ACT I.

_SCENE.--DUNN'S drawing-room. At the L. of front corner, a large bay window on to the street; L. C. an arched opening with portiere to stairs and entrance hall; R. door to dining-room. On the R. of entrance a four-fold screen like a box case, surrounding Statue of Niobe, in which is a Vampire opening at back. An opening also in Flat behind screen. One fold of screen opens to L. of stage towards centre opening. Two folds open to R. Small castors on the bottom of opening folds. Piano R. below door; couch in front of it; table L. C.; chairs R. and L. of it; piano stool, foot stool, chairs, etc._

_At rise of curtain, HATTIE R. at piano; HELEN standing C., beating time to HATTIE'S playing "The Maiden's Prayer" for opening of act; CARRIE seated L. of table L. C.; BEATRICE seated R. of table, discovered examining album, sketches, etc.; after curtain is up, MARY enters from R. with three small cups and saucers on tray; HELEN up C., takes one, drinks, MARY offers other cups to CARRIE and BEATRICE; CARRIE offers one to BEATRICE._

BEA. (_with album_) Who in the name of goodness is that dreadful looking guy?

CAR. That is Mr. Dunn when he was a boy.

BEA. Your husband! oh!

_MARY after offering coffee to BEATRICE passes front of table to L., giving coffee to CARRIE._

CAR. Are you quite sure you won't take coffee?

BEA. Quite sure!

_After this MARY going up L. to exit C._

HEL. (_up C., sternly_) Mary, the fire!

_MARY goes to fireplace L., puts tray on chair; MARY poking the fire--HELEN eyes MARY severely._

HAT. (_at piano R., finishes playing_) Oh, Helen! That's _twice this evening_ I've played the "Maiden's Prayer."

HEL. (_up C.; turning to HATTIE fiercely_) You will play the "Maiden's Prayer" twice morning and evening until you are perfect.

_HELEN turns from HATTIE and drinks coffee._

HAT. (_impertinently_) Ugh! I'd like to catch you saying your maiden prayers twice morning and evening.

_HATTIE turns--resumes playing._

MARY. (_advancing C. to HELEN, tray in hand_) What time shall I order the carriage round?

HEL. Seven fifty.

_HELEN returns cup to MARY--MARY exits C. and R. at back._

We shall be at the Theatre _then_ before the Curtain goes up.

_HELEN advances R. C., severely watches HATTIE play--with glasses on._

HAT. Well, you oughtn't to do it. You'll lose caste if you get to your seats without disturbing the performance.

_HATTIE playing softly while she talks._

HEL. (_advancing to BEATRICE, L. C._) Beatrice, you are well posted on Theatrical matters; is the play we are going to see to-night strictly proper?

BEA. I know nothing to the contrary. (_closing album._)

_HATTIE plays ff._

HEL. (_very angrily_) Hattie! Take your foot off the loud pedal; we can't hear ourselves speaking.

_HATTIE shuts up piano petulantly; pouting as sits on couch, back to audience._

CAR. (_rising_) I was sorry Mr. Sillocks couldn't come to dinner.

_CARRIE goes to window down L., looks out._

BEA. Papa regretted it very much, but he is sure to be here to escort us. (_crosses R. to couch and sits._)

CAR. I'm glad of that, because Corney is never satisfactory as a Chaperon.

BEA. Oh, Carrie, I'm sure Corney is most attentive.

HEL. (L. C.) If you were his sister, you would not think so. He neglects us shamefully.

HAT. (R.) Quite right, too! It's a pity if a fellow can't stick to the girl he's spooning. (_sitting R. and laughingly hugging BEA._)

HEL. Hattie! You are a very slangy child. Such terms are most improper.

HAT. Corney uses them, and _I_ don't know any better way of saying it. (_crosses to C._)

HEL. Could you not say adhere to the lady he's engaged to?

_HATTIE crosses back to sofa._

BEA. We can hardly _consider_ ourselves engaged, while Corney is, so to speak, on trial. If Papa approves of him, of course we shall be married.

_Bus.; HATTIE and BEATRICE quietly congratulate each other._

HEL. I'm sorry I cannot live with you and manage the household, but Carrie could not get along without me. She has no talent for management and Peter is too engrossed with outside business.

HAT. (_laughingly_) If you'd watched him at dinner, you'd think he did not neglect his _inside_ business.

_CARRIE and BEATRICE laugh._

HEL. (_sternly_) I can see nothing humorous in that ribald remark.

CAR. (L.) A man of Peter's excitable temperament has enough worry abroad, he deserves to enjoy himself at home.

_CARRIE goes up L. to fireplace, puts cup on mantelpiece, as if looking for something._

HEL. But he brings his worries home with him. I'm sure we didn't want that troublesome _Statue_ in the house, though Mr. Tompkins does think it the greatest treasure on earth. He calls it _Niobe Lachrymans_,--whatever _that_ means.

BEA. Why did Mr. Dunn bring it home? (_knock and bell._)

_MARY crosses at back from R. to L._

HEL. For safety he says; it is insured in the Universal, of which Mr. Dunn is Manager, for quite a large sum, and as Mr. Dunn granted the policy on his own responsibility, he is anxious to guard the Statue from injury.

BEA. (_curiously_) I _should_ like to look at it.

_BEATRICE rises, going up towards screen._

HEL. (_interrupts her_) Not while _Hattie_ is in the room.

HAT. (_on couch R._) Oh! I've seen it, and why not! It's decent enough. She only shows a bit of her shoulder; it's nothing to the display at Society balls.

HEL. Hattie! The child is incorrigible. (_goes up R. C._)

CAR. (_at fireplace up L._) Where are the Opera glasses?

HAT. Better ask Corney. He was at the Alhambra last evening.

_BEATRICE at piano, looking at music._

HEL. (_turns_) Oh, you dreadful girl! (_door slams off L. U. E._)

MARY. (L. C.) They're in the drawing room, Sir!

_SILLOCKS enters L. C.; MARY crosses L. to R., always in front of stairs._

SILL. (C.) Good evening! Here we are! 7:30 to the tick! How's Dunn?

CAR. (_at fireplace L._) My husband is very well, thank you!

SILL. How are you? (_to HELEN, coming down C._) Hello, Bea. (_to BEATRICE_) Ah! Hattie! (_HATTIE crosses to SILLOCKS, C., who takes off overcoat._) and the babies, my little cherubs, Bertie and Maud.

HEL. (_crossing at back to fireplace_) They are in the nursery; we don't allow them in the drawing-room.

CAR. (_down L. of L. C. table_) They ought to be in bed; it is past their hour.

_BEATRICE crosses at back to fireplace._

SILL. Very early, isn't it? _even_ for infants?

HEL. Judging from results, no! Look what a healthy child Hattie is. Few girls have so fresh a complexion.

HAT. Unless they get it at the Chemist's. (_SILLOCKS laughs._)

_BEATRICE goes up L. to fireplace; HATTIE puts on SILLOCKS' hat, goes up stage C. at back; places coat and hat on rack in hallway; SILLOCKS sits R. of table._

DUNN. (_without R._) No! No! Everything is comparative; smoking is bad, but chewing is a precious sight worse; and have you reached the limit of comparative noxiousness then? No, sir; no! (_DUNN enters with CORNEY R. D. CORNEY crosses to BEATRICE L._) Hallo, Sillocks! Did you notice how Nitrates were at closing?

SILL. (_coming down front in centre to DUNN_) 92½, a point and a quarter rise. You're not interested in that Electric Light Consolidation scheme, are you?

DUNN. (R. C.) No! There's no money in it.--Well! That's my opinion.

SILL. Aren't you coming with us to the Theatre?

DUNN. I? Oh no!

SILL. Why not?

DUNN. Not asked. Never intrude where I'm not wanted.

SILL. But your wife----

DUNN. Well, my wife----_They_ did ask me to go once or twice; but owing to some business, I couldn't accept; _now_, I never get the chance of refusing.

_SILLOCKS goes and sits R. of table, opens album; DUNN up C., looking at his paper._

HEL. (_back of table_) Peter, if you wish to see the children while we are away, go up to them in the nursery. Carrie does not approve of their coming into the drawing-room.

CORN. (_advancing slightly down L._) Quite right! Children up to a certain age should be kept in a room as devoid of furniture as possible; the only way to keep them out of mischief, is to chain them up to a ring in the wall----

BEA. What horrible notions you have Corney!

_Leaving CORNEY, she goes up and crosses at back to R._

SILL. (_looking at album_) Hallo, legs! (_HELEN turns quickly, comes down to back of table_) You've got some choice specimens of the Ballet here, I see!

HAT. (_starting for table from R. corner_) Where? Let's have a look at them.

HEL. (_commandingly_) Stand back, Hattie! I must know before we proceed any further, how this indelicate picture happens to be placed by the side of _mine_, in the album?

_HATTIE goes to BEATRICE up R., laughing._

CORN. (_down L., aside_) Hang it! I shall be ruined with Beatrice if Sillocks suspects me.

HEL. Corney!

CORN. (_alarmed_) Yes!

HEL. Do you know anything of this?

CORN. Why yes! Peter put 'em there!

DUNN. (_down C._) What! I put them there?

CORN. (_crosses to DUNN C._) Yes, of course, now--what's the good of denying it, old man? (_aside, digging DUNN'S ribs as he gets R. of him_) Say yes, or Sillocks won't approve of me.

CAR. (_advances slightly L._) Is that true Peter? Did _you_ put them there?

DUNN. (_perplexed_) Well--(_CORNEY looks at him_) Yes--I suppose I must have done.

CORN. (_over DUNN'S shoulder_) Thanks--one extra lie can't press much on your conscience.

_CORNEY turns to BEATRICE, who is R. C._

BEA. I'm so glad it wasn't _you_, Corney.

CORN. So am I. Don't make such a fuss about it, Helen, there's no great crime in having photos of pretty girls.

_BEATRICE and CORNEY go up towards dining-room R. H._

HEL. (_at back of table, with a withering glance at DUNN_) Then we may fairly assume that those yellow-backed French novels I found in the study, are yours also?

DUNN. (_turning C._) Mine!! Look here, Helen----

CORN. (_turns quickly, coming back to C._) Helen! You're too prying by half! Peter never imagined for a moment that you'd rake _them_ out.

_DUNN looks at CORNEY inquiringly._

HAT. (R.) Oh, Helen; they're not so very dreadful! At least, the one I read wasn't.

HEL. What! Oh, Carrie! What are we to do?

CORN. There's not so much harm in these French books after all. They're very much over-rated--I mean, exaggerated.

DUNN. I suppose Dobbin sent them up in a mistake for a bundle of circulars. (_aside to CORNEY, with paper, his back to audience_) What is it? What's the idea?

CORN. Old Sillocks! Must stand well with the father. It's all right, you can bear it. I cannot stand wrong----

BEA. Corney!

CORN. Oh, excuse me, Bea.

_Joins BEATRICE and exits with her in earnest conversation R. U. E., after pushing HATTIE out of the way._

HEL. It is fortunate the servants are ignorant of French; it is a blessing they cannot realize the enormity of your offence.

_DUNN goes to couch, sitting._

DUNN. (C.) I'm as bad as the servants--Neither can I.

CAR. (_crossing to DUNN, sits L. of him_) It is fortunate we detected them before the new Governess arrived.

DUNN. Yes; it wouldn't do to throw temptation in _her_ way.

HAT. (_R. of couch_) When is she coming, Peter?

DUNN. I can't tell you that. She has started--I believe, but has found it agreeable to call on some friends at Leamington.

CAR. Then she may not be here for a day or two.

DUNN. It looks like it. She has sent her Leamington address, so she probably expects a message from us.

HEL. (_coming fiercely to DUNN_) _Why_ have you kept this knowledge from us?

DUNN. You could have had it any time for the asking.

HEL. Where is her note?

DUNN. There's no occasion to put on that tragedy queen expression. Here it is--(_selects and gives letter._)

HEL. (_crosses L. as she reads_) Madeline Mifton, care of Mrs. Miller, Barton street.

HAT. Did she seem a jolly sort of girl?

HEL. (_turning L. corner_) She's not engaged to be jolly!

_HATTIE with toss of her head, goes up R._

DUNN. She appeared to me an agreeable kind of person, and the people at Chester, where she was living, spoke very well of her.

CAR. (_arm in DUNN'S_) I hope she will be good to the children.

DUNN. Well! She looked the kind of person who _would_ be good to the children.

HEL. You have so little discrimination--I ought to have gone to Chester myself.

_Goes up L. near fireplace._

DUNN. Well, nobody stopped you; and you have her references anyway. (_CARRIE soothes him and up to fireplace to HELEN._)

SILL. I'm sorry you're not going with us, Dunn.

DUNN. (_crossing SILLOCKS and sitting L. of table_) It's just as well as it happens; I've had a letter from Tompkins, saying that he's going to be in town for a few hours; he is sure to run in to look at his treasures.

SILL. I saw in the Telegraph that he had bought the celebrated statue "Niobe" from the Bernoldi collection; is that so?

DUNN. Yes! I have it here in the house. We have insured it for £10,000.

SILL. A good sum--what was your idea of bringing it here?

_HELEN, HATTIE and CARRIE up at back near fireplace._

DUNN. Oh! Mr. Tompkin's new mansion, at Henley, isn't ready yet; and I did not care to risk it in storage.

SILL. You don't go in for curiosities yourself?

DUNN. No! No money in 'em! I've a genuine Rembrandt in the dining-room,--said to be worth £12,000.

SILL. Yours?

DUNN. No! Tompkins's! Come and have a look at it--it may be your only chance. Just as well to be able to say you've seen these things.

_Exit SILLOCKS and DUNN R. D., both talking; HATTIE follows to door, mimicking them; then turns to HELEN._

HAT. We ought to get our wraps on now. It's a quarter to eight.

HEL. (_going C._) How impatient you are!

HAT. No more so than _you_; only you think it clever to look as wooden as a Chinese idol.

HEL. Hattie! We'll leave you behind if you're not good.

_HELEN exits C. and R. up stairs._

HAT. (_calling after her_) You'd send me to bed without my supper too, if you could, only I have had it.

CAR. (_with pretended severity_) Don't be so forward, Hattie!

_CARRIE exits C. and R. up stairs; CORNEY and BEATRICE enter from R. D., spooning._

CORN. Oh yes, Bea, if I asked you very sweetly, wouldn't you? (_HATTIE gets in front of them._)

BEA. Here is Hattie?

HAT. (_laughing with hands behind her_) _Disturbed again_, eh? Poor dears. Can't you get left to yourselves anywhere?

CORN. Yes, _here_--if you leave us. Get out.

_CORNEY goes for HATTIE C.; BEATRICE drops down R. to couch and sits._

HAT. Now behave Corney, or I'll tell Helen who put the photos in the album.

CORN. Be off, Miss Impudence--(_runs her off upstairs R. C._) That girl's a terror. (_returns to BEA, speaking as he comes down_) You can't think Beatrice--(_sits on couch_) You can't think.

HAT. (_returning_) You can think; we haven't much time, Bea; you'll be late.

CORN. Will you get out--(_CORNEY chases her round table and up stairs C. and R.; he returns_) She gets worse and worse! (_looking back after HATTIE._)

BEA. I didn't see anything so dreadful in the photos, Corney; if you own up to them, I don't mind.

CORN. _Oh, well!_ If you don't mind, I will!

BEA. I thought they couldn't be poor Mr. Dunn's; he looked so innocent.

CORN. (_seated on couch R., laughing_) Yes, Peter's appearance does rather discount him.

BEA. It was too bad to infer they were _his_.

CORN. Oh, he doesn't mind. We put everything on to Peter; and I'm so much afraid of your father's displeasure; you don't know the treasure you are Bea; and the fume a fellow gets in for fear of losing you. (_with arm round BEA._)

BEA. Why should you be so anxious? If your past was only blameless.

CORN. (_absent minded_) Yes! If it _only was_!

BEA. Do you _tell_ me it is not?

CORN. (_quickly_) No! Of course I don't, you don't think I'm such a jay--gay--gay deceiver? (_turns slightly away_) If we were only married. Then I shouldn't have to be so careful.

BEA. Have you to be careful?

CORN. Of myself, yes! But _then_, you can take care of me; and I can be careful of _you_; and I shan't have to invent stories about Art photographs, or French Novels.

BEA. Novels, Corney?

CORN. Though they're not really mine; Innings brought them here.

BEA. We've not seen Mr. Innings lately.

CORN. Not for two or three days; he's away on business.

BEA. I thought he had no business to be away upon.

CORN. No! he has no business to be away, when I want him here--that is--he isn't away on his business. It's business of mine.

BEA. (_curiously_) Business of yours?

CORN. Yes! well! _pleasure_ more than business--when I say pleasure I mean business--I wanted a change--but I couldn't spare the time--and Phil could--he took the change--it was really my change; for he paid the time before; you know how one fellow will take another fellow's change. He's a most obliging fellow.

_Knock; HATTIE runs down stairs._

HAT. Here's Mr. Innings, Corney!

_HATTIE rushes off L._

CORN. Thank goodness--I was getting a bit mixed. (_goes L. as INNINGS enters C. from L., HATTIE following._) How are you, Phil?

BEA. Good evening, Mr. Innings!

INN. Good evening, Miss Sillocks!

_INNINGS down R._

BEA. Come Hattie!

_BEATRICE going up C._

HAT. (_C., gushing at INNINGS_) Oh, there's heaps of time; it's so rude to leave Mr. Innings.

CORN. (_going up to HATTIE_) You haven't a minute; the carriage is at the door now; I'll do the polite to Innings.

_CORNEY sees girls off C. R. up stairs and returns to INNINGS._

What kept you so long? I expected you yesterday!

INN. (_taking off gloves as he sits on couch_) I had more to do than I thought. _You said----_

CORN. (_C. anxiously_) Never mind what _I_ said; what have _you to say_? Your news?

INN. Well! I went to Cambridge you know----

CORN. And you have come _back, I know_, but what _did you do_ there? What have you discovered?

INN. I found Ethel----

CORN. Good!

INN. Was no longer there----

CORN. Then you didn't find her?

INN. (_sitting on couch_) No; nor the slightest trace of where she had gone.

CORN. (_goes L. and up round table_) Then she'll turn up when least expected; what a confounded fool I was! If the affair reaches old Sillocks's ears, good bye to Beatrice; hang it! I'd have discovered something if I'd gone. (_sits R. of table._)

INN. (_rises and coming C._) It wasn't much, but _I_ discovered something--I learnt that Ethel had a sister, a governess. Did you know Ethel had a sister, a governess?

CORN. Yes, but I never saw her!

INN. Knew you'd think I hadn't tried, if I didn't find out something; so obtained the address of Sister, at a situation in Chester--went to Chester; sister had left--referred to a friend. Miss Topping; found Topping; worked round stealthily to subject, but the moment I mentioned _Ethel's name_, Miss T. shut up like an Oyster; no news there, except that Ethel's sister, Madeline Mifton----

CORN. Yes!

INN. Had gone to a situation as governess, in London. Resigned a good situation, for "some ridiculous notion"--that's what Miss T. called it--of coming to London--to look up--or hunt down--a young man to whom her sister _was_ or _had_ been engaged.

CORN. (_delighted_) Ridiculous notion! Good for Topping! She might as well search for a needle in a haystack--I'm safe enough.

_Knock; MARY crosses from R. to L. at back._

INN. I wonder she didn't pursue you herself, instead of putting the sister on your track.

CORN. Well, Ethel is something like myself--_she cannot stand worry_.

_Door slam; enter MARY C. from L.; INNINGS goes to R. of table._

MARY. Mr. Tompkins!

CORN. Show him in, and I'll send Mr. Dunn to him. (_MARY exits to L.; CORNEY goes over to door R._) Peter! Here's Mr. Tompkins--I'm going to the Theatre Phil, so I can't stop and entertain you. I'm immensely tickled with the idea of the Sister coming to London to hunt me down. I shall think of nothing else all the evening.

DUNN. (_speaking as he enters from room R._) How de do, Tompkins, (_INNINGS going towards DUNN_) why, it's Innings! (_DUNN down to couch_) I thought you said Mr. Tompkins was here.

CORN. He is here.

DUNN. Where?

CORN. There! (_indicating hall off C._) How _you do_ worry, Peter!

_CORNEY and INNINGS exit into dining-room R., as TOMPKINS enters L. C.; DUNN rises and meets him C._

TOMP. Let me thank you, Mr. Dunn, for taking such particular care of my treasure. It was most considerate of you to bring it into your own house.

_TOMPKINS posing L. C._

DUNN. (R. C.) Not at all! I was anxious to have it unpacked, just to make sure it hadn't suffered in shipment.

TOMP. (_enthusiastically--taking off gloves_) Ah! you thought of the centuries that beautiful form had retained its completeness, without damage or disfigurement, and were impressed with a tender, almost loving, care.

DUNN. Not a bit! I thought of the loss to our Company if it got chipped. There was no sentiment or friendship in the business. Sentiment's all very well, but there's no money in it.

_DUNN crosses to window, L. C.; SILLOCKS enters from dining-room R.; lights begin to go slowly down._

SILL. (R. C.) How do you do, Mr. Tompkins. I congratulate you Sir, on the possession of such a gem.

TOMP. (L. C.) Beautiful, is it not?

SILL. (R. C.) Grand! A painting like that----

TOMP. Painting! I am speaking of my Statue, Niobe.

SILL. Oh, I haven't seen it.

TOMP. (C.) Ah, when you do! Where among your moderns is a work like it? Where among your Sculptors, the peer of Phidias, Praxiteles, Scophas or Polydorus of Rhodes?

DUNN. (_L. of table_) And which of the whole lot would compare with Edison?

TOMP. Ah, Dunn! You are not familiar with the _Elgin Marbles_.

DUNN. Haven't played a game since I was a boy! (_sits L. of table_)

TOMP. (_despondently_) Sculpture is dead now Sillocks.

SILL. Don't despond Tompkins, it may _revive_!

DUNN. Sculpture's right enough in its way--but it isn't in it with the Telephone, or the Telegraph, or the Tape, or the Typewriter.

TOMP. Ugh! All such inventions tend to warp the noblest traits of human nature.

DUNN. Statues are all right for decorating Parks, but there's no money in them.

SILL. I'm in favor of the modern myself.

TOMP. And I sigh for the Antique--(_sits R. of table L. C._) I should like to have lived in the days of Homer!

DUNN. Not for me. I can't fancy existence without cheap postage, fast steamers, and penny-in-the-slot machines. I countenance every improvement. Move with the times I say, and _get ahead of 'em if you can_. (_rise_) I'm getting the Electric light put in now; we make our connection from the street here, just as you do with your gas.

TOMP. _I hate gas._ I would go back to the pine torch or the days of _candles_!

DUNN. (L.) Yes! You're crazed on the subject of _Early Greece_.

_SILLOCKS laughs._

TOMP. (L. C.) I am, and I glory in it.

SILL. (R.) Well for modern tastes, there isn't always too much clothing on our remnants of that early period.

DUNN. (_crosses to SILLOCKS_) You're right. That's one reason the women objected to the Niobe; and _it's_ decent enough for _anything_. The dress is apparently split up a bit on one side, and shows part of the knee.

TOMP. (_enthusiastically_) A classic knee, Sir, which nothing in nature--Modern nature--could equal.

DUNN. (C. ) I did manage to have my own way for once, and there it is, behind that four-fold screen, which boxes it in completely. It's nicely out of the way there too.

TOMP. (_rising_) You'd like to see it, Sillocks?

SILL. Yes!

TOMP. A glorious figure, Sir!

_Goes L. and around table._

DUNN. (_up C._) I suppose as Statues go, it is very well turned out.

_Swings back fold of screen, showing Statue of Niobe; DUNN is now R., holding back two folds of screen; red glow from fire._

TOMP. (_L. C. behind table_) Lovely! What exquisite moulding--That knee especially!

SILL. (_curiously_) What's she supposed to be doing?

TOMP. (_back of table_) Weeping! You know the story of Niobe. The gods wearied of her incessant tears: turned her into stone.

DUNN. She'd make an elegant ornament for a family vault.

TOMP. Sillocks! I would not take ten thousand pounds for that Statue.

DUNN. Sillocks won't tempt you!

TOMP. (_with enthusiasm_) This beautiful image was dug up in the ruins of Thebes in 1785; it passed into the hands of a Florentine gentleman; but in 1825 Count Bernoldi purchased it and it remained in his collection, till I tempted his grandson, a spendthrift youth, with an offer he could not resist. Oh, how perfectly that nose is chiselled, and that shoulder----

DUNN. That cold shoulder----

TOMP. (_approaching Statue_) What are those wires around the feet?

MARY. (_who is seen busy in hall C.--quickly_) Excuse me, Sir, don't touch them; the Electric man said as you were to be _very careful_ with the wires.

DUNN. The connection with the street is made then? (_DUNN closes the screen and lights go up again_)

MARY. (_C. in doorway_) Yes, Sir! But he hadn't time to bury the wires under the floor to-day; so he wrapped 'em round the feet of the Statue, where they wouldn't be likely to hurt no one.

DUNN. Who the devil gave him permission to touch the figure? Don't you know you are expressly forbidden to touch the figures?

_Ladies come down stairs to hallway; CORNEY and INNINGS from R. in hallway join them._

MARY. Miss Griffin, Sir!

DUNN. Oh Miss---- That'll do!

_MARY exits at back R._

N. B.--_After DUNN closes screen NIOBE removes white wig, makes up, etc., for re-appearance in the flesh._

TOMP. Confound your modern appliances! They managed to get along without them in Attica! Bah! We might all have been killed!

_TOMPKINS crosses L. corner; lights going up._

DUNN. (C.) Not this time. The pressure isn't on.

SILL. How do you know that?

DUNN. (_following TOMPKINS, crosses to window L._) Because the lights in the street are not going yet.

_HELEN, BEATRICE, CORNEY, HATTIE and INNINGS, and CARRIE advance from hallway C._

CORN. (_putting on gloves_) Sorry Phil, that you can't come along with us. (_CORNEY down L. C._)

INN. I'm not dressed to go to the Theatre.

CAR. What a pity there isn't another seat?

_CARRIE comes down R.; SILLOCKS gets up back of ladies to centre._

HAT. Oh, you _must_ come, Mr. Innings.

HEL. (_coming C._) If you will give up _your_ seat to Mr. Innings.

INN. (_protestingly_) No, no!

DUNN. If you are all settled in your seats, let me introduce Mr. Tompkins, Mr. Hamilton Tompkins, my wife--(_ladies get into line with CORNEY top; DUNN waving his hand comprehensively_) My wife's family.

CORN. (_waving his hand_) How are you, Tompkins?

HEL. We are delighted to meet you.

_All ladies in row curtsey rather marked; CARRIE is R. corner, HELEN next, HATTIE next, BEA next to CORNEY._

SILL. (_C. at back_) Come along, Mrs. Dunn; we shall be late!

_CARRIE exits C. and L. with SILLOCKS._

CORN. Come on Phil, give your arm to Hattie, and pilot her to the carriage.

BEA. Some of us will have to walk; the brougham will only hold four.

_Exit CORNEY and BEATRICE, others following C. and L._

HAT. Mr. Innings can sit on my lap. (_exits taking INNING'S arm._)

HEL. Hattie! I can do nothing with her.

_Exit HELEN C. and L.; slam of door; lights slowly going down._

TOMP. (_front of table_) All your wife's family?

DUNN. (_C., coming down_) Nearly!

TOMP. Some of your own?

DUNN. Oh no! I married out of my own family circle into my wife's--I got rid of one Griffin by changing it to a Dunn, and three other Griffins sprang up in its place. Takes it out of the Phenix, don't it? (_rings bell on table_)

_MARY enters R. C.; DUNN signs to her; she exits R. D._

TOMP. (_crosses R._) Griffin! Griffin! Was that your wife's maiden name?

DUNN. Yes! The Griffins of Brentford.

TOMP. (_as if thinking, sitting on couch R._) Indeed! Unless I'm much mistaken, there was quite a scandal years ago about a Miss Griffin of Brentford, but that _could_ not be your wife?

DUNN. No, but it might be Helen! And oh, if it were! Tompkins, if you could only find out for certain, and place me in possession of the facts----

TOMP. (_on couch_) I certainly can and will with pleasure. I think (_bus._) she eloped with the coachman.

_Enter MARY with trays, drinks, 3 glasses, Decanter, glass jug, with a little water in it, and exit R. C._

DUNN. Helen eloped! Eureka! I see the dawn of emancipation--Tompkins, do I look like a slave? (C.)

TOMP. (_eyeing DUNN_) No, I don't see that you do!

DUNN. (C.) But I am--we all are--this is Uncle Tom's Cabin; I'm Uncle Tom, and Helen Griffin is my Legree. (_crosses L. of table_) But provided with such a weapon, I could rear the standard of revolt and free our beloved home.

_DUNN L. of table with decanter; TOMPKINS follows DUNN to R. of table._

TOMP. The intelligence shall be yours, (_sits R. of table_)

DUNN. The few of my own people that are left, I never see, never hear of. My own dear little sister Mabel has never been asked to visit us. The Griffin has never fixed her Basilisk eye on _her_, and apparently doesn't want to.

TOMP. The attendant ills of married life! Ah! The women will never victimize me.

_They drink._

DUNN. (_sitting L. of table_) Ah Tompkins! Don't be too sure of that. You never know what it is that gives you _indigestion_, but you get it _just the same_.

TOMP. I shall never marry, if you mean that; I _would not_ marry a modern, and I'm not likely to meet with an Antique.

DUNN. I've a Maiden Aunt; the one my Sister's with, who is antique enough for anything.

TOMP. (_interested_) How far back does she go?

DUNN. Well, past the middle ages; she's over sixty; but it's the rarity of her that would attract you, Tompkins!

TOMP. (_indignantly rising, going R._) Sir, I'm not forming a museum of curiosities, but a gallery of Art treasures.

DUNN. (_rising_) Yes! Of course! Are you going already?

_MARY enters from C. and L. with trunk; TOMPKINS putting gloves on C._

MARY. (C.) Here's a trunk, Sir, has been delivered for a Miss Mifton.

DUNN. Miss Mifton! Oh, the Governess's trunk. She said it would be sent on. Leave it there, Mary. We'll get it carried up bye and bye. I remember she said in her letter it would be sent on.

_MARY places trunk near R. of C. doorway and goes to turn up lamp on stand below fireplace._

DUNN. Never mind the lamp, Mary; I'll turn it up myself when I want it; (_MARY exits C. and R._) I like to sit in the gloaming! What's your hurry Tompkins? Sit down and take another drink.

TOMP. I am due at the Antiquarian Society. A discussion on what History owes to _numismatics_!

DUNN. Well, go and fix the amount and get History to settle up--Good evening! Mary! Oh! Good evening, Tompkins! (_lights down low_)

_MARY appears C. and R., ushers TOMPKINS out L. C., then crosses to R. at back._

DUNN. (_goes to Statue again, softly humming a tune_) A pretty thing for our Company if that idiot had damaged his Statue with those infernal wires. Just like my beautiful sister-in-law, to give permission to wrap them round the figure, just to show that _my_ wishes were of no account. I'll get a staple and padlock to-morrow; and fasten that screen up like a packing case. (_sits on sofa_) I suppose the Electricity can't affect the marble; ha! it's such a mysterious agent, one never knows _what_ it may do. P'raps I'd better light up. I wonder what's the matter with the Electric lamps in the street? (_crosses at front of table L. C. and looks out of window_) They're generally making the gas look sickly before this--must be something wrong this evening. Ah! There it goes! (_flash on electric light outside window, flooding stage, DUNN sits L. of table L. C._) Well! That's light enough to think by. (_low moan; weird music begins_) What's that? (_moan_) Some Psychological phenomenon! An omen of some kind! (_rising, towards window; NIOBE extending her arms, pushes open screen and is seen moving, as if awakening to life; DUNN slowly turns_) Great Heavens! The Statue's alive!

_Falls on knees at chair L. of table._

NIO. My feet! Oh, Amphion! Amphion!

DUNN. (_looking at Statue_) Is this nightmare? Am I dreaming?

NIO. My feet! This thrill! A liquid fire seems coursing through my veins. Ah!

_As if bursting the spell steps down from pedestal, remains, making picture._

DUNN. No! No! It can't be that--I don't _drink_ to that extent.

_NIOBE comes slowly down C., examining room in wonderment; goes round up R. and then deliberately to C.; DUNN, who has crouched behind or beside table, disarranges himself, tie, hair, etc.; then crawls round table up C., as NIOBE turns and confronts him, he shrinks back on to knees, hands on chair. Music ceases. NIOBE comes near DUNN regarding him with amazement; picture._

NIO. Hail to thee! What man art thou? How came you in this strange guise? Are you a slave?

DUNN. Yes--No--Certainly not! (_aside_) There's no use in letting every stranger know I'm a cipher in my own house.

NIO. A Lord?

DUNN. (_timidly rising_) Lord and Master! (_aside_) I can truthfully say it while Helen is not on the premises.

_NIOBE approaches DUNN before speaking; he backs away from her._

NIO. How strange! (_goes lower and regarding him, back to audience_) How strange!

DUNN. (_with wonderment_) Strange! She thinks me strange! If she could only change places and regard herself, and doubt the existence of her faculties, as I do--(_NIOBE now moves, going up R._) When I see her move and hear her speak. No! _I've got to believe it._ It's the Electricity. She's _there alive_, Niobe herself; not a Statue. And I'm not dreaming, or _drunk or demented_. (_staggers front of table_)

_NIOBE has looked round apartment._

NIO. (_advancing C._) Who has made these changes? Where's Amphion? Is he not yet back from Olympia?

DUNN. (_getting L. of table, half frightened_) I'm sure I don't know--he'll be some time yet; if he is staying for the Ballet.

NIO. Who has won the Kotinos of poetry? My _Amphion_ was the Alutarches.

DUNN. Very likely! But he isn't now! I'm afraid you don't quite realize what has happened to you. That you have just been--revived--I suppose--as it were: That you're not in your Palace _here_, but _mine_! That we are now in Anno Domini 1896, and that the trifling events you're thinking and speaking of, occurred about one thousand years B. C.; before you changed your mortal flesh into Parian marble.

_During this speech, NIOBE, her hand to her head, appears to be trying to recall the past._

NIO. (_as if recollecting--coming down stage_) Ah! No! The gods! Knowledge returns; alas! Phoebus and Artemis punished me--Changed! Ah fate! Oh, my unhappy fate. (_kneeling, sobs bitterly_)

DUNN. (L. C.) That's a settler--I never can; I never _could_ bear to see a woman cry--Never! There, don't grieve, dear; you were turned into stone, but you've turned out all right; don't cry! Please don't cry.

NIO. Ah me! That I so easily am _moved_.

DUNN. Well, it took eight men to carry you in here.

NIO. (_crosses L._) I'll dry these tears, the cause of my hard lot.

DUNN. The hardest lot ever put up; when you consider you've gone all these years without so much as having your nose chipped off! Why, you've been buried for centuries. (_NIOBE looks at him in wonder_) And if they hadn't started exploring the ruins of some of those old Temples, you'd be there still. I'm aware it's a delicate subject with a lady, but I should estimate you must be close on _three thousand years old_.

NIO. (_looking at him indignantly_) How?

DUNN. (_backing away from NIOBE_) Oh, you don't look it!

NIO. (L.) Three thousand years! Oh, Zeus, and now the ban, the curse of mighty Phoebus is removed.

DUNN. (C.) Yes! And Phoebus is gone, too.

_NIOBE goes up L. behind and round table to C._

NIO. And all is new! Is this the Hesitaterion? The Throni are strange, the Katoptron colossal.

DUNN. Yes, you've got to do things big now-a-days.

NIO. (_approaching DUNN C._) You truly say, the ages have rolled by; my husband, children, dead! In all the world, I have no one but you. (_taking his hand_)

DUNN. (_snatching hand away--crosses to L. of her_) No one but me! You've no claim on me;--that is--I have no claim on _you_!

NIO. (_quickly_) Ah yes! I am no ingrate; take _all_ my love; you gave new life to me, and I am yours.

_Falls upon his neck, embracing him._

DUNN. White Elephants, what am I going to do with her? (_NIOBE turns him round to R. of her_)

NIO. (_holding him at arm's length_) You are not much to look at; (_DUNN turns away_) but your heart----

DUNN. (R. C.) Now don't count upon _that_. And don't indulge in expectations that can never be realized.

NIO. Your mien is soft--(_hand on his head_) Have you a noble name?

DUNN. Peter Amos----

NIO. (_gushingly_) Petramos! Petramos! And I will love Petramos, as I have loved Amphion; and there will be no happier twain in Greece!

_She has taken his hands, and now swings them about childishly._

DUNN. Yes--you're mapping it all out, but it can't _be_; for a variety of reasons: In the first place, we're _not_ in Greece. (_crosses L._)

NIO. (_in wonderment, getting C._) Not in Greece?

DUNN. (_returning to her_) No! We're in London, the Capital of a little Island called Great Britain, hundreds of miles from Thebes.

NIO. You speak our tongue. And are you not a Greek?

DUNN. (L. C.) Not much! And we're not speaking Greek, but English--though how you picked it up is a mystery to me.

NIO. We understand each other, that's enough. What else there is to know, I'll learn from _you_, now that I'm _settled here_.

_Nestling up to and resting against him._

DUNN. (_alarmed_) But _you're not settled here_! And it's out of the question! (_he speaks very angrily and NIOBE starts to sob_) No, no! You're a very charming lady and personally I shouldn't object to your stopping for a week or so, but I have a wife!

NIO. But you are Lord and could put her _away_.

DUNN. Oh could I! And she has an elder sister. Perhaps you could tell me what I'm going to do with _her_?

NIO. It is not hard! Why, sell her for a slave! (_pose_)

DUNN. (_goes L._) I should like to, but I don't think anybody would buy Helen unless a great big life insurance policy went along with her; besides Slavery is abolished, and if you weren't so ignorant you'd know that; and know how wrong it is to fill one with delusive hopes like these.

_DUNN goes towards window._

NIO. Ah, be not angered with me, Petramos. If you reject me, life restored is wrecked, and I shall die.

_NIOBE kneels and sobs._

DUNN (_returns again L. C._) Well, after three thousand years, you can't complain if you _have_ to. You've had a pretty good innings. She's at it again. I can't stand hearing a woman cry like this, and she is pretty, considering what a back number she is. Don't cry, stop it, don't cry, please--there's a dear. (_patting her head_)

NIO. (_clinging to him--rises_) And you _do_ love me, Petramos?

DUNN. Oh, well in a way! (_NIOBE suddenly crying_) Don't! don't cry! Yes! Yes!

_NIOBE instantly cheerful, standing erect._

NIO. And we will sacrifice to Dusky Dis; and pray him to take your wife to Hades. (_pose_)

DUNN. But I don't want my wife to go to--who's Dusky Dis? Some Nigger Minstrel?

NIO. The stern proud God of Tartarus!

DUNN. (_disgusted_) Oh, he's played out long ago; there's no such party--you mustn't suppose the world has been standing still while you've been in a state of Petrifaction; we've been going ahead, and the gods have had to knock under.

_DUNN sits R. of table._

NIO. (C.) No Gods? No Zeus? No Aphrodite?

DUNN. Not one! Except in Heathen mythology--why you're a heathen.

NIO. I am!

DUNN. A Pagan idolater, and you'll have to be converted.

NIO. I _was_ converted.

DUNN. Eh?

NIO. Into stone!

DUNN. Not that! You'll have to go to school, and learn the Piano, and the Alphabet.

NIO. Alphabet--Ah! (_action with hands_) Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta.

DUNN. (_rises_) Very likely! But that doesn't get over the difficulty of what is going to be done with you; and look at it as we will you _cannot_ remain here.

NIO. (_R. C.; after slight pause_) I have no friends! No home! _Where_ can I go?

DUNN. Your case has not been altogether unprovided for; as there is a home for lost dogs, so also is there an asylum for ladies in distress.

NIO. Can I go out into a vicious world in direst ignorance of all its ways?

DUNN. Oh, I don't suppose it's any worse than it was in your time. (_NIOBE sobs_) You're quite right, you can't, and it would be brutal to send you out, at this time of night too.

_NIOBE sits on front of pedestal._

NIO. The gods, alas, are angered with me still. (_sobbing_)

DUNN. She's at it again! No wonder the gods got tired. Don't! please don't cry; and we'll hit upon some plan; if I only knew what to say to my family. (_stands dejectedly C._)

NIO. Say whence I came--and how--tell them the truth!

DUNN. Tell them _what_? _What_ d'ye take me for? Some outrageous, ridiculous lie _might_ pass muster, but the truth, _a truth like this_! you couldn't ask them to believe it. George Washington would have found this too strong for his veracity.

NIO. (R. C.) Who is Washington?

DUNN. Oh, he was an American fighting man; you wouldn't know him. You were before his time. (_looks at watch, at window_) Is that the time? (_goes round table to window; NIOBE meanwhile lies full length on stage, head to R. on stool_) They'll be home from the Theatre presently; what _am_ I to do? (_turning up from window, comes down centre_)

_Sees NIOBE and covers her feet with drapery from piano and goes again anxiously to window; MARY enters L. C., going to fire; DUNN rushes her off R. C._

DUNN. I'll ring if I require coals. I'll ring, Mary, ring--(_coming down C._) Madame! Niobe! You can't be seen like that, you must do something with _yourself_--(_NIOBE half rises_) You'd better go upstairs and put some of my wife's clothes on!

NIO. (_kneeling_) I tore my Peplos in excess of grief!

DUNN. Yes! Yes! I see you did; go upstairs, and dress while I think out some plan.

_DUNN R. as if in great worry, as NIOBE rises, moving up C._

NIO. (_turning back_) I fear I don't know _how_ to dress _myself_.

DUNN. Oh, well, _I can't_! You must try, try! up the stairs there--on the right--first door when you reach the top.

NIO. Petramos! All my will I'll yield to thine, Do thou but clear thy brow of fretfulness. Thy anger, linked with fury of the gods I could not bear! I could not bear!

_NIOBE exits weeping up stairs C. R., the footlights up through this scene, to assist the comedy, now low again._

DUNN. (_staggered--sits end of couch--a pause_) What an uncompleted idiot I am. My wife will recognize her clothes--(_running to stairs, sees trunk which he secures and brings down stage_) The Governess's trunk! If my keys will only fit it, no, no! They never do--Yes--that's lucky! (_raising lid of trunk and closing it again_) How clever you thought yourself, Peter Amos Dunn, when you suggested to yourself bringing that d----d Statue into the house. It isn't there! It isn't there! (_closes screen--looks round--straightens room--picks up drapery, etc.; crosses to mirror, re-arranges himself, tie, smooths hair, goes down L. of table and pours himself a drink, hand shakes. He cannot get it to his mouth; sops his handkerchief and putting it to his brow, crosses and sits on trunk. Loud knock at door; DUNN jumping up; shoulders trunk and rushes upstairs_)

_Knocking; MARY crosses R. to L.; INNINGS then enters, MARY following L. C._

INN. Not back yet, eh?

MARY. No Sir! (_going down L. to lamp_)

INN. (_looking at watch_) Oh, well, they won't be long, it's close upon eleven. (_sits on sofa R._)

MARY. I will turn up the lamp, Sir, I thought the Master was here.

_MARY turns up lamp; lights full on._

INN. They'd have stretched a point and taken me with them, but for that confounded Helen. Perhaps they're walking, it's a beautiful night.

_DUNN enters C. and R. down stairs._

DUNN. (_worried and anxious--down C._) Ah! that's right, Mary, let's have a light on the subject--(_starts at seeing INNINGS_) Back before them, eh Innings? But they can't be long--it's so hot, so late--what's that--is not that a carriage?

MARY. No, Sir!

DUNN. (L .C.) I said not--I said not--don't argue, Mary; don't argue--(_has got near table, takes up empty water jug and empty glass_) Why have you no water here? How can I be expected to wash--drink--if you have no water (_loud knock--MARY frightened of him rushes round front of table to R._)

_DUNN backs to centre; he keeps water jug and glass until end of act._

INN. (R.) There they are!

DUNN. I knew they'd return--(_knock_) They'll have to come in, won't they? (_knock--to MARY_) Go! Go! And open the door; don't stand there like an idiot.

_MARY exits C. and L._

INN. You're very fidgetty, Dunn, what's wrong?

DUNN. Wrong! Do I look as if I was, why--why should there be anything wrong?

_Savagely to INNINGS; INNINGS afraid, crosses to L. corner._

INN. I never saw you like this before.

DUNN. I never _was_ like this before.

_Falls into chair R. of table L. C._

HAT. (_entering C., comes down to back of DUNN_) Peter! (_DUNN starts up_) It was too delightful for anything. I'm so sorry you didn't come.

_DUNN drops again in chair as HATTIE goes R. taking off gloves, etc., etc.; CORNEY enters L. C._

DUNN. So am I--I'd have given a hundred pounds to have been with you.

CORN. (_C., taking off gloves_) Hundred pounds! Oh, come! What for?

DUNN. Wh--er----It's a favourite play of mine.

CORN. (_crossing to L._) Pygmalion and Galatea?

DUNN. Was that it?

CORN. Yes! Lovely girl, Galatea. Never saw anything like her as the _Statue_.

DUNN. (_starting up_) Statue! What's the matter with the Statue? (_rushing to screen, meets CARRIE, who enters L. C., coming front screen_) Eh! Ha! Ha! And did you enjoy it, Carrie?

CAR. (R. C.) Very much, Peter! (_HELEN enters L. C., remains up C._)

DUNN. (_wild and exhausted with worry_) Ah! How interesting those old legends are; how beautiful the revive--animating--of the Statue! And if you were told of such a wonder now-a-days, you--you wouldn't believe it perhaps.

_Music till end of act. Comic Agitato._

HEL. (_coming down C._) Now-a-days, nor any other time. No woman of ordinary intelligence could be deceived by such a story.

_DUNN back to audience R. C., looking anxiously from one to the other._

CORN. (_L. of table near INNINGS_) And what's your idea of Galatea?

HEL. (_going towards chair R. of table_) That she was some infamous creature whom Pygmalion had brought into his household; and that the Statue tale was made up to hoodwink his confiding wife. (_sits_)

CAR. Ah!! Quite possible.

_CARRIE back of sofa._

DUNN. (_falling on stool front of couch_) No use! I knew the truth was no use.

_NIOBE enters R. C. in an eccentric but stylish tea robe._

NIO. (_speaking as she advances C._) I have obeyed you, Petramos, and I am here--(_all turn to her_)

_DUNN rises frightened, getting R. of NIOBE._

HEL. Who is this?

DUNN. (_R. C.--introducing_) The new Governess, _Miss Mifton_!

CORN. Miss Mifton----

INN. There! I told you so!

_Looks at INNINGS and falls into chair L. of table, the others grouped, scrutinizing NIOBE._

NIO. (_with her accustomed action_) Hail to you!

PICTURE. CURTAIN.