  Time of Representation, thirty-five minutes. PROPERTIES USED.
ACT III. The garden of Mr. Mollentrave's house in Swanage. A low fence runs at back, with a thick hedge; behind is the sea, to which a winding path leads, down the rock. There are alleys running to right and left. Miss Treable is seated on the tree L. C. with Dexter standing before her. A week has elapsed since the last Act. Dexter. (C.) Yes, Miss Treable, he is a great man—a very great man! His powers of insight are most extraordinary! I trust you do not resent his—as it were—stripping off the pigment and exposing the unvarnished canvas? Miss Tre. (is sitting R. tree trunk, haughtily) I have no doubt that what Mr. Mollentrave says may be true of some women—but certainly not of ME! Dexter. (bowing) You are naturally an exception. His remarks must be taken as applying generally to the sex. (down L. C.) Miss Tre. Regarded from that point of view— Dexter. (up C.) Ah, Miss Treable, in my own humble life I have derived the greatest benefit from Mr. Mollentrave's teaching! And like all geniuses—he is so modest! One of his most brilliant aphorisms was—I say it with pride—inspired by me. Miss Tre. (indifferent) Indeed? Dexter. (R. C. resting on L. tree trunk) I assure you. You must know that my wife has a large circle of relations. I will confess to you Miss Tre. (sarcastic) Profound. Very. Dexter. (sit on L. trunk) He has permitted me to compile a little volume of extracts, "The Mollentrave Birthday Book"—one coruscation for every day of the year. A good idea, is it not? (rising) Miss Tre. (rising) Admirable! But I doubt whether many women will buy the book. (down R.) Dexter. (moving off) If all those who consider themselves exceptions purchase it, Miss Treable, I shall be perfectly satisfied. (goes up C.) (He goes through the gate. Sir Joseph comes stealthily along looking worried and haggard R. 3 E.) Miss Tre. (R. C. brightly) Good morning, Sir Joseph. Sir J. (C.) Good morning. I had hoped to find Mr. Mollentrave here. Do you happen to know— Miss Tre. Would you wish me to tell him? Sir J. I should be much obliged. (Miss Treable exits R. 3 E.) (Sir Joseph throws himself on the grass L. and plucks savagely at it, muttering to himself. After a moment Margaret comes running from the house R. 3 E., looks round, and gives a glad cry as she sees Sir J. The cry becomes re Marg. Oh, Joseph, dear Joseph, how could you! Lying on the grass! (puts basket down R. C. and helps Sir J. to rise.) Sir J. (L.) (getting up. Miserably) H'm I— Marg. (L. C.) Wicked man! With your rheumatism! And no muffler! I found it in the hall! Oh, naughty, naughty! (she produces it from the basket) Here it is, sir! Put it on at once! (puts muffler round him) (taking him to R. C.) (he sits R. trunk of tree) And it's twelve o'clock! I've brought your essence—here—and a spoon. (she produces them from the basket and feeds him) What would you do without me? Sir J. Impossible to conceive! Marg. (she sits on his L.) Take it, sir! (he laps it up piteously) To think of you all these years, having to look after yourself, and hide, because he wouldn't let his little girl see how ill he was! Oh, poor, poor! (she feeds him a second time and wipes his mouth with the muffler) But she'll take care of him now! Only wasn't it wicked of you to slip off like that? You had only dictated for an hour and a half! Sir J. I thought you were tired! Marg. (with enthusiasm) Tired! I could go on forever! It's immensely interesting—fascinating. Oh, how wonderful you are! Sir J. (clearing his throat) H'm—I— Marg. Constitutional Law, one would think would be a dry subject. To me it's a fairy tale. Sir J. Er— Marg. Perhaps because you are speaking! You! Nouns and adjectives cease to be parts of speech—they become parts of—you! Sir J. (with a great effort) I have frequently Marg. One week has expired. Has it been a week? Can the days have flown so quickly? Sir J. They have evidently contrived to. Although— Marg. (rise, up C.) See how the sun is shining—how radiant the water is—and the sky! The dancing sunlight! Oh, what does it say to you, the sunlight! (down R. C. to Sir J.) Sir J. (impatiently) It says to me that it's very hot—and that we're talking nonsense. Marg. Oh, let us, for once! I've been so good!—Joseph, you coughed! You must take a lozenge. (she produces a box from the basket) You must! Mr. Mollentrave says that you have the beginnings of asthma. (She opens the box, takes out a lozenge, and forces it between his lips. He swallows it, pathetically.) Miss Treable and I are practising first aid, in case you should fall down— Sir J. (savagely) And why in the name of goodness should I fall down? Marg. Mr. Mollentrave told me that your limbs are rather unsteady— Sir J. (clenching his fists) Ah, Mollentrave, Mollentrave!! Marg. (kneeling on his L. She puts his arm on her shoulders, fondly) But have no fear, dear one! You shall lean on me—I shall be your crutch, your support! Oh, the thought of us two in our cottage—just you and I! I dream of it! Sir J. (growling, taking arm away) No dances—no theatres—not even a visitor— Marg. Shall I want any of these—when I have Sir J. (fidgeting) H'm—but still—I fancy you'll find it dull— Margaret. I? Never! You don't know me yet—not altogether, I mean. Oh, if you would let me speak to you—about myself— Sir J. (rise and cross C., throwing lozenge away—fretfully) That theme is barred—by consent. Don't you think you had better go back to the house? Unless you would like to bathe? Margaret. (rise, firmly) No—you do not bathe—I shall not either. No pleasure in which you cannot join, can henceforth be a pleasure to me! Sir J. (turning up stage—groaning) Come—we'll go back to Law! (he rises) Margaret. Yes, yes—let us! But stay—I have a word to say to you— Sir J. More words? Margaret. Not of myself this time—nor of you—but of—Everard! Sir J. (with a gleam of hope) Everard! Margaret. (reproachfully) Oh, Joseph, my own Joseph, what a suspicion! Could you imagine! Oh! Sir J. (groaning again) He is more of your age—I thought—I told you I should not blame you— Margaret. Never dare to hint at such a thing again! I regard him—it is my duty to regard him—with the serene, but affectionate eyes, of an—aunt, (sit R. C.) Sir J. (C.) Aunt! Margaret. And—I confess—it grieves me—to see him—so much taken up with—Lady Claude. Sir J. (eagerly) Ah, you have noticed— Margaret. Day after day he is with her—with her all the time. She—ah, Joseph, you may Sir J. (angrily) I say! Look here! Margaret. Oh, I mean nothing unkind. Women of that age—she is at least thirty-five—naturally crave to be—admired. And it is perfectly plain to me that she—is drawing Everard on. Sir J. (grimly) Really! Margaret. She flirts with him outrageously! She won't let him out of her sight! I've been looking forward to finding him a wife—you and I together—some girl who would make him happy.... But Lady Claude! Sir J. (cunningly) Everard certainly seems to admire her— Margaret. Is it not incomprehensible! She's so old. Sir J. H'm, if it's the disproportion of age that shocks you, think of us! I—fifty—and you nineteen! Margaret. (rise, and up to him) My love shall twine round you so softly that we shall divide my youth—shall share it. And, in the days to come, we shall ask—which one is old—Joseph—or Margaret? Sir J. (sulkily) Conundrums of that kind will be useful, on winter evenings, with the wind howling down the chimney, and the rain coming through the roof—(turn away L.) Margaret. (getting on Sir J.'s L.) There can be no wind when you are near me, and no rain can come through the roof of our love! Sir J. (throwing up his hands in despair) Oh, no more at present, please! Margaret. (laying a hand on his arm) You'll speak to Everard? Sir J. Why on earth should I? Margaret. Joseph! Shall we let the poor boy throw himself away on— Sir J. (R. C. laughing hysterically) Ha, ha! Oh, that's very good! Throw himself away on—Lady Claude! Margaret. (C.) (offended) You think it's impossible? But I tell you I've seen— Sir J. My child, we've talked nonsense enough for one morning. Let's go. (takes her hand and is about to lead her away R. Mollentrave comes in breezily up L. C.) Ah, there's Mollentrave. I must have a word with him. Run on to the house—I'll follow. (giving her the basket) Margaret. (fondly R.) Come soon, dear one—come soon. When my eyes do not rest on you they grow tired with waiting! Sir J. (R. C.) Please go, there's a good girl! (Margaret departs regretfully R. 3 E. Mollentrave has been coming from the other side. He wears his usual air of supreme satisfaction) Mollen. (up L. C.) You want me, Balsted? All going well? Sir J. (savagely R. C. takes muffler off) Oh, wonderfully well. The way we're progressing is extraordinary—very! Mollen. (his head on one side) The trained observer would almost detect a suspicion of—satire. Sir J. Satire! Heaven forbid! It's true that the girl grows fonder and fonder— Mollen. She has only tasted the jam so far—but the powder's working! Sir J. She Josephs me from morning till night! She'll be calling me Joey soon. (down R. C.) Mollen. (C.) No, no, Balsted! I should not encourage her in the use of the diminutive! Sir J. (savagely) Gurrh! Look here, Mollentrave— Mollen. Impatient person! I said a month, did I not? So far but a week has passed—(Mollentrave sits L. C.) Sir J. (sit R. C.) Another week will drive me crazy. I dictate law to her—the dullest stuff I can find—I tell you she likes it, she never wants me to stop! Mollen. You will forgive me, my dear Balsted—but have we been quite—senile—enough? Sir J. Senile! Have I been senile? Haven't I simulated aches and pains, and congenital insanity, till I simply detest myself? Man, she loves me the more for it! Mollen. (airily) Merely the first stage, Balsted! Peeling! Sir J. I can't go on—I tell you I can't! The fact is, Mollentrave, that you've been hopelessly wrong. Mollen. (emphatically) Events are following exactly the path that I had marked out; they are, with unerring precision, pursuing to a hairs-breadth the line I had indicated in my mind. Sir J. (sarcastic) Indeed! Then perhaps you'll explain— Mollen. My dear Balsted, believe that I make not the slightest reflection upon your intelligence when I remark that a general's plans are rarely comprehensible to his subalterns. Sir J. (pettishly) This is not a case— Mollen. (rise and go C.) Pardon me, but it is. If I may borrow an analogy from your legal jargon, I am the leader here, and you the junior. Is that not so? Sir J. I have made up my mind. I shall tell her the truth. Mollen. Do—and they'll drag up her body on Swanage beach to-morrow. Sir J. Absurd! Mollen. Let that sentimental girl realize that she has been fooled—she'll take her life. That's certain. And as her hair's long she'll choose the sea. (away L. and up L. C.) Sir J. Unfortunately I've lost my faith in you, Mollentrave. Mollen. (shrugging his shoulders) That, of course, is a pity. Sir J. Am I not justified? See your great scheme about Everard! She isn't jealous at all. Mollen. Has she spoken about him? Sir J. Yes—she wants to find him a wife. Mollen. And not a word about Rosamund? Sir J. She thinks Lady Claude flirts with him, and doesn't seem to like it. But, beyond that— Mollen. (triumphantly) Beyond that! And you complain! Balsted, that's love! The real girl creeping up, through the cotton wool! My dear fellow! Couldn't be better! It couldn't indeed! Sir J. I don't know—she didn't speak like that at all. And the boy has been odd—he avoids me—he doesn't address one word to Margaret— Mollen. (with emphasis) The boy follows the rule! He nurses his passion. Rosamund consoles him—she always talks about Margaret! What more do you want? And the girl thinks they flirt! He watches her hungrily—oh, I've observed it!—he waits for his hour. You'll see. Sir J. (with a gleam of hope) You really think that? You really think that? Mollen. (sits on Joseph's L.) I give you my word I never believed matters could be so far advanced. Sir J. Then perhaps I had better go on? Mollen. (rise. Sir J. rises) Would you turn back, with the harbour lights in sight? Look here, I'll knock off a fortnight! I ask for (Lady Claude comes in R. 3 E. and crosses L. C.) Rosamund, Rosamund! Balsted has been complaining—losing heart! Tell us about Everard! He's always talking of Margaret? Lady C. (up C. sadly) Always, always! For hours at a time. Mollen. (up R. C. turning triumphantly to Sir J.) Balsted! Lady C. (plaintively) She's a very sweet girl, and I'm fond of her—but—the subject's beginning to pall! (Margaret off cries "Joseph") Mollen. She's calling you, Balsted. Sir J. (down R. sulkily) Let her call. (Margaret off louder "Joseph! Joseph!") Mollen. You must go to her, Balsted! Play the game. One week more— Sir J. I'd rather spend it in gaol, picking oakum. (Margaret off, "Joseph! Joseph!!") Oh, Mollentrave, if it were not for your daughter, how I'd wish that I never had met you! (He goes—miserably—R. 3 E.) Mollen. (coming down R. shaking his head) And that man, Rosamund, is one of our most eminent lawyers! Lady C. (down R. C.) Papa, I must tell you—it's strange—though Everard and I talk of nothing but Margaret every day, from two till seven— Mollen. Well? Lady C. (pathetically) Think of it! From two till seven—every day! Mollen. Science must have its martyrs! Tell yourself that you're watching human love wriggle—under the microscope! Lady C. Though he recounts, with minutest detail, every word she has spoken to him since they first met—what she said, what he said, how she looked, what she wore, the gestures she made—still, and for all that, I have a feeling at times, a kind of idea— Mollen. (waving his arm) My child, you know my opinion of feminine intuition! In my book I class it under the head of popular fallacies. (with a change of voice, and sudden energy) Rosamund, I imagine the moment to be almost ripe for my grand coup! (takes Lady Claude's hands and sits her R. C. on his L.) Lady C. What will you do? Mollen. (sitting R.) I shall now proceed to work on the clay. I will provoke Everard to frenzy. Lady C. How? Mollen. He knows of course of the month of probation—he builds on that. To-day he shall learn that Balsted proposes, at the earliest possible moment, to lead Margaret to the altar! Lady C. (doubtfully) You will tell him that? Mollen. I will. And the result? A scene between the two young people before which the most passionate episodes of Romeo and Juliet pale into insignificance! For I shall also tell Margaret that you have fallen desperately in love with Everard! Lady C. (protesting) Papa! You will never say that! Mollen. Discreetly—by nods and jerks—oh, you may trust me! And there ensues—in chemical parlance—a liberation of two gases—that meet—and explode! Lady C. (rise, up C.) Oh, I hope that they'll Mollen. (rise and up R.) Let him come—I will leave you. Prepare him, Rosamund—pave the way—lay down the stones—then I shall come—the steam roller! I have every confidence in you, my child. (He skips off nimbly R. 3 E.—after an instant Everard comes in L. 3 E.) Lady C. (C.) Ah, Everard—my father has just left me—we were talking of Margaret. Everard. (C. on her L.) (indifferently) Ah? Lady C. The sweet girl! How beautiful she looks to-day! Everard. She has a certain prettiness— Lady C. Oh, Everard, her eyes! I don't think I ever have seen such eyes! One moment so tender—another so deep and glowing— Everard. As your father says, Lady Claude, those qualities are common to the optic organs of all mammals. And—let me ask you—why will you always speak about Margaret? Lady C. Because I admire her so much! She has youth—ah, youth! (sit R. C.) And besides, dear Everard, it seems to me that Margaret has been a favourite topic—with us both! Everard. (sit R. C. on her L.) To-day at least I decline to talk of her—but of you—only of you. Lady C. There is nothing to say of me, dear Everard. I—was. Among you young people I seem to move like a—tradition. Margaret says the things I used to say—she dreams my dead dreams. And I am fond of her—because I see in her—my old self. Everard. (eagerly) That self has not suffered—time only has mellowed it—wisdom has crowned it— Lady C. (cheerfully) You must not waste those pretty speeches on me! And tell me, why this affected indifference? Do I not know how passionately you adore her? Everard. (rising) Lady Claude, I will confess to you, frankly and honestly, there was a time when I believed I loved Margaret— Lady C. (staring) When you believed—! Everard. As your father observes—quoting Tolstoy, I think—I was attracted by a well-fitting jersey and a pair of Paris shoes. Lady C. Everard! Everard. But it was, I need scarcely say, the merest infatuation— Lady C. What!!! Everard. Could it have been other—since now I am conscious—how wholeheartedly I love—you! Lady C. (wildly) Me! You love me! Everard. You. My feeling for Margaret was immature sex-attraction. At your feet (kneeling on her L.) I lay the profound and reasoned devotion—of a man. Rosamund, I love you. I ask you to marry me. Be my wife! Lady C. (aghast and helpless, rise and cross L.) You can't mean this? (He tries to take her hand, she rises hurriedly and eludes him. Sir J. comes from R. 3 E.) (L. C.) There is your uncle. Leave us, leave us! Everard. (C.) Why? I will tell him— Lady C. No, no! Go to my father! Let him know! Please! Everard. Since you wish it. (He goes up R., passing Sir J. haughtily) I shall return for my answer. (he goes) Lady C. (L. C.) He has proposed! Sir J. (R. C.) What!!! Lady C. Imagine it! He has fallen in love—with me! Sir J. (slowly) Everard has fallen—in love—with you? Lady C. Yes! Imagine it! A catastrophe! Sir J. (dully, down R. C. and sitting) Very awkward. Very. Lady C. (C.) How could one conceive it! I've been sympathetic—that's all! Talked about Margaret! Oh, I assure you, I've done nothing but talk about Margaret! Sir J. There's something odd about boys and girls nowadays. But, of course, it's all Mollentrave—(he clenches his fist) Lady C. What must I do? Tell me—advise me! Sir J. You haven't accepted him? Lady C. (indignantly) Sir Joseph! Sir J. You see, things are just a trifle topsy-turvy. My—bride—grows more and more devoted. Lady C. I'm completely bewildered! The poor boy seemed terribly in earnest— Sir J. So does the poor girl! I'd like to shake them both in a bag! Well, you'll have a week of it now. Lady C. How to refuse him without— Sir J. You'd better accept him—why not? You'll find, we'll both have to marry them. Then, some day perhaps, they'll elope together—and Mollentrave on Women will rub his hands and cry "There!" Lady C. (very distressed) What am I to say to Everard? Oh, what? Sir J. Be senile! Boil your milk! Lady C. (indignantly) Sir Joseph! Is this your sympathy? (sit L.) Sir J. (meekly and deprecatingly, rise and to L. C.) My dear friend, I've had seven days of Margaret. I thought my brain was fairly strong Lady C. But advise me—advise me! Sir J. I can't. You know—it sounds absurd—I did have some hopes of marrying you myself—I did indeed. (away R.) Well, now Everard claims you—and I shall soon be led by Margaret to the altar, with Miss Treable propping me up on the other side. We can't do anything—that's how matters are! Lady C. Do you think I will marry Everard? Sir J. (helplessly sit R. C.) I don't know—I don't think at all. Mollentrave does the thinking—Mollentrave! (Mollentrave bustles in, beaming, R. 3 E.) Mollen. (C.) (looking wonderingly from one to the other) Dear me, why this air of depression? Lady C. (both rise and up to knoll) Depression! Papa! Have you seen Everard? Mollen. (C.) I have, this very moment.
Mollen. (looking from one to the other) Rosamund! Balsted! You surely wouldn't have me believe that you are not pleased? Sir J. (amazed) Pleased! Mollen. (emphatically) Yes, sir, I say pleased—at this magnificent development of my scheme! Lady C. When Everard wants to marry me! Sir J. And has ceased to love Margaret! Mollen. (more in sorrow than in anger) Amazing! You, Balsted, you—well—you don't surprise me. But Rosamund—my own child—no, I should not have believed it! Sir J. Did he, or did he not, inform you that he had proposed to your daughter? Mollen. He most undoubtedly did. Sir J. And was that what you wanted? Mollen. Can you ask? What else? Lady C. (reproachfully) Papa! When you said— Mollen. My dear child, I do not admit even you into my closest confidence. You have done your share, both of you—now leave me to do mine. Sir J. Will you condescend to inform us— Mollen. You will continue the treatment as before. Sir J. (madly) I am to go on with Margaret— Mollen. (calmly) You are. Lady C. (helplessly) And—I?— Mollen. Will persistently—sympathise—with Everard. Lady C. But he has proposed! What am I to do? Mollen. Be flattered—in case of need even affectionate. Lady C. (horror stricken) Affectionate! (away L., and sitting.) Mollen. Discreetly—remotely—let us say, in a spiritual and disembodied fashion. You may, if you wish it, hint at Lord Contareen— Sir J. (looking up eagerly) Lord Contareen? Mollen. Ah, didn't you know? He and my daughter—(Margaret calls "Joseph" and comes in with the "Times" in her hand.) Pardon me—there's the girl. I'll send her away—I have to give you further instructions. Wait here—I shan't be a moment. (He goes quickly to Margaret off R. 3 E., and walks her off, talking eagerly to her.) Sir J. (across to L. C., sitting) (excitedly.) What is this about Lord Contareen? Lady C. A foolish creature, whom Papa wishes me to marry. Sir J. (aghast) Marry! What, what! Marry—you! Lady C. Yes. And he thinks— Sir J. Rosamund! Is there a man in the world whom you can marry—but me! Lady C. Sir Joseph! You said just now— Sir J. (kneeling on her R.) Rosamund, I love you! I always have loved you! You know it! Lady C. (embarrassed) I—I— Sir J. During this diabolic week there has at least been you! You'll marry me, won't you? Lady C. Oh, Sir Joseph, is this the time— Sir J. It is, it is! To the devil with all the rest! We'll elope! Lady C. Elope? Sir J. Yes—and leave Mollentrave to settle matters! Rosamund, tell me! Lady C. What can I tell you? What? Sir J. That you care for me! Will you? Lady C. But you are not free! Sir J. (wildly) Not free, not free! But when I am—as I shall be, I swear it! then—? Lady C. Then—oh, then I shall say "yes" many times! Sir J. (rise and raising her) Rosamund—dearest! (He rushes towards her—she stays him, with a gesture.) Lady C. Hush! He's coming back! (Sir Joseph gets back R.) (Mollentrave bustles in R. 3 E., holding the "Times" in his hand.) Mollen. (C.) She was bringing you the (Sir Joseph takes paper, goes up R. C.) Lady C. (L. C.) Papa! Does Margaret know? Mollen. About Everard? Oh yes. And of course she's indignant. Although she adores our friend Balsted, she resents the desertion of an ancient admirer. Sir J. (coming down C.) I fail to see how this helps us. Mollen. (R. C.) Balsted, Balsted, you surely affect this denseness! I've told Everard, by the way, that he has my full consent and approval. Lady C. (L. C.) Papa! Mollen. That the decision rests with my daughter— Lady C. (cross to C.) With me! What am I to say to him? Sir J. (L. C.) (whispering to her) We'll elope! Mollen. In the meantime Balsted will be good enough to overwhelm Margaret with his elderly devotion— Sir J. I won't! Mollen. You will! Where you were doddery before, you will now be paralytic! You will, for the next week, refuse to stir from the house, or let Margaret do as much as budge from your side! Sir J. (ironic) Really? Mollen. Yes. And Rosamund does more or less the same with Everard. Lady C. Papa, I can't! I tell you I can't! Mollen. You must! I tell you, you must! (Lady C. goes up C.) (Margaret calls "Joseph" and appears at the same place as before. Balsted is L.) (Down L. C.) The girl again! Balsted, we will leave you with her. Read your paper—she mustn't think we've been plotting. Read it, I say—at present you're simply glaring! Lady C. (up R. C. intercepting Margaret—speaking very gently) Margaret—my dear Margaret! Margaret. (up R. coldly) I congratulate you, Lady Claude. Lady C. You congratulate me! You believe— Mollen. (up C.) (sternly) Rosamund, I want you! Come! (He marches her off L. U. E., Margaret looks scornfully after her, then sits on the grass, close to Sir J. who holds the paper as a shield.) (Sir Joseph crosses R. and sits.) Margaret. (C., reproachfully) Joseph, I warned you! You refused to take any steps! Now you see! (Sir Joseph turns over the paper wildly.) Margaret. It is unpardonable of them both, but he, the poor boy, is at least to be pitied. There really should be a law against elderly women marrying mere boys! But it's our duty to do something, isn't it, Joseph? We really can't stand by and allow him to be so foolish—can we? (Everard comes in, R. 3 E.) Ah, Everard, Everard! We have heard the—news. Your uncle has something to say to you—haven't you, Joseph? (Comes down R. C., taps him on the arm, Sir Joseph suddenly leaps up R. C. with a wild yell) (Everard comes down L. C.) Margaret. Oh, what is it? Another attack, Joseph? Sir J. (flourishing the paper and pointing to a paragraph) Here, here, who has done this? I say, who has done this? Everard. (amazed at his vehemence) Why, uncle— Margaret. (rushing up with smelling salts) Joseph, you know you should not get excited! Sir J. (shaking her off) Leave me alone! Go away! I want to know how it got into the papers! (cross to C.) Who said it? Who? Margaret. (R. C.) Said what, Joseph dear? What has happened? Sir J. (C. fiercely) There's an announcement here that I mean to resign the House, and give up the Bar! Margaret. Oh! That wretched man must have put it in! Sir J. (glaring at her) Man! What man? Margaret. He called to see you yesterday, while you were resting. I couldn't disturb you, of course—so I— Sir J. (choking with rage) You saw him? You? Margaret. And I told him—I was so proud! Sir J. You told him! But it's not true! Margaret. (staggering) What!!! Sir J. (wild with excitement and fury) No—it's not true—it's none of it true! Oh, you—idiot! Everard. (L. C. advancing, horror-stricken) Uncle! How dare you! Sir J. (ignoring Everard and still glaring at (He rushes off wildly R. 3 E., Margaret bursts into a torrent of hysterical sobs, and sinks on to the seat R. Everard is deeply moved—following Sir Joseph to R. and then impetuously to her.) Everard. (R. C. deeply pained) Margaret! Don't cry! Don't! Margaret. (between her sobs) Go—go—leave me! Go to your Lady Claude! Who cares about me! Everard. (humbly) Margaret!!! Margaret. He has deceived me—I see it all now! The cottage in the country—the beautiful book—(wringing her hands) (rise and cross L.) Oh, can men be so wicked! (Everard follows her L. C.) (Feebly) It was so sweet—his giving up all—for me! His being so helpless, and wanting me, so much! And now—oh, wretched girl that I am! (her sobs burst forth afresh, go up C. and sit, pushing Everard away) Everard. (up R. C.) Margaret! Don't! I can't stand it! Margaret. The wickedness of it! Oh, the wickedness! Everard. But you loved him! You told me you loved him! When he proposed— Margaret. It was such a surprise—and I was so flattered! But love! How could I love—an old man! Everard. (more and more bewildered, sits up C. on her R.) Margaret! Margaret. An—ugly—old man! Everard. What—what! Margaret. And I—I admired him, of course. But I confess that at first—only then, when Mr. Mollentrave told me of all his diseases—Everard! His heart isn't weak? Everard. (rise) No! Margaret. His limbs aren't feeble? Everard. Not in the least! Margaret. He's not even asthmatic? Everard. No more than I am! Margaret. (raising her hands pathetically to Heaven) Oh!!! And yet how great his love must be, for him to have stooped to this! Everard. (scornfully) His love! He has called you an idiot! You! Margaret. (sobbing again) Yes—a wretched—little—idiot! And what had I done to deserve it! (Everard sits C.) Oh, leave me, leave me! Go to your Lady Claude! Everard. (trembling with excitement) You can't marry him now! Margaret. Will he let me escape, do you think? All this week, the hungry love in his eyes! Everard. But you—if you don't love him? Margaret. I loved what I thought was him. And I—I am faithful—I do not change—I don't says things to one woman one week and then make love to another! Why do you stay here, Everard? Your bride is waiting! Everard. (desperately) Do you think I want to marry Lady Claude? Margaret. (scornfully) Would you have proposed to her, if you didn't? Everard. I proposed out of pique, because you— Margaret. (excitedly) What, what! Everard. I read Mr. Mollentrave's wicked book, and believed it! Oh, Margaret, Margaret, can you think that any other woman in the world— Margaret. (trembling) Then—then— Everard. I always have loved you—always—always! But when I found that you— Margaret. I see it all! You proposed to Lady Claude—for my sake! Everard. I was so unhappy! Margaret. And you don't love her? Then I have ruined your life! Everard. It's not too late! Margaret. It is—it is! Can we break both their hearts? Oh, Everard—we must be noble! Everard. Poor Lady Claude! I'm afraid I've been very cruel! Margaret. And your uncle—think of your uncle! Imagine if he—suspected! The blow to him! No, no, we mustn't, we can't. We must make the sacrifice, Everard! We must do what is right! (Leaning against each other.) Everard. But tell me, at least! You do love me? Margaret. Oh, Everard, I always have loved you—but I didn't know! Everard. (desperately) I don't want to marry Lady Claude! Margaret. Nor I your uncle! But we must! They love us, the poor old things! (They fall into each other's arms. Mollentrave comes in briskly L. U. E. and stares, in utter amazement) Mollen. (triumphantly) Ah! The liberation of two gases, that meet, and explode! (Everard and Margaret turn, horror-stricken, and rise) Everard. (up R. C. releasing Margaret) Mr. Mollentrave! Oh!!! Margaret. (down R. shamefaced) You mustn't think—oh, you mustn't! We were merely bidding each other good-bye! Mollen. (C.) That of course was evident! But, Everard—for a man who half-an-hour ago proposed to my daughter— Everard. (miserably) Mr. Mollentrave! Mollen. Are there many other young ladies—whom you have to say good-bye to, Everard? Everard. Be merciful, sir! Oh, Mr. Mollentrave. I love Margaret! (going to her) Margaret. (reproachfully) Everard! Everard. I do, I do! And she loves me! Oh, Mr. Mollentrave, help us! (Both kneel C. holding hands) Margaret. Yes, yes, help us! Mollen. What a position for a father! When I think of my Rosamund—the blow to her! And Balsted—poor, doting Balsted! Margaret. (crawling towards Mollentrave, humbly) We've been very wicked, we know! But we'll do what you tell us! Mollen. (both rise) Arise, my children! I will befriend you! Everard. (up R. C.) Oh, Mr. Mollentrave, you are the noblest of men! Margaret. (down R. C.) The best, the kindest! Mollen. (C.) (raising them both) I will break the dreadful news to them—ah, very gently—We must not be brutal! Not a word to them yet—They must hear it from me! Margaret. Yes—oh yes! Mollen. Oh, the cruelty of youth! Go now—go—let me consider what had best be done. Everard. (seizing his hand and wringing it) How to thank you! Margaret. (caressing the other hand) Dear Mr. Mollentrave! Mollen. Whatever it cost me, you have my promise! (They go off, hand-in-hand R. 2 E. Left alone, Mollentrave laughs quietly to himself, and expresses his supreme satisfaction by a kind of elderly dance. Dexter comes in R. 2 E. with a telegram, and stares.) Dexter. (R. C.) Mr. Mollentrave! Mollen. (with dignity C.) Dexter, this exhibition of agility may seem undignified, but it is symbolic of a certain inward feeling of legitimate pride. Dexter. (puzzled) Sir? Mollen. Dexter, I have done it—like that! (he snaps his fingers) I waved my wand—and they walked—I piped, and they danced! (to Dexter R. C. speaking with profound conviction) Dexter there are moments when my power strikes me as somewhat uncanny.... Dexter. (R. C.) May I ask, sir— Mollen. No, no, these matters are not for you.—What have you there? Dexter. A telegram, sir. The boy is waiting. (Dexter hands him the telegram.) Mollen. (fumbling for his glasses) Yes—a little uncanny! (C.) But—fortunately for mankind, I make a good use of that power! (He adjusts his spectacles, opens the telegram, and reads) What, what! Dexter. (R. C.) No bad news, sir, I hope? Mollen. (L. C.) (fuming) Contareen! The ass, the triple ass! Engaged to Lady Gladys. I am d—— (going up C. and down R. C.) Dexter. Sir? Mollen. And he gloats! He dares to gloat! Dexter. (R. C.) Any answer, sir? I have brought a form. Mollen. Answer—no—no answer! Stay, though—there shall be—yes, there shall! Ah, he gloats, does he, that—moon-calf! Write, Dexter,—write! Sit here and write! (Dexter sits R. C.) "Delighted at news. My daughter and Sir Joseph Balsted, who were engaged yesterday"— Dexter. (open-mouthed) Sir??? Mollen. (C. pettishly) I say, who were engaged yesterday—"join in congratulations." Have you got it? Dexter. Do I understand you to say— Mollen. You do, sir—you do! Is that down? Dexter. Yes, sir. "My daughter and Sir Joseph Balsted, who were engaged yesterday, join in congratulations." Mollen. Good. Now take that telegram, give it to the boy—and mind, not a word to anyone here! (down L.) Dexter. (going) Very well, sir. (is going R. 2 E.) Mollen. (R. C.) Stay, I had better make sure. Give me the telegram, Dexter—I'll hand it to the boy myself. And do you go off, through that gate, and take the next train back to town. (Dexter crosses L. C.) Dexter. (up L. C.) Sir! Don't you trust my discretion? Mollen. (R. C.) Implicitly, Dexter—but I prefer to know it's in London. Go at once, please. I shall let you know when to return. (Dexter goes through the gate, L. U. E.) Mollen. (C. and down L. C.) (moving off) More work for my hands! But can I let that creature gloat? (is going up R. 3 E.) (As he goes, he meets Sir Joseph and Lady Claude.) Mollen. (pushing between them) Ah, Balsted, Rosamund, wait for me here. I have news—strange news! I shall be back in a moment! (he goes R. 3 E.) Sir J. (coming down stage on her R. slowly walking down R. and across L. C.) News! Some fresh scheme, no doubt! We have done with him—done! Rosamund, I'll go now to the post-office, and wire my clerk to get a special license— Lady C. No, no, it's impossible! Oh, Joseph, think of our eternal remorse—if anything happened! Sir J. Remorse! I tell you, if we stay here, we shall both of us be caught! Lady C. We should never have lent ourselves to this deception! Sir J. It's too late now to moan over things! Your father's responsible for it all—let him put things right! Lady C. Think of poor Margaret! Ninety-nine girls out of a hundred, I said—what if she be the hundredth? Sir J. I don't care if she be the thousandth! I won't marry her! Lady C. And Everard! The blow to him! Oh, how can I have been so blind! Sir J. He and Margaret will console each other! Lady C. (L.) Oh Joseph, Joseph, they are so young, but youth can know sorrow! Margaret Sir J. (L. C.) I don't care, I don't care! I tell you— (Everard and Margaret come in R. 2 E.; they start at seeing the others.) Lady C. Look, look! Here they are! (A panic falls on all four of them; they eye each other furtively, and both pairs stand whispering at opposite corners of the stage.) Margaret. (down R. C. to Everard down R.) They've seen us—we can't go back. Lady C. (up L. to Sir Joseph up L. C.) Ah, Joseph! The poor little girl! Everard. (to Margaret) He can't have told them yet! Margaret. (to Everard) Oh no—impossible! But—how sad they are! As though they suspected! Lady C. (to Sir Joseph) The poor boy, the poor boy! We must be very gentle! Everard. (to Margaret) I've behaved very cruelly to poor Lady Claude! Sir J. (to Lady Claude) I'm afraid Margaret has been crying— Lady C. (to Sir Joseph) It will break her heart when she knows— Everard. (to Margaret) Why not tell them? This is a chance— Margaret. (to Everard) Oh, think of the shock! Your poor uncle! Oh, my heart fails me! (They fall into whispers. Mollentrave comes in, and chuckles at finding them all together. Mollen. (C.) No, no, don't go—sit down please—I've something to say to you—all! (They sit all of them in the greatest embarrassment, avoiding each other's eyes, Margaret and Everard R. and R. C., Sir Joseph up L. C., Lady Claude down L.) Mollen. (C.) (striking an attitude) The poets have babbled of love since the first introduction of rhyme;—but all that we know, or need know, is that Cupid is—young! (he turns to Sir Joseph) Balsted! The elderly fisherman baits his fat hook and thinks he has landed the salmon—down below, a barefoot boy wades in, and captures the prize! As a lover, Balsted, you have every quality—every one in the world that appeals to a beautiful girl—every one, with the exception of youth! Margaret. (R. C.) (falling on her knees before Sir Joseph) Forgive me! Sir J. (staggered) Margaret! (crosses to R. C.) Mollen. (down L. C.) You must forgive her! Balsted, it was your brain, your massive brain, that attracted poor Margaret—but to-day, as she sat beside Everard, two pair of lips met, quite by chance—and your brain was forgotten! (Lady Claude still sitting L.) Everard. (rising R.) (appealingly) Lady Claude! Mollen. (L. C.) Rosamund, you too will pardon, and grant absolution. Rosamund, Balsted, Sir J. (C.) Margaret, you are free! Marg. (R. C.) What! Can you! Sir J. I release you! Mollen. (up L. C.) Go now, my children—leave me—to pour balm on their wounds! (He waves them off; they rush out gleefully, hand in hand, R. 2 E.) Sir J. (up R. C.) A miracle! But how— Mollen. (C.) The infallible working of an undeviating law! Sir J. Mollentrave, I love your daughter. And she— Lady C. (rising and to L. of Mollen.) Papa, this will be a disappointment to you, I know. But I— Mollen. (C.) Disappointment! The dearest wish of my heart! Sir J. What!! Mollen. My scheme of schemes, at which I have labored since first I set eyes on our friend! Every single event, all that has happened, was merely the inlay, the minute fragments that dovetailed—and produced this! Sir J. Marvellous! Mollentrave, I have no words—to express my admiration! Mollen. (taking Sir Joseph's hand and placing it in Lady Claude's) After all, my dear fellow, what is it? A little knowledge of human nature! CURTAIN.
|
|
