Cherry's sitting-room at Mrs. Wheedles'. A comfortable, old-fashioned room furnished in good substantial style. Cherry and Mrs. Wheedles discovered. Cherry smoking pipe in his easy chair before fire. Mrs. Wheedles sits uncomfortably on extreme edge of the other easy-chair.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

And you really think, he'll come?

ADAM CHERRY.

Tolerably sure of it, Mrs. Wheedles. I flatter myself I baited the hook pretty artfully. I wrote him that if he could call here about four o'clock to-day I could introduce him to a lady who I knew took great interest in his schemes, and that I thought some advantage might result from the meeting. (Chuckles.) And so I hope it will.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

And he said he would?

ADAM CHERRY.

He replied that he would not allow such an opportunity for benefiting the human race to escape him for worlds, and that he would be here to the minute.

MRS. WHEEDLES,

(Glances at clock over mantel.) It's twenty minutes to four now.

ADAM CHERRY.

(Looks at his watch.) Ah, that's five minutes fast. Mrs. Ben Dixon's rather late though. She said she'd be here at half-past three.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

How has she taken it, poor woman?

ADAM CHERRY.

Well, of course it's a very unpleasant position for her, but, between ourselves, I fancy she will be very glad if it turns out that he is your husband, and, consequently, not hers. I expect that's why she's so anxious to be in the "show," as she calls it. She says she wants to see the truth for herself, and fix him down.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

She hasn't said a word to him about it, I suppose?

ADAM CHERRY.

She hasn't had a chance—yet. They quarrelled over money matters (groans to himself) and other things, and she left him before she ever heard of this.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

Ah, she could never really have loved him, Mr. Cherry. (Wipes away a tear.)

ADAM CHERRY.

I'm inclined to agree with you there, Mrs. Wheedles. (He crosses to window, looking at his watch.) I wish she'd come.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

(Crying.) Such a good man as he was—before he went wrong. (Bell heard.) She starts up. Oh Lord, that's him, I feel it in my bones.

ADAM CHERRY.

(Looking out of window.) Your bones have misled you, Mrs. Wheedles. It's Mr. Travers, and—(looking out further), no, it isn't big enough for Mrs. Ben Dixon.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

Oh dear, it gave me quite a spasm. I wish I didn't feel in such a fluster.

(The door at back is opened by a maid, and Theodore enters followed by Primrose. Mrs. Wheedles slips quietly out.)

ADAM CHERRY

(Greeting Theodore.) Where's Mrs. Ben Dixon?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

She'll be here in a minute. It occurred to her when we got to Paddington Station that she hadn't had any lunch, and that this wasn't a scene to be gone through on an empty stomach. So we left her there laying in a beefsteak and a bottle of stout. Miss Deane has come with us. She thought she would like to see Nelly.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

(Advancing and shaking hands with Cherry.) Yes, Mr. Cherry. Do you know if she's in?

ADAM CHERRY.

She's upstairs all alone, my dear. She'll be so pleased to see you, I know.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

Oh, I'll run up to her, then. (Moves towards door.)

ADAM CHERRY.

Yes, do, my dear. (Following her.) Let me——

PRIMROSE DEANE.

(Stopping him.) No, don't trouble, Mr. Cherry. I know my way. (Opens door, and goes out.)

THEODORE TRAVERS.

I say—I suppose there's no where in this room where I could hide, is there? (Looks round.) It will be a lovely scene, you know—quite a family group, Ben and his two wives. (Enthusiastically.) Why, such an opportunity may not occur again for years. Can't you put me behind these curtains? (He is by window.)

ADAM CHERRY.

Oh, my dear boy, impossible!

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Um! 'Twould be awkward I suppose. Pity! (hopefully,) What sort of a keyhole have you got? (Crossing to door, Right.)

ADAM CHERRY.

(Laughs.) Not much good to you, I'm afraid. You can't get the key out.

THEODORE TRAVERS.

(Who has opened the door—the key being outside—trying it.) Ah, no encouragement to an artist anywhere here. I shall have to pump the scene out of the mater afterwards, and her accounts are always so painfully idealistic.

(Ted enters.)

Hulloa, Ted!

TED MORRIS.

Hulloa! You here?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Yes. (Looks at him.) You've been ploughed then?

TED MORRIS.

Who told you?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

You did, by your face. What does it feel like?

TED MORRIS.

(With a cynical laugh) Do you want to make notes?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

(Taking out his note-book) If you are sure you don't mind.

TED MORRIS.

Not at all. Delighted to be of service to the cause of literature. Now let me see how does a man feel. Well, at first he feels sick and dazed.

THEODORE TRAVERS.

(Writing) Yes.

TED MORRIS.

And then he gets mad and curses himself and the world and everybody in it; and feels——

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Half a minute, old chap, I am not a typewriter.

TED MORRIS.

——and feels that he'd like to go to the devil only he hasn't got the travelling expenses.

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Quite right. The expensiveness of vice I have always considered to be virtue's greatest safeguard. Poor people can only afford to go as far as the dogs. Yes?

TED MORRIS.

Oh, and then—oh, then he feels very weary of the whole thing and wishes that he could get away from it all, and go to sleep—for a long time. (Throws himself in chair.)

ADAM CHERRY.

Oh, come, you mustn't despair. You've only been "spun," as you fellows call it, for a few months.

TED MORRIS.

Oh, no, it's nothing very terrible to be "spun," if you've got anything to spin on.

THEODORE TRAVERS

Yes—a top spins best when it's full of air—a man doesn't.

ADAM CHERRY.

You see, you won't let anybody help you, Ted

TED MORRIS.

(Rising.) Oh, that's only my nonsense, Mr. Cherry. We're not paupers. (To Theodore.) Are you coming upstairs to see Nelly?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Yes, yes; I'll come up with you now. How is she?

TED MORRIS.

Oh, not too jolly. You'll be able to make a few notes. (They go out.)

ADAM CHERRY.

Poor boy! Ah, well, he won't be able to help my helping him when I'm his brother-in-law! (He takes up a photo of Nelly lying on table.) Dear, dear me, fancy me a married man, with somebody to call "my dear!" You're a lucky dog, Adam Cherry—a lucky dog, even if you have been swindled out of all your savings, and have to go on working for your living! Bah! what's work when you've got somebody to work for? Why—— (Notices Theodore's note-book left on table and pauses.) Hulloa! Our literary friend's note-book. (Takes it up and turns it about in his hand, musing.) I wonder if there'd be any harm now in looking inside? I should like to see how he goes to work—oh, it's only just the same as an artist's sketch-book, and nobody minds looking into that. (Opens it at end and reads.) "June 28th, Brussels. Good idea for farcical comedy. N.B. Will probably need toning down for English market. Married lady starts to call on elderly gentleman of irreproachable character, she——"(Reads on with broadening smile extending to chuckle—suddenly checks himself.) Yes—it probably would (Turns over more leaves.) Hulloa, what's this marked "Unfinished. Novel or comedy. Characters: Good-hearted, but chuckle-headed old man, knows himself fifty-five, calls himself forty-five, fancies himself thirty-five." (Chuckles): Ah, yes, I know that class of man—very clever, very clever! "Young artist, somewhat conventional type, see page 3. Girl, cross between the romantically heroic and the quaintly practical. Girl loves artist. Artist loves girl. But both are poor. Old chap, well off, proposes to girl. She, tired of poverty, throws love to the dogs and accepts. Old fellow suspects nothing and tells himself that he will soon win her love by his devotion and all that sort of thing. Will he ever find out the truth?" Ah, yes, that ought to make a capital story. I wonder what will happen? (Putting down book.) I feel quite sorry for that old man. A very interesting little story indeed. I wonder where he got it from now? (Takes up book again.) He's dated it June 14th—June 14th—why—— Yes, that's the day I proposed to Nelly—and—he was here that day. (Sits thinking. Suddenly a suspicion of the truth flashes across him. He hurriedly takes the book and reads again, this time in a trembling voice.) "Chuckle-headed old man—Young artist." (Thinks). Jack Medbury. "Girl loves artist—artist loves girl—old chap well off—proposes to girl. She, tired of poverty, throws love to the dogs and accepts. Old fellow suspects nothing—tells himself he will soon win her love by his devotion, and—and all that sort of thing." (Lets his hand with book fall on table.) That's the true story. It's I who have been building up the romance. Jack used to be here every day. He's never been near the place since. Nelly never smiles even now. I've fancied it was because she was ill and worried, and that I should be able to make her happy as soon as I had her all to myself and could take care of her. (Irritably pushing the book away from him.) I wish people wouldn't leave their things about. (Bows his head between his hands.)

(Primrose pushes open the door gently and enters. Seeing Cherry in this attitude, she comes softly over and lays her hand on his shoulder.)

PRIMROSE DEANE.

Are you ill, Mr. Cherry?

ADAM CHERRY.

(Starting.) No, my dear; no. I was only thinking. How—how do you think Nelly's looking?

PRIMROSE DEANE.

(She has brought in some flowers and is arranging them in vase.) Oh, pretty well.

ADAM CHERRY.

It—it doesn't seem to you, my dear, does it, that she's fretting herself about anything?

PRIMROSE DEANE.

(Puzzled how to answer.) Oh no; I expect she's worried about her brother, you know, Mr. Cherry, and poor Mrs. Ben Dixon.

ADAM CHERRY.

Ah, yes, yes; but don't you think there may be something else besides—something more nearly concerning herself?

PRIMROSE DEANE.

Why do you ask, Mr. Cherry? (She comes to him.)

ADAM CHERRY.

(Rising and taking both her hands.) Because, my dear, I'm a very inexperienced old man, and I want some shrewd little person who understands these matters better than I do to advise me. (Very earnestly.) Do you think, my dear, I shall be making Nelly happy by marrying her?

PRIMROSE DEANE.

Truthfully, Mr. Cherry?

ADAM CHERRY.

Truthfully, my dear, for both our sakes.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

Then I don't, Mr. Cherry.

ADAM CHERRY.

You—you think there's somebody else who could do it better? (Primrose nods her head.) Thank you, my dear (releases her hands).

PRIMROSE DEANE.

I'm so sorry, Mr. Cherry.

ADAM CHERRY.

There'd be more to be sorry for still, my dear, if were too late to mend matters (turning away). We won't talk about it any more. Have you seen Ted?

PRIMROSE DEANE.

N-no.

ADAM CHERRY.

Not! Why he's just gone upstairs.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

(Awkwardly.) Y-yes—I—I heard him come in. I was in Nelly's room. I came out by the other door.

ADAM CHERRY.

(Looking at her with surprise.) I thought you and he were such good friends?

PRIMROSE DEANE.

This world's friendships are very fleeting.

ADAM CHERRY.

(With a smile.) My dear, there's some mistake here. I said just now that I was inexperienced. But there are some things that even dim eyes cannot help seeing, and I'm sure that—forgive me, my dear, I'm only an old fellow—that he cared for you very much.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

(Looking out of window.) He—he made me think so.

ADAM CHERRY.

And then you quarrelled?

PRIMROSE DEANE.

No—he changed—all of a sudden just as—as if he had found out something bad against me—and—and I've never done anything bad—not, not very bad (choking a sob). Do you think anybody could have said anything to set him against me?

ADAM CHERRY.

Oh, impossible! What could—— Wait a minute, though. There's one thing somebody might have told him about you that would have been enough to send Master Ted off at double quick march.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

What?

ADAM CHERRY.

Can't you think?

PRIMROSE DEANE.

N-no. Is there anything very dreadful about me, then?

ADAM CHERRY.

Yes, my dear—to a young fellow as proud as he is poor—your money.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

My money! Won't anybody ever lo—like me then because I've got some money?

ADAM CHERRY.

Plenty, my dear. But pennyless young men who fall in love with heiresses are liable to be dubbed "fortune-hunters," and our high-spirited young friend——

PRIMROSE DEANE.

(Interrupting petulantly.) Rather than risk that, would sacrifice all his life's happiness. I call it very horrid and—and very selfish of him.

ADAM CHERRY.

It's very silly, my dear, but depend upon it that's the explanation. You——

(Primrose, when she entered, left the door a little open, and now Ted is heard whistling as he comes downstairs. Primrose is in front of easy-chair. Cherry pushes her down into it and stands before her.)

ADAM CHERRY.

Tell him what you think of him.

(Enter Ted, still smoking his pipe.)

TED MORRIS.

Do you mind my sitting down here for a little while, Cherry? I'm tired of walking about the streets, and I'm not feeling in good enough condition to sit out Travers' wit and humour. I've left him upstairs with Nelly.

ADAM CHERRY.

Certainly, my dear boy. Stop here as long as ever you like and make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a few minutes. (He goes out.)

TED MORRIS.

(He strolls to window, whistling, and looks out.) It's a damned world.

(Primrose coughs.)

TED MORRIS.

(Startled, he looks round and sees Primrose.) I—I beg your pardon, Miss Deane. I had no idea you were here.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

Is that the way you usually talk when I'm not here?

TED MORRIS.

(Smiling.) Not always (Gloomily again.) The truth is I'm a bit down on my luck just now, and——

PRIMROSE DEANE.

(Kindly) I know. Nelly has been telling me. I am so very sorry.

TED MORRIS.

Thank you, Miss Deane, I knew you would be.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

(Frigidly.) Oh, did you? I don't think you had any right to assume it after your conduct at out last interview. I suppose you know that I'm excessively angry with you.

TED MORRIS.

(Dismally.) You have every right to be. (A pause—Ted goes to window.)

PRIMROSE DEANE.

I think if I were a gentleman, and had behaved exceedingly rudely to a lady, I should take the first opportunity of begging her pardon, and asking her to—to try and forgive me.

TED MORRIS.

(Still at window.) I do beg your pardon, Miss Deane, from the bottom of my heart. And I should like you to forgive me—if you ever could.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

I don't think that's at all the way anybody ought to ask anybody else's pardon (looks across at him) all that way off. And I can't forgive you until I know why you did it. (A pause.) Why—why did you do it?

TED MORRIS.

I—I cannot tell you. Please don't ask me.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

I suppose then I must think what I like?

TED MORRIS.

(Gloomily.) I'm afraid so.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

I—I thought at one time it might be because—(looking slyly at him) because I had lost all my money.

TED MORRIS.

(Turning suddenly mid eagerly.) Lost all your money?

PRIMROSE DEANE.

(Looking carefully away.) Yes. I thought somebody might have told you—people are so fond of telling bad news—and that you didn't care to have anything more to do with me after that. Of course, when people have lost all their money they can't expect people to be so nice as—as they were before.

TED MORRIS.

(Who has stood rooted to the ground.) Then that was what that letter was about. It came just at that very time. And—and you have been thinking that of me! (Rushes across and kneels down beside her, and takes her hands.) Miss Deane—Primrose—let me work for you. Let me take care of you all your life. I can do it now. I feel like a new man. I can face the whole College of Surgeons and the world too, and lick them both. (His manner grows more and more enthusiastic and joyous.)

PRIMROSE DEANE.

You—you're not very sympathetic.

TED MORRIS.

I know I'm a selfish brute. I can't help it. You shan't regret it. I'll make another fortune for you and you shall have it all. Primrose, dear, I love you, I love you. I could not speak when you were rich, but now you are poor I can. You—you do care for me a little, dear.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

A little, Ted.

TED MORRIS.

Enough to be my wife?

PRIMROSE DEANE.

Yes, I think it's enough for that. (Ted draws her face down and kisses her.) And you don't mind the money either way?

TED MORRIS.

Of course not, dear.

PRIMROSE DEANE,

And you care for me just the same, rich or poor?

TED MORRIS.

(He sits on arm of chair beside her.) Now and always, sweetheart, rich or poor.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

I'm glad of that. I shouldn't like to be cared for merely because I was poor. It would be so awkward if—if one wasn't poor.

TED MORRIS.

But you are poor?

PRIMROSE DEANE.

Not—not very, I'm afraid, dear.

TED MORRIS.

You said you'd lost all your money!

PRIMROSE DEANE.

No, I didn't, Ted. I said somebody might have told you I had. People do tell things about other people that are not true sometimes. (Ted rises and stands by table, looking troubled. Primrose breaks into a ringing laugh.) You can't get out of it now, Ted. I could bring a breach of promise case against you. (Ted still looks stern. Primrose rises and comes to him, playing with one of his coat buttons.) I've deceived and trapped you into it, haven't I? Please forgive me. It—it isn't so very much, and I could give it away to the Salvation Army if you liked, or we could let Mr. Ben Dixon lay it out for us. (Laughs.)

TED MORRIS.

You don't understand, dear.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

(Seriously.) Yes—I do, dear. You're a silly stuck-up old thing. You never would have spoken so long as you thought I was rich—and I—(nestling against him) wanted you.

TED MORRIS.

(Relenting.) They'll say I married you for your money.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

Don't you care for me sufficiently, dear, not to mind what "they" say? (Looking him earnestly in the face.)

TED MORRIS.

(Looks at her, and then takes her face in his hands and kisses her.) Yes, dear, forgive me. (After this, in loverlike fashion, they commence walking about the room and talking with their arms round each other's waists.)

TED MORRIS.

Let me see. I shall pass my examination in November.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

And then we must look about for a nice little practice. We'll have one somewhere in the country, shall we?

TED MORRIS.

Yes. (Musing.) I wish I hadn't been fool enough to let that Ben Dixon have all——

(A knock at front door heard. Primrose runs to window and looks out.)

PRIMROSE DEANE.

Yes, I thought so. It's Mrs. Ben Dixon. (Running to door and holding out her hand to Ted.) Let's go upstairs to Nelly. (Ted catches her hand, and they run off, leaving the door wide open behind them. A wait. Then enters Mrs. Ben Dixon, shown in by servant.)

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Is Adam Cherry in? (Cherry follows in.) Oh, here you are. I ain't late, am I?

ADAM CHERRY.

No—not as it happens. But I'm expecting him every minute. (To servant.) Ask Mrs. Wheedles to step up, will you? (Servant goes out.)

MRS. BEN DIXON.

I was bound to stop and get a snack. This is going to be a trying scene, you know, Cherry. What does—what's the poor woman's name—Mrs. Wheedles —think about it now?

ADAM CHERRY.

Oh, much the same. She's still sure he's the man.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

I hope to goodness she's right. We shall look silly, you know, Cherry, if he isn't.

ADAM CHERRY.

And he will look silly if he is. (Enter Mrs. Wheedles. She is nervous but tries to be confident and to behave, as she would term it, "as a lady") Oh here you are, Mrs. Wheedles. This is Mrs.—— (pauses—awkwardly.)

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Well, we're not sure who I am at present. That's just what I've come to find out. I suppose there'll be no doubt about your knowing this beauty if he is the man?

MRS. WHEEDLES.

(Stiffly.) I think not, madam. I was his wife for ten years.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Ten! Ah, poor soul, no wonder you look sad. I've been it for eighteen months. I hope you mean to be firm, Mrs. Wheedles?

MRS. WHEEDLES. I shall do my duty as a woman.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

I'm glad to hear you say so. I hope he'll get two years.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

(Sighing.) Ah, so happy as we used to be, too.

ADAM CHERRY.

If you take my advice, you'll make him fork out something to divide between you, and then let him go.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Now look here, Cherry, don't you suggest anything of the kind. Don't you interfere between us and our husband.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

My husband, madam.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Oh, all right, your husband. I'm sure you're quite welcome to him. I've saved a good deal more out of the wreck than I expected to, thanks to Theodore; and we shouldn't get anything out of him if we tried. He's deceived me and he's deceived Mrs. Wheedles—as simple and trusting a woman as ever breathed, I should say, from the look of her. I want to think of him as doing some hard work for once in his life.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

You're quite right, ma'am. He doesn't deserve any mercy at our hands—a good wife I was to him—none of your flighty sort. (Begins to cry. Bell heard.)

ADAM CHERRY.

There he is, I expect. I must see him first. You just step in there (indicating door) and wait till I've gone out and closed the door behind me. That will be your cue. (The two women retire towards inner room.) I shall be in the little room the other side of the passage if you want me. (Ben Dixon's voice is heard in passage. Cherry nods and signs the two women to disappear. They do so, closing the door behind them.)

(Enter Ben Dixon. He is dressed for travelling, bag and umbrella. He enters, beaming as usual, and laying down his hat, bag, and umbrella on chair by door, advances to Cherry and shakes hands with him with one hand while holding his watch in the other. )

MR. BEN DIXON.

My dear Cherry, I've only just ten minutes. Is the lady here?

ADAM CHERRY.

Oh, yes, but—but I'm afraid she'll want to talk to you for more than ten minutes.

MR. BEN DIXON.

(Makes a clicking noise with his tongue.) I'm really afraid I cannot spare her any more. I must catch the afternoon mail from Charing Cross.

ADAM CHERRY.

(Quickly.) Going abroad?

MR. BEN DIXON.

Yes, Mr. Cherry.

ADAM CHERRY.'

Anything to do with the "Anti-Alcoholic and Mineral Water Union?"

MR. BEN DIXON.

Partly so.

ADAM CHERRY.

Ah! I thought you'd be having to travel soon in connection with that affair. I'll send the lady to you at once, anyhow. (Moving towards door at back.)

MR. BEN DIXON.

Do, Mr. Cherry; do. And if she's got the cash ready—or a cheque, it really ought not to take long, you know.

ADAM CHERRY.

I'll leave you to explain the situation to her yourself.

(Cherry goes out slamming the door behind him. Ben Dixon goes to his bag and takes out a prospectus and crossing and standing facing windows begins to read it to himself. While he is doing this Mrs. Ben Dixon and Mrs. Wheedles enter quietly.)

MR. BEN DIXON.

(With prospectus in his hand rehearsing to himself in soft voice what he intends to say to his supposed client.) You will be assisting, my dear madam, in saving many poor souls from destruction; you will also get 15 per cent, for your money. For myself——

(He turns and sees the two women. The paper drops from his hand and he stands looking from one to the other like a trapped rat. For an instant he thinks of escape. He makes a step towards the door at back, but Mrs. Ben Dixon makes a movement to cut him off, then towards door Right, before which Mrs Wheedles stands. Then he makes a movement as if thinking of the window. Then seeing the hopelessness of his case and understanding the situation, he makes up his mind. With an expression of wonder and joy, he advances with outstretched arms towards Mrs. Wheedles.)

MR. BEN DIXON.

What, Gerty! And you're not dead! Oh, why did they tell me that you were! Why——

MRS. BEN DIXON.

(Intercepts him.) Here, that won't do. That's a bit too thin, Ben. You described yourself when you married me as a bachelor.

MR. BEN DIXON.

I know I did, my dear, but I can explain—I can explain everything.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

You will have the opportunity of doing so—before the magistrate (regarding him with concentrated disgust), you sanctimonious old scoundrel.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

A good wife as I was to you, Henery, how could you do it?

MR. BEN DIXON.

My dear Gertrude, I can explain.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Explain! You'll explain yourself into heaven if they're not sharp. Can you explain why you humbugged and lied an unfortunate fool of a woman into marrying you?

MRS. WHEEDLES.

And broke your poor wife's heart.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

And tried to swindle her out of every penny she possessed.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

And deserted a poor harmless babe as was the very image of him.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

I'm sorry for the child; but we'll make him pay for it, Mrs. Wheedles.

MR. BEN DIXON.

If you will only allow me to explain.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Explain? What is there to explain? Do you deny that you are married to Mrs. Wheedles, there?

MR. BEN DIXON.

(Virtuously). No, Bella, I do not! No consideration of consequence to myself shall induce me to deny it. I am proud—as anyone might be—to be the husband of this noble lady! (Crosses over to Mrs. Wheedles' side.)

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Oh, well you've been pretty modest about it of late. And do you deny that eighteen months ago you married me?

MR. BEN DIXON.

(More in sorrow than in anger.) No, Bella, much as I may regret it—I do not, I will not deny the truth.

MRS. WHEEDLES. Why did you do it, Henery?

MR. BEN DIXON.

It was wrong of me. I own it. We are none of us perfect. The woman tempted me, and I fell.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

I tempted you?

MR. BEN DIXON.

You, Bella. I do not blame you. You loved me—at least you said you did—and you dangled your purse before me. I thought of all the good that I could do to others with your money. I always do think of others—it is my weakness. I sacrificed myself for the good of humanity.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

(Too staggered for words). Well, I'm——

MRS. WHEEDLES.

You never thought of poor me, Henery.

MR. BEN DIXON.

(With an air of sweet sadness.) Not think of you, Gertrude? Ah, how often have I not longed to seek you—to come to you with outstretched arms and say, "Gertrude, let us forgive and forget, let us be happy again as we were in the dear old days gone by." (Stifles a sob.)

MRS. BEN DIXON. Why didn't you do it?

MR. BEN DIXON.

My dear Bella, do not interrupt. There were reasons rendering it necessary for me to control my longing—you were one of them.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

And did you never think of what had become of me—of how I was getting on?

MR. BEN DIXON.

Do you think I could have lived a moment in doubt? I made enquiries. They told me you were well and——

MRS. BEN DIXON.

You said just now they told you she was dead.

MR. BEN DIXON.

(Irritably.) My good woman, do be quiet. I'm not addressing you. I'm talking to my wife.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

Do let the man explain.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Explain! And do you mean to say you're going to be fool enough to listen to him—you poor ninny-hammer?

MRS. WHEEDLES.

(Bridling.) Don't you call me names, ma'am. I'm a respectable married woman, which is more than some people are.

MRS. BEN DIXON

And whose fault if they're not, I should like to know? Why couldn't you keep him when you'd got him?—not let him loose to prey on poor fools like me.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

Why did you come with your arts and your tricks and lure him away, ma'am?

MRS. BEN DIXON.

I! I lure away that! You silly old woman!

MRS. WHEEDLES.

No more a silly old woman than you are, ma'am. He was a loving Christian husband till you came between us with your painted face.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

(Close to her.) You say I paint my face, and I'll pull your false front off.

MR. BEN DIXON.

(He has hitherto remained standing between them in an attitude expressive of pious indifference, his finger-tips pressed against each other.) Ladies! ladies!

MRS. BEN DIXON.

(Turns fiercely on him.) You be quiet (he skips out of her way), and keep your breath to bamboozle that poor fool with. You take him back again, my dear, you haven't had enough of him as yet. I shan't interfere I am only too glad to be rid of him. Only if he makes a fool of you a second time, don't you come to me for sympathy. I've done with you both, and I've done with respectability. I've paid enough for being a prude. For the future give me something wholesome and disreputable. (She sweeps out by door at back which she slams behind her.)

MRS. WHEEDLES.

(Calling after her.) Hussy!

MR. BEN DIXON.

(Soothing her.) Don't take any notice of her, dearest; she's a little excited, that's all.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

(Clinging to him.) I feel so upset, Henery (crying).

MR. BEN DIXON.

Of course you do. You're not strong, Gertrude. We must take more care of you. (Puts his arm round her while slyly looking at his watch.)

MRS. WHEEDLES.

(Looking up lovingly at him!) You won't leave me again?

MR. BEN DIXON.

(He hastily slips watch out of sight.) Leave you! Not now that I have you once again. (Squeezes her to him tenderly—then with joyful playfulness.) And I'll tell you what we'll do, Gerty, to celebrate this joyful reunion. We'll have one of our dear little old evenings out together—do you remember them? The little dinner at the little restaurant with the little bottle of wine, and the Adelphi afterwards. (Mrs. Wheedles answers with a look and a coy laugh.) Run and put your bonnet on and we'll trot off together this very minute and get away from them all.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

I must just change my dress, Henery.

MR. BEN DIXON.

Of course, of course you must, you long will it?

But it won't take

MRS. WHEEDLES.

Not more than ten minutes.

MR. BEN DIXON.

(He edges her towards the door.) Ah, well, be as quick as you can, dear. I'll wait down here for you.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

You—you will wait, Henery?

MR. BEN DIXON.

(Offended.) Gertrude!

MRS. WHEEDLES.

No—I didn't mean that, dear.

MR. BEN DIXON.

I know you didn't. I know you didn't (pushing her playfully out.) And, Gerty! (she stops) you haven't got the cherry coloured one still by you?—the one you used to look so saucy in?

MRS. WHEEDLES.

(At open door.) Yes, I have, Henery. I've never worn it since the day you left me.

MR. BEN DIXON.

Put that one on, will you? Eh? (They both laugh playfully and he pats her cheek and she goes off—he watches her off then closes the door.) Poor old soul! (Looks at watch and collects his bag, umbrella, hat, etc.) Now if that fool of a cab isn't gone I can just—— (He has his hat on and with his watch in his hand is opening door when—Enter Cherry, who stands blocking his exit.)

Can't stop a minute, my dear Cherry; so sorry. Good-bye! (Tries to pass.)

ADAM CHERRY.

(Coming in and closing door.) Don't you say goodbye till you're clear off. You've got to have a chat with me first.

MR. BEN DIXON.

My dear sir, I positively decline. I am not at all pleased with you; I consider you have acted in a most unchristianlike manner. I am disappointed in you, Mr. Cherry. More disappointed that I can say.

ADAM CHERRY.

Then don't say it. The less you say, the sooner you'll get off, and I take it you want to get clear off before Mrs. Wheedles comes downstairs again.

MR. BEN DIXON.

Mr. Cherry, I do. I frankly admit it. Mrs. Wheedles is an excellent woman—a worthy woman, but—well, I put it to you, would you like to live with her—as a husband?

ADAM CHERRY.

Mr. Wheedles!

MR. BEN DIXON.

Don't be absurd, sir. How dare you misunderstand me? I mean am I to blame for not wanting to?

ADAM CHERRY.

We won't go into that question. I am with you so far as to think that she will be much better off without you, and I also admit that I have no wish to lodge an information against you on my own account—if we can come to terms.

MR. BEN DIXON.

Come to terms! What do you mean?

ADAM CHERRY.

I mean I want £4,000 in notes or gold out of you before you leave this house.

MR. BEN DIXON.

£4,000! Do you think, sir, that I'm a travelling bank?

ADAM CHERRY.

I know that you've made arrangements to go straight from this house on an absconding tour to the continent, and it's not unreasonable to suppose that under the circumstances you've got about you all the cash you could scrape together. Anyhow, if I don't have the satisfaction of getting the £4,000 out of you I'll have the satisfaction of handing you over to the police.

MR. BEN DIXON.

(Mounting the high horse.) My good sir, do you know the legal term for what you are doing? "Endeavouring to extort money by threats." Are you aware that that is an indictable offence?

ADAM CHERRY.

(Putting his hands in his pockets.) All right. Indict away.

MR. BEN DIXON.

(Looks at watch.) Damn it, here's five minutes gone already. My dear sir, do be reasonable.

ADAM CHERRY.

My dear Mr. Ben Dixon—or Wheedles—or whatever your name really is, don't argue You are getting off uncommonly cheap. I say nothing about the money you've swindled Mrs. Ben Dixon out of. I say nothing about the money you've swindled me out of. But I want the money you've swindled that poor boy and girl upstairs out of—and I mean to have it.

MR. BEN DIXON.

But if I haven't got it?

ADAM CHERRY.

Then you'll get five years' penal servitude for bigamy.

MR. BEN DIXON.

Dear, dear me, how Providence does seem against me to-day. Oh, this is a beast of a house (savagely.) What is it you do want? Be quick about it? (Slams down bag and umbrella and seats himself at table.)

ADAM CHERRY.

(He has brought writing materials from sideboard and placed them.) I want you to write a pleasant little note to Ted and Nelly, explaining the circumstances, and enclosing the £4,000, that's all.

MR. BEN DIXON.

Say £2,000, Mr. Cherry—£2,000 and a little something for yourself. I should like to give you a little something for yourself.

ADAM CHERRY.

£4,000—or Bow Street. You'd better be quick. You wouldn't look well with your hair short.

MR. BEN DIXON.

(Gives him a look of intense malevolence and begins to write) '.—"My dear children, before leaving England, under circumstances needless to be stated here, my thoughts naturally revert to my beloved ones."—Mr. Cherry, I consider you to be a damned scoundrel.—"It has all along been my intention to make good to you, my dear children, the loss you sustained when Providence ceased to smile upon the Nonconformist Building Society, Limited (with concentrated rage.) My doing so leaves me a comparative pauper, but do not grieve for me."

ADAM CHERRY.

(Who is standing beside him, looking over.) That's rather needless, isn't it?

MR. BEN DIXON.

(Savagely.) Shut up! (Writing.) "Committing you, my dear beloved ones, to the care of Providence, and trusting that one day we may be all reunited in the bourne of the righteous, I remain your loving and affectionate uncle, Henry." (Lays letter down and addresses envelope.)

ADAM CHERRY.

(Taking up and looking at letter.) Very good—very good indeed.

MR. BEN DIXON.

(Snatching letter away, and putting it in envelope.) Hypocrite! (Takes out pocket-book and begins counting notes—pausing half-way through.) It's a lot of money, Mr. Cherry, to put all at once into the hands of two inexperienced young persons. Wouldn't it be better for us to give them £2,000 now, and let me send them the rest later on?

ADAM CHERRY.

Don't be silly! You're wasting time. Mrs. Wheedles will be down in a minute.

MR. BEN DIXON.

(He gives Cherry another savage look and goes on counting; having finished he puts them in an envelope.) All my little savings, and me an old man. (Is about to close envelope.)

ADAM CHERRY.

(Taking it from him.) You don't mind my counting them?

MR. BEN DIXON.

(Wounded.) Do you mistrust me?

ADAM CHERRY.

(Counting.) Merely a matter of form. £3,995 here, Mr. Wheedles.

MR. BEN DIXON.

(He has collected his baggage, and is on the point of slipping off. He now draws forth and hands Cherry another note.) I look upon you as a common thief, sir, and if I was a young man, I'd——

ADAM CHERRY.

There's nothing further that need detain you, Mr. Wheedles.

MR. BEN DIXON.

I am going, sir. I shake the dust of this house off my feet. (Opens door at back and glances out, then turns towards Cherry and speaks in a suppressed voice.) I should never have thought it possible that any man could be so deceived in another as I have been in you. (Looks out again and then round.) I have no hesitation in describing you, Mr. Cherry, as a blackleg—an experienced blackleg, sir. (Looks out as before.) I only hope that——- (Hears noise, looks out, slips round door, and disappears.)

ADAM CHERRY.

(He follows to door and looks after him.) Ah, well, I think that counts one to you, Adam Cherry.

(Enter Nelly.)

NELLY MORRIS.

Will you come upstairs and see my aunt before she goes, Adam?

ADAM CHERRY.

Oh, tell her, my dear, she can come down. It's all right now. Come in a minute I want to speak to you. (He closes door.)

NELLY MORRIS.

Is he gone?

ADAM CHERRY.

Yes, my dear.

NELLY MORRIS.

For good?

ADAM CHERRY.

Let us hope so. He is on his way to the continent. And (giving to her letter) he left this letter, my dear, for you and Ted. I think you will find the contents very satisfactory.

NELLY MORRIS.

It's the best thing that could happen, undoubtedly. I suppose he's walked off with nearly all aunt's money?

ADAM CHERRY.

A good deal of it I'm afraid, dear. And he's not the only old man who's had the idea of walking off with other people's property.

NELLY MORRIS.

(With a laugh.) Have you been finding out any more of them?

ADAM CHERRY.

Yes, my dear (turning towards her). An old gentleman, my dear, (taking her hand and stroking it) that was about to walk off with a beautiful young lady who, by all the laws of love, was the rightful property of somebody else. Only, fortunately, he was stopped in time. (Nelly looks at him and is about to speak. Stopping her, kindly.) Don't say anything, my dear, it will be less painful for both of us. I was an old fool; and you—you thought of others more than of yourself, my dear. (Lightly) The property must be restored to its real owner, and I must leave you, my dear, to make all necessary compensation for temporary loss. See Jack and tell him you are free.

(Enter Mrs. Ben Dixon, followed by Theodore.)

MRS. BEN DIXON.

We saw that old scoundrel sneak off. Is he coming back?

I fancy not.

ADAM CHERRY.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Did Mrs. Wheedles let him go?

ADAM CHERRY.

I don't think she knows as yet. She's got to learn it poor woman.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Poor soul! I must stop and say a kind word to her. I've been calling her a lot of bad names. (Suddenly) Here, do you know what Ted's done?

ADAM CHERRY.

(Alarmed.) Nothing rash?

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Well, it all depends upon how you look at it. He's, got himself engaged to Primrose.

ADAM CHERRY.

(Smiling meaningly.) Rather a good thing for him, isn't it?

(Enter Primrose and Ted.)

PRIMROSE.

(Who has overheard Cherry's remark as she enters.) No, it isn't. You mustn't think that at all, Mr. Cherry.

I haven't any money, we're going to give it all away. Ted doesn't want me to have any.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

(Aside to her.) Put it by, quietly, my dear, and hear what he says two years after marriage.

THEODORE TRAVERS.

(Who has been occupying an unobtrusive position, taking notes.) You know I think it extremely uncivil of you; Ted, I had always regarded Primrose as my own personal property. I had been "nursing" her, as we say in the political world, for years.

TED MORRIS.

(Laughing!) I should have thought that a man of your age would have got over all ideas of that kind.

PRIMROSE DEANE.

(Laughing.) Besides, Theodore, I'm not literary. You know I read the Family Herald.

THEODORE TRAVERS.

My dear Primrose, that's a great mistake people make. A literary man doesn't want a literary wife. It would be like living with a critic. A clever man wants a wife foolish enough to always admire him. We should have got on admirably together. (To Cherry.) You haven't seen my pocket-book about anywhere, have you, Cherry?

ADAM CHERRY.

(Taking it from his pocket and giving it to him.) Yes, you left it on the table. I took the liberty of glancing into it; you don't mind I suppose?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Not at all. Learnt how to write a comedy?

ADAM CHERRY.

Yes, and (turning away) how to live one.

NELLY MORRIS

(Who has been reading letter.) Ted. (He comes to her.) Mr. Ben Dixon left this addressed to us. (Gives it him.) Read it.

TED MORRIS

Moral advice, I suppose. Why what—why here's notes for——

NELLY MORRIS.

It's the money you let him have to put in that building society.

TED MORRIS.

What, the whole £4,000! Nelly, we're rich! Primrose! (She comes to him.) Poor old Ben, he wasn't so bad. (Nelly, Primrose, and ted talk together near window.)

MRS. BEN DIXON.

That was very clever of you, Adam. I never thought of that. You're a good sort, Cherry.

(Enter Mrs. Wheedles, dressed somewhat extravagantly. She comes in eagerly, then pauses at door and looks round. Her heart sinks.)

MRS. WHEEDLES.

Where's——

ADAM CHERRY.

Gone, Mrs Wheedles. It was only a dodge to get you out of the room that he might bolt. Don't think any more about him.

(Mrs. Wheedles sinks into a chair. )

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Believe me, Mrs. Wheedles, it was the kindest thing he could do for you. We are both well rid of him.

MRS. WHEEDLES.

(Crying softly.) I believe you're right, ma'am.

TED MORRIS.

(At window looking out.) Hulloa, here's Jack. (To Cherry.) Shall I ask him in here?

ADAM CHERRY.

(Moving towards door at back. ) No, dear boy. I'll send him up to you myself.

NELLY MORRIS.

(Who has exchanged glances with Cherry at the mention of Jack's name, slips across quietly and meets him at door just as he is going out.) I shall always love you, Mr. Cherry. You're such a grand little gentleman.

(Cherry, taking her face between his hands, kisses her and goes out.)