ACT III.

_The garden of_ MR. MOLLENTRAVE'S _house in Swanage. A low fence runs at back, with a thick hedge; behind is the sea, to which a winding path leads, down the rock. There are alleys running to right and left._ MISS TREABLE _is seated on the tree_ L. C. _with_ DEXTER _standing before her. A week has elapsed since the last Act._

DEXTER. (C.) Yes, Miss Treable, he is a great man--a very great man! His powers of insight are most extraordinary! I trust you do not resent his--as it were--stripping off the pigment and exposing the unvarnished canvas?

MISS TRE. (_is sitting_ R. _tree trunk, haughtily_) I have no doubt that what Mr. Mollentrave says may be true of _some_ women--but certainly not of ME!

DEXTER. (_bowing_) You are naturally an exception. His remarks must be taken as applying generally to the sex. (_down_ L. C.)

MISS TRE. Regarded from _that_ point of view--

DEXTER. (_up_ C.) Ah, Miss Treable, in my own humble life I have derived the greatest benefit from Mr. Mollentrave's teaching! And like all geniuses--he is so modest! One of his most brilliant aphorisms was--I say it with pride--inspired by me.

MISS TRE. (_indifferent_) Indeed?

DEXTER. (R. C. _resting on_ L. _tree trunk_) I assure you. You must know that my wife has a large circle of relations. I will confess to you that I somewhat resented their constant interference in our affairs. I mentioned the matter to Mr. Mollentrave. Without a moment's hesitation that remarkable man dictated the line: "Marital happiness begins when the wife's relations--leave off!"

MISS TRE. (_sarcastic_) Profound. Very.

DEXTER. (_sit on_ L. _trunk_) He has permitted me to compile a little volume of extracts, "The Mollentrave Birthday Book"--one coruscation for every day of the year. A good idea, is it not? (_rising_)

MISS TRE. (_rising_) Admirable! But I doubt whether many women will buy the book. (_down_ R.)

DEXTER. (_moving off_) If all those who consider themselves exceptions purchase it, Miss Treable, I shall be perfectly satisfied. (_goes up_ C.)

(_He goes through the gate._ SIR JOSEPH _comes stealthily along looking worried and haggard_ R. 3 E.)

MISS TRE. (R. C. _brightly_) Good morning, Sir Joseph.

SIR J. (C.) Good morning. I had hoped to find Mr. Mollentrave here. Do you happen to know--

MISS TRE. Would you wish me to tell him?

SIR J. I should be much obliged.

(_Miss Treable exits_ R. 3 E.)

(SIR JOSEPH _throws himself on the grass_ L. _and plucks savagely at it, muttering to himself. After a moment_ MARGARET _comes running from the house_ R. 3 E., _looks round, and gives a glad cry as she sees_ SIR J. _The cry becomes reproachful when she finds he is lying on the grass. She carries a small basket in her hand._)

MARG. Oh, Joseph, dear Joseph, how could you! Lying on the grass! (_puts basket down_ R. C. _and helps_ SIR J. _to rise_.)

SIR J. (L.) (_getting up. Miserably_) H'm I--

MARG. (L. C.) Wicked man! With your rheumatism! And no muffler! I found it in the hall! Oh, naughty, naughty! (_she produces it from the basket_) Here it is, sir! Put it on at once! (_puts muffler round him_) (_taking him to_ R. C.) (_he sits_ R. _trunk of tree_) And it's twelve o'clock! I've brought your essence--here--and a spoon. (_she produces them from the basket and feeds him_) What would you do without me?

SIR J. Impossible to conceive!

MARG. (SHE SITS ON HIS L.) Take it, sir! (_he laps it up piteously_) To think of you all these years, having to look after yourself, and hide, because he wouldn't let his little girl see how ill he was! Oh, poor, poor! (_she feeds him a second time and wipes his mouth with the muffler_) But she'll take care of him now! Only wasn't it wicked of you to slip off like that? You had only dictated for an hour and a half!

SIR J. I thought you were tired!

MARG. (_with enthusiasm_) Tired! I could go on forever! It's immensely interesting--fascinating. Oh, how wonderful you are!

SIR J. (_clearing his throat_) H'm--I--

MARG. Constitutional Law, one would think would be a dry subject. To me it's a fairy tale.

SIR J. Er--

MARG. Perhaps because _you_ are speaking! You! Nouns and adjectives cease to be parts of speech--they become parts of--you!

SIR J. (_with a great effort_) I have frequently had occasion to remark to you, Margaret, that I have a great distaste for sentimentality. I have explained to you--the month of probation--

MARG. One week has expired. Has it been a week? Can the days have flown so quickly?

SIR J. They have evidently contrived to. Although--

MARG. (_rise, up_ C.) See how the sun is shining--how radiant the water is--and the sky! The dancing sunlight! Oh, what does it say to you, the sunlight! (_down_ R. C. _to_ SIR J.)

SIR J. (_impatiently_) It says to me that it's very hot--and that we're talking nonsense.

MARG. Oh, let us, for once! I've been so good!--Joseph, you coughed! You must take a lozenge. (_she produces a box from the basket_) You must! Mr. Mollentrave says that you have the beginnings of asthma.

(_She opens the box, takes out a lozenge, and forces it between his lips. He swallows it, pathetically._)

Miss Treable and I are practising first aid, in case you should fall down--

SIR J. (_savagely_) And why in the name of goodness should I fall down?

MARG. Mr. Mollentrave told me that your limbs are rather unsteady--

SIR J. (_clenching his fists_) Ah, Mollentrave, Mollentrave!!

MARG. (_kneeling on his_ L. _She puts his arm on her shoulders, fondly_) But have no fear, dear one! You shall lean on me--I shall be your crutch, your support! Oh, the thought of us two in our cottage--just you and I! I dream of it!

SIR J. (_growling, taking arm away_) No dances--no theatres--not even a visitor--

MARG. Shall I want any of these--when I have--you! You, who have given up all--for my sake--for me!

SIR J. (_fidgeting_) H'm--but still--I fancy you'll find it dull--

MARGARET. I? Never! You don't know me yet--not altogether, I mean. Oh, if you would let me speak to you--about myself--

SIR J. (_rise and cross_ C., _throwing lozenge away--fretfully_) That theme is barred--by consent. Don't you think you had better go back to the house? Unless you would like to bathe?

MARGARET. (_rise, firmly_) No--you do not bathe--I shall not either. No pleasure in which _you_ cannot join, can henceforth be a pleasure to me!

SIR J. (_turning up stage--groaning_) Come--we'll go back to Law! (_he rises_)

MARGARET. Yes, yes--let us! But stay--I have a word to say to you--

SIR J. More words?

MARGARET. Not of myself this time--nor of you--but of--Everard!

SIR J. (_with a gleam of hope_) Everard!

MARGARET. (_reproachfully_) Oh, Joseph, my own Joseph, what a suspicion! Could you imagine! Oh!

SIR J. (_groaning again_) He is more of your age--I thought--I told you I should not blame you--

MARGARET. Never dare to hint at such a thing again! I regard him--it is my duty to regard him--with the serene, but affectionate eyes, of an--aunt, (_sit_ R. C.)

SIR J. (C.) Aunt!

MARGARET. And--I confess--it grieves me--to see him--so much taken up with--Lady Claude.

SIR J. (_eagerly_) Ah, you have noticed--

MARGARET. Day after day he is with her--with her all the time. She--ah, Joseph, you may not have observed it--but women have quick eyes! Lady Claude was a friend of yours once, I know--but she is a designing woman!

SIR J. (_angrily_) I say! Look here!

MARGARET. Oh, I mean nothing unkind. Women of that age--she is _at least_ thirty-five--naturally crave to be--admired. And it is perfectly plain to me that she--is drawing Everard on.

SIR J. (_grimly_) Really!

MARGARET. She flirts with him outrageously! She won't let him out of her sight! I've been looking forward to finding him a wife--you and I together--some girl who would make him happy.... But Lady Claude!

SIR J. (_cunningly_) Everard certainly seems to admire her--

MARGARET. Is it not incomprehensible! She's so old.

SIR J. H'm, if it's the disproportion of age that shocks you, think of us! I--fifty--and you nineteen!

MARGARET. (_rise, and up to him_) My love shall twine round you so softly that we shall divide my youth--shall share it. And, in the days to come, we shall ask--which one is old--Joseph--or Margaret?

SIR J. (_sulkily_) Conundrums of that kind will be useful, on winter evenings, with the wind howling down the chimney, and the rain coming through the roof--(_turn away_ L.)

MARGARET. (_getting on_ SIR J.'S L.) There can be no wind when you are near me, and no rain can come through the roof of our love!

SIR J. (_throwing up his hands in despair_) Oh, no more at present, please!

MARGARET. (_laying a hand on his arm_) You'll speak to Everard?

SIR J. Why on earth should I?

MARGARET. Joseph! Shall we let the poor boy throw himself away on--

SIR J. (R. C. _laughing hysterically_) Ha, ha! Oh, that's very good! Throw himself away on--Lady Claude!

MARGARET. (C.) (_offended_) You think it's impossible? But I tell you I've seen--

SIR J. My child, we've talked nonsense enough for one morning. Let's go. (_takes her hand and is about to lead her away_ R. MOLLENTRAVE _comes in breezily up_ L. C.) Ah, there's Mollentrave. I must have a word with him. Run on to the house--I'll follow. (_giving her the basket_)

MARGARET. (_fondly_ R.) Come soon, dear one--come soon. When my eyes do not rest on you they grow tired with waiting!

SIR J. (R. C.) Please go, there's a good girl!

(MARGARET _departs regretfully_ R. 3 E. MOLLENTRAVE _has been coming from the other side. He wears his usual air of supreme satisfaction_)

MOLLEN. (_up_ L. C.) You want me, Balsted? All going well?

SIR J. (_savagely_ R. C. _takes muffler off_) Oh, wonderfully well. The way we're progressing is extraordinary--very!

MOLLEN. (_his head on one side_) The trained observer would almost detect a suspicion of--satire.

SIR J. Satire! Heaven forbid! It's true that the girl grows fonder and fonder--

MOLLEN. She has only tasted the jam so far--but the powder's working!

SIR J. She Josephs me from morning till night! She'll be calling me Joey soon. (_down_ R. C.)

MOLLEN. (C.) No, no, Balsted! I should _not_ encourage her in the use of the diminutive!

SIR J. (_savagely_) Gurrh! Look here, Mollentrave--

MOLLEN. Impatient person! I said a month, did I not? So far but a week has passed--(MOLLENTRAVE _sits_ L. C.)

SIR J. (_sit_ R. C.) Another week will drive me crazy. I dictate law to her--the dullest stuff I can find--I tell you she likes it, she never wants me to stop!

MOLLEN. You will forgive me, my dear Balsted--but have we been quite--senile--enough?

SIR J. Senile! Have I been senile? Haven't I simulated aches and pains, and congenital insanity, till I simply detest myself? Man, she loves me the more for it!

MOLLEN. (_airily_) Merely the first stage, Balsted! Peeling!

SIR J. I can't go on--I tell you I can't! The fact is, Mollentrave, that you've been hopelessly wrong.

MOLLEN. (_emphatically_) Events are following exactly the path that I had marked out; they are, with unerring precision, pursuing to a hairs-breadth the line I had indicated in my mind.

SIR J. (_sarcastic_) Indeed! Then perhaps you'll explain--

MOLLEN. My dear Balsted, believe that I make not the slightest reflection upon your intelligence when I remark that a general's plans are rarely comprehensible to his subalterns.

SIR J. (_pettishly_) This is not a case--

MOLLEN. (_rise and go_ C.) Pardon me, but it is. If I may borrow an analogy from your legal jargon, I am the leader here, and you the junior. Is that not so?

SIR J. I have made up my mind. I shall tell her the truth.

MOLLEN. Do--and they'll drag up her body on Swanage beach to-morrow.

SIR J. Absurd!

MOLLEN. Let that sentimental girl realize that she has been fooled--she'll take her life. That's certain. And as her hair's long she'll choose the sea. (_away_ L. _and up_ L. C.)

SIR J. Unfortunately I've lost my faith in you, Mollentrave.

MOLLEN. (_shrugging his shoulders_) That, of course, is a pity.

SIR J. Am I not justified? See your great scheme about Everard! She isn't jealous at all.

MOLLEN. Has she spoken about him?

SIR J. Yes--she wants to find him a wife.

MOLLEN. And not a word about Rosamund?

SIR J. She thinks Lady Claude flirts with him, and doesn't seem to like it. But, beyond that--

MOLLEN. (_triumphantly_) Beyond that! And you complain! Balsted, that's love! The real girl creeping up, through the cotton wool! My dear fellow! Couldn't be better! It couldn't indeed!

SIR J. I don't know--she didn't speak like that at all. And the boy has been odd--he avoids me--he doesn't address one word to Margaret--

MOLLEN. (_with emphasis_) The boy follows the rule! He nurses his passion. Rosamund consoles him--she always talks about Margaret! What more do you want? And the girl thinks they flirt! He watches her hungrily--oh, I've observed it!--he waits for his hour. You'll see.

SIR J. (_with a gleam of hope_) You really think that? You really think that?

MOLLEN. (_sits on_ JOSEPH'S L.) I give you my word I never believed matters _could_ be so far advanced.

SIR J. Then perhaps I had better go on?

MOLLEN. (_rise._ SIR J. _rises_) Would you turn back, with the harbour lights in sight? Look here, I'll knock off a fortnight! I ask for one week more--just one week! And before that's out you'll have them both on their knees to you.

(LADY CLAUDE _comes in_ R. 3 E. _and crosses_ L. C.)

Rosamund, Rosamund! Balsted has been complaining--losing heart! Tell us about Everard! He's always talking of Margaret?

LADY C. (_up_ C. _sadly_) Always, always! For hours at a time.

MOLLEN. (_up_ R. C. _turning triumphantly to_ SIR J.) Balsted!

LADY C. (_plaintively_) She's a very sweet girl, and I'm fond of her--but--the subject's beginning to pall!

(MARGARET _off cries_ "_Joseph_")

MOLLEN. She's calling you, Balsted.

SIR J. (_down_ R. _sulkily_) Let her call.

(MARGARET _off louder_ "_Joseph! Joseph!_")

MOLLEN. You must go to her, Balsted! Play the game. One week more--

SIR J. I'd rather spend it in gaol, picking oakum. (MARGARET _off_, "_Joseph!_ JOSEPH!!") Oh, Mollentrave, if it were not for your daughter, how I'd wish that I never had met you!

(_He goes--miserably_--R. 3 E.)

MOLLEN. (_coming down_ R. _shaking his head_) And that man, Rosamund, is one of our most eminent lawyers!

LADY C. (_down_ R. C.) Papa, I must tell you--it's strange--though Everard and I talk of nothing but Margaret every day, from two till seven--

MOLLEN. Well?

LADY C. (_pathetically_) Think of it! From two till seven--every day!

MOLLEN. Science must have its martyrs! Tell yourself that you're watching human love wriggle--under the microscope!

LADY C. Though he recounts, with minutest detail, every word she has spoken to him since they first met--what she said, what he said, how she looked, what she wore, the gestures she made--still, and for all that, I have a feeling at times, a kind of idea--

MOLLEN. (_waving his arm_) My child, you know my opinion of feminine intuition! In my book I class it under the head of popular fallacies. (_with a change of voice, and sudden energy_) Rosamund, I imagine the moment to be almost ripe for my grand coup! (_takes_ LADY CLAUDE'S _hands and sits her_ R. C. _on his_ L.)

LADY C. What will you do?

MOLLEN. (_sitting_ R.) I shall now proceed to work on the clay. I will provoke Everard to frenzy.

LADY C. How?

MOLLEN. He knows of course of the month of probation--he builds on that. To-day he shall learn that Balsted proposes, at the earliest possible moment, to lead Margaret to the altar!

LADY C. (_doubtfully_) You will tell him that?

MOLLEN. I will. And the result? A scene between the two young people before which the most passionate episodes of Romeo and Juliet pale into insignificance! For I shall also tell Margaret that _you_ have fallen desperately in love with Everard!

LADY C. (_protesting_) Papa! You will never say that!

MOLLEN. Discreetly--by nods and jerks--oh, you may trust me! And there ensues--in chemical parlance--a liberation of two gases--that meet--and explode!

LADY C. (_rise, up_ C.) Oh, I hope that they'll explode soon! See, there he is--under the trees! He is waiting.

MOLLEN. (_rise and up_ R.) Let him come--I will leave you. Prepare him, Rosamund--pave the way--lay down the stones--then I shall come--the steam roller! I have every confidence in you, my child.

(_He skips off nimbly_ R. 3 E.--_after an instant_ EVERARD _comes in_ L. 3 E.)

LADY C. (C.) Ah, Everard--my father has just left me--we were talking of Margaret.

EVERARD. (C. _on her_ L.) (_indifferently_) Ah?

LADY C. The sweet girl! How beautiful she looks to-day!

EVERARD. She has a certain prettiness--

LADY C. Oh, Everard, her eyes! I don't think I ever have seen such eyes! One moment so tender--another so deep and glowing--

EVERARD. As your father says, Lady Claude, those qualities are common to the optic organs of all mammals. And--let me ask you--_why_ will you always speak about Margaret?

LADY C. Because I admire her so much! She has youth--ah, youth! (_sit_ R. C.) And besides, dear Everard, it seems to me that Margaret has been a favourite topic--with us both!

EVERARD. (_sit_ R. C. _on her_ L.) To-day at least I decline to talk of her--but of you--only of you.

LADY C. There is nothing to say of me, dear Everard. I--was. Among you young people I seem to move like a--tradition. Margaret says the things I used to say--she dreams my dead dreams. And I am fond of her--because I see in her--my old self.

EVERARD. (_eagerly_) That self has not suffered--time only has mellowed it--wisdom has crowned it--

LADY C. (_cheerfully_) You must not waste those pretty speeches on me! And tell me, why this affected indifference? Do I not know how passionately you adore her?

EVERARD. (_rising_) Lady Claude, I will confess to you, frankly and honestly, there _was_ a time when I believed I loved Margaret--

LADY C. (_staring_) When you believed--!

EVERARD. As your father observes--quoting Tolstoy, I think--I was attracted by a well-fitting jersey and a pair of Paris shoes.

LADY C. Everard!

EVERARD. But it was, I need scarcely say, the merest infatuation--

LADY C. What!!!

EVERARD. Could it have been other--since now I am conscious--how wholeheartedly I love--you!

LADY C. (_wildly_) Me! You love me!

EVERARD. You. My feeling for Margaret was immature sex-attraction. At your feet (_kneeling on her_ L.) I lay the profound and reasoned devotion--of a man. Rosamund, I love you. I ask you to marry me. Be my wife!

LADY C. (_aghast and helpless, rise and cross_ L.) You can't mean this? (_He tries to take her hand, she rises hurriedly and eludes him._ SIR J. _comes from_ R. 3 E.) (L. C.) There is your uncle. Leave us, leave us!

EVERARD. (C.) Why? I will tell him--

LADY C. No, no! Go to my father! Let him know! Please!

EVERARD. Since you wish it. (_He goes up_ R., _passing_ SIR J. _haughtily_) I shall return for my answer. (_he goes_)

LADY C. (L. C.) He has proposed!

SIR J. (R. C.) What!!!

LADY C. Imagine it! He has fallen in love--with me!

SIR J. (_slowly_) Everard has fallen--in love--with you?

LADY C. Yes! Imagine it! A catastrophe!

SIR J. (_dully, down_ R. C. _and sitting_) Very awkward. Very.

LADY C. (C.) How could one conceive it! I've been sympathetic--that's all! Talked about Margaret! Oh, I assure you, I've done nothing but talk about Margaret!

SIR J. There's something odd about boys and girls nowadays. But, of course, it's all Mollentrave--(_he clenches his fist_)

LADY C. What must I do? Tell me--advise me!

SIR J. You haven't accepted him?

LADY C. (_indignantly_) Sir Joseph!

SIR J. You see, things are just a trifle topsy-turvy. My--bride--grows more and more devoted.

LADY C. I'm completely bewildered! The poor boy seemed terribly in earnest--

SIR J. So does the poor girl! I'd like to shake them both in a bag! Well, _you'll_ have a week of it now.

LADY C. How to refuse him without--

SIR J. You'd better accept him--why not? You'll find, we'll both have to marry them. Then, some day perhaps, they'll elope together--and Mollentrave on Women will rub his hands and cry "There!"

LADY C. (_very distressed_) What am I to say to Everard? Oh, what?

SIR J. Be senile! Boil your milk!

LADY C. (_indignantly_) Sir Joseph! Is this your sympathy? (_sit_ L.)

SIR J. (_meekly and deprecatingly, rise and to_ L. C.) My dear friend, I've had seven days of Margaret. I thought my brain was fairly strong --but it's giving. I tell you I'm growing helpless--turning to pulp--

LADY C. But advise me--advise me!

SIR J. I can't. You know--it sounds absurd--I did have some hopes of marrying you myself--I did indeed. (_away_ R.) Well, now Everard claims you--and I shall soon be led by Margaret to the altar, with Miss Treable propping me up on the other side. We can't do anything--that's how matters are!

LADY C. Do you think _I_ will marry Everard?

SIR J. (_helplessly sit_ R. C.) I don't know--I don't think at all. Mollentrave does the thinking--Mollentrave!

(MOLLENTRAVE _bustles in, beaming_, R. 3 E.)

MOLLEN. (C.) (_looking wonderingly from one to the other_) Dear me, why this air of depression?

LADY C. (_both rise and up to knoll_) Depression! Papa! Have you seen Everard?

MOLLEN. (C.) I have, this very moment.

SIR J. } (_excitedly_) Well? Well? LADY C.}

MOLLEN. (_looking from one to the other_) Rosamund! Balsted! You surely wouldn't have me believe that you are not pleased?

SIR J. (_amazed_) Pleased!

MOLLEN. (_emphatically_) Yes, sir, I say pleased--at this magnificent development of my scheme!

LADY C. When Everard wants to marry me!

SIR J. And has ceased to love Margaret!

MOLLEN. (_more in sorrow than in anger_) Amazing! _You_, Balsted, you--well--you don't surprise me. But Rosamund--my own child--no, I should not have believed it!

SIR J. Did he, or did he not, inform you that he had proposed to your daughter?

MOLLEN. He most undoubtedly did.

SIR J. And was _that_ what you wanted?

MOLLEN. Can you ask? What else?

LADY C. (_reproachfully_) Papa! When you said--

MOLLEN. My dear child, I do not admit even you into my closest confidence. You have done your share, both of you--now leave me to do mine.

SIR J. Will you condescend to inform us--

MOLLEN. You will continue the treatment as before.

SIR J. (_madly_) I am to go on with Margaret--

MOLLEN. (_calmly_) You are.

LADY C. (_helplessly_) And--I?--

MOLLEN. Will persistently--sympathise--with Everard.

LADY C. But he has proposed! What am I to do?

MOLLEN. Be flattered--in case of need even affectionate.

LADY C. (_horror stricken_) Affectionate! (_away_ L., _and sitting_.)

MOLLEN. Discreetly--remotely--let us say, in a spiritual and disembodied fashion. You may, if you wish it, hint at Lord Contareen--

SIR J. (_looking up eagerly_) Lord Contareen?

MOLLEN. Ah, didn't you know? He and my daughter--(MARGARET _calls "Joseph" and comes in with the "Times" in her hand_.) Pardon me--there's the girl. I'll send her away--I have to give you further instructions. Wait here--I shan't be a moment.

(_He goes quickly to_ MARGARET _off_ R. 3 E., _and walks her off, talking eagerly to her_.)

SIR J. (_across to_ L. C., _sitting_) (_excitedly._) What is this about Lord Contareen?

LADY C. A foolish creature, whom Papa wishes me to marry.

SIR J. (_aghast_) Marry! What, what! Marry--you!

LADY C. Yes. And he thinks--

SIR J. Rosamund! Is there a man in the world whom you can marry--but me!

LADY C. Sir Joseph! You said just now--

SIR J. (_kneeling on her_ R.) Rosamund, I love you! I always have loved you! You know it!

LADY C. (_embarrassed_) I--I--

SIR J. During this diabolic week there has at least been _you_! You'll marry me, won't you?

LADY C. Oh, Sir Joseph, is this the time--

SIR J. It is, it is! To the devil with all the rest! We'll elope!

LADY C. Elope?

SIR J. Yes--and leave Mollentrave to settle matters! Rosamund, tell me!

LADY C. What can I tell you? What?

SIR J. That you care for me! Will you?

LADY C. But you are not free!

SIR J. (_wildly_) Not free, not free! But when I am--as I shall be, I swear it! then--?

LADY C. Then--oh, then I shall say "yes" many times!

SIR J. (_rise and raising her_) Rosamund--dearest!

(_He rushes towards her--she stays him, with a gesture._)

LADY C. Hush! He's coming back!

(SIR JOSEPH _gets back_ R.)

(MOLLENTRAVE _bustles in_ R. 3 E., _holding the "Times" in his hand_.)

MOLLEN. (C.) She was bringing you the "Times"--here it is--she assures me it has been warmed and all the microbes boiled out of it! You _are_ so fussy, Balsted! Here! (_He hands him the paper._)

(SIR JOSEPH _takes paper, goes up_ R. C.)

LADY C. (L. C.) Papa! Does Margaret know?

MOLLEN. About Everard? Oh yes. And of course she's indignant. Although she adores our friend Balsted, she resents the desertion of an ancient admirer.

SIR J. (_coming down_ C.) I fail to see how this helps us.

MOLLEN. (R. C.) Balsted, Balsted, you surely affect this denseness! I've told Everard, by the way, that he has my full consent and approval.

LADY C. (L. C.) Papa!

MOLLEN. That the decision rests with my daughter--

LADY C. (_cross to_ C.) With _me_! What am I to say to him?

SIR J. (L. C.) (_whispering to her_) We'll elope!

MOLLEN. In the meantime Balsted will be good enough to overwhelm Margaret with his elderly devotion--

SIR J. I won't!

MOLLEN. You will! Where you were doddery before, you will now be paralytic! You will, for the next week, refuse to stir from the house, or let Margaret do as much as budge from your side!

SIR J. (_ironic_) Really?

MOLLEN. Yes. And Rosamund does more or less the same with Everard.

LADY C. Papa, I can't! I tell you I can't!

MOLLEN. You must! _I_ tell you, you must! (LADY C. _goes up_ C.)

(MARGARET _calls "Joseph" and appears at the same place as before_. BALSTED _is_ L.)

(_Down_ L. C.) The girl again! Balsted, we will leave you with her. Read your paper--she mustn't think we've been plotting. Read it, I say--at present you're simply glaring!

LADY C. (_up_ R. C. _intercepting_ MARGARET--_speaking very gently_) Margaret--my dear Margaret!

MARGARET. (_up_ R. _coldly_) I congratulate you, Lady Claude.

LADY C. You congratulate me! You believe--

MOLLEN. (_up_ C.) (_sternly_) Rosamund, I want you! Come!

(_He marches her off_ L. U. E., MARGARET _looks scornfully after her, then sits on the grass, close to_ SIR J. _who holds the paper as a shield_.)

(SIR JOSEPH _crosses_ R. _and sits_.)

MARGARET. (C., _reproachfully_) Joseph, I warned you! You refused to take any steps! Now you see!

(SIR JOSEPH _turns over the paper wildly_.)

MARGARET. It is unpardonable of them both, but he, the poor boy, is at least to be pitied. There really should be a law against elderly women marrying mere boys! But it's our duty to do something, isn't it, Joseph? We really can't stand by and allow him to be so foolish--can we?

(EVERARD _comes in_, R. 3 E.)

Ah, Everard, Everard! We have heard the--news. Your uncle has something to say to you--haven't you, Joseph?

(_Comes down_ R. C., _taps him on the arm_, SIR JOSEPH _suddenly leaps up_ R. C. _with a wild yell_)

(EVERARD _comes down_ L. C.)

MARGARET. Oh, what is it? Another attack, Joseph?

SIR J. (_flourishing the paper and pointing to a paragraph_) Here, here, who has done this? I say, who has done this?

EVERARD. (_amazed at his vehemence_) Why, uncle--

MARGARET. (_rushing up with smelling salts_) Joseph, you know you should not get excited!

SIR J. (_shaking her off_) Leave me alone! Go away! I want to know how it got into the papers! (_cross to_ C.) Who said it? Who?

MARGARET. (R. C.) Said what, Joseph dear? What has happened?

SIR J. (C. _fiercely_) There's an announcement here that I mean to resign the House, and give up the Bar!

MARGARET. Oh! That wretched man must have put it in!

SIR J. (_glaring at her_) Man! What man?

MARGARET. He called to see you yesterday, while you were resting. I couldn't disturb you, of course--so I--

SIR J. (_choking with rage_) _You_ saw him? You?

MARGARET. And I told him--I was so proud!

SIR J. You told him! But it's not true!

MARGARET. (_staggering_) What!!!

SIR J. (_wild with excitement and fury_) No--it's not true--it's none of it true! Oh, you--idiot!

EVERARD. (L. C. _advancing, horror-stricken_) Uncle! How dare you!

SIR J. (_ignoring_ EVERARD _and still glaring at_ MARGARET) None of it true! All sham and humbug, you--wretched little idiot!

(_He rushes off wildly_ R. 3 E., MARGARET _bursts into a torrent of hysterical sobs, and sinks on to the seat_ R. _Everard is deeply moved--following_ SIR JOSEPH to R. _and then impetuously to her_.)

EVERARD. (R. C. _deeply pained_) Margaret! Don't cry! Don't!

MARGARET. (_between her sobs_) Go--go--leave me! Go to your Lady Claude! Who cares about me!

EVERARD. (_humbly_) Margaret!!!

MARGARET. He has deceived me--I see it all now! The cottage in the country--the beautiful book--(_wringing her hands_) (_rise and cross_ L.) Oh, _can_ men be so wicked!

(EVERARD _follows her_ L. C.)

(_Feebly_) It was so sweet--his giving up all--for me! His being so helpless, and wanting me, so much! And now--oh, wretched girl that I am! (_her sobs burst forth afresh, go up_ C. _and sit, pushing_ EVERARD _away_)

EVERARD. (_up_ R. C.) Margaret! Don't! I can't stand it!

MARGARET. The wickedness of it! Oh, the wickedness!

EVERARD. But you loved him! You told me you loved him! When he proposed--

MARGARET. It was such a surprise--and I was so flattered! But love! How could I love--an old man!

EVERARD. (_more and more bewildered, sits up_ C. _on her_ R.) Margaret!

MARGARET. An--ugly--old man!

EVERARD. What--what!

MARGARET. And I--I admired him, of course. But I confess that at first--only then, when Mr. Mollentrave told me of all his diseases--Everard! His heart isn't weak?

EVERARD. (_rise_) No!

MARGARET. His limbs aren't feeble?

EVERARD. Not in the least!

MARGARET. He's not even asthmatic?

EVERARD. No more than I am!

MARGARET. (_raising her hands pathetically to Heaven_) Oh!!! And yet how great his love must be, for him to have stooped to this!

EVERARD. (_scornfully_) His love! He has called you an idiot! You!

MARGARET. (_sobbing again_) Yes--a wretched--little--idiot! And what had I done to deserve it! (EVERARD _sits_ C.) Oh, leave me, leave me! Go to your Lady Claude!

EVERARD. (_trembling with excitement_) You can't marry him now!

MARGARET. Will he let me escape, do you think? All this week, the hungry love in his eyes!

EVERARD. But you--if you don't love him?

MARGARET. I loved what I _thought_ was him. And I--I am faithful--_I_ do not change--_I_ don't says things to one woman one week and then make love to another! Why do you stay here, Everard? Your bride is waiting!

EVERARD. (_desperately_) Do you think _I_ want to marry Lady Claude?

MARGARET. (_scornfully_) Would you have proposed to her, if you didn't?

EVERARD. I proposed out of pique, because you--

MARGARET. (_excitedly_) What, what!

EVERARD. I read Mr. Mollentrave's wicked book, and believed it! Oh, Margaret, Margaret, can you think that any other woman in the world--

MARGARET. (_trembling_) Then--then--

EVERARD. I always have loved you--always--always! But when I found that you--

MARGARET. I see it all! You proposed to Lady Claude--for my sake!

EVERARD. I was so unhappy!

MARGARET. And you _don't_ love her? Then I have ruined your life!

EVERARD. It's not too late!

MARGARET. It is--it is! Can we break both their hearts? Oh, Everard--we must be noble!

EVERARD. Poor Lady Claude! I'm afraid I've been very cruel!

MARGARET. And your uncle--think of your uncle! Imagine if he--suspected! The blow to him! No, no, we mustn't, we can't. We must make the sacrifice, Everard! We must do what is right!

(_Leaning against each other._)

EVERARD. But tell me, at least! You _do_ love me?

MARGARET. Oh, Everard, I always have loved you--but I didn't know!

EVERARD. (_desperately_) I don't want to marry Lady Claude!

MARGARET. Nor I your uncle! But we must! They love us, the poor old things!

(_They fall into each other's arms._ MOLLENTRAVE _comes in briskly_ L. U. E. _and stares, in utter amazement_)

MOLLEN. (_triumphantly_) Ah! The liberation of two gases, that meet, and explode!

(EVERARD _and_ MARGARET _turn, horror-stricken, and rise_)

EVERARD. (_up_ R. C. _releasing_ MARGARET) Mr. Mollentrave! Oh!!!

MARGARET. (_down_ R. _shamefaced_) You mustn't think--oh, you mustn't! We were merely bidding each other good-bye!

MOLLEN. (C.) That of course was evident! But, Everard--for a man who half-an-hour ago proposed to my daughter--

EVERARD. (_miserably_) Mr. Mollentrave!

MOLLEN. Are there many other young ladies--whom you have to say good-bye to, Everard?

EVERARD. Be merciful, sir! Oh, Mr. Mollentrave. I love Margaret! (_going to her_)

MARGARET. (_reproachfully_) Everard!

EVERARD. I do, I do! And she loves me! Oh, Mr. Mollentrave, help us!

(_Both kneel_ C. _holding hands_)

MARGARET. Yes, yes, help us!

MOLLEN. What a position for a father! When I think of my Rosamund--the blow to her! And Balsted--poor, doting Balsted!

MARGARET. (_crawling towards_ MOLLENTRAVE, _humbly_) We've been very wicked, we know! But we'll do what you tell us!

MOLLEN. (_both rise_) Arise, my children! _I_ will befriend you!

EVERARD. (_up_ R. C.) Oh, Mr. Mollentrave, you are the noblest of men!

MARGARET. (_down_ R. C.) The best, the kindest!

MOLLEN. (C.) (_raising them both_) I will break the dreadful news to them--ah, very gently--We must not be brutal! Not a word to them yet--They must hear it from me!

MARGARET. Yes--oh yes!

MOLLEN. Oh, the cruelty of youth! Go now--go--let me consider what had best be done.

EVERARD. (_seizing his hand and wringing it_) How to thank you!

MARGARET. (_caressing the other hand_) Dear Mr. Mollentrave!

MOLLEN. Whatever it cost me, you have my promise!

(_They go off, hand-in-hand_ R. 2 E. _Left alone_, MOLLENTRAVE _laughs quietly to himself, and expresses his supreme satisfaction by a kind of elderly dance_. DEXTER _comes in_ R. 2 E. _with a telegram, and stares_.)

DEXTER. (R. C.) Mr. Mollentrave!

MOLLEN. (_with dignity_ C.) Dexter, this exhibition of agility may seem undignified, but it is symbolic of a certain inward feeling of legitimate pride.

DEXTER. (_puzzled_) Sir?

MOLLEN. Dexter, I have done it--like that! (_he snaps his fingers_) I waved my wand--and they walked--I piped, and they danced! (_to_ DEXTER R. C. _speaking with profound conviction_) Dexter there are moments when my power strikes me as somewhat uncanny....

DEXTER. (R. C.) May I ask, sir--

MOLLEN. No, no, these matters are not for you.--What have you there?

DEXTER. A telegram, sir. The boy is waiting.

(DEXTER _hands him the telegram_.)

MOLLEN. (_fumbling for his glasses_) Yes--a little uncanny! (C.) But--fortunately for mankind, I make a good use of that power! (_He adjusts his spectacles, opens the telegram, and reads_) What, what!

DEXTER. (R. C.) No bad news, sir, I hope?

MOLLEN. (L. C.) (_fuming_) Contareen! The ass, the triple ass! Engaged to Lady Gladys. I am d---- (_going up_ C. _and down_ R. C.)

DEXTER. Sir?

MOLLEN. And he gloats! He dares to gloat!

DEXTER. (R. C.) Any answer, sir? I have brought a form.

MOLLEN. Answer--no--no answer! Stay, though--there _shall_ be--yes, there _shall_! Ah, he gloats, does he, that--moon-calf! Write, Dexter,--write! Sit here and write!

(DEXTER _sits_ R. C.)

"Delighted at news. My daughter and Sir Joseph Balsted, who were engaged yesterday"--

DEXTER. (_open-mouthed_) Sir???

MOLLEN. (C. _pettishly_) I say, who were engaged yesterday--"join in congratulations." Have you got it?

DEXTER. Do I understand you to say--

MOLLEN. You do, sir--you do! Is that down?

DEXTER. Yes, sir. "My daughter and Sir Joseph Balsted, who were engaged yesterday, join in congratulations."

MOLLEN. Good. Now take that telegram, give it to the boy--and mind, not a word to anyone here! (_down_ L.)

DEXTER. (_going_) Very well, sir. (_is going_ R. 2 E.)

MOLLEN. (R. C.) Stay, I had better make sure. Give me the telegram, Dexter--I'll hand it to the boy myself. And do you go off, through that gate, and take the next train back to town.

(DEXTER _crosses_ L. C.)

DEXTER. (_up_ L. C.) Sir! Don't you trust my discretion?

MOLLEN. (R. C.) Implicitly, Dexter--but I prefer to know it's in London. Go at once, please. I shall let you know when to return.

(DEXTER _goes through the gate_, L. U. E.)

MOLLEN. (C. _and down_ L. C.) (_moving off_) More work for my hands! But can I let that creature gloat? (_is going up_ R. 3 E.)

(_As he goes, he meets_ SIR JOSEPH _and_ LADY CLAUDE.)

MOLLEN. (_pushing between them_) Ah, Balsted, Rosamund, wait for me here. I have news--strange news! I shall be back in a moment! (_he goes_ R. 3 E.)

SIR J. (_coming down stage on her_ R. _slowly walking down_ R. _and across_ L. C.) News! Some fresh scheme, no doubt! We have done with him--done! Rosamund, I'll go now to the post-office, and wire my clerk to get a special license--

LADY C. No, no, it's impossible! Oh, Joseph, think of our eternal remorse--if anything happened!

SIR J. Remorse! I tell you, if we stay here, we shall both of us be caught!

LADY C. We should never have lent ourselves to this deception!

SIR J. It's too late now to moan over things! Your father's responsible for it all--let him put things right!

LADY C. Think of poor Margaret! Ninety-nine girls out of a hundred, I said--what if she be the hundredth?

SIR J. I don't care if she be the thousandth! I won't marry her!

LADY C. And Everard! The blow to him! Oh, how can I have been so blind!

SIR J. He and Margaret will console each other!

LADY C. (L.) Oh Joseph, Joseph, they are so young, but youth can know sorrow! Margaret adores you--and I--oh, what have I done to poor Everard!

SIR J. (L. C.) I don't care, I don't care! I tell you--

(EVERARD _and_ MARGARET _come in_ R. 2 E.; _they start at seeing the others_.)

LADY C. Look, look! Here they are!

(_A panic falls on all four of them; they eye each other furtively, and both pairs stand whispering at opposite corners of the stage._)

MARGARET. (_down_ R. C. _to_ EVERARD _down_ R.) They've seen us--we can't go back.

LADY C. (_up_ L. _to_ SIR JOSEPH _up_ L. C.) Ah, Joseph! The poor little girl!

EVERARD. (_to_ MARGARET) He can't have told them yet!

MARGARET. (_to_ EVERARD) Oh no--impossible! But--how sad they are! As though they suspected!

LADY C. (_to_ SIR JOSEPH) The poor boy, the poor boy! We must be very gentle!

EVERARD. (_to_ MARGARET) I've behaved very cruelly to poor Lady Claude!

SIR J. (_to_ LADY CLAUDE) I'm afraid Margaret has been crying--

LADY C. (_to_ SIR JOSEPH) It will break her heart when she knows--

EVERARD. (_to_ MARGARET) Why not tell them? This is a chance--

MARGARET. (_to_ EVERARD) Oh, think of the shock! Your poor uncle! Oh, my heart fails me!

(_They fall into whispers._ MOLLENTRAVE _comes in, and chuckles at finding them all together. Both couples start guiltily and try to go_, MARGARET _and_ EVERARD R. 2 E., SIR JOSEPH _and_ LADY CLAUDE L. 2 E.)

MOLLEN. (C.) No, no, don't go--sit down please--I've something to say to you--all!

(_They sit all of them in the greatest embarrassment, avoiding each other's eyes_, MARGARET _and_ EVERARD R. _and_ R. C., SIR JOSEPH _up_ L. C., LADY CLAUDE _down_ L.)

MOLLEN. (C.) (_striking an attitude_) The poets have babbled of love since the first introduction of rhyme;--but all that we know, or need know, is that Cupid is--young! (_he turns to_ SIR JOSEPH) Balsted! The elderly fisherman baits his fat hook and thinks he has landed the salmon--down below, a barefoot boy wades in, and captures the prize! As a lover, Balsted, you have every quality--every one in the world that appeals to a beautiful girl--every one, with the exception of youth!

MARGARET. (R. C.) (_falling on her knees before_ SIR JOSEPH) Forgive me!

SIR J. (_staggered_) Margaret! (_crosses to_ R. C.)

MOLLEN. (_down_ L. C.) You _must_ forgive her! Balsted, it was your brain, your massive brain, that attracted poor Margaret--but to-day, as she sat beside Everard, two pair of lips met, quite by chance--and your brain was forgotten!

(LADY CLAUDE _still sitting_ L.)

EVERARD. (_rising_ R.) (_appealingly_) Lady Claude!

MOLLEN. (L. C.) Rosamund, you too will pardon, and grant absolution. Rosamund, Balsted, rise to superior heights--and, from your loftiness, smile on our lovers!

SIR J. (C.) Margaret, you are free!

MARG. (R. C.) What! _Can_ you!

SIR J. I release you!

MOLLEN. (_up_ L. C.) Go now, my children--leave me--to pour balm on their wounds!

(_He waves them off; they rush out gleefully, hand in hand_, R. 2 E.)

SIR J. (_up_ R. C.) A miracle! But how--

MOLLEN. (C.) The infallible working of an undeviating law!

SIR J. Mollentrave, I love your daughter. And she--

LADY C. (_rising and to_ L. _of_ MOLLEN.) Papa, this will be a disappointment to you, I know. But I--

MOLLEN. (C.) Disappointment! The dearest wish of my heart!

SIR J. What!!

MOLLEN. My scheme of schemes, at which I have labored since first I set eyes on our friend! Every single event, all that has happened, was merely the inlay, the minute fragments that dovetailed--and produced this!

SIR J. Marvellous! Mollentrave, I have no words--to express my admiration!

MOLLEN. (_taking_ SIR JOSEPH'S _hand and placing it in_ LADY CLAUDE'S) After all, my dear fellow, what is it? A little knowledge of human nature!

CURTAIN.

MOLLENTRAVE.

SIR JOSEPH.

LADY CLAUDE.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors.

Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.

Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.