Part 7

MR. VOYSEY. Well, as it was my wish that my son should do the design, I suppose in the end I shall have to send you a cheque.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Anonymously.

MR. COLPUS. Oh, that would be--

MR. VOYSEY. No, why should I? Here, George Booth, you shall halve it with me.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I'm damned if I do.

MR. COLPUS. [_proceeding, conveniently deaf._] You remember that at the meeting we had of the parents and friends to decide on the positions of the names of the poor fellows and the regiments and coats of arms and so on . . when Hugh said so violently that he disapproved of the war and made all those remarks about land-lords and Bibles and said he thought of putting in a figure of Britannia blushing for shame or something . . I'm beginning to fear that may have created a bad impression.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Why should they mind . . what on earth does Hugh know about war? He couldn't tell a battery horse from a bandsman. I don't pretend to criticise art. I think the window'd be very pretty if it wasn't so broken up into bits.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_fortified by his "damned" and his last glass of port._] These young men are so ready with their disapproval. Criticism starts in the cradle nowadays. When I was young, people weren't always questioning this and questioning that.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Lack of discipline.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_hurrying on._] The way a man now even stops to think what he's eating and drinking. And in religious matters . . Vicar, I put it to you . . there's no uniformity at all.

MR. COLPUS. Ah . . I try to keep myself free from the disturbing influences of modern thought.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Young men must be forming their own opinions about this and their opinions about that. You know, Edward, you're worse even than Hugh is.

EDWARD. [_glancing up mildly at this sudden attack._] What have I done, Mr. Booth?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_not the readiest of men._] Well . . aren't you one of those young men who go about the world making difficulties?

EDWARD. What sort of difficulties?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_triumphantly._] Just so . . I never can make out. Surely when you're young you can ask the advice of your elders and when you grow up you find Laws . . lots of laws divine and human laid down for our guidance. [_Well in possession of the conversation he spreads his little self._] I look back over a fairly long life and . . perhaps I should say by Heaven's help . . I find nothing that I can honestly reproach myself with. And yet I don't think I ever took more than five minutes to come to a decision upon any important point. One's private life is, I think, one's own affair . . I should allow no one to pry into that. But as to worldly things . . well, I have come into several sums of money and my capital is still intact . . ask your father. [MR. VOYSEY _nods gravely_.] I've never robbed any man. I've never lied over anything that mattered. As a citizen I pay my taxes without grumbling very much. Yes, and I sent conscience money too upon one occasion. I consider that any man who takes the trouble can live the life of a gentleman. [_and he finds that his cigar is out._]

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_not to be outdone by this display of virtue._] Well, I'm not a conceited man, but--

TREGONING. Are you sure, Booth?

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Shut up. I was going to say when my young cub of a brother-in-law-to-be interrupted me, that =Training=, for which we all have to be thankful to you, Sir, has much to do with it. [_suddenly he pulls his trousers against his legs._] I say, I'm scorching! D'you want another cigar, Denis?

TREGONING. No, thank you.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. I do.

_And he glances round, but_ TREGONING _sees a box on the table and reaches it. The Vicar gets up._

MR. COLPUS. M-m-m-must be taking my departure.

MR. VOYSEY. Already!

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_frowning upon the cigar box._] No, not those. Where are the Ramon Allones? What on earth has Honor done with them?

MR. VOYSEY. Spare time for a chat with Mrs. Voysey before you go. She has ideas about a children's tea fight.

MR. COLPUS. Certainly I will.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_scowling helplessly around._] My goodness! . . one can never find anything in this house.

MR. COLPUS. I won't say good-bye then.

_He is sliding through the half opened door when_ ETHEL _meets him flinging it wide. She is the younger daughter, the baby of the family, but twenty-three now._

MR. VOYSEY. I say, it's cold again to-night! An ass of an architect who built this place . . such a draught between these two doors.

_He gets up to draw the curtain. When he turns_ COLPUS _has disappeared, while_ ETHEL _has been followed into the room by_ ALICE MAITLAND, _who shuts the door after her_. MISS ALICE MAITLAND _is a young lady of any age to thirty. Nor need her appearance alter for the next fifteen years; since her nature is healthy and well-balanced. She possesses indeed the sort of athletic chastity which is a characteristic charm of Northern spinsterhood. It mayn't be a pretty face, but it has alertness and humour; and the resolute eyes and eyebrows are a more innocent edition of_ MR. VOYSEY'S, _who is her uncle_. ETHEL _goes straight to her father_ [_though her glance is on_ DENIS _and his on her_] _and chirps, birdlike, in her spoiled-child way_.

ETHEL. We think you've stayed in here quite long enough.

MR. VOYSEY. That's to say, Ethel thinks Denis has been kept out of her pocket much too long.

ETHEL. Ethel wants billiards . . not proper billiards . . snooker or something. Oh, Papa, what a dessert you've eaten. Greedy pig!

ALICE _is standing behind_ EDWARD, _considering his hair-parting apparently_.

ALICE. Crack me a filbert, please, Edward . . I had none.

EDWARD. [_jumping up, rather formally, well-mannered._] I beg your pardon, Alice. Won't you sit down?

ALICE. No.

MR. VOYSEY. [_taking_ ETHEL _on his knee_.] Come here, puss. Have you made up your mind yet what you want for a wedding present?

ETHEL. [_rectifying a stray hair in his beard._] After mature consideration, I decide on a cheque.

MR. VOYSEY. Do you!

ETHEL. Yes, I think that a cheque will give most scope to your generosity. Of course, if you desire to add any trimmings in the shape of a piano or a Turkey carpet you may . . and Denis and I will be very grateful. But I think I'd let yourself go over a cheque.

MR. VOYSEY. You're a minx.

ETHEL. What is the use of having money if you don't spend it on me?

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_giving up the cigar search._] Here, who's going to play?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_pathetically as he gets up._] Well, if my wrist will hold out . .

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_To_ TREGONING.] No, don't you bother to look for them. [_He strides from the room, his voice echoing through the hall._] Honor, where are those Ramon Allones?

ALICE. [_calling after._] She's in the drawing-room with Auntie and Mr. Colpus.

MR. VOYSEY. Now I should suggest that you and Denis go and take off the billiard table cover. You'll find folding it up is a very excellent amusement.

_He illustrates his meaning with his table napkin and by putting together the tips of his forefingers, roguishly._

ETHEL. I am not going to blush. I do kiss Denis . . occasionally . . when he asks me.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_teasing her._] You are blushing.

ETHEL. I am not. If you think we're ashamed of being in love, we're not, we're very proud of it. We will go and take off the billiard table cover and fold it up . . and then you can come in and play. Denis, my dear, come along solemnly and if you flinch I'll never forgive you. [_she marches off and reaches the door before her defiant dignity breaks down; then suddenly_--] Denis, I'll race you.

_And she flashes out._ DENIS, _loyal, but with no histrionic instincts, follows her rather sheepishly_.

DENIS. Ethel, I can't after dinner.

MR. VOYSEY. Women play that game better than men. A man shuffles through courtship with one eye on her relations.

_The Major comes stalking back, followed in a fearful flurry by his elder sister_, HONOR. _Poor_ HONOR [_her female friends are apt to refer to her as Poor_ HONOR] _is a phenomenon common to most large families. From her earliest years she has been bottle washer to her brothers. While they were expensively educated she was grudged schooling; her highest accomplishment was meant to be mending their clothes. Her fate is a curious survival of the intolerance of parents towards her sex until the vanity of their hunger for sons had been satisfied. In a less humane society she would have been exposed at birth. But if a very general though patronising affection, accompanied by no consideration at all, can bestow happiness_, HONOR _is not unhappy in her survival. At this moment, however, her life is a burden._

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Honor, they are not in the dining-room.

HONOR. But they must be!--Where else can they be?

_She has a habit of accentuating one word in each sentence and often the wrong one._

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. That's what you ought to know.

MR. VOYSEY. [_as he moves towards the door._] Well . . will you have a game?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I'll play you fifty up, not more. I'm getting old.

MR. VOYSEY. [_stopping at a dessert dish._] Yes, these are good apples of Bearman's. I think six of my trees are spoilt this year.

HONOR. Here you are, Booth.

_She triumphantly discovers the discarded box, at which the Major becomes pathetic with indignation._

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Oh, Honor, don't be such a fool. These are what we've been smoking. I want the Ramon Allones.

HONOR. I don't know the difference.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. No, you don't, but you might learn.

MR. VOYSEY. [_in a voice like the crack of a very fine whip._] Booth.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_subduedly._] What is it, sir?

MR. VOYSEY. Look for your cigars yourself. Honor, go back to your reading and your sewing or whatever you were fiddling at, and fiddle in peace.

MR. VOYSEY _departs, leaving the room rather hushed_. MR. BOOTH _has not waited for this parental display. Then_ ALICE _insinuates a remark very softly_.

ALICE. Have you looked in the Library?

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_relapsing to an injured mutter._] Where's Emily?

HONOR. Upstairs with little Henry, he woke up and cried.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Letting her wear herself to rags over the child . . !

HONOR. Well, she won't let me go.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Why don't you stop looking for those cigars?

HONOR. If you don't mind, I want a reel of blue silk now I'm here.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. I daresay they are in the Library. What a house!

_He departs._

HONOR. Booth is so trying.

ALICE. Honor, why do you put up with it?

HONOR. Someone has to.

ALICE. [_discreetly nibbling a nut, which_ EDWARD _has cracked for her_.] I'm afraid I think Master Major Booth ought to have been taken in hand early . . with a cane.

HONOR. [_as she vaguely burrows into corners._] Papa did. But it's never prevented him booming at us . . oh, ever since he was a baby. Now he's flustered me so I simply can't think where this blue silk is.

ALICE. All the Pettifers desired to be remembered to you, Edward.

HONOR. I must do without it. [_but she goes on looking._] I think, Alice, that we're a very difficult family . . except perhaps Edward.

EDWARD. Why except me?

HONOR. [_Who has only excepted out of politeness to present company._] Well, you may be difficult . . to yourself. [_Then she starts to go, threading her way through the disarranged chairs._] Mr. Colpus will shout so loud at Mother and she hates people to think she's so very deaf. I thought Mary Pettifer looking old . . [_and she talks herself out of the room._]

ALICE. [_after her._] She's getting old.

_Now_ ALICE _does sit down; as if she'd be glad of her tete-a-tete_.

ALICE. I was glad not to spend August abroad for once. We drove into Cheltenham to a dance . . carpet. I golfed a lot.

EDWARD. How long were you with them?

ALICE. Not a fortnight. It doesn't seem three months since I was here, does it?

EDWARD. I'm down so very little.

ALICE. I'm here a disgraceful deal.

EDWARD. You know they're always pleased.

ALICE. Well, being a homeless person! But what a cart-load to descend all at once . . yesterday and to-day. The Major and Emily . . Emily's not at all well. Hugh and Mrs. Hugh. And me. Are you staying?

EDWARD. No. I must get a word with my father . .

ALICE. A business life is not healthy for you, Edward. You look more like half-baked pie-crust than usual.

EDWARD. [_a little enviously._] You're very well.

ALICE. I'm always well and nearly always happy.

MAJOR BOOTH _returns. He has the right sort of cigar in his mouth and is considerably mollified._

ALICE. You found them?

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Of course, they were there. Thank you very much, Alice. Now I want a knife.

ALICE. I must present you with a cigar-cutter, Booth.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. I hate 'em. [_he eyes the dessert disparagingly._] Nothing but silver ones.

EDWARD _hands him a carefully opened pocket knife_.

Thank you, Edward. And I must take one of the candles. Something's gone wrong with the library ventilator and you never can see a thing in that room.

ALICE. Is Mrs. Hugh there?

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Writing letters. Things are neglected, Edward, unless one is constantly on the look out. The Pater only cares for his garden. I must speak seriously to Honor.

_He has returned the knife, still open, and now having lit his cigar at the candle he carries this off._

ALICE. Honor has the patience of a . . of an old maid.

EDWARD. Her mission in life isn't a pleasant one. [_He gives her a nut, about the fifteenth._] Here; 'scuse fingers.

ALICE. Thank you. [_looking at him, with her head on one side and her face more humorous than ever._] Edward, why have you given up proposing to me?

_He starts, flushes; then won't be outdone in humour._

EDWARD. One can't go on proposing for ever.

ALICE. [_reasonably._] Why not? Have you seen anyone you like better?

EDWARD. No.

ALICE. Well . . I miss it.

EDWARD. What satisfaction did you find in refusing me?

ALICE. [_as she weighs the matter._] I find satisfaction in feeling that I'm wanted.

EDWARD. Without any intention of giving yourself . . throwing yourself away.

ALICE. [_teasing his sudden earnestness._] Ah, now you come from mere vanity to serious questions.

EDWARD. Mine were always serious questions to you.

ALICE. That's a fault I find in you, Edward; all questions are serious to you. I call you a perfect little pocket-guide to life . . all questions and answers; what to eat, drink and avoid, what to believe and what to say . . all in the same type, the same importance attached to each.

EDWARD. [_sententiously._] Well . . everything matters.

ALICE. [_making a face._] D'you plan out every detail of your life . . every step you take . . every mouthful?

EDWARD. That would be waste of thought. One must lay down principles.

ALICE. I prefer my plan, I always do what I know I want to do. Crack me another nut.

EDWARD. Haven't you had enough?

ALICE. I =know= I want one more.

_He cracks another, with a sigh which sounds ridiculous in that connection._

EDWARD. Well, if you've never had to decide anything very serious . .

ALICE. [_With great gravity._] Everything's serious.

EDWARD. Everything isn't vital.

ALICE. [_skilfully manoeuvring the subject._] I've answered vital questions. I knew that I didn't want to marry you . . each time.

EDWARD. Oh, then you didn't just make a rule of saying no.

ALICE. As you proposed . . on principle? No, I always gave you a fair chance. I'll give you one now if you like.

_He rouses himself to play up to this outrageous piece of flirting._

EDWARD. I'm not to be caught.

ALICE. Edward, how rude you are. [_She eats her nut contentedly._]

EDWARD. Do other men propose to you?

ALICE. Such a thing may have happened . . when I was young. Perhaps it might even now if I were to allow it.

EDWARD. You encourage me shamelessly.

ALICE. It isn't everyone who proposes on principle. As a rule a man does it because he can't help himself. And then to be said no to . . hurts.

_They are interrupted by the sudden appearance of_ MRS. HUGH VOYSEY, _a brisk, bright little woman, in an evening gown, which she has bullied a cheap dressmaker into making look exceedingly smart_. BEATRICE _is as hard as nails and as clever as paint. But if she keeps her feelings buried pretty deep it is because they are precious to her; and if she is impatient with fools it is because her own brains have had to win her everything in the world, so perhaps she does overvalue them a little. She speaks always with great decision and little effort._

BEATRICE. I believe I could write important business letters upon an island in the middle of Fleet Street. But while Booth is poking at a ventilator with a billiard cue . . no, I can't.

_She goes to the fireplace, waving her half finished letter._

ALICE. [_soothingly._] Didn't you expect Hugh back to dinner?

BEATRICE. Not specially. . He went to rout out some things from his studio. He'll come back in a filthy mess.

ALICE. Now if you listen . . Booth doesn't enjoy making a fuss by himself . . you'll hear him rout out Honor.

_They listen. But what happens is that_ BOOTH _appears at the door, billiard cue in hand, and says solemnly_ . .

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Edward, I wish you'd come and have a look at this ventilator, like a good fellow.

_Then he turns and goes again, obviously with the weight of an important matter on his shoulders. With the ghost of a smile_ EDWARD _gets up and follows him_.

ALICE. If I belonged to this family I should hate Booth.

_With which comment she joins_ BEATRICE _at the fireplace_.

BEATRICE. A good day's shopping?

ALICE. 'M. The baby bride and I bought clothes all the morning. Then we had lunch with Denis and bought furniture.

BEATRICE. Nice furniture?

ALICE. It'll be very good and very new. They neither of them know what they want. [_Then suddenly throwing up her chin and exclaiming._] When it's a question of money I can understand it . . but if one can provide for oneself or is independent why get married! Especially having been brought up on the sheltered life principle . . one may as well make the most of its advantages . . one doesn't go falling in love all over the place as men seem to . . most of them. Of course with Ethel and Denis it's different. They've both been caught young. They're two little birds building their nests and it's all ideal. They'll soon forget they've ever been apart.

_Now_ HONOR _flutters into the room, patient but wild eyed_.

HONOR. Mother wants last week's Notes and Queries. Have you seen it?

BEATRICE. [_exasperated at the interruption._] No.

HONOR. It ought not to be in here. [_so she proceeds to look for it._] She's having a long argument with Mr. Colpus over Oliver Cromwell's relations.

ALICE. [_her eyes twinkling._] I thought Auntie didn't approve of Oliver Cromwell.

HONOR. She doesn't and she's trying to prove that he was a brewer or something. I suppose someone has taken it away.

_So she gives up the search and flutters out again._

ALICE. This is a most unrestful house.

BEATRICE. I once thought of putting the Voyseys into a book of mine. Then I concluded they'd be as dull there as they are anywhere else.

ALICE. They're not duller than most other people.

BEATRICE. But how very dull that is!

ALICE. They're a little noisier and perhaps not quite so well mannered. But I love them.

BEATRICE. I don't. I should have thought Love was just what they couldn't inspire.

ALICE. Of course, Hugh is unlike any of the others.

BEATRICE. He has most of their bad points. I don't love Hugh.

ALICE. [_her eyebrows up, though she smiles._] Beatrice, you shouldn't say so.

BEATRICE. It sounds affected, doesn't it? Never mind; when he dies I'll wear mourning . . but not weeds; I bargained against that when we were engaged.

ALICE. [_her face growing a little thoughtful._] Beatrice, I'm going to ask questions. You were in love with Hugh when you married him?

BEATRICE. Well . . I married him for his money.

ALICE. He hadn't much.

BEATRICE. I had none . . and I wanted to write books. Yes, I loved him.

ALICE. And you thought you'd be happy?

BEATRICE. [_considering carefully._] No, I didn't. I hoped he'd be happy.

ALICE. [_a little ironical._] Did you think your writing books would make him so?

BEATRICE. My dear Alice, wouldn't you feel it a very degrading thing to have your happiness depend upon somebody else?

ALICE. [_after pausing to find her phrase._] There's a joy of service.

BEATRICE. [_ironical herself now._] I forgot . . you've four hundred a year?

ALICE. What has that to do with it?

BEATRICE. [_putting her case very precisely._] I've had to earn my own living, consequently there isn't one thing in my life that I have ever done quite genuinely for its own sake . . but always with an eye towards bread-and-butter, pandering to the people who were to give me that. Happiness has been my only independence.

_The conservatory door opens and through it come_ MR. VOYSEY _and_ MR. BOOTH _in the midst of a discussion_.

MR. VOYSEY. Very well, man, stick to the shares and risk it.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. No, of course, if you seriously advise me--

MR. VOYSEY. I never advise greedy children; I let 'em overeat 'emselves and take the consequences--

ALICE. [_shaking a finger._] Uncle Trench, you've been in the garden without a hat after playing billiards in that hot room.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. We had to give up . . my wrist was bad. They've started pool.

BEATRICE. Is Booth going to play?

MR. VOYSEY. We left him instructing Ethel how to hold a cue.

BEATRICE. Perhaps I can finish my letter.

_Off she goes._ ALICE _is idly following with a little paper her hand has fallen on behind the clock_.

MR. VOYSEY. Don't run away, my dear.

ALICE. I'm taking this to Auntie . . Notes and Queries . . she wants it.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Damn . . this gravel's stuck to my shoe.

MR. VOYSEY. That's a new made path.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Now don't you think it's too early to have put in those plants?

MR. VOYSEY. No, we're getting frost at night already.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I should have kept that bed a good ten feet further from the tree.

MR. VOYSEY. Nonsense, the tree's to the north of it. This room's cold. Why don't they keep the fire up! [_He proceeds to put coals on it._]

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. You were too hot in that billiard room. You know, Voysey . . about those Alguazils?

MR. VOYSEY. [_through the rattling of the coals._] What?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_trying to pierce the din._] Those Alguazils.

MR. VOYSEY _with surprising inconsequence points a finger at the silk handkerchief across_ MR. BOOTH'S _shirt front_.

MR. VOYSEY. What d'you put your handkerchief there for?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Measure of precau--[_at that moment he sneezes._] Damn it . . if you've given me a chill dragging me round your infernal garden--

MR. VOYSEY. [_slapping him on the back._] You're an old crock.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Well, I'll be glad of this winter in Egypt. [_He returns to his subject._] And if you think seriously, that I ought to sell out of the Alguazils before I go . . ? [_He looks with childlike enquiry at his friend, who is apparently yawning slightly._] Why can't you take them in charge? . . and I'll give you a power of attorney or whatever it is . . and you can sell out if things look bad.

_At this moment_ PHOEBE, _the middle aged parlour-maid comes in, tray in hand. Like an expert fisherman_ MR. VOYSEY _once more lets loose the thread of the conversation_.

MR. VOYSEY. D'you want to clear?

PHOEBE. It doesn't matter, sir.

MR. VOYSEY. No, go on . . go on.

_So_ MARY, _the young housemaid, comes in as well, and the two start to clear the table. All of which fidgets poor_ MR. BOOTH _considerably. He sits shrivelled up in the armchair by the fire; and now_ MR. VOYSEY _attends to him_.

MR. VOYSEY. What d'you want with high interest at all . . you never spend half your income?