Part 2
You donkey, you perfect donkey!
GERALD.
He swore he’d be able to pay the money.
MRS. DOT.
I never knew a man yet, or a woman either for that matter, who’d stick at a thundering lie when he wanted money. And what’s the result?
GERALD.
Well, the result is that after I’ve paid everything up, I shall have about five hundred pounds left. I’m proposing to go out to America and rough it a bit.
MRS. DOT.
Pardon my asking, but do you think a handsome face, a talent for small talk, and a certain charm of manner will enable you to earn your daily bread?
GERALD.
[_Laughing._] I don’t want to seem vain, but although I’ve done my best to conceal them, I fancy I have two or three other qualifications which will be of more service.
MRS. DOT.
Then the long and the short of it is that you’re ruined.
GERALD.
Absolutely.
MRS. DOT.
I’m delighted to hear it.
GERALD.
Dot!
MRS. DOT.
I am. I can’t help it. But I think your plan of going to the States is simply foolish.
GERALD.
What else _can_ I do? The Cape’s entirely played out.
MRS. DOT.
You stupid creature.
GERALD.
I beg your pardon!
MRS. DOT.
You belong to a class whose chief resource when it has squandered its money is a rich marriage. The custom is so well recognised that when a man of good family emigrates rather than have recourse to it, society is outraged and suspicious.
GERALD.
Thanks. I don’t think I can see myself marrying for money.
MRS. DOT.
Don’t be so absurd. I never heard that the course of true love ran any less smoothly because a charming widow had sixty thousand a year.
GERALD.
What _do_ you mean?
MRS. DOT.
My dear boy, I’m not a perfect fool. A man thinks a woman never sees anything unless she looks at it with both eyes at once wide open. Don’t you know that she can see things through the back of her head with a stone wall in between?
GERALD.
What have you seen, then?
MRS. DOT.
I’ve seen a thousand things. I’ve seen your eyes light up when I came into the room, I’ve seen you watch me when you thought I wasn’t looking. I’ve seen you scowl at any young fool who paid me an outrageous compliment. I’ve seen the pleasure it gave you to do me any trifling service. I’ve seen you watch for the opportunity of putting my cloak on my shoulders after the play. And--I’m sorry--but I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re in love with me. I dare say the fact has escaped your notice, but that’s only because men are so deplorably stupid.
GERALD.
[_Gravely._] D’you think it’s quite kind to laugh at me now?
MRS. DOT.
But I’m not laughing at you, my dear. I’m so pleased, and so flattered and so touched. At first I thought I was only a fool, and that I saw those things only because I wanted to. And when your hand trembled a little as it took mine, I was afraid it was only my hand that was trembling. And at last when I was certain that you were just as much in love with me as I was with you, I was so glad that I cried for two hours. And I had to use a whole box of powder before I could make myself presentable again.
GERALD.
[_Grimly._] I’m afraid you’ll think me an utter brute. I ought to have told you long ago that I’m engaged to be married.
MRS. DOT.
Gerald!
GERALD.
I’ve been engaged to Nellie Sellenger for the last three years.
MRS. DOT.
Why didn’t you tell me?
GERALD.
No one was supposed to know anything about it. And--I was afraid of losing you. Oh, Dot, Dot, I love you with all my heart. And I’m so glad to be forced to tell you at last.
MRS. DOT.
But I don’t understand in the least.
GERALD.
You know Nellie Sellenger is an old friend of mine.
MRS. DOT.
Yes, it was at the Sellengers’ I first met you.
GERALD.
Well, three years ago we were staying at the same place in the country, and I was a young fool.
MRS. DOT.
You mean that there was no other girl there, and so you flirted with her. But you need not have asked her to marry you.
GERALD.
[_Apologetically._] It was the merest accident. It came to pieces in my ’ands, so to speak.
MRS. DOT.
Really?
GERALD.
We were taking a walk in the garden after dinner, and a perfectly absurd moon was shining. It seemed the obvious thing to do.
MRS. DOT.
And of course she accepted. The girl of eighteen always does.
GERALD.
But Lady Sellenger refused to hear of it. She thought me most ineligible.
MRS. DOT.
Lady Sellenger’s a sensible woman. She was quite right.
GERALD.
I’m not so sure. If she’d given us her blessing and told us to do as we liked, we should probably have broken it off in three weeks. But she was really rather offensive about it. She refused to let Nellie see me, and the result was that we were always running across one another in Bond Street tea-shops.
MRS. DOT.
Monstrous! And so bad for the digestion.
GERALD.
Some time ago Lady Sellenger found out that we were writing to one another and so on, so she came to see me and said she’d made up her mind to take Nellie abroad for a year. She made me promise to hold no communication with her during that time, and agreed that if we were still of the same mind when they came back, she would withdraw the opposition and let us be properly engaged.
MRS. DOT.
An announcement in the _Morning Post_ and all that sort of thing?
GERALD.
I suppose so.
MRS. DOT.
And when are they coming back?
GERALD.
They came back last week. But I haven’t had a chance of speaking to Nellie yet. The year is up to-day, and this morning I had a note from Lady Sellenger asking if they might come to tea.
MRS. DOT.
And what are you going to say to her?
GERALD.
Good heavens! What can I say? I was poor enough a year ago, but now I’m penniless. I’m bound to ask for my release.
MRS. DOT.
Then why on earth have you been trying to make me utterly miserable?
GERALD.
You know, I don’t want to seem an awful prig, but I don’t think I should much like doing anything shabby. If Nellie wants me to keep my promise I shan’t draw back.
MRS. DOT.
Oh, but she won’t. She’ll be only too glad to get rid of you.
GERALD.
I’m afraid there’s something else I must tell you.
MRS. DOT.
More? Don’t say you’ve got a horrible past, because I shan’t turn a hair.
GERALD.
No, it’s not that. You know that Lord Hollington is a relation of mine.
MRS. DOT.
Only a fifteenth cousin, isn’t he? Far too distant to brag about.
GERALD.
A year ago three lives stood between me and the peerage. It seemed impossible that I could ever come into anything.
MRS. DOT.
Well?
GERALD.
But last winter my cousin George unfortunately broke his neck in the hunting-field, and his poor old father died of the shock. If anything happened to my cousin Charles everything would come to me.
MRS. DOT.
And Lady Sellenger would doubtless withdraw her opposition to your marriage.
GERALD.
She’s a very nice woman, but she has rather a keen eye for the main chance.
MRS. DOT.
Even her best friend would hesitate to call her disinterested. But why should anything happen to Lord Hollington? He’s quite young, isn’t he? I saw his engagement announced in the _Morning Post_ a little while ago.
GERALD.
He’s out in India at this moment. He’s a soldier, you know. It appears there’s some trouble on the North-West Frontier, and he’s in command of the expedition.
MRS. DOT.
Oh, but nothing is going to happen to him. He’ll live till he’s eighty.
GERALD.
I’m sure I hope he will.
MRS. DOT.
Say again that you love me, Gerald.
GERALD.
[_Smiling._] I oughtn’t to yet.
MRS. DOT.
You know, you’ve got to marry me. I insist upon it. After all, you’ve been trifling with my affections shamefully. Oh, we shall be so happy, Gerald. And we’ll never grow any older than we are now. You know, I’m an awfully good sort, really. I talk a lot of nonsense, but I don’t mean it. I very seldom listen to it myself. I’m sick of society. I want to settle down and be domesticated. I’ll sit at home and darn your socks. And I shall hate it, and I shall be so happy. And if you want to be independent you can have a job at the brewery. We want a smart energetic man to keep us up to the times. And we’ll have a lovely box at the opera, and you can always get away for the shooting.
[_A ring is heard._
GERALD.
There they are.
MRS. DOT.
Good heavens! I quite forgot about those wretched people in there.
[_She opens the door of the dining-room._
MRS. DOT.
I don’t want to disturb you, but if you’ve quite finished your conversation perhaps you’d like to come and have tea.
[BLENKINSOP _and_ FREDDIE _come in and go to the fire_.
BLENKINSOP.
I observe with interest that your remark is facetious.
FREDDIE.
I’m simply freezing.
MRS. DOT.
You didn’t mind being shut up in there, did you?
BLENKINSOP.
Not at all. I rather like sitting in an arctic room without a fire, with a window looking on a blank wall, and the society of your nephew and the _Sporting Times_ of the week before last as my only means of entertainment.
[CHARLES _enters to announce the_ SELLENGERS. _He goes out and brings in the tea._
CHARLES.
Lady and Miss Sellenger.
[_Enter_ LADY SELLENGER _and_ NELLIE. LADY SELLENGER _is a pompous woman of fifty, stout, alert and clever_. NELLIE _is very pretty and graceful, and fashionably gowned. She appears to be much under her mother’s influence._
LADY SELLENGER.
How d’you do? Ah, Mrs. Worthley! Delightful!
GERALD.
[_Shaking hands._] How d’you do? I think you know Mr. Blenkinsop?
LADY SELLENGER.
Of course. But I don’t approve of him.
BLENKINSOP.
Why not?
LADY SELLENGER.
Because you’re a cynic, a millionaire, and a bachelor. And no man has the right to be all three.
MRS. DOT.
And how did you like Italy?
LADY SELLENGER.
A grossly over-rated place. So many marriageable daughters and so few eligible men.
GERALD.
[_Introducing._] Mr. Perkins, Lady Sellenger--Miss Sellenger.
MRS. DOT.
My nephew and my secretary.
LADY SELLENGER.
Really. How very interesting! Almost romantic.
FREDDIE.
How d’you do?
LADY SELLENGER.
Dear Mrs. Worthley, what a charming gown! You always wear such--striking things.
MRS. DOT.
It advertises the beer, don’t you know.
LADY SELLENGER.
I wish I could drink it, Mrs. Worthley, but it’s so fattening. I understand you always have it on your table.
MRS. DOT.
I think that’s the least I can do, as it’s only on account of the beer that I can have a table at all.
NELLIE.
[_To_ MRS. DOT.] May I give you some tea?
MRS. DOT.
[_Going to the tea-table._] Thanks so much.
[GERALD _comes over to_ LADY SELLENGER _with a cup. She takes it. The others are gathered round the tea-table, which is right at the back, and talk among themselves._
LADY SELLENGER.
Come and sit by me, Gerald. I’ve not had a word with you since we came back from Italy.
GERALD.
[_Lightly._] What are you going to say to me?
LADY SELLENGER.
You can guess why I wrote to ask if we might come and see you to-day?
GERALD.
[_Rising._] Yes.
LADY SELLENGER.
Now do sit down. And look as if you were talking of the weather.
GERALD.
It’s a little difficult to discuss the matter quite indifferently.
LADY SELLENGER.
My dear boy, it’s the little difficulties of life which prevent it from being dull. We should be no better than the beasts of the field if we had no anxieties about our soul and our position in society.
GERALD.
I see.
LADY SELLENGER.
[_Rather impatiently._] My dear Gerald, why don’t you help me? What I have to say is so very unpleasant. You know I have always had a most sincere affection for you. Under other circumstances I would have wanted no better son-in-law.
GERALD.
It’s very kind of you to say so.
LADY SELLENGER.
I’ve assured you for the last three years that a marriage was absurd, and now I want to tell you that it’s impossible. Love is all very well in its way, but it doesn’t make up for a shabby house in the suburbs.
GERALD.
You’re not romantic, Lady Sellenger.
LADY SELLENGER.
My dear, when you reach my age you’ll agree with me that it’s only the matter of fact which really signifies. Love in a cottage is a delusion of youth. It’s difficult enough after ten years of solid matrimony in Grosvenor Square.
GERALD.
You married for love, Lady Sellenger.
LADY SELLENGER.
I’m anxious that my daughter shouldn’t make the same mistake. Now let us be quite frank with one another.... Are you sure they’re not listening?
GERALD.
[_Glancing at the others._] They seem very much occupied with their own affairs. What is your ultimatum?
LADY SELLENGER.
Well, Gerald, I’m not in the least mercenary. I know that money can’t give happiness. But I do feel that unless you have at least two thousand a year you can’t make my daughter even comfortable.
GERALD.
I’m sure that’s very modest.
LADY SELLENGER.
It’s not love in a cottage. It’s not love in a palace. It’s just--matrimony in Onslow Gardens.
GERALD.
I may as well tell you at once that I’ve had very bad luck. I wanted to make money, and I’ve come an absolute cropper.
LADY SELLENGER.
My dear Gerald, I’m very sorry. Is it as bad as all that?
GERALD.
It couldn’t be much worse.
LADY SELLENGER.
Dear me, that’s very sad. But, of course, it simplifies matters, doesn’t it?
GERALD.
Enormously. It puts marriage entirely out of the question and leaves only one course open to me. I’ll take the earliest opportunity to ask Nellie for my release.
LADY SELLENGER.
What a pity it is you’re so poor! Your principles are really excellent.
GERALD.
But what about Nellie? How will she take it?
LADY SELLENGER.
She’s so reserved, poor dear! She never speaks of her feelings. But after three London seasons most girls have learnt to bow to the inevitable. And how is Lord Hollington?
GERALD.
He’s to be married as soon as he comes back from India.
LADY SELLENGER.
It was dreadfully sad that his uncle and his cousin should die within a year. If anything happened to him you’d be in very different circumstances. But, of course, it would be wicked to wish it. I hope you never do.
GERALD.
Never. I trust he’ll live to a hundred.
LADY SELLENGER.
And I daresay he’ll have fifteen children. Those delicate men often do.... Why don’t you speak to Nellie now and get it over?
GERALD.
This very minute? With others in the room?
LADY SELLENGER.
That’s just it, I want to give neither of you any opportunity for sentiment.
GERALD.
You’re certainly very practical.
LADY SELLENGER.
No woman can afford to be sentimental when she has a marriageable daughter.... For heaven’s sake don’t make Nellie cry, we’re dining out to-night.
GERALD.
I’ll do my best to be very matter of fact.
LADY SELLENGER.
[_Raising her voice._] Mr. Blenkinsop, I want to quarrel with you!
BLENKINSOP.
[_Coming forward._] You fill me with consternation.
LADY SELLENGER.
You passed us in Pall Mall this afternoon and you cut us dead.
BLENKINSOP.
I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you. I’d just been to the War Office to inquire if there was any news of those fellows out in India. By the way, Halstane, isn’t Hollington a relation of yours?
GERALD.
Yes, why?
BLENKINSOP.
Haven’t you seen anything in the paper?
GERALD.
No.
BLENKINSOP.
Oh, but surely. There’s sure to be something about it in the _Westminster_.
[_He takes up the paper._
GERALD.
That’s an early one.
[_Faintly are heard the cries of “Special.”_
FREDDIE.
Listen, there’s the last edition coming along.
LADY SELLENGER.
But what is it, Mr. Blenkinsop?
BLENKINSOP.
A small force was sent out to punish some local people up in the hills, who’d been making themselves troublesome, and it hasn’t been heard of since. The idea is that there may have been some trouble and they’ve all got cut up.
MRS. DOT.
But how does it concern Lord Hollington?
BLENKINSOP.
He was in command of it.
GERALD.
Good God!
BLENKINSOP.
When I was there a couple of hours ago the War Office had no news at all.
GERALD.
But why didn’t you tell me about it?
BLENKINSOP.
I thought you knew. I’d forgotten for the moment that Hollington had anything to do with you. He’s a very distant relation, isn’t he?
GERALD.
Yes, I hardly know him.
LADY SELLENGER.
But if anything has happened to him....
[_Cries outside of “Special, Special.”_
MRS. DOT.
Why don’t you get a paper? Freddie, run and get one, will you?
GERALD.
No, Charles can go.
[_He rings, and_ CHARLES _immediately comes in_.
GERALD.
Oh, Charles, get a paper at once. Hurry up!
CHARLES.
Very good, sir.
[_He goes out. Outside, cries of “Terrible catastrophe in India.”_
GERALD.
By Jove, did you hear that?
[_Cries of “Special, Special.”_
LADY SELLENGER.
Why doesn’t he make haste?
GERALD.
Nonsense. It can’t have anything to do with Hollington.
MRS. DOT.
[_With her hand on his arm, anxiously._] Gerald.
[FREDDIE PERKINS _is looking out of the window_.
FREDDIE.
Here’s Charles. By Jove, he isn’t hurrying himself much.
GERALD.
Has he got a newsboy?
FREDDIE.
Yes. What the deuce is he doing?
GERALD.
[_At the window._] Good lord, he’s reading the paper.
LADY SELLENGER.
The suspense is too awful.
FREDDIE.
There’s another newsboy running down the street.
[_Cries of “Special, Special.”_
GERALD.
Thank God, he’s coming upstairs at last. I should like to kick him.
[_Cries of “Terrible catastrophe in India. ’Eroic death of Lord ’Ollington.”_
Good God!
[_They all remain in silence, full of consternation._ CHARLES _enters with the paper_.
Hurry up, man! What the deuce have you been doing?
[_He snatches the paper from him._
CHARLES.
[_With dignity._] I made all the ’aste I could, my lord.
[GERALD _stops for a moment from looking up and down the paper, and stares at him_.
GERALD.
What the dickens d’you mean?
[_He looks at the paper, reads, and drops it._
MRS. DOT.
Is it true, Gerald?
[_He looks at her and nods._
GERALD.
Poor chap. And just as he was going to be married.
CHARLES.
Shall I bring your hat and coat, my lord?
GERALD.
What on earth are you talking about?
CHARLES.
I thought your lordship would like to go round to the War Office.
GERALD.
Shut up!
[_Exit_ CHARLES.
LADY SELLENGER.
My dear boy, I congratulate you with all my heart.
GERALD.
Oh, don’t remind me of that already.
LADY SELLENGER.
I can quite understand you’re a little upset, but after all he was only a very distant relation of yours.
BLENKINSOP.
I don’t understand what all this means.
GERALD.
Didn’t you hear that fool of a servant? It was the first thing he thought of.
MRS. DOT.
Gerald succeeds to the peerage!
GERALD.
Yes.
MRS. DOT.
Wouldn’t you like us to leave you alone? I’m sure you want to think things out a bit?
LADY SELLENGER.
Come, Nellie!
GERALD.
I’m sorry to turn you out. Good-bye. I had something to say to you, Nellie.
NELLIE.
We’ve not had a chance of speaking to one another.
LADY SELLENGER.
[_Unctuously._] It’s very fortunate. Now you’ll have much pleasanter things to talk about.
[_He stares at her without understanding._
LADY SELLENGER.
Things are very different now, Gerald. It just came in time, didn’t it?
NELLIE.
Good-bye.
[LADY SELLENGER _and_ NELLIE _go out_.
BLENKINSOP.
Good-bye, old man, I’m sorry your cousin has had such an awful death. But after all, we none of us knew him and we do know you. I can’t tell you how glad I am that all your difficulties are at an end.
GERALD.
I would give my right hand to bring Hollington back to life again.
BLENKINSOP.
Good-bye.
[_He goes out._
MRS. DOT.
Go away, Freddie. I want to talk to Gerald.
FREDDIE.
Good-bye, old man. I say, what a nice girl Miss Sellenger is!
GERALD.
Good-bye.
[FREDDIE _goes out_.
MRS. DOT.
Well?
GERALD.
The news has come just an hour too soon. It’s bound me hand and foot.
MRS. DOT.
What d’you mean by that?
GERALD.
Nellie accepted me when I was poor and of no account. Now that I’m well off I can’t go to her and say: I’ve changed my mind and don’t want to marry you.
MRS. DOT.
What d’you mean by being well off?
GERALD.
I believe I shall have six or seven thousand a year.
MRS. DOT.
But you can’t live on that. It’s absurd.
GERALD.
[_With a smile._] There are people who live on much less, you know.
MRS. DOT.
Besides, she doesn’t care for you in the least. I could see that at a glance.
GERALD.
How?
MRS. DOT.
A girl who loved you wouldn’t have a skirt cut like that.
GERALD.
I can’t draw back now, Dot. You must see that I can’t.
MRS. DOT.
If you cared for me, you’d easily find some way out of the difficulty.
GERALD.
I must be honest, Dot.... I don’t want to seem a snob, but I’ve got an ancient name, and it’s rather honourable. I’m by way of being the head of the family now. I don’t want to begin by acting like a cad.
MRS. DOT.
You know, I’m much nicer than Nellie. I’m more amusing, and I’m better dressed, and I’ve got five motor cars. It’s true she’s younger than I am, but I don’t feel a day more than seventeen. [_With a little look at him._] And if you had any sense of decency at all you’d say I looked it. You said you loved me just now. Say it again, Gerald. It’s so good to hear.
GERALD.
I don’t see how we can help ourselves.
MRS. DOT.
[_Beginning to lose her temper._] I suppose you just want to finish an awkward scene? I don’t want to harrow you. Why don’t you go to the War Office?
GERALD.
You must see it’s not my fault. If we must part, let us part friends.
MRS. DOT.
Now, I declare he wants to sentimentalise. Isn’t it enough that you’ve made me frightfully unhappy? D’you want me to say it doesn’t matter at all, as if you’d spilt a cup of tea on me? D’you think I like being utterly wretched?
GERALD.
For heaven’s sake, don’t talk like that. You’re tearing my heart to pieces.
MRS. DOT.
_Your_ heart? I should like to bang it on the floor and stamp on it. You must expect to suffer a little. You can’t put it all on me.
GERALD.
I don’t want you to suffer.
MRS. DOT.
[_In a temper._] You were willing enough to marry me when you hadn’t got sixpence to bless yourself with. How fortunate your cousin didn’t die a week later!
GERALD.
Do you think I was proposing to marry you for your money?
MRS. DOT.
Yes.
GERALD.
Really?
MRS. DOT.
No, of course not.
GERALD.
Thanks.
MRS. DOT.
Oh, you needn’t take it as a compliment. I’d much sooner have to deal with a clever knave than an honest fool.
GERALD.
Won’t you say that you bear me no ill-will?
MRS. DOT.
No.
GERALD.
I really must go to the War Office.
MRS. DOT.
Very well, you can go.
GERALD.
Won’t you come with me?
MRS. DOT.
No.
GERALD.
I’m afraid you’ll get rather bored here.
[_He rings the bell, and_ CHARLES _comes in_.
CHARLES.
Yes, my lord.
GERALD.
I want my hat and coat.
[CHARLES _goes out_.
MRS. DOT.
Do you care for Nellie Sellenger?
GERALD.
If you don’t mind, I won’t answer that question. Unless she asks for her freedom, I propose to marry her.
[CHARLES _brings in the hat and coat_. MRS. DOT _watches him while he puts them on_.
GERALD.
Good-bye.
[_He goes out._ MRS. DOT _turns round and faces_ CHARLES.
MRS. DOT.
Charles, have you ever been married?
CHARLES.
Twice, madam.
MRS. DOT.
And has experience taught you that when a woman wants a thing she generally gets it?
CHARLES.
[_With a sigh._] It has, madam.
MRS. DOT.
That is my opinion, too, Charles.
[_She goes out._ CHARLES _begins to clear the tea things away_.
END OF THE FIRST ACT
THE SECOND ACT
_The terrace of_ MRS. DOT’S _house on the River. There are masses of rose trees in full flower. At the back is the house, covered with creepers._
_A table is set out for luncheon, with four chairs._
MISS MACGREGOR _is sitting in a garden chair, sewing. She is an elderly, quiet woman, thin, somewhat angular, good-humoured and amiable._
MRS. DOT _is walking up and down impatiently_.
AUNT ELIZA.
My dear, why don’t you sit down and rest yourself? I’m sure you’ve walked at least ten miles up and down this terrace.
MRS. DOT.
I’m in a temper.
AUNT ELIZA.
That must be obvious to the meanest intelligence.
MRS. DOT.
Have you read the paper to-day?
AUNT ELIZA.