Part 5

You’ve given them warning; they may hurry away, to avoid me!

JOHN.

No, no——

OLIVE.

If they did do such a thing——! [_Agitatedly._] Gurrrh! I can’t get my bonnet to sit straight. May I take it off, and receive them as if I were—at home?

JOHN.

If you would rather do so——

OLIVE.

[_Going to the dining-room door._] Is there a mirror in here?

JOHN.

Yes. [_She goes out hurriedly._] Let me hold the lamp for you——

[_He follows her. After a brief pause_, QUAIFE _re-enters, showing in_ MRS. CLOYS, SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD, _and_ CLAUDE. QUAIFE _withdraws_.

MRS. CLOYS.

[_After looking round the room._] The wife.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

The wife!

MRS. CLOYS.

Who could have anticipated anything so extraordinary.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Walking about uneasily._] Harriet, your theories and suspicions have involved us in an entanglement of—ah—an unexpected kind.

CLAUDE.

[_Moodily._] A reg’lar mess, I call it.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

I wish your choice of expressions was a little happier, Claude——

MRS. CLOYS.

The boy is right; and we must get out of this as quickly as possible.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Yes, yes; yes, yes.

CLAUDE.

But I don’t believe the woman will have the daring effrontery to show her face to us; to _me_—the brother!

MRS. CLOYS.

If she does appear, Fletcher, how on earth are we to explain our visit?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Never explain, Harriet. I once explained in the House——

MRS. CLOYS.

Devil take the House!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Harriet!

MRS. CLOYS.

Heaven forgive me!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

You are unhinged—not yourself. No, no, we must simply avail ourselves of any topic that presents itself.

MRS. CLOYS.

Mercy on us! there’s only one topic that _can_ present itself.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

I am not often nonplussed. You had better watch me closely; follow my lead—tsch!

JOHN _enters with_ OLIVE, _who is now without her outdoor apparel_.

JOHN.

[_After bowing to_ MRS. CLOYS.] How do you do, Sir Fletcher? [_Nodding to_ CLAUDE.] How are you, Emptage?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_With a wave of the hand towards_ MRS. CLOYS.] My sister, Mrs. Cloys.

JOHN.

Mrs. Cloys, Sir Fletcher; there have been some most unhappy differences between my wife and myself in the past, as you know too well. Unfortunately, she and I have not been the only sufferers from these differences; we have dragged others along with us. However, we met this evening, half an hour ago, and are—reconciled——

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_In a murmur._] Very proper—very sensible——

JOHN.

And I have my wife’s authority for saying that her feeling towards Mrs. Fraser are now considerably—in fact, entirely—— But she will speak for herself. [_Presenting_ OLIVE, _awkwardly_.] Er—my wife.

OLIVE.

[_To_ SIR FLETCHER _and_ MRS. CLOYS, _graciously_.] Pray sit down. [MRS. CLOYS _sits again_.] Sir Fletcher, we knew each other years ago——

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

I am delighted to renew—[_pulling himself up uneasily_]—that is, of course——

[OLIVE _sits on the left and_ SIR FLETCHER _on the right of the table_.

OLIVE.

[_Addressing_ MRS. CLOYS.] Mrs. Cloys, it is only fair to you that I should say at once that I don’t expect Mrs. Fraser’s relatives to treat me at all tenderly over the painful proceedings which terminated to-day. [MRS. CLOYS _bows stiffly_; SIR FLETCHER _eyes her anxiously_.] So I beg that you will speak before me entirely without reserve. [_Looking at_ JOHN.] It is my husband’s wish that you should do so.

JOHN.

Certainly.

[MRS. CLOYS _and_ SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD _sit staring before them in a glassy way_; OLIVE _again glances at_ JOHN, _puzzled_.

OLIVE.

[_A little impatiently._] Naturally, Mrs. Cloys, I can’t think that you have taken this inconvenient journey to-night without some very special, some very definite object.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Er—so far as I am concerned, the object of my visit is in a great part attained when I have given Mr. Allingham my assurance that only absolute proof of his unworthiness will ever induce me to withdraw my friendship from him. I am nothing if not a just man——

JOHN.

Genuinely obliged to you, Sir Fletcher.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Oh, I am not ashamed of my simple faith in young English manhood and in the efficacy of a training at one of our most honoured public schools. True, I was never a public-school boy myself——

CLAUDE.

[_Leaning on a chair near the window, with his back to those in the room._] Ha!

[_All turn their heads towards_ CLAUDE, _surprised_.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Rising, and going to_ CLAUDE.] No, but I am still capable of rejoicing when I see the traditions of popular British institutions worthily upheld. The world was my public school——

OLIVE.

[_Changing her position._] Mrs. Cloys——

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Eyeing_ OLIVE, _and returning quickly_.] Er—is there a question more vital, more absorbing, than this great vexed question of Education? Is there a question which calls more imperatively upon the attention of thinking men——?

OLIVE.

[_Turning to him with a forced smile._] But, Sir Fletcher, you surely haven’t brought Mrs. Cloys all the way to Epsom that she may hear you discuss Education with my husband?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Disconcerted._] No, no. Good! ha, ha! good! Excellent! Er—— [_Suddenly._] Now, this cottage—I wonder whether I may ask how many rooms?

OLIVE.

How many rooms!

JOHN.

Twelve.

OLIVE.

[_Between her teeth._] Twelve.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

The reason I put the question is this: my dear brother-in-law, the bishop——

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Under her breath._] Eh?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Looking at_ MRS. CLOYS _significantly_.] The bishop often suffers from the effects of severe intellectual strain, and it has more than once struck me that for a few weeks in the year this peculiarly invigorating air—— [_Going to the dining-room door._] The arrangements appear to be most convenient. May I?

JOHN.

The dining-room.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Opening the door and peeping into the room._] Delightful! I can picture the bishop sitting there, my sister there, myself, perhaps, over there—delightful! [_Closing the door and moving away, pointing to the upper door._] The hall and the little card-room I have seen. [_Rapping the table._] But the grand question is, Mrs. Allingham—would you let? That’s the point, Allingham—would you feel inclined to let?

JOHN.

Oh, if his lordship did us the honour of expressing a wish——

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

That’s extremely good-natured. [_Trying to catch_ MRS. CLOYS’ _eye_.] You hear, Harriet?

MRS. CLOYS.

[_With a gulp._] Yes.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Pointing to the steps._] And here?

OLIVE.

[_Struggling to suppress her anger._] The library—the library.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Have I permission?

OLIVE.

Oh, by all means.

[SIR FLETCHER _bustles up the steps and enters the library_.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Out of sight._] Cheerful—very cheerful. A paucity of volumes, but the bishop would bring his own books.

OLIVE.

[_Quickly._] Sir Fletcher, while you are there, do examine the little clock on the mantelpiece. The case is modern oriental.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Out of sight._] Ah, yes, yes.

OLIVE.

I gave it to Mr. Allingham some years ago. Count those curious stones round the dial. [_To_ MRS. CLOYS, _rapidly but forcibly, dropping her voice_.] Mrs. Cloys, I confess I find it difficult to accept Sir Fletcher’s suggestion that you are engaged at this time of night in hunting for fresh air for the bishop. I——

[_Upon_ SIR FLETCHER’S _disappearance_, CLAUDE _advances and stands waiting for an opportunity to speak_.

CLAUDE.

[_Breaking in in a hollow voice._] As Mrs. Fraser’s brother——

[_All turn their heads towards_ CLAUDE _again_.

OLIVE.

[_With clenched hands._] Oh! I am endeavouring to speak to Mrs. Cloys——

CLAUDE.

Pardon me. As Mrs. Fraser’s brother, and as, perhaps, the chief sufferer from the result of to-day’s proceedings——

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Appearing suddenly on top of the steps, no longer carrying his hat._] What’s this? What’s this?

CLAUDE.

I refuse to be silenced. As Mrs. Fraser’s brother, I desire to say that I did not expect to be received to-night by the lady who has done her best—her utmost——

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Sssh! sssh!

MRS. CLOYS.

Be quiet, Claude, please!

OLIVE.

[_Rising and going to_ JOHN.] John, really——

JOHN.

[_Hotly._] Look here, Emptage, you’re a boy—at any rate, a very young man——!

CLAUDE.

I am a truly unfortunate young man. A blight has been cast upon my name at the very outset of my career——

JOHN.

[_Bluntly._] What career?

CLAUDE.

Well, when I am turning various careers over in my mind——

MRS. CLOYS.

Enough, Claude——!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Coming down the steps._] Why, when I was five years younger than he I had already applied my lever to the mountain. I first saw light in ’forty-four——

OLIVE.

[_To_ JOHN.] Oh——!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

’Forty-four; an easily remembered date—two fours. And what was I doing at his age?

OLIVE.

Mrs. Cloys——

MRS. CLOYS.

Go away, Claude!

CLAUDE.

[_Retiring._] Ha, at least I have had the courage to speak out——!

[_He throws himself into a chair at the back, and in course of time falls asleep. His head is seen to drop back upon his shoulder; an arm hangs over the side of the chair._

OLIVE.

[_Advancing to the table, imperatively._] Mrs. Cloys——

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

I——

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Firmly._] Excuse me, Fletcher; I believe Mrs. Allingham is looking to me for some further explanation. [_Sitting._] Mrs. Allingham, happening to become acquainted to-day, for the first time, with several features of this disagreeable business, I thought—it was a fancy of mine—that I should like to—to meet Mr. Allingham—to talk over—to——

OLIVE.

[_Sitting._] To talk over——?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

To thresh it all out with John—with Allingham.

OLIVE.

[_Quickly._] It has not been sufficiently threshed out, then, in the Divorce Court?

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Hastily._] Quite sufficiently. [_Eyeing_ SIR FLETCHER _reprovingly_.] My brother doesn’t interpret me correctly. Er—as I have told you, it is a fancy of mine—to meet Mr. Allingham.

OLIVE.

Just to make his acquaintance?

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Steadily._] Just to make his acquaintance.

JOHN.

[_Uncomfortably._] Very pleased—very gratified——

OLIVE.

[_With a hard smile._] This is rather an odd hour for such a call.

MRS. CLOYS.

It would have been earlier but for a little difficulty in discovering Mr. Allingham’s whereabouts.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Genially._] When ladies have fancies they don’t study the hour before indulging them.

OLIVE.

I am afraid it _is_ so, in your family, Sir Fletcher.

[MRS. CLOYS _makes a movement, but restrains herself_.

JOHN.

[_In a low voice._] Olive——!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Er—the fact is, my sister shares with me the Lavater-like faculty for judging character at sight.

OLIVE.

Judging character by face, manner?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Yes. I possess it in a remarkable degree. I remember——

OLIVE.

[_To_ MRS. CLOYS.] Oh, I see! You are here to—to form an impression of Mr. Allingham?

MRS. CLOYS.

Sir Fletcher a little exaggerates my powers; but I confess I am, like many people, very sensitive to receiving impressions through such mediums.

OLIVE.

I hope your impressions of my husband will be to his advantage.

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Looking at_ JOHN.] I think I may say at once that they are not unfavourable.

OLIVE.

Because the necessity you find for estimating my husband’s character shows—you know what it shows?

MRS. CLOYS.

Mrs. Allingham——?

OLIVE.

It shows, obviously, that if you are uncertain as to my husband’s innocence, you must be equally doubtful of the innocence of your niece, Mrs. Fraser.

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Rising._] I—I beg that you will not put such a construction on what I have said——

OLIVE.

[_Rising._] What other construction——?

JOHN.

Olive, you are not keeping your promise——

OLIVE.

[_Passionately._] I will keep my promise when I am treated openly and fairly. [_Walking away._] I feel something is going on here that I don’t understand, that I am not allowed to understand.

JOHN.

[_To_ MRS. CLOYS _and_ SIR FLETCHER.] I am extremely sorry. But my wife is very fatigued and unstrung to-night——

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Quite so, quite so. We are most inconsiderate, Harriet. Come—come; another time——

OLIVE.

[_Turning._] No, no! Mrs. Cloys——

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Facing_ OLIVE _firmly_.] Mrs. Allingham, I think, when we look back upon this evening, that you and I will be able to congratulate ourselves upon a considerable exercise of politeness. But there are signs that neither of us is equal to a prolonged strain.

OLIVE.

I beg your pardon; I will be patient. You need have no misgivings on my account.

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Formidably._] Perhaps not; but I am beginning to be acutely conscious of my own weakness. [_Looking round._] Fletcher——

OLIVE.

[_Angrily._] Oh, oh!

[_She paces the room_; JOHN _joins her, and is seen expostulating_. MRS. CLOYS _joins_ SIR FLETCHER.

JOHN.

Olive, Olive, be reasonable!

OLIVE.

I will be, when you and your friends are honest with me.

[_She leaves him, as_ QUAIFE _enters with a note upon a salver_.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Looking at his watch._] Oh, Allingham, the hotel people were to send a carriage up for us; perhaps you’ll get your servant——

JOHN.

Certainly. [_To_ QUAIFE.] Quaife—what’s that?

[_Upon entering_, QUAIFE _has encountered_ MRS. ALLINGHAM; _her eyes fall upon the letter on the salver_.

OLIVE.

[_Under her breath, staring at the letter._] Ah-h-h!

QUAIFE.

Ma’am?

OLIVE.

[_Drawing back and speaking to_ QUAIFE.] Well, give it to Mr. Allingham.

QUAIFE.

A boy has brought this, sir—waiting for an answer.

[JOHN _is about to take the letter; when he sees the writing upon the envelope he hesitates for a moment and draws his hand back; then he picks up the letter deliberately_.

JOHN.

[_To_ QUAIFE, _calmly_.] Wait; I’ll ring.

[QUAIFE _retires_.

OLIVE.

[_Pointing to the letter._] Isn’t that letter from Mrs. Fraser?

JOHN.

[_After opening the letter._] Yes. [_He reads the letter to himself._] Poor little lady! This is bad news.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Agitatedly._] Really, Mr. Allingham, really?

JOHN.

Don’t you know? She has left her husband.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Er—yes, sir, we do know it—certainly we know it. I was almost the last person she spoke to before she quitted her mother’s house. She is deeply attached to me. [_Buttoning his coat._] Where is she? Where is she?

JOHN.

I gather she is waiting not very far from this house——

OLIVE.

[_Breathlessly._] Waiting——!

JOHN.

She—she wishes to see me.

OLIVE.

[_In a low voice._] Oh, yes. [_Sitting, her hands tightly gripped together._] Oh, yes.

JOHN.

[_Going to her and handing her the letter._] Read it, please, Olive.

OLIVE.

[_After a pause, holding the letter between her finger and thumb, reading._] “Station Hotel, Epsom. My dear old Jack”—— [_Hastily returning the letter to_ JOHN, _with a shudder_.] Take it from me!

JOHN.

[_Reading aloud._] “My dear old Jack”—[_looking round, simply_]—we have known each other many years—[_reading_]—“oh! I have had such a job to find you. I shall plant myself at some quiet spot near your cottage and get a messenger to bring this to you. The messenger will show you where I am, if you will only consent to see me for a few moments on—[_looking round_]—on a matter of business.”

[MRS. CLOYS, _concealed from the others by_ SIR FLETCHER, _sinks on to the settee_.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Ha, a matter of business! Of course, a matter of business.

JOHN.

[_Resuming._] “I have left my husband. He turned against me at the end and crushed my one hope of being able to whitewash myself.” The cur! [_Resuming._] “Am off to Paris the first thing in the morning. Very likely this is the last chance you will ever have of a word with your poor little friend, Theo.” [_To_ SIR FLETCHER.] Sir Fletcher, I congratulate you on finding your niece; please tell her that it is impossible for me to grant her request.

OLIVE.

[_Calmly._] Oh, but wait. [_Rising._] Surely it would be rather uncivil to refuse what Mrs. Fraser asks.

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Rising._] I can be trusted to explain——

OLIVE.

But she is apparently in need of some business service which my husband can render her.

MRS. CLOYS.

Now that she is again in the hands of her relatives there can be no necessity for troubling Mr. Allingham.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Not the slightest; not the slightest.

OLIVE.

Perhaps not. But before such a very curt message is sent to Mrs. Fraser, will you do me the favour of letting me have two or three minutes’ conversation with my husband alone?

MRS. CLOYS.

I—I am anxious to go to my niece.

OLIVE.

Two minutes. Please, John.

[JOHN _goes to the dining-room door and opens it. After a moment’s hesitation_, MRS. CLOYS _goes to the door_.

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Turning._] I beg that I may not be detained longer.

[_She passes out;_ JOHN _follows her, leaving the door open_.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Standing over_ CLAUDE, _shaking him_.] Wake up, sir! wake up!

CLAUDE.

[_Waking._] What is it? eh? [_Rising._] Hullo, Uncle!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

You’ve been sleeping, sir; your manners are appalling.

CLAUDE.

[_Stupidly._] Where’s aunt?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Leading him towards the door._] In the next room. Come, sir! You are deficient in tact, delicacy——

[JOHN _re-enters._ SIR FLETCHER _passes him and goes out_.

CLAUDE.

[_As he passes_ JOHN.] The dining-room?

JOHN.

[_To_ CLAUDE.] I shan’t keep you more than a minute or two.

CLAUDE.

[_In the doorway, turning to_ JOHN.] Allingham, of course you and I can never again be the same to each other as we have been in the past; but may I take the liberty of foraging for a piece of cake?

JOHN.

[_Laying a hand on his shoulder._] Certainly.

[CLAUDE _goes out_; JOHN _closes the door and turns to_ OLIVE.

OLIVE.

[_Facing him._] Well?

JOHN.

[_Advancing to her._] Well?

OLIVE.

Oh, could anything be clearer? It’s easy enough now to see through the twaddle these people have been talking! Mrs. Fraser runs away from her husband, who believes her guilty; her relatives go in pursuit; they look for her and find her—where?

JOHN.

Her relations chance to be here when Mrs. Fraser sends for me——

OLIVE.

[_Mockingly._] Yes!

JOHN.

[_Referring to the letter._] Desiring to see me “for a few moments, upon a matter of business.” That is all that can be made of it.

OLIVE.

A matter of business!

JOHN.

This letter is not quite ingenuous, you infer.

OLIVE.

You’ve caught the tone of the lawyers exactly.

JOHN.

[_Hotly._] “A matter of business” is a lie, you mean?

OLIVE.

Her arrival to-night is a remarkable coincidence.

JOHN.

A perfectly natural one.

OLIVE.

Why are you so eager, then, to avoid granting her the interview she asks for?

JOHN.

Eager——!

OLIVE.

You send word to her that it’s impossible.

JOHN.

Don’t you make it impossible?

OLIVE.

No, I do not; I do not. I want you to meet her to-night; you’ve heard me say I wish it.

JOHN.

You mean that?

OLIVE.

If ever I meant anything in my life.

JOHN.

[_Referring to the letter._] “I shall plant myself at some quiet spot near your cottage——”

OLIVE.

Ah, no! never mind the quiet spot near the cottage. Why can’t you have your business interview here?

JOHN.

Here?

OLIVE.

[_In a low voice, her head drooping._] Where we are now, while I—[_glancing towards the library_]—while I take my place in there?

[_There is a pause; he stands looking at her for a moment silently._

JOHN.

And this is how you propose to carry out your undertaking to make amends to Mrs. Fraser?

[_He turns away from her._

OLIVE.

Everything is altered since—since——

JOHN.

Since we were reconciled! reconciled!

OLIVE.

Since I promised to aid Mrs. Fraser. The arrival of these people—that letter—has undone everything. [_Throwing herself upon the settee despairingly._] Oh, they knew well enough where their bird would fly to! [_Burying her face in the pillows._] Oh, John, you’ll kill me!

JOHN.

Ha! and so you would like to try Mrs. Fraser twice in one day! And there would be no mistake this time, no doubt whatever! Innocent or Guilty—guilty for choice!

OLIVE.

No, no, innocent. But I want to be satisfied. Only satisfy me?

JOHN.

Satisfy you! My heavens!

OLIVE.

Satisfy me! satisfy me!

JOHN.

And what a model judge of this lady you would make, of any woman you are jealous of! How scrupulously fair! how impartial! how——

OLIVE.

I would be just, John; I would be!

JOHN.

[_Savagely taking a cigarette from the box on the table and sticking it between his teeth._] Women of your temperament detect a leer in the smile of a wax doll.

OLIVE.

I give you my word that I will make every allowance for you both, if you will let me hear you together. You _are_ old friends—“chums” was her expression for it in the witness-box to-day—and you are Jack and Theo to each other, naturally; I am prepared for all that kind of thing. She can kiss you good-bye when she parts from you—[_beating her brow_]—I can comprehend even _that_. Only—only let me be satisfied by her general tone and bearing, by that unmistakable ring in the voice, that she has never been the arrant little profligate I once thought her.

[JOHN _now sitting staring at the carpet and chewing the end of his cigarette_.

JOHN.

Supposing I—consented, and you were—satisfied——?

OLIVE.

[_Rising and speaking earnestly and rapidly._] We are in June; I would have her to stay with me. My friends, her own friends, should see that we were close companions. She should go everywhere with me; my arm should always be through hers. I would get a crowd together; she should receive my guests with me. Oh, by Goodwood week her reputation should be as sound as any woman’s in England! Come! think of the dreadful days and nights she’s given me, whether she’s good or bad! Come! wouldn’t that be generous?

JOHN.

[_In a low voice._] Look here! you would swear to me you’d never use against her anything that might arise during our meeting—I mean anything that your cursed jealousy could twist into harm?

OLIVE.

Solemnly. If she proclaimed herself openly in this room to be your—[_with a stamp of the foot he rises_]—she should go scot-free, for me. If she behaved as an innocent woman, she might walk over me in the future, trample on me; I’d be a slave to her. Only satisfy me!

[_He goes to the writing-table, and rapidly scribbles a note. She watches him with eager eyes. When he has finished writing, he takes an envelope, rises, comes to_ OLIVE, _and holds the note up before her_.

JOHN.

“Come to the cottage.—J. A.”

[_She inclines her head. He touches the bell-press. Then he encloses the note in the envelope, which he fastens, and hands to_ OLIVE.

OLIVE.

Why?

JOHN.

Take it. [_She takes it wonderingly._] I have met your demands so far. Now, if you wish to do a womanly thing, you’ll throw that on the fire. [QUAIFE _enters_; OLIVE _stands staring before her. Speaking in measured tones, keeping his eyes on_ OLIVE.] Quaife, the note which Mrs. Allingham will give you is for the messenger.

QUAIFE.

Yes, sir.

JOHN.

If a lady arrives, ask her to sit down in the card-room; let me know when she comes. I am alone, should the lady make any inquiries.

QUAIFE.

Very good, sir.

JOHN.