DATE—1844.

Scene.—The Garden of a pretty Country Villa, The house is new, and the garden shows signs of having been recently laid out; the shrubs are small, and the few trees about are moderate in size; small creepers are trained against the house; an open country in the distance; a little bridge over a stream forms the entrance to the garden.

Wilcox is discovered seated on edge of garden wheelbarrow, preparing his “bass” for tying up plants; he rises and comes down with sycamore sapling in his hand; it is carefully done up in matting, and has a direction label attached to it.

Wil. (reading the label). “For Miss Northcott, with Mr. Spreadbrow’s kindest regards.” “Acer Pseudo Platanus.” Ay, Ay! sycamore, I suppose, though it ain’t genteel to say so. Humph! sycamores are common enough in these parts; there ain’t no call, as I can see, to send a hundred and twenty mile for one. Ah, Mr. Spreadbrow, no go—no go; it ain’t to be done with “Acer Pseudo Platanuses.” Miss Jenny’s sent better men nor you about their business afore this, and as you’re agoin’ about your’n of your own free will to-night, and a good long way too, why I says, no go, no go! If I know Miss Jenny, she’s a good long job, and you’ve set down looking at your work too long; and now that it’s come to going, you’ll need to hurry it; and Miss Jenny ain’t a job to be hurried over, bless her. Take another three months, and I don’t say there mightn’t be a chance for you; but it’ll take all that—ah, thank goodness, it’ll take all that!

Enter Jenny from behind the house, prepared for gardening.

Jen. Well, Wilcox, what have you got there? (He touches his forehead and gives her the sycamore.) Not my sycamore?

Wil. Yes, miss; Mr. Spreadbrow left it last night as the mail passed.

Jen. Then he’s returned already? Why, he was not expected for a week, at least.

Wil. He returned quite sudden last night, and left this here plant, with a message that he would call at twelve o’clock to-day, miss.

Jen. I shall be very glad to see him. So this is really a shoot of the dear old tree!

Wil. Come all the way from Lunnon, too. There’s lots of ’em hereabouts, miss; I could ha’ got you a armful for the asking.

Jen. Yes, I dare say; but this comes from the dear old house at Hampstead.

Wil. Do it, now?

Jen. You remember the old sycamore on the lawn where Mr. Spreadbrow and I used to sit and learn our lessons years ago?—well, this is a piece of it. And as Mr. Spreadbrow was going to London, I asked him to be so kind as to call, and tell the new people, with his compliments, that he wanted to cut a shoot from it for a young lady who had a very pleasant recollection of many very happy hours spent under it. It was an awkward thing for a nervous young gentleman to do, and it’s very kind of him to have done it. (Gives back the plant, which he places against upper porch of house.) So he’s coming this morning?

Wil. Yes, miss, to say good-bye.

Jen. (busies herself at stand of flowers). Good-bye! “How d’ye do?” you mean.

Wil. No, miss, good-bye. I hear Mr. Spreadbrow’s off to Ingy.

Jen. Yes; I believe he is going soon.

Wil. Soon? Ah, soon enough! He joins his ship at Southampton to-night—so he left word yesterday.

Jen. To-night? No; not for some weeks yet? (Alarmed.)

Wil. To-night, miss. I had it from his own lips, and he’s coming to-day to say good-bye.

Jen. (aside). To-night!

Wil. And a good job too, say I, though he’s a nice young gentleman too.

Jen. I don’t see that it’s a good job.

Wil. I don’t want no young gentleman hanging about here, miss. I know what they comes arter;—they comes arter the flowers.

Jen. The flowers? What nonsense!

Wil. No, it ain’t nonsense. The world’s a haphazard garden where common vegetables like me, and hardy annuals like my boys, and sour crabs like my old ’ooman, and pretty delicate flowers like you and your sisters grow side by side. It’s the flowers they come arter.

Jen. Really, Wilcox, if papa don’t object I don’t see what you have to do with it.

Wil. No, your pa don’t object; but I can’t make your pa out, miss. Walk off with one of his tuppenny toolips and he’s your enemy for life. Walk off with one of his darters and he settles three hundred a year on you. Tell ’ee what, miss; if I’d a family of grown gals like you, I’d stick a conservatory label on each of them—“Please not to touch the specimens!”—and I’d take jolly good care they didn’t.

Jen. At all events, if Mr. Spreadbrow is going away to-night, you need not be alarmed on my account. I am a flower that is not picked in a minute.

Wil. Well said, miss! And as he is going, and as you won’t see him no more, I don’t mind saying that a better-spoken young gentleman I don’t know. A good, honest, straightfor’ard young chap he is—looks you full in the face with eyes that seem to say, “I’m a open book—turn me over—look me through and through—read every page of me, and if you find a line to be ashamed on, tell me of it, and I’ll score it through.”

Jen. (demurely), I dare say Mr. Spreadbrow is much as other young men are.

Wil. As other young men? No, no—Lord forbid, miss! Come—say a good word for him, miss, poor young gentleman. He’s said many a good word of you, I’ll go bail.

Jen. Of me?

Wil. (takes ladder which is leaning against the house and places it against upper porch of house, and, going a little way up it, speaks this speech from it, Jenny remains seated.) Ay. Why, only Toosday, when I was at work again the high road, he rides up on his little bay ’oss, and he stands talking to me over the hedge and straining his neck to catch a sight of you at a window; that was Toosday. “Well, Wilcox,” says he, “it’s a fine day!”—it rained hard Toosday, but it’s always a fine day with him. “How’s Miss Northcott?” says he. “Pretty well, sir,” says I. “Pretty she always is; and well she ought to be if the best of hearts and the sweetest of natures will do it!” Well, I knew that, so off I goes to another subject, and tries to interest him in drainage, and subsoils, and junction pipes; but no, nothin’ would do for him, but he must bring the talk back to you. So at last I gets sick of it, and I up and says: “Look ye here, Mr. Spreadbrow,” says I, “I’m only the gardener. This is Toosday, and Miss Northcott’s pa’s in the study, and I dessay he’ll be happy to hear what you’ve got to say about her.” Lord, it’d ha’ done your heart good to see how he flushed up as he stuck his spurs into the bay and rode off fifteen miles to the hour. (Laughing.) That was Toosday.

Jen. (very angrily). He had no right to talk about me to a servant.

Wil. (coming down from ladder). But, bless you, don’t be hard on him, he couldn’t help it, miss. But don’t you be alarmed, he’s going away to-night, for many and many a long year, and you won’t never be troubled with him again. He’s going with a heavy heart, take my word for it, and I see his eyes all wet, when he spoke about saying good-bye to you; he’d the sorrow in his throat, but he’s a brave lad, and he gulped it down, though it was as big as an apple. (Ring.) There he is. Soothe him kindly, miss—don’t you be afraid, you’re safe enough—he’s a good lad, and he can’t do no harm now.

[Exit Wilcox.

Jen. What does he want to go to-day for? he wasn’t going for three months. He could remain if he liked; India has gone on very well without him for five thousand years: it could have waited three months longer; but men are always in such a hurry. He might have told me before—he would have done so if he really, really liked me! I wouldn’t have left him—yes I would—but then that’s different. Well, if some people can go, some people can remain behind, and some other people will be only too glad to find some people out of their way!

Enter Spreadbrow, followed by Wilcox.

Jen. (suddenly changes her manner, rises and crosses). Oh, Mr. Spreadbrow, how-d’ye-do? Quite well? I’m so glad! Sisters quite well? That’s right—how kind of you to think of my tree! So you are really and truly going to India to-night? That is sudden!

Spread. Yes, very sudden—terribly sudden. I only heard of my appointment two days ago, in London, and I’m to join my ship to-night. It’s very sudden indeed—and—and I’ve come to say good-bye.

Jen. Good-bye. (Offering her hand.)

Spread. Oh, but not like that, Jenny! Are you in a hurry?

Jen. Oh dear no, I thought you were; won’t you sit down? (They sit.) And so your sisters are quite well?

Spread. Not very; they are rather depressed at my going so soon. It may seem strange to you, but they will miss me.

Jen. I’m sure they will. I should be terribly distressed at your going—if I were your sister. And you’re going for so long!

Spread. I’m not likely to return for a great many years.

Jen. (with a little suppressed emotion). I’m so sorry we shall not see you again. Papa will be very sorry.

Spread. More sorry than you will be?

Jen. Well, no, I shall be very sorry, too—very, very sorry—there!

Spread. How very kind of you to say so.

Jen. We have known each other so long—so many years, and we’ve always been good friends, and it’s always sad to say good-bye for the last time (he is delighted) to anybody! (he relapses). It’s so very sad when one knows for certain that it must be the last time.

Spread. I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear you say it’s so sad. But (hopefully) my prospects are not altogether hopeless, there’s one chance for me yet. I’m happy to say I’m extremely delicate, and there’s no knowing, the climate may not agree with me, and I may be invalided home! (very cheerfully).

Jen. Oh! but that would be very dreadful.

Spread. Oh, yes, of course it would be dreadful in one sense; but it—it would have its advantages. (Looking uneasily at Wilcox, who is hard at work.) Wilcox is hard at work, I see.

Jen. Oh, yes, Wilcox is hard at work. He is very industrious.

Spread. Confoundedly industrious! He is working in the sun without his hat. (Significantly.)

Jen. Poor fellow.

Spread. Isn’t it injudicious, at his age?

Jen. Oh, I don’t think it will hurt him.

Spread. I really think it will. (He motions to her to send him away.)

Jen. Do you? Wilcox, Mr. Spreadbrow is terribly distressed because you are working in the sun.

Wil. That’s mortal good of him. (Aside, winking.) They want me to go. All right; he can’t do much harm now. (Aloud.) Well, sir, the sun is hot, and I’ll go and look after the cucumbers away yonder, right at the other end of the garden. (Wilcox going—Spreadbrow is delighted.)

Jen. No, no, no!—don’t go away! Stop here, only put on your hat. That’s what Mr. Spreadbrow meant. (Wilcox puts on his hat.) There, now are you happy?

Spread. I suppose it will soon be his dinner-time?

Jen. Oh, he has dined. You have dined, haven’t you, Wilcox?

Wil. Oh, yes, miss, I’ve dined, thank ye kindly.

Jen. Yes; he has dined! Oh! I quite forgot!

Spread. What?

Jen. I must interrupt you for a moment, Wilcox; I quite forgot that I promised to send some flowers to Captain Dampier this afternoon. Will you cut them for me?

Wil. Yes, miss, (knowingly). Out of the conservatory, I suppose, miss? (Wilcox going, Spreadbrow again delighted.)

Jen. No, these will do. (Pointing to open-air flower beds—Spreadbrow again disappointed.) Stop, on second thoughts perhaps you had better take them out of the conservatory, and cut them carefully—there’s no hurry.

Wil. (aside.) I understand! Well, poor young chap, let him be, let him be; he’s going to be turned off to-night, and his last meal may as well be a hearty one.

[Exit Wilcox.

Spread. (rises in great delight). How good of you—how very kind of you!

Jen. To send Captain Dampier some flowers?

Spread. (much disappointed). Do you really want to send that fellow some flowers?

Jen. To be sure I do. Why should I have asked Wilcox to cut them?

Spread. I thought—I was a great fool to think so—but I thought it might have been because we could talk more pleasantly alone.

Jen. I really wanted some flowers; but, as you say, we certainly can talk more pleasantly alone. (She busies herself with preparing the sycamore.)

Spread. I’ve often thought that nothing is such a check on—pleasant conversation—as the presence of—of—a gardener—who is not interested in the subject of conversation.

Jen. (gets the tree, and cuts off the matting with which it is bound with garden scissors which she has brought with her from the table). Oh, but Wilcox is very interested in everything that concerns you. Do let me call him back.

Spread. No, no; not on my account!

Jen. He and I were having quite a discussion about you when you arrived. (Digging a hole for tree.)

Spread. About me?

Jen. Yes; indeed we almost quarrelled about you.

Spread. What, was he abusing me then?

Jen. Oh, no; he was speaking of you in the highest terms.

Spread. (much taken aback). Then—you were abusing me!

Jen. N—no, not exactly that; I—I didn’t agree with all he said—(he is much depressed, she notices this) at least, not openly.

Spread. (hopefully). Then you did secretly?

Jen. I shan’t tell you.

Spread. Why?

Jen. Because it will make you dreadfully vain. There!

Spread. (delighted). Very—very dreadfully vain? (he takes her hand).

Jen. Very dreadfully vain indeed. Don’t! (Withdraws her hand. During this she is digging the hole, kneeling on the edge of the flower bed; he advances to her and kneels on edge of bed near her.)

Spread. Do you know it’s most delightful to hear you say that? It’s without exception the most astonishingly pleasant thing I’ve ever heard in the whole course of my life! (Sees the sycamore.) Is that the tree I brought you? (Rises from his knees.)

Jen. Yes. I’m going to plant it just in front of the drawing-room window, so that I can see it whenever I look out. Will you help me? (He prepares to do so; she puts it into the hole.) Is that quite straight? Hold it up, please, while I fill in the earth. (He holds it while she fills in the earth; gradually his hand slips down till it touches hers.) It’s no use, Mr. Spreadbrow, our both holding it in the same place! (He runs his hand up the stem quickly.)

Spread. I beg your pardon—very foolish of me.

Jen. Very.

Spread. I’m very glad there will be something here to make you think of me when I’m many many thousand miles away, Jenny. For I shall be always thinking of you.

Jen. Really, now that’s very nice! It will be so delightful, and so odd to know that there’s somebody thinking about me right on the other side of the world!

Spread. (sighing). Yes. It will be on the other side of the world!

Jen. But that’s the delightful part of it—right on the other side of the world! It will be such fun!

Spread. Fun!

Jen. Of course, the farther you are away the funnier it will seem. (He is approaching her again.) Now keep on the other side of the world. It’s just the distance that gives the point to it. There are dozens and dozens of people thinking of me close at hand. (She rises.)

Spread. (taking her hand). But not as I think of you, Jenny—dear, dear Jenny—not as I’ve thought of you for years and years, though I never dared tell you so till now. I can’t bear to think that anybody else is thinking of you kindly, earnestly, seriously, as I think of you.

Jen. (earnestly). You may be quite sure, Harry, quite, quite sure that you will be the only one who is thinking of me kindly, seriously, and earnestly (he is delighted) in India. (He relapses—she withdraws her hand.)

Spread. And when this tree, that we have planted together, is a big tree, you must promise me that you will sit under it every day, and give a thought now and then to the old playfellow who gave it to you.

Jen. A big tree! Oh, but this little plant will never live to be a big tree, surely?

Spread. Yes, if you leave it alone, it grows very rapidly.

Jen. Oh, but I’m not going to have a big tree right in front of the drawing-room window! It will spoil the view, it will be an eyesore. We had better plant it somewhere else.

Spread. (bitterly). No, let it be, you can cut it down when it becomes an eyesore. It grows very rapidly, but it will, no doubt, have lost all interest in your eyes long before it becomes an eyesore.

Jen. But Captain Dampier says that a big tree in front of a window checks the current of fresh air.

Spread. Oh, if Captain Dampier says so, remove it.

Jen. Now don’t be ridiculous about Captain Dampier; I’ve a very great respect for his opinion on such matters.

Spread. I’m sure you have. You see a great deal of Captain Dampier, don’t you?

Jen. Yes, and we shall see a great deal more of him; he’s going to take the Grange next door.

Spread. (bitterly). That will be very convenient.

Jen. (demurely). Very.

Spread. (jealously). You seem to admire Captain Dampier very much.

Jen. I think he is very good-looking. Don’t you?

Spread. He’s well enough—for a small man.

Jen. Perhaps he’ll grow.

Spread. Is Captain Dampier going to live here always?

Jen. Yes, until he marries.

Spread. (eagerly). Is—is he likely to marry?

Jen. I don’t know. (Demurely.) Perhaps he may.

Spread. But whom—whom?

Jen. (bashfully). Haven’t you heard? I thought you knew!

Spread. (excitedly). No, no, I don’t know; I’ve heard nothing. Jenny—dear Jenny—tell me the truth, don’t keep anything from me, don’t leave me to find it out; it will be terrible to hear of it out there; and, if you have ever liked me—and I’m sure you have—tell me the whole truth at once!

Jen. (bashfully). Perhaps, as an old friend, I ought to have told you before; but indeed, indeed I thought you knew. Captain Dampier is engaged to be married to—to—my cousin Emmie.

Spread. (intensely relieved). To your cousin Emmie. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh, my dear, dear Jenny, do—do let me take your hand. (Takes her hand and shakes it enthusiastically.)

Jen. Are you going?

Spread. No. (Releasing it—much cast down.) I was going to ask you to do me a great favour, and I thought I could ask it better if I had hold of your hand. I was going to ask you if you would give me a flower—any flower, I don’t care what it is.

Jen. (affecting surprise). A flower? Why, of course I will. But why?

Spread. (earnestly). That I may have a token of you and of our parting wherever I go; that I may possess an emblem of you that I shall never—never part with, that I can carry about with me night and day wherever I go, throughout my whole life.

Jen. (apparently much affected, crosses slowly, stoops and takes up large geranium in pot). Will this be too big?

Spread. (disconcerted). But I mean a flower—only a flower.

Jen. Oh, but do have a bunch! Wilcox shall pick you a beauty.

Spread. No, no; I want you to pick it for me. I don’t care what it is—a daisy will do—if you pick it for me!

Jen. What an odd notion! (Crossing to flower-stand, and picking a piece of mignonette—he puts down flower-pot by bed.) There! (picking a flower and giving it to him) will that do?

Spread. I can’t tell you how inestimably I shall prize this flower. I will keep it while I live, and whatever good fortune may be in store for me, nothing can ever be so precious in my eyes.

Jen. I had no idea you were so fond of flowers. Oh, do have some more!

Spread. No, no—but—you must let me give you this in return; I brought it for you, Jenny dear—dear Jenny! Will you take it from me? (Takes a rose from his button-hole, and offers it.)

Jen. (amused and surprised). Oh yes! (Takes it and puts it down on the table carelessly—he notices this with much emotion.)

Spread. Well, I’ve got to say good-bye; there’s no reason why it shouldn’t be said at once. (Holding out his hand.) Good-bye, Jenny!

Jen. (cheerfully). Good-bye! (He stands for a moment with her hand in his—she crosses to porch.)

Spread. Haven’t—haven’t you anything to say to me?

Jen. (after thinking it over). No, I don’t think there’s anything else. No—nothing. (She leans against the porch—he stands over her.)

Spread. Jenny, I’m going away to-day, for years and years, or I wouldn’t say what I’m going to say—at least not yet. I’m little more than a boy, Jenny; but if I were eighty, I couldn’t be more in earnest—indeed I couldn’t! Parting for so many years is like death to me; and if I don’t say what I’m going to say before I go, I shall never have the pluck to say it after. We were boy and girl together, and—and I loved you then—and every year I’ve loved you more and more; and now that I’m a man, and you are nearly a woman, I—I—Jenny dear—I’ve nothing more to say!

Jen. How you astonish me!

Spread. Astonish you? Why, you know that I loved you.

Jen. Yes, yes; as a boy loves a girl—but now that I am a woman it’s impossible that you can care for me.

Spread. Impossible—because you are a woman!

Jen. You see it’s so unexpected.

Spread. Unexpected?

Jen. Yes. As children it didn’t matter, but it seems so shocking for grown people to talk about such things. And then, not gradually, but all at once—in a few minutes. It’s awful!

Spread. Oh, Jenny, think. I’ve no time to delay—my having to go has made me desperate. One kind word from you will make me go away happy: without that word, I shall go in unspeakable sorrow. Jenny, Jenny, say one kind word!

Jen. (earnestly). Tell me what to say?

Spread. It must come from you, my darling; say whatever is on your lips—whether for good or ill—I can bear it now.

Jen. Well, then: I wish you a very very pleasant voyage—and I hope you will be happy and prosperous—and you must take great care of yourself—and you can’t think how glad I shall be to know that you think of me, now and then, in India. There!

Spread. Is that all?

Jen. Yes, I think that’s all. (Reflectively.) Yes—that’s all.

Spread. Then—(with great emotion which he struggles to suppress) there’s nothing left but to say good-bye—(Music in orchestra till end of Act, “Good-bye, Sweetheart”)—and I hope you will always be happy, and that, when you marry, you will marry a good fellow who will—who will—who will—— Good-bye!

[Exit, rapidly.

[Jenny watches him out—sits down, leaving the gate open—hums an air gaily—looks round to see if he is coming back—goes on humming—takes up the flower he has given her—plays with it—gradually falters, and at last bursts into tears, laying her head on the table over the flower he has given her, and sobbing violently.