE) Now, uncle? Had we not better--

SIR J. Now! The court of Love is sitting! (EVERARD _crosses to_ L.) Go, my boy--and tell her to be quick!

EVERARD. (_shakes his uncle violently by the hand, then rushes out of the room_ L. 3 E. SIR JOSEPH _turns to_ MOLLENTRAVE _down_ R. C. _with enthusiasm_, C.) You're a wizard, you know! It's marvellous! Look here, I made a note or two for you--matchless face, silvery music of her voice--you might bring those in--

MOLLEN. Startingly original, aren't they? You'll find half a dozen really _new_ superlatives in my book. So it seems I wasn't wrong, eh? (_goes_ R. _by fireplace_)

SIR J. (C.) Extraordinary! If only you're right about her.

MOLLEN. We shall see. My dear friend, I have other cases on hand besides this. (_comes_ C.) Have you met Lord Contareen?

SIR J. No--I don't think so.

MOLLEN. I am, shall I say, "steering" _him_. He's in love with my--with a lady, and the lady loves him--without knowing it. (R. C.) I give you my word she has refused him, although she adores him--merely _because_ she doesn't know.

SIR J. (C.) Funny! But _you_ know, eh?

MOLLEN. _I_ know, by what I call consequential induction; and by the same process I'll answer for your ward. By the way what will you do while I--plead?

SIR J. Just go and sit at my desk, eh? (_sit_ R. _of desk_ C.)

MOLLEN. Yes--that will be best. It won't take long. I hope she'll come soon! (_down_ R.) though! Ah--

(MARGARET _has come into the room_ L. 3 E.; _she goes to_ SIR JOSEPH _and does not at first notice_ MOLLEN. _who is at back_.)

MARGARET. (L. _of desk_ C.) You wish to speak to me, guardian?

SIR J. (_very embarrassed_) Yes--er--yes.

MARGARET. About Miss Treable? Oh, believe me, she is the o--

SIR J. (_rising down_ C. _very fidgety and awkward_) No, no, it's not about Miss Treable. Let me introduce you to Mr. Mollentrave. Mollentrave, this is my ward, Miss Messilent.

(MARG. _comes down_ L. C.)

MOLLEN. (R. C. _bowing_) I am exceedingly happy to make Miss Messilent's acquaintance.

SIR J. (_picking his words with considerable effort and difficulty_) Margaret, you will possibly--consider it strange--but the fact is--there is something--that I ought to have--said to you--myself--before to-day perhaps (C.)--but it's a--delicate matter--and you know what a rugged old bear I am--and--well, Everard's not much better--and here's Mr. Mollentrave--a very old friend--and he--well, you see, I told him of my--of our--dilemma--and he, in the kindest way in the world--eh, Mollentrave?--well, he'll just tell you, you see, and I'll finish--what I was doing.

(_He beats a hasty retreat to his desk and buries himself in his papers._ MOLLENTRAVE _advances, smiling and mincing_.)

MOLLEN. (R. C. _very volubly_) My dear Miss Messilent, I find myself in a rather embarrassing position. Your guardian, who as you are aware, has, in the most charming manner possible, retained all the shyness of youth in the presence of your adorable sex, has deputed me to speak for him, phrase his sentiments, express his pious desires--in a word, act as his mouthpiece in introducing to your notice a subject that I trust will enlist all your sympathy. Have I your permission?

MARGARET. (L. C. _her eyes roaming from him to_ SIR JOSEPH) Certainly.

(MARG. _sits stool_ L. C. MOLLEN. _takes chair from_ R. C. _and sits_ C.)

MOLLEN. (_sitting_ C.) My dear young lady, the sixty years that have passed over my head, furrowing my brow and blanching my hair, give me at least the privilege to address you with a certain paternal simplicity, a mild but glowing benevolence. Can you, without too great a stretch of the imagination, look on me, for a very brief moment, as though I were actually your guardian?

MARGARET. (_more and more puzzled_) If you wish it.

MOLLEN. Ten thousand thanks. You simplify my task. Because the theme on which I have to dwell is not one that can be coldly attacked--scarred veteran as I am, there are still feeble pulsations in my heart when I breathe the magic word--Love! (_He looks searchingly at her_)

MARGARET. (_startled_) Love! (_she throws a quick glance at_ SIR JOSEPH, _who dives down deeper behind his desk_)

MOLLEN. (_with much sentiment_) Love! I am fresh from hearing a man tell of his love--oh, the word is too cold!--of his deep, overpowering passion! Miss Messilent, I am still under the spell! I have been the recipient, in my time, of many confidences--but never have I met a creature so absolutely enslaved by the divine emotion, so eager a captive in the chains of beauty--as is this lover--of yours! (_Both rise_)

MARGARET. Of mine! Mine! Me!

MOLLEN. Who but you? Are you not--but forgive me if my advocacy becomes too ardent! (_puts chair back_ R. _and goes up to_ R. _of_ SIR J.) It is your guardian who should be saying these things--but I speak for him, I am the reed into which he has blown! (MARG. _kneels on stool and is facing_ SIR J.) It is your guardian who wishes to know whether this man, this lover of yours (_comes_ C.) this man who yearns for you, who for the last month has been your satellite, shining with your radiance and dark with your darkness, who has set up a temple in his soul whereof you are the goddess--whether this man shall be flung by you into the shadows of hopeless misery, or be made immortal by the knowledge that you--return--his passion!

MARGARET. (_off stool and sitting_ L. C. _looking glowingly at_ SIR J.) Yes! Yes! Tell him yes!

MOLLEN. (C. _beaming_) Ha! You can accord him, then, a small fragment of--your affection?

MARGARET. Can he doubt it! Oh, he is so much above me! I had never dared to hope!

MOLLEN. (_triumphantly_) Miss Messilent, nor he, I assure you--nor he! (_away_ R. C.) Ah, lovers, lovers! Then your guardian may tell Mr. Swenboys--

MARGARET. (_sinking her head_) Ah--poor Everard!

MOLLEN.(C. _smiling_) Poor Everard! I don't think we need pity _him_! (_She rises_) Miss Messilent, I have fulfilled my mission, and now I will leave you. I relinquish my paternal role with regret, with considerable regret--and join the ranks of your other admirers. Miss Messilent, I kiss your hand!

(SIR J. _rises and steps forward: he is beaming with joy_. MOLLENTRAVE _bows to her and crosses her over to his_ R. _and goes to the door_ L. 3 E. SIR JOSEPH _rises, accompanying him_. MARGARET _remains standing_ R. C. _as though entranced_.)

MOLLEN. (_up_ L. _at the door, to_ SIR J.) Rather good, eh, don't you think, for an impromptu?

SIR J. (_up_ L. C.) Good! Magnificent! How can I thank you?

MOLLEN. Tut, tut, I've enjoyed it. Now make her name the day while the ecstatic mood's still on her! Good-bye! Till to-morrow!

(MOLLENTRAVE _goes_ L. 3 E.)

(SIR JOSEPH _returns to_ MARGARET)

SIR J. (C. _all his awkwardness returning_) My dear--Margaret, I am really most glad--most glad. And Everard--well, well, I need say nothing about Everard. And now that we--know--will you regard me as--inconsiderate--if I press for an--early--marriage?

MARGARET. (C. _coyly_) Sir Joseph!

SIR J. (_on her_ L.) You will have to--er--drop that title soon, my dear and address me--er--less formally.

MARGARET. Not yet, not yet! Give me time.

SIR J. (_a little surprised_) Certainly, certainly--but I trust it will not be too long. And now, one final word. My--er--guardianship will soon be at an end--but I have tried--to--er--fulfil its duties. And I trust that--er--er--you will never regret the--er--step--you are taking to-day!

(_He goes to her, cordially holding out both his hands._ MARGARET _is about to throw herself into his arms when the door opens and_ MRS. MARTELLI _appears_ R. 1 E. _She pauses, aghast._ MARGARET _with a smothered cry, rushes out of the room_ L. 3 E.)

MRS. M. Sir Joseph! (R.)

SIR J. (C. _gleefully_) Well, Mrs. Martelli?

MRS. M. (R. C. _standing grimly on the threshold_) I hope I do not intrude.

SIR J. (C.) By no means, by no means! We had finished! Ah, Mrs. Martelli, there will soon be an end to Miss Treable!

MRS. MAR. (_open-mouthed_) Sir Joseph! (_with suppressed indignation_) I came to tell you that your clerk is still waiting below.

SIR J. Noyes! Ah, I had forgotten about Noyes! Send him up, (_across to_ R.) please. Oh, it's splendid, Mrs. Martelli--splendid!

(MRS. MARTELLI _exits_ R. 1 E.)

(_The door at back opens and_ EVERARD _appears_.)

EVERARD. Uncle!

SIR J. (C. _rushing to him, and slapping him on the back_) Everard! It's all right! Go to her, my boy!

EVERARD. (L. C. _gasping_) Uncle!

SIR J. Go to her! She adores you! Unworthy, et-cetera--never dared to look so high! Oh, you couple of idiots! Give her the classic kiss, and get her to name the day! She has promised to make it soon. Quick, now--she's waiting!

EVERARD. Uncle!

(_He rushes out wildly back_ L. 3 E. SIR JOSEPH _returns to_ R. C. NOYES _enters_ R. 1 E.)

SIR J. (R. C.) Ah, Noyes, I forgot about you! Here--a present. Take it and read it! (_He hands him the book_)

NOYES. (R. _looking at the cover_) "Mollentrave on Women." (_he stares_)

SIR J. (R. C. _takes book away from_ NOYES) Stay though--it's an autograph copy--you must buy one for yourself! Hurrooh! He knows a thing or two, that old man. Well, now what news?

NOYES. (R.) I merely called to see whether you were going to Scotland to-morrow, Sir Joseph.

SIR J. No--not to-morrow--I must alter my plans for a bit. Everard's going to marry my ward, Noyes. A bit of luck, eh? We must see about settlements, and so on. And buy the lad a practice. There are agents for that sort of thing, eh?

NOYES. Certainly, Sir Joseph. And permit me to congratulate you.

SIR J. Thank you, thank you! And enquire about the practice--at once!

NOYES. Have you any preference as regards locality?

SIR J. H'm--a pleasant suburb--not _quite_ too near town, eh? Noyes? One doesn't want to be _too_ close--to the felicity of the young couple? Turtle-doves demand solitude. Oh, blessings on Mollentrave!

(EVERARD _returns_ L. 3 E. _the picture of hopeless despair_.)

SIR J. (C.) Hullo, what's this?

EVERARD. (L. C.) Uncle, she thinks you meant you!

SIR J. (_leaping up_) What!!!

EVERARD. She thinks you meant YOU!! That you were proposing for yourself! She says she's engaged to--YOU!

SIR J. (_shaking him_) Speak, can't you? What do you mean?

EVERARD. (_brokenly_) She does. I didn't undeceive her. How could I? _She's happy_--_she loves_ you--she'll _marry_ you! Oh!

SIR J. Oh! Mollentrave!

(EVER. _buries his head in his hands and sinks into settee_ L. SIR JOSEPH _stands_ C. _shouting between his clenched teeth_--"Oh, MOLLENTRAVE!")

CURTAIN.