Part 6

I suppose you mean it depends on how much I love Dickie. [_A pause. Tremulously._] I love him with all my heart, and if I can keep his love everything is worth while. [_She rests her face on her hands, and looks straight in front of her. Her voice is filled with tears._] But, oh, father, why can’t we go back to the beginning when we loved one another without a thought of wisdom or prudence? That was the real love. Why couldn’t it last?

GOLIGHTLY.

[_Tenderly._] Because you and Dickie are man and woman, my dear.

PENELOPE.

[_With a flash of her old spirit._] But my friends have husbands, and they don’t philander with every pretty woman they meet.

GOLIGHTLY.

Scylla and Charybdis. The price they pay is satiety. Would you rather have the placid indifference of nine couples out of ten, or at the cost of a little trouble and a little common sense keep Dickie loving you passionately to the end of his days?

PENELOPE.

[_With a roguish twinkle._] You and mamma show no signs of being bored to death with one another.

GOLIGHTLY.

Your sainted mother has been systematically unfaithful to me for twenty years.

MRS. GOLIGHTLY.

Charles!

GOLIGHTLY.

She has had an affair with the Additional Curates’ Society, and an intrigue with the English Church Mission. She has flirted with Christian Science, made eyes at Homœopathy, and her relations with vegetarianism have left a distinct mark on her figure. How could I help adoring a woman so depraved?

MRS. GOLIGHTLY.

[_Good-humouredly._] It’s monstrous of you to reproach me, Charles, when you have conducted for years a harem of algebraical symbols.

PENELOPE.

[_Lifting up her hands in mock horror._] And to think that I never knew how immoral my parents were!

GOLIGHTLY.

[_Patting his wife’s hand._] I think we must be the lucky ones, dear. We’ve been married for twenty years....

PENELOPE.

[_Interrupting._] Make it a quarter of a century, father. I really can’t pass for less than twenty-four.

GOLIGHTLY.

[_To his wife._] And we seem to have got on pretty well, don’t we?

MRS. GOLIGHTLY.

[_Affectionately._] You’ve been very good to me, Charles, dear.

GOLIGHTLY.

We’ve clomb the hill together....

PENELOPE.

Sh! sh! sh! I cannot allow my parents to flirt in my presence. I never heard of such a thing.

GOLIGHTLY.

We tender our apologies.

PENELOPE.

[_Hearing a sound._] Listen. There’s Dickie. Father, quickly--what must I do to make him love me always?

GOLIGHTLY.

In two words, lead him a devil of a life.

PENELOPE.

[_Ruefully._] If you only knew how I want to fly into his arms and forget the wretched past!

GOLIGHTLY.

Don’t, but tell him you’re going for a motor trip.

PENELOPE.

[_Her face falling._] Supposing he lets me go?

GOLIGHTLY.

My dear, a merciful providence has given you roguish eyes and a sharp tongue. Make use of them.

MRS. GOLIGHTLY.

Charles, I shall be thankful when you return to your mathematics. The morals of that hussy X are already so bad that you can’t make _them_ much worse.

PENELOPE.

The fact is, papa, that as a guide for the young you have rather advanced views.

GOLIGHTLY.

[_With a grotesque, dramatic flourish._] Ungrateful child! And I, like the pelican, have offered you my very heart to dine on.

[DICKIE _comes in. He is a little embarrassed and uncomfortable._

DICKIE.

May I come in?

PENELOPE.

Yes, do!

DICKIE.

[_Nodding to the_ GOLIGHTLYS.] How d’you do?

GOLIGHTLY.

[_To his wife._] Are you ready?

MRS. GOLIGHTLY.

[_Getting up._] Yes.

DICKIE.

I hope I’m not driving you away.

GOLIGHTLY.

Oh no, we only came in for ten minutes to say good-bye to Penelope.

[DICKIE, _rather puzzled at this, gives_ PENELOPE _a quick look_.

DICKIE.

Are you ...? [_He stops._]

GOLIGHTLY.

I hope you’ll enjoy yourself, dear.

PENELOPE.

Oh, I’m sure I shall.

MRS. GOLIGHTLY.

Good-bye, darling.

PENELOPE.

[_Kissing her mother._] Good-bye.

[_She goes to the bell and rings it._

GOLIGHTLY.

We can find our way out. Don’t bother about Peyton.

PENELOPE.

I want to speak to her.

GOLIGHTLY.

Oh, I see. [_Nodding to_ DICKIE.] Good-bye.

[_The_ GOLIGHTLYS _go out_. PENELOPE, _with a slight smile, lies down on the sofa and takes up a magazine. She pays no attention to_ DICKIE. _He gives her a sidelong glance and arranges his tie in the glass._ PEYTON _comes in_.

PENELOPE.

[_Looking up from her magazine._] Oh, Peyton, you might pack up some things for me in that little flat portmanteau of the doctor’s. Put my green charmeuse in.

PEYTON.

Very well, ma’am.

PENELOPE.

You can call a cab in half an hour.

PEYTON.

Very well, ma’am.

[_Exit._

DICKIE.

Are you going away?

PENELOPE.

Oh, yes, didn’t I tell you?

DICKIE.

[_Stiffly._] No.

PENELOPE.

How stupid of me! You see, I was expecting you to spend two or three days in Paris with Ada, and I arranged to motor down to Cornwall with the Hendersons.

DICKIE.

But I gave up the trip to Paris so as not to annoy you.

PENELOPE.

[_Smiling._] It wouldn’t have annoyed me a bit, darling.

DICKIE.

It ought to have annoyed you.

PENELOPE.

In any case I’m afraid I can’t throw the Hendersons over. They’ve made up a little _partie carrée_ so that we can play bridge in the evenings.

[DICKIE _goes up to_ PEN _and sits on the sofa beside her_.

DICKIE.

Look here, Pen, let’s make it up.

PENELOPE.

[_Quite pleasantly._] But we haven’t quarrelled, have we?

DICKIE.

[_With a smile._] I don’t know whether I want to shake you or hug you.

PENELOPE.

Well, if I were you, I’d do neither.

DICKIE.

[_Taking her hands._] Pen, I want to talk seriously to you.

PENELOPE.

[_Releasing them, with a look at the clock._] Have you time?

DICKIE.

What on earth d’you mean?

PENELOPE.

You generally start off for Mrs. Mack’s about now.

[DICKIE _gets up and walks up and down the room_.

DICKIE.

[_Resolutely._] Mrs. Mack’s dead.

PENELOPE.

[_Jumping off the sofa._] Dead! When’s the funeral?

DICKIE.

The date hasn’t been settled yet.

PENELOPE.

Well, now you’ll be able to send in your bill.

DICKIE.

[_Nervously._] Pen, Mrs. Mack never existed.

PENELOPE.

[_With a smile._] I never thought she did, darling.

DICKIE.

What!

[PENELOPE _giggles_.

DICKIE.

D’you mean to say you knew all the time that I’d invented her?

PENELOPE.

I thought it was very nice of you to make up a plausible excuse for being away so much.

DICKIE.

Then, when you bought all those things because I was making such a pot of money, you were just pulling my leg.

PENELOPE.

[_With a smile._] Well....

[DICKIE _suddenly bursts into a shout of laughter_.

DICKIE.

[_When he recovers._] I say, you have scored us off. Upon my soul, you are a wonderful little woman. I can’t think how I ever saw anything in Ada Fergusson.

PENELOPE.

Oh, but I think she’s charming.

DICKIE.

What nonsense! You know you don’t. If you only knew the life she led me!

PENELOPE.

I suppose she often asked you if you really loved her?

DICKIE.

Ten times a day.

PENELOPE.

And when you left her, did she want to know exactly at what time you’d come back?

DICKIE.

How did you know?

PENELOPE.

I guessed it.

DICKIE.

[_Going towards her as if to take her in his arms._] Oh, Pen, let’s forget and forgive.

PENELOPE.

[_Getting out of his way._] There’s nothing to forgive, darling.

DICKIE.

[_Making a step towards her._] I suppose you want me to eat the dust.... I have behaved like a perfect brute. I’m awfully sorry, and I’ll never do it again.

PENELOPE.

[_Eluding him as though by accident._] I daresay the game isn’t worth the candle.

DICKIE.

[_Trying to intercept her._] Don’t speak of it.

PENELOPE.

[_Keeping out of his reach._] And I was under the impression you were having such a good time.

DICKIE.

I was feeling awfully conscience-stricken.

PENELOPE.

That’s where women have such an advantage over men. Their conscience never strikes them till they’ve lost their figure and their complexion.

DICKIE.

[_Stopping._] I say, what are you running round the room for in that ridiculous fashion?

PENELOPE.

I thought we were playing touch-last.

DICKIE.

Don’t be a little beast, Pen. You know you love me, and I simply dote upon you.... I can’t do more than I have done.

PENELOPE.

What d’you want me to do?

DICKIE.

I want you to kiss and make friends.

PENELOPE.

[_Quite good-naturedly._] I think you’re a little previous, aren’t you?

DICKIE.

I suppose you’re thinking of Ada Fergusson.

PENELOPE.

I confess she hadn’t entirely slipped my mind.

DICKIE.

Hang Ada Fergusson!

PENELOPE.

I think that’s rather drastic punishment. After all, she did nothing but succumb to your fatal fascination.

DICKIE.

That’s right, put all the blame on me. As if it were men who made the running on these occasions! I never want to see her again.

PENELOPE.

How changeable you are.

DICKIE.

[_Going towards her eagerly._] I’m never going to change again. I’ve had my lesson, and I’m going to be good in future.

PENELOPE.

[_Getting a chair between herself and him._] Anyhow, don’t you think you’d better be off with the old love before you get on with the new?

DICKIE.

Yes, but you might help me.

PENELOPE.

You don’t want me by any chance to tell Ada Fergusson that you don’t care for her any more?

DICKIE.

It’s a devilish awkward thing to say oneself.

PENELOPE.

I can imagine that the best-tempered woman would take it a little amiss.

DICKIE.

I say, can’t you suggest something to help me out?

PENELOPE.

[_With a shrug of the shoulders._] My dear, since the days of Ariadne there’s only been one satisfactory way of consoling a deserted maiden.

DICKIE.

[_With a jump._] Uncle Davenport!

PENELOPE.

What about Uncle Davenport?

DICKIE.

He told me yesterday he thought she was a devilish fine woman.

PENELOPE.

Oh, no, Dickie, I’m not going to allow you to sacrifice my only uncle.

DICKIE.

I’ll just ring him up and tell him she’s not gone to Paris.

PENELOPE.

No, Dickie. No, Dickie. No, Dickie!

DICKIE.

[_At the telephone._] Mayfair 7521. I promise you he shall come to no harm. Before it gets serious we’ll tell him that she’s not a Jones of Llandudno, but a Jones of Notting Hill Gate.

PENELOPE.

[_With a giggle._] I don’t think it’s quite nice what you’re doing.

DICKIE.

I think it’s horrid. I shall blame myself very much afterwards.

PENELOPE.

With your moral sense too.

DICKIE.

Hulloa, can I speak to Mr. Barlow? Hulloa, is that you, Uncle Davenport? No, I didn’t go to Paris after all. [_With a wink at_ PENELOPE.] Mrs. Mack had a sudden relapse, and couldn’t be moved. No, Mrs. Fergusson hasn’t gone either.

[PEYTON _comes in_.

PEYTON.

Mrs. Fergusson is in the drawing-room, ma’am.

DICKIE.

[_Speaking down the telephone._] What! Half a minute. Hold on.

PENELOPE.

I’ve been expecting her all the afternoon. Ask her if she wouldn’t mind coming up here.

PEYTON.

Very well, ma’am.

[_Exit._

DICKIE.

I say, there’s no getting out of it. [_At the telephone._] Hulloa. Why don’t you come round? Mrs. Fergusson is calling on Pen, and you can arrange about your luncheon party then.... All right. Good-bye.... I say, I’m going to bolt.

PENELOPE.

You coward!

DICKIE.

[_Pretending to be very dignified._] I’m not a coward, Penelope. I shall be back in two minutes. But I’m thirsty, and I’m going to have a brandy and soda.

[_He bends down to kiss her, but she moves away._

DICKIE.

I say, hang it all, you needn’t grudge me one kiss.

PENELOPE.

[_Smiling._] Wait till you’re off with the old love, my friend.

DICKIE.

I think it’s a bit thick that a man shouldn’t be allowed to embrace the wife of his bosom.

PENELOPE.

You shall afterwards, if you’re good.

DICKIE.

I say, she’s just coming. What a blessing this room has two doors!

[_He goes out._ PENELOPE _gets up, looks at herself in the glass, arranges a stray lock of hair, and powders her nose_. ADA FERGUSSON _comes in_.

PENELOPE.

[_Kissing her effusively._] Dearest ... I hope you don’t mind being dragged up here.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Of course not. I like this room. I always think it’s just the place for a heart-to-heart talk.

PENELOPE.

How nice you’re looking!

MRS. FERGUSSON.

D’you like my frock?

PENELOPE.

I always think it suits you so well.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

[_Acidly._] It is the first time I have put it on.

PENELOPE.

Oh, then I suppose I’ve seen one just like it on other people.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

You’ll think I’m coming here a great deal, dearest.

PENELOPE.

You know that Dickie and I are always glad to see you.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Is Dr. O’Farrell at home? I wanted to ask him something about the medicine he prescribed for me yesterday.

PENELOPE.

Now don’t say you’ve come to see Dickie. I was hoping you’d come to see me.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

I wanted to kill two birds with one stone.

PENELOPE.

That is a feat of marksmanship which always gives one satisfaction.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

I forget if you said that Dr. O’Farrell was at home.

PENELOPE.

You know, I think you must be the only person who’s known him ten minutes without calling him Dickie.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

I should have no confidence in him as a doctor if I did.

PENELOPE.

I never employ him myself. I always go to Dr. Rogers.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

You look as if you had robust health, dearest.

PENELOPE.

Oh, I just manage to trip along above ground to save funeral expenses.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Is Dr. O’Farrell quite well?

PENELOPE.

Tired.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

[_Wondering why._] Oh?

[_A slight pause._

MRS. FERGUSSON.

I suppose you haven’t the least idea when he’ll be home?

PENELOPE.

I didn’t know he was out.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought you said he was out.

PENELOPE.

No.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

I must have misunderstood you.

PENELOPE.

I think he’s lying down. You see he was with poor Mrs. Mack till twelve o’clock last night.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

[_With a slight start._] Was he?

PENELOPE.

It’s so bad that she should have had a relapse when she seemed to be going on so well.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

[_Puzzled, but trying not to show it._] I was more distressed than I can say.

PENELOPE.

And it must have been so inconvenient for you after you’d made all your arrangements for going to Paris.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Oh, of course, I didn’t think of my convenience at all.

PENELOPE.

Dickie says the way you’ve nursed her is beyond all praise.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

I think in this life we ought to do what we can for one another. I only did my duty.

PENELOPE.

So few of us do that.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

When I think of my husband bravely serving his country in a foreign land, I feel that I ought to do anything I can to help others.

[PENELOPE _meditatively winks to herself_.

PENELOPE.

Were you there at the end?

MRS. FERGUSSON.

[_Astounded._] What end?

PENELOPE.

You don’t mean to say you don’t know?

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Penelope, I haven’t an idea what you’re talking about.

PENELOPE.

But Dickie was with Mrs. Mack all this morning.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

That’s absurd.

PENELOPE.

I wonder you weren’t sent for.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

But....

[_She is speechless with anger and amazement._

PENELOPE.

Then you really don’t know?

MRS. FERGUSSON.

[_Desperately._] I know nothing.

PENELOPE.

My poor, dear Ada. I’m distracted that I should have to give you this bitter, bitter blow. Mrs. Mack is--dead.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Dead!

PENELOPE.

She died in Dickie’s arms, thanking him for all he’d done for her.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Impossible!

PENELOPE.

I don’t wonder you say that. She was quite frisky a day or two ago.... Sit down, dear. You’re quite upset. You were very fond of her, weren’t you?

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Dead!

PENELOPE.

Why don’t you have a good cry? Can’t you find your handkerchief? Take this. It’s very sad, isn’t it? And after all you’d done for her?

[MRS. FERGUSSON _dabs her eyes with the handkerchief_.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

[_Forcing herself to be natural._] It’s a great blow.

PENELOPE.

Oh, I know. I feel for you, dear. Dickie was devoted to her. He said he’d never had such a patient. [_Putting her handkerchief to her own eyes._] She died, with a smile on her lips, mentioning her dead husband’s name. Dickie was so moved, he couldn’t eat any lunch, poor boy; and we’re going to have a new landaulette.

[DICKIE _comes in and stops at the door for a moment as he sees the two women apparently in tears_.

DICKIE.

I say, what’s up?

PENELOPE.

[_With a sob._] I’ve just broken the news to poor Ada.

DICKIE.

What news?

PENELOPE.

She didn’t know that Mrs. Mack was--no more.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

[_Trying to conceal her rage and mystification._] I certainly didn’t!

PENELOPE.

You ought to have let her know, Dickie. She would have liked to be--in at the death.

DICKIE.

I wanted to spare you.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

It’s too kind of you.

PENELOPE.

I knew that was it. Dickie has such a kind heart.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

[_With restrained anger._] I have already noticed it.

PENELOPE.

[_To her husband._] And you were so fond of her, weren’t you?

DICKIE.

I looked upon her as a real friend.

PENELOPE.

I’ve told Ada that she expired in your arms, darling.

DICKIE.

With a smile on her lips.

PENELOPE.

That’s just what I said. Murmuring the name of her husband, who’d been dead for forty years. What did you say the name was, Dickie?

DICKIE.

Walker, darling.

PENELOPE.

Tell Ada more. She wants to hear the details.

DICKIE.

She asked to be remembered to you. She sent her love to your husband.

PENELOPE.

She seems to have thought of everything. You must go to the funeral, Dickie.

DICKIE.

Yes; I should like to show her that sign of respect.

PENELOPE.

[_To_ MRS. FERGUSSON.] Wouldn’t you like a glass of sherry, dearest? I can see you’re quite upset.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

The--news has taken me by surprise.

PENELOPE.

To tell you the truth, I expected it last night. But I quite understand your emotion.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

I’m so much obliged for your sympathy.

PENELOPE.

I’m going to get you some sherry myself.

DICKIE.

Oh, let me.

PENELOPE.

No, stay with Ada, darling. You have such a way with you when one’s in trouble.

DICKIE.

[_Edging off._] On an occasion like this a woman wants another woman with her.

PENELOPE.

[_Preventing him from moving._] No, you know just the right thing to say. I shall never forget how charming you were when our last cook gave notice.

[_She goes out._ MRS. FERGUSSON _springs to her feet_.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Now!

DICKIE.

Good heavens! You made me positively jump.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

What does all this mean?

DICKIE.

It means that Mrs. Mack, like the rest of us, is mortal. The funeral takes place the day after to-morrow at Kensal Green. Friends kindly accept this the only intimation.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

How can Mrs. Mack be dead? You know just as well as I do that she never existed.

DICKIE.

Upon my word, I’m beginning to be not quite certain. I’ve talked about her so much that she seems much more real than--than my bank balance, for instance. And I could write a beautiful article for the _Lancet_ on the case.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

[_Furiously._] Oh!

DICKIE.

After all, she did have a rotten time of it, poor old lady. Operation after operation. Life wasn’t worth living. She was bound to die. And I call it a jolly happy release.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Where were you last night?

DICKIE.

I was at Mrs. Mack’s--no, of course, I wasn’t. I’m so used to saying that that it slips out quite naturally. I’m awfully sorry.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

How can you tell me such lies?

DICKIE.

I don’t know. I suppose it’s growing into a habit.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

I recommend you to keep them for Penelope.

DICKIE.

I suppose you think, then, they don’t matter?

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Oh, she’s your wife. That’s quite another story.

DICKIE.

I see.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

What d’you mean by saying, I see?

DICKIE.

It was the only reply I could think of at the moment.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

I’m sure you meant something by it.

[PEYTON _comes in with a tray on which are two wine glasses and a decanter. They keep silence till she has gone out._

DICKIE.

Have a glass of sherry, will you?

MRS. FERGUSSON.

No.

DICKIE.

Well, I think I will if you don’t mind. [_He pours himself out a glass._] I have an idea that sherry’s coming into fashion again.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Have you?

DICKIE.

I always think I have a knack of making myself pleasant under difficulties.

[_He drinks a glass of sherry to give himself courage._

DICKIE.

Look here, I’ve got something to tell you that I’m afraid you won’t very much like. I daresay you’ll think me an awful brute, but I’m bound to say it. [MRS. FERGUSSON _does not answer, and after a moment’s pause he goes on_.] The fact is, I’m not built the proper way for intrigue. All these lies make me awfully uncomfortable. I don’t like to think I’m treating Penelope badly. [_Another pause._] I may as well tell you the whole truth bang out. I’ve discovered that I’m desperately in love with Penelope.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

[_Calmly._] And?

DICKIE.

[_Rather surprised._] And that’s all.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

And how do you imagine that interests me?

DICKIE.

[_Quite embarrassed._] I thought--er....

[MRS. FERGUSSON _goes into a peal of laughter_. DICKIE, _quite taken aback, looks at her with astonishment_.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

You haven’t been under the impression that I ever cared for you?

DICKIE.

[_Trying to make it out._] No, no. Of course a man’s a conceited ass who thinks a woman’s in love with him.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

You amused me when I first met you, but you’ve long ceased to do that.

DICKIE.

It’s kind of you to say so.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

It was convenient to have some one to do things for me. I’m a womanly woman and....

DICKIE.

You don’t know your way about.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

For the last month you’ve bored me to extinction. I’ve done everything in my power to show you except say it right out.

DICKIE.

I’m afraid I’ve been very dense.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Dreadfully dense.

DICKIE.

But it was good of you to spare my feelings.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

[_With an amiable smile._] D’you think it would be rude if I described you in your own words as a conceited ass?

DICKIE.

It might make our future acquaintance rather formal.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

There will be no future acquaintance.

DICKIE.

Then there’s nothing more to be said.

[MRS. FERGUSSON _sweeps to the door. She stops._

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Does Penelope adore you as blindly as when first I met you?

DICKIE.

I venture to think she’s as much in love with me as I am with her.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

What have you done with the letters I wrote to you?

DICKIE.

I did as we agreed. I burnt them at once.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

I didn’t. I kept yours.

DICKIE.

I shouldn’t have thought they were interesting enough.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

I have an idea that Penelope would find them positively absorbing.

DICKIE.

Why don’t you send them to her?

MRS. FERGUSSON.

If you have no objection, I think I will.

DICKIE.

They will tell her nothing that she doesn’t know already.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

[_Coming back, startled._] You don’t mean to say you’ve told her?

DICKIE.

Of course not.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Well?

DICKIE.

She’s known it all along.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Known what?

DICKIE.

Everything. From the beginning.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

[_Terrified._] How did she find out?

DICKIE.

Heaven only knows.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

It’s a trap! I might have known she wasn’t such a fool as she seemed. She wants to divorce you, and she’s used me. My husband will never stand that.

DICKIE.

I can imagine that even the most affectionate husband would draw the line there.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

Oh, don’t try and be funny now.

DICKIE.

I wasn’t. The funny part is yet to come.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

What?

DICKIE.

Well, you needn’t get into a state about it. Penelope’s not going to do anything.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

But then, why ...?

DICKIE.

[_With a shrug of the shoulders._] She doesn’t care a hang.

MRS. FERGUSSON.

I don’t understand.

DICKIE.