  The terrace of Mrs. Dot’s house on the River. There are masses of rose trees in full flower. At the back is the house, covered with creepers. A table is set out for luncheon, with four chairs. Miss MacGregor is sitting in a garden chair, sewing. She is an elderly, quiet woman, thin, somewhat angular, good-humoured and amiable. Mrs. Dot is walking up and down impatiently. Aunt Eliza. My dear, why don’t you sit down and rest yourself? I’m sure you’ve walked at least ten miles up and down this terrace. Mrs. Dot. I’m in a temper. Aunt Eliza. That must be obvious to the meanest intelligence. Mrs. Dot. Have you read the paper to-day? Aunt Eliza. I’ve tried to, but as you’ve spent most of the Mrs. Dot. Then I beg you to listen to this: [Taking up a “Morning Post” and reading it.] A marriage has been arranged between Lord Hollington and Eleanor, only daughter of the late General Sir Robert Sellenger. [She crumples up the paper and stamps on it. Aunt Eliza. That’s the twenty-third time you’ve read this announcement to me. I assure you that it’s beginning to lose its novelty. Mrs. Dot. You can’t deny that it’s rather annoying to take up your paper in the morning and discover an official announcement that the man you’ve made up your mind to marry is taking serious steps to marry somebody else. Aunt Eliza. But would you tell me why you want to marry him? Mrs. Dot. Why does anybody ever want to marry anybody? Aunt Eliza. That is a question to which during the fifty-five years of my life I’ve been totally unable to discover an answer. Mrs. Dot. Well, because he’s clever, and handsome, and amusing. Aunt Eliza. He’s not really very clever, you know. Mrs. Dot. Of course he isn’t. He’s as stupid as an owl. I’ve told him so till I’m blue in the face. Aunt Eliza. And he’s not really very good-looking, is he? Mrs. Dot. On the contrary, I think he’s rather plain. Aunt Eliza. I suppose you find him amusing? Mrs. Dot. Not at all. I find him dull. Aunt Eliza. Then, perhaps, you can find me some other explanation. Mrs. Dot. Well, I’m head over ears in love with him. Aunt Eliza. But why, my dear? Why? Mrs. Dot. Because I am. That’s the most conclusive reason possible. And I’ve set my heart on marrying him. Aunt Eliza. I can’t imagine why you hadn’t the sense to fall in love with one of the various eligible persons who want to marry you. Mrs. Dot. But he does want to marry me. He’s desperately in love with me. Aunt Eliza. I should have thought he could find a better way of showing it than by getting engaged to somebody else. Mrs. Dot. He’s a sentimentalist, like all his sex. Good heavens, what a mess the world would get into if it weren’t for the practical common sense of the average women. Aunt Eliza. And what do you propose to do? Mrs. Dot. That’s just it. I don’t in the least know. They’ll all be here in half an hour, and I haven’t the shadow of a scheme. I lie awake all night racking my brains, and I can’t think of anything. Aunt Eliza. Why did you ask them to come here? Mrs. Dot. I thought I might hit upon something if they were under my eyes. Gerald had promised to spend Whitsun with me and, so that he shouldn’t put me off, I asked the Sellengers, too. Lady Sellenger was only too glad to get a week’s board and lodging for nothing. [The sound is heard of a motor stopping.] There’s Jimmie Blenkinsop. I told you he was going to motor down in time for luncheon, didn’t I? [Blenkinsop comes in with Freddie. Freddie has on a gay tweed suit.] Jimmie! Blenkinsop. How d’you do? [He shakes hands with Mrs. Dot and Aunt Eliza. Mrs. Dot. Now we’ll have luncheon. You must be starving with hunger. Blenkinsop. You must let me wash first. Mrs. Dot. No, we’re all far too hungry. Freddie will go and wash his hands for you. [She rings half a dozen times quickly on a little bell on the table. Freddie. I shall be back in one minute. [He goes out. Mrs. Dot. Now sit down. I’m perfectly ravenous. [The Butler and the Footman bring in luncheon, which is eaten during the next scene. Aunt Eliza. I perceive that the tender passion hasn’t in the least interfered with your appetite. Mrs. Dot. Oh, my dear James, I’m so unhappy. Blenkinsop. You look it. Mrs. Dot. By the way, how do I look? Blenkinsop. All right. You’ve changed your cook. Mrs. Dot. Hang my cook. Blenkinsop. I wouldn’t if I were you. She’s very good. Mrs. Dot. Of course you’ll drink the family ale? Blenkinsop. Of course I’ll do nothing of the kind. Mrs. Dot. You know it’s one of my principles to have it on the table. Blenkinsop. Yes, but it’s one of my principles not to drink it. I seem to remember that you have some particularly fine hock. Mrs. Dot. Jimmie, have you never been in love? Blenkinsop. Never, thank God. Mrs. Dot. I don’t believe it. Every one’s in love. I’m in love. Blenkinsop. Not with me, I trust. Mrs. Dot. You perfect idiot. Blenkinsop. Not at all. I should think it very natural. Mrs. Dot. I wonder why you never married, James. Blenkinsop. Because I have a considerable gift for repartee. I discovered in my early youth that men propose not because they want to marry, but because on certain Aunt Eliza. [Smiling.] It was a momentous discovery. Blenkinsop. No sooner had I made it than I began to cultivate my power of small talk. I felt that my only chance was to be ready with appropriate subjects at the shortest notice, and I spent a considerable part of my last year at Oxford in studying the best masters. Mrs. Dot. I never noticed that you were particularly brilliant. Blenkinsop. I never played for brilliancy. I played for safety. I flatter myself that when prattle was needed I have never been found wanting. I have met the ingenuity of sweet seventeen with a few observations on Free Trade, while the haggard efforts of thirty have struggled in vain against a brief exposition of the higher philosophy. The skittish widow of uncertain age has retired in disorder before a complete acquaintance with the restoration dramatists, and I have routed the serious spinster with religious leanings by my remarkable knowledge of the results of missionary endeavour in Central Africa. Once a dowager sought to ask me my intentions, but I flung at her astonished head an entire article from the “EncyclopÆdia Britannica.” These are only my serious efforts. I need not tell you how often I have Mrs. Dot. I don’t believe a word you say. I believe you never married for the simple reason that nobody would have you. Blenkinsop. Do me the justice to acknowledge that I’m the only man who’s known you ten days without being tempted by your preposterous income to offer you his hand and heart. Mrs. Dot. I don’t believe my income has anything to do with it. I put it down entirely to my very considerable personal attractions. Aunt Eliza. Here is Freddie, at last. What has he been doing? [Freddie comes in, having changed into flannels. Mrs. Dot. Why on earth have you changed your clothes? Freddie. [Sitting down at table.] I regard it as part of my duties as your secretary to look nice. Mrs. Dot. I don’t know that I think it essential for you to put on seven different suits a day. Freddie. I thought Miss Sellenger would probably like to go on the river before tea. Aunt Eliza. If she does, it’s more likely to be with Lord Hollington than with you. Freddie. Oh, that’s rot. Gerald’s an awfully good sort, but he’s not the sort of chap a girl’s desperately fond of. Mrs. Dot. You think that, do you? Freddie. Well, you can’t see yourself falling in love with him can you? Mrs. Dot. No. No. Aunt Eliza. And what is the sort of man a girl’s desperately fond of? Freddie. Oh, I don’t know. [Taking up a spoon and looking at himself, twisting an infinitesimal moustache.] I should think some one a bit younger than Gerald. Mrs. Dot. [With a little shriek.] You! Freddie. You needn’t be so surprised. One might do worse, you know. Mrs. Dot. [To Aunt Eliza pointing with a scornful finger at Freddie.] Do you think any one could possibly fall in love with that? Aunt Eliza. Of course not. Freddie. I say, come now. That’s a bit thick. Mrs. Dot. [To Blenkinsop.] If you were a young and lovely maiden would you fall in love with Freddie? Blenkinsop. [Looking at him doubtfully.] Well, if you ask me point blank I don’t think I should. Freddie. You’re all of you jolly supercilious. Mrs. Dot. He’s not positively plain, is he? Blenkinsop. Not positively. Freddie. Look here, you shut up. I bet I could cut you out with any girl you like to mention. Blenkinsop. Rubbish! Mrs. Dot. I daresay he can whisper nonsense in a woman’s ear as well as any one else. Aunt Eliza. It’s born in them, the brutes. Blenkinsop. Pooh! I wouldn’t waste my time on whispering nonsense. I’d just send my pass-book round by a messenger boy. Freddie. Well, I flatter myself Miss Sellenger will be much more pleased to see me than to see anybody else down here. Blenkinsop. You’ve only seen her once. Freddie. She’s a jolly nice girl, I can tell you that. Blenkinsop. [Ironically.] I suppose she squeezed your hand when you went away? Freddie. Well, it so happens, she did. Blenkinsop. You needn’t be set up about it, because she squeezed mine, too. It’s evidently a habit. Freddie. Yours! What rot! [Mrs. Dot has been staring at him, with both elbows on the table. A servant is standing at her side with a tray on which is the coffee. Aunt Eliza. Thompson is offering you some coffee, my dear. Mrs. Dot. [Absently.] Take it away. Freddie. What on earth are you staring at? Isn’t my tie all right? Mrs. Dot. You certainly are rather good-looking. I’ve never noticed it before. Freddie. It’s no good, you know. You’re my aunt, and the prayer book wouldn’t let you marry me. Mrs. Dot. Now I come to think of it, I daresay you’re quite grown up to any one who didn’t know you in Etons. Freddie. I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about. Mrs. Dot. I suppose a girl might quite easily fall in love with you. It had never occurred to me. Blenkinsop. Which means that you’ve found him a wife, and you’re going to marry him to some one whether he likes it or not. Mrs. Dot. [Suddenly.] Freddie. Freddie. Hulloa! Mrs. Dot. Go away and play. Freddie. Hang it all, I want to drink my coffee. Mrs. Dot. Go and make a mud pie in the garden. There’s a dear. [A bell is heard ringing loudly. Aunt Eliza. There they are! Mrs. Dot. Come on! [They all get up. Mrs. Dot and Aunt Eliza go out. Freddie and Blenkinsop light cigarettes. Freddie. What’s the matter with my virtuous aunt? Blenkinsop. How old are you, dear boy? Freddie. Twenty-two. Why? Blenkinsop. The delightful age when it’s still possible to feel desperately wicked. But you are old enough to have learnt that the moods of women are inscrutable. Freddie. Oh, rot! I never met a woman whom I couldn’t read at a glance. Blenkinsop. [Ironically.] Really? Freddie. You know, they talk about the incomprehensibility of women, but it’s all humbug. Blenkinsop. When you see a blank wall, does it ever occur to you that there’s anything on the other side? [Mrs. Dot and Aunt Eliza come in with Lady Sellenger, Nellie and Hollington. They are all talking. Lady Sellenger. We had a delightful journey. Oh, how beautiful your garden is! So romantic. I love romance. Blenkinsop. When it’s backed by an adequate income. Lady Sellenger. How d’you do? You cynic. Blenkinsop. I’m nothing of the sort. But I occasionally tell the truth. Lady Sellenger. You’re the most cynical man in London, and I’m frightened to death of you. Blenkinsop. There’s nothing the world loves more than a ready-made description which they can hang on to a man, and so save themselves all trouble in future. When I was quite young it occurred to some one that I was a cynic, and since then I’ve never been able to remark that it was a fine day without being accused of odious cynicism. Lady Sellenger. My dear Mr. Blenkinsop, what every one says is Blenkinsop. I gained my reputation by remarking once that it was possible for a penniless young man who married a very rich woman old enough to be his mother to be genuinely in love with her. Lady Sellenger. I think it was a very cynical observation. Mrs. Dot. [To Lady Sellenger.] You know my nephew, don’t you? Lady Sellenger. How d’you do? I think we met at dear Gerald’s a week or two ago. Freddie. [Shaking hands.] How d’you do? [To Nellie.] Have you quite forgotten me? Nellie. Not quite! Freddie. Jolly day, isn’t it? Nellie. Awfully jolly. [Mrs. Dot watches them as they shake hands. Aunt Eliza. [To Lady Sellenger.] Would you like me to show you your rooms? Lady Sellenger. Thanks, so much. Mrs. Dot. Freddie, is Gerald’s room ready? Freddie. Yes, I think so. I’ll just go and find out. [He goes out. Mrs. Dot. I was so delighted to see the announcement in the morning’s paper. I offer my very warmest congratulations. Nellie. Thanks, so much. Mrs. Dot. I’ve known Gerald for ages. I’m delighted to see him on the way to such a happy marriage. I couldn’t have wished him to get engaged to any one nicer than you. Lady Sellenger. It’s all so romantic, isn’t it? It ought to be an answer to a cynical creature like you to see the course of true love run so smoothly. Mrs. Dot. [To Gerald.] I offer you also my best congratulations. I think you’re very lucky. Gerald. [Stiffly.] Thank you, very much. I suppose I have my usual room? Mrs. Dot. Yes. [He goes into the house. Lady Sellenger and Nellie accompany Aunt Eliza. Mrs. Dot is left alone with Blenkinsop. James! Blenkinsop. Hulloa! Mrs. Dot. Do you love me? Blenkinsop. Passionately. Mrs. Dot. [Stamping her foot.] Don’t be so silly. Blenkinsop. You can’t expect me to be so uncivil as to say no. Mrs. Dot. But I’m perfectly serious. Blenkinsop. Are you, by Jove? That alters the matter. In that case the answer is in the negative. Mrs. Dot. And is there the least chance of your falling in love with me? Blenkinsop. Not so long as I remain in full possession of my senses. Mrs. Dot. Do you want to marry me? Blenkinsop. Really you embarrass me very much. Mrs. Dot. Don’t hedge. Blenkinsop. It’s a little disconcerting to have a pistol put to your head in the form of a proposal of marriage. Mrs. Dot. I’m not making you a proposal of marriage, idiot. Blenkinsop. Then I should very much like to know what you are doing. Mrs. Dot. I’m asking you a very simple and ordinary question. Blenkinsop. Thank God, it’s not one that women ask often. Mrs. Dot. I never saw any one out of whom it’s harder to get a straight answer. Blenkinsop. You must make allowances for a pardonable agitation. Mrs. Dot. James, do you want to marry me? Blenkinsop. No, bless you! Mrs. Dot. Are you quite sure? Blenkinsop. Positive. Mrs. Dot. Would nothing induce you to marry me? Blenkinsop. Nothing. Mrs. Dot. [With a sigh of relief.] Then you may kiss my hand. Blenkinsop. [Doing so.] You’re not hurt? Mrs. Dot. I’m infinitely relieved. Blenkinsop. And Freddie, the dear boy, says he can read a woman at a glance. Mrs. Dot. Now listen to me quite seriously. I want you to do something for me. Blenkinsop. [Nervously.] We’ve put marriage out of the question, haven’t we? Mrs. Dot. Certainly. Blenkinsop. [Generously.] You may ask anything else of me. Mrs. Dot. I want you to let me make love to you. Blenkinsop. My dear friend, this is very surprising. Mrs. Dot. There are people who’d welcome the proposal with alacrity. Blenkinsop. For how long? Mrs. Dot. Only for a week. Blenkinsop. You’re sure it’s not in earnest? Mrs. Dot. Quite sure. Blenkinsop. And what have I got to do? Mrs. Dot. Well, you’ve got to look as if you liked it. Blenkinsop. [Sombrely.] Of course, it sounds very delightful. Mrs. Dot. You must show a coming-on disposition, you know, or I can do nothing. Blenkinsop. Do you want me to make love to you? Mrs. Dot. I’m afraid it’s asking a great deal of you. Blenkinsop. Not at all. Not at all. But I wish you’d tell me what your little game is. Mrs. Dot. Ah, here’s Aunt Eliza. The very person I wanted. [Aunt Eliza comes on the terrace from the house. Impulsively.] Aunt Eliza, will you be a perfect brick? Will you do something for me, that’s an awful nuisance? Aunt Eliza. My dear, why on earth are you so excited? Of course I’ll do anything in reason for you. Mrs. Dot. But it’s not in reason. Aunt Eliza. Well, I’ll do it all the same. Mrs. Dot. I want you to take a motor and bolt up to London and get a special licence. Aunt Eliza. A special licence! Blenkinsop. A special licence! Mrs. Dot. [Catching sight of his face.] Get two special licences. They’re always useful things to have in a house. Aunt Eliza. But they must be made out to certain names. Mrs. Dot. Must they? How stupid! Well, have one made out for Frederick Perkins and Eleanor Sellenger. Aunt Eliza. My dear child, you must be crazy. Mrs. Dot. Now don’t argue, but do as I tell you. If two Aunt Eliza. But they hardly know one another. Mrs. Dot. If people waited to know one another before they married, the world wouldn’t be so grossly over-populated as it is now. Aunt Eliza. You’re certainly quite crazy. Mrs. Dot. No, I’m not. I shall never get Gerald to break his word. My only chance is with Nellie. Blenkinsop. [Uneasily.] But you’ve told her to get two licences. Mrs. Dot. Make the second one out in the names of James Blenkinsop and Frances Annandale Worthley. Blenkinsop. I absolutely refuse. Mrs. Dot. But you must let me. You can’t leave an old friend in the lurch. Blenkinsop. It’s all very fine to invoke the claims of friendship, but it’s carrying it rather far when you pay three guineas for a special licence. Mrs. Dot. My dear man, I can’t drag you to the altar. Blenkinsop. I’m beginning to think you’re capable of anything. Mrs. Dot. But don’t you see, you idiot, that I want to marry Gerald Hollington? And I’m eating my heart out. Blenkinsop. [Crossly.] It’s evidently a diet that agrees with you. You’re growing fat on it. Mrs. Dot. Don’t be spiteful. I’ve not gained half a pound in the last five years. Aunt Eliza. And how on earth are you going to get Freddie and Nellie Sellenger to use this licence? Mrs. Dot. Never mind, leave everything to me. And make haste to get up to London. Aunt Eliza. Very well, I’ll go at once. [Just as Aunt Eliza is going into the house Lady Sellenger comes out, followed by Nellie; Aunt Eliza stops and listens to the conversation from the doorway. Mrs. Dot. I hope you’ve found everything you wanted. Lady Sellenger. Oh, yes, thanks. I’m quite delighted with the view from my room. Mrs. Dot. Come and sit down. I have something very serious I want to talk to you about. Lady Sellenger. Dear Mr. Blenkinsop, do take Nellie for a little stroll in the garden. Mrs. Dot. Oh, but it concerns Nellie, and I want her to hear. Blenkinsop. I perceive you are inclined to think that the serious cannot fail to be improper, Lady Sellenger. Lady Sellenger. Be quiet, you horrible cynic. Mrs. Dot. Well, a most ridiculous thing has happened, and I want Nellie to help me. Nellie. Me? Mrs. Dot. My dear, it’s so unfortunate, but my nephew has fallen head over ears in love with you. Nellie. Nonsense! Mrs. Dot. I can’t understand it. After all, he’s only seen you once, and you can’t have exchanged more than a dozen words. Lady Sellenger. How very annoying! Mrs. Dot. And it’s so unexpected, because he’s not at all the sort of boy who falls in and out of love with every pretty girl he meets. I think you’re his first passion, and he’s inclined to take it very seriously. Lady Sellenger. Poor boy, I can afford to sympathise with him now that Nellie is safely engaged to Gerald Hollington. Nellie. It’s really rather flattering, isn’t it? But how on earth d’you know? Mrs. Dot. He tells me everything. You see I’ve always tried to be his friend as well as his aunt. He has no secrets from me. Blenkinsop. You’ll tell us next that a boy who’s been to Eton and Oxford has a pure and innocent mind. Mrs. Dot. My dear child, he simply raves about you. He’s been talking of nothing else ever since you met. Lady Sellenger. But doesn’t he know that Nellie is going to be married at the end of the season? Mrs. Dot. Of course, he does. I’ve dinned it into his ears, but it seems to have no effect on him. He’s the sort of lover that will hear of no obstacles. It’s really quite pathetic to hear the passionate harangues that he pours into my ears. Nellie. What sort of things does he say? Mrs. Dot. My dear, I suppose very much the same as Gerald. Nellie. No one could accuse Gerald of being a passionate lover. Mrs. Dot. Really? Lady Sellenger. I’m very glad he’s not. He’s going to be your husband, and that’s more satisfactory than any amount of pretty speeches. Nellie. I could wish that he talked to me of something besides the weather and the Royal Academy. Lady Sellenger. My dear child, what are you saying? Gerald has a charming nature and the very highest principles. Blenkinsop. [Imitating her pompous manner.] To say nothing of a peerage and a considerable income. Mrs. Dot. He certainly has every advantage over poor Freddie, who is nobody in particular and hasn’t a penny to bless himself with. Nellie. I think he’s awfully nice. Mrs. Dot. Well, that’s just what I don’t want you to think. I shouldn’t have said anything to you about his—mad infatuation, only I want you to be very careful. Lady Sellenger. Of course. It’s quite natural. Nellie. What do you want me to do? Mrs. Dot. Well, I want you to be very good and sweet and help me to cure him. I’d send him away, only it would have no effect. I thought if he saw you again he might find out that you have at least one or two faults. At present he thinks you too perfect for words. Nellie. I’m not that, really. Mrs. Dot. I didn’t think you were. I want you to promise that you’ll do nothing that he can in the least take as encouragement. I want you to be very distant and very cold. Nellie. Of course, I’ll be only too glad to do anything I can. Mrs. Dot. You’d be doing him a real kindness if you could snub him at every opportunity. Then you must avoid him as much as you can. Of course, you’ll be very much with Gerald while you’re down here. Lady Sellenger. Of course. The dears, they’ve not seen one another for a year, and they have an infinity of things to discuss. Mrs. Dot. It’ll be quite easy for you to show my poor Freddie that he’s only making a prodigious fool of himself. Nellie. I feel so sorry for him. Mrs. Dot. You will do what you can, won’t you? Nellie. I’ll make it quite plain to him at once that he mustn’t care for me. Mrs. Dot. Treat it as an impertinence that you resent. Nellie. I’ll do that on the first opportunity. Mrs. Dot. I know you have the sweetest nature in the world, but if you could be really brutal to him at once, it would cure him instantly. Nellie. I can be horrid when I like. Mrs. Dot. I’m sure you can. I put infinite reliance in your tact. Lady Sellenger. And now I think we really might take a little turn in the garden before tea. [Seeing that Nellie, instead of accompanying her, strolls towards the house.] Where are you going, Nellie? Nellie. [Stopping.] I’ve just remembered I must write a letter. I’ll join you in five minutes. Lady Sellenger. [To Blenkinsop and Mrs. Dot who are getting up.] Oh, don’t let me disturb you, I shall enjoy wandering about and looking at the flowers by myself. [She goes away. Just as Nellie is entering the house Freddie comes out. She gives him a glance and as she passes, drops a rose. Freddie picks it up and comes forward. Mrs. Dot. You monster! Freddie. What’s the matter? Mrs. Dot. Give me that flower! Freddie. I shall do nothing of the sort. I shall put it in my button-hole. Mrs. Dot. Freddie, I’ve come to the conclusion that you want a holiday. I wish you to pack up your things at once and go to Brighton for a week. You’re looking pale and tired. I’m sure you’ve been working too hard. Freddie. Oh, rot! I’m as fit as a fiddle. Mrs. Dot. Don’t you agree with me, James? Blenkinsop. Certainly. I think a change of air is distinctly indicated. Freddie. But I can’t go away when you’ve got people in the house. Besides, who’s to look after your correspondence? Mrs. Dot. My dear boy, your health is the chief thing. I should never forgive myself if you came to any harm while you were my secretary. I’ll write my letters myself. Blenkinsop. Besides, I shall be here, and I’ll do all I can to help you. Freddie. I don’t believe I’m pale. Mrs. Dot. You only have to look at yourself. [She takes out a little pocket mirror and hands it to him. Blenkinsop. Let’s look at your tongue. [He puts it out.] Tut, tut, tut. Freddie. Look here, there’s something behind this. Blenkinsop. You’re too clever, my boy. Freddie. I see through your little game. Aunt Dot, you want to get rid of me. Mrs. Dot. How can you be so absurd? Freddie. Now, I wonder what your reason is. Mrs. Dot. Shall we tell him the truth? Blenkinsop. Yes, perhaps you’d better. He’s a very bright boy. Mrs. Dot. Well, the fact is, Freddie, a dreadful thing has happened. Poor Nellie Sellenger is desperately in love with you. Freddie. I don’t see why you should want me to go away on that account. Blenkinsop. Good lord, man, don’t be so self-satisfied. Aren’t you surprised, aren’t you dumfounded that a pretty girl should fall in love with you? Freddie. I thought it meant something when she dropped that rose. Blenkinsop. Bless my stars, the dolt takes it as a matter of course. Freddie. I’m awfully flattered and all that sort of thing. Mrs. Dot. But not exactly surprised? Freddie. It’s not fair to ask a fellow a question like that. Blenkinsop. At all events, you see now the necessity for depriving us for a time of your charming society. Freddie. Nothing will induce me to desert a post of danger. I’m going to face the music. Blenkinsop. Don’t be such an ass. It’s not you we’re thinking of, it’s that unfortunate girl. Freddie. I don’t know why you think she’s unfortunate. Mrs. Dot. But, my dear boy, she’s engaged to Gerald Hollington. Don’t you see how serious the whole thing is? The only chance is for you to go away. We must try and make her forget you. Freddie. I don’t want to do anybody a bad turn. I wouldn’t do anything to queer Gerald’s pitch for worlds. Blenkinsop. You must combine with us in order to save her from herself. Mrs. Dot. There’s no use in her eating her heart out for you, when she must inevitably marry Gerald. Freddie. Poor old Gerald, I told you he wasn’t the sort of chap a girl would be desperately in love with. Blenkinsop. The acumen you have shown does credit to your years. Freddie. Still, you know, I don’t think it’s wise for me to go away. Don’t you think it would be rather marked? And they always say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Blenkinsop. It was a woman who invented that proverb. There’s no truth in it. Mrs. Dot. What else can you suggest? The fact remains that Nellie must be cured of this—of this passion. Freddie. My own idea is that the best thing is for me to hang on here as if I knew nothing about it. I’ll take care to be very distant. I’ll ignore her as much as I can. Mrs. Dot. Will you promise to do that? Freddie. Yes, rather. I’ll let her see that I’m really a deuced dissipated dog. Blenkinsop. Don’t let her think you’re too great a devil with Mrs. Dot. No, you must seem rather dull and stupid. Let her think you’re a bit of a milksop. [Freddie looks at them suspiciously. Freddie. Look here, you’re not pulling my leg all the time, are you? Mrs. Dot. My dear, I should never take such a liberty. Freddie. I don’t believe a word of what you’ve told me. Why should she care for me? You’ve simply been humbugging me right and left. [For a moment Mrs. Dot is taken aback, but she sees Lady Sellenger coming through the garden with Gerald. Mrs. Dot. Here’s Lady Sellenger. You won’t accuse her of trying to make a fool of you. [Lady Sellenger and Gerald appear.] I’ve just been talking to Freddie about—about your girl. Lady Sellenger. Oh yes. [To Freddie.] My poor boy, you’re in a very difficult position. Freddie. Then you know all about it, too? Lady Sellenger. I really feel for you very much. You’ll want a great deal of tact and a great deal of courage. But you must do your duty. [She turns aside to Blenkinsop. Mrs. Dot. [In an undertone to Freddie.] Now have I been pulling your leg? Freddie. Poor girl! [He goes into the house. Lady Sellenger. [Looking at him as he goes.] What a beautiful and touching thing love is. Blenkinsop. You must take care, Lady Sellenger. You’re growing sentimental. Lady Sellenger. But I’ve always been as sentimental as a schoolgirl in my heart. Only, so long as Nellie’s future was Mrs. Dot. Of course, Jimmie laughs; he doesn’t know what love is. Lady Sellenger. Have you never been loved for yourself, Mr. Blenkinsop? Blenkinsop. I have, but I have always found it deuced expensive. Gerald. I’m afraid Blenkinsop doesn’t set much store on the gentle sex. Blenkinsop. Don’t call them gentle. They’re very much rougher than men. Mrs. Dot. Stop him, or he’ll utter a whole string of horrors. Blenkinsop. Have you never watched the gentle sex fight and push and scramble as it gets into the Hammersmith bus? I assure you, the unlucky man who finds himself in that seething feminine crowd is fortunate if he escapes without losing an eye or half his teeth. And have you seen the fury of the gentle sex at a sale as they seize some worthless fragment, and the bitterness with which they haggle? The other day I was in the Army and Navy Stores, and two women were standing on the stairs, discussing their servants, so that no one could pass up and down. I took off my Lady Sellenger. Every one knows you’re a horrible cynic, so there can’t be a word of truth in anything you say. Blenkinsop. Q.E.D. Gerald. Here comes Nellie. [Nellie comes in, having changed her dress. She now wears a very pretty white frock, all flounces and furbelows, and a large white hat. At the same moment from the other side Freddie enters. He also has changed, and is now in spotless white. Mrs. Dot. [With a laugh, whispering to Blenkinsop.] They’ve both changed their clothes. Gerald. Would you like to come for a row, Nellie? Nellie. I’m too tired. Won’t you go with Mrs. Dot? I’ll rest here till tea-time. [Nellie sits down, and the others go. Lady Sellenger. Personally, I must walk. I sacrifice all my inclinations to my fear of growing too stout. I often wonder if we shall get our good dinners in heaven that we’ve done without on earth. Blenkinsop. It’s generally understood that we shall only get our deserts. [Nellie watches them go from over her shoulder. She sees that Freddie is hanging back. She smiles and elaborately disregards him. He comes forward and leans over her chair. Nellie. Aren’t you going with the others? Freddie. Do you mind if I stay with you? Nellie. I like it. Freddie. Jolly here, isn’t it? Nellie. Awfully jolly. Freddie. I’ve not congratulated you on your engagement yet. Nellie. I didn’t expect you would. Freddie. Why? Nellie. Oh, I don’t know. Freddie. It seems a long time since we first met, doesn’t it? Nellie. Why? Freddie. Because I seem to know you so well. Nellie. You’re very easy to get to know, aren’t you? Freddie. I say, you look just like another rose in this garden. Nellie. I suppose you say that to every girl who sits here? Freddie. I’ve never said it to any one but you. Nellie. They tell me you’re very impressionable. Freddie. They lie. Nellie. I think I shall take off my hat. Freddie. Yes, do. [She proceeds to do so. She pretends that she cannot. Nellie. Oh, how stupid of me! Something has caught. Freddie. May I help you? Nellie. I’m afraid I’m giving you a lot of trouble. [He helps her, and she gives a little scream. Freddie. Oh, I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you? Nellie. No, but it tickled. [She takes off the hat. One hand of hers remains in his. Their eyes meet for the first time, and they smile. Freddie. I say, what a pretty hand you have! It looks so white on mine, doesn’t it? [Mrs. Dot creeps back and stands behind a bush, so that she cannot be seen. Nellie. I rather like your hand. It’s so strong and brown. Freddie. You know, you’re awfully easy to get on with. Sometimes I feel dreadfully shy and nervous with women, but I can think of all sorts of things I want to say to you. Nellie. I seem to have known you all my life. Freddie. [Impulsively.] Isn’t it jolly here? Nellie. Awfully jolly. [He looks at her for a moment. Freddie. I want to ask you something. You won’t be angry, will you? Nellie. No. Freddie. May I kiss you? Nellie. No. Freddie. It’s awfully unkind of you. Nellie. You shouldn’t have asked. Freddie. Shouldn’t I? I wanted to, badly. Nellie. There are some things one should do without asking. Freddie. You are a brick. [He kisses her. As he does so, Hollington comes in and sees them. He stops for a moment in astonishment, then withdraws. Freddie. Let’s go on the river, shall we? Nellie. I told Gerald I was too tired. Freddie. Oh, hang Gerald! Nellie. We might go and play the piano in the drawing-room. Freddie. I’m awfully fond of music. Cake-walks, and things like that, you know. [They get up. Mrs. Dot comes forward. Mrs. Dot. Are you going? I thought you were tired. Nellie. We’re just going to look at the kitchen garden. Freddie. I’ve told Miss Sellenger that you’ve got some most awfully good carrots. Mrs. Dot. [As they go to the house.] That’s not the way, you know. Nellie. [Coolly.] I’m only just going to get a handkerchief. Mrs. Dot. Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. [They go. Gerald comes forward. He is rather grave and solemn. Mrs. Dot. What a picture they make, don’t they? I can’t tell you how much I like Nellie. Gerald. You’ve come to the conclusion that the cut of her skirt’s all right. Mrs. Dot. Ah, you mustn’t recall what I said when I was in a temper. You know, I’m rather touched by her obvious affection for you. Gerald. It’s very good of you to say so. Mrs. Dot. It’s so nice to see two people head over ears in love with one another. Gerald. I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to think Nellie was so much in love with me as all that. Mrs. Dot. My dear boy, I’ve just had proof of it. Gerald. Have you? That’s more than I have. Mrs. Dot. And is dear Lady Sellenger going to live with you when you’re married? Gerald. Look here, Dot, what’s the meaning of all this? Mrs. Dot. [Much surprised.] Of what? Gerald. Why did you ask us all down? Mrs. Dot. Because I’m of a hospitable turn of mind. Didn’t you want to come? I’m so sorry. Gerald. You’ve utterly ignored me since I arrived. Mrs. Dot. [Ironically.] Much as I should have liked to devote myself exclusively to your entertainment, I’ve been really obliged to remember that my other guests had equal claims upon me. Gerald. I should very much like to take you by the shoulders and give you a good shaking. Mrs. Dot. I don’t think you’re in a very good temper to-day. Gerald. [Crossly.] Pardon me, I’m in the best possible temper. Mrs. Dot. You certainly ought to be with the prospect of spending a week in almost uninterrupted tÊte-À-tÊte with the object of your affections. Gerald. I can’t make you out. You’re so changed since last we met. Mrs. Dot. You see, last time I thought I was in love with you. Now I know I’m not. Gerald. [Bitterly.] I’m glad you’ve got over it so quickly. Mrs. Dot. Really, you couldn’t wish me to continue eating my heart out for a young man, however charming, who is going to marry somebody else. Gerald. Of course not. Mrs. Dot. [Mockingly.] Well? Gerald. I was a fool to think you ever cared at all. Mrs. Dot. But why should you think it when you took the greatest pains to assure me that you didn’t care two straws for me? Gerald. [Quickly.] I didn’t! Mrs. Dot. You did! Gerald. I didn’t! Mrs. Dot. Then you did care for me? Gerald. I never said that. Mrs. Dot. Anyhow, whatever your sentiments were, it would gratify your self-esteem to think that I was languishing with a hopeless passion. Gerald. It’s cruel of you to laugh at me. Mrs. Dot. By the way, are you by any chance in love with me now? Gerald. You have no right to ask me that question. Mrs. Dot. My dear boy, I’m not keeping you from spending an idyllic afternoon with Nellie. You’ve forced this conversation upon me. I assure you it’s most distasteful. Gerald. If I had married you, I should certainly have beaten you with a big stick. Mrs. Dot. What do you think is my chief characteristic? Gerald. That’s a question I can answer. The most confounded and aggravating unreasonableness that I ever saw. Mrs. Dot. Nonsense. It’s obvious that my chief characteristic is a sweet and yielding nature. But as there’s no likelihood of our agreeing on that, what do you think is the second? Gerald. Obstinacy. Mrs. Dot. Well, I prefer to call it strength of mind. Now, I’ll acknowledge that I was in love with you—a month ago. That’s a feather in your cap. Gerald. Oh, I wish we were back again. I’ve had such rotten luck. Mrs. Dot. But when I saw that my sweetness was likely to be wasted on the desert air, I made up my mind to cure myself. First I cried for two days. Gerald. Dot. Mrs. Dot. No, don’t sympathise. I have rather a high colour, and when I’ve had a good cry it always improves my complexion. After that, I ordered some new frocks, and I bought a diamond necklace that I’d been hankering after for some time. Gerald. And that thoroughly consoled you, I suppose? Mrs. Dot. It helped. Then I came to the conclusion that there were as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it. I thought you over. After all, you’re not really very good-looking, are you? Gerald. I’m not aware that I ever made any pretence of being so. Mrs. Dot. And I’m sure no one could accuse you of being extremely amusing. Gerald. I have no doubt I’m excessively dull. Mrs. Dot. I couldn’t help seeing that you’d suit Nellie much better than you would have suited me. She has that comfortable stupidity which the average Englishman looks upon as the highest recommendation for a wife. Gerald. It’s charming of you to say so. Mrs. Dot. She is a little dull, isn’t she? Gerald. I don’t think her so. Mrs. Dot. Doesn’t time hang rather heavily on your hands now and then? Isn’t it difficult to find topics of conversation? Gerald. I don’t find it so. Mrs. Dot. Ah—she does. Gerald. And the long and short of it is that the emotion which you dignify with the name of love, had entirely disappeared after a week. Mrs. Dot. Make it ten days to be on the safe side. Gerald. I congratulate you. Mrs. Dot. You wouldn’t have it otherwise, surely? Gerald. Of course not. Mrs. Dot. Then all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds. Gerald. [Furiously.] I think you must be quite heartless. Mrs. Dot. [Delighted.] Ah, that’s what I said to you a month ago, Philippine. Gerald. Now, perhaps, you’d like to know what my feeling is towards you? Mrs. Dot. No, I’m quite indifferent, thanks! Gerald. Well, I shall tell you for all that. It’s a joke to you, and you can afford to laugh at it. [He goes up to her and then stops suddenly. Mrs. Dot. Well? Gerald. Nothing. Mrs. Dot. Oh! My poor heart went pit-a-pat. I thought you were going to kiss me. Gerald. I hate you. And I wish I’d never set eyes on you. [He turns on his heel and walks out quickly. As soon as he is gone Mrs. Dot begins to dance a break-down. She cocks a snook after him. Mrs. Dot. I’ll marry you yet, you beast, I’ll marry you yet. [Blenkinsop comes in. Blenkinsop. What on earth is the matter with you now? [From inside is heard the sound of a cake-walk. Mrs. Dot. Come on. [She seizes him and begins to dance. Blenkinsop. Unhand me, woman! Mrs. Dot. Oh, you dear, you dear, you dear. [She flings both arms round his neck and kisses him soundly. At this moment Gerald returns. Gerald. I beg your pardon. I forgot my hat. [He takes it and goes out stiffly. Mrs. Dot bursts into a shriek of laughter. Blenkinsop. That’s all very fine. But what about my character? END OF THE SECOND ACT |
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