Chapter 4

ST. OLPHERTS. Come, you know well enough that unostentatious immodesty is no part of your partner's programme. Of course, you will find yourself by-and-bye in a sort of perpetual parade with your crack-brained visionary--

LUCAS. You shall not speak of her so! You shall not.

ST. OLPHERTS. [Unconcernedly.] Each of you bearing a pole of the soiled banner of Free Union. Free Union for the People! Ho, my dear Lucas!

LUCAS. Good heavens, Duke, do you imagine, now that I am in sound health and mind again, that I don't see the hideous absurdity of these views of hers?

ST. OLPHERTS. Then why the deuce don't you listen a little more patiently to my views?

LUCAS. No, no. I tell you I intend to keep faith with her, as far as I am able. She's so earnest, so pitiably earnest. If I broke faith with her entirely, it would be too damnably cowardly.

ST. OLPHERTS. Cowardly!

LUCAS. [Pacing the room agitatedly.] Besides, we shall do well together, after all, I believe--she and I. In the end we shall make concessions to each other and settle down, somewhere abroad, peacefully.

ST. OLPHERTS. Ha! And they called you a Coming Man at one time, didn't they?

LUCAS. Oh, I--I shall make as fine a career with my pen as that other career would have been. At any rate, I ask you to leave me to it all-- to leave me!

[FORTUNE enters. The shades of evening have now deepened; the glow of sunset comes into the room.]

FORTUNE. I beg your pardon, sir.

LUCAS. Well?

FORTUNE. It is pas' ze time for you to dress for dinner.

LUCAS. I'll come. [FORTUNE goes out.]

ST. OLPHERTS. When do we next meet, dear fellow?

LUCAS. No, no--please not again.

[Nella enters, excitedly.]

NELLA [ Speaking over her shoulder.] Si, Signora; ecco il Signore. (Yes, Signora; her is the Signor.) [To Cleeve.] Scusi, Signore. Quando la vendra come e cara--! (Pardon, Signor, when you see her you'll see how sweet she looks--!) [Agnes's voice is heard.]

AGNES. [Outside.] Am I keeping you waiting, Lucas?

[She enters, handsomely gowned, her throat and arms bare, the fashion of her hair roughly altered. She stops abruptly upon seeing ST. OLPHERTS; a strange light comes into her eyes; her voice, manner, bearing, all express triumph. The two men stare at her blankly. She appears to be a beautiful woman.]

AGNES. [To Nella.] Un petit chale noir tricote--cher-chez-le. [Nella withdraws.] Ah, you're not dressed, Lucas dear.

LUCAS. What--what time is it? [He goes towards the door, still staring at AGNES.]

ST. OLPHERTS. [Looking at her, and speaking in an altered tone.] I fear my gossiping has delayed him. You--you dine out?

AGNES. At the Grunwald. Why don't you join us? [Turning to Lucas, lightly.] Persuade him, Lucas. [LUCAS pauses at the door.]

ST. OLPHERTS. Er--impossible. Some--friends of mine may arrive tonight. [Lucas goes out.] I am more than sorry.

AGNES. [Mockingly.] Really? You are sure you are not shy of being seen with a notorious woman?

ST. OLPHERTS. My dear Mrs. Ebbsmith--!

AGNES. No, I forget--that would be unlike you. Mad people scare you, perhaps?

ST. OLPHERTS. Ha, ha! Don't be too rough.

AGNES. Come, Duke, confess--isn't there more sanity in me than you suspected?

ST. OLPHERTS. [In a low voice, eyeing her.] Much more. I think you are very clever.

[LUCAS quietly re-enters the room; he halts upon seeing that ST. OLPHERTS still lingers.]

ST. OLPHERTS. [With a wave of the hand to LUCAS.] Just off, dear fellow. [He offers his hand to AGNES; she quickly places hers behind her back.] You--you are charming. [He walks to the door, then looks round at the pair.] Au'voir! [ST. OLPHERTS goes out.]

AGNES. Au'voir! [Her hand drooping suddenly, her voice hard and dull.] You had better take me to Fulici's before we dine, and buy me some gloves.

LUCAS. [Coming to her, and seizing her hand.] Agnes dear!

AGNES. [Releasing herself and sitting with a heavy, almost sullen, look upon her face.] Are you satisfied?

LUCAS. [By her side.] You have delighted me! How sweet you look--

AGNES. Ah--!

LUCAS. You shall have twenty new gowns now; you shall see the women envying you, the men envying me. Ah, ha! Fifty new gowns! You will wear them?

AGNES. Yes.

LUCAS. Why, what has brought about this change in you?

AGNES. What!

LUCAS. What?

AGNES. I know.

LUCAS. You know?

AGNES. Exactly how you regard me.

LUCAS. I don't understand you.

AGNES. Listen. Long ago, in Florence, I began to suspect that we had made a mistake, Lucas. Even there I began to suspect that your nature was not one to allow you to go through life sternly, severely, looking upon me more and more each day as a fellow worker and less and less as --a woman. I suspected this--oh, proved it!--but still made myself believe that this companionship of ours would gradually become, in a sense, colder--more temperate, more impassive. [Beating her brow.] Never! never! Oh, a few minutes ago this man, who means to part us if he can, drew your character, disposition, in a dozen words.

LUCAS. You believe him! You credit what he says of me!

AGNES. I declared it to be untrue. Oh, but--

LUCAS. But--but--

AGNES. [Rising, seizing his arm.] The picture he paints of you is not wholly a false one. Sssh! Lucas. Hark! Attend to me! I resign myself to it all! Dear, I must resign myself to it!

LUCAS. Resign yourself? Has life with me become so distasteful?

AGNES. Has it? Think! Why, when I realised the actual terms of our companionship--why didn't I go on my own way stoically? Why don't I go at this very moment?

LUCAS. You really love me, do you mean--as simple, tender women are content to love? [She looks at him, nods slowly, then turns away and droops over the table. He raises her, and takes her in his arms.] My dear girl! My dear, cold, warm-hearted girl! Ha! You couldn't bear to see me packed up in one of the Duke's travelling boxes and borne back to London--eh! [She shakes her head; her lips form the word "No".] No fear of that, my--my sweetheart!

AGNES. [Gently pushing him from her.] Quick--dress--take me out.

LUCAS. You are shivering--get your thickest wrap.

AGNES. That heavy brown cloak of mine?

LUCAS. Yes.

AGNES. It's an old friend, but--dreadfully shabby. You will be ashamed of me again.

LUCAS. Ashamed--!

AGNES. I'll write to Bardini about a new one tomorrow. I won't oppose you--I won't repel you any more.

LUCAS. Repel me! I only urged you to reveal yourself as what you are-- a beautiful woman.

AGNES. Ah! Am I--that?

LUCAS. [Kissing her.] Beautiful--beautiful!

AGNES. [With a gesture of abandonment.] I'm--glad. [She leaves him and goes out. He looks after her for a moment thoughtfully, then suddenly passes his hands across his brow and opens his arms widely as if casting a burden from him.]

LUCAS. Oh!--oh! [Turning away alertly.] Fortune--

END OF THE SECOND ACT

THE THIRD ACT

[The Scene is the same as before, but it is evening, and the lamps are lighted within the room, while outside it is bright moonlight.]

[AGNES, dressed as at the end of the preceding Act, is lying upon the settee propped up by pillows. A pretty silk shawl, with which she plays restlessly, is over her shoulders. Her face is pale, but her eyes glitter, and her voice has a bright ring in it. KIRKE is seated at a table writing. GERTRUDE, without hat or mantle, is standing behind the settee, looking down smilingly upon AGNES.]

KIRKE. [Writing.] H'm--[To AGNES.] Are you often guilty of this sort of thing?

AGNES. [Laughing.] I've never fainted before in my life; I don't mean to do so again.

KIRKE. [Writing.] Should you alter your mind about that, do select a suitable spot on the next occasion. What was it your head came against?

GERTRUDE. A wooden chest, Mr. Cleeve thinks.

AGNES. With beautiful, rusty, iron clamps. [Putting her hand to her head, and addressing GERTRUDE.] The price of vanity.

KIRKE. Vanity?

AGNES. Lucas was to take me out to dinner. While I was waiting for him to dress I must needs stand and survey my full length in a mirror.

KIRKE. [Glancing at her.] A very excusable proceeding.

AGNES. Suddenly the room sank and left me--so the feeling was--in the air.

KIRKE. Well, most women can manage to look in their pier-glasses without swooning--eh, Mrs Thorpe?

GERTRUDE. [Smiling.] How should I know doctor?

KIRKE. [Blotting his writing.] There. How goes the time?

GERTRUDE. Half past eight.

KIRKE. I'll leave this prescription at Mantovani's myself. I can get it made up to-night.

AGNES. [Taking the prescription out of his hand playfully.] Let me look.

KIRKE. [Protesting.] Now, now!

AGNES. [Reading the prescription.] Ha, ha! After all, what humbugs doctors are!

KIRKE. You've never heard me deny it.

AGNES. [Returning the prescription to him.] But I'll swallow it--for the dignity of my old profession. [She reaches out her hand to take a cigarette.]

KIRKE. Don't smoke too many of those things.

AGNES. They never harm me. It's a survival of the time in my life when the cupboard was always empty. [Striking a match.] Only it had to be stronger tobacco in those days, I can tell you. [She lights her cigarette. GERTRUDE is assisting KIRKE with his overcoat. LUCAS enters, in evening dress, looking younger, almost boyish.]

LUCAS. [Brightly.] Well?

KIRKE. She's to have a cup of good bouillon--Mrs. Thorpe is going to look after that--and anything else she fancies. She's alright. [Shaking hands with AGNES.] The excitement of putting on that pretty frock--[AGNES gives a hard little laugh. Shaking hands with LUCAS.] I'll look in tomorrow. [Turning to GERTRUDE.] Oh, just a word with you, nurse. [LUCAS has been bending over AGNES affectionately; he now sits by her, and they talk in undertones; he lights a cigarette from hers.]

KIRKE. [To GERTRUDE.] There's many a true word, et cetera.

GERTRUDE. Excitement?

KIRKE. Yes, and that smart gown's connected with it too.

GERTRUDE. It is extraordinary to see her like this.

KIRKE. Not the same woman.

GERTRUDE. No, nor is he quite the same man.

KIRKE. How long can you remain with her?

GERTRUDE. Till eleven--if you will let my brother know where I am.

KIRKE. What, doesn't he know?

GERTRUDE. I simply sent word, about an hour ago, that I shouldn't be back to dinner.

KIRKE. Very well.

GERTRUDE. Look here! I'll get you to tell him the truth.

KIRKE. The truth--oh?

GERTRUDE. I called here this afternoon, unknown to Amos, to bid her good-bye. Then I pottered about, rather miserably, spending money. Coming out of Naya's, the photographer's, I tumbled over Mr. Cleeve, who had been looking for you, and he begged me to come round here again after I had done my shopping.

KIRKE. I understand.

GERTRUDE. Doctor, have you ever seen Amos look dreadfully stern and knit about the brows--like a bishop who is put out?

KIRKE. No.

GERTRUDE. Then you will.

KIRKE. Well, this is a pretty task--! [He goes out. GERTRUDE comes to AGNES. LUCAS rises.]

GERTRUDE. I am going down into the kitchen to see what these people can do in the way of strong soup.

LUCAS. You are exceedingly good to us, Mrs. Thorpe. I can't tell you how ashamed I am of my bearishness this afternoon.

GERTRUDE. [Arranging the shawl about AGNES'S shoulders.] Hush, please!

AGNES. Are you looking at my shawl? Lucas brought it in with him, as a reward for my coming out of that stupid faint. I--I have always refused to be--spoilt in this way, but now--now--

LUCAS. [Breaking in deliberately.] Pretty work upon it, is there not, Mrs. Thorpe?

GERTRUDE. Charming. [Going to the door, which LUCAS opens for her.] Thank you.[She passes out. AGNES rises.]

LUCAS. Oh, my dear girl--!

AGNES. [Throwing her cigarette under the stove.] I'm quite myself again, Lucas dear. Watch me--look! [Walking firmly.]

LUCAS. No trembling?

AGNES. Not a flutter. [Watching her open hand.] My hand is absolutely steady. [He takes her hand and kisses it upon the palm.] Ah!--

LUCAS. [Looking at her hand.] No, it is shaking.

AGNES. Yes, when you--when you--oh, Lucas!--[She sinks into a chair, turning her back upon him, and covering her face with her hands; her shoulders heaving.]

LUCAS. [Going to her.] Agnes dear!

AGNES. [Taking out her handkerchief.] Let me--let me--

LUCAS. [Bending over her.] I've never seen you--

AGNES. No, I've never been a crying woman. But some great change has befallen me, I believe. What is it? That swoon--it wasn't mere faintness, giddiness; it was this change coming over me!

LUCAS. You are not unhappy?

AGNES. [Wiping her eyes.] No, I--I don't think I am. Isn't that strange?

LUCAS. My dearest, I'm happy to hear you say that, for you've made me very happy.

AGNES. Because I--

LUCAS. Because you love me--naturally, that's one great reason.

AGNES. I have always loved you.

LUCAS. But never so utterly, so absorbingly, as you confess you do now. Do you fully realise what your confession does? It strikes off the shackles from me, from us--sets us free. [With a gesture of freedom.] Oh, my dear Agnes, free!

AGNES. [Staring at him.] Free?

LUCAS. Free from the burden of that crazy plan of ours of trumpeting our relations to the world. Forgive me--crazy is the only word for it. Thank heaven, we've at last admitted to each other that we're ordinary man and woman! Of course, I was ill--off my head. I didn't know what I was entering upon. And you, dear--living a pleasureless life, letting your thoughts dwell constantly on old troubles; that is how cranks are made. Now that I'm strong again, body and mind, I can protect you, keep you right. Ha, ha! What were we to pose as? Examples of independent thought and action! [Laughing.] Oh my darling, well be independent in thought and action still; but we won't make examples of ourselves--eh?

AGNES. [Who has been watching him with wide-open eyes.] Do you mean that all idea of our writing together, working together, defending our position, and the position of such as ourselves, before the world, is to be abandoned?

LUCAS. Why, of course.

AGNES. I--I didn't mean quite that.

LUCAS. Oh, come, come! We'll furl what my uncle calls the banner of Free Union finally. [Going to her and kissing her hair lightly.] For the future, mere man and woman. [Pacing the room excitedly.] The future! I've settled everything already. The work shall fall wholly on my shoulders. My poor girl, you shall enjoy a little rest and pleasure.

AGNES. [In a low voice.] Rest and pleasure--

LUCAS. We'll remain abroad. One can live unobserved abroad, without actually hiding. [She rises slowly.] We'll find an ideal retreat. No more English tourists prying around us! And there, in some beautiful spot, alone except for your company, I'll work! [As he paces the room, she walks slowly to and fro, listening, staring before her.] I'll work. My new career! I'll write under a nom de plume. My books, Agnes, shall never ride to popularity on the back of a scandal. Our life! The mornings I must spend by myself, of course, shut up in my room. In the afternoon we will walk together. After dinner you shall hear what I've written in the morning; and then a few turns round our pretty garden, a glance at the stars with my arms round your waist--[she stops abruptly, a look of horror on her face]--while you whisper to me words of tenderness, words of--[There is the distant sound of music from mandolin and guitar.] Ah! [To AGNES.] Keep your shawl over your shoulders. [Opening the window, and stepping out; the music becoming louder.] Some mandolinisti in a gondola. [Listening at the window, his head turned from her.] How pretty, Agnes! Now, don't those mere sounds, in such surroundings, give you a sensation of hatred for revolt and turmoil! Don't they conjure up alluringly pictures of peace and pleasure, of golden days and star-lit nights--pictures of beauty and love?

AGNES. [Sitting on the settee, staring before her, speaking to herself.] My marriage--the early days of my marriage--all over again!

LUCAS. [Turning to her.] Eh? [Closing the window and coming to her, as the music dies away.] Tell me that those sounds thrill you.

AGNES. Lucas--

LUCAS. [Sitting beside her.] Yes?

AGNES. For the first few months of my marriage--[Breaking off abruptly and looking into his face wonderingly.] Why, how young you seem to have become; you look quite boyish!

LUCAS. [Laughing.] I believe that this return of our senses will make us both young again.

AGNES. Both? [With a little shudder.] You know, I'm older than you.

LUCAS. Tsch!

AGNES. [Passing her hand through his hair.] Yes, I shall feel that now. [Stroking his brow tenderly.] Well--so it has come to this.

LUCAS. I declare that you have colour in your cheeks already.

AGNES. The return of my senses?

LUCAS. My dear Agnes, we've both been to the verge of madness, you and I--driven there by our troubles. [Taking her hand.] Let us agree, in so many words, that we have completely recovered. Shall we?

AGNES. Perhaps mine is a more obstinate case. My enemies called me mad years ago.

LUCAS. [With a wave of the hand.] Ah, but the future, the future. No more thoughts of reforming unequal laws from public platforms, no more shrieking in obscure magazines. No more beating of bare knuckles against stone walls. Come, say it!

AGNES. [With an effort.] Go on.

LUCAS. [Looking before him--partly to himself, his voice hardening.] I'll never be mad again--never. [Thrusting his head back.] By heavens! [To her, in an altered tone.] You don't say it.

AGNES. [After a pause.] I--I will never be mad again.

LUCAS. [Triumphantly.] Hah! ha, ha! [She deliberately removes the shawl from her shoulders, and, putting her arms round his neck, draws him to her.] Ah, my dear girl!

AGNES. [In a whisper, with her head on his breast.] Lucas.

LUCAS. Yes?

AGNES. Isn't this madness?

LUCAS. I don't think so.

AGNES. Oh! oh! oh! I believe, to be a woman is to be mad.

LUCAS. No, to be a woman trying not to be a woman--that is to be mad. [She draws a long, deep breath, then, sitting away from him, resumes her shawl mechanically.]

AGNES. Now, you promised me to run out to the Capello Nero to get a little food.

LUCAS. Oh, I'd rather--

AGNES. [Rising.] Dearest, you need it.

LUCAS. [Rising.] Well--Fortune shall fetch my hat and coat.

AGNES. Fortune! Are you going to take all my work from me? [She is walking towards the door; the sound of his voice stops her.]

LUCAS. Agnes! [She returns.] A thousand thoughts have rushed through my brain this last hour or two. I've been thinking--my wife--

AGNES. Yes?

LUCAS. My wife--she will soon get tired of her present position. If, by-and-bye, there should be a divorce, there would be nothing to prevent our marrying.

AGNES. Our--marrying!

LUCAS. [Sitting, not looking at her, as if discussing the matter with himself.] It might be to my advantage to settle again in London some day. After all, scandals quickly lose their keen edge. What would you say?

AGNES. Marriage--

LUCAS. Ah, remember, we're rational beings for the future. However, we needn't talk about it now.

AGNES. No.

LUCAS. Still, I assume you wouldn't oppose it. You would marry me if I wished it?

AGNES. [in a low voice.] Yes.

LUCAS. That's a sensible girl! By Jove, I am hungry! [He lights a cigarette as she walks slowly to the door, then throws himself idly back on the settee.]

AGNES. [To herself, in a whisper.] My old life--my old life coming all over again! [She goes out. He lies watching the wreaths of tobacco smoke. After a moment or two FORTUNE enters, closing the door carefully behind him.]

LUCAS. Eh?

FORTUNE. [After a glance round, dropping his voice.] Ze Duke of St. Olphert 'e say 'e vould like to speak a meenit alone. [LUCAS rises, with a muttered exclamation of annoyance.]

LUCAS. Priez Monsieur le Duc d'entrer. [FORTUNE goes to the door and opens it. The DUKE OF ST. OLPHERTS enters; he is in evening dress. FORTUNE retires.]

ST. OLPHERTS. Quite alone?

LUCAS. For the moment.

ST. OLPHERTS. My excuse to Mrs. Ebbsmith for not dining at the Grunwald --it was a perfectly legitimate one, dear Lucas. I really was expecting visitors.

LUCAS. [Wonderingly.] Yes?

ST. OLPHERTS. [With a little cough and a drawn face.] Oh, I am not so well tonight. Damn these people for troubling me! Damn 'em for keeping me hopping about! Damn 'em for every shoot I feel in my leg. Visitors from England--they've arrived.

LUCAS. But what--?

ST. OLPHERTS. I shall die of gout some day, Lucas. Er--your wife is here.

LUCAS. Sybil!

ST. OLPHERTS. She's come through with your brother. Sandford's a worse prig than ever--and I'm in shockin' pain.

LUCAS. This--this is your doing?

ST. OLPHERTS. Yes. Damn you, don't keep me standing!

[AGNES enters with LUCAS'S hat and coat. She stops abruptly on seeing ST. OLPHERTS.]

ST. OLPHERTS. [By the settee--playfully, through his pain] Ah, my dear Mrs. Ebbsmith, how can you have the heart to deceive an invalid, a poor wretch who begs you--[sitting on the settee] to allow him to sit down for a moment? [AGNES deposits the hat and coat.]

AGNES. Deceive--?

ST. OLPHERTS. My friends arrive, I dine scrappily with them, and hurry to the Grunwald thinking to catch you over your Zabajone. Dear lady, you haven't been near the Grunwald.

AGNES. Your women faint sometimes, don't they?

ST. OLPHERTS. My--? [In pain.] Oh, what do you mean?

AGNES. The women in your class of life?

ST. OLPHERTS. Faint? Oh yes, when there's occasion for it.

AGNES. I'm hopelessly low-born; I fainted involuntarily.

ST. OLPHERTS. [Moving closer to her.] Oh, my dear, pray forgive me. You've recovered? [She nods.] Indisposition agrees with you, evidently. Your colouring tonight is charming. [Coughing.] You are--delightful-- to--look at.

[GERTRUDE enters, carrying a tray on which are a bowl of soup, a small decanter of wine, and accessories. She looks at ST. OLPHERTS unconcernedly, then turns away and places the tray on a table.]

ST. OLPHERTS. [Quietly to AGNES.] Not a servant?

AGNES, Oh, no.

ST. OLPHERTS. [Rising promptly.] Good God! I beg your pardon. A friend?

AGNES. Yes.

ST. OLPHERTS. [Looking at GERTRUDE, critically.] Very nice. [Still looking at GERTRUDE, but speaking to AGNES in undertones.] Married or--? [Turning to AGNES.] Married or--?

GERTRUDE. [To LUCAS, looking around.] It is draughty at this table.

LUCAS. [Going to the table near the settee, and collecting the writing materials.] Here--[AGNES joins GERTRUDE.]

ST. OLPHERTS. [Quietly to LUCAS.] Lucas--[LUCAS goes to him.] Who's that gal?

LUCAS. [To ST. OLPHERTS.] An hotel acquaintance we made in Florence-- Mrs Thorpe.

ST. OLPHERTS. Where's the husband?

LUCAS. A widow.

ST. OLPHERTS. You might--[GERTRUDE advances with the tray.]

LUCAS. Mrs. Thorpe, the Duke of St. Olpherts wishes to be introduced to you. [GERTRUDE inclines her head to the DUKE. LUCAS places the writing materials on another table.]

ST. OLPHERTS. [Limping up to GERTRUDE and handling the tray.] I beg to be allowed to help you. [At the table.] The tray here?

GERTRUDE. Thank you.

ST. OLPHERTS. Oh, how clumsy I am! We think it so gracious of you to look after our poor friend here who is not quite herself today. [To AGNES.] Come along, dear lady--everything is prepared for you. [To GERTRUDE.] You are here with--your mother, I understand.

GERTRUDE. My brother.

ST. OLPHERTS. Brother. Now do tell me whether you find your--your little hotel comfortable.

GERTRUDE. [Looking at him steadily.] We don't stay at one.

ST. OLPHERTS. Apartments?

GERTRUDE. Yes.

ST. OLPHERTS. Do you know, dear Mrs. Thorpe, I have always had the very strongest desire to live in lodgings in Venice?

GERTRUDE. You should gratify it. Our quarters are rather humble; we are in the Campo San Bartolomeo.

ST. OLPHERTS. But how delightful!

GERTRUDE. Why not come and see our rooms?

ST. OLPHERTS. [Bowing.] My dear young lady! [Producing a pencil and writing upon his shirt-cuff.] Campo San Bartolomeo--

GERTRUDE. Five--four--nought--two

ST. OLPHERTS. [Writing.] Five--four--nought--two. Tomorrow afternoon? [She inclines her head.] Four o'clock?