  The scene is the same as in the preceding act, the drawing room of Lord Francis Etchingham’s house in Norfolk Street. It is afternoon. Lady Francis is seated, working at embroidery on a drum. Catherine stands at the window, looking out into the street. Lady Francis. Aren’t you tired, Kate? Catherine. [Still looking out of the window.] No, mother. Lady Francis. You were out all the morning. Catherine. I went to see my lawyers. Lady Francis. [With a sigh.] I can’t understand that with such a [Catherine neither answers nor turns. Lady Francis. [After a quick look at her.] Dr. O’Farrell says your father will be well enough to come downstairs to-morrow. Catherine. I’m glad of that. Lady Francis. This is the second attack of gout he’s had this year. Catherine. Poor old thing! Lady Francis. Aren’t you tired of staring at the house opposite? You’re not expecting anyone, are you? Catherine. No. Lady Francis. You’re dreadfully restless. [With a faint smile.] I’m growing quite exhausted. [Catherine gives a little cry of astonishment and alarm. Lady Francis. What’s the matter? Catherine. [Turning round and coming forward.] George has just driven up. Lady Francis. I suppose he’s come to see your father. Catherine. They mustn’t let him up. I won’t see him. It’s monstrous that I should have to put up with this. Lady Francis. My dear, don’t worry. George hasn’t made any attempt to see you for a fortnight. [George Winter comes in hurriedly, unannounced; he shuts the door behind him. Catherine. [Indignantly.] What d’you want? You’ve got no right to force yourself upon me. [She makes a movement to leave the room, but he intercepts her. He takes a paper out of his pocket. George Winter. I’ve just been served with this. Catherine. What else did you expect? George Winter. Your father told me that nothing was going to be done for the moment. Catherine. I can’t help what father said. It’s my business. I can allow no one to interfere with me. Lady Francis. What is that, George? George Winter. Would you like to look at it? It’s an interesting document. Catherine. It’s the petition, mother. Lady Francis. I wish I had my glasses. I’ve never seen one before. George Winter. [Grimly.] You’ve been lucky. Lady Francis. [With an acid smile.] Or virtuous. George Winter. [To Catherine.] You’ve got to withdraw this. Catherine. Surely you must see that from now all communications between us must pass through our lawyers. George Winter. Rats! [Catherine crosses the room and rings the bell at the side of the fireplace. George Winter. What are you ringing for? Catherine. For Thompson to open the door for you. George Winter. That’s excessively thoughtful of you. Catherine. Mother, can’t you protect me from this? Lady Francis. My dear, your husband is six feet high, and broad in proportion. I’ll tell Thompson to kick him downstairs if you like.... George Winter. But it’s not a job that any well-regulated butler would enjoy. [The Butler comes in, and waits for an order. George Winter. Oh, Thompson, I’m expecting three gentlemen here at five o’clock. You’ll show them into the library, and let me know the moment they come. Thompson. Very good, sir. [He goes out. Catherine. What do you mean by this? George Winter. That’s precisely what I came to tell you.... I suppose you’ve been talking. There’ve been references to a dispute between us in the Middlepool papers, and the Herald, the Conservative rag, has stated in the current issue that you are divorcing me. Catherine. The Middlepool papers are singularly well-informed. George Winter. That’s where you’re mistaken. The Argus is printing a special edition with a complete and authoritative denial of the whole story. I’ve issued a writ for libel against the Herald. Catherine. One lie more or less on your conscience can make no great difference to you. George Winter. I’ve explained your presence here by your susceptibility to fresh paint. Lady Francis. What do you mean? George Winter. [With a chuckle.] The day after Kate left Portman Square I came to the conclusion that the house needed re-decorating. I’m having it papered and painted from cellar to attic. When it’s finished I shall start again. Lady Francis. Fortunately the British workman takes his time. George Winter. But that’s not enough. The Middlepool people are nervous about the whole thing. You know Swalecliffe—he’s the Nonconformist minister—one of those confounded busybodies who go poking their noses into everybody’s private life. He’s on my committee. He and Ford control the dissenting interest between them.... They’ve got it into their heads that they want the truth from you. Catherine. Me? Lady Francis. Who is Ford? George Winter. Oh, he’s the richest man in Middlepool. He’s one of my directors on the Middlepool Investment Trust. Hard as nails! Shrewd as they make ’em! But a Nonconformist to the tips of his fingers. He’s just built a Congregational church out of his own pocket. He’s a corker to deal with. Lady Francis. But I don’t understand. What do these men want Kate to do? George Winter. They’re coming here at five o’clock with Boyce, my agent, to ask Kate if there’s any truth in the rumours. Lady Francis. But it’s outrageous! George Winter. Of course it’s outrageous! But what d’you expect from a parcel of sneaking Middlepool dissenters? Lady Francis. And what do you expect Kate to say? George Winter. She’s going to say it’s the first she’s heard of it. Then they’re going to ask her if she’s divorcing me, and she’s going to—repudiate the suggestion with all the scorn at her command. Catherine. I refuse to see these people. George Winter. Do you? Catherine. [Satirically.] Or do you want me to tell them before your face that every word they’ve heard is true? Yes, I’ll see them. I’ll settle the whole thing. And then I shall be rid of this persecution. But I shall tell them the exact truth. George Winter. [Grimly humorous.] It’s not five o’clock yet. [The Butler comes in, followed by Mr. Perigal. This is the Prime Minister. He is a stoutish man of middle height, clean-shaven, with abundant grey hair worn long. His face is sensual, shrewd and bland; his manner is kindly and restrained. Thompson. Mr. Perigal. [Exit. Lady Francis. [Cordially.] My dear Bob, this is kind of you. Perigal. How d’you do? Well, Kate? Catherine. You never come and see us now you’re Prime Minister. Perigal. It’s a delusion of the public that the Prime Minister has nothing to do but pay afternoon calls. [He turns to George Winter.] I’m very glad to see you here. George Winter. On the best possible terms with my mother-in-law. Lady Francis. Well, when are you going to dissolve Parliament? Perigal. [Making himself comfortable in an arm-chair.] I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had time to read the papers for some days. What do they say about it? Lady Francis. Don’t be irritating, Bob. Perigal. My dear, a wise Prime Minister looks upon it as a privilege to fulfil the intelligent anticipations of the press. Lady Francis. I hope it’s not true that you’re going to give Emily Lascelles the Home Office? Perigal. Good heavens, you talk as if your sex were already comfortably installed in the House. Lady Francis. You know perfectly what I mean. It doesn’t matter about the men, because all the work is done by the permanent officials. But their wives are quite another matter. I tell you frankly it will be a great mistake if Emily Lascelles goes to the Home Office. Perigal. Why? Lady Francis. She can’t entertain. She doesn’t know a word of French. She dresses abominably. Perigal. [Ironically.] That settles it. Emily Lascelles shall not go to the Home Office. George Winter. [With a smile.] That is how history is made. Lady Francis. Oh, George, Frank bought a print of Napoleon the other day that he wants to show you. Do come up, will you? George Winter. Of course. Lady Francis. George collects things about Napoleon, you know. Perigal. Ah, the Napoleon of Finance.... I’m sorry to hear that Frank is laid up. Lady Francis. Oh, he’s much better to-day. We shall only be five minutes. [She goes out with George Winter. Perigal. How naturally your mother did that! It almost took me in. Catherine. [Gravely.] Have you come to see me by arrangement? Perigal. I’m up to my eyes in work! I’m afraid I could hardly find time for a chat in the middle of the afternoon without a rather special object. Catherine. I suppose not. Perigal. But your husband’s presence leads me to suppose that your common sense has made my errand unnecessary. Catherine. Haven’t you heard of the life we led together? Perigal. I make a point of never believing the disagreeable things that are said about a man who subscribes so handsomely to the Party funds as your husband. Catherine. Then I have you against me too? Perigal. My dear child, I’ve known you all your life. Your mother is my first cousin. We all desire nothing more than your happiness. Catherine. George was served with the petition this morning. Perigal. Ah!... It appears that two prominent supporters of your husband are coming up from Middlepool this afternoon to get from your own lips a denial of the rumours that have been circulating in the constituency. Catherine. I can promise you that they’re not going to get it. Perigal. I wish I could persuade you to pause before you take such an irrevocable step. Catherine. But why should you care? Perigal. We’ve been in for six years. We’re dissolving Parliament at once. I don’t know if we shall get in again. It’ll be a very close shave. We can’t afford to risk a couple of seats.... Catherine. A couple? Perigal. The Chief Whip tells me that your husband proposes to lodge a counter petition. Catherine. If it weren’t so odious, the idea would be laughable. I promise you that.... Perigal. Yes, yes, of course. Neither you nor Robert Colby has anything to reproach himself with. That is obvious. But ... well, I gather that the evidence is such that a prima facie case could be made out. It would be awkward just at this moment, for all of us—I myself could wish that my relationship to your dear mother weren’t quite so close. The British people for some reason always judge moral delinquencies on the Radical side with great severity. I have always thought it a hardship that the Tories should have a sort of prescriptive right to the more amusing forms of immorality. Catherine. Let us understand one another plainly. Do you Perigal. My dear, no one is so innocent that there’s not occasion for many people to shake their heads and say: One never knows. I don’t suppose any Prime Minister would invite a man to enter his cabinet who’d been co-respondent in a divorce suit. Catherine. It’s nothing short of blackmail. George makes no concealment of the fact. Perigal. He has a brutal frankness which is sometimes rather engaging. Catherine. Oh, you drive me mad. My whole happiness is at stake, and you can pause to smile at that odious cynicism.... You’ve known Robert and me all our lives. Won’t you believe in us? Won’t you stand by us? Perigal. [Very kindly.] My dear, in the position entrusted to me I can’t take risks.... I dare say you know that one of the items in our programme is a modified form of compulsory service. I don’t know that I altogether like it myself, but it’ll take the wind out of the Tory sails, and we’ve got to do something. Catherine. He’s set his heart on getting the War Office. Perigal. [Smiling.] Well, you have it in your hands to give it him. Catherine. I? Does he know that George Winter has made certain threats? Perigal. I think not. Catherine. Oh, what a responsibility you put upon me. Perigal. That generally goes with power, and at the moment you have that too. Catherine. [After a moment’s reflection.] Robert and I have never hidden anything from one another. He wouldn’t wish me to decide on a matter that concerns us both so nearly without consulting him. Do you object to my putting the whole thing before him? Perigal. Not a bit! But I can tell you at once what his answer will be. He’ll say that he loves you, and if [Catherine gives a little sigh of relief and delight. Perigal. But while he’s in the very act of renouncing the world for your sake, look into his eyes, and perhaps you’ll see in them—oh, only for a moment, and you’ll have to look sharply—the shadow, the merest shadow of regret.... And perhaps in ten years, when I bring an ill-spent life to a close, you’ll say to yourself: If I hadn’t sacrificed him, he might be standing now in the shoes of that poor old incompetent Perigal. Catherine. [Hoarsely, more moved than she wishes to show.] I don’t believe Robert is ambitious. Perigal. You have to be a shrewd observer always to know the difference between ambition and patriotism. Catherine. I could think the world well lost for love. Perigal. Yes, but you’re a woman. D’you think a man can? [Catherine does not answer. Her face expresses the agony of her spirit as Perigal’s words sink in. Perigal. May I ring and ask if my carriage has come back? Catherine. Let me! [She rings the bell. Perigal. I asked Colby to fetch me in it so that we might run down to the House together. [The Butler enters to announce Robert Colby, and goes out. Thompson. Mr. Colby. Colby. I thought I’d come up for one moment just to say how d’you do. Catherine. [Forcing some gaiety of manner.] I should have been furious if you hadn’t. Perigal. Of course!... I’ll just go up and see your father. Catherine. He will be so pleased. I’ll take you up. Perigal. No, no, no, no! I couldn’t hear of it. I can easily find my way. Colby. I’ll do my best to entertain you while Mr. Perigal is gone. [Mr. Perigal leaves them, and Colby goes up to her gaily.] I jumped for joy when he sent me a note asking me to call for him here. Catherine. [Smiling.] You might have come of your own accord. Colby. I’m always afraid that I shall bore you if I come too often. I rack my brains for plausible excuses to present myself at your front door.... What’s the matter, Kate? Catherine. With me? Nothing. Colby. I thought you seemed worried. Catherine. D’you know that you haven’t shown the least desire to kiss me? Colby. I? My dear, I was obeying your strict commands. Catherine. If you really wanted to, you wouldn’t have cared two straws for my commands. Colby. [Going towards her.] My darling! Catherine. Oh no, don’t. I don’t beg for.... [She breaks off.] If you didn’t think of it of your own accord, it’s too late. Colby. What on earth’s the matter with you? Catherine. If you love me why don’t you say so sometimes? Colby. Good heavens, it’s on the tip of my tongue every moment of the day! I have to hold myself in to prevent falling at your feet and telling you how much I care. Catherine. Oh, forgive me! If you knew how dreadfully sometimes I long for a word of love! Colby. [Taking her in his arms.] Darling! Catherine. Oh, it’s too hard to restrain myself always. Have I been peevish and horrible? Colby. [Smiling tenderly.] Of course not. Catherine. But I want to know you love me. Colby. Kate! [He turns her face to him and kisses her on the lips. Catherine. [Hiding her face and beginning to cry on his shoulder.] You’re all I have in the world. I don’t know what I should do if I lost you. Colby. In a very little while now we shall belong to one another for good and all. Catherine. [Looking up, withdrawing herself a little and looking into his eyes.] I wonder how much you love me? Colby. With all my heart, with all my soul! Catherine. D’you love me enough to.... [She breaks off and turns away from him. Colby. What? Catherine. Nothing. I’m being silly and sentimental. [Smiling.] Let’s be wise and as well behaved as we generally are. Colby. I can’t understand you this afternoon, Kate. You’re so different. Catherine. I shall frighten you. You’ve never realized that I’m a creature of moods. Are you sure it’s wise to link your life to a woman who’s capable of making almost a scene without any provocation? Colby. If you had a bad temper I think I should love it. Catherine. [Chaffing him.] Oh! Colby. [Stretching out his hands.] Kate! Catherine. [Quite cheerfully, as if she were bantering.] I want to put a purely hypothetical case to you. Supposing you had to choose between me and your career—which would you choose? Colby. [Smiling.] You, of course. Catherine. How glibly you say it! Colby. Fortunately I shall never be forced to make such a tremendous choice. Catherine. Of course not. Colby. Then why the dickens do you suggest it? Catherine. Because I’m nervous and restless and rather bored. I wanted to hear you say that you wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice the world for my sake. Colby. You absurd, delightful creature! [She is all smiles and coquetry. Suddenly the tears force themselves into her eyes and her voice breaks. Catherine. Bob! [She stretches out her hands and he takes her in his arms and kisses her passionately; she breaks away from him and stands panting. Perigal. Your father insisted on coming downstairs. Etchingham. I really can’t stand my room any longer. And I can walk quite well now. Catherine. I thought Dr. O’Farrell said you were to stay upstairs till to-morrow, father. Etchingham. O’Farrell’s an idiot. Colby. [Smiling.] It certainly looks as if you were better when you start abusing your doctor. Perigal. [To Colby.] I hope I haven’t kept you waiting? Colby. Not a bit! Perigal. [Very amiably.] Lady Francis has been showing me an old photograph. Etchingham. [Settling himself heavily into an armchair.] That little joke of Angela’s didn’t quite come off. [Catherine gives him a footstool and puts his foot on it. Perigal. I looked at it blankly, and then she said: Don’t you remember? It’s so-and-so. It gave me quite a start. It was the photograph of a young lady I’d been so madly in love with that I asked her to bolt with me—married woman and all that sort of thing—and, would you believe it? thirty years have passed since then, and upon my soul I didn’t know her from Adam! Etchingham. Or Eve! [Catherine looks at him gravely, seeing the application to herself of his story. Colby. You must congratulate yourself. Perigal. Well, my friends, I do. I’m not a high-minded, quixotic fellow like you, and I don’t mind telling you that I find it very agreeable to be Secretary for Foreign Affairs and Prime Minister. And yet, at the Colby. A merciful providence evidently had you under its care. [Catherine gives a slight start and rises as she hears these words, and looks at him steadily. Perigal. Well, we must be off. We mustn’t let even this charming lady interfere too much with the working of the British Empire. Catherine. Good-bye. Perigal. You must get your mother to show you that photograph. Thirty years ago I thought the little hussy much more attractive than that. [Turning to Etchingham.] Good-bye, Frank. I hope your foot’ll be all right in a day or two. [Perigal and Colby go out. Etchingham. I remember that little woman quite well. Not much to look at. I wondered at the time what Perigal saw in her. Catherine. You don’t want me just now, father, do you? Etchingham. No, dear. Are you going out? Catherine. I’m only going to my room. I want—I want to be alone for a little bit. Etchingham. Oh! [Before she can give any explanation, the Butler comes in to announce Bennett, and she takes advantage of this to make her escape. Thompson. Mr. Bennett. [Exit. Etchingham. Ah, Mr. Bennett, forgive me if I don’t get up. Bennett. I’m glad to see you’re better, my lord. Etchingham. Is anything the matter? Bennett. [Surprised.] I thought your lordship expected me. You telephoned? Etchingham. I? Bennett. Perhaps the Governor.... Etchingham. [Interrupting.] Ah yes, of course. George didn’t mention it. I suppose he wants me to sign cheques. I can do it just as well here as at the office. I expect Mr. Winter is in. Would you mind ringing? Bennett. Certainly. [Before he can ring, George Winter comes in. George Winter. I’ve given orders that no one is to be let up until those people arrive from Middlepool. Etchingham. By Jove, I’d forgotten all about them. I say, George, you made a mistake in letting them come. George Winter. And I’ve told Lady Francis that we shall want this room to ourselves, and no one’s to come in without knocking at the door. Etchingham. By the way, was it you who sent for Bennett? George Winter. It was. Your gout has come in very handy. Sit down, Fred. We’d better make ourselves cosy. Quite comfortable, Etchingham? Etchingham. Quite, thank you. George Winter. Foot all right? Etchingham. I don’t feel it at the moment. [Throughout the next scene George Winter is as gay and jovial as possible. He is thoroughly amused by the torture he is inflicting. He plays with Francis Etchingham as a cat would with a mouse. George Winter. I thought you might like to know at once that Macdonald’s report on the mine has come. Etchingham. Ah, that’s good news. Now we can get to work at once. George Winter. Have you got it with you, Fred? Bennett. Yes, sir. George Winter. I’m sure his lordship would like to have a look at it. Etchingham. Yes, hand it over, Bennett. This is really a thrilling moment. I believe I’m going to make my fortune at last. George Winter. As you justly remark, it’s a thrilling moment. [Bennett takes the report out of a despatch-case and hands it to Etchingham. Etchingham. Impressive document, isn’t it? [He smoothes it out and begins to read. George Winter watches him with a certain amusement. George Winter. Rather technical, isn’t it? Etchingham. [Somewhat irritably.] Upon my soul, I don’t know why Macdonald can’t put it into plain English? George Winter. I’m thankful he didn’t put it any plainer. Etchingham. I must honestly confess that I don’t quite grasp what he means. George Winter. I thought you wouldn’t. The long and the short of it can be told in two words. Etchingham. [Putting down the report with a slight sigh of relief.] Ah! George Winter. The mine was practically worked out when we bought it. There’s no gold there worth speaking of. We’ve been done in the eye, and we’re eighty thousand pounds to the bad. [There is a moment’s pause. Etchingham looks at George Winter blankly. Bennett glances nervously from one to the other. Etchingham. [Hardly able to speak, his tongue sticking to his throat.] You’re—you’re joking! George Winter. Read the report. Etchingham. [Looking at it helplessly.] Then.... George Winter. Your fortune is beginning to look rather silly, isn’t it? So’s mine. Etchingham. Is this true, Mr. Bennett? Bennett. I’m afraid it is, my lord. Etchingham. My God! What’s to be done now? George Winter. What do you think ought to be done? Etchingham. I? George Winter. You’re chairman of the Syndicate. Your opinion can’t fail to be valuable. Etchingham. [Hesitatingly.] We must just pocket our loss. George Winter. H’m! Bennett. With things in their present state a loss like that is about as much as we can stand. Etchingham. The slump must come to an end soon. George Winter. We’ve been saying that for the last two months. Etchingham. Then what the deuce is to be done? George Winter. That’s what we’re asking you. Bennett. We’ve got the Lewishams to reckon with. George Winter. Now’s their time to make a raid on us. Etchingham. [Hoarsely.] It doesn’t mean that we smash up, George? George Winter. [Taking out his watch.] Boyce will be here in a quarter of an hour. Etchingham. George, don’t play the fool now. I’ve put all my eggs in this basket. I thought I was going to be rich at last. I wanted to get out of the whole thing. I wanted to live quietly and comfortably. Bennett. What are you going to do, Governor? George Winter. [Looking at Etchingham.] Suppress the report. [Bennett gives a start, but does not speak. George Winter. Go ahead as if we believed in the mine. We’ve got the Government expert’s report on which we bought the thing. We’ll put that in the prospectus. Etchingham. But isn’t that dishonest? George Winter. Very. Etchingham. George! George Winter. It’s an axiom in mining circles that when you’ve got hold of a rotten thing the proper course is to pass it on to the British public. Etchingham. The public will find out there’s no gold there when you pay no dividends. George Winter. Oh, we’ll pay dividends for a year or two. By then we shall have turned the corner, and we’ll find another carrot for the British public. Etchingham. But you say yourself it’s dishonest. George Winter. There’s another point you seem to have forgotten. Etchingham. What is that? [George Winter pauses and looks at him for an instant reflectively. George Winter. We paid for the mine with money that didn’t belong to us. Etchingham. What d’you mean? George Winter. We’re in exactly the same position as the shop-boy who sneaks five bob from his master’s till to put it on a horse. If the horse comes in he puts it back, and if it doesn’t, he gets a month’s hard labour.... We shall get seven years. Etchingham. What are you talking about, George? George Winter. Has it escaped your memory that you and I are Directors of the Middlepool Investment Trust? Etchingham. Well? George Winter. We had to plank down eighty thousand pounds within twenty-four hours or lose the mine. Bennett. It looked like a certainty. George Winter. At that moment it was impossible for us to raise anything like that sum. The bank held a hundred thousand pounds of bearer bonds for the Middlepool Investment Trust. They delivered them on an order signed by you, me, and Bennett. We borrowed on them and completed the purchase of a worthless mine. Etchingham. But I’ve never signed anything. Bennett. Yes, you did, my lord. They wouldn’t have delivered the bonds without. Etchingham. Then my signature’s been forged. George Winter. Don’t you remember one day, after an excellent luncheon at Pym’s, you were just off to a wedding, and I asked you to come up into the office and sign some papers? Etchingham. But I never looked at them. I didn’t know.... George Winter. [Interrupting blandly.] Ah, that’s your affair. Etchingham. [Indignantly.] I shall go to the police. George Winter. D’you think you’ve got a plausible story to tell them? It sounds devilish improbable that a business man, a chairman of half a dozen companies, should sign documents without looking at them. Bennett and I will swear that you carefully read everything that was put before you—as, indeed, was your duty, my dear friend—and fully understood the nature of your act. Etchingham. Mr. Bennett, you’ll testify that I never realized for a moment what I was doing. You told me they were purely formal documents. I saw George sign them. I added my signature without hesitation. George Winter. I think Mr. Bennett would be more than human if he cleared you at his own expense. Bennett. If there were any trouble, my lord, I should have to tell the truth. Etchingham. That’s just what I want you to do. Bennett. I should have to say that you agreed with us in George Winter. What is truth, said jesting Pilate. Bennett. You’re just as deep in it as we are, my lord. Etchingham. Oh, my God! George Winter. It’s no use losing one’s head because one’s in a tight place. Etchingham. You’ve tricked me. You’re a common swindler. In a month we may all be in prison. George Winter. I hear they make you very comfortable there nowadays. Etchingham. Well, I see my duty before me. I didn’t know, but now there can be no excuse for me. I must go to Scotland Yard at once. I shall make a clean breast of the whole thing. George Winter. D’you think that’ll help you? It may mean five years instead of seven. Etchingham. Every one will know that I’m incapable of such an act. George Winter. Don’t be a silly fool. Listen to me. We’ve got you tight. If we go under, you go under too. Let there be no doubt in your mind about that. Etchingham. I must do my duty. George Winter. Your duty is to keep your head and help us out of the mess as best you can. Etchingham. But nothing can be done. The mine’s worthless. How are we to raise eighty thousand pounds? George Winter. We’ve got six weeks before we need replace the bonds. If we can do it by then no one will ever know they’ve left the cellars of the bank. Etchingham. There’s no more chance of replacing them in six weeks than there is the day after to-morrow. George Winter. Yes, there is, if we can float the company. That’s where you come in. I’ve got to keep my seat. I Etchingham. Good God! I’d forgotten Kate. Bennett. It’s only by going on now that we can save ourselves and the money that’s invested in our companies. Etchingham. [Irritably.] You wouldn’t have got into such a mess with Kate if you hadn’t made such a damned fool of yourself. Why couldn’t you leave these women alone? George Winter. [With a chuckle.] My dear fellow, you speak as if I were to blame. They simply flung themselves into my arms. It would have been very rude if I hadn’t occasionally pressed them to my bosom. Bennett. It’s not much the Governor asks you, my lord. Etchingham. To go and tell my daughter that I’m a thief and a swindler, and throw myself on her mercy! George Winter. That’s it. Etchingham. I’ll see you damned first! George Winter. The alternative is prison.... It’s not very nice, penal servitude—is it, Fred? You know all about it. You can tell him. Bennett. [With a gasp.] Governor! Etchingham. What does he mean? George Winter. Fred’s a solicitor who was struck off the rolls. He was sentenced to three years for misappropriating a client’s money. Etchingham. Good God! Is that true, Mr. Bennett? Bennett. [Ashamed.] Yes, my lord. Etchingham. I never knew. George Winter. Of course you didn’t. It’s not the kind of thing Bennett. [With agony.] Oh, Governor, don’t! George Winter. I knew him before he went in. His name was Feltman then. And when they let him out I took him because I felt sure he had everything to gain by sticking to me, and everything to lose by giving me away. Etchingham. My God! George Winter. He can tell you what you’re in for. What the broad arrow’s like to wear, and what the food’s like to eat. And the work—it’s a healthy life, regular hours—you’re strong for your age. I don’t see why you shouldn’t break stones in the quarries with the rest of us. Hour after hour with your back feeling as if it were going to break, and your arms aching, aching, but not so badly as your heart. [Bennett breaks down and sobs, difficultly trying to restrain himself. George Winter. And you count the days, three hundred and sixty-five in a year, and you wonder if they’ll ever come to Bennett. Oh, my God! My God! George Winter. And then when you come out, it’s not over. You slink along the streets, feeling that it’s written on your forehead for every one to see, and your heart beats when you catch sight of a policeman. And at night it all comes back to you. You see it again, the warders, the convict gang, the prison food, and your back aches with the labour. And you wake shrieking with terror, shrieking, shrieking! [There is a pause. Etchingham looks straight in front of him with chill, stony eyes. Bennett cowers brokenly, trembling in George Winter. [Angry with his own nervousness.] Who the devil’s that? Come in! The Butler enters. George Winter. What is it? I told you we weren’t to be disturbed. Thompson. The gentlemen have come, sir. [George Winter reflects for an instant, and gives Etchingham a rapid glance. George Winter. I’ll ring when you can show them up. Thompson. Very good, sir. [Exit. George Winter. [Abruptly.] Now go to Kate, tell her what I’ve told you, and say the only way she can save you is by giving in. Etchingham. [Hoarsely.] I’ll see you damned first. George Winter. [Astounded.] What! Etchingham. [Gathering strength and courage.] I tell you I won’t. And you can go to Hell! Bennett. My lord, you don’t know what you’re doing. George Winter. [Hardly able to believe his ears.] D’you mean to say you refuse to speak to Kate? Etchingham. If I speak to her it’ll only be to tell her that you’re a rotten scoundrel, and it’s worth her while to put up with anything to be rid of you. George Winter. It means seven years, you know that, don’t you? Etchingham. For you and that dirty convict there. George Winter. You think you can get off by turning on us, but you can’t. We’ve got you tight. Etchingham. You miserable fellow, d’you think I shall try to escape my penalty? George Winter. [With angry impatience.] It’s tomfoolery. We haven’t got time for highfalutin now. Those fellows can’t be kept waiting all night. Kate’s the only person who can save us, and you.... Etchingham. [Throwing the words at him.] I tell you I won’t. You’ve made a catspaw of me. And you thought you’d only got to say the word and I’d come to heel. George Winter. [Contemptuously.] You’ve done it often enough before. Bennett. Don’t expect any mercy from him, my lord. He’ll do you in as sure as eggs is eggs. Etchingham. I don’t want any mercy. You think you’ve got me tight. Don’t you know that I’ve got a way of escape whenever I choose to take it. George Winter. What are you going to do? Etchingham. That’s my business. [George Winter understands; he drains a long breath. Bennett. [In a whisper.] What does he mean, Governor? George Winter. D’you think you’d have the courage? Bennett. [Understanding.] Ah!... I tried it once, but I couldn’t do it. My hand shook. I let them take me. George Winter. [Reflectively.] I hadn’t thought of that. You can shoot yourself. Etchingham. [Bitterly sarcastic.] I’m obliged to you for the permission. George Winter. We drove him too far, Fred. We’ve made a mess of it. Etchingham. You have, a confounded mess. [He gets up and hobbles across the room towards the door. George Winter intercepts him. George Winter. Where are you going? Etchingham. [Insolently.] Get out of my way, you damned bounder. [George Winter looks at him for a moment and steps aside. George Winter. [With a grim smile.] It is plain that you don’t think there’s anything more to be got out of me. Etchingham. [With a wave of the hand.] I wish you a pleasant time at Portland, gentlemen. George Winter. Ring the bell, Fred. [Etchingham stops as he hears the order and turns round. Bennett. That’ll bring those men up. Don’t you remember you told.... George Winter. [Interrupting.] Ring the bell, damn you! [Bennett, without a word, presses the button. Etchingham comes back into the middle of the room. Etchingham. What are you going to do? George Winter. Hulloa, I thought you were routing out your pistols by now. Etchingham. You’re not going to see those fellows? Bennett. They’ll insist on seeing Mrs. Winter. George Winter. Then I shall send for her. Etchingham. Oh, you needn’t think she’ll back you up in your confounded lies. George Winter. [Blandly.] Anyhow, I dare say you’d like to wait and see. Etchingham. [Suspiciously.] Have you got something up your sleeve? George Winter. My dear fellow, our sex would be at an impossible disadvantage in its dealings with the other, if it were not for the most obstinate of all their passions.... Self-sacrifice. Etchingham. You’re counting on that? George Winter. You’ve given Kate such a training in it that I can’t help thinking it has become a habit. Etchingham. I won’t say a word to move her. [He flings himself heavily into a chair. Already half his heroic resolutions have evaporated. George Winter watches him with cynical amusement. George Winter. Like all great men I leave as little as possible to chance. Etchingham. [With a start.] Perigal? George Winter. That’s it. Bennett. D’you think there’s a chance, Governor? George Winter. We must risk it. It’s the last fling. [The Butler ushers in Mr. Swalecliffe, James Ford and Colonel Boyce. Mr. Swalecliffe is a Nonconformist Minister, clean shaven, with a sallow grave face. James Ford is a wealthy man, a pillar of the Nonconformist church in Middlepool and a local politician of importance; he is a large man, stout, oldish, badly dressed, with a slight North Country accent; he gives the impression of shrewdness, but also Thompson. Mr. Swalecliffe, Mr. James Ford, Colonel Boyce. [Exit. George Winter. How d’you do? I’m delighted to see you! I hope I haven’t kept you waiting? James Ford. Not a bit! It’s of no consequence. George Winter. Let me introduce you to my father-in-law. Mr. Swalecliffe—Lord Francis Etchingham. [Mr. Swalecliffe bows stiffly. He is not going to open his mouth if he can help it. George Winter. Mr. James Ford. James Ford. Pleased to meet you, Lord Francis. Etchingham. It’s very kind of you to say so. George Winter. When I suggested to Lord Francis that it would be more convenient for you to come here, he put his house at my disposal. My wife is staying here, you know. We’re doing up the house in Portman Square, and she can’t stand the smell of paint. Boyce. [Anxious to make things easy.] Naturally. I don’t like it myself. George Winter. How is your wife, Mr. Swalecliffe? Well, I trust. Swalecliffe. Thank you. George Winter. And the children? Swalecliffe. Yes, thank you. George Winter. Now sit down and make yourselves comfortable, won’t you? Have you had tea? James Ford. Yes, thank you. Boyce. [Rather pompously.] I took them into my club. George Winter. Will you have a drink? I can recommend my father-in-law’s whisky. I know it’s no good offering you one, Mr. Swalecliffe? James Ford. Boyce and I had a little drop of Scotch to our tea. George Winter. Then we’ll get to business at once, shall we? Swalecliffe. [Clearing his throat.] I should like to say, before we go any further, that it is with the greatest regret that Mr. Ford and I have come up to London on such an errand. James Ford. There’s been a lot of gossip in Middlepool, and, well, we thought the shortest way to settle it was.... Boyce. I personally don’t think this is a matter of which the committee ought to take any notice. A man’s private life is his private life, and.... James Ford. That’s all very well, Colonel. Winter’s an old friend Swalecliffe. I want to tell you frankly, Mr. Winter, that I should feel it my duty to vote against you, if there were any truth in the reports that have been going about. And I should feel it my duty to advise my congregation to follow my example. George Winter. That’s clear enough in all conscience. Gentlemen, the best answer I can make to you is that I receive you in my father-in-law’s house. My wife is upstairs in her mother’s boudoir. I give you my word of honour that there is not the smallest shadow of truth in any single syllable that you have heard. I have issued a writ for libel against the Herald, and.... Boyce. Surely that ought to satisfy anyone. James Ford. Well, it doesn’t satisfy me. George Winter. Perhaps you would like my father-in-law to tell you that every word I say is scrupulously true? Swalecliffe. We don’t doubt your word, Mr. Winter, but we came to London with a particular object. Boyce. I must say I thought from the beginning it was open to the gravest question. James Ford. The committee discussed it at length, and the majority agreed that.... George Winter. [Rising.] Of course, of course, Etchingham, will you give these gentlemen the assurance? Etchingham. [After a moment’s hesitation.] I think the whole thing’s damned impertinent. Boyce. That’s exactly what I said. James Ford. [Quietly.] You’re only wasting time, Winter. Swalecliffe. We made up our minds that we must have a certain assurance from the lips of Mrs. Winter. George Winter. [Trying bluster.] D’you mean to say you wish to cross-examine my wife? Swalecliffe. I merely wish her to answer the questions that were put to you in Colonel Boyce’s letter on behalf of the committee. George Winter. [Pretending to fly into a violent passion.] No decent woman would stand it. I refuse to ask my wife to expose herself to such a degradation. James Ford. That means that you don’t represent Middlepool in the next Parliament, George Winter. George Winter. I’d sooner lose my seat than expose a defenceless woman to such humiliation. You can go and tell that to your committee and be damned to you! Swalecliffe. But we came up from Middlepool on the understanding that we were to see your wife, Mr. Winter. George Winter. My wife is in very delicate health. James Ford. We shan’t keep her more than five minutes. You’d be wise to let common sense get the better of your pretty sentiments. [There is a slight pause. George Winter realizes that he cannot bluff them out of their determination: he goes over silently and rings the bell. George Winter. Very well. James Ford. I think it’s the best thing, you know. George Winter. But if my wife refuses to answer I warn you that I shall not say a word to persuade her. I think the whole thing’s a perfect scandal. [The Butler enters. George Winter. Tell Mrs. Winter that Lord Francis and I would be very much obliged if she’d come to the drawing-room for one moment. Thompson. Very good, sir. [Exit. Boyce. I wish you to know that I have expressed myself very strongly all through against this proceeding. James Ford. Shut up, Boyce. When we want your opinion we’ll ask for it. [They wait in silence. In a moment Catherine comes in. George Winter. These are the gentlemen of whom I spoke to you. Gentlemen, here is my wife. James Ford. [Cordially.] How d’you do, Mrs. Winter? Pleased to see you. Catherine. [With a smile.] How d’you do? James Ford. We’ve not had the pleasure of welcoming you in Middlepool for some time. Catherine. I’ve not been very well lately. Swalecliffe. [To George Winter.] Will you put the question to Mrs. Winter that we set in our letter to you of the day before yesterday? George Winter. No, sir. If you’re not ashamed to ask the question you may ask it yourself. Swalecliffe. I am a stranger to Mrs. Winter. The matter requires some explanation. James Ford. It’s no use making any bones about it, Swalecliffe. Mrs. Winter, I’m sorry to put you in this position, but there it is, and it can’t be helped. There are busybodies everywhere, and Middlepool has its fair share of them. There’s been a lot of gossip about you and your good man, and if we don’t look out it’ll lose him the election. Catherine. What do you want me to say to you? James Ford. Well, we want to be able to go back to Middlepool and tell them we’ve had it from your own lips that there’s no truth in these reports. [There is a pause. Etchingham can hardly bear his anxiety. Bennett is trying to hide his agitation. George Winter looks at her with a smile. Catherine and James Ford confront one another, and she looks at him steadily. Catherine. That you may do. [Etchingham cannot prevent a little gasp of relief, but George Winter makes no sign. Swalecliffe. You have no intention of divorcing your husband? Catherine. None whatever. Swalecliffe. You’ve never had any intention? George Winter. [Impatiently.] Good lord, isn’t that enough for you? James Ford. [Kindly.] Yes, yes, we won’t bother you any more. Thank you, very much! And I’m glad that you’ve put our minds at rest. George Winter, shake hands. George Winter. I’ll shake hands with you, but I can’t help saying that I could have expected more charity, more confidence in me from men who make a practice of belief in the Christian Church. James Ford. [Unmoved by the rebuke.] That’s all right. Swalecliffe. I can understand your vexation, Mr. Winter. But we were in a very difficult position. James Ford. Anyhow, we must get along, and if we look sharp we’ll catch the 5.40 back to Middlepool. Good afternoon to you, Mrs. Winter. Good afternoon, gentlemen. George Winter. Mr. Bennett will show you out. Good-bye. Good-bye, Boyce. I shall be up at Middlepool in a day or two.... [As they are going out.] Oh, by the way, Boyce, a little bit of information for you—Robert Colby’s going to the War Office in the New Cabinet. END OF THE SECOND ACT. |
|
