 
Aubrey. Sunshine! Spring! Paula. [Glancing at the clock.] Exactly six minutes. Aubrey. Six minutes? Paula. Six minutes, Aubrey dear, since you made your last remark. Aubrey. I beg your pardon; I was reading my letters. Have you seen Ellean this morning? Paula. [Coldly.] Your last observation but one was about Ellean. Aubrey. Dearest, what shall I talk about? Paula. Ellean breakfasted two hours ago, Morgan tells me, and then went out walking with her dog. Aubrey. She wraps up warmly, I hope; this sunshine is deceptive. Paula. I ran about the lawn last night, after dinner, in satin shoes. Were you anxious about me? Aubrey. Certainly. Paula. [Melting.] Really? Aubrey. You make me wretchedly anxious; you delight in doing incautious things. You are incurable. Paula. Ah, what a beast I am! [Going to him and kissing him, then glancing at the letters by his side.] A letter from Cayley? Aubrey. He is staying very near here, with Mrs.—— Very near here. Paula. With the lady whose chimneys we have the honour of contemplating from our windows? Aubrey. With Mrs. Cortelyon—yes. Paula. Mrs. Cortelyon! The woman who might have set the example of calling on me when we first threw out roots in this deadly-lively soil! Deuce take Mrs. Cortelyon! Aubrey. Hush! my dear girl! Paula. [Returning to her seat.] Oh, I know she's an old acquaintance of yours—and of the first Mrs. Tanqueray. And she joins the rest of 'em in slapping the second Mrs. Tanqueray in the face. However, I have my revenge—she's six-and-forty, and I wish nothing worse to happen to any woman. Aubrey. Well, she's going to town, Cayley says here, and his visit's at an end. He's coming over this morning to call on you. Shall we ask him to transfer himself to us? Do say yes. Paula. Yes. Aubrey. [Gladly.] Ah, ha! old Cayley! Paula. [Coldly.] He'll amuse you. Aubrey. And you too. Paula. Because you find a companion, shall I be boisterously hilarious? Aubrey. Come, come! He talks London, and you know you like that. Paula. London! London or Heaven! which is farther from me! Aubrey. Paula! Paula. Oh! Oh, I am so bored, Aubrey! Aubrey. [Gathering up his letters and going to her, leaning over her shoulder.] Baby, what can I do for you? Paula. I suppose, nothing. You have done all you can for me. Aubrey. What do you mean? Paula. You have married me. [He walks away from her thoughtfully, to the writing-table. As he places his letters on the table he sees an addressed letter, stamped for the post, lying on the blotting-book; he picks it up. Aubrey. [In an altered tone.] You've been writing this Morning before breakfast? Paula. [Looking at him quickly, then away again.] Er—that letter. Aubrey. [With the letter in his hand.] To Lady Orreyed. Why? Paula. Why not? Mabel's an old friend of mine. Aubrey. Are you—corresponding? Paula. I heard from her yesterday. They've just returned from the Riviera. She seems happy. Aubrey. [Sarcastically.] That's good news. Paula. Why are you always so cutting about Mabel? She's a kind-hearted girl. Every thing's altered; she even thinks of letting her hair go back to brown. She's Lady Orreyed. She's married to George. What's the matter with her? Aubrey. [Turning away.] Oh! Paula. You drive me mad sometimes with the tone you take about things! Great goodness, if you come to that, George Orreyed's wife isn't a bit worse than yours! [He faces her suddenly.] I suppose I needn't have made that observation. Aubrey. No, there was scarcely a necessity. [He throws the letter on to the table, and takes up the newspaper. Paula. I am very sorry. Aubrey. All right, dear. Paula. [Trifling with the letter.] I—I'd better tell you what I've written. I meant to do so, of course. I—I've asked the Orreyeds to come and stay with us. [He looks at her and lets the paper fall to the ground in a helpless way.] George was a great friend of Cayley's; I'm sure he would be delighted to meet them here. Aubrey. [Laughing mirthlessly.] Ha, ha, ha! They say Orreyed has taken to tippling at dinner. Heavens above! Paula. Oh! I've no patience with you! You'll kill me with this life! [She selects some flowers from a vase on the table, cuts and arranges them, and fastens them in her bodice.] What is my existence, Sunday to Aubrey. Yes, yes, Paula—yes, dearest—that's what it is now. But, by-and-by, if people begin to come round us—— Paula. Hah! That's where we've made the mistake, my friend Aubrey! [Pointing to the window.] Do you believe these people will ever come round us? Your former crony, Mrs. Cortelyon? Or the grim old vicar, or that wife of his whose huge nose is positively indecent? Or the Ullathornes, or the Gollans, or Lady William Petres? I know better! And when the young ones gradually take the place of the old, there will still remain the sacred tradition that the dreadful person who lives at the top of the hill is [He looks up, with a flushed face. Ellean enters, dressed very simply for walking. She is a low voiced, grave girl of about nineteen, with a face somewhat resembling a Madonna. Towards Paula her manner is cold and distant. Aubrey. [In an undertone.] Ellean! Ellean. Good-morning, papa. Good-morning, Paula. [Paula puts her arms round Ellean and kisses her. Ellean makes little response. Paula. Good-morning. [Brightly.] We've been breakfasting this side of the house, to get the sun. [She sits at the piano and rattles at a gay melody. Seeing that Paula's back is turned to them, Ellean goes to Aubrey and kisses him; he returns the kiss almost furtively. As they separate, the servants re-enter, and proceed to carry out the breakfast-table. Aubrey. [To Ellean.] I guess where you've been: there's some gorse clinging to your frock. Ellean. [Removing a sprig of gorse from her skirt.] Rover and I walked nearly as far as Black Moor. The poor fellow has a thorn in his pad; I am going upstairs for my tweezers. Aubrey. Ellean! [She returns to him.] Paula is a little depressed—out of sorts. She complains that she has no companion. Ellean. I am with Paula nearly all the day, papa. Aubrey. Ah, but you're such a little mouse. Paula likes cheerful people about her. Ellean. I'm afraid I am naturally rather silent; and it's so difficult to seem to be what one is not. Aubrey. I don't wish that, Ellean. Ellean. I will offer to go down to the village with Paula this morning—shall I? Aubrey. [Touching her hand gently.] Thank you—do. Ellean. When I've looked after Rover, I'll come back to her. [She goes out; Paula ceases playing, and turns on the music-stool looking at Aubrey. Paula. Well, have you and Ellean had your little confidence? Aubrey. Confidence? Paula. Do you think I couldn't feel it, like a pain between my shoulders? Aubrey. Ellean is coming back in a few minutes to be with you. [Bending over her.] Paula, Paula dear, is this how you keep your promise? Paula. Oh! [Rising impatiently and crossing swiftly to the settee, where she sits, moving restlessly.] I can't keep my promise; I am jealous; it won't be smothered. I see you looking at her, watching her; your voice drops when you speak to her. I know how fond you are of that girl, Aubrey. Aubrey. What would you have? I've no other home for her. She is my daughter. Paula. She is your saint. Saint Ellean! Aubrey. You have often told me how good and sweet you think her. Paula. Good!—yes! Do you imagine that makes me less jealous? [Going to him and clinging to his arm.] Aubrey, there are two sorts of affection—the love for a woman you respect, and the love for a woman you—love. She gets the first from you: I never can. Aubrey. Hush, hush! you don't realise what you say. Paula. If Ellean cared for me only a little, it would be different. I shouldn't be jealous then. Why doesn't she care for me? Aubrey. She—she—she will, in time. Paula. You can't say that without stuttering. Aubrey. Her disposition seems a little unresponsive; she resembles her mother in many ways; I can see it every day. Paula. She's marble. It's a shame. There's not the slightest excuse; for all she knows, I'm as much a saint as she—only married. Dearest, help me to win her over! Aubrey. Help you? Paula. You can. Teach her that it is her duty to love me; she hangs on to every word you speak. I'm sure, Aubrey, that the love of a nice woman who believed me to be like herself would do me a world of good. You'd get the benefit of it as well as I. It would soothe me; it would make me less horribly restless; it would take this—this—mischievous feeling from me. [Coaxingly.] Aubrey! Aubrey. Have patience; everything will come right. Paula. Yes, if you help me. Aubrey. In the meantime you will tear up your letter to Lady Orreyed, won't you? Paula. [Kissing his hand.] Of course I will—anything! Aubrey. Ah, thank you, dearest! [Laughing.] Why, good gracious!—ha, ha!—just imagine "Saint Ellean" and that woman side by side! Paula. [Going back with a cry.] Ah! Aubrey. What? Paula. [Passionately.] It's Ellean you're considering, not me? It's all Ellean with you! Ellean! Ellean! Ellean re-enters. Ellean. Did you call me, Paula? [Clenching his hands, Aubrey turns away and goes out.] Is papa angry? Paula. I drive him distracted sometimes. There, I confess it! Ellean. Do you? Oh, why do you? Paula. Because I—because I'm jealous. Ellean. Jealous? Paula. Yes—of you. [Ellean is silent.] Well, what do you think of that? Ellean. I knew it; I've seen it. It hurts me dreadfully. What do you wish me to do? Go away? Paula. Leave us! [Beckoning her with a motion of the head.] Look here! [Ellean goes to Paula slowly and unresponsively.] You could cure me of my jealousy very easily. Why don't you—like me? Ellean. What do you mean by—like you? I don't understand. Paula. Love me. Ellean. Love is not a feeling that is under one's control. I shall alter as time goes on, perhaps. I didn't begin to love my father deeply till a few months ago, and then I obeyed my mother. Paula. Ah, yes, you dream things, don't you—see them in your sleep? You fancy your mother speaks to you? Ellean. When you have lost your mother it is a comfort to believe that she is dead only to this life, that she still watches over her child. I do believe that of my mother. Paula. Well, and so you haven't been bidden to love me? Ellean. [After a pause, almost inaudibly.] No. Paula. Dreams are only a hash-up of one's day-thoughts, I suppose you know. Think intently of anything, and it's bound to come back to you at night. I don't cultivate dreams myself. Ellean. Ah, I knew you would only sneer! Paula. I'm not sneering; I'm speaking the truth. I say that if you cared for me in the daytime I should soon make friends with those nightmares of yours. Ellean, why don't you try to look on me as your second mother? Of course there are not many years between us, but I'm ever so much older than you—in experience. I shall have no children of my own, I know that; it would be a real comfort to me if you would make me feel we belonged to each other. Won't you? Perhaps you think I'm odd—not nice. Well, the fact is I've two sides to my nature, and I've let the one almost smother the other. A few years ago I went through some trouble, and since then I haven't shed a tear. I believe if you put your arms round me just once I should run upstairs and have a good cry. There, I've talked to you as I've never talked to a woman in my life. Ellean, you seem to fear me. Don't! Kiss me! [With a cry, almost of despair, Ellean turns from Paula and sinks on to the settee, covering her face with her hands. Paula. [Indignantly.] Oh! Why is it! How dare you treat me like this? What do you mean by it? What do you mean? A Servant enters. Servant. Mr. Drummle, ma'am. Cayley Drummle, in riding dress, enters briskly. The Servant retires. Paula. [Recovering herself.] Well, Cayley! Drummle. [Shaking hands with her cordially.] How are you? [Shaking hands with Ellean, who rises.] I saw you in the distance an hour ago, in the gorse near Stapleton's. Ellean. I didn't see you, Mr. Drummle. Drummle. My dear Ellean, it is my experience that no Ellean. [Going to the door.] Paula, papa wishes me to drive down to the village with you this morning. Do you care to take me? Paula. [Coldly.] Oh, by all means. Pray tell Watts to balance the cart for three. [Ellean goes out. Drummle. How's Aubrey? Paula. Very well—when Ellean's about the house. Drummle. And you? I needn't ask. Paula. [Walking away to the window.] Oh, a dog's life, my dear Cayley, mine. Drummle. Eh? Paula. Doesn't that define a happy marriage? I'm sleek, well-kept, well-fed, never without a bone to gnaw and fresh straw to lie upon. [Gazing out of the window.] Oh, dear me! Drummle. H'm! Well, I heartily congratulate you on your kennel. The view from the terrace here is superb. Paula. Yes, I can see London. Drummle. London! Not quite so far, surely? Paula. I can. Also the Mediterranean, on a fine day. I wonder what Algiers looks like this morning from the sea! [Impulsively.] Oh, Cayley, do you remember those jolly times on board Peter Jarman's yacht when we lay off——? [Stopping suddenly, seeing Drummle staring at her.] Good gracious! What are we talking about! Aubrey enters. Aubrey. [To Drummle.] Dear old chap! Has Paula asked you? Paula. Not yet. Aubrey. We want you to come to us, now that you're leaving Mrs. Cortelyon—at once, to-day. Stay a month, as long as you please—eh, Paula? Paula. As long as you can possibly endure it—do, Cayley. Drummle. [Looking at Aubrey.] Delighted. [To Paula.] Charming of you to have me. Paula. My dear man, you're a blessing. I must telegraph to London for more fish! A strange appetite to cater for! Something to do, to do, to do! [She goes out in a mood of almost childish delight. Drummle. [Eyeing Aubrey.] Well? Aubrey. [With a wearied, anxious look.] Well, Cayley? Drummle. How are you getting on? Aubrey. My position doesn't grow less difficult. I told you, when I met you last week, of this feverish, jealous attachment of Paula's for Ellean? Drummle. Yes. I hardly know why, but I came to the conclusion that you don't consider it an altogether fortunate attachment. Aubrey. Ellean doesn't respond to it. Drummle. These are early days. Ellean will warm towards your wife by-and-by. Aubrey. Ah, but there's the question, Cayley! Drummle. What question? Aubrey. The question which positively distracts me. Ellean is so different from—most women; I don't believe a purer creature exists out of heaven. And I—I ask myself, am I doing right in exposing her to the influence of poor Paula's light, careless nature? Drummle. My dear Aubrey! Aubrey. That shocks you! So it does me. I assure you I long to urge my girl to break down the reserve which keeps her apart from Paula, but somehow I can't do it—well, I don't do it. How can I make you understand? But when you come to us you'll understand quickly enough. Cayley, there's hardly a subject you can broach on which poor Paula hasn't some strange, out-of-the-way thought to give utterance to; some curious, warped notion. They are not mere worldly thoughts—unless, good God! they belong to the little hellish world which our blackguardism has created: no, her ideas have too little calculation in them to be called worldly. But it makes it the more dreadful that such thoughts should be ready, spontaneous; that expressing them has become a perfectly natural process; that her words, Drummle. My dear Aubrey, aren't you making a mistake? Aubrey. Very likely. What is it? Drummle. A mistake, not in regarding your Ellean as an angel, but in believing that, under any circumstances, it would be possible for her to go through life without getting her white robe—shall we say, a little dusty at the hem? Don't take me for a cynic. I am sure Aubrey. Yes? Drummle. You must either restrict her to a paradise which is, like every earthly paradise, necessarily somewhat imperfect, or treat her as an ordinary flesh-and-blood young woman, and give her the advantages of that society to which she properly belongs. Aubrey. Advantages? Drummle. My dear Aubrey, of all forms of innocence mere ignorance is the least admirable. Take my advice, let her walk and talk and suffer and be healed with the great crowd. Do it, and hope that she'll some day meet a good, honest fellow who'll make her life complete, happy, secure. Now you see what I'm driving at. Aubrey. A sanguine programme, my dear Cayley! Oh, I'm not pooh-poohing it. Putting sentiment aside, of course I know that a fortunate marriage for Ellean would be the best—perhaps the only—solution of my difficulty. But you forget the danger of the course you suggest. Drummle. Danger? Aubrey. If Ellean goes among men and women, how can she escape from learning, sooner or later, the history of—poor Paula's—old life? Drummle. H'm! You remember the episode of the Jeweller's Son in the Arabian Nights? Of course you don't. Well, if your daughter lives, she can't escape—what you're afraid of. [Aubrey gives a half stifled exclamation of pain.] And when she does hear the story, surely it would be better that she should have some knowledge of the world to help her to understand it. Aubrey. To understand! Drummle. To understand, to—to philosophise. Aubrey. To philosophise? Drummle. Philosophy is toleration, and it is only one step from toleration to forgiveness. Aubrey. You're right, Cayley; I believe you always are. Yes, yes. But, even if I had the courage to attempt to solve the problem of Ellean's future in this way, I—I'm helpless. Drummle. How? Aubrey. What means have I now of placing my daughter in the world I've left? Drummle. Oh, some friend—some woman friend. Aubrey. I have none; they're gone. Drummle. You're wrong there; I know one— Aubrey. [Listening.] That's Paula's cart. Let's discuss this again. Drummle. [Going up to the window and looking out.] It isn't the dog-cart. [Turning to Aubrey.] I hope you'll forgive me, old chap. Aubrey. What for? Drummle. Whose wheels do you think have been cutting ruts in your immaculate drive? A Servant enters. Servant. [To Aubrey.] Mrs. Cortelyon, sir. Aubrey. Mrs. Cortelyon! [After a short pause.] Very well. [The Servant withdraws.] What on earth is the meaning of this? Drummle. Ahem! While I've been our old friend's guest, Aubrey, we have very naturally talked a good deal about you and yours. Aubrey. Indeed, have you? Drummle. Yes, and Alice Cortelyon has arrived at the conclusion that it would have been far kinder had she called on Mrs. Tanqueray long ago. She's going abroad for Easter before settling down in London for the season, and I believe she has come over this morning to ask for Ellean's companionship. Aubrey. Oh, I see! [Frowning.] Quite a friendly little conspiracy, my dear Cayley! Drummle. Conspiracy! Not at all, I assure you. [Laughing.] Ha, ha!
Ellean. Papa—— Mrs. Cortelyon. [To Aubrey, shaking hands with him heartily.] Well, Aubrey, how are you? I've just been telling Aubrey. She's upstairs putting on a hat, I believe. Mrs. Cortelyon. [Sitting comfortably.] Ah! [She looks round: Drummle and Ellean are talking together in the hall.] We used to be very frank with each other, Aubrey. I suppose the old footing is no longer possible, eh? Aubrey. If so, I'm not entirely to blame, Mrs. Cortelyon. Mrs. Cortelyon. Mrs. Cortelyon? H'm! No, I admit it. But you must make some little allowance for me, Mr. Tanqueray. Your first wife and I, as girls, were like two cherries on one stalk, and then I was the confidential friend of your married life. That post, perhaps, wasn't altogether a sinecure. And now—well, when a woman gets to my age I suppose she's a stupid, prejudiced, conventional creature. However, Aubrey. Thank you, Alice. Mrs. Cortelyon. That's right. I feel more cheerful than I've done for weeks. But I suppose it would serve me right if the second Mrs. Tanqueray showed me the door. Do you think she will? Aubrey. [Listening.] Here is my wife. [Mrs. Cortelyon rises, and Paula enters, dressed for driving; she stops abruptly on seeing Mrs. Cortelyon.] Paula dear, Mrs. Cortelyon has called to see you. [Paula starts, looks at Mrs. Cortelyon irresolutely, then after a slight pause barely touches Mrs. Cortelyon's extended hand. Paula. [Whose manner now alternates between deliberate insolence and assumed sweetness.] Mrs.——? What name, Aubrey? Aubrey. Mrs. Cortelyon. Paula. Cortelyon? Oh, yes. Cortelyon. Mrs. Cortelyon. [Carefully guarding herself throughout against any expression of resentment.] Aubrey ought to have told you that Alice Cortelyon and he are very old friends. Paula. Oh, very likely he has mentioned the circumstance. I have quite a wretched memory. Mrs. Cortelyon. You know we are neighbours, Mrs. Tanqueray. Paula. Neighbours? Are we really? Won't you sit down? [They both sit.] Neighbours! That's most interesting! Mrs. Cortelyon. Very near neighbours. You can see my roof from your windows. Paula. I fancy I have observed a roof. But you have been away from home; you have only just returned. Mrs. Cortelyon. I? What makes you think that? Paula. Why, because it is two months since we came to Highercoombe, and I don't remember your having called. Mrs. Cortelyon. Your memory is now terribly accurate. No, I've not been away from home, and it is to explain my neglect that I am here, rather unceremoniously, this morning. Paula. Oh, to explain—quite so. [With mock solicitude.] Ah, you've been very ill; I ought to have seen that before. Mrs. Cortelyon. Ill! Paula. You look dreadfully pulled down. We poor women show illness so plainly in our faces, don't we? Aubrey. [Anxiously.] Paula dear, Mrs. Cortelyon is the picture of health. Mrs. Cortelyon. [With some asperity.] I have never felt better in my life. Paula. [Looking round innocently.] Have I said anything awkward? Aubrey, tell Mrs. Cortelyon how stupid and thoughtless I always am! Mrs. Cortelyon. [To Drummle who is now standing close to her.] Really, Cayley——! [He soothes her with a nod and smile and a motion of his finger to his lip.] Mrs. Tanqueray, I am afraid my explanation will not be quite so satisfactory as either of those you have just helped me to. You may have heard—but, if you have heard, you have doubtless forgotten—that twenty years ago, when your husband first lived here, I was a constant visitor at Highercoombe. Paula. Twenty years ago—fancy. I was a naughty little child then. Mrs. Cortelyon. Possibly. Well, at that time, and till the end of her life, my affections were centred upon the lady of this house. Paula. Were they? That was very sweet of you. [Ellean approaches Mrs. Cortelyon, listening intently to her. Mrs. Cortelyon. I will say no more on that score, but I must add this: when, two months ago, you came here, I realised, perhaps for the first time, that I was a middle-aged woman, and that it had become impossible for me to accept without some effort a breaking-in upon many tender associations. There, Mrs. Tanqueray, that is my confession. Will you try to understand it and pardon me? Paula. [Watching Ellean,—sneeringly.] Ellean dear, you appear to be very interested in Mrs. Cortelyon's reminiscences; I don't think I can do better than make you my mouthpiece—there is such sympathy between us. What do you say—can we bring ourselves to forgive Mrs. Cortelyon for neglecting us for two weary months? Mrs. Cortelyon. [To Ellean, pleasantly.] Well, Ellean? Paula. [In an undertone to Aubrey.] Ellean isn't so very slow in taking to Mrs. Cortelyon! Mrs. Cortelyon. [To Paula and Aubrey.] Come, this encourages me to broach my scheme. Mrs. Tanqueray, it strikes me that you two good people are just now excellent company for each other, while Ellean would perhaps be glad of a little peep into the world you are anxious to avoid. Now, I'm going to Paris to-morrow for a week or two before settling down in Chester Square, so—don't gasp, both of you!—if this girl is willing, and you have made no other arrangements for her, will you let her come with me to Paris, and afterwards remain with me in town during the Season? [Ellean utters an exclamation of surprise. Paula is silent.] What do you say? Aubrey. Paula—Paula dear. [Hesitatingly.] My dear Mrs. Cortelyon, this is wonderfully kind of you; I am really at a loss to—eh, Cayley? Drummle. [Watching Paula apprehensively.] Kind! Now I must say I don't think so! I begged Alice to take me to Paris, and she declined. I am thrown over for Ellean! Ha! ha! Mrs. Cortelyon. [Laughing.] What nonsense you talk, Cayley! [The laughter dies out. Paula remains quite still. Aubrey. Paula dear. Paula. [Slowly collecting herself.] One moment. I—I don't quite—— [To Mrs. Cortelyon.] You propose that Ellean leaves Highercoombe almost at once and remains with you some months? Mrs. Cortelyon. It would be a mercy to me. You can afford to be generous to a desolate old widow. Come, Mrs. Tanqueray, won't you spare her? Paula. Won't I spare her. [Suspiciously.] Have you mentioned your plan to Aubrey—before I came in? Mrs. Cortelyon. No, I had no opportunity. Paula. Nor to Ellean? Mrs. Cortelyon. Oh, no. Paula. [Looking about her, in suppressed excitement.] This hasn't been discussed at all, behind my back? Mrs. Cortelyon. My dear Mrs. Tanqueray! Paula. Ellean, let us hear your voice in the matter! Ellean. I should like to go with Mrs. Cortelyon— Paula. Ah! Ellean. That is, if—if—— Paula. If—if what? Ellean. [Looking towards Aubrey, appealingly.] Papa! Paula. [In a hard voice.] Oh, of course—I forgot. [To Aubrey.] My dear Aubrey, it rests with you, naturally, whether I am—to lose—Ellean. Aubrey. Lose Ellean! [Advancing to Paula.] There is no question of losing Ellean. You would see Ellean in town constantly when she returned from Paris; isn't that so, Mrs. Cortelyon? Mrs. Cortelyon. Certainly. Paula. [Laughing softly.] Oh, I didn't know I should be allowed that privilege. Mrs. Cortelyon. Privilege, my dear Mrs. Tanqueray! Paula. Ha, ha! that makes all the difference, doesn't it? Aubrey. [With assumed gaiety.] All the difference? I should think so! [To Ellean, Ellean. If you are willing, papa, I am quite certain. Aubrey. [Looking at Paula irresolutely, then speaking with an effort.] Then I—I am willing. Paula. [Rising and striking the table lightly with her clenched hand.] That decides it! [There is a general movement. Excitedly to Mrs. Cortelyon, who advances towards her.] When do you want her? Mrs. Cortelyon. We go to town this afternoon at five o'clock, and sleep to-night at Bayliss's. There is barely time for her to make her preparations. Paula. I will undertake that she is ready. Mrs. Cortelyon. I've a great deal to scramble through at home too, as you may guess. Good-bye! Paula. [Turning away.] Mrs. Cortelyon is going. [Paula stands looking out of the window, with her back to those in the room. Mrs. Cortelyon. [To Drummle.] Cayley—— Drummle. [To her.] Eh? Mrs. Cortelyon. I've gone through it, for the sake of Aubrey and his child, but I—I feel a hundred. Is that a mad-woman? Drummle. Of course; all jealous women are mad. [He goes out with Aubrey. Mrs. Cortelyon. [Hesitatingly, to Paula.] Good-bye, Mrs. Tanqueray. [Paula inclines her head with the slightest possible movement, then resumes her former position. Ellean comes from the hall and takes Mrs. Cortelyon out of the room. After a brief silence, Paula turns with a fierce cry, and hurriedly takes off her coat and hat, and tosses them upon the settee. Paula. Oh! Oh! Oh! [She drops into the chair as Aubrey returns; he stands looking at her.] Who's that? Aubrey. I. You have altered your mind about going out? Paula. Yes. Please to ring the bell. Aubrey. [Touching the bell.] You are angry about Mrs. Cortelyon and Ellean. Let me try to explain my reasons—— Paula. Be careful what you say to me just now! I have never felt like this—except once—in my life. Be careful what you say to me! A Servant enters. Paula. [Rising.] Is Watts at the door with the cart? Servant. Yes, ma'am. Paula. Tell him to drive down to the post-office directly, with this. [Picking up the letter which has been lying upon the table. Aubrey. With that? Paula. Yes. My letter to Lady Orreyed. [Giving the letter to the Servant, who goes out. Aubrey. Surely you don't wish me to countermand any order of yours to a servant? Call the man back—take the letter from him! Paula. I have not the slightest intention of doing so. Aubrey. I must, then. [Going to the door. She snatches up her hat and coat and follows him.] What are you going to do? Paula. If you stop that letter, walk out of the house. [He hesitates, then leaves the door. Aubrey. I am right in believing that to be the letter inviting George Orreyed and his wife to stay here, am I not? Paula. Oh yes—quite right. Aubrey. Let it go; I'll write to him by-and-by. Paula. [Facing him.] You dare! Aubrey. Hush, Paula! Paula. Insult me again and, upon my word, I'll go straight out of the house! Aubrey. Insult you? Paula. Insult me! What else is it? My God! what else is it? What do you mean by taking Ellean from me? Aubrey. Listen——! Paula. Listen to me! And how do you take her? You Aubrey. Paula dear! hear me——! Paula. Ah! of course, of course! I can't be so useful to your daughter as such people as this; and so I'm to be given the go-by for any town friend of yours who turns up and chooses to patronise us! Hah! Very well, at any rate, as you take Ellean from me you justify my looking for companions where I can most readily find 'em. Aubrey. You wish me to fully appreciate your reason for sending that letter to Lady Orreyed? Paula. Precisely—I do. Aubrey. And could you, after all, go back to associates of that order? It's not possible! Paula. [Mockingly.] What, not after the refining influence of these intensely respectable surroundings? [Going to the door.] We'll see! Aubrey. Paula! Paula. [Violently.] We'll see! [She goes out. He stands still looking after her. |
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