Part 8

FRASER.

Yes.

THEOPHILA.

Call her, please.

[_He disappears. She rises feebly, and, with an effort, pushes away the chair_ FRASER _has placed at the head of the settee; then she sinks into it_. MRS. CLOYS _enters at the window with_ FRASER, _and comes to_ THEOPHILA.

MRS. CLOYS.

My dear——?

THEOPHILA.

Will you ask Mrs. Allingham to be good enough to come to me?

MRS. CLOYS.

You are equal to seeing her?

THEOPHILA.

Yes—at once.

MRS. CLOYS.

Why are you sitting here?

THEOPHILA.

[_Irritably._] Oh, I am not going to appear quite a wreck before Mrs. Allingham. Find her, aunt.

[MRS. CLOYS _goes out._ FRASER _brings a foot-stool to_ THEOPHILA _and places it under her feet. She nods in acknowledgment._

FRASER.

[_Sarcastically._] You must not forget to thank Mrs. Allingham for taking her place by your bedside all last night.

THEOPHILA.

[_Indignantly._] Ah, it was shameful of aunt to have allowed that! She hid herself behind the curtains and peeped at me. She saw how ugly I was! I’ll never forgive aunt for permitting it! Oh——!

FRASER.

[_Glancing at the door._] Sssh——!

[_He walks away as_ OLIVE _enters, followed by_ MRS. CLOYS. OLIVE _is dressed as in the previous Act. Upon encountering_ FRASER _she slightly inclines her head to him, with eyes averted; he bows stiffly. She then comes and stands before_ THEOPHILA.

OLIVE.

[_To_ THEOPHILA.] I—I hope you are better, Mrs. Fraser.

THEOPHILA.

Thank you, yes. [_Turning her head._] Don’t go yet, aunt—nor you, Alec. [_To_ OLIVE.] Mrs. Allingham, my husband comes to me to-day asking me to go back home with him, in order that, after all, we may commence together to fight the “shabby little circle” to which I have, I dare say, attached a great deal too much importance. Well, I’ve declined to go back—declined. But Mr. Fraser has an idea that I’m treating him spitefully because I’ve found a powerful friend in you.

OLIVE.

Mrs. Fraser, I—I do beg of you not to act hastily, and without good advice. Of course, you are angry, justifiably angry——

THEOPHILA.

Ah——!

OLIVE.

But pray take time to reflect. Oh, I entreat you to try—in a little while, when you feel less bitter—to try to see your way clear to—to——

THEOPHILA.

To do what?

OLIVE.

To accept both Mr. Fraser’s help—and mine.

[THEOPHILA _partly rises, as if about to make some indignant response, but restrains herself_.

THEOPHILA.

I—I can only make the same reply to you, Mrs. Allingham, as I have just made to my husband—thank you, no.

OLIVE.

You cannot right yourself in the eyes of people without Mr. Fraser’s assistance or mine. And especially mine! You couldn’t accomplish it thoroughly with _his_ help alone; it would be impossible.

THEOPHILA.

Very well then, it’s impossible.

OLIVE.

[_To_ FRASER.] Mr. Fraser——[FRASER _advances a few steps_.] Perhaps, by-and-bye, you will add your persuasions to mine that your wife will accept me as your ally?

FRASER.

[_Stiffly._] Mrs. Allingham, I regret that what you suggest is, so far as I am concerned, quite out of the question.

OLIVE.

Mrs. Cloys—[FRASER _retires as_ MRS. CLOYS _approaches_]—I am sure _you_ can understand the value of the services I am able to render your niece.

MRS. CLOYS.

Oh, perfectly.

OLIVE.

Then you will try to induce her——?

MRS. CLOYS.

Ah! you must excuse me, Mrs. Allingham——

OLIVE.

You will not?

MRS. CLOYS.

I may tell you that I anticipated her rejection of your proposal directly you communicated it to me——

OLIVE.

Indeed?

MRS. CLOYS.

And I must say—[_looking at_ THEOPHILA]—that I fully sympathise with the—ah—the feelings of——

OLIVE.

[_Rigidly._] Of Mrs. Fraser?

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Politely._] Of Mrs. Fraser. [QUAIFE _enters, and advances a few steps towards_ MRS. CLOYS, _who speaks to him quickly_.] Has——?

[_She breaks off, looking at him significantly._

QUAIFE.

Yes, ma’am.

MRS. CLOYS.

[_To_ FRASER.] Mr. Fraser, may I trouble you to follow me? I have something to say to you. [QUAIFE _withdraws. To_ THEOPHILA.] I must run away for a few moments. Shall I send Justina to you?

OLIVE.

[_Quickly._] Oh, Mrs. Fraser, let me speak a few words to you while no one is present——!

THEOPHILA.

Certainly.

[MRS. CLOYS _passes her hand over_ THEOPHILA’S _head caressingly, then hurries to the door_.

MRS. CLOYS.

Mr.Fraser——

[_She goes out_, FRASER _accompanying her_. OLIVE _looks round the room, then sits, slowly and deliberately upon the settee_.

OLIVE.

[_After a little pause._] Forgive me.

THEOPHILA.

Forgive you——!

OLIVE.

Oh, do make the effort!

THEOPHILA.

I can’t understand your asking for my forgiveness, wanting it.

OLIVE.

Endeavour to understand me. I don’t remember that it ever struck me, when you and I were—friends, that your disposition was a jealous one.

THEOPHILA.

No?

OLIVE.

It isn’t, is it?

THEOPHILA.

I couldn’t go the lengths you’ve gone, from jealousy, if you mean that.

OLIVE.

[_Sadly._] Ah——!

THEOPHILA.

Oh, don’t you think that enough has been done in the name of jealousy? For months and months it has made a hell of my life, your jealousy. People have seen me walking about looking merry; but what sort of days and nights does a woman really spend with the Divorce Court looming before her? “Allingham _versus_ Allingham, Fraser intervening!” that’s the air you’ve kept me dancing to since—goodness knows when the music first struck up! And now I’m to forgive you, offhand, because—you happen to have a jealous disposition!

OLIVE.

[_Falteringly._] You were sustained all the time by the knowledge that you were an innocent, persecuted woman——

THEOPHILA.

Much good did my innocence do me yesterday when they gave me “the benefit of the doubt,” and sent me out of the Court ruined!

OLIVE.

It does you this much good—that now _I_ am satisfied as to your innocence I am prepared to serve you humbly and faithfully. Oh, Mrs. Fraser, I would be a true friend to you this time! [_Rising and standing before_ THEOPHILA.] Come, forgive me!

THEOPHILA.

[_In a low voice._] Well, for the months of awful trouble you gave me, and for those two days in the Divorce Court—yes, you’re welcome to my forgiveness for all that. [_Her voice hardening, her hands clenched._] But not for last night!

OLIVE.

You mustn’t make me wholly responsible for what took place last night.

THEOPHILA.

I do hold you responsible. Why—they’ve told me the story—I know that, when my note to your husband was handed to him, he wanted to send a message to me excusing himself from meeting me. Did you let the message go? There was I waiting out in the lane, my people in this room, all in a fidget to hurry to me and take me away. Did you let them come to me? No, you huddled them out of the way, and then drew your husband into your plot, and trapped me in here. I was the poor rat, half dead, who had been well worried, but who’d a little life still left; so you had me in, panting, and got another few minutes’ sport out of me——

OLIVE.

[_Her hands to her brows._] Oh, don’t, don’t! Mrs. Fraser, at any rate, it was through last night that you cleared yourself——

THEOPHILA.

[_Rising, and speaking fiercely._] Cleared myself! Yes, and a pretty price you were the cause of my paying for “clearing myself!” Do you think I’d have willingly cleared myself at that cost? Ah, no decent woman could afford it! Cleared myself!

OLIVE.

You were mad when you——. You were mad.

THEOPHILA.

You know better! I was sane enough! But mad, or sane, or—or whatever I was, I shall never think the same of myself again, never feel quite the same again. And to-day I’m to forgive you for it! No, if you came to me and told me that you’d just saved the life of some one dear to me, I couldn’t forgive you for last night. I couldn’t! No woman could!

[OLIVE _walks away and stands, looking out into the garden_.

OLIVE.

[_After a pause, speaking in a hard voice._] Excuse me for saying so, Mrs. Fraser—but I think you regard your share in the affair of last night more as a schoolgirl would regard it, than as a woman; rather sentimentally, in fact.

THEOPHILA.

Thank God, I’m able to do _that_! Sentimentally? Well, ninety-nine women out of a hundred are kept fresh and sweet by nothing better than mere sentiment. [_Sitting upon the settee, a little faintly._] Where’s ’Tina?

[OLIVE _turns and comes to her; she is wiping the tears from her eyes_.

OLIVE.

You know, if you wished to have your revenge on me, you have it.

THEOPHILA.

Revenge? I?

OLIVE.

[_Turning from_ THEOPHILA, _her hand playing with the arm of the chair_.] The services I thought you would allow me to render you are the only means by which I could hope to get my husband to overlook my behaviour of last night. He won’t speak to me to-day.

THEOPHILA.

I’m sorry.

OLIVE.

After what has happened my one hold on him is through the reparation I could make you. And now—and now—you—— [_Throwing herself into the chair, crying._] Oh, it’s like begging to you!

THEOPHILA.

Notwithstanding—all you’ve done—you’re anxious to make it up with your husband, aren’t you?

OLIVE.

[_In a whisper._] You needn’t ask; you’ve heard all about it.

THEOPHILA.

Do you think that, with your nature, you could ever be happy with him, and make him happy?

OLIVE.

I—I don’t—think of that.

THEOPHILA.

Well, I can’t say anything more than—I’m sorry.

[OLIVE _rises, and, with faltering steps, comes to her_.

OLIVE.

Excuse me being so persistent. [_Piteously._] You won’t accept my help? [THEOPHILA, _leaning back with closed eyes, shakes her head._] You won’t even—try?

THEOPHILA.

[_Faintly, almost inaudibly._] It would be of no use; I couldn’t.

OLIVE.

[_Drawing a long breath, her arms falling by her side._] Ah!

THEOPHILA.

I’m tired. Tell my sister——

OLIVE.

[_Goes to the upper door, opens it, and looks out._] Oh, Quaife, where is Miss Emptage?

QUAIFE.

[_Out of sight._] In the dining-room, ma’am. Shall I——?

OLIVE.

[_Closing the door._] No, thank you. [_She goes to the dining-room door, and opens it slightly, without withdrawing the_ portière.] Miss Emptage!

JUSTINA.

[_From the dining-room._] Here!

OLIVE.

Your sister wishes to return to her room.

[OLIVE _walks away and stands outside the window, as_ JUSTINA _enters and goes to_ THEOPHILA.

JUSTINA.

[_Raising_ THEOPHILA.] Where’s aunt? Why have they left you alone?

THEOPHILA.

I asked them to.

JUSTINA.

[_Lowering her voice._] With _her_?

THEOPHILA.

Yes.

JUSTINA.

Tell me——!

THEOPHILA.

By-and-bye. Take me away. [OLIVE _disappears_.

JUSTINA.

[_Walking with_ THEOPHILA _towards the upper door_.] Oh, we’ve had such a time in there! Uncle Fletcher’s been boring our heads off on the subject of the blessings of Arbitration; and at last, Jack, who is in a vile temper, almost jumped down his throat.

[_They go out, whereupon_ JOHN _is seen to slightly push aside the portière and peep into the room. Satisfied that the room is empty, he enters quickly, closes the door behind him emphatically, and throws himself on to the settee with a groan of weariness._ OLIVE _returns; she is about to pass the window, but seeing_ JOHN _she enters quietly, takes a chair and sits. They remain looking at each other for a little while without speaking._

OLIVE.

Good morning, John—well, afternoon.

JOHN.

Er—Have you lunched?

OLIVE.

No.

JOHN.

[_Looking towards the dining-room door._] It’s in there.

OLIVE.

[_Drily._] Thanks.

JOHN.

I—I’m sorry I can’t offer to wait on you——

OLIVE.

Oh, pray don’t——!

JOHN.

But Portwood is still eating. I’ve been rude to him.

OLIVE.

Indeed?

JOHN.

[_Rising and walking about._] I believe all these people will drive me crazy! I don’t know where to get to for them.

OLIVE.

You are in your own house. Need you seek to avoid any of them?

JOHN.

Well, I’m not particularly desirous, for instance, of another encounter with Mr. Fraser.

OLIVE.

Another. Have you——?

JOHN.

Yes. I’ve been rude to him.

OLIVE.

Oh! Mrs. Cloys——?

JOHN.

She treats me as a schoolmistress would treat a very small boy in disgrace.

OLIVE.

Miss Emptage——!

JOHN.

Lectures me and patronises me till my blood curdles. Just now I was almost—well, I hope not——

OLIVE.

Rude to her?

JOHN.

Yes. And then this maddening old man——? I can’t endure it! Even my servants——

OLIVE.

Servants?

JOHN.

A minute or two ago I was trying to escape from the dining-room by passing through the kitchen, and I came upon my cook and Mrs. Fraser’s maid discussing me over a bowl of chicken broth. Mrs. Quaife—my cook——! I heard her distinctly! “I never thought Mr. Allingham was that sort of a gentleman,” she said.

OLIVE.

_What_ sort of a gentleman?

JOHN.

I don’t know. I got away.

OLIVE.

H’m, I think I should have been rude to _her_.

JOHN.

And there are two more relatives of Mrs. Fraser’s to arrive yet. [_Throwing himself into a chair._] The boy has gone to town to fetch the mother. The mother!

OLIVE.

[_Rising and walking towards the door._] At any rate, I can rid you of one unwelcome guest. [_He looks up at her._] I am going, John, directly.

JOHN.

Going home?

OLIVE.

Going back to my flat.

JOHN.

[_Rising._] Then there is no longer any necessity for me to stick in this wretched cottage.

OLIVE.

I’m sorry to have been the cause——

JOHN.

Of course, I could not leave you here among your—your——

OLIVE.

Enemies.

JOHN.

Well, hardly friends. Then Mrs. Fraser is well enough to travel?

OLIVE.

I don’t know, I’m sure.

JOHN.

You’ve relinquished your intention of devoting yourself to her?

OLIVE.

No, I haven’t relinquished it. Mrs. Fraser will have nothing to do with me.

JOHN.

She has said so?

OLIVE.

[_Sitting upon the settee._] Oh, yes, she has said so.

JOHN.

What reason does she give?

OLIVE.

She will not receive help from the woman who—who brought that humiliation on her last night. I believe, if she was starving, she wouldn’t take a crust from my hand.

JOHN.

She returns to her husband, I suppose?

OLIVE.

I think not. She is in the mood to accept nothing from anybody.

JOHN.

[_Sitting with his head bowed._] Wounded—wounded.

OLIVE.

[_With a slight shrug of the shoulders._] She’s a sentimental, romantic little person, I find. Well——!

JOHN.

Ha, we didn’t calculate for this when we arranged our ingenious little plan last night! We were to restore Mrs. Fraser’s name and position to her untarnished; we were to set poor little Humpty-Dumpty up again by—when was it?—Goodwood week; all in return for your ten minutes’ fun in there! We were damned generous, you and I—only we reckoned without Mrs. Fraser! [_Starting up._] And so, you see, after all, we’ve had our fun, and enjoyed it, and yet pay nothing for it! But, at the same time, we mustn’t forget that in this world everything has to be paid for by somebody. By Jove, there’s no doubt as to who stands treat for last night! Mrs. Fraser pays! that poor little, broken-down woman pays! _She_ pays——!

OLIVE.

[_Rising._] You blame me beyond all reason! I’ll not put up with it! Why didn’t you call her aunt into the room last night when you saw Mrs. Fraser becoming wilder and wilder? [_Walking away._] Pah! you appeared moonstruck! moonstruck!

JOHN.

I thought I might save her from meeting her people while she was so unlike herself. You know I was helpless——[_She approaches; he seizes her by the shoulders._] You—you reproach me! Why didn’t you strike that bell sooner? why didn’t you strike it sooner? [_Leaving her, and throwing himself into a chair._] Ah, you weren’t capable even of that!

OLIVE.

[_Tearfully, rubbing her shoulders._] Oh, John——!

JOHN.

I beg your pardon.

OLIVE.

[_Going to him slowly, leaning against the balustrade._] John——

JOHN.

Well?

OLIVE.

I will confess it to you—I didn’t strike the bell at all.

JOHN.

You—did not?

OLIVE.

I was under the impression I had stopped the clock before I sat down to listen, but in my agitation I must have shaken it and started it again. [_Kneeling beside_ JOHN’S _chair_.] The clock struck of its own accord.

JOHN.

And you sat there, drinking in every word; and when the poor creature had cleared herself, and _satisfied_ you, still you made no effort——! [_Rising._] Oh!

OLIVE.

[_Seizing his coat._] John, I _couldn’t_ move from that curtain! I was a wretch! Pity me! I _couldn’t_ stir! [JOHN _walks away. She rises from the ground and sits._] Oh, get me a carriage of some sort to take me to the station.

JOHN.

[_Going towards the bell._] I’ll tell Quaife. [_Pausing, looking at her._] I don’t know—I can’t imagine—how you are going to get through your life——

OLIVE.

Oh, please! I’ve been lectured by Mrs. Fraser, Oh, there are heaps of solitary women in the world; some people envy them. [_He sits upon the settee._] Now that—now that—the chances of our coming together again have fallen through, I shall be off out of London at once. Where can one go to at this time of the year?

JOHN.

[_Abstractedly._] Eh? Er—it’s a bit early for most places.

OLIVE.

I’m going to Aix in August.

JOHN.

[_Looking up._] You are?

OLIVE.

Oh! Why, did _you_ think of——?

JOHN.

Yes. But it doesn’t matter.

OLIVE.

Oh, I don’t want to interfere with your——

JOHN.

Aix is a pretty big place.

OLIVE.

Where will you stay?

JOHN.

I’ve been told, the “Splendide”——

OLIVE.

Oh——!

JOHN.

What?

OLIVE.

I can easily put up elsewhere.

JOHN.

You needn’t. I dare say the “Splendide” is quite large enough for two people who—who——

OLIVE.

Who want to keep far apart. [_Rising, and going towards the door, pausing by the head of the settee._] How ridiculous that reconciliation of ours last night! Why, how many weeks should we have been together?

JOHN.

[_His head resting upon his hands._] Not many—not many, I’m afraid.

OLIVE.

Weeks! Days, I should have said—or hours. “Heaven have mercy upon us! we’re reconciled!” Do you remember—last night——?

JOHN.

Ha! yes.

OLIVE.

“Heaven have mercy upon us!” Ha, ha!

JOHN.

Heaven have mercy on us!

OLIVE.

[_Wiping the tears from her eyes._] I—I’ll go and put my bonnet on. [_He rises, and she holds out her hand._] Good-bye, John.

JOHN.

[_Taking her hand, looking away._] Good-bye.

OLIVE.

[_Suddenly drawing back._] Oh——!

JOHN.

What?

OLIVE.

[_Breathlessly._] Oh, yes——!

JOHN.

Olive?

OLIVE.

Ah—h—h—h, you’ll find plenty of pretty women at Aix——!

QUAIFE _enters, showing in_ MRS. EMPTAGE _and_ CLAUDE. QUAIFE _retires_. MRS. EMPTAGE _is in a bright and fashionable morning dress_.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_To_ OLIVE.] Mrs. Allingham——! [_To_ CLAUDE.] Claude, keep by me. My legs are all of a tremble. Where is my daughter, Mrs. Fraser? Take me to her. I am very ill indeed; I fancy this affair has affected my heart——

JOHN.

Pray sit down for a moment.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Sitting down._] We used to be friends, Mr. Allingham—great friends; now I wonder you can look me in the face. [_Panting._] I have heard everything from Claude. I am ashamed—I must say it—I am ashamed of you and your wife.

[OLIVE _makes a movement, as if to go_; JOHN _detains her_.

JOHN.

[_To_ OLIVE.] No, no; I don’t think we’ll run away and hide any more. [_Turning to_ MRS. EMPTAGE.] But I hope that Mrs. Emptage will be kind enough to apply to me, alone, any harsh expressions she may care to make use of——

SIR FLETCHER _enters_.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Advancing._] Ah, Muriel——!

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Rising, throwing her arms round_ SIR FLETCHER’S _neck_.] Oh, Fletcher, Fletcher! I’ve hardly closed my eyes all night!

CLAUDE.

May I ask what has gone on during my absence?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

During _your_ absence——!

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Is Alec here?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Yes, the family gathering is complete.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Does Theo return to Lennox Gardens? Has an arrangement of any sort been come to?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

None that I know of. I seem to be powerless.

MRS. CLOYS _and_ FRASER _enter_.

CLAUDE.

[_Meeting them._] ’Ullo, aunt! ’ullo, Fraser!

[MRS. EMPTAGE _totters to_ MRS. CLOYS. CLAUDE _retires_. JOHN _walks away to the fireplace_. OLIVE _is now seated upon the settee_.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Embracing_ MRS. CLOYS.] Oh, Harriet, I am very poorly; I don’t think I have had two hours’ rest all night. [_Going to_ FRASER _and kissing him_.] Alec, you will prove a generous, good fellow—of that I am sure. Poor Theo has behaved very indiscreetly. I really believe my heart has been upset by it all——

MRS. CLOYS.

I have something important to say, Muriel. Pray sit down and be quiet.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_In a flutter._] I know, I know. Unless I can be kept quiet it will be very serious for me. [_In her agitation, she is about to sit upon the settee beside_ OLIVE.] Oh, dear, what am I doing! [_Moving away, she stops, pointing to the library._] Great heavens! was that the room——?

MRS. CLOYS.

Sssh! [MRS. EMPTAGE _sits again_. FRASER _goes to the window and stands there, apart, his back turned to those in the room_.] What I have to say concerns the future Of Theophila——[_There is a movement on the part of_ JOHN _and_ OLIVE.] Please, let nobody go. All who are here are interested in the future of Mrs. Fraser—[_looking at_ OLIVE]—and I believe sympathetically interested. [_Sitting._] In fact, I want it to be known that a very happy arrangement has been arrived at.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_To_ SIR FLETCHER.] Fletcher, you said _no_ arrangement had been arrived at.

SIR FLETCHER.

I have not been consulted, Harriet.

MRS. CLOYS.

I did not consider it necessary, Fletcher. There was a question whether the plan I had in view _could_ be carried out.

SIR FLETCHER.

Then you—you have constituted yourself a—a sort of—arbitrator——

MRS. CLOYS.

As you say, a sort of arbitratrix, I suppose.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

The cloak of pedantry, Harriet, scarcely conceals your want of respect for your brother.

[_Passing_ MRS. CLOYS, _as if about to quit the room_.

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Touching his arm._] We’ll all keep our tempers, Fletcher. [_He remains._] Yes, the thought came to me during the night—a long, anxious night——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Ah, indeed!

MRS. CLOYS.

The thought that I would telegraph to the bishop the very first thing this morning.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

The bishop!

MRS. CLOYS.

Asking, him to come to me at once.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Will he do so?

MRS. CLOYS.

The bishop is goodness and compliance personified. He left St. Olpherts at ten o’clock this morning; he is here.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Here!

MRS. EMPTAGE.

I shall be ashamed to meet him; after my sleepless night my face is so dreadfully lined——!

MRS. CLOYS.

The bishop does not notice the lines in women’s faces. Directly he arrived, I submitted my scheme; in two words, he approved; it will be carried into execution.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

I do not ask _what_ scheme.

MRS. CLOYS.

Theophila returns to St. Olpherts at once with us. She will rest there two or three days, by which time I shall have found a suitable house in town——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

In town——?

MRS. CLOYS.

The bishop and I have not had a house in town for some years. Mr. Fraser kindly sees house agents this afternoon.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

I would willingly have seen house agents, Harriet. A furnished house——?

MRS. CLOYS.