Scene.—Library in Mr. Grovenor's House. Desk, R., Books, etc. Jennie discovered arranging Books at Desk. Chairs R. and L.

Jen. Now I wonder what it all means? Let me see. (Counts on fingers.) Mr. Grovenor is cross all the time, Mrs. Grovenor is frightened all the time, Miss Alice is nervous all the time, Miss Kate is sober all the time, and Mr. Eugene is drunk—I mean jolly—all the time. Dr. Endicott don't come here any more, Eyeglass Doughlass is here all the time, there is a sighing seamstress up-stairs, and Jim—but I know what the matter is with Jim—he is in love with me, that's what ails him. But what ails everybody else is more than I can tell.

(Enter Mr. Grovenor, L. U. E.)

Mr. G. (going to desk). That will do, Jennie, that will do.

Jen. Very well, sir. (Aside.) What a scowl he has on him! I do believe I should be tempted to marry Jim, if it wasn't for the awful example before me. (Exit, L. U. E.)

Mr. G. (sitting at desk, R.). Nothing but debts, debts. What a fool a man is to get married and saddle himself with an expensive family! Well, there is one consolation, my girls will be off my hands some time. Not a bad bargain will the man make who gets Kate. It's a pity, a great pity she isn't a boy. A very different son she would have been to me from the one I have. If I had time to spare from money matters, Eugene would give me great anxiety. Here is that note of Brown's due next week; how am I to meet it? But it must be done or my credit is lost!

Jen. (outside). This way, sir; you will find him in the library.

Doug. (outside). Aw—pwecisely. (Enter Doughlass, L. U. E.) Aw—good morning, sir. I twust you are well to-day.

Mr. G. (rising). Not quite well, I am sorry to say. Will you be seated?

Doug. (sitting L.). Aw—thank you, but you seem vewy busy.

Mr. G. We business men are always busy. (Sits, R.)

Doug. Aw, pwecisely. I will not twespass long on your valuable time. To pwoceed to business at once, I came to ask—aw—for your daughter's hand.

Mr. G. Indeed! Have you my daughter's consent?

Doug. Aw—not exactly, but I weally do not think there will be any twouble about that. (Aside.) Does he think any woman would wefuse me?

Mr. G. I was not aware matters had gone so far. But I have two daughters. Do you mean my eldest or—

Doug. Aw—no, no, your youngest. (Aside.) Does he take me for a woman's wights convention?

Mr. G. If my daughter is agreeable, then, you have my full consent. (Aside.) How little he knows what an expensive luxury he is about to indulge in.

Doug. (rising). Aw—thank you, I thought it was best to see you first, you know, and now I will not twespass on your valuable time any longer. Good morning.

Mr. G. (rising and shaking hands with him). Good morning, and I wish you success. (Exit Doughlass, L. U. E.) Ay, that I do with all my heart. One burden less. Oh, if that note was only paid! (Exit into anteroom, R. 1 E.)

(Enter Doughlass, L. U. E.)

Doug. I beg pardon, but I believe I left my glove—aw—the old man has gone. Well, no matter, I'll just find my glove and depart. (Looks for glove.)

(Enter Jennie, L. U. E.)

Jen. If you please, sir—oh!

Doug. (aside, looking at her through eye-glass). Always thought she was devilish pwetty. (Aloud) Aw—do not be afwaid, my dear.

Jen. (coming down L.). Afraid of you? Oh, no, indeed, sir!

Doug. Aw—that is wight. Let me see, what is your name, my dear?

Jen. Jennie, sir. (Aside.) Oh, what a fool he is!

Doug. Jennie—aw—vewy pwetty name, Jennie.

Jen. Do you think so, sir? It must be if you do.

Doug. Aw—yes, and a vewy pwetty girl owns it, too.

(Enter Jim, L. U. E. Stops up stage listening.)

Jen. You don't say so!

Doug. (getting closer to her). Aw—didn't you know you were a vewy pwetty girl, Jennie?

Jen. (imitating). Aw—weally, sir!

Doug. You little wogue, I have a good mind to snatch a—

(Jim comes down C. and throws him over to R.)

Jim (C.). You have, have you?

Doug. (R.). You vulgaw fellow, how dare you lay your hands on a gentleman!

Jim. Because you forgot to be a gentleman, sir, that's how, and I'll do it every time, too, so you needn't try to come any of them games here.

Jen. (L.). Ain't you ashamed of yourself, Jim? Suppose the gentleman did say I was pretty, what then? There was no occasion for you to show your superiority, and it's entirely out of place. (Aside.) Just as if I should have allowed that jackanapes to kiss me! What stupid things these men are!

Jim. He had no business to do it. He had no business to be so near you; I won't stand by and see it done.

Doug. Weally, this is a most extraordinary thing! Look here, fellow— (Going towards him.)

Jim. Don't call me fellow, sir. (Crossing to L.)

(Enter Dr. Endicott, L. U. E.)

Dr. E. (coming down R. C.). Oh, Mr. Doughlass, you here?

Doug. Aw—yes, happy to see you. (Aside.) Good gwacious! It will never do to have him catch me in a wow with the coachman. (Aloud.) Aw—I was about leaving. Here, my good fellow. (Gives money to Jim and exit L. U. E.)

Jim (looks at money, then throws it after him). There, sir! You will find money is not a plaster for everything.

Jen. Ain't you ashamed of yourself, Jim! Is this the way you show your superiority, I'd like to know?

Dr. E. (C.). What does all this mean?

Jim. Excuse me, sir, it's nothing but a little quarrel that Jennie and I were having. Nothing uncommon, sir. She is like all women, the better a man likes her the worse he gets treated.

Jen. Do not listen to him, please, doctor. It's all a bit of nonsense, anyway. If that last you said is true, Jim, all I have got to say is that it shows a great weakness in the sex. (Exit, L. U. E.)

Jim. There you hear her, sir?

Dr. E. Your sweetheart is a little wilful, I fear.

Jim. Sh! don't let her hear you say that, for she ain't my sweetheart, you know. That is, she won't acknowledge it. It's me who am a dangling and a dangling after her, and she is laughing at me, or berating me for it all the time. Oh, sir! it is an awful thing to be in love. Why, sir, if this goes on much longer, I shan't have flesh enough left to keep my bones together with.

Dr. E. Then why do you not insist on either yes or no from her and abide by it.

Jim. Insist, did you say, sir? Insist? Why, sir, I have to get down on my marrow bones, sir, and then she ain't satisfied!

Dr. E. But what does she wish you to do?

Jim. I'll tell you what she wants, sir. She wants me to give up the dignity of my sex.

Dr. E. (surprised). I fear I do not quite understand.

Jim. She wants me to acknowledge that I am a fool, sir; nothing will content her but my admitting I am a perfect fool.

Dr. E. That is very strange.

Jim. You see, she thinks it her duty to sit down on me! just to show she ain't inferior, you know.

Dr. E. I am afraid she and you also have gone to the two extremes of an idea. Now I do not believe you would wish to exercise any undue authority over her.

Jim. Authority? over Jennie? No, indeed, sir, and to tell you the truth, I don't believe there is any fellow alive who could do it and live.

Dr. E. I have more faith in Jennie than to believe she would really like a man who was inferior to herself. I think she adopts that tone as a safeguard because she has a misgiving that the masculine instinct is to assert itself over the feminine. But if you give her to understand that as far as you are concerned she is wrong, I think there will be no trouble.

Jim. Thank you, sir, I'll try. I suppose a man and a woman are two halves, equal halves, but I have a feeling that Jennie won't be content with half; she will want two thirds at least. (Exit, L. U. E.)

Dr. E. Poor fellow, I trust his Jennie will not be obdurate. As he says, it is an awful thing to be in love. Love! Is it a blessing or a curse? A week ago, and for me it meant happiness, and now—ah, Kate, what is it that stands between us? I can obtain no explanation from her; she refuses to see me alone. Is it what a man who has less faith in the sex than I would call a woman's caprice? No! Kate is a noble, a true woman, nothing can make me doubt that! "I must honor as well as love the man I marry." What can she have meant? What have I done? I am groping in the darkness, but I will find my way into the light yet!

(Enter Mr. Grovenor, R. 1 E.)

Mr. G. Ah, my dear doctor, you are a stranger indeed. I sent for you to-day, as I am feeling far from well. I have had a great mental strain of late and I fear it has been too much for me.

Dr. E. I can truly believe it. I am grieved to see you looking so ill.

Mr. G. My head troubles me sadly.

Dr. E. You need rest.

Mr. G. Rest! Rest is impossible for me.

Dr. E. Cannot your son—

Mr. G. Eugene! no! He is good for nothing except to sing comic songs at champagne suppers and talk soft nonsense to equally soft girls. No. I regret to say Eugene is not a son of whom I can be proud, or who is willing to be useful to me.

Dr. E. But your daughter Kate. I am positive she could be of great assistance to you if you would allow her.

Mr. G. What! a woman meddling in my business matters? Absurd!

Dr. E. I am sorry I cannot agree with you. I know Miss Grovenor has business ability, energy, and brains; what more do you want?

Mr. G. But she is a woman and that settles the matter. Let us not discuss this point. And now can you not give me something that will stop this burning in my head?

Dr. E. I will try, but I fear, without rest, medicine will do you little good.

(Enter Kate, L. U. E.)

Kate (coming down C.). Father, I—Dr. Endicott!

Dr. E. (L.). Kate!

Kate. I thought my father was alone; excuse my intrusion. (Aside.) It is hard to remember how dishonorable he was when I see him as now. But I must.

Dr. E. Do not go, I was about leaving. May I ask to be favored with an interview, at any time possible to you?

Kate. I regret to be obliged to say no to your request.

Mr. G. Why, what do you mean, Kate?

Kate. What I say, father.

Dr. E. I appeal to your sense of justice. Is it right to refuse me all explanation?

Kate. Can you say you need one?

Dr. E. I can.

Kate (aside). His eyes meet mine unfalteringly. Can there have been a mistake? But no, that is impossible. (Aloud.) As you will. I will see you to-morrow at this hour.

Dr. E. I thank you. Pardon me, Mr. Grovenor, but as this is a matter that concerns me very nearly I could do no otherwise than speak in your presence—my only opportunity. I will send the medicine for you very soon. To-morrow at this hour, Kate, I hope to clear up all your doubts. (Exit, L. U. E. Kate looks after him.)

Mr. G. What cursed nonsense is all this?

Kate. Nothing, father, only Dr. Endicott asked me to be his wife.

Mr. G. The devil he did.

Kate. And I refused.

Mr. G. What! refused? why, you are a bigger fool than most women!

Kate. Thank you, father. But in a matter like that, you must allow even a woman has the right to choose.

Mr. G. And are you expecting a prince, that the doctor, a fine, handsome man, is not good enough for you? It is not every one who would want you, with your unfeminine ideas!

Kate. Well, father, I think I can manage to exist unmarried.

Mr. G. Exist? on what? I have no property to leave you.

Kate. Then at least I shall escape taxation without representation.

Mr. G. There you go again with your crazy ideas! I declare I have no patience with you. What was that he meant about an explanation?

Kate. That I am not at liberty to tell, as it is a secret that concerns others.

Mr. G. A secret? Ah, well, it will come out soon enough, then. No woman yet ever kept a secret.

Kate. We shall see.

Mr. G. Well, Kate, I will not deny you have always been a good girl; I believe you never teased me for money in your life, but you were a fool to refuse the doctor. However, there is no accounting for a woman's whims, and you may think better of it.

Kate. Let us dismiss that subject. I came here, father, to beg you to let me help you. I know you are ill and need rest. I know you are oppressed by many cares, while I—I have absolutely nothing to fill my time. I feel I could help you. Forget I am a woman, if need be, and let me try.

Mr. G. I know you mean right, child, but if I should agree to your proposition, you would be more bother than you were worth; don't you see you would, you goose?

Kate. At first I might until I learned your way. But that would not be long; at least let me try.

Mr. G. Well, some time when I have plenty of time, perhaps, I will see! (Sits at desk, R.)

Kate. You only say that to get rid of me. Is there no way I can induce you?

Mr. G. No, no. Now do not annoy me any more. (Writes busily.)

(Enter Mrs. Grovenor, L. U. E.)

Mrs. G. (L.). Ah, Kate, you here? I would like to speak to your father alone a moment, my dear.

Kate. Very well, mother. (Aside.) Poor father so worn and harassed. I know I could lighten his labors. Why is he so obstinate? (Exit L. U. E.)

Mr. G. (without looking at her). Well, Mrs. Grovenor, what is it—money? You can't have it.

Mrs. G. Not for myself. But Eugene is in great distress. He says he must have five hundred dollars at once, and goes on in a way that is frightful.

Mr. G. (looking over shoulder). Five hundred dollars! Do you see that note, due next week and not a cent raised to pay it with? Do you see these bills? Go back and teach your son to earn his money.

Mrs. G. (putting handkerchief to eyes). Oh, would I not if I could! But alas! I am helpless and Eugene is going to ruin!

Mr. G. (writing). There, do not snivel. You have an easy time enough. So spare a man at least your everlasting whimpering!

Mrs. G. An easy time? Bound, fettered, helpless, is that easy?

Mr. G. (turning in his chair and staring at her). You are in an extraordinary mood to-day, Mrs. Grovenor! Bound, fettered—clothed, fed, given all the luxuries of life without lifting your own white hands, you mean. Helpless? To raise five hundred dollars to pay Eugene's—gambling—debts—doubtless. Who has been talking such stuff to you? Kate?

Mrs. G. Sneer if you will, but it is true that of Kate I have learned to think upon things I never did before, and to believe that, had I been differently educated, had my life been broadened instead of narrowed, had I been taught to be independent, and to make my matrimonial choice from love alone, I might have been a better mother to my daughters, and guided the steps of my son away from ruin and dishonor. (Exit, L. U. E.)

Mr. G. (staring after her). Have all the women gone crazy? I have been married twenty-five years and I never knew my wife to speak in that way before. It's all Kate's fault! I must forbid this radical talk or my household will be utterly demoralized. But she was right in saying that Eugene is going to ruin. This constant struggle with money matters has given me no time to attend to my son, and now, what shall be done? (Rises and walks back and forth.)

(Enter Eugene, L. U. E.)

Eug. Father!

Mr. G. Ah! have you come to tell me what you mean by your disgraceful conduct, sir?

Eug. Disgraceful conduct? You are talking in enigmas to me; I'm all right. I have been a little jolly sometimes, to be sure, but that is no more than all the boys are. You had your fun when you were young, I suppose, so why shouldn't I?

Mr. G. How dare you, boy, insinuate that I—

Eug. Ah! come, come, father, you know you wasn't a milk-sop any more than I am. It's all very well for the girls, but it won't do for us men, you know. So, now, let me have that five hundred, that's a good old dad.

Mr. G. Five hundred dollars! Do you know that I am on the verge of ruin?

Eug. The deuce you are!

Mr. G. Nothing but a steady hand will save me. While I am struggling with all my might—sick enough to be in bed—to pull through, you all, not content with being dead weights on my shoulders, run into extravagance and profligacy. (Takes bill from desk.) The bill for my daughter Alice's last ball dress is here, $500. Here are two of your champagne bills, $100. I tell you this must be stopped. Your debauchery must be stopped. You have not the strength of mind to go through profligacy and come out solvent; if you had Kate's brains you might, but you have not; so I tell you this must be stopped, or you will have the pleasure of sowing the remainder of your wild oats in a pauper's back yard, if you do not fill a drunkard's grave! (Exit, R. 1 E.)

Eug. By Jove! He means it every word! I never saw him so worked up before! And to say I, a man, had not so much strength of mind as Kate, he must be crazy! But what a fix I am in! I never dreamed but I could get the money without any trouble before the time to take up the note came, and if I cannot—great heavens! what I did was a crime, a State prison offence! State prison? Bah! the idea is absurd, I shall get the money some way. I will not think of it. It annoys me, too, to have Lizzie under the same roof. I have avoided her so far, but—oh! I will go and get a glass of whiskey and forget it all.

(Enter Lizzie, L. U. E. She gives a startled exclamation.)

Eug. Lizzie!

Liz. You!

Eug. What are you doing here?

Liz. (up L.). I came to look for Miss Kate; they said she was in the library. Heaven knows I would not have come had I known you were here!

Eug. Now, Lizzie, what is the use of making such a fuss about nothing? Because we had a jolly little flirtation once, it is no reason why we should go into heroics now, is it? Come, let us be friends, Lizzie.

Liz. (coming down L.). Friends with you, who broke my heart?

Eug. Nonsense! broken hearts went out of fashion years ago. There, forgive me, Lizzie, but what is the use of taking things so seriously? Life was never made to be taken seriously.

Liz. Perhaps not for you, but for those who have hearts life is indeed serious.

Eug. I know it's a way women have to make themselves miserable, if they can. Now be sensible. Suppose we were awful spoons once; it was very pleasant while it lasted, but, of course, it could not last forever.

Liz. And why?

Eug. Why? Do summer flirtations ever last? Certainly not.

Liz. But you said you never could be happy without me, that some day I should be your wife.

Eug. By Jove! was I so far gone as all that? Well, I did like you amazingly, Lizzie, but, of course, that was mere talk.

Liz. (looking at him earnestly and moving towards him). You did not mean it when you asked me to be your wife?

Eug. Of course not, and I did not suppose you thought I did.

Liz. (C.). And you call yourself a man, you who thus trifled with the heart of an innocent girl who loved you! Then if you are a type of a man, I thank heaven I am a woman.

Eug. Now, Lizzie, don't get mad. I did not mean any harm, 'pon my word I didn't. (Aside.) By Jove, I believe I did treat the little girl confounded mean.

Liz. I loved not you, but the man I dreamed you were. You I despise.

Eug. Lizzie, I am sorry it ever happened. You see, I am a thoughtless kind of a fellow. I—I—have done a great many things I ought not. (Tries to take her hand.)

Liz. (C., repulsing him). Then cultivate a different disposition in amends for the past and to save yourself from ruin, to which thoughtlessness is too often a guide. (Goes up R.)

Eug. (L.). 'Pon my word, I—I believe I will try.

(Enter Mr. Grovenor, R. 1 E., hastily, with paper clutched in his hand.)

Mr. G. This—this is a forgery, and you, Eugene, do you—do you know—was it—can it have been you?

Eug. (L., aside). Heaven! that note to-day! I thought it was to-morrow. What shall I do?

Mr. G. (C.). Answer and contradict if you can the guilt I see in your face.

Eug. Father, forgive me. It was a debt of honor and I hoped to be able to pay the note before it came due. I—

Mr. G. Then it was you, my son. My curse upon you, ungrateful and miserable son. Go—to a prison. I will have no mercy on you.

(Lizzie screams and comes down R.)

Eug. Oh! a prison! (Staggers to R., and falls into chair. Lizzie leans over him.)

Mr. G. Yes, a prison, and rot there. You have ruined me; do you hear, ruined me! What have I done that I should be the father of a son like this? A forger and a—(Staggers.) Ah, my head! how it burns! What was I saying? Mercy! I will have no mercy! Where is Kate? (Rings bell over desk furiously.) Yes, ruined! ruined!

(Enter Mrs. Grovenor and Alice, L. U. E.)

Alice (L. C.). Father, what is the matter?

Mrs. G. (L.). What can I do? Are you ill? Speak to me.

Mr. G. (raving). Yes, you have ruined me. (Enter Kate, L. U. E.) Who will pay these bills? I am ill, dying, dishonored; no one will straighten out my affairs. My son—no. I have no son. I—who will, who can help, save me? (Falls, C. Kate comes down L. C., kneels and puts her arms around him.)

Kate. Your daughter, father! (Slow music.)