Chapter 10

(OLIVIA is standing where we left her at the end of the last act.)

GEORGE (taken aback). Olivia, I--I don't understand.

OLIVIA (leaving melodrama with a little laugh and coming down to him). Poor George! Did I frighten you rather?

GEORGE. You're so strange to-day. I don't understand you. You're not like the Olivia I know.

(They sit down on the sofa together.)

OLIVIA. Perhaps you don't know me very well after all.

GEORGE (affectionately). Oh, that's nonsense, old girl. You're just my Olivia.

OLIVIA. And yet it seemed as though I wasn't going to be your Olivia half an hour ago.

GEORGE (with a shudder). Don't talk about it. It doesn't bear thinking about. Well, thank Heaven that's over. Now we can get married again quietly and nobody will be any the wiser.

OLIVIA. Married again?

GEORGE. Yes, dear. As you--er--(he laughs uneasily) said just now, you are Mrs. Telworthy. Just for the moment. But we can soon put that right. My idea was to go up this evening and--er--make arrangements, and if you come up to-morrow morning, if we can manage it by then, we could get quietly married at a Registry Office, and--er--nobody any the wiser.

OLIVIA. Yes, I see. You want me to marry you at a Registry Office to-morrow?

GEORGE. If we can arrange it by then. I don't know how long these things take, but I should imagine there would be no difficulty.

OLIVIA. Oh no, that part ought to be quite easy. But--(She hesitates.)

GEORGE. But what?

OLIVIA. Well, if you want to marry me to-morrow, George, oughtn't you to propose to me first?

GEORGE (amazed). Propose?

OLIVIA. Yes. It is usual, isn't it, to propose to a person before you marry her, and--and we want to do the usual thing, don't we?

GEORGE (upset). But you--but we . . .

OLIVIA. You see, dear, you're George Marden, and I'm Olivia Telworthy, and you--you're attracted by me, and think I would make you a good wife, and you want to marry me. Well, naturally you propose to me first, and--tell me how much you are attracted by me, and what a good wife you think I shall make, and how badly you want to marry me.

GEORGE (falling into the humour of it, as he thinks). The baby! Did she want to be proposed to all over again?

OLIVIA. Well, she did rather.

GEORGE (rather fancying himself as an actor). She shall then. (He adopts what he considers to be an appropriate attitude) Mrs. Telworthy, I have long admired you in silence, and the time has now come to put my admiration into words. Er--(But apparently he finds a difficulty.)

OLIVIA (hopefully). Into words.

GEORGE. Er--

OLIVIA (with the idea of helping). Oh, Mr. Marden!

GEORGE. Er--may I call you Olivia?

OLIVIA. Yes, George.

GEORGE (taking her hand). Olivia--I--(He hesitates.)

OLIVIA. I don't want to interrupt, but oughtn't you to be on your knees? It is--usual, I believe. If one of the servants came in, you could say you were looking for my scissors.

GEORGE. Really, Olivia, you must allow me to manage my own proposal in my own way.

OLIVIA (meekly). I'm sorry. Do go on.

GEORGE. Well, er--confound it, Olivia, I love you. Will you marry me?

OLIVIA. Thank you, George, I will think it over.

GEORGE (laughing). Silly girl! Well then, to-morrow morning. No wedding-cake, I'm afraid, Olivia. (He laughs again) But we'll go and have a good lunch somewhere.

OLIVIA. I will think it over, George.

GEORGE (good-humouredly). Well, give us a kiss while you're thinking.

OLIVIA. I'm afraid you mustn't kiss me until we are actually engaged.

GEORGE (laughing uneasily). Oh, we needn't take it as seriously as all that.

OLIVIA. But a woman must take a proposal seriously.

GEORGE (alarmed at last). What do you mean?

OLIVIA. I mean that the whole question, as I heard somebody say once, demands much more anxious thought than either of us has given it. These hasty marriages--

GEORGE. Hasty!

OLIVIA. Well, you've only just proposed to me, and you want to marry me to-morrow.

GEORGE. Now you're talking perfect nonsense, Olivia. You know quite well that our case is utterly different from--from any other.

OLIVIA. All the same, one has to ask oneself questions. With a young girl like--well, with a young girl, love may well seem to be all that matters. But with a woman of my age, it is different. I have to ask myself if you can afford to support a wife.

GEORGE (coldly). Fortunately that is a question that you can very easily answer for yourself.

OLIVIA. Well, but I have been hearing rather bad reports lately. What with taxes always going up, and rents always going down, some of our landowners are getting into rather straitened circumstances. At least, so I'm told.

GEORGE. I don't know what you're talking about.

OLIVIA (surprised). Oh, isn't it true? I heard of a case only this morning--a landowner who always seemed to be very comfortably off, but who couldn't afford an allowance for his only niece when she wanted to get married. It made me think that one oughtn't to judge by appearances.

GEORGE. You know perfectly well that I can afford to support a wife as my wife _should_ be supported.

OLIVIA. I'm so glad, dear. Then your income--you aren't getting anxious at all?

GEORGE (stiffly). You know perfectly well what my income is. I see no reason for anxiety in the future.

OLIVIA. Ah, well, then we needn't think about that any more. Well, then, there is another thing to be considered.

GEORGE. I can't make out what you're up to. Don't you want to get married; to--er--legalise this extraordinary situation in which we are placed?

OLIVIA. I want to be sure that I am going to be happy, George. I can't just jump at the very first offer I have had since my husband died, without considering the whole question very carefully.

GEORGE. So I'm under consideration, eh?

OLIVIA. Every suitor is.

GEORGE (sarcastically, as he thinks). Well, go on.

OLIVIA. Well, then, there's your niece. You have a niece who lives with you. Of course Dinah is a delightful girl, but one doesn't like marrying into a household in which there is another grown-up woman. But perhaps she will be getting married herself soon?

GEORGE. I see no prospect of it.

OLIVIA. I think it would make it much easier if she did.

GEORGE. Is this a threat, Olivia? Are you telling me that if I do not allow young Strange to marry Dinah, you will not marry me?

OLIVIA. A threat? Oh no, George.

GEORGE. Then what does it mean?

OLIVIA. I'm just wondering if you love me as much as Brian loves Dinah. You _do_ love me?

GEORGE (from his heart). You know I do, old girl. (He comes to her.)

OLIVIA. You're not just attracted by my pretty face? . . . _Is_ it a pretty face?

GEORGE. It's an adorable one. (He tries to kiss it, but she turns away.)

OLIVIA. How can I be sure that it is not _only_ my face which makes you think that you care for me? Love which rests upon a mere outward attraction cannot lead to any lasting happiness--as one of our thinkers has observed.

GEORGE. What's come over you, Olivia? I don't understand what you're driving at. Why should you doubt my love?

OLIVIA. Ah!--Why?

GEORGE. You can't pretend that we haven't been happy together. I've--I've been a good pal to you, eh? We--we suit each other, old girl.

OLIVIA. Do we?

GEORGE. Of course we do.

OLIVIA. I wonder. When two people of our age think of getting married, one wants to be very sure that there is real community of ideas between them. Whether it is a comparatively trivial matter, like the right colour for a curtain, or some very much more serious question of conduct which arises, one wants to feel that there is some chance of agreement between husband and wife.

GEORGE. We--we love each other, old girl.

OLIVIA. We do now, yes. But what shall we be like in five years' time? Supposing that after we have been married five years, we found ourselves estranged from each other upon such questions as Dinah's future, or the decorations of the drawing-room, or even the advice to give to a friend who had innocently contracted a bigamous marriage? How bitterly we should regret then our hasty plunge into a matrimony which was no true partnership, whether of tastes, or of ideas, or even of consciences! (With a sigh) Ah me!

GEORGE (nastily). Unfortunately for your argument, Olivia, I can answer you out of your own mouth. You seem to have forgotten what you said this morning in the case of--er--young Strange.

OLIVIA (reproachfully). Is it quite fair, George, to drag up what was said this morning?

GEORGE. You've brought it on yourself.

OLIVIA. I? . . . Well, and what did I say this morning?

GEORGE. You said that it was quite enough that Strange was a gentleman and in love with Dinah for me to let them marry each other.

OLIVIA. Oh! . . . _Is_ that enough, George?

GEORGE (triumphantly). You said so.

OLIVIA (meekly). Well, if you think so, too, I--I don't mind risking it.

GEORGE (kindly). Aha, my dear! You see!

OLIVIA. Then you do think it's enough?

GEORGE. I--er--Yes, yes, I--I think so.

OLIVIA (going to him). My darling one! Then we can have a double wedding. How jolly!

GEORGE (astounded). A double one!

OLIVIA. Yes. You and me, Brian and Dinah.

GEORGE (firmly). Now look here, Olivia, understand once and for all, I am not to be blackmailed into giving my consent to Dinah's engagement. Neither blackmailed nor tricked. Our marriage has nothing whatever to do with Dinah's.

OLIVIA. No, dear. I quite understand. They may take place about the same time, but they have nothing to do with each other.

GEORGE. I see no prospect of Dinah's marriage taking place for many years.

OLIVIA. No, dear, that was what I said.

GEORGE (not understanding for the moment). You said. . . . ? I see. Now, Olivia, let us have this perfectly clear. You apparently insist on treating my--er--proposal as serious.

OLIVIA (surprised). Wasn't it serious? Were you trifling with me?

GEORGE. You know quite well what I mean. You treat it as an ordinary proposal from a man to a woman who have never been more than acquaintances before. Very well then. Will you tell me what you propose to do, if you decide to--ah--refuse me? You do not suggest that we should go on living together--unmarried?

OLIVIA (shocked). Of course not, George! What would the County--I mean Heaven--I mean the Law--I mean, of _course_ not! Besides, it's so unnecessary. If I decide to accept you, of _course_ I shall marry you.

GEORGE. Quite so. And if you--ah--decide to refuse me? What will you do?

OLIVIA. Nothing.

GEORGE. Meaning by that?

OLIVIA. Just that, George. I shall stay here--just as before. I like this house. It wants a little re-decorating perhaps, but I do like it, George. . . . Yes, I shall be quite happy here.

GEORGE. I see. You will continue to live down here--in spite of what you said just now about the immorality of it.

OLIVIA (surprised). But there's nothing immoral in a widow living alone in a big country house, with perhaps the niece of a friend of hers staying with her, just to keep her company.

GEORGE (sarcastic). And what shall _I_ be doing, when you've so very kindly taken possession of my house for me?

OLIVIA. I don't know, George. Travelling, I expect. You could come down sometimes with a chaperone. I suppose there would be nothing wrong in that.

GEORGE (indignant). Thank you! And what if I refuse to be turned out of my house?

OLIVIA. Then, seeing that we can't _both_ be in it, it looks as though you'd have to turn _me_ out. (Casually) I suppose there are legal ways of doing these things. You'd have to consult your solicitor again.

GEORGE (amazed). Legal ways?

OLIVIA. Well, you couldn't _throw_ me out, could you? You'd have to get an injunction against me--or prosecute me for trespass--or something. It would make an awfully unusual case, wouldn't it? The papers would be full of it.

GEORGE. You must be mad!

OLIVIA (dreamily). Widow of well-known ex-convict takes possession of J.P.'s house. Popular country gentleman denied entrance to his own home. Doomed to travel.

GEORGE (angrily). I've had enough of this. Do you mean all this nonsense?

OLIVIA. I do mean, George, that I am in no hurry to go up to London and get married. I love the country just now, and (with a sigh) after this morning, I'm--rather tired of husbands.

GEORGE (in a rage). I've never heard so much--damned nonsense in my life. I will leave you to come to your senses. (He goes out indignantly.)

(OLIVIA, who has forgiven him already, throws a loving kiss after him, and then turns triumphantly to her dear curtains. She takes them, smiling, to the sofa, and has just got to work again, when MR. PIM appears at the open windows.)

PIM (in a whisper). Er, may I come in, Mrs. Marden?

OLIVIA (turning round in surprise). Mr. Pim!

PIM (anxiously). Mr. Marden is--er--not here?

OLIVIA (getting up). Do you want to see him? I will tell him.

PIM. No, no, no! Not for the world! (He comes in and looks anxiously at the door) There is no immediate danger of his returning, Mrs. Marden?

OLIVIA (surprised). No, I don't think so. What is it? You--

PIM. I took the liberty of returning by the window in the hope of--er--coming upon you alone, Mrs. Marden.

OLIVIA. Yes?

PIM (still rather nervous). I--er--Mr. Marden will be very angry with me. Quite rightly. I blame myself entirely. I do not know how I can have been so stupid.

OLIVIA. What is it, Mr. Pim? Has my husband come to life again?

PIM. Mrs. Marden, I throw myself on your mercy entirely. The fact is--his name was Polwittle.

OLIVIA (at a loss). Whose? My husband's?

PIM. Yes, yes. The name came back to me suddenly, just as I reached the gate. Polwittle, poor fellow.

OLIVIA. But, Mr. Pim, my husband's name was Telworthy.

PIM. No, no, Polwittle.

OLIVIA. But, really I ought to. . . .

PIM (firmly). Polwittle. It came back to me suddenly just as I reached the gate. For the moment, I had thoughts of conveying the news by letter. I was naturally disinclined to return in person, and--Polwittle. (Proudly) If you remember, I always said it was a curious name.

OLIVIA. But who _is_ Polwittle?

PIM (in surprise at her stupidity). The man I have been telling you about, who met with the sad fatality at Marseilles. Henry Polwittle--or was it Ernest? No, Henry, I think. Poor fellow.

OLIVIA (indignantly). But you said his name was Telworthy! How _could_ you?

PIM. Yes, yes, I blame myself entirely.

OLIVIA. But how could you _think_ of a name like Telworthy, if it wasn't Telworthy?

PIM (eagerly). Ah, that is the really interesting thing about the whole matter.

OLIVIA. Mr. Pim, all your visits here to-day have been interesting.

PIM. Yes, but you see, on my first appearance here this morning, I was received by--er--Miss Diana.

OLIVIA. Dinah.

PIM. Miss Dinah, yes. She was in--er--rather a communicative mood, and she happened to mention, by way of passing the time, that before your marriage to Mr. Marden you had been a Mrs.--er--

OLIVIA. Telworthy.

PIM. Yes, yes, Telworthy, of course. She mentioned also Australia. By some process of the brain--which strikes me as decidedly curious--when I was trying to recollect the name of the poor fellow on the boat, whom you remember I had also met in Australia, the fact that this other name was also stored in my memory, a name equally peculiar--this fact I say . . .

OLIVIA (seeing that the sentence is rapidly going to pieces). Yes, I understand.

PIM. I blame myself, I blame myself entirely.

OLIVIA. Oh, you mustn't do that, Mr. Pim. It was really Dinah's fault for inflicting all our family history on you.

PIM. Oh, but a charming young woman. I assure you I was very much interested in all that she told me. (Getting up) Well, Mrs.--er--Marden, I can only hope that you will forgive me for the needless distress I have caused you to-day.

OLIVIA. Oh, you mustn't worry about that--please.

PIM. And you will tell your husband--you will break the news to him?

OLIVIA (smiling to herself). I will--break the news to him.

PIM. You understand how it is that I thought it better to come to you in the first place?

OLIVIA. I am very glad you did.

PIM (holding out his hand). Then I will say good-bye, and--er--

OLIVIA. Just a moment, Mr. Pim. Let us have it quite clear this time. You never knew my husband, Jacob Telworthy, you never met him in Australia, you never saw him on the boat, and nothing whatever happened to him at Marseilles. Is that right?

PIM. Yes, yes, that is so.

OLIVIA. So that, since he was supposed to have died in Australia six years ago, he is presumably still dead?

PIM. Yes, yes, undoubtedly.

OLIVIA (holding out her hand with a charming smile). Then good-bye, Mr. Pim, and thank you so much for--for all your trouble.

PIM. Not at all, Mrs. Marden. I can only assure you I--

DINAH (from the window). Hullo, here's Mr. Pim! (She comes in, followed by BRIAN.)

PIM (anxiously looking at the door in case MR. MARDEN should come in). Yes, yes, I--er--

DINAH. Oh, Mr. Pim, you mustn't run away without even saying how do you do! Such old friends as we are. Why, it is ages since I saw you! Are you staying to tea?

PIM. I'm afraid I--

OLIVIA. Mr. Pim has to hurry away, Dinah. You mustn't keep him.

DINAH. Well, but you'll come back again?

PIM. I fear that I am only a passer-by, Miss--er--Dinah.

OLIVIA. You can walk with him to the gate, dear.

PIM (gratefully to OLIVIA). Thank you. (He edges towards the window) If you would be so kind, Miss Dinah--

BRIAN. I'll catch you up.

DINAH. Come along then, Mr. Pim. (As they go out) I want to hear all about your _first_ wife. You haven't really told me anything yet.

(OLIVIA resumes her work, and BRIAN sits on the back of the sofa looking at her.)

BRIAN (awkwardly). I just wanted to say, if you don't think it cheek, that I'm--I'm on your side, if I may be, and if I can help you at all I should be very proud of being allowed to.

OLIVIA (looking up at him). Brian, you dear. That's sweet of you . . . But it's quite all right now, you know.

BRIAN. Oh, I'm so glad.

OLIVIA. Yes, that's what Mr. Pim came back to say. He'd made a mistake about the name. (Smiling) George is the only husband I have.

BRIAN (surprised). What? You mean that the whole thing--that Pim--(With conviction) Silly ass!

OLIVIA (kindly). Oh, well, he didn't mean to be. (After a pause) Brian, do you know anything about the Law?

BRIAN. I'm afraid not. I hate the Law. Why?

OLIVIA (casually). Oh, I just--I was wondering--thinking about all the shocks we've been through to-day. Second marriages, and all that.

BRIAN. Oh! It's a rotten business.

OLIVIA. I suppose there's nothing wrong in getting married to the _same_ person twice?

BRIAN. A hundred times if you like, I should think.

OLIVIA. Oh?

BRIAN. After all, in France, they always go through it twice, don't they? Once before the Mayor or somebody, and once in church.

OLIVIA. Of course they do! How silly of me . . . I think it's rather a nice idea. They ought to do it in England more.

BRIAN. Well, once will be enough for Dinah and me, if you can work it. (Anxiously) D'you think there's any chance, Olivia?

OLIVIA (smiling). Every chance, dear.

BRIAN (jumping up). I say, do you really? Have you squared him? I mean, has he--

OLIVIA. Go and catch them up now. We'll talk about it later on.

BRIAN. Bless you. Righto.

(As he goes out by the windows, GEORGE comes in at the door. GEORGE stands looking after him, and then turns to OLIVIA, who is absorbed in her curtains. He walks up and down the room, fidgeting with things, waiting for her to speak. As she says nothing, he begins to talk himself, but in an obviously unconcerned way. There is a pause after each answer of hers, before he gets out his next remark.)

GEORGE (casually). Good-looking fellow, Strange.

OLIVIA (equally casually). Brian--yes, isn't he? And such a nice boy . . .

GEORGE. Got fifty pounds for a picture the other day, didn't he? Hey?

OLIVIA. Yes. Of course he has only just begun. . . .

GEORGE. Critics think well of him, what?

OLIVIA. They all say he has genius. Oh, I don't think there's any doubt about it . . .

GEORGE. Of course, I don't profess to know anything about painting.

OLIVIA. You've never had time to take it up, dear.

GEORGE. I know what I like, of course. Can't say I see much in this new-fangled stuff. If a man can paint, why can't he paint like--like Rubens or--or Reynolds?

OLIVIA. I suppose we all have our own styles. Brian will find his directly. Of course, he's only just beginning. . . .

GEORGE. But they think a lot of him, what?

OLIVIA. Oh yes!

GEORGE. H'm! . . . Good-looking fellow. (There is rather a longer silence this time, GEORGE continues to hope that he is appearing casual and unconcerned. He stands looking at OLIVIA'S work for a moment.)

GEORGE. Nearly finished 'em?

OLIVIA. Very nearly. Are my scissors there?

GEORGE (looking round). Scissors?

OLIVIA. Ah, here they are. . . .

GEORGE. Where are you going to put 'em?

OLIVIA (as if really wondering). I don't quite know. . . . I _had_ thought of this room, but--I'm not quite sure.

GEORGE. Brighten the room up a bit.

OLIVIA. Yes. . . .

GEORGE (walking over to the present curtains). H'm. They _are_ a bit faded.

OLIVIA (shaking out hers, and looking at them critically). Sometimes I think I love them, and sometimes I'm not quite sure.

GEORGE. Best way is to hang 'em up and see how you like 'em then. Always take 'em down again.

OLIVIA. That's rather a good idea, George!

GEORGE. Best way.

OLIVIA. Yes. . . . I think we might do that. . . . The only thing is--(she hesitates).

GEORGE. What?

OLIVIA. Well, the carpet and the chairs, and the cushions and things--

GEORGE. What about 'em?

OLIVIA. Well, if we had new curtains--

GEORGE. You'd want a new carpet, eh?

OLIVIA (doubtfully). Y--yes. Well, new chair-covers anyhow.

GEORGE. H'm. . . . Well, why not?

OLIVIA. Oh, but--

GEORGE (with an awkward laugh). We're not so hard up as all that, you know.

OLIVIA. No, I suppose not. (Thoughtfully) I suppose it would mean that I should have to go up to London for them. That's rather a nuisance.

GEORGE (extremely casual). Oh, I don't know. We might go up together one day.

OLIVIA. Well, of course if we _were_ up--for anything else--we could just look about us, and see if we could find what we want.

GEORGE. That's what I meant.

(There is another silence. GEORGE is wondering whether to come to closer quarters with the great question.)

OLIVIA. Oh, by the way, George--

GEORGE. Yes?

OLIVIA (innocently). I told Brian, and I expect he'll tell Dinah, that Mr. Pim had made a mistake about the name.

GEORGE (astonished). You told Brian that Mr. Pim--

OLIVIA. Yes--I told him that the whole thing was a mistake. It seemed the simplest way.

GEORGE. Olivia! Then you mean that Brian and Dinah think that--that we have been married all the time?

OLIVIA. Yes . . . They both think so now.

GEORGE (coming close to her). Olivia, does that mean that you _are_ thinking of marrying me?

OLIVIA. At your old Registry Office?

GEORGE (eagerly). Yes!

OLIVIA. To-morrow?

GEORGE. Yes!

OLIVIA. Do you want me to _very_ much?

GEORGE. My darling, you know I do!

OLIVIA (a little apprehensive). We should have to do it very quietly.

GEORGE. Of course, darling. Nobody need know at all. We don't _want_ anybody to know. And now that you've put Brian and Dinah off the scent, by telling them that Mr. Pim made a mistake--(He breaks off, and says admiringly) That was very clever of you, Olivia. I should never have thought of that.

OLIVIA (innocently). No, darling. . . . You don't think it was wrong, George?

GEORGE (his verdict). An innocent deception . . . perfectly harmless.

OLIVIA. Yes, dear, that was what I thought about--about what I was doing.

GEORGE. Then you will come to-morrow? (She nods.) And if we happen to see the carpet, or anything that you want--

OLIVIA. Oh, what fun!

GEORGE (beaming). And a wedding lunch at the Carlton, what? (She nods eagerly.) And--and a bit of a honeymoon in Paris?

OLIVIA. Oh, George!

GEORGE (hungrily). Give us a kiss, old girl.

OLIVIA (lovingly). George!

(She holds up her cheek to him. He kisses it, and then suddenly takes her in his arms.)

GEORGE. Don't ever leave me, old girl.

OLIVIA (affectionately). Don't ever send me away, old boy.

GEORGE (fervently). I won't. . . . (Awkwardly) I--I don't think I would have, you know. I--I--

(DINAH and BRIAN appear at the windows, having seen MR. PIM safely off.)

DINAH (surprised). Oo, I say!

(GEORGE hastily moves away.)

GEORGE. Hallo!

DINAH (going up impetuously to him). Give _me_ one, too, George; Brian won't mind.

BRIAN. Really, Dinah, you are the limit.

GEORGE (formally, but enjoying it). Do you mind, Mr. Strange?

BRIAN (a little uncomfortably). Oh, I say, sir--

GEORGE. We'll risk it, Dinah. (He kisses her.)

DINAH (triumphantly to BRIAN). Did you notice that one? That wasn't just an ordinary affectionate kiss. It was a special bless--you--my--children one. (to GEORGE) Wasn't it?

OLIVIA. You do talk nonsense, darling.

DINAH. Well, I'm so happy, now that Mr. Pim has relented about your first husband--

(GEORGE catches OLIVIA'S eye and smiles; she smiles back; but they are different smiles.)

GEORGE (the actor). Yes, yes, stupid fellow Pim, what?

BRIAN. Absolute idiot.

DINAH.--And now that George has relented about _my_ first husband.

GEORGE. You get on much too quickly, young woman. (to BRIAN) So you want to marry my Dinah, eh?

BRIAN (with a smile). Well, I do rather, sir.

DINAH (hastily). Not at once, of course, George. We want to be engaged for a long time first, and write letters to each other, and tell each other how much we love each other, and sit next to each other when we go out to dinner.

GEORGE (to OLIVIA). Well, _that_ sounds fairly harmless, I think.

OLIVIA (smiling). I think so. . . .

GEORGE (to BRIAN). Then you'd better have a talk with me--er--Brian.

BRIAN. Thank you very much, sir.

GEORGE. Well, come along then. (Looking at his watch) I am going up to town after tea, so we'd better--

DINAH. I say! Are you going to London?

GEORGE (with the smile of the conspirator). A little business. Never you mind, young lady.

DINAH (calmly). All right. Only, bring me back something nice.

GEORGE (to BRIAN). Shall we walk down and look at the pigs?

BRIAN. Righto!

OLIVIA. Don't go far, dear. I may want you in a moment.

GEORGE. All right, darling, we'll be on the terrace.

[They go out together.

DINAH. Brian and George always try to discuss me in front of the pigs. So tactless of them. Are you going to London, too, darling?

OLIVIA. To-morrow morning.

DINAH. What are you going to do in London?

OLIVIA. Oh, shopping, and--one or two little things.

DINAH. With George?

OLIVIA. Yes. . . .

DINAH. I say, wasn't it lovely about Pim?

OLIVIA. Lovely?

DINAH. Yes; he told me all about it. Making such a hash of things, I mean.

OLIVIA (innocently). Did he make a hash of things?

DINAH. Well, I mean keeping on coming like that. And if you look at it all round--well, for all he had to say, he needn't really have come at all.

OLIVIA (smiling to herself). I shouldn't quite say that, Dinah. (She stands up and shakes out the curtains.)

DINAH. I say, aren't they jolly?

OLIVIA (demurely). I'm so glad everybody likes them. Tell George I'm ready, will you?

DINAH. I say, is _he_ going to hang them up for you?

OLIVIA. Well, I thought he could reach best.

DINAH. Righto! What fun! (At the windows) George! George! (to OLIVIA) Brian is just telling George about the five shillings he's got in the Post Office. . . . George!

GEORGE (from the terrace). Coming!

(He hurries in, the model husband, BRIAN follows.)

OLIVIA. Oh, George, just hang these up for me, will you?

GEORGE. Of course, darling. I'll get the steps from the library.

[He hurries out.

(BRIAN takes out his sketching block. It is obvious that his five shillings has turned the scale. He bows to DINAH. He kisses OLIVIA'S hand with an air. He motions to DINAH to be seated.)

DINAH (impressed). What is it?

BRIAN (beginning to draw). Portrait of Lady Strange.

(GEORGE hurries in with the steps, and gets to work. There is a great deal of curtain, and for the moment he becomes slightly involved in it. However, by draping it over his head and shoulders, he manages to get successfully up the steps. There we may leave him.)

(But we have not quite finished with MR. PIM. It is a matter of honour with him now that he should get his little story quite accurate before passing out of the MARDENS' life for ever. So he comes back for the last time; for the last time we see his head at the window. He whispers to OLIVIA.)

MR. PIM. Mrs. Marden! I've just remembered. His name was _Ernest_ Polwittle--_not_ Henry.

(He goes off happily. A curious family the MARDENS. Perhaps somebody else would have committed bigamy if he had not remembered in time that it was Ernest. . . . Ernest. . . . Yes. . . . Now he can go back with an easy conscience to the Trevors.)

THE CAMBERLEY TRIANGLE

A COMEDY IN ONE ACT

CHARACTERS

KATE CAMBERLEY. CYRIL NORWOOD (her lover). DENNIS CAMBERLEY (her husband).

* * * * *

This play was first produced by Mr. Godfrey Tearle at the Coliseum on September 8, 1919, with the following cast:

Dennis Camberley--GODFREY TEARLE. Kate Camberley--MARY MALONE. Cyril Norwood--EWAN BROOK.

THE CAMBERLEY TRIANGLE

(It is an evening of 1919 in KATE'S drawing-room. She is expecting him, and the Curtain goes up as he is announced.)

MAID. Mr. Cyril Norwood.

(He comes in.)

NORWOOD (for the MAID'S benefit, but you may be sure she knows). Ah, good evening, Mrs. Camberley!

KATE. Good evening!

(They shake hands. NORWOOD is sleek and prosperous, in a morning coat with a white slip to his waistcoat. He is good-looking in rather an obvious way with rather an obvious moustache. Most women like him--at least, so he will tell you.)

NORWOOD (as soon as they are alone). My darling!

KATE. Cyril!

(He takes her hands and kisses them. He would kiss her face, but she is not quite ready for this.)

NORWOOD. You let me yesterday. Why mayn't I kiss you to-day?

KATE. Not just yet, dear. I want to talk to you. Come and sit down.

(They sit on the sofa together.)

NORWOOD. You aren't sorry for what you said yesterday?

KATE (looking at him thoughtfully, and then shaking her head). No.

NORWOOD. Then what's happened?

KATE. I've just had a letter from Dennis.

NORWOOD (anxiously). Dennis--your husband?

KATE. Yes.

NORWOOD. Where does he write from?

KATE. India.

NORWOOD. Oh, well!

KATE. He says I may expect him home almost as soon as I get the letter.

NORWOOD. Good Heavens!

KATE. Yes. . . .

NORWOOD (always hopeful). Perhaps he didn't catch the boat that he expected to. Wouldn't he have cabled from somewhere on the way?

KATE. You can't depend on cables nowadays. _I_ don't know--What are we to do, Cyril?

NORWOOD. You know what I always wanted you to do. (He takes her hands) Come away with me.

KATE (doubtfully). And let Dennis come home and find--an empty house?

NORWOOD (eagerly). You are nothing to him, and he is nothing to you. A war-wedding!--after you'd been engaged to each other for a week! And forty-eight hours afterwards he is sent out to India--and you haven't seen him since.

KATE. Yes. I keep telling myself that.

NORWOOD. The world may say that you're his wife and he's your husband, but--what do you know of him? He won't even be the boy you married. He'll be a stranger whom you'll hardly recognise. And you aren't the girl _he_ married. You're a woman now, and you're just beginning to learn what love is. Come with _me_.

KATE. It's true, it's true. But he _has_ been fighting for us. And to come home again after those four years of exile, and find--

NORWOOD. Exile--that's making much too much of it. He's come through the war safely, and he's probably had what he'd call a topping good time. Like enough he's been in love half-a-dozen times himself since--on leave in India and that sort of thing. India! Well, you should read Kipling.

KATE. I wonder. Of course, as you say, I don't know him. But I feel that we should be happier afterwards if we were quite straight about it and told him just what had happened. If he had been doing what you say, he would understand--and perhaps be glad of it.

NORWOOD (uneasily). Really, darling, it's hardly a thing you can talk over calmly with a husband, even if he--We don't want any unpleasantness, and--er--(Taking her hands again) Besides, I want you, Kate. It may be weeks before he comes back. We can't go on like this . . . Kate!

KATE. Do you love me so very much?

NORWOOD. My darling!

KATE. Well, let us wait till the end of the week--in case he comes. I don't want to seem to be afraid of him.

NORWOOD (eagerly). And then?

KATE. Then I'll come with you.

NORWOOD (taking her in his arms). My darling! . . . There! And now what are you going to do? Ask me to stay to dinner or what?

KATE. Certainly not, sir. I'm going _out_ to dinner to-night.

NORWOOD (jealously). Who with?

KATE. You.

NORWOOD (eagerly). At our little restaurant? (She nods) Good girl! Then go and put on a hat, while I ring 'em up and see if they've got a table.

KATE. What fun! I won't be a moment. (She goes to the door) Cyril, you will _always_ love me?

NORWOOD. Of course I will, darling. (She nods at him and goes out. He is very well pleased with himself when he is left alone. He goes to the telephone with a smile) Gerrard 11,001. Yes . . . I want a table for two. To-night . . . Mr. Cyril Norwood . . . Oh, in about half an hour . . . Yes, for two. Is that all right? . . . Thank you.

(He puts the receiver back and turns round to see DENNIS CAMBERLEY, who has just come in. DENNIS is certainly a man now; very easily and pleasantly master of himself and of anybody else who gets in his way.)

NORWOOD (surprised). Hallo!

DENNIS (nodding pleasantly). Hallo!

NORWOOD (wondering who he is). You--er----?

DENNIS. I just came in, Mr. Norwood.

NORWOOD. You know my name?

DENNIS. Oh yes, I've heard a good deal about you, Mr. Cyril Norwood.

NORWOOD (stiffly). I don't think I've had the pleasure of--er----

DENNIS (winningly). Oh, but I'm sure you must have heard a good deal about _me_.

NORWOOD. Good God, you don't mean----

DENNIS. I do, indeed. (With a bow) Dennis Camberley, the missing husband. (Pleadingly) You _have_ heard about me, _haven't_ you?

NORWOOD. I--er--Mr. Camberley, yes, of course. So you're back?

DENNIS. Yes, I'm back. Sometimes they don't come back, Mr. Norwood, and sometimes--they do. . . . Even after four years. . . . But you _did_ talk about me sometimes?

NORWOOD. How did you know my name?

DENNIS. A little bird told me about you.

NORWOOD (turning away in anger). Pooh!

DENNIS. One of those little Eastern birds, which sit on the backs of crocodiles, searching for--well, let us say, breakfast. He said to me one morning: "Talking of parasites," he said, "do you know Mr. Cyril Norwood?" he said, "because I could tell you an interesting story about him," he said, "if you care to--"

NORWOOD (wheeling round furiously). Look here, sir, we'd better have it out quite plainly. I don't want any veiled insults and sneers from you. I admit that an unfortunate situation has arisen, but we must look facts in the face. You may be Mrs. Camberley's husband, but she has not seen you for four years, and--well, she and I love each other. There you have it. What are you going to do?

DENNIS (anxiously). You don't feel that I have neglected her, Mr. Norwood? You see, I couldn't come home for week-ends very well, and--

NORWOOD. What are you going to do?

DENNIS (pleasantly). Well, what do you suggest?

NORWOOD (taken aback). Really, sir, I--er--

DENNIS. You see, I feel so out of it all. I've been leading such a nasty, uncivilised life for the last four years, I really hardly know what is--what is being done. Now _you_ have been mixing in Society . . . making munitions . . .

NORWOOD (stiffly). I have been engaged on important work for the Government of a confidential nature--

DENNIS. You, as I was saying, have been mixing in Society, engaged on important work for the Government of a confidential nature----

NORWOOD. It was my great regret that I had no opportunity of enlisting----

DENNIS. With no opportunity, as I was about to say, of enlisting, but with many opportunities, fortunately, of making love to my wife.

NORWOOD. Now look here, Mr. Camberley, I've already told you----

DENNIS (soothing him). But, my dear Mr. Norwood, I'm only doing what you said. I'm looking facts in the face. (Surprised) You aren't ashamed of having made love to my wife, are you?

NORWOOD (impatiently). What are you going to do? That's all that matters between you and me. What are you going to do?

DENNIS. Well, that was what I was going to ask you. You're so much more in the swim than I am. (Earnestly) What _is_ being done in Society just now? You must have heard a good deal of gossip about it. All your friends, who were also engaged on important work of a confidential nature, with no opportunity of enlisting--don't they tell you their own experiences? What _have_ the husbands been doing lately when they came back from the front?

NORWOOD (advancing on him angrily). Now, once and for all, sir----

(KATE comes in, with a hat in each hand, calling to NORWOOD as she comes.)

KATE. Oh, Cyril--which of these two hats--(she sees her husband)--Dennis!

DENNIS (looking at her steadfastly). How are _you_, Kate?

KATE (stammering). You've--you've come back? (She puts the hats down.)

DENNIS. I've come back. As I was telling Mr. Norwood.

KATE (looking from one to the other). You--?

DENNIS (smiling). Oh, we're quite old friends.

NORWOOD (going to her). I've told him, Kate.

(He takes her hands, and tries to look defiantly at DENNIS, though he is not feeling like that at all.)

KATE (looking anxiously at DENNIS). What are you going to do?

(She can hardly make him out. He is different from the husband who left her four years ago.)

DENNIS. Well, that's what Cyril keeps asking me. (to NORWOOD) You don't mind my calling you Cyril?--such an old friend of my wife's--

KATE (unable to make him out). Dennis! (She is frightened.)

NORWOOD (soothingly). It's all right, dear.

DENNIS. Do let's sit down and talk it over in a friendly way.

KATE (going to him). Dennis, can you ever forgive me? We never ought to have got married--we knew each other so little--you had to go away so soon--I--I was going to write and tell you--oh, I wish--

DENNIS. That's all right, Kate. (He will not let her come too close to him. He steps back and looks at her from head to feet) You've altered.

KATE. That's just it, Dennis. I'm not the girl who--

DENNIS. You've grown four years younger and four years prettier.

KATE (dropping her eyes). Have I?

DENNIS. Yes. . . . You do your hair a new way.

KATE (surprised). Do you like it?

DENNIS. I love it.

NORWOOD (coughing). Yes, well, perhaps we'd better--

DENNIS (with a start). I beg your pardon, Cyril. I was forgetting you for the moment. Well, now do sit down, (NORWOOD and KATE sit down together on the sofa, but DENNIS remains standing) That's right.

KATE. Well?

DENNIS (to KATE). You want to marry him, eh?

NORWOOD. We have already told you the circumstances, Mr. Camberley. I need hardly say how regrettable it is that--er--but at the same time these--er--things will happen, and since it--er--has happened--

KATE. I feel I hardly know you, Dennis. Did I love you when I married you? I don't know. It was so sudden. We had no time to find out anything about each other. And now you come back--a stranger--

DENNIS (jerking his head at NORWOOD). And he's not a stranger, eh?

KATE (dropping her eyes). N-no.

DENNIS. You feel you know all about _him_?

KATE. I--we--(She is unhappy.)

NORWOOD. We have discovered that we love each other. (Taking her hands) My darling one, this is distressing for you. Let _me_--

DENNIS (sharply). It wouldn't be distressing for her, if you didn't keep messing her about. Why the devil can't you sit on a chair by yourself?

NORWOOD (indignantly). Really!

KATE (freeing herself from him, and moving to the extreme end of the sofa). What are you going to do, Dennis?

DENNIS (looking at them thoughtfully, his chin on his hand). I don't know. . . . It's difficult. I don't want to do anything melodramatic. I mean (to KATE) it wouldn't really help matters if I did shoot him, would it?

(KATE looks at him without saying anything, trying to understand this new man who has come into her life. NORWOOD swallows, and tries very hard to say something)

NORWOOD. I--I--

DENNIS (turning to him). You_ don't think so, do you?

NORWOOD. I--I--

DENNIS. No, I'm quite sure you're right. It wouldn't really help. It is difficult, isn't it? You see (to KATE) _you_ love _him_--(he waits a moment for her to say it if she will, but she only looks at him)--and _he_ says _he_ loves _you_, but at the same time I _am_ your husband. . . . (He walks up and down thoughtfully, and then says suddenly to NORWOOD) I'll tell you what--I'll fight you for her.

NORWOOD (trying to be firm). I think we'd better leave this eighteenth-century nonsense out of it.

DENNIS (pleasantly). They fight in the twentieth century, too, Mr. Norwood. Perhaps you hadn't heard what we've been doing these last four years? Oh, quite a lot of it. . . . Well?

NORWOOD. You don't wish me to believe that you're serious?

DENNIS. Perfectly. Swords, pistols, fists, catch-as-catch-can--what would you like?

NORWOOD. I do not propose to indulge in an undignified scuffle for the--er--lady of my heart.

DENNIS (cheerfully). Nothing doing in scuffles, eh? All right, then, I'll toss you for her.

NORWOOD. Now you're merely being vulgar. (to KATE) My dear--

(She motions him back with her hand, but does not take her eyes off DENNIS.)

DENNIS. Really, Mr. Norwood, you're a little hard to please. If you don't like my suggestions, perhaps you will make one of your own.

NORWOOD. This is obviously a matter in which it is for the--er--lady to choose.

DENNIS. You think Mrs. Camberley should choose between us?

NORWOOD. Certainly.

DENNIS. What do you say, Kate?

KATE. You are very generous, Dennis.

DENNIS (after a pause). Very well, you shall choose.

NORWOOD (complacently). Ah!

DENNIS. Wait a moment, Mr. Norwood. (to KATE) When did you first meet him?

KATE. A year ago.

DENNIS. And he's been making love to you for a year? (KATE bends her head) He's been making love to you for a year?

NORWOOD. I think, sir, that the sooner the lady makes her choice, and brings this distressing scene to a close--After all, is it fair to her to--?

DENNIS. Are you fair to _me_? You've been making love to her for a year. _I_ made love to her for a fort-night--four years ago. And now you want her to choose between us. Is _that_ fair?

NORWOOD. You hardly expect us to wait a year before she is allowed to make up her mind?

DENNIS. I waited four years for her out there. . . . However, I won't ask you to wait a year. I'll ask you to wait for five minutes.

KATE. What is it you want us to do, Dennis?

DENNIS. I want you to listen to both of us, for five minutes each; that's all. After all, we're your suitors, aren't we? You're going to choose between us. Very well, then, you must hear what we have to say. Mr. Norwood shall have five minutes alone with you in which to present his case; five minutes in which to tell you how beautiful you are. . . . and how rich he is . . . and how happy you'll be together. And I shall have _my_ five minutes.

NORWOOD (sneering). Five minutes in which to tell her lies about _me_, eh?

DENNIS. Damn it, you've had a whole year in which to tell her lies about yourself; you oughtn't to grudge me five minutes. (to KATE) Well?

KATE. I agree, Dennis.

DENNIS. Good. (He spins a coin, puts it on the back of his hand, and says to NORWOOD) Call!

NORWOOD. What on _earth_--

DENNIS. Choice of innings.

NORWOOD. I never heard of anything so--Tails.

DENNIS (uncovering it). Heads. You shall have first knock.

NORWOOD (bewildered). What do you--I don't--

DENNIS. You have five minutes in which to lay your case before Mrs. Camberley. (He looks at his watch) Five minutes--and then I shall come back. . . . Is there a fire in the dining-room, Kate?

KATE (smiling in spite of herself). A gas-fire; it isn't lit.

DENNIS. Then I shall light it. (to NORWOOD) That will make the room nice and warm for you by the time you've finished. (He goes to the door and says again) Five minutes.

(There is an awkward silence after he is gone. KATE waits for NORWOOD to say something, but NORWOOD doesn't know in the least what is expected of him.)

NORWOOD (looking anxiously at the door). What's the fellow's game, eh?

KATE. Game?

NORWOOD. Yes. What's he up to?

KATE. Is he up to anything?

NORWOOD. I don't like it. Why the devil did he choose to-day to come back? If he'd waited another week, we'd have been safely away together. What's his game, I wonder?

(He walks up and down, worrying it out.)

KATE. I don't think he's playing a game. He's just giving me my chance.

NORWOOD. What chance?

KATE. A chance to decide between you.

NORWOOD. You've decided that, Kate. You've had a year to think about it in, and you've decided. We love each other; you're coming away with me; that's all settled. Only . . . what the deuce is he up to?

KATE (sitting down and talking to herself). You're quite right about my not knowing him. . . . How one rushed into marriage in those early days of the war--knowing nothing about each other. And then they come back, and even the little one thought one did know is different. . . . I suppose he feels the same about me.

NORWOOD (to himself). Damn him!

KATE (after a pause). Well, Cyril?

NORWOOD (looking sharply round at her). Well?

KATE. We haven't got very long.

NORWOOD (looking at his watch). He really means to come back--in five minutes?

KATE. You heard him say so.

NORWOOD (going up to her and speaking eagerly). What's the matter with slipping out now? You've got a hat here. We can slip out quietly. He won't hear us. He'll come back and find us gone--well, what can he do? Probably he'll hang about for a bit and then go to his club. We'll have a bit of dinner; ring up your maid; get her to meet you with some things, and go off by the night mail. Scotland--anywhere you like. Let the whole business simmer down a bit. We don't want any melodramatic eighteenth-century nonsense.

KATE. Go out now, and not wait for him to have _his_ five minutes?

NORWOOD (impatiently). What does he _want_ with five minutes? What's the _good_ of it to him? Just to take a pathetic farewell of you, and pretend that you've ruined his life, when all the time he's chuckling in his sleeve at having got rid of you so easily. _I_ know these young fellows. Some Major's wife in India is what _he's_ got his eye on. . . . Or else he'll try fooling around with the hands-up business. You don't want to be mixed up with any scandal of _that_ sort. No, the best thing we can do--I'm speaking for _your_ sake, Kate--is to slip off quietly, while we've got the chance. We can _write_ and explain all that we want to explain.

KATE (looking wonderingly at him--another man whom she doesn't know). Is that playing quite fair to Dennis?

NORWOOD. Good Lord, this isn't a game! Camberley may think so with his tossing-up and all the rest of it, but you and I aren't children. Everything's fair in a case like this. Put your hat on--quickly--(he gets it for her)--here you are--

KATE (standing up). I'm not sure, Cyril.

NORWOOD. What d'you mean?

KATE. He expects me to wait for him.

NORWOOD. If it comes to that, he expected you to wait for him four years ago.

KATE. Yes. . . . (Quietly) Thank you for reminding me.

NORWOOD. Kate, don't be stupid. What's happened to you? Of course, I know it's been beastly upsetting for you, all this--but then, why do you want to go on with it? Why do you want _more_ upsetting scenes?

You've got a chance now of getting out of it all, and--(He looks at his watch) Good Lord!

KATE. Is the five minutes over?

NORWOOD. Quick, quick! (He puts his fingers to his lips) Quietly. (He walks on tiptoe to the door.)

KATE. Cyril!

NORWOOD. H'sh!

KATE (sitting down again). It's no good, Cyril, I must wait for him.

(The door opens, and NORWOOD starts back quickly as DENNIS comes in.)

DENNIS (looking at his watch). Innings declared closed. (to NORWOOD) The dining-room is nicely warmed now, and I've left you an evening paper.

NORWOOD (going to KATE). Look here, Mr. Camberley, Kate and I--

DENNIS. Mrs. Camberley, no doubt, will tell me.

(He holds the door open and waits politely for NORWOOD to go.)

NORWOOD. I don't know what your game is--

DENNIS. You've never been in Mesopotamia, Mr. Norwood?

NORWOOD. Never.

DENNIS. It's a very trying place for the temper. . . . I'm waiting for you.

NORWOOD (irresolute). Well, I---- (He comes sulkily to the door) Well, I shall come back for Kate in five minutes.

DENNIS. Mrs. Camberley and I will be ready for you. You know your way?

[NORWOOD goes out.

(DENNIS shuts the door. He comes into the room and stands looking at KATE.)

KATE (uncomfortably). Well?

DENNIS. No, don't move. I just want to look at you. . . . I've seen you like that for four years. Don't move. . . . I've been in some dreary places, but you've been with me most of the time. Just let's have a last look.

KATE. A last look?

DENNIS. Yes.

KATE. You're saying good-bye to me?

DENNIS. I don't know whether it's to you, Kate. To the girl who has been with me these last four years. Was that you?

KATE (dropping her eyes). I don't know, Dennis.

DENNIS. I wish to God I wasn't your husband.

KATE. What would you do if you weren't my husband?

DENNIS. Make love to you.

KATE. Can't you do that now?

DENNIS. Being your husband rather handicaps me, you know. I never really stood a chance against the other fellow.

KATE. I was to choose between you, you said. You think that I have already made up my mind?

DENNIS (smiling). I think so.

KATE. And chosen him?

DENNIS (shaking his head). Oh, no!

KATE (surprised). You think I have chosen _you_?

DENNIS (nodding). M'm.

KATE (indignantly). Really, Dennis! Considering that I had practically arranged to run away with him twenty minutes ago! You must think me very fickle.

DENNIS. Not fickle. Imaginative.

KATE. What do you mean? And why are you so certain that I am going to choose you? And why in that case did you talk about taking a last look at me? And what--?

DENNIS. Of course, we've only got five minutes, but I think that if you asked your questions one at a time----

KATE (smiling). Well, you needn't _answer_ them all together.

DENNIS. All right then, one at a time. Why am I certain that you will choose me? Because for the first time in your life you have just been alone with Mr. Cyril Norwood. That's what I meant by saying you were imaginative. The Norwood you've been thinking yourself in love with doesn't exist. I'm certain that you've seen him for the first time in these last few minutes. Why, the Archangel Gabriel would have made a hash of a five minutes like that; it would have been impossible for him to have said the right thing to you. Norwood? Good Lord, he didn't stand a chance. You were judging him all the time, weren't you?

KATE (thoughtfully). You're very clever, Dennis.

DENNIS (cheerfully). Four years' study of the Turkish character.

KATE. But how do you know I'm not judging _you_ all the time?

DENNIS. Of course you are. But there's all the difference in the world between judging a stranger like me, and judging the man you thought you were in love with.

KATE. You _are_ a stranger to me.

DENNIS. I know. That's why I said good-bye to the girl who had been with me these last four years, the girl I had married. Well, I've said good-bye to her. You're not my wife any longer, Kate; but if you don't mind pretending that I'm not your husband, and just give me a chance of making love to you--well, that's all I want.

KATE. You're very generous, Dennis.

DENNIS. No, I'm not. I'm very much in love; and for a man very much in love I'm being rather less of a silly ass than usual. Why should you love me? You fell in love with my uniform at the beginning of the war. I was ordered out, and you fell in love with the departing hero. After that? Well, I had four years--alone--in which to think about _you_, and you had four years--with other men--in which to forget _me_. Is it any wonder that--?

(NORWOOD comes in.)

NORWOOD (roughly). Well?

DENNIS. You arrive just in time, Mr. Norwood. I was talking too much. (to KATE) Mrs. Camberley, we are both at your disposal. Will you choose between us, which one is to have the happiness of--serving you?

NORWOOD (holding out his hand to her, and speaking in the voice of the proprietor). Kate!

(KATE goes slowly up to him with her hand held out.)

KATE (shaking NORWOOD'S hand). Good-bye, Mr. Norwood.

NORWOOD (astounded). Kate! (to DENNIS) You devil!

DENNIS. And only a moment ago I was comparing you to the Archangel Gabriel.

NORWOOD (sneeringly to KATE). So you're going to be a loving wife to him after all?

DENNIS (tapping him kindly on the shoulder). You'll remember what I said about Mesopotamia?

NORWOOD (pulling himself together hastily). Good-bye, Mrs. Camberley. I can only hope that you will be happy.

(He goes out with dignity.)

DENNIS (closing the door). Well, there we agree.

(He comes back to her.)

KATE. What a stupid little fool I have been. (She holds out her arms to him) Dennis!

DENNIS (retreating in mock alarm). Oh no, you don't! (He shakes a finger at her) We're not going to rush it _this_ time.

KATE (reproachfully). Dennis!

DENNIS. I think you should call me Mr. Camberley.

KATE (with a smile). Mr. Camberley.

DENNIS. That's better. Now our courtship begins. (Bowing low) Madam, will you do me the great honour of dining with me this evening?

KATE (curtseying). I shall be charmed.

DENNIS. Then let us hasten. The carriage waits.

KATE (holding up the two hats). Which of these two chapeaux do you prefer, Mr. Camberley?

DENNIS. Might I express a preference for the black one with the pink roses?

KATE. It is very elegant, is it not? (She puts it on.)

DENNIS. Vastly becoming, upon my life. . . . I might mention that I am staying at the club. Is your ladyship doing anything to-morrow?

KATE. Nothing of any great importance.

(He offers his arm and she takes it.)

DENNIS (as they go to the door). Then perhaps I may be permitted to call round to-morrow morning about eleven, and make inquiries as to your ladyship's health.

KATE. It would be very obliging of you, sir.

[They go out together.

THE ROMANTIC AGE

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS

CHARACTERS

HENRY KNOWLE. MARY KNOWLE (his wife). MELISANDE (his daughter). JANE BAGOT (his niece). BOBBY COOTE. GERVASE MALLORY. ERN. GENTLEMAN SUSAN. ALICE.

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