did. The governor's the best old fellow in the world, but upon certain

points he is as obstinate as--as----

ALMA. His son.

NED. As I am, if you like.

ALMA. Why was it no use speaking to him?

NED. Because he would never have given his consent. The fact is, Lucy's mother was separated from her husband. She married very young, and he left her before she was twenty. Not being able to get a divorce, of course she couldn't marry again, and consequently Lucy's father couldn't marry her. That's the whole mystery. Lucy doesn't know it, but I did, and I knew it was useless talking. So we were married secretly, this year.

ALMA. And when do you propose to acknowledge your wife?

NED. I don't know yet, (_crosses, L._) but when the right time comes.

ALMA. The right time was the day you married her.

NED. Ah, it's all very well to talk, but you have no idea how much it would hurt the governor. (_crosses to ALMA_) It would have cut him to the heart.

ALMA. A very good reason for not marrying, but a very bad reason for concealing your marriage.

NED. It was to spare his feelings.

ALMA. Don't flatter yourself. It was to spare your own.

NED. Well, it's done now, and I can't help it.

ALMA. But you can. You can tell him to-day.

NED. (_sits R. of table_) That would be worse than telling him earlier.

ALMA. (_crosses to NED_) And better than telling him later. You've done wrong, and you're doing wrong now. The only point in your favour is that you're thoroughly ashamed of yourself. (_crosses to R.C._)

NED. Ashamed! nay----

ALMA. I can see it in your face. No hoarding like a human countenance, and no bill-sticker like a guilty conscience.

NED. Alma, I _am_ ashamed.

ALMA. (_crosses to NED_) Be as much ashamed of yourself as you like, but don't be ashamed of your wife.

NED. I'll tell Sir Humphrey--to-morrow.

ALMA. To-day. (_holding her hands out_)

NED. If I can screw my courage up.

BOTH. (_shaking hands_) To-day.

ALMA. I'll screw it up for you. You won't want much. Fathers are not such dreadful animals after all. There was a time when children were afraid of their parents, but now-a-days they're lucky parents who're not afraid of their children. (_Re-enter DR. DOZEY, C., and down, R.C._) Aren't they, doctor?

DR. I crave forgiveness. Your observation escaped me.

ALMA. Ah, you were lost in thought.

DR. I was meditating, it is true.

ALMA. Lost in meditation. Thank you, for the correction.

_NED rises; goes aside thoughtfully._

DR. Lost in amazement.

ALMA. Amazement. Beg your pardon. Got it at last.

DR. That our paths, which are so diverse, should have crossed.

ALMA. It's a queer meeting, certainly, but, you know, accidents will happen.

DR. (_raising his hand_) Pardon me, there is no such thing as accident. It is true that fortune, like misfortune, makes us acquainted with strange----

ALMA. Hem!

DR. I will amend my illustration.

ALMA. Thank you.

DR. Rough-hew them how we may, our ends are shaped for us. Doubtless we have been brought together for some wise purpose. I propose, therefore, to improve your acquaintance.

ALMA. Hadn't you better improve _me?_ Never mind my acquaintance.

DR. That is the object which I have in view. Even the rose needs careful nurturing, ere it will bloom like--like--what shall I say?

ALMA. Say what you like. I won't be offended.

DR. Like those I see before me.

ALMA. These? (_taking one from her dress_) Would you like one?

DR. I am unused to meretricious ornament.

ALMA. Doctor! Don't call my poor rose such hard names. Stand still. I'll put it in your buttonhole.

DR. (_whilst she arranges it_) There can be no objection to a simple flower. (_crosses to table_)

ALMA. There! You look quite a masher!

DR. Eh! (_turning_)

ALMA. Picture, I meant! Picture, picture.

DR. Do I, indeed? (_goes to mirror, turns, and smiles_) A flower _is_ an adornment. (_stands admiring himself; ALMA goes up to NED, and taps him on the shoulder, points to DR. DOZEY, and can scarcely restrain her laughter; DR. DOZEY comes down, L., soliloquising_) A comely woman. Not unprepossessing. Whatever the contents may be, the exterior of the platter is attractive. (_the book drops from MRS. DOZEY'S lap; turns_) What was that?

NED. (_at easel_) It's only Mrs. Dozey. (_crosses with ALMA to R.C._)

DR. My wife there! (_crosses to MRS. DOZEY, R._)

ALMA. You needn't be alarmed. She's fast asleep.

DR. (_picking up book_) And with my sermons on her lap again. (_wakes her_) Diana!

MRS. D. (_waking_) It's very strange, I can't get to sleep. (_rises_) You must know, Mrs. Blake, I am a victim to insomnia.

ALMA. I see. You take sermons medicinally.

MRS. D. Good gracious, Dionysius! What have you there? (_points to buttonhole_)

DR. A rose, my love--a simple rose. There is no evil in a simple rose.

NED. Don't you admire it?

MRS. D. I don't like the look of it at all. Where did you get it from?

DR. Hem! hem! (_fidgetting with the book; down, R.C._) A tendency to be too interrogative is the besetting weakness of the age we live in.

MRS. D. Come, Dionysius, the truth!

DR. It is to this undue yearning after truth that I attribute the prevailing scepticism.

MRS. D. That isn't answering my question.

ALMA. (_conquering her laughter, comes to his rescue_) I'm sorry you don't like it, Mrs. Dozey. Your husband thought you'd be so pleased with it. (_gives DR. DOZEY a slight nudge_)

MRS. D. He gathered it for _me!_

DR. (_presenting it_) Diana, you are always on my mind.

MRS. D. How can I thank you, Dionysius? (_embraces DR. DOZEY, while ALMA shakes hands with him behind his back, where he is holding the book_)

DR. (_turning aside, and down, R._) That is a very clever woman. (_opens book and reads; business with ALMA, as below_)

_Re-enter SIR HUMPHREY and DICK, R._

DICK. (_wiping his mouth_) Capital Heidseck.

SIR H. Glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Dick.

DICK. Capital wine.

MRS. D. Sir Humphrey, see what Dionysius has given me. (_showing rose_)

SIR H. Charming--exquisite!

DICK. Call that a rose?

SIR H. Mr. Dick--Mrs. Dozey.

DICK. My man, Groggins, would turn you out a better article. Groggins's the man for flowers.

MRS. D. (_to DICK_) Your gardener, sir?

DICK. Gardener? No. My property master. Marvellous florist! Nature's not in it with Groggins.

NED. (_to DICK_) You don't seem to have a very high opinion of nature?

DICK. No, sir. Nature was only a beginner. Don't like amateurs, except for _matinees._

_Meanwhile ALMA has been making signs to DR. DOZEY, pointing to buttonhole and MRS. DOZEY; DR. DOZEY, behind the open book, responds in pantomime; MRS. DOZEY observing this comes down between them; DR. DOZEY drops his eyes on book and turns off; she pursues him; ALMA turns off to SIR HUMPHREY, who leaves NED with DICK._

ALMA. (_getting round back_) Sir Humphrey, you must take me round the park. I haven't seen half the beauties of the place.

SIR H. Nothing would please me better. Ned, we're going out into the grounds. Perhaps Mr. Dick would like to see them.

DICK. Certainly. Give me an appetite for dinner. (_to NED_) What time do you dine?

ALMA. (_going out with SIR HUMPHREY_) Doctor, won't you come with us? (_making eyes at him_)

DR. (_with alacrity_) Surely!

MRS. D. (_crosses, R., checking him_) Dionysius!

SIR H. (_to ALMA_) Take my arm, Mrs. Blake.

ALMA. I like the doctor. (_taking SIR HUMPHREY'S arm_)

SIR H. An old schoolfellow.

ALMA. He's going to "nurture" me. Isn't it kind of him? (_Exit with SIR HUMPHREY, through window, off R._)

DICK. (_following with NED_) Sorry I lost your comedy. If a romantic drama would be any compensation, or a tragedy in seven acts, or a historical pageant in thirteen tableaux, come to the theatre and take your choice. (_Exit with NED through window, C., off L._)

DR. (_crosses, C._) My love, you are in error.

MRS. D. Nonsense! You've been philandering for the last ten minutes. _You,_ Dionysius, who have always professed such horror of stage players.

DR. Mrs. Blake may be regarded in two aspects.

MRS. D. You've been regarding her in half-a-dozen!

DR. It is our duty to hate sin, but to love sinners. One may, at one and the same time, abhor the acting----

MRS. D. And adore the actress!

DR. I should prefer to say, regard the actress with that measure of fraternal sympathy to which all our erring sisters are entitled.

MRS. D. But which only the good-looking ones get. (_re-enter LUCY, down staircase, L._) No, Dionysius, it won't do! A little less of that fraternal sympathy, if you please.

LUCY. What's the matter, Mrs. Dozey? (_DR. DOZEY gets up, R._)

MRS. D. Matter! Why that stage-player----

LUCY. Mrs. Blake?

MRS. D. Has been at her stage tricks!

DR. (_crosses to R.C._) Diana, you are excited.

MRS. D. Well, I may be. (_crosses, R._) You never looked at _me_ as long as I caught you looking at _her._ (_going off, R._)

DR. My angel, I have been gazing at you steadfastly for a quarter of a century. (_Exit after her, R._)

_Re-enter TOM, through window, C.R._

TOM. Good gracious, Mrs. Dozey's wide-awake!

LUCY. She's caught the doctor napping this time. She seems quite jealous of Mrs. Blake already.

TOM. The widow? Has she come?

LUCY. I met her at the door.

TOM. Well, is she as charming as Sir Humphrey says?

LUCY. I suppose she must be. At the hotel when we first met her she turned everybody's head. Sir Humphrey was smitten on the spot, and as for Ned, well, he behaved disgracefully. I wish you weren't going, Tom!

TOM. Do you?

LUCY. I should like to see what impression she'd make upon _you._ I don't believe you could admire anybody.

TOM. Am I so hard to please?

LUCY. A regular old cynic!

TOM. And what's a cynic? A poor devil, who's fool enough to put into words the harshness wise men put into their deeds, and fool enough to put into deeds the kindness wise men put into their words. Your cynic is the softest of mankind, and as a rule he's been in love before he was a cynic. (_crosses to L._)

LUCY. (_crosses to R._) Surely you haven't?

TOM. I've been most things, Lucy.

LUCY. Except a husband. (_laughing_)

TOM. I've been that.

LUCY. (_crosses to TOM_) A husband! No! Surely you're joking? Oh, I can't believe it.

TOM. What's much more singular, I want to be married again.

LUCY. Were you so happy?

TOM. No, I wasn't happy.

LUCY. Didn't you like your wife?

TOM. Yes, I adored her. So did someone else.

LUCY. Well?

TOM. I suppose she adored him. (_sits R. of table_)

LUCY. She left you! (_getting back_)

TOM. No, I left _her!_ Six years ago! On a bright summer day--just such a day as this. As I passed down the walk I caught my last glimpse of her through a window, as it might be there. (_pointing to window_) I can almost see her now, framed like a picture in the window frame, with the sun streaming down on her, for all the world like---- (_rises_)

_ALMA suddenly appears on the lawn outside, standing an instant in the sunshine, with her head turned to SIR HUMPHREY, who passes the window a moment afterwards._

ALMA. Oh, what a lovely lawn! We must have tennis there, Sir Humphrey.

SIR H. If I could play the game----

ALMA. I'll teach you. (_they pass on, R., out of sight_)

LUCY. Tom, what's the matter?

TOM. Who was that--passed the window?

LUCY. That was Mrs. Blake. What do you think of her?

TOM. Blake?

LUCY. I believe _you're_ smitten. Men are all alike.

TOM. Just in time--only just.

LUCY. What are you talking about? Just in time for what?

TOM. (_recovering himself_) My train, of course. I'd quite forgotten it. I must make haste, or I shall miss it.

LUCY. Don't run away like that.

TOM. Say good-bye to Sir Humphrey, will you, Lucy? Tell him to think no more about what I said just now. He'll understand you.

LUCY. Tom, you're not going in this way?

TOM. (_crosses to R._) I must go. (_turns to LUCY_) Make my apologies.

LUCY. Without even your picture.

TOM. I can send for that. (_Exit, R._)

_Re-enter DICK and NED through window._

DICK. I don't think much of it. I can't say I think much of it. Not a patch on one in my last comedy. Potts' masterpiece! Potts is the man for exteriors.

_Re-enter ALMA and SIR HUMPHREY through window, L._

ALMA. Clever! It's more than clever.

SIR H. I must introduce you to the painter.

ALMA. I should like to know him. In these days, it's quite refreshing to meet an artist whose art is intelligible without a catalogue and half a column of criticism.

_Re-enter MRS. DOZEY, R._

SIR H. Lucy, where's Mr. Potter? Mrs. Blake has been admiring his sketch, and wants to congratulate him.

LUCY. He has just gone.

SIR H. Gone?

MRS. D. Mr. Potter gone?

LUCY. He said he'd barely time to catch his train, and asked me to apologise to you for going so abruptly.

_Re-enter DR. DOZEY, R._

ALMA. Then I shan't see him. What a disappointment!

DR. (_crosses to SIR HUMPHREY_) Life is made up of disappointments. As we near its goal---- (_SIR HUMPHREY turns him round; he faces ALMA_)

SIR H. Gone, after what he said to me this morning!

LUCY. Oh, and he left some message! You were to forget what he had said or something--he was in too great a hurry to explain himself.

SIR H. I think I understand. (_to LUCY_) You have refused him?

LUCY. I?

MRS. D. Mr. Potter has proposed!

NED. For Lucy?

DR. (_approaching DICK_) I was remarking---- (_buttonholes DICK, who gradually retreats up stage, followed step by step by DR. DOZEY, preaching in dumb show_)

SIR H. Not an hour ago he asked to be allowed to speak to you. Hasn't he done so?

LUCY. No, he said nothing.

ALMA. (_aside to NED_) Now's your opportunity. Redeem your promise.

SIR H. This is an insult--a gross insult.

MRS. D. A mere painter!

NED. (_crosses to LUCY_) If he _had_ spoken it would have been useless. Miss Preston has accepted someone else.

SIR H. Without my knowledge?

NED. Yes. But it wasn't Lucy's fault. (_takes LUCY'S hand_) She would have told you, but I wouldn't let her.

SIR H. You!

MRS. D. Oh, Dionysius! Miss Preston is engaged to Mr. Chetwynd. (_brings DR. DOZEY down, to the great relief of DICK, who gasps for air and mops his forehead at back_)

SIR H. Not to you, Ned! Say, there is some mistake! You couldn't do so wrong. Say, you are not engaged.

NED. No, not engaged.

SIR H. Thank heaven!

NED. This is my wife. (_takes LUCY'S hand_)

MRS. D. Oh!

DR. Bless my soul!

SIR H. (_incredulous_) Your wife!

DICK. (_coming forward_) Sir, I congrat---- (_ALMA stops DICK and takes him up; DR. and MRS. DOZEY turn deprecatingly_)

SIR H. She, your wife? (_DR. DOZEY puts up glasses and surveys LUCY_)

NED. Your daughter.

SIR H. I disown her! I refuse to recognise this marriage. I disown you both! You have brought shame upon a line that was untarnished. You--my son--my only child--the bearer of an honoured name--the heir of a proud history--and she--(_breaks down_) Oh, Ned! Why did you marry her? (_sits L. of table_)

NED. I married her (_turns to LUCY_) for love. (_puts arm round LUCY_)

END OF ACT I.