  The scene represents an apartment on the second floor of Mrs. Mossop's house. The room is of a humbler character than that shown in the first act; but, though shabby, it is neat. On the right is a door, outside which is supposed to be the landing. In the wall at the back is another door, presumably admitting to a further chamber. Down L. there is a fireplace, with a fire burning, and over the mantelpiece a mirror. In the left-hand corner of the room is a small bedstead with a tidily-made bed, which can be hidden by a pair of curtains of some common and faded material, hanging from a cord slung from wall to wall. At the foot of the bedstead stands a large theatrical dress-basket. On the wall, by the head of the bed, are some pegs upon which hang a skirt or two and other articles of attire. On the right, against the back wall, there is a chest of drawers, the top of which is used as a washstand. In front of this is a small screen, and close by there are some more pegs with things hanging upon them. On the right wall, above the sofa, is a hanging bookcase with a few books. A small circular table, with a somewhat shabby cover upon it, stands on the left. The walls are papered, the doors painted stone-color. An old felt carpet is on the floor. The light is that of morning. A fire is burning in the grate. [Mrs. Mossop, now dressed in a workaday gown, has just finished making the bed. There is a knock at the center door.] Avonia.[From the adjoining room.] Rose! Mrs. Mossop.[Giving a final touch to the quilt.] Eh? Avonia.Is Miss Trelawny in her room? Mrs. Mossop.No, Mrs. Gadd; she's at rehearsal. Avonia.Oh—— [Mrs. Mossop draws the curtains, hiding the bed from view. Avonia enters by the door on the right in a morning wrapper which has seen its best days. She carries a pair of curling-tongs, and her hair is evidently in process of being dressed in ringlets.] Avonia.Of course she is; I forgot. There's a call for The Peddler of Marseilles. Thank Gawd, I'm not in it. [Singing.] "I'm a great guerrilla chief, I'm a robber and a thief, I can either kill a foe or prig a pocket-handkerchief——" Mrs. Mossop.[Dusting the ornaments on the mantelpiece.] Bless your heart, you're very gay this morning! Avonia.It's the pantomime. I'm always stark mad as the pantomime approaches. I don't grudge letting the rest of the company have their fling at other times—but with the panto comes my turn. [Throwing herself full length upon the sofa gleefully.]Ha, ha, ha! the turn of Avonia Bunn! [__With a change of tone.__] I hope Miss Trelawny won't take a walk up to Highbury, or anywhere, after rehearsal. I want to borrow her gilt belt. My dress has arrived. Mrs. Mossop.[Much interested.] No! has it? Avonia.Yes, Mrs. Burroughs is coming down from the theatre at twelve-thirty to see me in it. [Singing. "Any kind of villainy cometh natural to me. So it endeth with a combat and a one, two, three——!"] * Mrs. Mossop.[Surveying the room.] Well, that's as cheerful as I can make things look, poor dear! * These snatches of song are from "The Miller and His Men," a burlesque mealy-drama, by Francis Talfourd and Henry J. Byron, produced at the Strand Theatre, April 9, 1860. Avonia.[Taking a look round, seriously.] It's pretty bright—if it wasn't for the idea of Rose Trelawny having to economize! Mrs. Mossop.Ah—h I Avonia.[Rising.] That's what I can't swallow. [Sticking her irons in the fire angrily.] One room! and on the second floor! [Turning to Mrs. Mossop.] Of course, Gadd and me are one-room people too—and on the same floor; but then Gadd is so popular out of the theatre, Mrs. Mossop—he's obliged to spend such a load of money at the "Clown"—— Mrs. Mossop.[Who has been dusting the bookcase, coming to the table.] Mrs. Gadd, dearie, I'm sure I'm not in the least inquisitive; no one could accuse me of it—but I should like to know just one thing. Avonia.[Testing her irons upon a sheet of paper which she takes from the table.] What's that? Mrs. Mossop.Why have they been and cut down Miss Trelawny's salary at the "Wells"? Avonia.[Hesitatingly.] H'm, everybody's chattering about it; you could get to hear easily enough—— Mrs. Mossop.Oh, I dare say. Avonia.So I don't mind—poor Rose! they tell her she can't act now, Mrs. Mossop. Mrs. Mossop.Can't act! Avonia.No, dear old girl, she's lost it; it's gone from her—the trick of it—— [Tom enters by the door on the right, carrying a table-cover of a bright pattern.] Tom.[Coming upon Mrs. Mossop, disconcerted.] Oh——! Mrs. Mossop.My first-floor table-cover! Tom.Y—y—yes. [Exchanging the table-covers.] I thought, as the Telfers have departed, and as their late sitting room is at present vacant, that Miss Trelawny might enjoy the benefit—hey? Mrs. Mossop.[Snatching up the old table-cover.] Well, I never—-! [She goes out.] Avonia.[Curling her hair, at the mirror over the mantelpiece.] I say, Tom, I wonder if I've done wrong—— Tom.It all depends upon whether you've had the chance. Avonia.I've told Mrs. Mossop the reason they've reduced Rose's salary. Tom.You needn't. Avonia.She had only to ask any other member of the company——- Tom.To have found one who could have kept silent! Avonia.[Remorsefully.] Oh, I could burn myself! Tom.Besides, it isn't true. Avonia.What? Tom.That Rose Trelawny is no longer up to her work. Avonia.[Sadly.] Oh, Tom! Tom.It isn't the fact, I say! Avonia.Isn't it the fact that ever since Rose returned from Cavendish Square——? Tom.She has been reserved, subdued, ladylike—— Avonia.[Shrilly.]She was always ladylike! Tom.I'm aware of that! Avonia.Well, then, what do you mean by—? Tom.[In a rage, turning away.] Oh——! Avonia.[Heating her irons again.] The idea! Tom.[Cooling down.] She was always a ladylike actress, on the stage and off it, but now she has developed into a—[at a loss] into a—— Avonia.[Scornfully.] Ha! Tom.Into a ladylike human being. These fools at the "Wells"! Can't act, can't she! No, she can no longer spout, she can no longer ladle, the vapid trash, the—the—the turgid rodomontade—— Avonia.[Doubtfully.] You'd better be careful of your language, Wrench. Tom.[With a twinkle in his eye—mopping his brow.] You're a married woman, 'Vonia—— Avonia.[Holding her irons to her cheek, modestly.] I know, but still—— Tom.Yes, deep down in the well of that girl's nature there has been lying a little, bright, clear pool of genuine refinement, girlish simplicity. And now the bucket has been lowered by love; experience has turned the handle; and up comes the crystal to the top, pure and sparkling. Why, her broken engagement to poor young Gower has really been the making of her! It has transformed her! Can't act, can't she! [__Drawing a long breath.__] How she would play Dora in my comedy! Avonia.Ho, that comedy! Tom.How she would murmur those love-scenes! Avonia.Murder——! Tom.[Testily.] Murmur. [Partly to himself.] Do you know, 'Vonia, I had Rose in my mind when I imagined Dora——? Avonia.Ha, ha! you astonish me. Tom.[Sitting.] And Arthur Gower when I wrote the character of Gerald, Dora's lover. [In a low voice.] Gerald and Dora—Rose and Arthur—Gerald and Dora. [Suddenly.] 'Vonia——! Avonia.[Singeing her hair.] Ah—! oh, lor'! what now? Tom.I wish you could keep a secret. Avonia.Why, can't I?—— Tom.Haven't you just been gossiping with Mother Mossop? Avonia.[Behind his chair, breathlessly, her eyes bolting.] A secret, Tom? Tom.[Nodding.] I should like to share it with you, because—you are fond of her too—— Avonia.Ah——! Tom.And because the possession of it is worrying me. But there, I can't trust you. Avonia.Mr. Wrench! Tom.No, you're a warm-hearted woman, 'Vonia, but you're a sieve. Avonia.[Going down upon her knees beside him.] I swear! By all my hopes, Tom Wrench, of hitting 'em as Prince Charming in the coming pantomime, I swear I will not divulge, leave alone tell a living soul, any secret you may intrust to me, or let me know of, concerning Rose Trelawny of the "Wells." Amen! Tom.[In her ear.] 'Vonia, I know where Arthur Gower is. Avonia.Is! isn't he still in London? Tom.[Producing a letter mysteriously.] No. When Rose stuck to her refusal to see him—listen—mind, not a word——! Avonia.By all my hopes——-! Tom.[Checking her]. All right, all right! [Reading.] "Theatre Royal, Bristol. Friday————-" Avonia.Theatre Royal, Br——! Tom.Be quiet! [Reading.] "My dear Mr. Wrench. A whole week, and not a line from you to tell me how Miss Trelawny is. When you are silent I am sleepless at night and a haggard wretch during the day. Young Mr. Kirby, our Walking Gentleman, has been unwell, and the management has given me temporarily some of his business to play———" Avonia.Arthur.Gower———! Tom.Will you? [Reading.] "Last night I was allowed to appear as Careless in The School for Scandal. Miss Mason, the Lady Teazle, complimented me, but the men said I lacked vigor,"—the old cry!—"and so this morning I am greatly depressed. But I will still persevere, as long as you can assure me that no presuming fellow is paying attention to Miss Trelawny. Oh, how badly she treated me——!" Avonia.[Following the reading of the letter.] "How badly she treated me——!" Tom."I will never forgive her—only love her——" Avonia."Only love her——" Tom."Only love her, and hope I may some day become a great actor, and, like herself, a gypsy. Yours very gratefully, Arthur Gordon." Avonia.In the Profession! Tom.Bolted from Cavendish Square—went down to Bristol—— Avonia.How did he manage it all? [Tom taps his breast proudly.] But isn't Rose to be told? why shouldn't she be told? Tom.She has hurt the boy, stung him to the quick, and he's proud. Avonia.But she loves him now that she believes he has forgotten her. She only half loved him before. She loves him! Tom.Serve her right. Avonia.Oh, Tom, is she never to know? Tom.[Folding the letter carefully.] Some day, when he begins to make strides. Avonia.Strides! he's nothing but General Utility at present? Tom.[Putting the letter in his pocket.] No. Avonia.And how long have you been that? Tom.Ten years. Avonia.[With a little screech.] Ah—h—h! she ought to be told! Tom.[Seizing her wrist.] Woman, you won't——! Avonia.[Raising her disengaged hand.] By all my hopes of hitting 'em——! Tom.All right, I believe you. [Listening.] Sssh! [They rise and separate, he moving to the fire, she to the right, as Rose enters. Rose is now a grave, dignified, somewhat dreamy young woman.] Rose.[Looking from Tom to Avonia.] Ah——? Tom. and Avonia.Good-morning. Rose.[Kissing Avonia.] Visitors! Avonia.. My fire's so black [showing her irons]; I thought you wouldn't mind—— Rose.[Removing her gloves.] Of course not. [Seeing the table-cover.] Oh——! Tom.Mrs. Mossop. asked me to bring that upstairs. It was in the Telfers' room, you know, and she fancied——- Rose.How good of her! thanks, Tom. [Taking off her hat and mantle.] Poor Mr. and Mrs. Telfer! they still wander mournfully about the "Wells"; they can get nothing to do. [Carrying her hat and umbrella, she disappears through the curtains.] Tom.[To Avonia, in a whisper, across the room.] The Telfers——! Avonia.Eh? Tom.She's been giving 'em money. Avonia.Yes. Tom.Damn! Rose.[Reappearing.] What are yous saying about me. Avonia.I was wondering whether you'd lend me that belt you bought for Ophelia; to wear during the first two or three weeks of the pantomime—- Rose.Certainly, 'Vonia, to wear throughout—— Avonia.[Embracing her.] No, it's too good; I'd rather fake one for the rest of the time. [Looking into her face.] What's the matter? Rose.I will make you a present of the belt, 'Vonia, if you will accept it. I bought it when I came back to the "Wells," thinking everything would go on as before. But—it's of no use; they tell me I cannot act effectively any longer—— Tom.[Indignantly. ] Effectively——! Rose.First, as you know, they reduce my salary——- Tom. and Avonia.[With clenched hands.] Yes! Rose.And now, this morning—[sitting] you can guess—— Avonia.[Hoarsely.] Got your notice? Rose.Yes. Tom. and Avonia.Oh—h—h! Rose.[After a litle pause.] Poor mother! I hope she doesn't see. [Overwhelmed, Avonia and Tom sit.] I was running through Blanche, my old part in The Peddler of Marseilles, when Mr. Burroughs spoke to me. It is true I was doing it tamely, but—it is such nonsense. Tom.Hear, hear! Rose.And then, that poor little song I used to sing on the bridge—- Avonia.[Singing softly.] "Ever of thee I'm fondly-dreaming——-" Tom. and Avonia.[Singing.] "Thy gentle voice my spirit can cheer." Rose.I told Mr. Burroughs I should cut it out. So ridiculously inappropriate! Tom.And that—did it? Rose.[Smiling at him.] That did it. Avonia.[Kneeling beside her, and embracing her tearfully.] My ducky! oh, but there are other theatres besides the "Wells"——- Rose.For me? only where the same trash is acted. Avonia.[With a sob.] But a few months ago you l—l—liked your work. Rose.Yes [dreamily], and then I went to Cavendish Square, engaged to Arthur——[Tom rises and leans upon the mantelpiece, looking into the fire.] How badly I behaved in Cavendish Square! how unlike a young lady! What if the old folks were overbearing and tyrannical, Arthur could be gentle with them. "They have not many more years in this world," he said—dear boy!—"and anything we can do to make them happy——" And what did I do? There was a chance for me—to be patient, and womanly; and I proved to them that I was nothing but—an actress. Avonia.[Rising, hurt but still tearful.] It doesn't follow, because one is a—- Rose.[Rising.] Yes, 'Vonia, it does! We are only dolls, partly human, with mechanical limbs that will fall into stagey postures, and heads stuffed with sayings out of rubbishy plays. It isn't the world we live in, merely a world—such a queer little one! I was less than a month in Cavendish Square, and very few people came there; but they were real people—real! For a month I lost the smell of gas and oranges, and the hurry and noise, and the dirt and the slang, and the clownish joking, at the "Wells." I didn't realize at the time the change that was going on in me; I didn't realize it till I came back. And then, by degrees, I discovered what had happened—— [Tom is now near her. She takes his hand and drops her head upon Avonia's shoulder. Wearily.] Oh, Tom! oh, 'Vonia———[From the next room comes the sound of the throwing about of heavy objects, and of Gadd's voice uttering loud imprecations. Alarmed.] Oh——! Avonia.[Listening attentively.] Sounds like Ferdy. [She goes to the center door. At the keyhole.] Ferdy! aint you well, darling? Gadd.[On the other side of the door.]Avonia! Avonia.I'm in Miss Trelawny's room. Gadd.Ah! Avonia.[To Rose and Tom.] Now, what's put Ferdy out? [Gadd enters with a wild look.] Ferdinand! Tom.Anything wrong, Gadd? Gadd.Wrong! wrong! [Sitting.] What d'ye think? Avonia.Tell us! Gadd.I have been asked to appear in the pantomime. Avonia.[Shocked.] Oh, Ferdy! you! Gadd.I, a serious actor, if ever there was one; a poetic actor——! Avonia.What part, Ferdy? Gadd.The insult, the bitter insult! the gross indignity! Avonia.What part, Ferdy? Gadd.I have not been seen in pantomime for years, not since I shook the dust of the T. R. Stockton from my feet. Avonia.Ferdy, what part? Gadd.I simply looked at Burroughs, when he preferred his request, and swept from the theatre. Avonia.What part, Ferdy? Gadd.A part, too, which is seen for a moment at the opening of the pantomime, and not again till its close. Avonia.Ferdy. Gadd.Eh? Avonia.. What part? Gadd.A character called the Demon of Discontent. [Rose turns away to the fireplace; Tom curls himself up on the sofa and is seen to shake with laughter.] Avonia.. [Walking about indignantly.]Oh! [Returning to Gadd.] Oh, it's a rotten part! Rose, dear, I assure you, as artist to artist, that part is absolutely rotten. [To Gadd.] You won't play it, darling? Gadd.[Rising.] Play it! I would see the "Wells" in ashes first. Avonia.. We shall lose our engagements, Ferdy. I know Burroughs; we shall be out, both of us. Gadd.Of course we shall. D'ye think I have not counted the cost? Avonia.[Putting her hand in his.] I don't mind, dear—for the sake of your position—[struck by a sudden thought] oh! Gadd.What——-? Avonia.There now—we haven't put by! [There is a knock at the door.] Rose.Who is that? Colpoys.[Outside the door.] Is Gadd here, Miss Trelawny? Rose.Yes. Colpoys.I want to see him. Gadd.Wrench, I'll trouble you. Ask Mr. Colpoys whether he approaches me as a friend, an acquaintance, or in his capacity of stage manager at the "Wells"—the tool of Burroughs. [Tom opens the door slightly. Gadd and Avonia join Bose at the fireplace.] Tom.[At the door, solemnly.]Colpoys, are you here as Gadd's bosom friend, or as a mere tool of Burroughs? [An inaudible colloquy follows between Tom and Colpoys. Tom's head is outside the door; his legs are seen to move convulsively, and the sound of suppressed laughter is heard.] Gadd.[Turning.] Well, well? Tom.[Closing the door sharply, and facing Gadd with great seriousness.] He is here as the tool of Burroughs. Gadd.I will receive him. [Tom admits Colpoys, who carries a mean-looking "part," and a letter.] [After formally bowing to the ladies.] Oh, Gadd, Mr. Burroughs instructs me to offer you this part in the pantomime. [Handing the part to Gadd.] Demon of Discontent. [Gadd takes the part and flings it to the ground; Avonia picks it up and reads it.] Colpoys.You refuse it? Gadd.I do. [With dignity.] Acquaint Mr. Burroughs with my decision, and add that I hope his pantomime will prove an utterly mirthless one. May Boxing-night, to those unfortunate enough to find themselves in the theatre, long remain a dismal memory; and may succeeding audiences, scanty and dissatisfied——! [Colpoys presents Gadd with the letter. Gadd opens it and reads.] I leave. [Sitting.] The Romeo, the Orlando, the Clifford—leaves! Avonia.[Coming to Gadd, indicating some lines in the part.] Ferdy, this aint so bad. [Reading.] "I'm Discontent! from Orkney's isle to Dover To make men's bile bile-over I endover-" Gadd.'Vonia! [Taking the part from Avonia, with mingled surprise and pleasure.] Ho, ho! no, that's not bad. [Reading.] Tempers, though sweet, I whip up to a lather, Make wives hate husbands, sons wish fathers farther." 'Vonia, there's is something to lay hold of here! I'll think this over. [Rising, addressing Colpoys.] Gus, I have thought this over. I play it. [They all gather round him, and congratulate him. Avonia embraces and kisses him.] Tom. and Colpoys.That's right! Rose.I'm very pleased, Ferdinand. Avonia.[Tearfully.] Oh, Ferdy! Gadd.[In high spirits.] Egad, I play it! Gus, I'll stroll back with you to the "Wells." [Shaking hands with Rose.] Miss Trelawny———-! [Avonia accompanies Colpoys and Gadd to the door, clinging to Gadd, who is flourishing the part.] 'Vonia, I see myself in this! [Kissing her.] Steak for dinner! [Gadd and Colpoys go out. Tom shrieks with laughter.] Avonia.[Turning upon him, angrily and volubly.]Yes, I heard you with Colpoys outside that door, if Gadd didn't. It's a pity, Mr. Wrench, you can't find something better to do——! Rose.[Pacifically.] Hush, hush, 'Vonia! Tom, assist me with my basket; I'll give 'Vonia her belt—— [Tom and Rose go behind the curtains and presently emerge, carrying the dress-basket, which they deposit.] Avonia.[Flouncing across the room.] Making fun of Gadd! an artist to the roots of his hair! There's more talent in Gadd's little finger——! Rose.[Rummaging among the contents of the basket] 'Vonia, 'Vonia! Avonia.And if Gadd is to play a demon in the pantomime, what do you figure as, Tom Wrench, among the half a dozen other things? Why, as part of a dragon! Yes, and which end—-? Rose.[Quietly to Tom.] Apologize to 'Vonia at once, Tom. Tom.[Meekly.] Mrs. Gadd, I beg your pardon. Avonia.[Coming to him and kissing him.] Granted, Tom; but you should be a little more considerate—— Rose.[Holding up the belt.] Here——! Avonia.[Taking the belt, ecstatically.] Oh, isn't it lovely! Rose, you dear! you sweet thing! [Singing a few bars of the Jewel song from Faust, then rushing at Rose and embracing her.] I'm going to try my dress on, to show Mrs. Burroughs. Come and help me into it. I'll unlock my door on my side—— [Tom politely opens the door for her to pass out.] Thank you, Tom—[kissing him again] only you should be more considerate toward Gadd—— [She disappears.] Tom.[Calling after her.] I will be; I will—[Shutting the door.] Ha, ha, ha! Rose.[Smiling.] Hush! poor 'Vonia! [Mending the fire.] Excuse me, Tom—have you a fire upstairs, in your room, to-day? Tom.Er—n—not to-day—it's Saturday. I never have a fire on a Saturday. Rose.[Coming to him.] Why not? Tom.[Looking away from her.] Don't know—creatures of habit—- Rose.[Gently touching his coat-sleeve.] Because if you would like to smoke your pipe by my fire while I'm with 'Vonia—— [The key is heard to turn in the lock of the center door.] Avonia.[From the next room.] It's unlocked. Rose.I'm coming. [She unbolts the door on her side, and goes into Avonia's room, shutting the door behind her. The lid of the dress-basket is open, showing the contents; a pair of little satin shoes lie at the top. Tom takes up one of the shoes and presses it to his lips. There is a knock at the door. He returns the shoe to the basket, closes the lid, and walks away.] Tom.Yes? [The door opens slightly and Imogen is heard.] Imogen.[Outside.] Is that you, Wrench? Tom.Hullo! [Imogen, in out-of-door costume, enters breathlessly.] Imogen.[Closing the door—speaking rapidly and excitedly.] Mossop said you were in Rose's room—— Tom.[Shaking hands with her.] She'll be here in a few minutes. Imogen.It's you I want. Let me sit down. Tom.[Going to the armchair.] Here—— Imogen.[Sitting on the right of the table, panting.] Not near the fire—— Tom.What's up? Imogen.Oh, Wrench! p'r'aps my fortune's made! Tom.[Quite calmly.] Congratulate you, Jenny. Imogen.Do be quiet; don't make such a racket. You see, things haven't been going at all satisfactorily at the Olympic lately. There's Miss Puddifant—— Tom.I know—no lady. Imogen.How do you know? Tom.Guessed. Imogen.Quite right; and a thousand other annoyances. And at last I took it into my head to consult Mr. Clandon, who married an aunt of mine and lives at Streatham, and he'll lend me five hundred pounds. Tom.What for? Imogen.Towards taking a theatre. Tom.[Dubiously.] Five hundred—— Imogen.It's all he's good for, and he won't advance that unless I can get a further five, or eight, hundred from some other quarter. Tom.What theatre! Imogen.The Pantheon happens to be empty. Tom.Yes; it's been that for the last twenty years. Imogen.Don't throw wet blankets—I mean—[referring to her tablets, which she carries in her muff] I've got it all worked out in black and white. There's a deposit required on account of rent—two hundred pounds. Cleaning the theatre—[looking at Tom] what do you say? Tom.Cleaning that theatre? Imogen.I say, another two hundred. Tom.That would remove the top-layer——- Imogen.Cost of producing the opening play, five hundred pounds. Balance for emergencies, three hundred. You generally have a balance for emergencies. Tom.You generally have the emergencies, if not the balance? Imogen.Now, the question is, will five hundred produce the play? Tom.What play? Imogen.Your play. Tom.[Quietly.] My——. Imogen.Your comedy. Tom.[Turning to the fire—in a low voice.] Rubbish! Imogen.Well, Mr. Clandon thinks it isn't. [He faces her sharply.] I gave it to him to read, and he—well, he's quite taken with it. Tom.[Walking about, his hands in his pockets, his head down, agitatedly.]Clandon—Landon—what's his name——-? Imogen.Tony Clandon—Anthony Clandon—— Tom.[Choking.] He's a—he's a—- Imogen.He's a hop-merchant. Tom.No, he's not—[sitting on the sofa, leaning his head on his hands] he's a stunner. Imogen.[Rising] So you grasp the position. Theatre—manageress—author—play, found; and eight hundred pounds wanted! Tom.[Rising.] Oh Lord! Imogen.Who's got it? Tom.[Wildly.] The Queen's got it! Miss Burdett-Coutts has got it! Imogen.Don't be a fool, Wrench. Do you remember old Mr. Morfew, of Duncan Terrace? He used to take great interest in us all at the "Wells." He has money. Tom.He has gout; we don't see him now. Imogen.Gout! How lucky! That means he's at home. Will you run round to Duncan Terrace——? Tom.[Looking down at his clothes.] I! Imogen.Nonsense, Wrench; we're not asking him to advance money on your clothes. Tom.The clothes are the man, Jenny. Imogen.And the woman———? Tom.The face is the woman; there's the real inequality of the sexes. Imogen.I'll go! Is my face good enough? Tom.[Enthusiastically.] I should say so! Imogen.[Taking his hands.] Ha, ha! It has been in my possession longer than you have had your oldest coat, Tom! Tom.Make haste, Jenny! Imogen.[Running up to the door.] Oh, it will last till I get to Duncan Terrace. [Turning.] Tom, you may have to read your play to Mr. Morfew. Have you another copy? Uncle Clandon has mine. Tom.[Holding his head.] I think I have—-I don't know——- Imogen.Look for it! Find it! If Morfew wants to hear it, we must strike while the iron's hot. Tom.While the gold's hot! Imogen. and Tom.Ha, ha, ha! [Mrs. Mossop enters, showing some signs of excitement.] Imogen.[Pushing her aside.] Oh, get out of the way, Mrs. Mossop—- [Imogen departs.] Mrs. Mossop.Upon my——! [To Tom.] A visitor for Miss Trelawny! Where's Miss Trelawny? Tom.With Mrs. Gadd. Mossop! Mrs. Mossop.Don't bother me now——- Tom.Mossop! The apartments vacated by the Tefferl's. Dare to let 'em without giving me the preference. Mrs. Mossop.You! Tom.[Seizing her hands and swinging her round.] I may be wealthy, sweet Rebecca![Embracing her.] I may be rich and honored! Mrs. Mossop.Oh, have done! [Releasing herself.] My lodgers do take such liberties—— Tom.[At the door, grandly.] Beccy, half a scuttle of coal, to start with. [He goes out, leaving the door slightly open.] Mrs. Mossop.[Knocking at the center door.] Miss Trelawny, my dear! Miss Trelawny! [The door opens, a few inches.] Rose.[Looking out.] Why, what a clatter you and Mr. Wrench have been making———-! Mrs. Mossop.[Beckoning her mysteriously.] Come here, dear. Rose.[Closing the center door, and entering the room wonderingly.] Eh? Mrs. Mossop.[In awe.] Sir William Gower! Rose.Sir William. Mrs. Mossop.Don't be vexed with me. "I'll see if she's at home," I said. "Oh, yes, woman, Miss Trelawny's at home," said he, and hobbled straight in. I've shut him in the Telfers' room—— [There are three distinct raps, with a stick, at the right-hand door.] Rose. and Mrs. Mossop.Oh-h! Rose.[Faintly.] Open it. [Mrs. Mossop opens the door, and Sir William enters. He is feebler, more decrepit, than when last seen. He wears a plaid about his shoulders and walks with the aid of a stick.] Mrs. Mossop.[At the door.] Ah, and a sweet thing Miss Trelawny is——! Sir William.[Turning to her.] Are you a relative? Mrs. Mossop.No, I am not a relative——! Sir William.Go. [She departs; he closes the door with the end of his stick. Facing Rose.] My mind is not commonly a wavering one, Miss Trelawny, but it has taken me some time—months—to decide upon calling on ye. Rose.Won't you sit down? Sir William.[After a pause of hesitation, sitting upon the dress-basket.] Ugh! Rose.[With quiet dignity.] Have we no chairs? Do we lack chairs here, Sir William? [He gives her a quick, keen look, then rises and walks to the fire.] Sir William.[Suddenly, bringing his stick down upon the table with violence.] My grandson! my grandson! where is he? Rose.Arthur! Sir William.I had but one. Rose.Isn't he—in Cavendish Square—? Sir William.Isn't he in Cavendish Square! no, he is not in Cavendish Square, as you know well. Rose.Oh, I don't know—— Sir William.Tsch! Rose.When did he leave you? Sir William.Tsch! Rose.When? Sir William.He made his escape during the night, 22d of August last—[pointing his finger at her] as you know well. Rose.Sir William. I assure you—- Sir William.Tsch! [Talcing off his gloves.] How often does he write to ye? Rose.He does not write to me. He did write day after day, two or three times a day, for about a week. That was in June, when I came back here. [With drooping head.] He never writes now. Sir William.Visits ye——? Rose.No. Sir William.Comes troubadouring——-? Rose.No, no, no. I have not seen him since that night. I refused to see him———[With a catch in her breath.] Why, he may be——! Sir William.[Fumbling in his pocket.] Ah, but he's not. He's alive [producing a small packet of letters]. Arthur's alive, [advancing to her] and full of his tricks still. His great-aunt Trafalgar receives a letter from him once a fortnight, posted in London—— Rose.[Holding out her hand for the letters.] Oh! Sir William.[Putting them behind his back.] Hey! Rose.[Faintly.] I thought you wished me to read them. [He yields them to her grudgingly, she taking his hand and bending over it.] Ah, thank you. Sir William.[Withdrawing his hand with a look of disrelish.] What are ye doing, madam? what are ye doing? [He sits, producing his snuff-box; she sits, upon the basket, facing him, and opens the packet of letters.] Rose.[Reading a letter.] "To reassure you as to my well-being, I cause this to be posted in London by a friend——" Sir William.[Pointing a finger at her again, accusingly.] A friend! Rose.[Looking up, with simple pride.] He would never call me that. [Reading.] "I am in good bodily health, and as contented as a man can be who has lost the woman he loves, and will love till his dying day—" Ah——! Sir William.Read no more! Return them to me! give them to me, ma'am! [Rising, she restores the letters, meekly. He peers up into her face.] What's come to ye? You are not so much of a vixen as you were. Rose.[Shaking her head.] No. Sir William.[Suspiciously. ] Less of the devil—? Rose.Sir William.I am sorry for having been a vixen, and for all my unruly conduct, in Cavendish Square. I humbly beg your, and Miss Gower's, forgiveness. Sir William.[Taking snuff, uncomfortably.]Pi—i—i—sh! extraordinary change. Rose.Aren't you changed, Sir William, now that you have lost him? Sir William.I!Rose.Don't you love him now, the more? [His head droops a little, and his hands wander to the brooch which secures his plaid.] Let me take your shawl from you. You would catch cold when you go out—— [He allows her to remove the plaid, protesting during the process.] Sir William.I'll not trouble ye, ma'am. Much obleeged to ye, but I'll not trouble ye. [Rising.] I'll not trouble ye—- [He walks away to the fireplace, and up the room. She folds the plaid and lays it upon the sofa. He looks round—speaking in an altered tone.] My dear, gypsying doesn't seem to be such a good trade with ye, as it used to be by all accounts—— [The center door opens and Avonia enters boldly, in the dress of a burlesque prince—cotton-velvet shirt, edged with bullion trimming, a cap, white tights, ankle boots, etc.] Avonia.[Unconsciously.] How's this, Rose———? 0183m
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