ACT III

SCENE.--_The Rose Garden at PARBURY'S house. A garden table, seat, and chairs. The next morning._

[_Enter MISS WOODWARD. She is dressed simply, but less severely than before. Her hair is dressed more loosely. She carries a little basket full of roses. She places some roses upon the table, which is laid for two for breakfast. She plucks more roses and fastens them in her dress. Meanwhile she hums an air and conveys the impression of being happier than in the previous Acts._]

[_Enter GUNNING, R. He wears a light morning suit, a round hat and brown boots, and carries a stick and gloves._]

GUNNING.

Good-morning, Miss Woodward.

MISS WOODWARD.

Good-morning.

[_They shake hands._

GUNNING.

Shall I resist the temptation to pay you a compliment?

MISS WOODWARD.

[_Gathering more roses._] Yes, please.

GUNNING.

I thought you would say so. All the same, I feel it to be a deprivation.

MISS WOODWARD.

Isn't that remark itself the cloven foot of compliment?

GUNNING.

Eh--well, perhaps it is. I'm sorry.

MISS WOODWARD.

And therefore unlike you.

GUNNING.

Unlike me? What does that mean?

MISS WOODWARD.

That it isn't much in your way to pay women compliments.

GUNNING.

I hope you are doing me an injustice.

MISS WOODWARD.

I don't think so. You haven't a very lofty opinion of women as a sex, have you?

GUNNING.

Pretty well--pretty well; but what makes you think so?

MISS WOODWARD.

I heard you talk, you know, yesterday afternoon.

GUNNING.

Oh yes; one does talk a lot of rot sometimes, doesn't one?

MISS WOODWARD.

Yes.

[_Embarrassed pause._

GUNNING.

Is Mr. Parbury down yet?

MISS WOODWARD.

No. But he is sure to be in a few minutes. He is generally early. Breakfast, as you see, will be served here. Perhaps--perhaps you would rather wait indoors.

GUNNING.

No; I'll stay here if I may. . . . I'm afraid we made rather a late night of it.

[_He sits._

MISS WOODWARD.

Really?

GUNNING.

Three o'clock.

MISS WOODWARD.

You had much to talk of. I envy people with pleasant memories.

GUNNING.

I don't remember that we talked much of old times. I think we talked of the present.

MISS WOODWARD.

[_Rather hardly._] Then my envy has flown.

GUNNING.

You are right. This affair is rather boring.

MISS WOODWARD.

[_Innocently._] What affair, Mr. Gunning?

GUNNING.

Miss Woodward, you are a triumph of the inscrutable.

MISS WOODWARD.

[_Leaning on chair, L.C._] I'm sure that is very clever, because I can't quite understand it.

GUNNING.

Quite seriously, Miss Woodward, you interest me more than any person I have ever met.

MISS WOODWARD.

Do you always say that to girls, Mr. Gunning?

GUNNING.

No. Why?

MISS WOODWARD.

You ought to. I'm sure it's very encouraging.

[_She picks another rose._

GUNNING.

[_Doubtfully._] Ahem!

MISS WOODWARD.

Are you quite sure you wouldn't rather wait indoors?

GUNNING.

Oh, quite. I like being here.

MISS WOODWARD.

But I'm sure you find it difficult getting down to one's level. I often think that the very wise must be very lonely.

GUNNING.

[_Rising._] What an extremely unpleasant remark!

MISS WOODWARD.

I'm sorry. [_She sighs._] We don't seem to get on very well, do we?

GUNNING.

[_With sincerity and coming close to her._] I'd like to get on well with you.

[_Pause. They look in each other's faces, both at table._

GUNNING.

Will you give me a rose?

MISS WOODWARD.

No, Mr. Gunning.

PARBURY.

[_Outside._] Are you there, George?

[_MISS WOODWARD gets letters from table._

GUNNING.

Yes.

PARBURY.

[_Outside, to EVANS._] Serve breakfast.

_Enter PARBURY, L._

Good-morning. I hope I haven't kept you waiting. Oh, you are here, Miss Woodward. Good-morning. [_Looks at the table._] And you have managed to find us some roses. How very kind of you! [_MISS WOODWARD gives him letters. He runs them over._] No, no, no, no! Will you kindly see what they're all about? [_She is about to go._] Oh, not now--after breakfast will do.

MISS WOODWARD.

I have breakfasted, thank you.

PARBURY.

Really! I suppose I'm horribly late. [_Looks at his watch. Then, noticing the roses she carries in her hand._] How very beautiful they are! Look, George! [_She selects one and hands it to him._] For me? Thank you. [_He fastens it in his buttonhole._]

[_Exit MISS WOODWARD, L._

[_To GUNNING._] Lovely, isn't it?

GUNNING.

[_Gruffly._] Yes, it's all right.

PARBURY.

What's the matter? Cross?

GUNNING.

Not at all. But, really, you married men are very tiresome.

PARBURY.

Oh, I see--wanted a rose yourself. Shall I call Miss Woodward back and ask for you?

GUNNING.

Don't trouble. I've done that myself.

PARBURY.

You have? Ha, ha! [_Begins to laugh, but stops suddenly._] Oh! [_Holding his head._] Dear, dear, what a head I have!

GUNNING.

You haven't asked after _my_ head.

PARBURY.

[_Sits at table._] Your pardon. How is it?

GUNNING.

[_Sits at table._] I'd like to sell it this morning. Do you know, Clement, I'm not quite certain about that whisky of yours.

PARBURY.

I am. It's fifteen years old.

_Enter EVANS, L., with, breakfast-tray._

But you always had a way of mixing your drinks over-night and growling in the morning.

GUNNING.

[_Drawing up his chair._] Put it at that, if you like. I do know that I always had a way of disliking you particularly in the morning. I regret I don't appear to have grown out of it.

PARBURY.

I'm so glad. I hate being too popular. [_EVANS offers bacon to MR. PARBURY. He pushes the dish away._] Take it away. Have some bacon, George?

[_Takes a piece of toast, looks at it, then puts it down._

GUNNING.

Thank you.

[_Helps himself to bacon._

[_Exit EVANS, L., with bacon dish._

PARBURY.

I must say I think your display of temper is in the worst possible taste under the circumstances.

GUNNING.

[_Buttering toast._] What do you mean by "under the circumstances"?

PARBURY.

You know what I mean. How much sleep do you think I've had?

GUNNING.

I'm sure I don't know. What concerns me is that you detained me in this outlandish place--what county is it?--till past three o'clock, and then insisted, with alcoholic tears in your eyes, on my returning to breakfast.

PARBURY.

Tea or coffee?

GUNNING.

Tea--no; coffee--no, neither.

PARBURY.

Have some hot milk?

[_Offers him the jug._

GUNNING.

Ugh! Don't.

[_Takes an egg. Shells it._

PARBURY.

[_Lifts the lid of the tea-pot, then of the coffee-pot, and closes them gently with a look of distaste._] No, not this morning. Still, we must drink something. What shall it be?

GUNNING.

I am your guest.

PARBURY.

Perhaps we had better split a bottle.

GUNNING.

Please be frank. Do you mean Bass or champagne?

PARBURY.

Champagne, of course. [_He calls loudly._] Evans! Evans!

EVANS.

[_Outside._] Yes, sir.

_Enter EVANS, L._

PARBURY.

Bring a bottle of champagne.

EVANS.

[_Starting ever so slightly._] Cham----

PARBURY.

[_Irritably._] Champagne and glasses.

EVANS.

[_Recovering his composure._] Yes, sir.

[_Exit EVANS, L., wearing a discreet smile._

PARBURY.

It's a thing I haven't done for years--taken wine in the morning.

GUNNING.

Five years.

PARBURY.

Exactly.

GUNNING.

In what I may venture to describe as the pre-domestic period it was rather a way of yours.

PARBURY.

You mean ours.

GUNNING.

Ours, if you prefer it. Where's the salt?

PARBURY.

There it is, right before your eyes. Why don't you look?

GUNNING.

Pass the mustard, please. What a good chap you were in those days.

PARBURY.

Yes. Strange, you were always----

GUNNING.

Always what?

PARBURY.

Toast?

GUNNING.

Thanks, I've got some. Always what?

PARBURY.

It's quite pleasant out here, isn't it?

GUNNING.

Delightful. You were saying I was always----

PARBURY.

Oh, it doesn't matter.

GUNNING.

Of course, being about me it wouldn't matter.

PARBURY.

I'm afraid of offending you.

GUNNING.

You couldn't do that.

PARBURY.

Well, I was going to say you were always rather sour-natured.

GUNNING.

Really!

[_He takes up a daily paper and glances through it, continuing to do so while PARBURY speaks._

PARBURY.

And that has, I fancy, quite unconsciously to you, I am sure, a disturbing influence on others of happier nature.

[_Taking an egg._

GUNNING.

[_Drawlingly._] Yes.

[_He continues to read._

PARBURY.

Take yesterday, for instance. Of course, you didn't intend it. I wouldn't suggest that for a moment. But, damn it, look at the result?

GUNNING.

[_In the same manner as before._] Yes.

[_He reads._

PARBURY.

[_Taking the top off his boiled egg._] Simply deplorable. I've broken loose from my moorings. I'm at the mercy of every breeze. I feel that I've lost moral stability. Confound it, why doesn't that champagne come?

_Enter EVANS, L., with champagne. Pours out two glasses and hands them to GUNNING and PARBURY._

PARBURY.

I'm not quite certain that for a man like me--[_GUNNING groans and returns to his newspaper_]--a man, if I may say so, of generous instincts and large sympathies--a groove isn't a good thing, even if it be a little narrow. Of course, for a man of your nature, it's a different matter.

GUNNING.

[_Suddenly puts down the paper, draws his chair closer to the table, and takes an egg with apparent cheerfulness._] What were you saying, old man?

PARBURY.

Nothing.

GUNNING.

[_Affecting heartiness._] Let's talk about you.

PARBURY.

[_Fingering the rose in his buttonhole._] Dear, dear, how cross you are to-day!

EVANS.

Excuse me, sir, may I speak to you?

PARBURY.

Yes--what is it?

EVANS.

It's about cook, sir.

PARBURY.

What's the matter with her?

EVANS.

Well, sir, so to speak, she wants to know where she stands.

PARBURY.

[_Looks at EVANS, then at GUNNING._] How can I help her?

EVANS.

I mean, sir, or rather she means, now mistress has gone away----

PARBURY.

I presume my wife has a right to go away for a few days without cook's permission.

EVANS.

Yes, sir, certainly. But excuse me, sir; there's been gossip. Emma, the 'ousemaid, accidentally overheard something between Mrs. Parbury and her maid. Servants is as nervous as race-horses, sir, and cook's nerves is particularly sensible. So to speak, dismoralisation's set up in the kitchen.

PARBURY.

Well, you had better go and set it down again, Evans, and don't bother me any more.

EVANS.

Yes, sir, certainly. Excuse me, sir, I was to ask you who cook is to take her orders from.

PARBURY.

In my wife's absence, from me, of course.

EVANS.

Not from Miss Woodward, sir?

PARBURY.

[_Staring slightly._] Why, has Miss Woodward given any orders?

EVANS.

No, sir, but cook thought----

PARBURY.

That will do, Evans.

EVANS.

Yes, sir.

[_Exit EVANS, L._

[_There is a pause. PARBURY and GUNNING exchange looks._

GUNNING.

Devilish awkward.

PARBURY.

What bores servants are!

[_PARBURY slowly drinks a glass of wine. GUNNING also drinks. PARBURY re-fills the glasses._

_Enter COLONEL ARMITAGE, R._

ARMITAGE.

Am I an intruder?

PARBURY.

Good-morning, Colonel. [_He rises and shakes hands._] Not in the least.

ARMITAGE.

[_At back of table, C._] Good-morning, Mr. Gunning.

GUNNING.

Good-morning, Colonel.

[_They shake hands._

PARBURY.

Have you breakfasted?

ARMITAGE.

Thanks, yes, but poorly. I didn't get to bed till four.

PARBURY.

Nor did I.

GUNNING.

Nor I.

ARMITAGE.

And then I had but little sleep.

PARBURY.

The same with me.

GUNNING.

And with me.

ARMITAGE.

[_With a touch of asperity._] Your troubles, Clement, you have, of course, brought upon yourself; but I think it's a little hard on your friends that they should be made to suffer with you.

GUNNING.

Hear, hear!

_Enter EVANS with fruit. GUNNING and PARBURY each take an apple._

ARMITAGE.

[_Tapping the champagne bottle with his stick._] What's this! Some new kind of table water, I suppose.

PARBURY.

Champagne.

ARMITAGE.

Champagne at this hour! Well, I suppose you know best how to regulate your life. Have you an extra glass?

PARBURY.

Another glass, Evans.

EVANS.

Yes, sir.

[_Exit EVANS._

ARMITAGE.

It's a thing I haven't done for many years.

PARBURY.

I trust, Colonel, you won't accuse me of leading you from the path of morning abstinence.

ARMITAGE.

Really, Clement, I think this display of ill-humour is scarcely in--er--give me a word.

GUNNING.

Good taste.

ARMITAGE.

Exactly! Good taste, considering that we are suffering from the effects of your domestic--er--er----

GUNNING.

Maladministration.

ARMITAGE.

Maladministration--exactly.

GUNNING.

I quite agree with you, Colonel.

ARMITAGE.

Look at your friend there. If he'll allow me to say so, he's put on ten years since yesterday. Look at me! Last evening, I suggest--I hope I'm not conceited--I suggest I didn't look a day over forty-seven.

GUNNING.

Not an hour.

ARMITAGE.

While to-day--what would you say, Mr Gunning?

GUNNING.

[_Looks at him critically, then falls back in his chair._] Fifty-two.

[_PARBURY looks savagely at GUNNING, throws his apple on table, and turns away._

ARMITAGE.

I feared so; but I like you for your frankness.

[_He cuts a cigar._

_Enter EVANS, with tumbler on tray; he places tumbler on table, and collects the breakfast things. Pause. ARMITAGE lights his cigar with a match EVANS hands him._

ARMITAGE.

You haven't asked me if I have a message for you.

PARBURY.

Prenez-garde!

GUNNING.

[_Loudly._] You mean about Newmarket.

ARMITAGE.

[_After a glance at EVANS._] Yes; Allerton doesn't run any of his horses. Death in the family, you know.

PARBURY.

So I heard. That will do, Evans. You may leave the champagne.

[_They all keep their glasses._

EVANS.

Yes, sir.

[_Exit EVANS with breakfast tray, L._

PARBURY.

[_Watches EVANS off; then to ARMITAGE._] Of course, you know, I'm really most anxious about Mabel. How is she?

ARMITAGE.

I think I told you that I was up practically all night with her.

PARBURY.

Was she ill?

ARMITAGE.

Bodily, no. We supped in the kitchen at two. It's amazing how emotion stimulates the appetite. No, Clement, her indisposition is of the mind. She wept.

PARBURY.

All the time?

ARMITAGE.

All the time. [_Slight pause. Then he adds with a sigh._] I had rather a trying night.

[_They all drink champagne; GUNNING rises, bends over a rose-bush, and hums the air of the music-hall song, "'E 'as my sympathy."_

ARMITAGE.

I'm not without experience. Poor dear Mabel's mother, for instance--one of the best women in the world--_she_ would cry at times, and if she got well off the scratch, she was--er--hard to beat. Mind you, I'll be fair; I was much to blame--very much to blame. But as for Mabel, bless you, that dear child could have given her poor mother a stone and--er--what's the expression?

GUNNING.

Romped home.

ARMITAGE.

That's it--romped home.

PARBURY.

Come, Colonel, give me the message.

ARMITAGE.

I have no message for you. I may tell you, you are not in very great favour. [_GUNNING smiles._] You're not well spoken of, Clement.

PARBURY.

Oho! Perhaps my wife had a good word for my old friend, Gunning.

ARMITAGE.

In regard to Mr. Gunning, I think the word "serpent" was employed. [_PARBURY laughs quietly; GUNNING becomes serious._] All the same, I have a message for him.

GUNNING.

Really.

PARBURY.

[_Rising._] In that case, I'll get out of the way. I shall be in my study if I'm wanted.

ARMITAGE.

[_Comes C._] Very well. But I must say, Clement, that I find you, very much to my surprise and regret, just a little--a little--er--give me a word.

GUNNING.

Callous!

ARMITAGE.

Thanks, yes--callous; and, dearly fond as I am of my daughter, I think I have a right to ask how long you intend leaving your wife on my hands.

GUNNING.

Perfectly reasonable--perfectly----

PARBURY.

Shut up, George! [_He goes to ARMITAGE._] My dear old friend----

ARMITAGE.

[_Interrupting._] Hear me out, please. My dear daughter is, of course, always more than welcome to my home, but I trust you will not misunderstand me when I say that I require notice. Since I regained my liberty--I mean, since the death of your wife's dear mother, I've drifted into my own--er--little ways. This affair has deranged my plans. Without being indiscreet, I may tell you that I've had to send telegrams.

GUNNING.

Deuced hard lines!

PARBURY.

Send her back to me, Colonel. Consult at once your happiness and mine by using your authority. Tell her that cook is in revolt, and that Evans is impertinent. Tell her that I only want my own way when I know I am absolutely right, as in this case. And above all, tell her that I prefer her society to that of a second-class cynic who bellows for champagne at ten o'clock in the morning.

[_Exit PARBURY, L._

GUNNING.

In regard to your son-in-law, Colonel, you have my respectful sympathy.

ARMITAGE.

A good fellow, but inconsiderate. [_He lowers his voice._] I may tell you in confidence, Gunning, that I had been looking forward to keeping a rather pleasant appointment to-night----

GUNNING.

[_Falling into the confidential manner._] Really!

ARMITAGE.

Yes, rather pleasant--rather pleasant.

[_He takes a miniature from his pocket and looks at it._

GUNNING.

[_Leaning towards him._] Might one venture to----

ARMITAGE.

[_Keeping the miniature away from him._] Oh, no, no, no, no--wouldn't be fair. Oh, no. Besides, you might know her hus--you might--er----

GUNNING.

Yes, yes, of course; one can't be too discreet.

ARMITAGE.

[_Quickly._] Not, mind you, that there's anything the whole world mightn't know, only she--er--she's not happy at home, and a quiet evening at a theatre--you understand?

GUNNING.

Quite, quite!

ARMITAGE.

Now you, my dear fellow, can do me a friendly turn.

GUNNING.

I should be delighted to, but--I don't see----

ARMITAGE.

I'll explain. My daughter wishes to see you. She seems to think that you hold the key of the situation.

GUNNING.

But I don't. I should very much object to.

ARMITAGE.

Never mind--never mind! See her and do your utmost to make it up between her and Clement.

GUNNING.

It's no business of mine.

ARMITAGE.

To put it bluntly, I shall not be able to keep my appointment to-night if I still have my daughter on my hands.

GUNNING.

That would be a pity.

ARMITAGE.

In which case my friend will be vexed--_very vexed._ I should have mentioned that on her mother's side my friend is Spanish.

GUNNING.

[_Smiling. Shakes hands._] That decides me. Where is your daughter now?

ARMITAGE.

She's there, my boy, quite close. We walked over the heath together. One moment. [_He brings a chair forward._] Would you kindly lend me your arm? [_With GUNNING'S assistance he mounts a chair, then he raises his hat on his stick._] That's the signal the coast is clear. Trust an old campaigner. There she is! I say, put that wine away! [_GUNNING puts the bottle under table up L.C., and places the glasses on table and covers them over with serviette._] It's all right! Thank you, thank you! [_As GUNNING helps him down._] Remember, my dear fellow, that I've trusted you implicitly. My happiness is in your hands. If we men didn't stand shoulder to shoulder in these little matters, society would--er--would----

GUNNING.

Crumble to dust.

ARMITAGE.

Exactly.

_Enter MRS. PARBURY, R. Advancing cautiously, she bows very stiffly to GUNNING, who takes his hat off._

GUNNING.

Good-morning, Mrs. Parbury.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Coldly._] Good-morning.

ARMITAGE.

Well, I'll leave you. There's nothing further I can do for you at present, dear?

MRS. PARBURY.

You might stay in the garden and give me a signal if Clement is coming. I have no intention of meeting him under the circumstances.

ARMITAGE.

Very well, I'll give you an unmistakable signal. "I'll sing thee songs of Araby."

[_Exit ARMITAGE, L._

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Grimly._] Well, Mr. Gunning, I hope you're satisfied with your work.

GUNNING.

My work, Mrs. Parbury--come, come!

MRS. PARBURY.

Oh, I hope you won't dispute that. Clement and I were living together in perfect harmony, in perfect happiness, until you turned up yesterday.

GUNNING.

Like a bad penny, eh?

MRS. PARBURY.

I was going to say like the snake in the garden.

GUNNING.

Better still. Our conversation doesn't open propitiously. Don't you think it would conduce to the comfort of us both if we didn't pursue it any further?

MRS. PARBURY.

Isn't that a little cowardly?

GUNNING.

I acknowledge cowardice in regard to other people's affairs.

MRS. PARBURY.

Yesterday you were a hero.

GUNNING.

Believe me, Mrs. Parbury, you are mistaken. I didn't interfere in any way.

MRS. PARBURY.

You did worse.

GUNNING.

How?

MRS. PARBURY.

You sneered.

GUNNING.

Really, Mrs. Parbury, I----

MRS. PARBURY.

You aired opinions to me--pernicious opinions. I have a right to assume that you aired the same opinions to Clement, over whom you have some sort of influence.

GUNNING.

I?

MRS. PARBURY.

Not, I think, a good influence, Mr. Gunning. I've been thinking things over since midnight. Hitherto I've been obliged to think very little of serious things. Perhaps trouble sharpens the intelligence. I've discovered that your influence over Clement is the influence of ridicule--the ridicule of the untamed for the tamed.

GUNNING.

Say of the disreputable for the respectable, if you like, Mrs. Parbury.

MRS. PARBURY.

Thank you. That quite expresses my present opinion. Of course it is in your power at least to modify it.

GUNNING.

I should be grateful if you would show me the way.

MRS. PARBURY.

You are not sincere.

GUNNING.

'Pon my word, I am. [_MRS. PARBURY raises her hand protestingly._] No, but really--I assure you, dear Mrs. Parbury--I'm not nearly such a bad fellow as you think. What can I do?

MRS. PARBURY.

Something--_anything_ to remove Miss Woodward from this house.

GUNNING.

Miss Woodward! What has she to do with your quarrel with Clement?

MRS. PARBURY.

Everything. Sit down. [_He does so. She makes sure that they are unobserved, then takes a chair next him._] Mr. Gunning, strange as it may appear after all that has occurred, I am going to trust you.

[_Lowering her voice._

GUNNING.

You are very good.

MRS. PARBURY.

That wretched girl is in love with Clement.

GUNNING.

[_Starting from his chair as if shot._] What!

MRS. PARBURY.

Sit down! Sit down!

GUNNING.

Miss Woodward is in love with----

MRS. PARBURY.

Sit down, _please,_ Mr. Gunning.

GUNNING.

[_Laughs--sitting._] No, no, no; I simply can't believe it.

MRS. PARBURY.

Why not?

GUNNING.

It seems such a monstrous absurdity.

[_Laughs._

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Drawing herself up._] I see nothing monstrously absurd in any one falling in love with my husband. I did!

GUNNING.

Oh, of course--a charming chap; but she's such an original girl.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Indignant._] You infer that I am not?

GUNNING.

Not at all, Mrs. Parbury. You are really most interesting.

MRS. PARBURY.

I don't think you are very tactful.

GUNNING.

I'm a boor--a perfect boor.

MRS. PARBURY.

You appear to take an interest in Miss Woodward.

GUNNING.

[_Confused._] Only the interest of the student. I still think you must be mistaken.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Emphatically._] I caught her in the act of kissing his photograph.

GUNNING.

You saw her-- [_Laughs._] My dear Mrs. Parbury, a day-dream!

MRS. PARBURY.

A fact. When pressed, she didn't deny it.

GUNNING.

Does Clement know?

MRS. PARBURY.

No; I thought it wise not to tell him.

GUNNING.

[_Heartily._] You were right--very right.

MRS. PARBURY.

I'm glad you think so.

GUNNING.

Some men are so weak.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Drawing herself up again._] Mr. Gunning!

GUNNING.

So easily flattered.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_With more emphasis._] Mr. Gunning!

GUNNING.

In nine cases out of ten it's vanity that leads men astray.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_With growing wrath._] Mr. Gunning, we are speaking of my husband.

GUNNING.

Yes, yes, dear old Clement has his share of vanity, of course. [_Aside._] Damn him!

[_Rises and goes L._

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Rising indignantly._] How dare you speak like that of my husband! A less vain man doesn't exist, and what small faults he has concern only him and me--and not you in any way.

GUNNING.

I beg ten thousand pardons, Mrs. Parbury. Of course you know Clement far better than I do. Please don't go.

MRS. PARBURY.

I shall certainly not remain to hear my husband abused.

GUNNING.

But I assure you----

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Crosses to L._] Clement vain indeed!

GUNNING.

No, no; a mistake. Do sit down again.

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Crosses to R.C._] You might, with advantage, look for vanity nearer home, Mr. Gunning.

MR. GUNNING.

Perfectly true, perfectly true.

[_He places her chair for her._

MRS. PARBURY.

As for the sort of weakness you were good enough to credit my husband with----

GUNNING.

Nothing but a slip of the tongue. Do sit down.

MRS. PARBURY.

No doubt you have accustomed yourself to judging other men from your own standpoint.

GUNNING.

That's it; quite true! You are always right. Won't you sit?

[_She sits. He sighs with relief, then takes a chair himself._

MRS. PARBURY.

What do you propose?

GUNNING.

I'm waiting for a suggestion from you.

MRS. PARBURY.

This brazen hussy----

GUNNING.

That expression seems to me to be unnecessarily harsh, Mrs. Parbury.

MRS. PARBURY.

Oh, of course, if you defend the girl----

GUNNING.

Pardon me, but I have an old-fashioned prejudice against speaking ill of the absent.

MRS. PARBURY.

I didn't observe it when you spoke of my husband.

GUNNING.

[_Laughing._] Fairly hit. Come, let's be practical. Miss Woodward must not remain in the house, and Clement must not know the truth. On these points we are quite agreed.

MRS. PARBURY.

Quite.

GUNNING.

Very well. I'll see Clement. I have an idea.

[_Rises._

MRS. PARBURY.

[_Rises._] You'll not tell him you've seen me.

GUNNING.

Certainly not.

MRS. PARBURY.

Remember above all, it's most important to our future happiness that Clement should be the first to give way.

GUNNING.

Oh, I'll remember that.

MRS. PARBURY.

And, Mr. Gunning, if you succeed I'll try to forget the mischief you've created, and will ask you to come and see us--[_shakes hands with him_]--occasionally.

GUNNING.

Thank you so much.

[_Voice of COLONEL ARMITAGE outside singing "I'll sing thee songs of Araby."_

MRS. PARBURY.

That's father's signal. I am going to walk on the heath. I'm far too proud to allow myself to be discovered by Clement here. He might think I want to come back.

[_Exit MRS. PARBURY, R._

[_Voice of ARMITAGE, still singing, comes nearer until he enters with PARBURY, with the words "or charm thee to a tear." Unseen by PARBURY, GUNNING points out to the COLONEL the direction in which MRS. PARBURY has gone._

ARMITAGE.

[_In a low voice, to GUNNING._] Will it be all right?

GUNNING.

I hope so.

ARMITAGE.

[_Going R._] Well, I'll finish my constitutional. I'll look in again, Clement, in the hope that you will then be able to tell me how long this extremely uncomfortable state of affairs is to last.

[_Exit ARMITAGE, R., singing until he is well off._

PARBURY.

Give me a cigarette, George.

[_GUNNING hands him a cigarette, then takes a cigarette himself. They both smoke. There is a short silence._

PARBURY.

Not a stroke of work. It's absurd!

[_Throws cigarette on ground in a rage._

GUNNING.

You are not happy?

PARBURY.

Not particularly.

GUNNING.

Then how can you expect to do imaginative work?

PARBURY.

Quite so!

GUNNING.

I'm afraid you've made a mistake, old chap.

PARBURY.

Eh?

GUNNING.

You know I'm your friend.

PARBURY.

Of course.

GUNNING.

Apart from all chaff.

PARBURY.

Yes, yes.

GUNNING.

Well, you've gone too far.

PARBURY.

[_Looks at him._] You think so?

GUNNING.

Yes. By a petulant discontent you've precipitated an awkward crisis.

PARBURY.

You see it now in that light.

GUNNING.

Yes. I've been thinking things over, Clement. [_Sits on front of table, C._] After all, the love of a good woman is a priceless possession.

PARBURY.

You appear to have dropped into the platitudinous.

GUNNING.

[_With much gravity._] Don't jest, old man, over so sacred a thing.

PARBURY.

[_After eyeing GUNNING keenly for a moment._] You have changed your views since yesterday.

GUNNING.

Only the unimaginative never change their views.

PARBURY.

You think, then, I've been wrong?

GUNNING.

Very!

PARBURY.

I should have gone on putting up with the existing conditions?

GUNNING.

They might have been worse.

PARBURY.

Submitting to the old tyranny?

GUNNING.

A wholesome discipline, believe me.

PARBURY.

What of our spoilt yachting cruise?

GUNNING.

I ought never to have proposed it. Think what a loving wife must suffer under the circumstances--lying awake at night listening to the wind howling in the chimneys and sobbing in the trees. It doesn't bear thinking of.

PARBURY.

Quite so--quite so! And about our dear old friends whom I was obliged to drop. You may remember you made some very strong comments on my weakness yesterday.

GUNNING.

I was hasty. I admit it.

PARBURY.

Wybrow, for instance--an awful good chap.

GUNNING.

A tavern wit--a Johnsonian spirit--eminently out of place on the domestic hearth.

PARBURY.

Well, take Carson--one of the best.

GUNNING.

Foolishly married a woman your wife couldn't get on with. You admitted it.

PARBURY.

But Burleigh--a truly great spirit--your own words.

GUNNING.

Burleigh? It isn't because a man gives you a watch that you need thrust him down your wife's throat, is it?

PARBURY.

What an old fraud you are, George!

GUNNING.

Not at all. One sees things more clearly in the morning.

PARBURY.

Well, since you've resigned your attitude of nonintervention, what do you advise?

GUNNING.

Discreet surrender.

PARBURY.

I'm to send for my wife?

GUNNING.

Exactly.

PARBURY.

Unconditionally?

GUNNING.

Of course. Why impose conditions on a weak, loving, trusting woman? [_Going to him._] Damn it all, old man, show a little heart.

PARBURY.

You know it means the sacrifice of my secretary?

GUNNING.

Well?

PARBURY.

Well?

GUNNING.

[_A little embarrassed; he drops his cigarette and places his foot on it._] It's obvious that Miss Woodward can't stay on here in your wife's absence.

PARBURY.

I've thought of that.

GUNNING.

You heard what Evans said. The servants are talking already--and if the servants are talking this morning the neighbours will be talking this afternoon, and the entire north-west of London by the evening.

PARBURY.

Quite true--quite true!

GUNNING.

I suppose you don't wish to compromise the girl?

PARBURY.

Certainly not--certainly not! [_He goes slowly over to GUNNING, and looks him in the face, smiling._] And so that's your secret.

GUNNING.

What do you mean?

PARBURY.

All this solicitude for my happiness--this sudden change of your point of view--this miraculous conversion of the cynic into the peacemaker--all inspired by a pair of blue eyes. An arrow from Cupid's bow has winged its way into this wooden heart--[_Tapping GUNNING'S chest_]--and "Earth has won her child again," as Goethe puts it.

GUNNING.

Don't talk rot!

PARBURY.

Don't be offended. I like it. It pleases me. Think of it! One dull evening in a suburban home, one morning's encounter in a rose-garden, and the thing's done--the sage melts into the man, the onlooker into the soldier. I tell you I like it. It's so natural, so human--so splendidly unlike you. Let me help. What can I do? She's coming here now with some letters for me to sign. "Were it ever so airy a tread, your heart would hear her and beat." Isn't it so? Shall I speak to her for you? Better still, shall I leave you alone together?

GUNNING.

[_Fixing his hat on more firmly and taking his stick._] I'm going. You bore me.

_Enter MISS WOODWARD, L. She carries some typewritten letters and pen and ink. She goes to the table and stands waiting for PARBURY._

PARBURY.

One moment, old man. [_He looks in GUNNING'S face, then speaks in a lower voice._] Don't let it pass unrecorded. You have permitted yourself a blush.

GUNNING.

[_Trying to pass him._] Don't be an idiot.

PARBURY.

[_Restraining him._] It's a beautiful, touching truth. The philosopher--the man who has gained perspective--the student who sits perched on a lofty ledge and looks down pityingly on the rest of us, is actually blushing--blushing a poor, simple, human blush!

[_Laughs loudly._

GUNNING.

Go to the devil!

[_Exit GUNNING, R._

PARBURY.

[_Turning to MISS WOODWARD. He goes to her._] Forgive my laughter, Miss Woodward, but it isn't often one surprises a philosopher in a blush. Now, let us see! [_He sits and takes the letters. MISS WOODWARD remains standing by him. He reads. Interrupting himself after a moment, he laughs slightly._] Dear old George! [_He continues reading, then signs the letter. He looks over another and says "Excellent!" and signs it. Then he quickly signs the other letters, sits back in his chair, and says_] Thank you! [_MISS WOODWARD gathers up the letters._] I'm afraid that's all the work I can do to-day. I'd like to have gone on with the novel, but it seems the mood won't come.

MISS WOODWARD.

I'm very sorry.

PARBURY.

The day is out of joint.

MISS WOODWARD.

I wish I could do something.

PARBURY.

No, no, don't you trouble. It'll all come right presently. By the way, what a good fellow Gunning is!

MISS WOODWARD.

Is he?

PARBURY.

Don't you think so?

[_Looking at her._

MISS WOODWARD.

I've seen so little of him; but I'm sure he must be if you think so.

[_She is going, L._

PARBURY.

Wait one moment, Miss Woodward. I know there was something else I wanted to say to you. [_She comes back._] [_He rises and paces stage thoughtfully._] Oh, yes; I know! I'm afraid my domestic complications have made things a little uncomfortable for you here.

MISS WOODWARD.

[_Astonished, drops the letters on the table._] I don't--don't understand.

PARBURY.

I mean that you probably feel it rather awkward to actually live--night and day in the house in my wife's absence?

MISS WOODWARD.

[_Blankly._] Oh, yes, yes; quite I suppose.

PARBURY.

[_Not looking at her._] I don't know much about these matters; but I do know that you women are very sensitive, and apt to worry about what people might say.

MISS WOODWARD.

[_In the same manner as before._] Yes--of course.

PARBURY.

I thought so. Well, it has occurred to me that perhaps under present circumstances it would be better if----

MISS WOODWARD.

You mean for me to go away.

PARBURY.

Yes.

[_Pause._

MISS WOODWARD.

[_In a low voice._] If I had been wiser I would have expected it.

PARBURY.

I mean, of course, to sleep only. Mrs. Howlands at Parkhurst House just down here lets some of her rooms I know, and probably she has a vacant bedroom now. I'll send down presently and see what can be done. In fact, I'll send Evans now.

[_Is about to go L._

MISS WOODWARD.

Mr. Parbury!

PARBURY.

[_Stopping._] Yes.

MISS WOODWARD.

Don't send, please.

PARBURY.

Oh, I see; you would rather go yourself.

MISS WOODWARD.

I would rather go altogether.

PARBURY.

[_Amazed._] You would rather go altogether!

MISS WOODWARD.

I mean I _will_ go altogether.

PARBURY.

Miss Woodward, what is this for? What have I done?

MISS WOODWARD.

Nothing that hasn't been perfect kindness to me.

PARBURY.

Then why wish to go now? I know I can't expect to have you always, because you will some day get married.

MISS WOODWARD.

I shall never get married.

PARBURY.

Nonsense! Of course you will, and the man who gets you will, in my opinion, be a very lucky fellow; but until that day I certainly looked forward to having the benefit of your services.

MISS WOODWARD.

I'm sorry if I disappoint you. Please forgive me and let me go.

PARBURY.

But really, Miss Woodward, I must beg for some sort of explanation. Last night you acknowledged you were perfectly satisfied. You wished to remain.

MISS WOODWARD.

You have unconsciously shown me to-day that I was wrong.

PARBURY.

Indeed! I would be glad to know how. Oh, how weary one gets of mysteries! [_MISS WOODWARD'S head droops lower._] [_He walks the stage, then looks at MISS WOODWARD and pauses; he goes to her and speaks more gently._] I beg your pardon, I fear I spoke impatiently. Do understand that I only wish for your own good. I admit in our relations I've hitherto been rather selfish. I'm afraid writing men are prone to be so. I've allowed you to study my wishes and feelings and nerves all the time, without giving any thought to yours. I'll try to be more considerate in the future if you'll only regard me as an elder brother and tell me what is troubling you now.

MISS WOODWARD.

I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm ashamed that you should worry about me at all.

PARBURY.

Is it anything to do with Mr. Gunning?

MISS WOODWARD.

Nothing at all. How could it be?

PARBURY.

Miss Woodward, I don't like to press you, but this general cloud of mystery is seriously affecting my nerves. At least tell me--I make it a personal favour--the cause of the quarrel between my wife and you.

MISS WOODWARD.

It's impossible! Mrs. Parbury may tell you after I've gone. I'd rather you despised me then than now.

PARBURY.

[_Wonderingly._] Despise you?

[_Their eyes meet. Pause._

MISS WOODWARD.

[_Passionately._] Please don't--don't even try to guess.

PARBURY.

[_The light breaking in on him slowly._] I think I understand.

[_MISS WOODWARD turns up stage and stands with head bowed, her back to the audience. There is a long pause. At first PARBURY doesn't appear ill-pleased. He looks down at the rose in his buttonhole, and begins to raise it half-tenderly to his face. Then his face becomes grave, and he slowly removes the flower from his coat, and places it on the table against which MISS WOODWARD is standing. He takes one of her hands._

PARBURY.

I don't ask anything--I don't guess anything, my dear child--my little sister. I was wrong to press you to tell me your trouble; for what could a hardened, rough-natured man do with the secrets of a young girl's heart?

MISS WOODWARD.

Don't speak like that; only say that I may go.

PARBURY.

Yes.

[_Goes up C._

MISS WOODWARD.

Thank you.

[_Sees the rose where he has placed it. After a slight pause she takes it up. During the following, she slowly picks it to pieces, dropping the petals on the ground._

PARBURY.

[_Coming down to back of table and speaking very gently._] I suppose there must soon come a time to every girl of heart who goes out alone into the world--a time when life seems to press hardly upon her and weariness of the unaccustomed stress makes her heart falter, and when she longs to take rest for a time in the old childhood, in the home she perhaps once thought to be dull and dreary, in the mother's arms that have always been ready to open with love for her.

MISS WOODWARD.

Don't!

[_Sinks into chair, R.C.; buries her face in her hands._

PARBURY.

Perhaps you feel that that time has come now. If so, go home for a little while, and get rest and fresh strength for the battle of life. Come back to the fight soon. You are bound to succeed, because you have talent and ambition and courage. [_Slight pause. He takes her hand._] Don't cry. There is nothing you have lost or suffered yet quite worth a tear--

_Enter MRS. PARBURY, R., GUNNING, and ARMITAGE._

--nothing quite worth a tear. [_He is bending towards her._]

[_MRS. PARBURY, who is slightly in advance of ARMITAGE and GUNNING, stops near MISS WOODWARD and PARBURY, brought up short by seeing their intimate position. PARBURY draws back from MISS WOODWARD, who remains upright and motionless. GUNNING and ARMITAGE, who exchange glances, remain L. MISS WOODWARD crosses L. to go._

MRS. PARBURY.

[_In a low voice, speaking slowly, with deep emotion._] I suppose--I have still a right to ask--for some explanation?

PARBURY.

Of what, dear?

MRS. PARBURY.

Of this familiarity.

PARBURY.

You shouldn't mistake sympathy for familiarity. I was only giving Miss Woodward some advice about her affairs.

MRS. PARBURY.

What affairs?

PARBURY.

I said _her_ affairs, dear, not ours.

MRS. PARBURY.

If that is all the explanation----

[_Turns away L._

MISS WOODWARD.

Mr. Parbury very kindly and very properly advised me to go home for a time--[_She comes down to MRS. PARBURY and speaks to her alone_]--and I--I descended to your level--I cried!

_Quick Curtain._

END OF ACT III.