Part 6

Olive, Quaife is waiting for the note. [_There is a pause; then_ OLIVE _turns suddenly and hands_ QUAIFE _the note. He goes out. There is another pause._] And after this—after this!—you and I! Upon what terms do you imagine you and I will be after this?

OLIVE.

Oh, if she comes out of it well, I will be so good to her——

JOHN.

[_Contemptuously._] Ah——!

OLIVE.

[_Clutching his arm._] I will make you forgive me for it; I will make you! [_He releases himself from her, almost roughly, and moves away, turning his back upon her._] Of course, you will not mention to Mrs. Fraser that you and I are in any way—in any way——?

JOHN.

Reconciled! [_Sitting on the settee, laughing wildly._] Ha, ha, ha——! [_Turning to her._] Why not?

OLIVE.

Naturally, she wouldn’t open her lips to you at all if you did.

JOHN.

[_Waving her away._] Faugh!

OLIVE.

[_Her hand to her brow._] You are—very—polite—[_She walks slowly and painfully towards the steps, pausing in her walk, and referring to her watch._] John, when the talk between you and Mrs. Fraser has—gone far enough, I will strike ten on the bell of the little clock in here. You understand?

JOHN.

When you are satisfied!

OLIVE.

[_Beginning to ascend the steps, with the aid of the balustrade._] When I am satisfied.

JOHN.

Olive——! [_She stops._] It’s not too late now for us to think better of playing this infernally mean trick upon her.

OLIVE.

[_Steadily, in a low hard voice._] Why, nothing can arise, during this interview, injurious, in the mind of any fair person, to Mrs. Fraser’s reputation?

JOHN.

[_Starting to his feet._] Nothing! nothing!

OLIVE.

Then I am clearly serving Mrs. Fraser’s interests by what I am doing.

[_She disappear into the library. After a brief pause_, JOHN _hastily goes to the dining-room door, and opens it slightly_.

JOHN.

Mrs. Cloys! Mrs. Cloys!

MRS. CLOYS.

[_From the dining-room._] Yes.

JOHN.

Let me speak to you? [MRS. CLOYS _enters; he closes the door sharply, speaking hurriedly and excitedly_.] I—I have altered my mind about meeting Mrs. Fraser——

MRS. CLOYS.

Altered your mind——?

JOHN.

I have sent a note to her by her messenger asking her to see me here.

MRS. CLOYS.

Mr. Allingham, I protest against this as quite unnecessary.

JOHN.

Pardon me. [_Producing_ THEOPHILA’S _letter, and speaking disjointedly, uneasily_.] On—on consideration, it seems to me that—that—for everybody’s sake, I have to satisfy my wife that Mrs. Fraser’s presence is due solely to the most innocent causes.

MRS. CLOYS.

Mrs. Allingham has, I take it, arrived at certain conclusions as to the motive of my visit?

JOHN.

She has.

MRS. CLOYS.

And now, Theophila following upon our heels——?

JOHN.

It is a most unfortunate accident——

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Eyeing him penetratingly._] Mr. Allingham, you have no doubt whatever of the absolute genuineness of my niece’s excuse for calling upon you?

JOHN.

Oh, Mrs. Cloys——!

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Sitting._] Yes, I admit that I came here to-night to ask you to pledge your word to us that Theo should run no further risk from her—her acquaintanceship with you; to entreat you, if she should be so base, so abandoned——

JOHN.

You mean you thought it possible, probable, that this lady had run away from her husband and friends with the deliberate intention of joining me—me! [MRS. CLOYS _covers her eyes with her handkerchief_.] Great Heaven, I suppose there _is_ no living soul who will believe in an honest friendship between a young man and a young woman!

MRS. CLOYS.

There are certain rules for the conduct of friendship, Mr. Allingham——

JOHN.

[_Excitedly._] Rules! The world is getting choked with rules for the conduct of everything and every body! What’s the matter with the world that a woman has to lose her character and paint her face before she is entitled to tell a man her troubles, and hear his in return, across a dying fire, by lamplight, when the streets are still and a few words of sympathy and encouragement stir one like a sudden peal of bells——?

[_He stands by the fire, bowing his head upon the mantelpiece._

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Looking at him, and speaking in a low voice._] Ah! a dying fire, the lamplight, the still streets——! The world is what it is, Mr. Allingham.

JOHN.

Yes, and it’s a damnable world!

QUAIFE _enters_.

QUAIFE.

The lady has arrived, sir.

MRS. CLOYS _rises_.

JOHN.

[_To_ QUAIFE.] When I ring, show her in here.

QUAIFE _withdraws_.

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Agitatedly._] Mr. Allingham, you will not let Theo slip through my fingers; you won’t let her escape me——? [_Looking at him._] Oh, I will trust you so far.

JOHN.

You may. I only ask you to allow me to have my interview with Mrs. Fraser undisturbed.

MRS. CLOYS.

Ah, if you knew how I hate the idea of this meeting between you two! [_Turning sharply._] I’ve a feeling that something evil is going to result from it——!

JOHN.

I can only repeat, you’re wrong in what you think of me—[_turning away_]—wrong, every one of you.

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Coming to him, her manner gradually changing to harshness, almost to violence._] Well, understand me, Mr. Allingham! I’m inclined to—to half-believe in you; you’ve an honest face and air—not that those things count for much; but understand me: if you bring, in any shape or form, further harm to her——!

JOHN.

[_Indignantly._] What further harm can I bring to her? You find me here with my wife——!

MRS. CLOYS.

Sir, you had a wife round the corner when you were engaged in destroying my niece’s reputation in Lennox Gardens! [_Recovering her composure._] But enough of that. [_Calmly, amiably._] We do understand one another, do we not?

JOHN.

[_Shortly._] Oh, perfectly.

MRS. CLOYS.

That’s right. [_Arranging her bonnet-strings, which have become slightly disordered._] Excuse me for breaking out in this fashion. [_She goes to the door, he following her. At the door she turns to him with grave dignity._] I’m afraid I’ve impressed you as being rather a tigress.

[_She goes out. He closes the door after her and stands staring at the ground for a moment; then he gently turns the key in the lock and carefully draws the_ portière _across the door. He is about to put his finger upon the bell-press when he pauses._

JOHN.

[_In a low voice._] Olive. Olive. I have not yet rung the bell. Do you stop me? [_A pause._] Won’t you stop me?

[_He waits; there is no answer; with an angry gesture he rings the bell. After a brief pause_ QUAIFE _enters_; THEOPHILA _follows. She is dressed as in the previous Act, but is now thickly veiled._ QUAIFE _gives a puzzled look round the room and withdraws_.

THEOPHILA.

[_Advancing and speaking in a weak, plaintive voice._] Oh, Jack——! [_They shake hands, but in a constrained, rather formal way._] Of course, we could have had our talk very well in the lane; but it’s kind and considerate of you to ask me in.

JOHN.

Oh, not in the least. [_Confusedly._] I—er—I—Do sit down.

[_She looks at him, expecting him to find her a chair. In the end, after a little uncertainty, she seats herself on the right of the table. In the meantime he ascertains that the door by which_ THEOPHILA _has entered is closed_.

THEOPHILA.

[_Lifting her veil._] I’m afraid you’re a little angry with me for hunting you up.

JOHN.

Angry? Why should I be angry?

THEOPHILA.

Well, I suppose it _is_ another—what d’ye call it?—injudicious act on my part. But it seemed to me, if I thought about it at all, that we came so badly out of it to-day, that nothing matters much now. At any rate, _my_ character’s gone.

JOHN.

[_Advancing a step or two, but avoiding her eye._]

No, no——

THEOPHILA.

Oh, isn’t it? And yours has gone too, Jack; only a man gets on comfortably without one. [_Facing him, her elbows on the table._] Well, what do you think of my news?

JOHN.

[_Looking at her, startled._] By Jove, how dreadfully white you are!

THEOPHILA.

[_With a nod and a smile._] The looks have gone with the character—[_putting her hands over her face_]—both departed finally.

JOHN.

[_Coming a little nearer to her._] Er—when you’ve had a little rest you will see everything in a brighter light——

THEOPHILA.

I should have kept my appearance a good many years, being fair and small. [_Removing her hands—looking up at him._] You used to tell me I should last pretty till I’m forty-five. Do you remember? [_His jaw drops a little, and he stares at her without replying._] Do you remember?

JOHN.

[_Moving away._] Oh—er—yes——

[THEOPHILA.

Is there anything wrong with you, Jack?

JOHN.

Wrong—with me? No.

[_She shifts to the other side of the table, to be nearer to him. He eyes her askance._

THEOPHILA.

Why don’t you tell me what you think of my news?

JOHN.

Your news?

THEOPHILA.

[_Impatiently._] You’ve read my letter, Jack. I’m a—what am I?—a single woman again; a sort of widow.

JOHN.

You are acting too hastily; you’re simply carried away by a rush of indignation. Perhaps matters can be arranged, patched up. You mustn’t be allowed to——

THEOPHILA.

Arranged! patched up! You don’t realise what you’re proposing! You wouldn’t make such a suggestion if you had been a fly on the wall this afternoon while Mr. Fraser and I were—having a little talk. [_Struggling to keep back her tears._] Alec—my husband—he was very much in love with me at one time! I never doubted that he would stand by me through thick and thin. He has done so pretty well, up till to-day, up till the trial, and then, suddenly, he—he——

[_She produces her handkerchief, rises, then moves away abruptly, and stands, with her back to_ JOHN, _crying_.

JOHN.

[_Turning to the fire._] Mr. Fraser was taken aback, flabbergasted, I expect, by the tone adopted by the judge to-day; there’s that poor excuse for him. But a little reflection will soon——

THEOPHILA.

[_Drying her eyes._] Oh, don’t prose, Jack! [_Turning._] On the whole, I think it’s better that he and I have at last managed to find out where we are.

JOHN.

[_Turning to her._] Where you are?

THEOPHILA.

You know, there’s always a moment in the lives of a man and woman who are tied to each other when the man has a chance of making the woman really, really, his own property. It’s only a moment; if he let’s the chance slip, it’s gone—it never comes back. I fancy my husband had _his_ chance to-day. If he had just put his hand on my shoulder this afternoon and said, “You fool, you don’t deserve it, for your stupidity, but I’ll try to save you——”; if he had said something, anything, of that kind to me, I think I could have gone down on my knees to him and——[_Coming to_ JOHN _excitedly_.] But he stared at the carpet, and held on to his head, and moaned out that he must have time, time! Time! Oh, he was my one bit of rock! [_Throwing herself into a chair on the right._] If he’d only mercifully stuck to me for a few months—three months—two—for a month——!

JOHN.

[_Going to her slowly and deliberately, and standing by her._] Mrs. Fraser. [_She looks up at him surprised._] Of course, whatever future is in store for you, nothing—no luck, no happy times—can ever pay you back for the distress of mind you’ve gone through.

THEOPHILA.

Nothing, Jack—Mr. Allingham. [_Her hand to her brow._] Oh, nobody knows! Oh, Jack, some nights—some nights—I’ve said my prayers.

JOHN.

I’ve found myself doing that too—in hansoms, or walking along the street.

THEOPHILA.

Praying for _me_?

JOHN.

[_Nervously._] Y-yes.

THEOPHILA.

Oh, don’t make me cry again! Oh, my head! oh, don’t let me cry any more——!

JOHN.

Hush, hush, hush! What I want to say is this. You knew young Goodhew?

THEOPHILA.

Charley Goodhew—the boy that cheated at baccarat?

JOHN.

He didn’t; he was innocent.

THEOPHILA.

I’m sure he was, poor fellow.

JOHN.

Well, he told me, one day in Brussels, that he managed to take all the sting out of his punishment by continually reminding himself that it was undeserved, that there wasn’t a shadow of justification for it. I suppose it would be the same with a woman who—who gets into a scrape; an innocent woman?

THEOPHILA.

It’s good, under such circumstances, if you can feel a bit of a martyr, you mean?

JOHN.

That’s it. So, in the future, you must never tire of reminding _yourself_ of the utter harmlessness of those hours we used to spend together in Lennox Gardens.

THEOPHILA.

They were harmless enough, God knows.

JOHN.

[_Earnestly, eagerly._] God knows.

THEOPHILA.

And they were awfully jolly, too.

JOHN.

[_Blankly, his voice dropping._] Jolly——?

THEOPHILA.

You know—cosy, comforting.

JOHN.

Yes, yes—comforting. It was the one thing that kept me together during those shocking Pont Street days of mine.

THEOPHILA.

Our friendship?

JOHN.

Our friendship. When I was in the deepest misery, the thought would come to me: “Well, I shall see my little friend to-day or to-morrow.” And then I’d go through our meeting as I supposed it would be—as it always was——

THEOPHILA.

“’Ullo, Jack! good morning—or good evening. Oh, my dear boy, you’re in trouble again, I’m afraid!”

JOHN.

“Dreadfully. I shall go mad, I believe—or drink.”

THEOPHILA.

“Mad—drink; not you. Sit down and tell me all about it.”

JOHN.

And so on.

THEOPHILA.

And so on. I had my miseries too.

JOHN.

Yes, you had your miseries too.

THEOPHILA.

And then you invariably came out with that one piece of oracular advice of yours.

JOHN.

Ah, yes. “Don’t fret; it’ll be all the same a hundred years hence.”

THEOPHILA.

Which you couldn’t act upon, yourself. How vexed it used to make me—and the ponderous way you said it!

JOHN.

Well, it was a good, helpful friendship to me.

THEOPHILA.

And to me.

JOHN.

[_Standing a little behind her; speaking calmly, but watching her eagerly._] Because, all the while, there was never one single thought of anything but friendship on either side.

THEOPHILA.

Why, of course not, Jack.

JOHN.

You’d have detected it in me, if there had been?

THEOPHILA.

Trust a woman for that.

JOHN.

And if you had for a moment fancied that I was losing sight of mere friendship——?

THEOPHILA.

You!

JOHN.

What would you have done?

THEOPHILA.

Oh, one day, the usual headache; not at home the next—the proper thing. But, Jack dear, I never felt the slightest fear of _you_—and that’s what makes an end like this so cruel, so intolerably cruel.

JOHN.

Never felt the slightest fear of me——?

THEOPHILA.

No, never; oh, of course, a woman can tell. Somehow, I knew—I knew you _couldn’t_ be a black-guard.

JOHN.

[_About to seize her hand, but restraining himself._] God bless you! God bless you! [_He walks away and pokes the fire vigorously, hitting the coal triumphantly._] Ah, ha, ha! [_Turning to_ THEOPHILA.] I beg your pardon; you’re in the most uncomfortable chair in the room.

[_She rises and crosses the room._

JOHN.

[_Arranging the pillows on the settee._] You must be so weary, too. I’m confoundedly stupid and forgetful to-night.

THEOPHILA.

[_Sitting on the settee._] Fancy! a fire in June!

JOHN.

[_Walking about elatedly, dividing his glances between_ THEOPHILA _and the library_.] I love to see a fire.

THEOPHILA.

[_Suddenly._] Of course. [_Dropping her voice._] I remember. [_He stops, staring at her._] Do you recollect? [_Steadily gazing into the fire._] That night when we were sitting over the fire in that little room in Lennox Gardens——

JOHN.

[_Hastily._] Oh, yes, yes——

THEOPHILA.

“I shall always burn a fire, Theo,” you said, “to bring back these nights, these soothing, precious talks in the quiet hours. Wherever I may be, I shall only have to light my fire to hear you and to see you—to see you sitting facing me——”

JOHN.

Ah, that evening—yes, I was terribly—terribly down that evening [_Wiping his brow._] By-the-bye, we—we mustn’t neglect the—the—the matter of business—the little matter of business——

THEOPHILA.

[_Rousing herself._] Matter of——?

JOHN.

The matter of business you mention in your letter——

THEOPHILA.

[_Rising._] Oh, yes. [_Sitting on the left of the centre table._] Jack, I—I do hope you won’t hate me for asking you. You see, if I went to any one else, I should run a chance of having all my arrangements upset. I—I want to borrow a little money——

JOHN.

Ah, yes, certainly—anything—I shall be most happy——

THEOPHILA.

This is exactly how I am placed. Mr. Fraser wanted to hurry me off abroad—ah! that’s done with. Instead of that, you see, I’ve taken my travels and my future into my own hands. I’ve telegraphed to Emily Graveney, who was at Madame MacDonnell’s with us girls in the Rue D’Audiffret-Pasquier. Emily is teaching in Paris now—I hardly know how she scrapes along; she’ll be mad with delight to have my companionship. But till the lawyers settle my position precisely as regards Mr. Fraser, I’m practically broke, penniless. It’s a little ready-money I want.

JOHN.

[_Who has seated himself at the right of the table while_ THEOPHILA _has been talking_.] You have only to tell me how much——

THEOPHILA.

Well, I think I could tide over with fifty pounds. I’m afraid you haven’t got it in the house, though. I don’t want a cheque.

JOHN.

[_Taking out his keys and going to a table._] I believe I _can_ just make it up——[_He opens a drawer in the writing-table, finds some bank-notes, counts them, then empties his sovereign-purse and screws the gold up in the notes._] Within a pound——

THEOPHILA.

That’s of no consequence. [_Rising._] I’m awfully obliged to you; I knew you would—I—I——

[_He returns to her, and finds her clutching the table unsteadily._

JOHN.

[_Placing the money on the table._] What’s the matter?

THEOPHILA.

Nothing. [_Sinking back into the chair, with closed eyes._] I shall be all right in a minute.

[_He brings her a glass of water, and places it to her lips. She sips the water for a little while, then gives a sigh._

JOHN.

Better?

THEOPHILA.

I think so.

JOHN.

When did you last eat? [_She shakes her head feebly. He puts the glass of water aside and fetches the biscuits._] Get two or three of these down. Come—try——!

THEOPHILA.

[_Taking a biscuit._] Thank you.

[_He places the biscuits on the table by her side, and goes back to the other table._

JOHN.

A glass of this champagne would pull you together.

THEOPHILA.

[_Nibbling the biscuit, her eyes still closed._] Would it? [_He brings the decanter of champagne and a small tumbler. She, speaking faintly, and opening her eyes._] Oh, do let me off this, Jack.

JOHN.

[_Pouring out some champagne._] No, no; stick to it—do.

THEOPHILA.

[_Watching him._] That looks nice. [_She puts the remains of her biscuit on the table and stretches out her hand for the wine. He gives it to her; she drinks._] Oh! oh! oh—h—h—h! [_There is a pause; there she shakes herself, looks up at him, and breaks into a low, childlike little laugh._] Ha! ha, ha, ha! I’d nearly gone, hadn’t I? [_Emptying her glass._] Oh! oh!... Fetch yourself a glass, and we’ll drink luck to each other. Then I really must be off. The porter said the trains run every—every what was it? [_He brings a glass, which she fills, speaking animatedly._] A tumbler! oh, fie! [_Filling her own glass._] Oh, mine’s a tumbler too! [_Nodding to him._] Ourselves! [_Touching his glass with hers._] Our two poor unfortunate selves! [_They drink._] Ha! I don’t care! do you?

JOHN.

Care——?

THEOPHILA.

A hang. For anything; for what the judge said; for what people think. Puh. Here’s to our friend, the judge——! [_Drinking, nearly emptying her glass._] I hope his wife’s a cat who leads him a——! [_Jumping up suddenly, her eyes dilating, holding her glass high in the air._] Happiness and prosperity to Mr. Fraser! [_Loudly._] Mr. Fraser!

JOHN.

Sssh! oh, hush!

THEOPHILA.

Fraser of Locheen! [_She goes to the fireplace and flings the contents of her glass into the grate._] Ha! well, that’s throwing good stuff after poor, isn’t it? [_She places her glass on the table; the cigarette box is open; she takes a cigarette._] The old sort?

JOHN.

[_Quickly._] No, no——

THEOPHILA.

[_Striking a match._] Only a whiff. [_Lighting her cigarette._] Sure I’m not in the way, Jack, if I rest here a minute or two longer?

JOHN.

[_With a glance at the library._] C—certainly not.

THEOPHILA.

[_Throwing herself upon the settee in a careless attitude, smoking._] Oh, thank God for this rest! [_Looking round._] So this is the little place you used to tell me about——

JOHN.

[_Standing, watching her, apprehensively._] Um——

THEOPHILA.

Phew! Your fire’s all right to look at——! [_She removes her cape from her shoulders and flings it away from her; he picks it up, and places it over the back of a chair._] Never mind that rag. Are you likely to be in Paris?

JOHN.

I—I’m not fond of Paris.

THEOPHILA.

[_Jumping up, and speaking volubly, excitedly, boisterously._] Suppose that wire don’t find Emily, and she doesn’t meet me at the Nord to-morrow night. Ugh! cheerful! She may be dead, No, no; not Emily. Poor old Emily! Be sure you look me up if you _should_ pass through. Rue Poissonnière, 18. You’re bound to be rambling soon. How lucky a man is! Does just as he chooses. Good chap, So-and-so—awfully rackety—but the world would be a dooced deal livelier if there were more like him! That’s what they all say of a man!... phew!... [_As she rattles on, she takes off her bonnet and clears her hair from her brow._] But a woman! Well, look at _me_. Not that anybody _will_ look at me, in Paris or elsewhere. I used to know several smart people in Paris! Now! Oh, my stars, won’t they stalk distant objects when they see me coming along! [_Angrily._] Ah, a gay time I shall have of it, shut up with Emily Graveney, with her red nose, and her poor, narrow chest, and her perpetual sniffle! [_She flings away her cigarette. Her hair is disordered, her breath comes quickly, there is a wild look in her eyes. Her bonnet falls to the floor. He paces the room distractedly._] By Jove, I won’t have a dull time though! I shall only hang out with Emily long enough just to turn round. Then I’ll take a little _appartement_ of my own. Uncle Fletcher will make me an allowance; I won’t touch a penny of—puh—_his_ money. I’ll let the world see how happy I am without the character I’ve been robbed of! Yes, robbed of! [_Laughing noisily._] Ha, ha, ha! [_Snapping her fingers._] Pish! I shall burst out laughing in the face of the whole world, Jack—put my tongue out at the world, your wife, my husband! After the solemn farce we’ve all gone through. [_Between her teeth._] Y—y—yes, they shall have a pretty picture in their minds of _me_, t’other side of the Channel, with my finger to my nose like a cheeky urchin! Oh, my heavens, how I hate ’em—hate ’em—hate ’em!

JOHN.

Mrs. Fraser——! Mrs. Fraser——!

THEOPHILA.

Oh, the devilish injustice of it! To think that we’re still married, Jack—you and I! Hah! the mockery! To think that we wander about the world still with our owner’s marks branded upon us! Ha, ha! I believe I’ve an “F” branded upon my shoulder—burnt in! [_Running to him._] Oh, I won’t bear it! I can’t bear it!

JOHN.

Hush, hush!

THEOPHILA.

I shall go mad if I can’t pay out that wife of yours! [_Shrilly._] She’s ruined me! I will be even with her!

JOHN.

Hush——!

THEOPHILA.

And with _him_!—that fish!—that cold, flapping fish! [_Clinging to him, suddenly._] Jack——! I wouldn’t bore you! I wouldn’t bore you, Jack——!

JOHN.

Bore me!

THEOPHILA.

Ah-h-h-h! take me away! Let’s you and I go together——!

JOHN.

[_Putting his hand over her mouth._] Ah, for God’s sake——! [_The clock in the library is heard to strike._] It’s too late! too late!

THEOPHILA.

[_Drawing back, looking into his face._] Too late——? [_There is a sharp knocking at the dining-room door._] What’s that? [_The knocking is repeated._] Who is it?

JOHN.