Misalliance

By George Bernard Shaw.

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Dramatis Personae

John “Johnny” Tarleton, Jr.

Bentley Summerhays

Hypatia Tarleton

Mrs. Tarleton

Lord Summerhays

John Tarleton

Joseph Percival

Lina Szczepanowska

Julius “Gunner” Baker

Misalliance

A Debate in One Sitting

Misalliance

Johnny Tarleton, an ordinary young business man of thirty or less, is taking his weekly Friday to Tuesday in the house of his father, John Tarleton, who has made a great deal of money out of Tarleton’s Underwear. The house is in Surrey, on the slope of Hindhead; and Johnny, reclining, novel in hand, in a swinging chair with a little awning above it, is enshrined in a spacious half hemisphere of glass which forms a pavilion commanding the garden, and, beyond it, a barren but lovely landscape of hill profile with fir trees, commons of bracken and gorse, and wonderful cloud pictures.

The glass pavilion springs from a bridgelike arch in the wall of the house, through which one comes into a big hall with tiled flooring, which suggests that the proprietor’s notion of domestic luxury is founded on the lounges of weekend hotels. The arch is not quite in the centre of the wall. There is more wall to its right than to its left, and this space is occupied by a hat rack and umbrella stand in which tennis rackets, white parasols, caps, Panama hats, and other summery articles are bestowed. Just through the arch at this corner stands a new portable Turkish bath, recently unpacked, with its crate beside it, and on the crate the drawn nails and the hammer used in unpacking. Near the crate are open boxes of garden games: bowls and croquet. Nearly in the middle of the glass wall of the pavilion is a door giving on the garden, with a couple of steps to surmount the hot-water pipes which skirt the glass. At intervals round the pavilion are marble pillars with specimens of Viennese pottery on them, very flamboyant in colour and florid in design. Between them are folded garden chairs flung anyhow against the pipes. In the side walls are two doors: one near the hat stand, leading to the interior of the house, the other on the opposite side and at the other end, leading to the vestibule.

There is no solid furniture except a sideboard which stands against the wall between the vestibule door and the pavilion, a small writing table with a blotter, a rack for telegram forms and stationery, and a wastepaper basket, standing out in the hall near the sideboard, and a lady’s worktable, with two chairs at it, towards the other side of the lounge. The writing table has also two chairs at it. On the sideboard there is a tantalus, liqueur bottles, a syphon, a glass jug of lemonade, tumblers, and every convenience for casual drinking. Also a plate of sponge cakes, and a highly ornate punch bowl in the same style as the ceramic display in the pavilion. Wicker chairs and little bamboo tables with ash trays and boxes of matches on them are scattered in all directions. In the pavilion, which is flooded with sunshine, is the elaborate patent swing seat and awning in which Johnny reclines with his novel. There are two wicker chairs right and left of him.

Bentley Summerhays, one of those smallish, thinskinned youths, who from 17 to 70 retain unaltered the mental airs of the later and the physical appearance of the earlier age, appears in the garden and comes through the glass door into the pavilion. He is unmistakably a grade above Johnny socially; and though he looks sensitive enough, his assurance and his high voice are a little exasperating.

Johnny
Hallo! Where’s your luggage?

Bentley
I left it at the station. I’ve walked up from Haslemere. He goes to the hat stand and hangs up his hat.

Johnny
Shortly. Oh! And who’s to fetch it?

Bentley
Don’t know. Don’t care. Providence, probably. If not, your mother will have it fetched.

Johnny
Not her business, exactly, is it?

Bentley
Returning to the pavilion. Of course not. That’s why one loves her for doing it. Look here: chuck away your silly weekend novel, and talk to a chap. After a week in that filthy office my brain is simply blue-mouldy. Lets argue about something intellectual. He throws himself into the wicker chair on Johnny’s right.

Johnny
Straightening up in the swing with a yell of protest. No. Now seriously, Bunny, I’ve come down here to have a pleasant weekend; and I’m not going to stand your confounded arguments. If you want to argue, get out of this and go over to the Congregationalist minister’s. He’s a nailer at arguing. He likes it.

Bentley
You can’t argue with a person when his livelihood depends on his not letting you convert him. And would you mind not calling me Bunny. My name is Bentley Summerhays, which you please.

Johnny
What’s the matter with Bunny?

Bentley
It puts me in a false position. Have you ever considered the fact that I was an afterthought?

Johnny
An afterthought? What do you mean by that?

Bentley
I﻿—

Johnny
No, stop: I don’t want to know. It’s only a dodge to start an argument.

Bentley
Don’t be afraid: it won’t overtax your brain. My father was 44 when I was born. My mother was 41. There was twelve years between me and the next eldest. I was unexpected. I was probably unintentional. My brothers and sisters are not the least like me. They’re the regular thing that you always get in the first batch from young parents: quite pleasant, ordinary, do-the-regular-thing sort: all body and no brains, like you.

Johnny
Thank you.

Bentley
Don’t mention it, old chap. Now I’m different. By the time I was born, the old couple knew something. So I came out all brains and no more body than is absolutely necessary. I am really a good deal older than you, though you were born ten years sooner. Everybody feels that when they hear us talk; consequently, though it’s quite natural to hear me calling you Johnny, it sounds ridiculous and unbecoming for you to call me Bunny. He rises.

Johnny
Does it, by George? You stop me doing it if you can: that’s all.

Bentley
If you go on doing it after I’ve asked you not, you’ll feel an awful swine. He strolls away carelessly to the sideboard with his eye on the sponge cakes. At least I should; but I suppose you’re not so particular.

Johnny
Rising vengefully and following Bentley, who is forced to turn and listen. I’ll tell you what it is, my boy: you want a good talking to; and I’m going to give it to you. If you think that because your father’s a K.C.B., and you want to marry my sister, you can make yourself as nasty as you please and say what you like, you’re mistaken. Let me tell you that except Hypatia, not one person in this house is in favor of her marrying you; and I don’t believe she’s happy about it herself. The match isn’t settled yet: don’t forget that. You’re on trial in the office because the Governor isn’t giving his daughter money for an idle man to live on her. You’re on trial here because my mother thinks a girl should know what a man is like in the house before she marries him. That’s been going on for two months now; and what’s the result? You’ve got yourself thoroughly disliked in the office; and you’re getting yourself thoroughly disliked here, all through your bad manners and your conceit, and the damned impudence you think clever.

Bentley
Deeply wounded and trying hard to control himself. That’s enough, thank you. You don’t suppose, I hope, that I should have come down if I had known that that was how you felt about me. He makes for the vestibule door.

Johnny
Collaring him. No: you don’t run away. I’m going to have this out with you. Sit down: d’y’ hear? Bentley attempts to go with dignity. Johnny slings him into a chair at the writing table, where he sits, bitterly humiliated, but afraid to speak lest he should burst into tears. That’s the advantage of having more body than brains, you see: it enables me to teach you manners; and I’m going to do it too. You’re a spoilt young pup; and you need a jolly good licking. And if you’re not careful you’ll get it: I’ll see to that next time you call me a swine.

Bentley
I didn’t call you a swine. But bursting into a fury of tears you are a swine: you’re a beast: you’re a brute: you’re a cad: you’re a liar: you’re a bully: I should like to wring your damned neck for you.

Johnny
With a derisive laugh. Try it, my son. Bentley gives an inarticulate sob of rage. Fighting isn’t in your line. You’re too small and you’re too childish. I always suspected that your cleverness wouldn’t come to very much when it was brought up against something solid: some decent chap’s fist, for instance.

Bentley
I hope your beastly fist may come up against a mad bull or a prizefighter’s nose, or something solider than me. I don’t care about your fist; but if everybody here dislikes me﻿—He is checked by a sob. Well, I don’t care. Trying to recover himself. I’m sorry I intruded: I didn’t know. Breaking down again. Oh you beast! you pig! Swine, swine, swine, swine, swine! Now!

Johnny
All right, my lad, all right. Sling your mud as hard as you please: it won’t stick to me. What I want to know is this. How is it that your father, who I suppose is the strongest man England has produced in our time﻿—

Bentley
You got that out of your halfpenny paper. A lot you know about him!

Johnny
I don’t set up to be able to do anything but admire him and appreciate him and be proud of him as an Englishman. If it wasn’t for my respect for him, I wouldn’t have stood your cheek for two days, let alone two months. But what I can’t understand is why he didn’t lick it out of you when you were a kid. For twenty-five years he kept a place twice as big as England in order: a place full of seditious coffee-colored heathens and pestilential white agitators in the middle of a lot of savage tribes. And yet he couldn’t keep you in order. I don’t set up to be half the man your father undoubtedly is; but, by George, it’s lucky for you you were not my son. I don’t hold with my own father’s views about corporal punishment being wrong. It’s necessary for some people; and I’d have tried it on you until you first learnt to howl and then to behave yourself.

Bentley
Contemptuously. Yes: behavior wouldn’t come naturally to your son, would it?

Johnny
Stung into sudden violence. Now you keep a civil tongue in your head. I’ll stand none of your snobbery. I’m just as proud of Tarleton’s Underwear as you are of your father’s title and his K.C.B., and all the rest of it. My father began in a little hole of a shop in Leeds no bigger than our pantry down the passage there. He﻿—

Bentley
Oh yes: I know. I’ve read it. The Romance of Business, or the Story of Tarleton’s Underwear. Please Take One! I took one the day after I first met Hypatia. I went and bought half a dozen unshrinkable vests for her sake.

Johnny
Well: did they shrink?

Bentley
Oh, don’t be a fool.

Johnny
Never mind whether I’m a fool or not. Did they shrink? That’s the point. Were they worth the money?

Bentley
I couldn’t wear them: do you think my skin’s as thick as your customers’ hides? I’d as soon have dressed myself in a nutmeg grater.

Johnny
Pity your father didn’t give your thin skin a jolly good lacing with a cane﻿—!

Bentley
Pity you haven’t got more than one idea! If you want to know, they did try that on me once, when I was a small kid. A silly governess did it. I yelled fit to bring down the house and went into convulsions and brain fever and that sort of thing for three weeks. So the old girl got the sack; and serve her right! After that, I was let do what I like. My father didn’t want me to grow up a broken-spirited spaniel, which is your idea of a man, I suppose.

Johnny
Jolly good thing for you that my father made you come into the office and show what you were made of. And it didn’t come to much: let me tell you that. When the Governor asked me where I thought we ought to put you, I said, “Make him the Office Boy.” The Governor said you were too green. And so you were.

Bentley
I daresay. So would you be pretty green if you were shoved into my father’s set. I picked up your silly business in a fortnight. You’ve been at it ten years; and you haven’t picked it up yet.

Johnny
Don’t talk rot, child. You know you simply make me pity you.

Bentley
Romance of Business indeed! The real romance of Tarleton’s business is the story that you understand anything about it. You never could explain any mortal thing about it to me when I asked you. “See what was done the last time”: that was the beginning and the end of your wisdom. You’re nothing but a turnspit.

Johnny
A what!

Bentley
A turnspit. If your father hadn’t made a roasting jack for you to turn, you’d be earning twenty-four shillings a week behind a counter.

Johnny
If you don’t take that back and apologize for your bad manners, I’ll give you as good a hiding as ever﻿—

Bentley
Help! Johnny’s beating me! Oh! Murder! He throws himself on the ground, uttering piercing yells.

Johnny
Don’t be a fool. Stop that noise, will you. I’m not going to touch you. Sh﻿—sh﻿—

Hypatia rushes in through the inner door, followed by Mrs. Tarleton, and throws herself on her knees by Bentley. Mrs. Tarleton, whose knees are stiffer, bends over him and tries to lift him. Mrs. Tarleton is a shrewd and motherly old lady who has been pretty in her time, and is still very pleasant and likeable and unaffected. Hypatia is a typical English girl of a sort never called typical: that is, she has an opaque white skin, black hair, large dark eyes with black brows and lashes, curved lips, swift glances and movements that flash out of a waiting stillness, boundless energy and audacity held in leash.

Hypatia
Pouncing on Bentley with no very gentle hand. Bentley: what’s the matter? Don’t cry like that: what’s the use? What’s happened?

Mrs. Tarleton
Are you ill, child? They get him up. There, there, pet! It’s all right: don’t cry: They put him into a chair. there! there! there! Johnny will go for the doctor; and he’ll give you something nice to make it well.

Hypatia
What has happened, Johnny?

Mrs. Tarleton
Was it a wasp?

Bentley
Impatiently. Wasp be dashed!

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh Bunny! that was a naughty word.

Bentley
Yes, I know: I beg your pardon. He rises, and extricates himself from them. That’s all right. Johnny frightened me. You know how easy it is to hurt me; and I’m too small to defend myself against Johnny.

Mrs. Tarleton
Johnny: how often have I told you that you must not bully the little ones. I thought you’d outgrown all that.

Hypatia
Angrily. I do declare, mamma, that Johnny’s brutality makes it impossible to live in the house with him.

Johnny
Deeply hurt. It’s twenty-seven years, mother, since you had that row with me for licking Robert and giving Hypatia a black eye because she bit me. I promised you then that I’d never raise my hand to one of them again; and I’ve never broken my word. And now because this young whelp begins to cry out before he’s hurt, you treat me as if I were a brute and a savage.

Mrs. Tarleton
No dear, not a savage; but you know you must not call our visitor naughty names.

Bentley
Oh, let him alone﻿—

Johnny
Fiercely. Don’t you interfere between my mother and me: d’y’ hear?

Hypatia
Johnny’s lost his temper, mother. We’d better go. Come, Bentley.

Mrs. Tarleton
Yes: that will be best. To Bentley. Johnny doesn’t mean any harm, dear: he’ll be himself presently. Come.

The two ladies go out through the inner door with Bentley, who turns at the door to grin at Johnny as he goes out.

Johnny, left alone, clenches his fists and grinds his teeth, but can find no relief in that way for his rage. After choking and stamping for a moment, he makes for the vestibule door. It opens before he reaches it; and Lord Summerhays comes in. Johnny glares at him, speechless. Lord Summerhays takes in the situation, and quickly takes the punch bowl from the sideboard and offers it to Johnny.

Lord Summerhays
Smash it. Don’t hesitate: it’s an ugly thing. Smash it: hard. Johnny, with a stifled yell, dashes it in pieces, and then sits down and mops his brow. Feel better now? Johnny nods. I know only one person alive who could drive me to the point of having either to break china or commit murder; and that person is my son Bentley. Was it he? Johnny nods again, not yet able to speak. As the car stopped I heard a yell which is only too familiar to me. It generally means that some infuriated person is trying to thrash Bentley. Nobody has ever succeeded, though almost everybody has tried. He seats himself comfortably close to the writing table, and sets to work to collect the fragments of the punch bowl in the wastepaper basket whilst Johnny, with diminishing difficulty, collects himself. Bentley is a problem which I confess I have never been able to solve. He was born to be a great success at the age of fifty. Most Englishmen of his class seem to be born to be great successes at the age of twenty-four at most. The domestic problem for me is how to endure Bentley until he is fifty. The problem for the nation is how to get itself governed by men whose growth is arrested when they are little more than college lads. Bentley doesn’t really mean to be offensive. You can always make him cry by telling him you don’t like him. Only, he cries so loud that the experiment should be made in the open air: in the middle of Salisbury Plain if possible. He has a hard and penetrating intellect and a remarkable power of looking facts in the face; but unfortunately, being very young, he has no idea of how very little of that sort of thing most of us can stand. On the other hand, he is frightfully sensitive and even affectionate; so that he probably gets as much as he gives in the way of hurt feelings. You’ll excuse me rambling on like this about my son.

Johnny
Who has pulled himself together. You did it on purpose. I wasn’t quite myself: I needed a moment to pull round: thank you.

Lord Summerhays
Not at all. Is your father at home?

Johnny
No: he’s opening one of his free libraries. That’s another nice little penny gone. He’s mad on reading. He promised another free library last week. It’s ruinous. It’ll hit you as well as me when Bunny marries Hypatia. When all Hypatia’s money is thrown away on libraries, where will Bunny come in? Can’t you stop him?

Lord Summerhays
I’m afraid not. He’s a perfect whirlwind. Indefatigable at public work. Wonderful man, I think.

Johnny
Oh, public work! He does too much of it. It’s really a sort of laziness, getting away from your own serious business to amuse yourself with other people’s. Mind: I don’t say there isn’t another side to it. It has its value as an advertisement. It makes useful acquaintances and leads to valuable business connections. But it takes his mind off the main chance; and he overdoes it.

Lord Summerhays
The danger of public business is that it never ends. A man may kill himself at it.

Johnny
Or he can spend more on it than it brings him in: that’s how I look at it. What I say is that everybody’s business is nobody’s business. I hope I’m not a hard man, nor a narrow man, nor unwilling to pay reasonable taxes, and subscribe in reason to deserving charities, and even serve on a jury in my turn; and no man can say I ever refused to help a friend out of a difficulty when he was worth helping. But when you ask me to go beyond that, I tell you frankly I don’t see it. I never did see it, even when I was only a boy, and had to pretend to take in all the ideas the Governor fed me up with. I didn’t see it; and I don’t see it.

Lord Summerhays
There is certainly no business reason why you should take more than your share of the world’s work.

Johnny
So I say. It’s really a great encouragement to me to find you agree with me. For of course if nobody agrees with you, how are you to know that you’re not a fool?

Lord Summerhays
Quite so.

Johnny
I wish you’d talk to him about it. It’s no use my saying anything: I’m a child to him still: I have no influence. Besides, you know how to handle men. See how you handled me when I was making a fool of myself about Bunny!

Lord Summerhays
Not at all.

Johnny
Oh yes I was: I know I was. Well, if my blessed father had come in he’d have told me to control myself. As if I was losing my temper on purpose!

Bentley returns, newly washed. He beams when he sees his father, and comes affectionately behind him and pats him on the shoulders.

Bentley
Hel⁠-⁠lo, commander! have you come? I’ve been making a filthy silly ass of myself here. I’m awfully sorry, Johnny, old chap: I beg your pardon. Why don’t you kick me when I go on like that?

Lord Summerhays
As we came through Godalming I thought I heard some yelling﻿—

Bentley
I should think you did. Johnny was rather rough on me, though. He told me nobody here liked me; and I was silly enough to believe him.

Lord Summerhays
And all the women have been kissing you and pitying you ever since to stop your crying, I suppose. Baby!

Bentley
I did cry. But I always feel good after crying: it relieves my wretched nerves. I feel perfectly jolly now.

Lord Summerhays
Not at all ashamed of yourself, for instance?

Bentley
If I started being ashamed of myself I shouldn’t have time for anything else all my life. I say: I feel very fit and spry. Lets all go down and meet the Grand Cham. He goes to the hatstand and takes down his hat.

Lord Summerhays
Does Mr. Tarleton like to be called the Grand Cham, do you think, Bentley?

Bentley
Well, he thinks he’s too modest for it. He calls himself Plain John. But you can’t call him that in his own office: besides, it doesn’t suit him: it’s not flamboyant enough.

Johnny
Flam what?

Bentley
Flamboyant. Lets go and meet him. He’s telephoned from Guildford to say he’s on the road. The dear old son is always telephoning or telegraphing: he thinks he’s hustling along like anything when he’s only sending unnecessary messages.

Lord Summerhays
Thank you: I should prefer a quiet afternoon.

Bentley
Righto. I shan’t press Johnny: he’s had enough of me for one weekend. He goes out through the pavilion into the grounds.

Johnny
Not a bad idea, that.

Lord Summerhays
What?

Johnny
Going to meet the Governor. You know you wouldn’t think it; but the Governor likes Bunny rather. And Bunny is cultivating it. I shouldn’t be surprised if he thought he could squeeze me out one of these days.

Lord Summerhays
You don’t say so! Young rascal! I want to consult you about him, if you don’t mind. Shall we stroll over to the Gibbet? Bentley is too fast for me as a walking companion; but I should like a short turn.

Johnny
Rising eagerly, highly flattered. Right you are. That’ll suit me down to the ground. He takes a Panama and stick from the hat stand.

Mrs. Tarleton and Hypatia come back just as the two men are going out. Hypatia salutes Summerhays from a distance with an enigmatic lift of her eyelids in his direction and a demure nod before she sits down at the worktable and busies herself with her needle. Mrs. Tarleton, hospitably fussy, goes over to him.

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, Lord Summerhays, I didn’t know you were here. Won’t you have some tea?

Lord Summerhays
No, thank you: I’m not allowed tea. And I’m ashamed to say I’ve knocked over your beautiful punch bowl. You must let me replace it.

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, it doesn’t matter: I’m only too glad to be rid of it. The shopman told me it was in the best taste; but when my poor old nurse Martha got cataract, Bunny said it was a merciful provision of Nature to prevent her seeing our china.

Lord Summerhays
Gravely. That was exceedingly rude of Bentley, Mrs. Tarleton. I hope you told him so.

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, bless you! I don’t care what he says; so long as he says it to me and not before visitors.

Johnny
We’re going out for a stroll, mother.

Mrs. Tarleton
All right: don’t let us keep you. Never mind about that crock: I’ll get the girl to come and take the pieces away. Recollecting herself. There! I’ve done it again!

Johnny
Done what?

Mrs. Tarleton
Called her the girl. You know, Lord Summerhays, its a funny thing; but now I’m getting old, I’m dropping back into all the ways John and I had when we had barely a hundred a year. You should have known me when I was forty! I talked like a duchess; and if Johnny or Hypatia let slip a word that was like old times, I was down on them like anything. And now I’m beginning to do it myself at every turn.

Lord Summerhays
There comes a time when all that seems to matter so little. Even queens drop the mask when they reach our time of life.

Mrs. Tarleton
Let you alone for giving a thing a pretty turn! You’re a humbug, you know, Lord Summerhays. John doesn’t know it; and Johnny doesn’t know it; but you and I know it, don’t we? Now that’s something that even you can’t answer; so be off with you for your walk without another word.

Lord Summerhays smiles; bows; and goes out through the vestibule door, followed by Johnny. Mrs. Tarleton sits down at the worktable and takes out her darning materials and one of her husband’s socks. Hypatia is at the other side of the table, on her mother’s right. They chat as they work.

Hypatia
I wonder whether they laugh at us when they are by themselves!

Mrs. Tarleton
Who?

Hypatia
Bentley and his father and all the toffs in their set.

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, that’s only their way. I used to think that the aristocracy were a nasty sneering lot, and that they were laughing at me and John. They’re always giggling and pretending not to care much about anything. But you get used to it: they’re the same to one another and to everybody. Besides, what does it matter what they think? It’s far worse when they’re civil, because that always means that they want you to lend them money; and you must never do that, Hypatia, because they never pay. How can they? They don’t make anything, you see. Of course, if you can make up your mind to regard it as a gift, that’s different; but then they generally ask you again; and you may as well say no first as last. You needn’t be afraid of the aristocracy, dear: they’re only human creatures like ourselves after all; and you’ll hold your own with them easy enough.

Hypatia
Oh, I’m not a bit afraid of them, I assure you.

Mrs. Tarleton
Well, no, not afraid of them, exactly; but you’ve got to pick up their ways. You know, dear, I never quite agreed with your father’s notion of keeping clear of them, and sending you to a school that was so expensive that they couldn’t afford to send their daughters there; so that all the girls belonged to big business families like ourselves. It takes all sorts to make a world; and I wanted you to see a little of all sorts. When you marry Bunny, and go among the women of his father’s set, they’ll shock you at first.

Hypatia
Incredulously. How?

Mrs. Tarleton
Well, the things they talk about.

Hypatia
Oh! scandalmongering?

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh no: we all do that: that’s only human nature. But you know they’ve no notion of decency. I shall never forget the first day I spent with a marchioness, two duchesses, and no end of Ladies This and That. Of course it was only a committee: they’d put me on to get a big subscription out of John. I’d never heard such talk in my life. The things they mentioned! And it was the marchioness that started it.

Hypatia
What sort of things?

Mrs. Tarleton
Drainage!! She’d tried three systems in her castle; and she was going to do away with them all and try another. I didn’t know which way to look when she began talking about it: I thought they’d all have got up and gone out of the room. But not a bit of it, if you please. They were all just as bad as she. They all had systems; and each of them swore by her own system. I sat there with my cheeks burning until one of the duchesses, thinking I looked out of it, I suppose, asked me what system I had. I said I was sure I knew nothing about such things, and hadn’t we better change the subject. Then the fat was in the fire, I can tell you. There was a regular terror of a countess with an anaerobic system; and she told me, downright brutally, that I’d better learn something about them before my children died of diphtheria. That was just two months after I’d buried poor little Bobby; and that was the very thing he died of, poor little lamb! I burst out crying: I couldn’t help it. It was as good as telling me I’d killed my own child. I had to go away; but before I was out of the door one of the duchesses﻿—quite a young woman﻿—began talking about what sour milk did in her inside and how she expected to live to be over a hundred if she took it regularly. And me listening to her, that had never dared to think that a duchess could have anything so common as an inside! I shouldn’t have minded if it had been children’s insides: we have to talk about them. But grown-up people! I was glad to get away that time.

Hypatia
There was a physiology and hygiene class started at school; but of course none of our girls were let attend it.

Mrs. Tarleton
If it had been an aristocratic school plenty would have attended it. That’s what they’re like: they’ve nasty minds. With really nice good women a thing is either decent or indecent; and if it’s indecent, we just don’t mention it or pretend to know about it; and there’s an end of it. But all the aristocracy cares about is whether it can get any good out of the thing. They’re what Johnny calls cynical-like. And of course nobody can say a word to them for it. They’re so high up that they can do and say what they like.

Hypatia
Well, I think they might leave the drains to their husbands. I shouldn’t think much of a man that left such things to me.

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, don’t think that, dear, whatever you do. I never let on about it to you; but it’s me that takes care of the drainage here. After what that countess said to me I wasn’t going to lose another child or trust John. And I don’t want my grandchildren to die any more than my children.

Hypatia
Do you think Bentley will ever be as big a man as his father? I don’t mean clever: I mean big and strong.

Mrs. Tarleton
Not he. He’s overbred, like one of those expensive little dogs. I like a bit of a mongrel myself, whether it’s a man or a dog: they’re the best for everyday. But we all have our tastes: what’s one woman’s meat is another woman’s poison. Bunny’s a dear little fellow; but I never could have fancied him for a husband when I was your age.

Hypatia
Yes; but he has some brains. He’s not like all the rest. One can’t have everything.

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, you’re quite right, dear: quite right. It’s a great thing to have brains: look what it’s done for your father! That’s the reason I never said a word when you jilted poor Jerry Mackintosh.

Hypatia
Excusing herself. I really couldn’t stick it out with Jerry, mother. I know you liked him; and nobody can deny that he’s a splendid animal﻿—

Mrs. Tarleton
Shocked. Hypatia! How can you! The things that girls say nowadays!

Hypatia
Well, what else can you call him? If I’d been deaf or he’d been dumb, I could have married him. But living with father, I’ve got accustomed to cleverness. Jerry would drive me mad: you know very well he’s a fool: even Johnny thinks him a fool.

Mrs. Tarleton
Up in arms at once in defence of her boy. Now don’t begin about my Johnny. You know it annoys me. Johnny’s as clever as anybody else in his own way. I don’t say he’s as clever as you in some ways; but he’s a man, at all events, and not a little squit of a thing like your Bunny.

Hypatia
Oh, I say nothing against your darling: we all know Johnny’s perfection.

Mrs. Tarleton
Don’t be cross, dearie. You let Johnny alone; and I’ll let Bunny alone. I’m just as bad as you. There!

Hypatia
Oh, I don’t mind your saying that about Bentley. It’s true. He is a little squit of a thing. I wish he wasn’t. But who else is there? Think of all the other chances I’ve had! Not one of them has as much brains in his whole body as Bentley has in his little finger. Besides, they’ve no distinction. It’s as much as I can do to tell one from the other. They wouldn’t even have money if they weren’t the sons of their fathers, like Johnny. What’s a girl to do? I never met anybody like Bentley before. He may be small; but he’s the best of the bunch: you can’t deny that.

Mrs. Tarleton
With a sigh. Well, my pet, if you fancy him, there’s no more to be said.

A pause follows this remark: the two women sewing silently.

Hypatia
Mother: do you think marriage is as much a question of fancy as it used to be in your time and father’s?

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, it wasn’t much fancy with me, dear: your father just wouldn’t take no for an answer; and I was only too glad to be his wife instead of his shopgirl. Still, it’s curious; but I had more choice than you in a way, because, you see, I was poor; and there are so many more poor men than rich ones that I might have had more of a pick, as you might say, if John hadn’t suited me.

Hypatia
I can imagine all sorts of men I could fall in love with; but I never seem to meet them. The real ones are too small, like Bunny, or too silly, like Jerry. Of course one can get into a state about any man: fall in love with him if you like to call it that. But who would risk marrying a man for love? I shouldn’t. I remember three girls at school who agreed that the one man you should never marry was the man you were in love with, because it would make a perfect slave of you. There’s a sort of instinct against it, I think, that’s just as strong as the other instinct. One of them, to my certain knowledge, refused a man she was in love with, and married another who was in love with her; and it turned out very well.

Mrs. Tarleton
Does all that mean that you’re not in love with Bunny?

Hypatia
Oh, how could anybody be in love with Bunny? I like him to kiss me just as I like a baby to kiss me. I’m fond of him; and he never bores me; and I see that he’s very clever; but I’m not what you call gone about him, if that’s what you mean.

Mrs. Tarleton
Then why need you marry him?

Hypatia
What better can I do? I must marry somebody, I suppose. I’ve realized that since I was twenty-three. I always used to take it as a matter of course that I should be married before I was twenty.

Bentley’s Voice
In the garden. You’ve got to keep yourself fresh: to look at these things with an open mind.

John Tarleton’s Voice.
Quite right, quite right: I always say so.

Mrs. Tarleton
There’s your father, and Bunny with him.

Bentley
Keep young. Keep your eye on me. That’s the tip for you.

Bentley and Mr. Tarleton (an immense and genial veteran of trade) come into view and enter the pavilion.

John Tarleton
You think you’re young, do you? You think I’m old? Energetically shaking off his motoring coat and hanging it up with his cap.

Bentley
Helping him with the coat. Of course you’re old. Look at your face and look at mine. What you call your youth is nothing but your levity. Why do we get on so well together? Because I’m a young cub and you’re an old josser. He throws a cushion at Hypatia’s feet and sits down on it with his back against her knees.

Tarleton
Old! That’s all you know about it, my lad. How do, Patsy! Hypatia kisses him. How is my Chickabiddy? He kisses Mrs. Tarleton’s hand and poses expansively in the middle of the picture. Look at me! Look at these wrinkles, these gray hairs, this repulsive mask that you call old age! What is it? Vehemently. I ask you, what is it?

Bentley
Jolly nice and venerable, old man. Don’t be discouraged.

Tarleton
Nice? Not a bit of it. Venerable? Venerable be blowed! Read your Darwin, my boy. Read your Weismann. He goes to the sideboard for a drink of lemonade.

Mrs. Tarleton
For shame, John! Tell him to read his Bible.

Tarleton
Manipulating the syphon. What’s the use of telling children to read the Bible when you know they won’t. I was kept away from the Bible for forty years by being told to read it when I was young. Then I picked it up one evening in a hotel in Sunderland when I had left all my papers in the train; and I found it wasn’t half bad. He drinks, and puts down the glass with a smack of enjoyment. Better than most halfpenny papers, anyhow, if only you could make people believe it. He sits down by the writing-table, near his wife. But if you want to understand old age scientifically, read Darwin and Weismann. Of course if you want to understand it romantically, read about Solomon.

Mrs. Tarleton
Have you had tea, John?

Tarleton
Yes. Don’t interrupt me when I’m improving the boy’s mind. Where was I? This repulsive mask﻿—Yes. Explosively. What is death?

Mrs. Tarleton
John!

Hypatia
Death is a rather unpleasant subject, papa.

Tarleton
Not a bit. Not scientifically. Scientifically it’s a delightful subject. You think death’s natural. Well, it isn’t. You read Weismann. There wasn’t any death to start with. You go look in any ditch outside and you’ll find swimming about there as fresh as paint some of the identical little live cells that Adam christened in the Garden of Eden. But if big things like us didn’t die, we’d crowd one another off the face of the globe. Nothing survived, sir, except the sort of people that had the sense and good manners to die and make room for the fresh supplies. And so death was introduced by Natural Selection. You get it out of your head, my lad, that I’m going to die because I’m wearing out or decaying. There’s no such thing as decay to a vital man. I shall clear out; but I shan’t decay.

Bentley
And what about the wrinkles and the almond tree and the grasshopper that becomes a burden and the desire that fails?

Tarleton
Does it? by George! No, sir: it spiritualizes. As to your grasshopper, I can carry an elephant.

Mrs. Tarleton
You do say such things, Bunny! What does he mean by the almond tree?

Tarleton
He means my white hairs: the repulsive mask. That, my boy, is another invention of Natural Selection to disgust young women with me, and give the lads a turn.

Mrs. Tarleton
John: I won’t have it. That’s a forbidden subject.

Tarleton
They talk of the wickedness and vanity of women painting their faces and wearing auburn wigs at fifty. But why shouldn’t they? Why should a woman allow Nature to put a false mask of age on her when she knows that she’s as young as ever? Why should she look in the glass and see a wrinkled lie when a touch of fine art will show her a glorious truth? The wrinkles are a dodge to repel young men. Suppose she doesn’t want to repel young men! Suppose she likes them!

Mrs. Tarleton
Bunny: take Hypatia out into the grounds for a walk: there’s a good boy. John has got one of his naughty fits this evening.

Hypatia
Oh, never mind me. I’m used to him.

Bentley
I’m not. I never heard such conversation: I can’t believe my ears. And mind you, this is the man who objected to my marrying his daughter on the ground that a marriage between a member of the great and good middle class with one of the vicious and corrupt aristocracy would be a misalliance. A misalliance, if you please! This is the man I’ve adopted as a father!

Tarleton
Eh! What’s that? Adopted me as a father, have you?

Bentley
Yes. That’s an idea of mine. I knew a chap named Joey Percival at Oxford (you know I was two months at Balliol before I was sent down for telling the old woman who was head of that silly college what I jolly well thought of him. He would have been glad to have me back, too, at the end of six months; but I wouldn’t go: I just let him want; and serve him right!) Well, Joey was a most awfully clever fellow, and so nice! I asked him what made such a difference between him and all the other pups﻿—they were pups, if you like. He told me it was very simple: they had only one father apiece; and he had three.

Mrs. Tarleton
Don’t talk nonsense, child. How could that be?

Bentley
Oh, very simple. His father﻿—

Tarleton
Which father?

Bentley
The first one: the regulation natural chap. He kept a tame philosopher in the house: a sort of Coleridge or Herbert Spencer kind of card, you know. That was the second father. Then his mother was an Italian princess; and she had an Italian priest always about. He was supposed to take charge of her conscience; but from what I could make out, she jolly well took charge of his. The whole three of them took charge of Joey’s conscience. He used to hear them arguing like mad about everything. You see, the philosopher was a freethinker, and always believed the latest thing. The priest didn’t believe anything, because it was sure to get him into trouble with someone or another. And the natural father kept an open mind and believed whatever paid him best. Between the lot of them Joey got cultivated no end. He said if he could only have had three mothers as well, he’d have backed himself against Napoleon.

Tarleton
Impressed. That’s an idea. That’s a most interesting idea: a most important idea.

Mrs. Tarleton
You always were one for ideas, John.

Tarleton
You’re right, Chickabiddy. What do I tell Johnny when he brags about Tarleton’s Underwear? It’s not the underwear. The underwear be hanged! Anybody can make underwear. Anybody can sell underwear. Tarleton’s Ideas: that’s what’s done it. I’ve often thought of putting that up over the shop.

Bentley
Take me into partnership when you do, old man. I’m wasted on the underwear; but I shall come in strong on the ideas.

Tarleton
You be a good boy; and perhaps I will.

Mrs. Tarleton
Scenting a plot against her beloved Johnny. Now, John: you promised﻿—

Tarleton
Yes, yes. All right, Chickabiddy: don’t fuss. Your precious Johnny shan’t be interfered with. Bouncing up, too energetic to sit still. But I’m getting sick of that old shop. Thirty-five years I’ve had of it: same blessed old stairs to go up and down every day: same old lot: same old game: sorry I ever started it now. I’ll chuck it and try something else: something that will give a scope to all my faculties.

Hypatia
There’s money in underwear: there’s none in wildcat ideas.

Tarleton
There’s money in me, madam, no matter what I go into.

Mrs. Tarleton
Don’t boast, John. Don’t tempt Providence.

Tarleton
Rats! You don’t understand Providence. Providence likes to be tempted. That’s the secret of the successful man. Read Browning. Natural theology on an island, eh? Caliban was afraid to tempt Providence: that was why he was never able to get even with Prospero. What did Prospero do? Prospero didn’t even tempt Providence: he was Providence. That’s one of Tarleton’s ideas; and don’t you forget it.

Bentley
You are full of beef today, old man.

Tarleton
Beef be blowed! Joy of life. Read Ibsen. He goes into the pavilion to relieve his restlessness, and stares out with his hands thrust deep in his pockets.

Hypatia
Thoughtful. Bentley: couldn’t you invite your friend Mr. Percival down here?

Bentley
Not if I know it. You’d throw me over the moment you set eyes on him.

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, Bunny! For shame!

Bentley
Well, who’d marry me, d’you suppose, if they could get my brains with a full-sized body? No, thank you. I shall take jolly good care to keep Joey out of this until Hypatia is past praying for.

Johnny and Lord Summerhays return through the pavilion from their stroll.

Tarleton
Welcome! welcome! Why have you stayed away so long?

Lord Summerhays
Shaking hands. Yes: I should have come sooner. But I’m still rather lost in England. Johnny takes his hat and hangs it up beside his own. Thank you. Johnny returns to his swing and his novel. Lord Summerhays comes to the writing table. The fact is that as I’ve nothing to do, I never have time to go anywhere. He sits down next Mrs. Tarleton.

Tarleton
Following him and sitting down on his left. Paradox, paradox. Good. Paradoxes are the only truths. Read Chesterton. But there’s lots for you to do here. You have a genius for government. You learnt your job out there in Jinghiskahn. Well, we want to be governed here in England. Govern us.

Lord Summerhays
Ah yes, my friend; but in Jinghiskahn you have to govern the right way. If you don’t, you go under and come home. Here everything has to be done the wrong way, to suit governors who understand nothing but partridge shooting (our English native princes, in fact) and voters who don’t know what they’re voting about. I don’t understand these democratic games; and I’m afraid I’m too old to learn. What can I do but sit in the window of my club, which consists mostly of retired Indian Civil servants? We look on at the muddle and the folly and amateurishness; and we ask each other where a single fortnight of it would have landed us.

Tarleton
Very true. Still, Democracy’s all right, you know. Read Mill. Read Jefferson.

Lord Summerhays
Yes. Democracy reads well; but it doesn’t act well, like some people’s plays. No, no, my friend Tarleton: to make Democracy work, you need an aristocratic democracy. To make Aristocracy work, you need a democratic aristocracy. You’ve got neither; and there’s an end of it.

Tarleton
Still, you know, the superman may come. The superman’s an idea. I believe in ideas. Read Whatshisname.

Lord Summerhays
Reading is a dangerous amusement, Tarleton. I wish I could persuade your free library people of that.

Tarleton
Why, man, it’s the beginning of education.

Lord Summerhays
On the contrary, it’s the end of it. How can you dare teach a man to read until you’ve taught him everything else first?

Johnny
Intercepting his father’s reply by coming out of the swing and taking the floor. Leave it at that. That’s good sense. Anybody on for a game of tennis?

Bentley
Oh, lets have some more improving conversation. Wouldn’t you rather, Johnny?

Johnny
If you ask me, no.

Tarleton
Johnny: you don’t cultivate your mind. You don’t read.

Johnny
Coming between his mother and Lord Summerhays, book in hand. Yes I do. I bet you what you like that, page for page, I read more than you, though I don’t talk about it so much. Only, I don’t read the same books. I like a book with a plot in it. You like a book with nothing in it but some idea that the chap that writes it keeps worrying, like a cat chasing its own tail. I can stand a little of it, just as I can stand watching the cat for two minutes, say, when I’ve nothing better to do. But a man soon gets fed up with that sort of thing. The fact is, you look on an author as a sort of god. I look on him as a man that I pay to do a certain thing for me. I pay him to amuse me and to take me out of myself and make me forget.

Tarleton
No. Wrong principle. You want to remember. Read Kipling. “Lest we forget.”

Johnny
If Kipling wants to remember, let him remember. If he had to run Tarleton’s Underwear, he’d be jolly glad to forget. As he has a much softer job, and wants to keep himself before the public, his cry is, “Don’t you forget the sort of things I’m rather clever at writing about.” Well, I don’t blame him: it’s his business: I should do the same in his place. But what he wants and what I want are two different things. I want to forget; and I pay another man to make me forget. If I buy a book or go to the theatre, I want to forget the shop and forget myself from the moment I go in to the moment I come out. That’s what I pay my money for. And if I find that the author’s simply getting at me the whole time, I consider that he’s obtained my money under false pretences. I’m not a morbid crank: I’m a natural man; and, as such, I don’t like being got at. If a man in my employment did it, I should sack him. If a member of my club did it, I should cut him. If he went too far with it, I should bring his conduct before the committee. I might even punch his head, if it came to that. Well, who and what is an author that he should be privileged to take liberties that are not allowed to other men?

Mrs. Tarleton
You see, John! What have I always told you? Johnny has as much to say for himself as anybody when he likes.

Johnny
I’m no fool, mother, whatever some people may fancy. I don’t set up to have as many ideas as the Governor; but what ideas I have are consecutive, at all events. I can think as well as talk.

Bentley
To Tarleton, chuckling. Had you there, old man, hadn’t he? You are rather all over the shop with your ideas, ain’t you?

Johnny
Handsomely. I’m not saying anything against you, Governor. But I do say that the time has come for sane, healthy, unpretending men like me to make a stand against this conspiracy of the writing and talking and artistic lot to put us in the back row. It isn’t a fact that we’re inferior to them: it’s a put-up job; and it’s they that have put the job up. It’s we that run the country for them; and all the thanks we get is to be told we’re Philistines and vulgar tradesmen and sordid city men and so forth, and that they’re all angels of light and leading. The time has come to assert ourselves and put a stop to their stuck-up nonsense. Perhaps if we had nothing better to do than talking or writing, we could do it better than they. Anyhow, they’re the failures and refuse of business (hardly a man of them that didn’t begin in an office) and we’re the successes of it. Thank God I haven’t failed yet at anything; and I don’t believe I should fail at literature if it would pay me to turn my hand to it.

Bentley
Hear, hear!

Mrs. Tarleton
Fancy you writing a book, Johnny! Do you think he could, Lord Summerhays?

Lord Summerhays
Why not? As a matter of fact all the really prosperous authors I have met since my return to England have been very like him.

Tarleton
Again impressed. That’s an idea. That’s a new idea. I believe I ought to have made Johnny an author. I’ve never said so before for fear of hurting his feelings, because, after all, the lad can’t help it; but I’ve never thought Johnny worth tuppence as a man of business.

Johnny
Sarcastic. Oh! You think you’ve always kept that to yourself, do you, Governor? I know your opinion of me as well as you know it yourself. It takes one man of business to appreciate another; and you aren’t, and you never have been, a real man of business. I know where Tarleton’s would have been three of four times if it hadn’t been for me. With a snort and a nod to emphasize the implied warning, he retreats to the Turkish bath, and lolls against it with an air of good-humoured indifference.

Tarleton
Well, who denies it? You’re quite right, my boy. I don’t mind confessing to you all that the circumstances that condemned me to keep a shop are the biggest tragedy in modern life. I ought to have been a writer. I’m essentially a man of ideas. When I was a young man I sometimes used to pray that I might fail, so that I should be justified in giving up business and doing something: something first-class. But it was no good: I couldn’t fail. I said to myself that if I could only once go to my Chickabiddy here and show her a chartered accountant’s statement proving that I’d made £20 less than last year, I could ask her to let me chance Johnny’s and Hypatia’s future by going into literature. But it was no good. First it was £250 more than last year. Then it was £700. Then it was £2,000. Then I saw it was no use: Prometheus was chained to his rock: read Shelley: read Mrs. Browning. Well, well, it was not to be. He rises solemnly. Lord Summerhays: I ask you to excuse me for a few moments. There are times when a man needs to meditate in solitude on his destiny. A chord is touched; and he sees the drama of his life as a spectator sees a play. Laugh if you feel inclined: no man sees the comic side of it more than I. In the theatre of life everyone may be amused except the actor. Brightening. There’s an idea in this: an idea for a picture. What a pity young Bentley is not a painter! Tarleton meditating on his destiny. Not in a toga. Not in the trappings of the tragedian or the philosopher. In plain coat and trousers: a man like any other man. And beneath that coat and trousers a human soul. Tarleton’s Underwear! He goes out gravely into the vestibule.

Mrs. Tarleton
Fondly. I suppose it’s a wife’s partiality, Lord Summerhays; but I do think John is really great. I’m sure he was meant to be a king. My father looked down on John, because he was a rate collector, and John kept a shop. It hurt his pride to have to borrow money so often from John; and he used to console himself by saying, “After all, he’s only a linendraper.” But at last one day he said to me, “John is a king.”

Bentley
How much did he borrow on that occasion?

Lord Summerhays
Sharply. Bentley!

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, don’t scold the child: he’d have to say something like that if it was to be his last word on earth. Besides, he’s quite right: my poor father had asked for his usual five pounds; and John gave him a hundred in his big way. Just like a king.

Lord Summerhays
Not at all. I had five kings to manage in Jinghiskahn; and I think you do your husband some injustice, Mrs. Tarleton. They pretended to like me because I kept their brothers from murdering them; but I didn’t like them. And I like Tarleton.

Mrs. Tarleton
Everybody does. I really must go and make the cook do him a Welsh rabbit. He expects one on special occasions. She goes to the inner door. Johnny: when he comes back ask him where we’re to put that new Turkish bath. Turkish baths are his latest. She goes out.

Johnny
Coming forward again. Now that the Governor has given himself away, and the old lady’s gone, I’ll tell you something, Lord Summerhays. If you study men who’ve made an enormous pile in business without being keen on money, you’ll find that they all have a slate off. The Governor’s a wonderful man; but he’s not quite all there, you know. If you notice, he’s different from me; and whatever my failings may be, I’m a sane man. Erratic: that’s what he is. And the danger is that some day he’ll give the whole show away.

Lord Summerhays
Giving the show away is a method like any other method. Keeping it to yourself is only another method. I should keep an open mind about it.

Johnny
Has it ever occurred to you that a man with an open mind must be a bit of a scoundrel? If you ask me, I like a man who makes up his mind once for all as to what’s right and what’s wrong and then sticks to it. At all events you know where to have him.

Lord Summerhays
That may not be his object.

Bentley
He may want to have you, old chap.

Johnny
Well, let him. If a member of my club wants to steal my umbrella, he knows where to find it. If a man put up for the club who had an open mind on the subject of property in umbrellas, I should blackball him. An open mind is all very well in clever talky-talky; but in conduct and in business give me solid ground.

Lord Summerhays
Yes: the quicksands make life difficult. Still, there they are. It’s no use pretending they’re rocks.

Johnny
I don’t know. You can draw a line and make other chaps toe it. That’s what I call morality.

Lord Summerhays
Very true. But you don’t make any progress when you’re toeing a line.

Hypatia
Suddenly, as if she could bear no more of it. Bentley: do go and play tennis with Johnny. You must take exercise.

Lord Summerhays
Do, my boy, do. To Johnny. Take him out and make him skip about.

Bentley
Rising reluctantly. I promised you two inches more round my chest this summer. I tried exercises with an indiarubber expander; but I wasn’t strong enough: instead of my expanding it, it crumpled me up. Come along, Johnny.

Johnny
Do you no end of good, young chap. He goes out with Bentley through the pavilion.

Hypatia throws aside her work with an enormous sigh of relief.

Lord Summerhays
At last!

Hypatia
At last. Oh, if I might only have a holiday in an asylum for the dumb. How I envy the animals! They can’t talk. If Johnny could only put back his ears or wag his tail instead of laying down the law, how much better it would be! We should know when he was cross and when he was pleased; and that’s all we know now, with all his talk. It never stops: talk, talk, talk, talk. That’s my life. All the day I listen to mamma talking; at dinner I listen to papa talking; and when papa stops for breath I listen to Johnny talking.

Lord Summerhays
You make me feel very guilty. I talk too, I’m afraid.

Hypatia
Oh, I don’t mind that, because your talk is a novelty. But it must have been dreadful for your daughters.

Lord Summerhays
I suppose so.

Hypatia
If parents would only realize how they bore their children! Three or four times in the last half hour I’ve been on the point of screaming.

Lord Summerhays
Were we very dull?

Hypatia
Not at all: you were very clever. That’s what’s so hard to bear, because it makes it so difficult to avoid listening. You see, I’m young; and I do so want something to happen. My mother tells me that when I’m her age, I shall be only too glad that nothing’s happened; but I’m not her age; so what good is that to me? There’s my father in the garden, meditating on his destiny. All very well for him: he’s had a destiny to meditate on; but I haven’t had any destiny yet. Everything’s happened to him: nothing’s happened to me. That’s why this unending talk is so maddeningly uninteresting to me.

Lord Summerhays
It would be worse if we sat in silence.

Hypatia
No it wouldn’t. If you all sat in silence, as if you were waiting for something to happen, then there would be hope even if nothing did happen. But this eternal cackle, cackle, cackle about things in general is only fit for old, old, old people. I suppose it means something to them: they’ve had their fling. All I listen for is some sign of it ending in something; but just when it seems to be coming to a point, Johnny or papa just starts another hare; and it all begins over again; and I realize that it’s never going to lead anywhere and never going to stop. That’s when I want to scream. I wonder how you can stand it.

Lord Summerhays
Well, I’m old and garrulous myself, you see. Besides, I’m not here of my own free will, exactly. I came because you ordered me to come.

Hypatia
Didn’t you want to come?

Lord Summerhays
My dear: after thirty years of managing other people’s business, men lose the habit of considering what they want or don’t want.

Hypatia
Oh, don’t begin to talk about what men do, and about thirty years experience. If you can’t get off that subject, you’d better send for Johnny and papa and begin it all over again.

Lord Summerhays
I’m sorry. I beg your pardon.

Hypatia
I asked you, didn’t you want to come?

Lord Summerhays
I did not stop to consider whether I wanted or not, because when I read your letter I knew I had to come.

Hypatia
Why?

Lord Summerhays
Oh come, Miss Tarleton! Really, really! Don’t force me to call you a blackmailer to your face. You have me in your power; and I do what you tell me very obediently. Don’t ask me to pretend I do it of my own free will.

Hypatia
I don’t know what a blackmailer is. I haven’t even that much experience.

Lord Summerhays
A blackmailer, my dear young lady, is a person who knows a disgraceful secret in the life of another person, and extorts money from that other person by threatening to make his secret public unless the money is paid.

Hypatia
I haven’t asked you for money.

Lord Summerhays
No; but you asked me to come down here and talk to you; and you mentioned casually that if I didn’t you’d have nobody to talk about me to but Bentley. That was a threat, was it not?

Hypatia
Well, I wanted you to come.

Lord Summerhays
In spite of my age and my unfortunate talkativeness?

Hypatia
I like talking to you. I can let myself go with you. I can say things to you I can’t say to other people.

Lord Summerhays
I wonder why?

Hypatia
Well, you are the only really clever, grown-up, high-class, experienced man I know who has given himself away to me by making an utter fool of himself with me. You can’t wrap yourself up in your toga after that. You can’t give yourself airs with me.

Lord Summerhays
You mean you can tell Bentley about me if I do.

Hypatia
Even if there wasn’t any Bentley: even if you didn’t care (and I really don’t see why you should care so much) still, we never could be on conventional terms with one another again. Besides, I’ve got a feeling for you: almost a ghastly sort of love for you.

Lord Summerhays
Shrinking. I beg you﻿—no, please.

Hypatia
Oh, it’s nothing at all flattering: and, of course, nothing wrong, as I suppose you’d call it.

Lord Summerhays
Please believe that I know that. When men of my age﻿—

Hypatia
Impatiently. Oh, do talk about yourself when you mean yourself, and not about men of your age.

Lord Summerhays
I’ll put it as bluntly as I can. When, as you say, I made an utter fool of myself, believe me, I made a poetic fool of myself. I was seduced, not by appetites which, thank Heaven, I’ve long outlived: not even by the desire of second childhood for a child companion, but by the innocent impulse to place the delicacy and wisdom and spirituality of my age at the affectionate service of your youth for a few years, at the end of which you would be a grown, strong, formed﻿—widow. Alas, my dear, the delicacy of age reckoned, as usual, without the derision and cruelty of youth. You told me that you didn’t want to be an old man’s nurse, and that you didn’t want to have undersized children like Bentley. It served me right: I don’t reproach you: I was an old fool. But how you can imagine, after that, that I can suspect you of the smallest feeling for me except the inevitable feeling of early youth for late age, or imagine that I have any feeling for you except one of shrinking humiliation, I can’t understand.

Hypatia
I don’t blame you for falling in love with me. I shall be grateful to you all my life for it, because that was the first time that anything really interesting happened to me.

Lord Summerhays
Do you mean to tell me that nothing of that kind had ever happened before? that no man had ever﻿—

Hypatia
Oh, lots. That’s part of the routine of life here: the very dullest part of it. The young man who comes a-courting is as familiar an incident in my life as coffee for breakfast. Of course, he’s too much of a gentleman to misbehave himself; and I’m too much of a lady to let him; and he’s shy and sheepish; and I’m correct and self-possessed; and at last, when I can bear it no longer, I either frighten him off, or give him a chance of proposing, just to see how he’ll do it, and refuse him because he does it in the same silly way as all the rest. You don’t call that an event in one’s life, do you? With you it was different. I should as soon have expected the North Pole to fall in love with me as you. You know I’m only a linen-draper’s daughter when all’s said. I was afraid of you: you, a great man! a lord! and older than my father. And then what a situation it was! Just think of it! I was engaged to your son; and you knew nothing about it. He was afraid to tell you: he brought you down here because he thought if he could throw us together I could get round you because I was such a ripping girl. We arranged it all: he and I. We got Papa and Mamma and Johnny out of the way splendidly; and then Bentley took himself off, and left us﻿—you and me!﻿—to take a walk through the heather and admire the scenery of Hindhead. You never dreamt that it was all a plan: that what made me so nice was the way I was playing up to my destiny as the sweet girl that was to make your boy happy. And then! and then! She rises to dance and clap her hands in her glee.

Lord Summerhays
Shuddering. Stop, stop. Can no woman understand a man’s delicacy?

Hypatia
Revelling in the recollection. And then﻿—ha, ha!﻿—you proposed. You! A father! For your son’s girl!

Lord Summerhays
Stop, I tell you. Don’t profane what you don’t understand.

Hypatia
That was something happening at last with a vengeance. It was splendid. It was my first peep behind the scenes. If I’d been seventeen I should have fallen in love with you. Even as it is, I feel quite differently towards you from what I do towards other old men. So offering her hand you may kiss my hand if that will be any fun for you.

Lord Summerhays
Rising and recoiling to the table, deeply revolted. No, no, no. How dare you? She laughs mischievously. How callous youth is! How coarse! How cynical! How ruthlessly cruel!

Hypatia
Stuff! It’s only that you’re tired of a great many things I’ve never tried.

Lord Summerhays
It’s not alone that. I’ve not forgotten the brutality of my own boyhood. But do try to learn, glorious young beast that you are, that age is squeamish, sentimental, fastidious. If you can’t understand my holier feelings, at least you know the bodily infirmities of the old. You know that I daren’t eat all the rich things you gobble up at every meal; that I can’t bear the noise and racket and clatter that affect you no more than they affect a stone. Well, my soul is like that too. Spare it: be gentle with it. He involuntarily puts out his hands to plead: she takes them with a laugh. If you could possibly think of me as half an angel and half an invalid, we should get on much better together.

Hypatia
We get on very well, I think. Nobody else ever called me a glorious young beast. I like that. Glorious young beast expresses exactly what I like to be.

Lord Summerhays
Extricating his hands and sitting down. Where on earth did you get these morbid tastes? You seem to have been well brought up in a normal, healthy, respectable, middle-class family. Yet you go on like the most unwholesome product of the rankest Bohemianism.

Hypatia
That’s just it. I’m fed up with﻿—

Lord Summerhays
Horrible expression. Don’t.

Hypatia
Oh, I daresay it’s vulgar; but there’s no other word for it. I’m fed up with nice things: with respectability, with propriety! When a woman has nothing to do, money and respectability mean that nothing is ever allowed to happen to her. I don’t want to be good; and I don’t want to be bad: I just don’t want to be bothered about either good or bad: I want to be an active verb.

Lord Summerhays
An active verb? Oh, I see. An active verb signifies to be, to do, or to suffer.

Hypatia
Just so: how clever of you! I want to be; I want to do; and I’m game to suffer if it costs that. But stick here doing nothing but being good and nice and ladylike I simply won’t. Stay down here with us for a week; and I’ll show you what it means: show it to you going on day after day, year after year, lifetime after lifetime.

Lord Summerhays
Show me what?

Hypatia
Girls withering into ladies. Ladies withering into old maids. Nursing old women. Running errands for old men. Good for nothing else at last. Oh, you can’t imagine the fiendish selfishness of the old people and the maudlin sacrifice of the young. It’s more unbearable than any poverty: more horrible than any regular-right-down wickedness. Oh, home! home! parents! family! duty! how I loathe them! How I’d like to see them all blown to bits! The poor escape. The wicked escape. Well, I can’t be poor: we’re rolling in money: it’s no use pretending we’re not. But I can be wicked; and I’m quite prepared to be.

Lord Summerhays
You think that easy?

Hypatia
Well, isn’t it? Being a man, you ought to know.

Lord Summerhays
It requires some natural talent, which can no doubt be cultivated. It’s not really easy to be anything out of the common.

Hypatia
Anyhow, I mean to make a fight for living.

Lord Summerhays
Living your own life, I believe the Suffragist phrase is.

Hypatia
Living any life. Living, instead of withering without even a gardener to snip you off when you’re rotten.

Lord Summerhays
I’ve lived an active life; but I’ve withered all the same.

Hypatia
No: you’ve worn out: that’s quite different. And you’ve some life in you yet or you wouldn’t have fallen in love with me. You can never imagine how delighted I was to find that instead of being the correct sort of big panjandrum you were supposed to be, you were really an old rip like papa.

Lord Summerhays
No, no: not about your father: I really can’t bear it. And if you must say these terrible things: these heart-wounding shameful things, at least find something prettier to call me than an old rip.

Hypatia
Well, what would you call a man proposing to a girl who might be﻿—

Lord Summerhays
His daughter: yes, I know.

Hypatia
I was going to say his granddaughter.

Lord Summerhays
You always have one more blow to get in.

Hypatia
You’re too sensitive. Did you ever make mud pies when you were a kid﻿—beg pardon: a child.

Lord Summerhays
I hope not.

Hypatia
It’s a dirty job; but Johnny and I were vulgar enough to like it. I like young people because they’re not too afraid of dirt to live. I’ve grown out of the mud pies; but I like slang; and I like bustling you up by saying things that shock you; and I’d rather put up with swearing and smoking than with dull respectability; and there are lots of things that would just shrivel you up that I think rather jolly. Now!

Lord Summerhays
I’ve not the slightest doubt of it. Don’t insist.

Hypatia
It’s not your ideal, is it?

Lord Summerhays
No.

Hypatia
Shall I tell you why? Your ideal is an old woman. I daresay she’s got a young face; but she’s an old woman. Old, old, old. Squeamish. Can’t stand up to things. Can’t enjoy things: not real things. Always on the shrink.

Lord Summerhays
On the shrink! Detestable expression.

Hypatia
Bah! you can’t stand even a little thing like that. What good are you? Oh, what good are you?

Lord Summerhays
Don’t ask me. I don’t know. I don’t know.

Tarleton returns from the vestibule. Hypatia sits down demurely.

Hypatia
Well, papa: have you meditated on your destiny?

Tarleton
Puzzled. What? Oh! my destiny. Gad, I forgot all about it: Jock started a rabbit and put it clean out of my head. Besides, why should I give way to morbid introspection? It’s a sign of madness. Read Lombroso. To Lord Summerhays. Well, Summerhays, has my little girl been entertaining you?

Lord Summerhays
Yes. She is a wonderful entertainer.

Tarleton
I think my idea of bringing up a young girl has been rather a success. Don’t you listen to this, Patsy: it might make you conceited. She’s never been treated like a child. I always said the same thing to her mother. Let her read what she likes. Let her do what she likes. Let her go where she likes. Eh, Patsy?

Hypatia
Oh yes, if there had only been anything for me to do, any place for me to go, anything I wanted to read.

Tarleton
There, you see! She’s not satisfied. Restless. Wants things to happen. Wants adventures to drop out of the sky.

Hypatia
Gathering up her work. If you’re going to talk about me and my education, I’m off.

Tarleton
Well, well, off with you. To Lord Summerhays. She’s active, like me. She actually wanted me to put her into the shop.

Hypatia
Well, they tell me that the girls there have adventures sometimes. She goes out through the inner door.

Tarleton
She had me there, though she doesn’t know it, poor innocent lamb! Public scandal exaggerates enormously, of course; but moralize as you will, superabundant vitality is a physical fact that can’t be talked away. He sits down between the writing table and the sideboard. Difficult question this, of bringing up children. Between ourselves, it has beaten me. I never was so surprised in my life as when I came to know Johnny as a man of business and found out what he was really like. How did you manage with your sons?

Lord Summerhays
Well, I really hadn’t time to be a father: that’s the plain truth of the matter. Their poor dear mother did the usual thing while they were with us. Then of course, Harrow, Cambridge, the usual routine of their class. I saw very little of them, and thought very little about them: how could I? with a whole province on my hands. They and I are﻿—acquaintances. Not perhaps, quite ordinary acquaintances: there’s a sort of﻿—er﻿—I should almost call it a sort of remorse about the way we shake hands (when we do shake hands) which means, I suppose, that we’re sorry we don’t care more for one another; and I’m afraid we don’t meet oftener than we can help. We put each other too much out of countenance. It’s really a very difficult relation. To my mind not altogether a natural one.

Tarleton
Impressed, as usual. That’s an idea, certainly. I don’t think anybody has ever written about that.

Lord Summerhays
Bentley is the only one who was really my son in any serious sense. He was completely spoilt. When he was sent to a preparatory school he simply yelled until he was sent home. Harrow was out of the question; but we managed to tutor him into Cambridge. No use: he was sent down. By that time my work was over; and I saw a good deal of him. But I could do nothing with him﻿—except look on. I should have thought your case was quite different. You keep up the middle-class tradition: the day school and the business training instead of the university. I believe in the day school part of it. At all events, you know your own children.

Tarleton
Do you? I’m not so sure of it. Fact is, my dear Summerhays, once childhood is over, once the little animal has got past the stage at which it acquires what you might call a sense of decency, it’s all up with the relation between parent and child. You can’t get over the fearful shyness of it.

Lord Summerhays
Shyness?

Tarleton
Yes, shyness. Read Dickens.

Lord Summerhays
Surprised. Dickens!! Of all authors, Charles Dickens! Are you serious?

Tarleton
I don’t mean his books. Read his letters to his family. Read any man’s letters to his children. They’re not human. They’re not about himself or themselves. They’re about hotels, scenery, about the weather, about getting wet and losing the train and what he saw on the road and all that. Not a word about himself. Forced. Shy. Duty letters. All fit to be published: that says everything. I tell you there’s a wall ten feet thick and ten miles high between parent and child. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve girls in my employment: girls and young men. I had ideas on the subject. I used to go to the parents and tell them not to let their children go out into the world without instruction in the dangers and temptations they were going to be thrown into. What did every one of the mothers say to me? “Oh, sir, how could I speak of such things to my own daughter?” The men said I was quite right; but they didn’t do it, any more than I’d been able to do it myself to Johnny. I had to leave books in his way; and I felt just awful when I did it. Believe me, Summerhays, the relation between the young and the old should be an innocent relation. It should be something they could talk about. Well, the relation between parent and child may be an affectionate relation. It may be a useful relation. It may be a necessary relation. But it can never be an innocent relation. You’d die rather than allude to it. Depend on it, in a thousand years it’ll be considered bad form to know who your father and mother are. Embarrassing. Better hand Bentley over to me. I can look him in the face and talk to him as man to man. You can have Johnny.

Lord Summerhays
Thank you. I’ve lived so long in a country where a man may have fifty sons, who are no more to him than a regiment of soldiers, that I’m afraid I’ve lost the English feeling about it.

Tarleton
Restless again. You mean Jinghiskahn. Ah yes. Good thing the empire. Educates us. Opens our minds. Knocks the Bible out of us. And civilizes the other chaps.

Lord Summerhays
Yes: it civilizes them. And it uncivilizes us. Their gain. Our loss, Tarleton, believe me, our loss.

Tarleton
Well, why not? Averages out the human race. Makes the nigger half an Englishman. Makes the Englishman half a nigger.

Lord Summerhays
Speaking as the unfortunate Englishman in question, I don’t like the process. If I had my life to live over again, I’d stay at home and supercivilize myself.

Tarleton
Nonsense! don’t be selfish. Think how you’ve improved the other chaps. Look at the Spanish empire! Bad job for Spain, but splendid for South America. Look at what the Romans did for Britain! They burst up and had to clear out; but think of all they taught us! They were the making of us: I believe there was a Roman camp on Hindhead: I’ll show it to you tomorrow. That’s the good side of Imperialism: it’s unselfish. I despise the Little Englanders: they’re always thinking about England. Smallminded. I’m for the Parliament of man, the federation of the world. Read Tennyson. He settles down again. Then there’s the great food question.

Lord Summerhays
Apprehensively. Need we go into that this afternoon?

Tarleton
No; but I wish you’d tell the Chickabiddy that the Jinghiskahns eat no end of toasted cheese, and that it’s the secret of their amazing health and long life!

Lord Summerhays
Unfortunately they are neither healthy nor long lived. And they don’t eat toasted cheese.

Tarleton
There you are! They would be if they ate it. Anyhow, say what you like, provided the moral is a Welsh rabbit for my supper.

Lord Summerhays
British morality in a nutshell!

Tarleton
Hugely amused. Yes. Ha ha! Awful hypocrites, ain’t we?

They are interrupted by excited cries from the grounds.

Hypatia
Papa! Mamma! Come out as fast as you can. Quick. Quick.

Bentley
Hello, governor! Come out. An aeroplane. Look, look.

Tarleton
Starting up. Aeroplane! Did he say an aeroplane?

Lord Summerhays
Aeroplane! A shadow falls on the pavilion; and some of the glass at the top is shattered and falls on the floor.

Tarleton and Lord Summerhays rush out through the pavilion into the garden.

Hypatia
Take care. Take care of the chimney.

Bentley
Come this side: it’s coming right where you’re standing.

Tarleton
Hallo! where the devil are you coming? you’ll have my roof off.

Lord Summerhays
He’s lost control.

Mrs. Tarleton
Look, look, Hypatia. There are two people in it.

Bentley
They’ve cleared it. Well steered!

Tarleton
Yes; but they’re coming slam into the greenhouse.

Lord Summerhays
Look out for the glass.

Mrs. Tarleton
They’ll break all the glass. They’ll spoil all the grapes.

Bentley
Mind where you’re coming. He’ll save it. No: they’re down.

An appalling crash of breaking glass is heard. Everybody shrieks.

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, are they killed? John: are they killed?

Lord Summerhays
Are you hurt? Is anything broken? Can you stand?

Hypatia
Oh, you must be hurt. Are you sure? Shall I get you some water? Or some wine?

Tarleton
Are you all right? Sure you won’t have some brandy just to take off the shock.

The Aviator
No, thank you. Quite right. Not a scratch. I assure you I’m all right.

Bentley
What luck! And what a smash! You are a lucky chap, I can tell you.

The Aviator and Tarleton come in through the pavilion, followed by Lord Summerhays and Bentley, the Aviator on Tarleton’s right. Bentley passes the Aviator and turns to have an admiring look at him. Lord Summerhays overtakes Tarleton less pointedly on the opposite side with the same object.

The Aviator
I’m really very sorry. I’m afraid I’ve knocked your vinery into a cocked hat. Effusively. You don’t mind, do you?

Tarleton
Not a bit. Come in and have some tea. Stay to dinner. Stay over the weekend. All my life I’ve wanted to fly.

The Aviator
Taking off his goggles. You’re really more than kind.

Bentley
Why, its Joey Percival.

Percival
Hallo, Ben! That you?

Tarleton
What! The man with three fathers!

Percival
Oh! has Ben been talking about me?

Tarleton
Consider yourself as one of the family﻿—if you will do me the honor. And your friend too. Where’s your friend?

Percival
Oh, by the way! before he comes in: let me explain. I don’t know him.

Tarleton
Eh?

Percival
Haven’t even looked at him. I’m trying to make a club record with a passenger. The club supplied the passenger. He just got in; and I’ve been too busy handling the aeroplane to look at him. I haven’t said a word to him; and I can’t answer for him socially; but he’s an ideal passenger for a flyer. He saved me from a smash.

Lord Summerhays
I saw it. It was extraordinary. When you were thrown out he held on to the top bar with one hand. You came past him in the air, going straight for the glass. He caught you and turned you off into the flower bed, and then lighted beside you like a bird.

Percival
How he kept his head I can’t imagine. Frankly, I didn’t.

The Passenger, also begoggled, comes in through the pavilion with Johnny and the two ladies. The Passenger comes between Percival and Tarleton, Mrs. Tarleton between Lord Summerhays and her husband, Hypatia between Percival and Bentley, and Johnny to Bentley’s right.

Tarleton
Just discussing your prowess, my dear sir. Magnificent. You’ll stay to dinner. You’ll stay the night. Stay over the week. The Chickabiddy will be delighted.

Mrs. Tarleton
Won’t you take off your goggles and have some tea?

The Passenger begins to remove the goggles.

Tarleton
Do. Have a wash. Johnny: take the gentleman to your room: I’ll look after Mr. Percival. They must﻿—

By this time the passenger has got the goggles off, and stands revealed as a remarkably good-looking woman.

All together.

Mrs. Tarleton
Well I never!!!

Bentley
In a whisper. Oh, I say!

Johnny
By George!

Lord Summerhays
A lady!

Hypatia
A woman!

Tarleton
To Percival. You never told me﻿—

Percival
I hadn’t the least idea﻿—

An embarrassed pause.

Percival
I assure you if I’d had the faintest notion that my passenger was a lady I shouldn’t have left you to shift for yourself in that selfish way.

Lord Summerhays
The lady seems to have shifted for both very effectually, sir.

Percival
Saved my life. I admit it most gratefully.

Tarleton
I must apologize, madam, for having offered you the civilities appropriate to the opposite sex. And yet, why opposite? We are all human: males and females of the same species. When the dress is the same the distinction vanishes. I’m proud to receive in my house a lady of evident refinement and distinction. Allow me to introduce myself: Tarleton: John Tarleton seeing conjecture in the passenger’s eye﻿—yes, yes: Tarleton’s Underwear. My wife, Mrs. Tarleton: you’ll excuse me for having in what I had taken to be a confidence between man and man alluded to her as the Chickabiddy. My daughter Hypatia, who has always wanted some adventure to drop out of the sky, and is now, I hope, satisfied at last. Lord Summerhays: a man known wherever the British flag waves. His son Bentley, engaged to Hypatia. Mr. Joseph Percival, the promising son of three highly intellectual fathers.

Hypatia
Startled. Bentley’s friend? Bentley nods.

Tarleton
Continuing, to the passenger. May I now ask to be allowed the pleasure of knowing your name?

The Passenger
My name is Lina Szczepanowska. Pronouncing it Sh-Chepanovska.

Percival
Sh﻿—I beg your pardon?

Lina
Szczepanowska.

Percival
Dubiously. Thank you.

Tarleton
Very politely. Would you mind saying it again?

Lina
Say fish.

Tarleton
Fish.

Lina
Say church.

Tarleton
Church.

Lina
Say fish church.

Tarleton
Remonstrating. But it’s not good sense.

Lina
Inexorable. Say fish church.

Tarleton
Fish church.

Lina
Again.

Tarleton
No, but﻿—resigning himself fish church.

Lina
Now say Szczepanowska.

Tarleton
Szczepanowska. Got it, by Gad. A sibilant whispering becomes audible: they are all saying Sh-ch to themselves. Szczepanowska! Not an English name, is it?

Lina
Polish. I’m a Pole.

Tarleton
Ah yes. Interesting nation. Lucky people to get the government of their country taken off their hands. Nothing to do but cultivate themselves. Same as we took Gibraltar off the hands of the Spaniards. Saves the Spanish taxpayer. Jolly good thing for us if the Germans took Portsmouth. Sit down, won’t you?

The group breaks up. Johnny and Bentley hurry to the pavilion and fetch the two wicker chairs. Johnny gives his to Lina. Hypatia and Percival take the chairs at the worktable. Lord Summerhays gives the chair at the vestibule end of the writing table to Mrs. Tarleton; and Bentley replaces it with a wicker chair, which Lord Summerhays takes. Johnny remains standing behind the worktable, Bentley behind his father.

Mrs. Tarleton
To Lina. Have some tea now, won’t you?

Lina
I never drink tea.

Tarleton
Sitting down at the end of the writing table nearest Lina. Bad thing to aeroplane on, I should imagine. Too jumpy. Been up much?

Lina
Not in an aeroplane. I’ve parachuted; but that’s child’s play.

Mrs. Tarleton
But aren’t you very foolish to run such a dreadful risk?

Lina
You can’t live without running risks.

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, what a thing to say! Didn’t you know you might have been killed?

Lina
That was why I went up.

Hypatia
Of course. Can’t you understand the fascination of the thing? the novelty! the daring! the sense of something happening!

Lina
Oh no. It’s too tame a business for that. I went up for family reasons.

Tarleton
Eh? What? Family reasons?

Mrs. Tarleton
I hope it wasn’t to spite your mother?

Percival
Quickly. Or your husband?

Lina
I’m not married. And why should I want to spite my mother?

Hypatia
Aside to Percival. That was clever of you, Mr. Percival.

Percival
What?

Hypatia
To find out.

Tarleton
I’m in a difficulty. I can’t understand a lady going up in an aeroplane for family reasons. It’s rude to be curious and ask questions; but then it’s inhuman to be indifferent, as if you didn’t care.

Lina
I’ll tell you with pleasure. For the last hundred and fifty years, not a single day has passed without some member of my family risking his life﻿—or her life. It’s a point of honor with us to keep up that tradition. Usually several of us do it; but it happens that just at this moment it is being kept up by one of my brothers only. Early this morning I got a telegram from him to say that there had been a fire, and that he could do nothing for the rest of the week. Fortunately I had an invitation from the Aerial League to see this gentleman try to break the passenger record. I appealed to the President of the League to let me save the honor of my family. He arranged it for me.

Tarleton
Oh, I must be dreaming. This is stark raving nonsense.

Lina
Quietly. You are quite awake, sir.

Johnny
We can’t all be dreaming the same thing, Governor.

Tarleton
Of course not, you duffer; but then I’m dreaming you as well as the lady.

Mrs. Tarleton
Don’t be silly, John. The lady is only joking, I’m sure. To Lina. I suppose your luggage is in the aeroplane.

Percival
Luggage was out of the question. If I stay to dinner I’m afraid I can’t change unless you’ll lend me some clothes.

Mrs. Tarleton
Do you mean neither of you?

Percival
I’m afraid so.

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh well, never mind: Hypatia will lend the lady a gown.

Lina
Thank you: I’m quite comfortable as I am. I am not accustomed to gowns: they hamper me and make me feel ridiculous; so if you don’t mind I shall not change.

Mrs. Tarleton
Well, I’m beginning to think I’m doing a bit of dreaming myself.

Hypatia
Impatiently. Oh, it’s all right, mamma. Johnny: look after Mr. Percival. To Lina, rising. Come with me.

Lina follows her to the inner door. They all rise.

Johnny
To Percival. I’ll show you.

Percival
Thank you.

Lina goes out with Hypatia, and Percival with Johnny.

Mrs. Tarleton
Well, this is a nice thing to happen! And look at the greenhouse! It’ll cost thirty pounds to mend it. People have no right to do such things. And you invited them to dinner too! What sort of woman is that to have in our house when you know that all Hindhead will be calling on us to see that aeroplane? Bunny: come with me and help me to get all the people out of the grounds: I declare they came running as if they’d sprung up out of the earth. She makes for the inner door.

Tarleton
No: don’t you trouble, Chickabiddy: I’ll tackle em.

Mrs. Tarleton
Indeed you’ll do nothing of the kind: you’ll stay here quietly with Lord Summerhays. You’d invite them all to dinner. Come, Bunny. She goes out, followed by Bentley. Lord Summerhays sits down again.

Tarleton
Singularly beautiful woman Summerhays. What do you make of her? She must be a princess. What’s this family of warriors and statesmen that risk their lives every day?

Lord Summerhays
They are evidently not warriors and statesmen, or they wouldn’t do that.

Tarleton
Well, then, who the devil are they?

Lord Summerhays
I think I know. The last time I saw that lady, she did something I should not have thought possible.

Tarleton
What was that?

Lord Summerhays
Well, she walked backwards along a taut wire without a balancing pole and turned a somersault in the middle. I remember that her name was Lina, and that the other name was foreign; though I don’t recollect it.

Tarleton
Szcz! You couldn’t have forgotten that if you’d heard it.

Lord Summerhays
I didn’t hear it: I only saw it on a program. But it’s clear she’s an acrobat. It explains how she saved Percival. And it accounts for her family pride.

Tarleton
An acrobat, eh? Good, good, good! Summerhays: that brings her within reach. That’s better than a princess. I steeled this evergreen heart of mine when I thought she was a princess. Now I shall let it be touched. She is accessible. Good.

Lord Summerhays
I hope you are not serious. Remember: you have a family. You have a position. You are not in your first youth.

Tarleton

No matter.

There’s magic in the night
When the heart is young.

My heart is young. Besides, I’m a married man, not a widower like you. A married man can do anything he likes if his wife don’t mind. A widower can’t be too careful. Not that I would have you think me an unprincipled man or a bad husband. I’m not. But I’ve a superabundance of vitality. Read Pepys’ Diary.

Lord Summerhays
The woman is your guest, Tarleton.

Tarleton
Well, is she? A woman I bring into my house is my guest. A woman you bring into my house is my guest. But a woman who drops bang down out of the sky into my greenhouse and smashes every blessed pane of glass in it must take her chance.

Lord Summerhays
Still, you know that my name must not be associated with any scandal. You’ll be careful, won’t you?

Tarleton
Oh Lord, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. I was only joking, of course.

Mrs. Tarleton comes back through the inner door.

Mrs. Tarleton
Well I never! John: I don’t think that young woman’s right in her head. Do you know what she’s just asked for?

Tarleton
Champagne?

Mrs. Tarleton
No. She wants a Bible and six oranges.

Tarleton
What?

Mrs. Tarleton
A Bible and six oranges.

Tarleton
I understand the oranges: she’s doing an orange cure of some sort. But what on earth does she want the Bible for?

Mrs. Tarleton
I’m sure I can’t imagine. She can’t be right in her head.

Lord Summerhays
Perhaps she wants to read it.

Mrs. Tarleton
But why should she, on a weekday, at all events. What would you advise me to do, Lord Summerhays?

Lord Summerhays
Well, is there a Bible in the house?

Tarleton
Stacks of em. There’s the family Bible, and the Dore Bible, and the parallel revised version Bible, and the Doves Press Bible, and Johnny’s Bible and Bobby’s Bible and Patsy’s Bible, and the Chickabiddy’s Bible and my Bible; and I daresay the servants could raise a few more between them. Let her have the lot.

Mrs. Tarleton
Don’t talk like that before Lord Summerhays, John.

Lord Summerhays
It doesn’t matter, Mrs. Tarleton: in Jinghiskahn it was a punishable offence to expose a Bible for sale. The empire has no religion.

Lina comes in. She has left her cap in Hypatia’s room. She stops on the landing just inside the door, and speaks over the handrail.

Lina
Oh, Mrs. Tarleton, shall I be making myself very troublesome if I ask for a music-stand in my room as well?

Tarleton
Not at all. You can have the piano if you like. Or the gramophone. Have the gramophone.

Lina
No, thank you: no music.

Mrs. Tarleton
Going to the steps. Do you think it’s good for you to eat so many oranges? Aren’t you afraid of getting jaundice?

Lina
Coming down. Not in the least. But billiard balls will do quite as well.

Mrs. Tarleton
But you can’t eat billiard balls, child!

Tarleton
Get em, Chickabiddy. I understand. He imitates a juggler tossing up balls. Eh?

Lina
Going to him, past his wife. Just so.

Tarleton
Billiard balls and cues. Plates, knives, and forks. Two paraffin lamps and a hatstand.

Lina
No: that is popular low-class business. In our family we touch nothing but classical work. Anybody can do lamps and hatstands. I can do silver bullets. That is really hard. She passes on to Lord Summerhays, and looks gravely down at him as he sits by the writing table.

Mrs. Tarleton
Well, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about; and I only hope you know yourselves. However, you shall have what you want, of course. She goes up the steps and leaves the room.

Lord Summerhays
Will you forgive my curiosity? What is the Bible for?

Lina
To quiet my soul.

Lord Summerhays
With a sigh. Ah yes, yes. It no longer quiets mine, I am sorry to say.

Lina
That is because you do not know how to read it. Put it up before you on a stand; and open it at the Psalms. When you can read them and understand them, quite quietly and happily, and keep six balls in the air all the time, you are in perfect condition; and you’ll never make a mistake that evening. If you find you can’t do that, then go and pray until you can. And be very careful that evening.

Lord Summerhays
Is that the usual form of test in your profession?

Lina
Nothing that we Szczepanowskis do is usual, my lord.

Lord Summerhays
Are you all so wonderful?

Lina
It is our profession to be wonderful.

Lord Summerhays
Do you never condescend to do as common people do? For instance, do you not pray as common people pray?

Lina
Common people do not pray, my lord: they only beg.

Lord Summerhays
You never ask for anything?

Lina
No.

Lord Summerhays
Then why do you pray?

Lina
To remind myself that I have a soul.

Tarleton
Walking about. True. Fine. Good. Beautiful. All this damned materialism: what good is it to anybody? I’ve got a soul: don’t tell me I haven’t. Cut me up and you can’t find it. Cut up a steam engine and you can’t find the steam. But, by George, it makes the engine go. Say what you will, Summerhays, the divine spark is a fact.

Lord Summerhays
Have I denied it?

Tarleton
Our whole civilization is a denial of it. Read Walt Whitman.

Lord Summerhays
I shall go to the billiard room and get the balls for you.

Lina
Thank you.

Lord Summerhays goes out through the vestibule door.

Tarleton
Going to her. Listen to me. She turns quickly. What you said just now was beautiful. You touch chords. You appeal to the poetry in a man. You inspire him. Come now! You’re a woman of the world: you’re independent: you must have driven lots of men crazy. You know the sort of man I am, don’t you? See through me at a glance, eh?

Lina
Yes. She sits down quietly in the chair Lord Summerhays has just left.

Tarleton
Good. Well, do you like me? Don’t misunderstand me: I’m perfectly aware that you’re not going to fall in love at first sight with a ridiculous old shopkeeper. I can’t help that ridiculous old shopkeeper. I have to carry him about with me whether I like it or not. I have to pay for his clothes, though I hate the cut of them: especially the waistcoat. I have to look at him in the glass while I’m shaving. I loathe him because he’s a living lie. My soul’s not like that: it’s like yours. I want to make a fool of myself. About you. Will you let me?

Lina
Very calm. How much will you pay?

Tarleton
Nothing. But I’ll throw as many sovereigns as you like into the sea to show you that I’m in earnest.

Lina
Are those your usual terms?

Tarleton
No. I never made that bid before.

Lina
Producing a dainty little book and preparing to write in it. What did you say your name was?

Tarleton
John Tarleton. The great John Tarleton of Tarleton’s Underwear.

Lina
Writing. T-a-r-l-e-t-o-n. Er﻿—? She looks up at him inquiringly.

Tarleton
Promptly. Fifty-eight.

Lina
Thank you. I keep a list of all my offers. I like to know what I’m considered worth.

Tarleton
Let me look.

Lina
Offering the book to him. It’s in Polish.

Tarleton
That’s no good. Is mine the lowest offer?

Lina
No: the highest.

Tarleton
What do most of them come to? Diamonds? Motor cars? Furs? Villa at Monte Carlo?

Lina
Oh yes: all that. And sometimes the devotion of a lifetime.

Tarleton
Fancy that! A young man offering a woman his old age as a temptation!

Lina
By the way, you did not say how long.

Tarleton
Until you get tired of me.

Lina
Or until you get tired of me?

Tarleton
I never get tired. I never go on long enough for that. But when it becomes so grand, so inspiring that I feel that everything must be an anticlimax after that, then I run away.

Lina
Does she let you go without a struggle?

Tarleton
Yes. Glad to get rid of me. When love takes a man as it takes me﻿—when it makes him great﻿—it frightens a woman.

Lina
The lady here is your wife, isn’t she? Don’t you care for her?

Tarleton
Yes. And mind! she comes first always. I reserve her dignity even when I sacrifice my own. You’ll respect that point of honor, won’t you?

Lina
Only a point of honor?

Tarleton
Impulsively. No, by God! a point of affection as well.

Lina
Smiling, pleased with him. Shake hands, old pal. She rises and offers him her hand frankly.

Tarleton
Giving his hand rather dolefully. Thanks. That means no, doesn’t it?

Lina
It means something that will last longer than yes. I like you. I admit you to my friendship. What a pity you were not trained when you were young! You’d be young still.

Tarleton
I suppose, to an athlete like you, I’m pretty awful, eh?

Lina
Shocking.

Tarleton
Too much crumb. Wrinkles. Yellow patches that won’t come off. Short wind. I know. I’m ashamed of myself. I could do nothing on the high rope.

Lina
Oh yes: I could put you in a wheelbarrow and run you along, two hundred feet up.

Tarleton
Shuddering. Ugh! Well, I’d do even that for you. Read The Master Builder.

Lina
Have you learnt everything from books?

Tarleton
Well, have you learnt everything from the flying trapeze?

Lina
On the flying trapeze there is often another woman; and her life is in your hands every night and your life in hers.

Tarleton
Lina: I’m going to make a fool of myself. I’m going to cry. He crumples into the nearest chair.

Lina
Pray instead: don’t cry. Why should you cry? You’re not the first I’ve said no to.

Tarleton
If you had said yes, should I have been the first then?

Lina
What right have you to ask? Have I asked am I the first?

Tarleton
You’re right: a vulgar question. To a man like me, everybody is the first. Life renews itself.

Lina
The youngest child is the sweetest.

Tarleton
Don’t probe too deep, Lina. It hurts.

Lina
You must get out of the habit of thinking that these things matter so much. It’s linendraperish.

Tarleton
You’re quite right. I’ve often said so. All the same, it does matter; for I want to cry. He buries his face in his arms on the worktable and sobs.

Lina
Going to him. O la la! She slaps him vigorously, but not unkindly, on the shoulder. Courage, old pal, courage! Have you a gymnasium here?

Tarleton
There’s a trapeze and bars and things in the billiard room.

Lina
Come. You need a few exercises. I’ll teach you how to stop crying. She takes his arm and leads him off into the vestibule.

A young man, cheaply dressed and strange in manner, appears in the garden; steals to the pavilion door; and looks in. Seeing that there is nobody, he enters cautiously until he has come far enough to see into the hatstand corner. He draws a revolver, and examines it, apparently to make sure that it is loaded. Then his attention is caught by the Turkish bath. He looks down the lunette, and opens the panels.

Hypatia
Calling in the garden. Mr. Percival! Mr. Percival! Where are you?

The young man makes for the door, but sees Percival coming. He turns and bolts into the Turkish bath, which he closes upon himself just in time to escape being caught by Percival, who runs in through the pavilion, bareheaded. He also, it appears, is in search of a hiding-place; for he stops and turns between the two tables to take a survey of the room; then runs into the corner between the end of the sideboard and the wall. Hypatia, excited, mischievous, her eyes glowing, runs in, precisely on his trail; turns at the same spot; and discovers him just as he makes a dash for the pavilion door. She flies back and intercepts him.

Hypatia
Aha! aren’t you glad I’ve caught you?

Percival
Illhumoredly turning away from her and coming towards the writing table. No I’m not. Confound it, what sort of girl are you? What sort of house is this? Must I throw all good manners to the winds?

Hypatia
Following him. Do, do, do, do, do. This is the house of a respectable shopkeeper, enormously rich. This is the respectable shopkeeper’s daughter, tired of good manners. Slipping her left hand into his right. Come, handsome young man, and play with the respectable shopkeeper’s daughter.

Percival
Withdrawing quickly from her touch. No, no: don’t you know you mustn’t go on like this with a perfect stranger?

Hypatia
Dropped down from the sky. Don’t you know that you must always go on like this when you get the chance? You must come to the top of the hill and chase me through the bracken. You may kiss me if you catch me.

Percival
I shall do nothing of the sort.

Hypatia
Yes you will: you can’t help yourself. Come along. She seizes his sleeve. Fool, fool: come along. Don’t you want to?

Percival
No: certainly not. I should never be forgiven if I did it.

Hypatia
You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.

Percival
Nonsense. You’re engaged to Ben. Ben’s my friend. What do you take me for?

Hypatia
Ben’s old. Ben was born old. They’re all old here, except you and me and the man-woman or woman-man or whatever you call her that came with you. They never do anything: they only discuss whether what other people do is right. Come and give them something to discuss.

Percival
I will do nothing incorrect.

Hypatia
Oh, don’t be afraid, little boy: you’ll get nothing but a kiss; and I’ll fight like the devil to keep you from getting that. But we must play on the hill and race through the heather.

Percival
Why?

Hypatia
Because we want to, handsome young man.

Percival
But if everybody went on in this way﻿—

Hypatia
How happy! oh how happy the world would be!

Percival
But the consequences may be serious.

Hypatia
Nothing is worth doing unless the consequences may be serious. My father says so; and I’m my father’s daughter.

Percival
I’m the son of three fathers. I mistrust these wild impulses.

Hypatia
Take care. You’re letting the moment slip. I feel the first chill of the wave of prudence. Save me.

Percival
Really, Miss Tarleton﻿—She strikes him across the face. Damn you! Recovering himself, horrified at his lapse. I beg your pardon; but since we’ve both forgotten ourselves, you’ll please allow me to leave the house. He turns towards the inner door, having left his cap in the bedroom.

Hypatia
Standing in his way. Are you ashamed of having said “Damn you” to me?

Percival
I had no right to say it. I’m very much ashamed of it. I have already begged your pardon.

Hypatia
And you’re not ashamed of having said “Really, Miss Tarleton.”

Percival
Why should I?

Hypatia
O man, man! mean, stupid, cowardly, selfish masculine male man! You ought to have been a governess. I was expelled from school for saying that the very next person that said “Really, Miss Tarleton,” to me, I would strike her across the face. You were the next.

Percival
I had no intention of being offensive. Surely there is nothing that can wound any lady in﻿—He hesitates, not quite convinced. At least﻿—er﻿—I really didn’t mean to be disagreeable.

Hypatia
Liar.

Percival
Of course if you’re going to insult me, I am quite helpless. You’re a woman: you can say what you like.

Hypatia
And you can only say what you dare. Poor wretch: it isn’t much. He bites his lip, and sits down, very much annoyed. Really, Mr. Percival! You sit down in the presence of a lady and leave her standing. He rises hastily. Ha, ha! Really, Mr. Percival! Oh really, really, really, really, really, Mr. Percival! How do you like it? Wouldn’t you rather I damned you?

Percival
Miss Tarleton﻿—

Hypatia
Caressingly. Hypatia, Joey. Patsy, if you like.

Percival
Look here: this is no good. You want to do what you like?

Hypatia
Don’t you?

Percival
No. I’ve been too well brought up. I’ve argued all through this thing; and I tell you I’m not prepared to cast off the social bond. It’s like a corset: it’s a support to the figure even if it does squeeze and deform it a bit. I want to be free.

Hypatia
Well, I’m tempting you to be free.

Percival
Not at all. Freedom, my good girl, means being able to count on how other people will behave. If every man who dislikes me is to throw a handful of mud in my face, and every woman who likes me is to behave like Potiphar’s wife, then I shall be a slave: the slave of uncertainty: the slave of fear: the worst of all slaveries. How would you like it if every laborer you met in the road were to make love to you? No. Give me the blessed protection of a good stiff conventionality among thoroughly well-brought up ladies and gentlemen.

Hypatia
Another talker! Men like conventions because men made them. I didn’t make them: I don’t like them: I won’t keep them. Now, what will you do?

Percival
Bolt. He runs out through the pavilion.

Hypatia
I’ll catch you. She dashes off in pursuit.

During this conversation the head of the scandalized man in the Turkish bath has repeatedly risen from the lunette, with a strong expression of moral shock. It vanishes abruptly as the two turn towards it in their flight. At the same moment Tarleton comes back through the vestibule door, exhausted by severe and unaccustomed exercise.

Tarleton
Looking after the flying figures with amazement. Hallo, Patsy: what’s up? Another aeroplane? They are far too preoccupied to hear him; and he is left staring after them as they rush away through the garden. He goes to the pavilion door and looks up; but the heavens are empty. His exhaustion disables him from further inquiry. He dabs his brow with his handkerchief, and walks stiffly to the nearest convenient support, which happens to be the Turkish bath. He props himself upon it with his elbow, and covers his eyes with his hand for a moment. After a few sighing breaths, he feels a little better, and uncovers his eyes. The man’s head rises from the lunette a few inches from his nose. He recoils from the bath with a violent start. Oh Lord! My brain’s gone. Calling piteously. Chickabiddy! He staggers down to the writing table.

The Man
Coming out of the bath, pistol in hand. Another sound; and you’re a dead man.

Tarleton
Braced. Am I? Well, you’re a live one: that’s one comfort. I thought you were a ghost. He sits down, quite undisturbed by the pistol. Who are you; and what the devil were you doing in my new Turkish bath?

The Man
With tragic intensity. I am the son of Lucinda Titmus.

Tarleton
The name conveying nothing to him. Indeed? And how is she? Quite well, I hope, eh?

The Man
She is dead. Dead, my God! and you’re alive.

Tarleton
Unimpressed by the tragedy, but sympathetic. Oh! Lost your mother? That’s sad. I’m sorry. But we can’t all have the luck to survive our mothers, and be nursed out of the world by the hands that nursed us into it.

The Man
Much you care, damn you!

Tarleton
Oh, don’t cut up rough. Face it like a man. You see I didn’t know your mother; but I’ve no doubt she was an excellent woman.

The Man
Not know her! Do you dare to stand there by her open grave and deny that you knew her?

Tarleton
Trying to recollect. What did you say her name was?

The Man
Lucinda Titmus.

Tarleton
Well, I ought to remember a rum name like that if I ever heard it. But I don’t. Have you a photograph or anything?

The Man
Forgotten even the name of your victim!

Tarleton
Oh! she was my victim, was she?

The Man
She was. And you shall see her face again before you die, dead as she is. I have a photograph.

Tarleton
Good.

The Man
I’ve two photographs.

Tarleton
Still better. Treasure the mother’s pictures. Good boy!

The Man
One of them as you knew her. The other as she became when you flung her aside, and she withered into an old woman.

Tarleton
She’d have done that anyhow, my lad. We all grow old. Look at me! Seeing that the man is embarrassed by his pistol in fumbling for the photographs with his left hand in his breast pocket. Let me hold the gun for you.

The Man
Retreating to the worktable. Stand back. Do you take me for a fool?

Tarleton
Well, you’re a little upset, naturally. It does you credit.

The Man
Look here, upon this picture and on this. He holds out the two photographs like a hand at cards, and points to them with the pistol.

Tarleton
Good. Read Shakespeare: he has a word for every occasion. He takes the photographs, one in each hand, and looks from one to the other, pleased and interested, but without any sign of recognition. What a pretty girl! Very pretty. I can imagine myself falling in love with her when I was your age. I wasn’t a bad-looking young fellow myself in those days. Looking at the other. Curious that we should both have gone the same way.

The Man
You and she the same way! What do you mean?

Tarleton
Both got stout, I mean.

The Man
Would you have had her deny herself food?

Tarleton
No: it wouldn’t have been any use. It’s constitutional. No matter how little you eat you put on flesh if you’re made that way. He resumes his study of the earlier photograph.

The Man
Is that all the feeling that rises in you at the sight of the face you once knew so well?

Tarleton
Too much absorbed in the portrait to heed him. Funny that I can’t remember! Let this be a lesson to you, young man. I could go into court tomorrow and swear I never saw that face before in my life if it wasn’t for that brooch. Pointing to the photograph. Have you got that brooch, by the way? The man again resorts to his breast pocket. You seem to carry the whole family property in that pocket.

The Man
Producing a brooch. Here it is to prove my bona fides.

Tarleton
Pensively putting the photographs on the table and taking the brooch. I bought that brooch in Cheapside from a man with a yellow wig and a cast in his left eye. I’ve never set eyes on him from that day to this. And yet I remember that man; and I can’t remember your mother.

The Man
Monster! Without conscience! without even memory! You left her to her shame﻿—

Tarleton
Throwing the brooch on the table and rising pepperily. Come, come, young man! none of that. Respect the romance of your mother’s youth. Don’t you start throwing stones at her. I don’t recall her features just at this moment; but I’ve no doubt she was kind to me and we were happy together. If you have a word to say against her, take yourself out of my house and say it elsewhere.

The Man
What sort of a joker are you? Are you trying to put me in the wrong, when you have to answer to me for a crime that would make every honest man spit at you as you passed in the street if I were to make it known?

Tarleton
You read a good deal, don’t you?

The Man
What if I do? What has that to do with your infamy and my mother’s doom?

Tarleton
There, you see! Doom! That’s not good sense; but it’s literature. Now it happens that I’m a tremendous reader: always was. When I was your age I read books of that sort by the bushel: the Doom sort, you know. It’s odd, isn’t it, that you and I should be like one another in that respect? Can you account for it in any way?

The Man
No. What are you driving at?

Tarleton
Well, do you know who your father was?

The Man
I see what you mean now. You dare set up to be my father. Thank heaven I’ve not a drop of your vile blood in my veins.

Tarleton
Sitting down again with a shrug. Well, if you won’t be civil, there’s no pleasure in talking to you, is there? What do you want? Money?

The Man
How dare you insult me?

Tarleton
Well, what do you want?

The Man
Justice.

Tarleton
You’re quite sure that’s all?

The Man
It’s enough for me.

Tarleton
A modest sort of demand, isn’t it? Nobody ever had it since the world began, fortunately for themselves; but you must have it, must you? Well, you’ve come to the wrong shop for it: you’ll get no justice here: we don’t keep it. Human nature is what we stock.

The Man
Human nature! Debauchery! gluttony! selfishness! robbery of the poor! Is that what you call human nature?

Tarleton
No: that’s what you call it. Come, my lad! What’s the matter with you? You don’t look starved; and you’ve a decent suit of clothes.

The Man
Forty-two shillings.

Tarleton
They can do you a very decent suit for forty-two shillings. Have you paid for it?

The Man
Do you take me for a thief? And do you suppose I can get credit like you?

Tarleton
Then you were able to lay your hand on forty-two shillings. Judging from your conversational style, I should think you must spend at least a shilling a week on romantic literature.

The Man
Where would I get a shilling a week to spend on books when I can hardly keep myself decent? I get books at the Free Library.

Tarleton
Springing to his feet. What!!!

The Man
Recoiling before his vehemence. The Free Library. There’s no harm in that.

Tarleton
Ingrate! I supply you with free books; and the use you make of them is to persuade yourself that it’s a fine thing to shoot me. He throws himself doggedly back into his chair. I’ll never give another penny to a Free Library.

The Man
You’ll never give another penny to anything. This is the end: for you and me.

Tarleton
Pooh! Come, come, man! talk business. What’s wrong? Are you out of employment?

The Man
No. This is my Saturday afternoon. Don’t flatter yourself that I’m a loafer or a criminal. I’m a cashier; and I defy you to say that my cash has ever been a farthing wrong. I’ve a right to call you to account because my hands are clean.

Tarleton
Well, call away. What have I to account for? Had you a hard time with your mother? Why didn’t she ask me for money?

The Man
She’d have died first. Besides, who wanted your money? Do you suppose we lived in the gutter? My father mayn’t have been in as large a way as you; but he was better connected; and his shop was as respectable as yours.

Tarleton
I suppose your mother brought him a little capital.

The Man
I don’t know. What’s that got to do with you?

Tarleton
Well, you say she and I knew one another and parted. She must have had something off me then, you know. One doesn’t get out of these things for nothing. Hang it, young man: do you suppose I’ve no heart? Of course she had her due; and she found a husband with it, and set him up in business with it, and brought you up respectably; so what the devil have you to complain of?

The Man
Are women to be ruined with impunity?

Tarleton
I haven’t ruined any woman that I’m aware of. I’ve been the making of you and your mother.

The Man
Oh, I’m a fool to listen to you and argue with you. I came here to kill you and then kill myself.

Tarleton
Begin with yourself, if you don’t mind. I’ve a good deal of business to do still before I die. Haven’t you?

The Man
No. That’s just it: I’ve no business to do. Do you know what my life is? I spend my days from nine to six﻿—nine hours of daylight and fresh air﻿—in a stuffy little den counting another man’s money. I’ve an intellect: a mind and a brain and a soul; and the use he makes of them is to fix them on his tuppences and his eighteenpences and his two pound seventeen and tenpences and see how much they come to at the end of the day and take care that no one steals them. I enter and enter, and add and add, and take money and give change, and fill cheques and stamp receipts; and not a penny of that money is my own: not one of those transactions has the smallest interest for me or anyone else in the world but him; and even he couldn’t stand it if he had to do it all himself. And I’m envied: aye, envied for the variety and liveliness of my job, by the poor devil of a bookkeeper that has to copy all my entries over again. Fifty thousand entries a year that poor wretch makes; and not ten out of the fifty thousand ever has to be referred to again; and when all the figures are counted up and the balance sheet made out, the boss isn’t a penny the richer than he’d be if bookkeeping had never been invented. Of all the damnable waste of human life that ever was invented, clerking is the very worst.

Tarleton
Why not join the territorials?

The Man
Because I shouldn’t be let. He hasn’t even the sense to see that it would pay him to get some cheap soldiering out of me. How can a man tied to a desk from nine to six be anything﻿—be even a man, let alone a soldier? But I’ll teach him and you a lesson. I’ve had enough of living a dog’s life and despising myself for it. I’ve had enough of being talked down to by hogs like you, and wearing my life out for a salary that wouldn’t keep you in cigars. You’ll never believe that a clerk’s a man until one of us makes an example of one of you.

Tarleton
Despotism tempered by assassination, eh?

The Man
Yes. That’s what they do in Russia. Well, a business office is Russia as far as the clerks are concerned. So don’t you take it so coolly. You think I’m not going to do it; but I am.

Tarleton
Rising and facing him. Come, now, as man to man! It’s not my fault that you’re poorer than I am; and it’s not your fault that I’m richer than you. And if you could undo all that passed between me and your mother, you wouldn’t undo it; and neither would she. But you’re sick of your slavery; and you want to be the hero of a romance and to get into the papers. Eh? A son revenges his mother’s shame. Villain weltering in his gore. Mother: look down from heaven and receive your unhappy son’s last sigh.

The Man
Oh, rot! do you think I read novelettes? And do you suppose I believe such superstitions as heaven? I go to church because the boss told me I’d get the sack if I didn’t. Free England! Ha! Lina appears at the pavilion door, and comes swiftly and noiselessly forward on seeing the man with a pistol in his hand.

Tarleton
You’re afraid of getting the sack; but you’re not afraid to shoot yourself.

The Man
Damn you! you’re trying to keep me talking until somebody comes. He raises the pistol desperately, but not very resolutely.

Lina
At his right elbow. Somebody has come.

The Man
Turning on her. Stand off. I’ll shoot you if you lay a hand on me. I will, by God.

Lina
You can’t cover me with that pistol. Try.

He tries, presenting the pistol at her face. She moves round him in the opposite direction to the hands of a clock with a light dancing step. He finds it impossible to cover her with the pistol: she is always too far to his left. Tarleton, behind him, grips his wrist and drags his arm straight up, so that the pistol points to the ceiling. As he tries to turn on his assailant, Lina grips his other wrist.

Lina
Please stop. I can’t bear to twist anyone’s wrist; but I must if you don’t let the pistol go.

The Man
Letting Tarleton take it from him. All right: I’m done. Couldn’t even do that job decently. That’s a clerk all over. Very well: send for your damned police and make an end of it. I’m accustomed to prison from nine to six: I daresay I can stand it from six to nine as well.

Tarleton
Don’t swear. That’s a lady. He throws the pistol on the writing table.

The Man
Looking at Lina in amazement. Beaten by a female! It needed only this. He collapses in the chair near the worktable, and hides his face. They cannot help pitying him.

Lina
Old pal: don’t call the police. Lend him a bicycle and let him get away.

The Man
I can’t ride a bicycle. I never could afford one. I’m not even that much good.

Tarleton
If I gave you a hundred pound note now to go and have a good spree with, I wonder would you know how to set about it. Do you ever take a holiday?

The Man
Take! I got four days last August.

Tarleton
What did you do?

The Man
I did a cheap trip to Folkestone. I spent sevenpence on dropping pennies into silly automatic machines and peepshows of rowdy girls having a jolly time. I spent a penny on the lift and fourpence on refreshments. That cleaned me out. The rest of the time I was so miserable that I was glad to get back to the office. Now you know.

Lina
Come to the gymnasium: I’ll teach you how to make a man of yourself. The man is about to rise irresolutely, from the mere habit of doing what he is told, when Tarleton stops him.

Tarleton
Young man: don’t. You’ve tried to shoot me; but I’m not vindictive. I draw the line at putting a man on the rack. If you want every joint in your body stretched until it’s an agony to live﻿—until you have an unnatural feeling that all your muscles are singing and laughing with pain﻿—then go to the gymnasium with that lady. But you’ll be more comfortable in jail.

Lina
Greatly amused. Was that why you went away, old pal? Was that the telegram you said you had forgotten to send?

Mrs. Tarleton comes in hastily through the inner door.

Mrs. Tarleton
On the steps. Is anything the matter, John? Nurse says she heard you calling me a quarter of an hour ago; and that your voice sounded as if you were ill. She comes between Tarleton and the man. Is anything the matter?

Tarleton
This is the son of an old friend of mine. Mr.﻿—er﻿—Mr. Gunner. To the man, who rises awkwardly. My wife.

Mrs. Tarleton
Good evening to you.

Gunner
Er﻿—He is too nervous to speak, and makes a shambling bow.

Bentley looks in at the pavilion door, very peevish, and too preoccupied with his own affairs to pay any attention to those of the company.

Bentley
I say: has anybody seen Hypatia? She promised to come out with me; and I can’t find her anywhere. And where’s Joey?

Gunner
Suddenly breaking out aggressively, being incapable of any middle way between submissiveness and violence. I can tell you where Hypatia is. I can tell you where Joey is. And I say it’s a scandal and an infamy. If people only knew what goes on in this so-called respectable house it would be put a stop to. These are the morals of our pious capitalist class! This is your rotten bourgeoisie! This!﻿—

Mrs. Tarleton
Don’t you dare use such language in company. I won’t allow it.

Tarleton
All right, Chickabiddy: it’s not bad language: it’s only Socialism.

Mrs. Tarleton
Well, I won’t have any Socialism in my house.

Tarleton
To Gunner. You hear what Mrs. Tarleton says. Well, in this house everybody does what she says or out they go.

Gunner
Do you suppose I want to stay? Do you think I would breathe this polluted atmosphere a moment longer than I could help?

Bentley
Running forward between Lina and Gunner. But what did you mean by what you said about Miss Tarleton and Mr. Percival, you beastly rotter, you?

Gunner
To Tarleton. Oh! is Hypatia your daughter? And Joey is Mister Percival, is he? One of your set, I suppose. One of the smart set! One of the bridge-playing, eighty-horse-power, weekender set! One of the johnnies I slave for! Well, Joey has more decency than your daughter, anyhow. The women are the worst. I never believed it till I saw it with my own eyes. Well, it won’t last forever. The writing is on the wall. Rome fell. Babylon fell. Hindhead’s turn will come.

Mrs. Tarleton
Naively looking at the wall for the writing. Whatever are you talking about, young man?

Gunner
I know what I’m talking about. I went into that Turkish bath a boy: I came out a man.

Mrs. Tarleton
Good gracious! he’s mad. To Lina. Did John make him take a Turkish bath?

Lina
No. He doesn’t need Turkish baths: he needs to put on a little flesh. I don’t understand what it’s all about. I found him trying to shoot Mr. Tarleton.

Mrs. Tarleton
With a scream. Oh! and John encouraging him, I’ll be bound! Bunny: you go for the police. To Gunner. I’ll teach you to come into my house and shoot my husband.

Gunner
Teach away. I never asked to be let off. I’m ashamed to be free instead of taking my part with the rest. Women﻿—beautiful women of noble birth﻿—are going to prison for their opinions. Girl students in Russia go to the gallows; let themselves be cut in pieces with the knout, or driven through the frozen snows of Siberia, sooner than stand looking on tamely at the world being made a hell for the toiling millions. If you were not all skunks and cowards you’d be suffering with them instead of battening here on the plunder of the poor.

Mrs. Tarleton
Much vexed. Oh, did you ever hear such silly nonsense? Bunny: go and tell the gardener to send over one of his men to Grayshott for the police.

Gunner
I’ll go with him. I intend to give myself up. I’m going to expose what I’ve seen here, no matter what the consequences may be to my miserable self.

Tarleton
Stop. You stay where you are, Ben. Chickabiddy: you’ve never had the police in. If you had, you’d not be in a hurry to have them in again. Now, young man: cut the cackle; and tell us, as short as you can, what did you see?

Gunner
I can’t tell you in the presence of ladies.

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, you are tiresome. As if it mattered to anyone what you saw. Me! A married woman that might be your mother. To Lina. And I’m sure you’re not particular, if you’ll excuse my saying so.

Tarleton
Out with it. What did you see?

Gunner
I saw your daughter with my own eyes﻿—oh well, never mind what I saw.

Bentley
Almost crying with anxiety. You beastly rotter, I’ll get Joey to give you such a hiding﻿—

Tarleton
You can’t leave it at that, you know. What did you see my daughter doing?

Gunner
After all, why shouldn’t she do it? The Russian students do it. Women should be as free as men. I’m a fool. I’m so full of your bourgeois morality that I let myself be shocked by the application of my own revolutionary principles. If she likes the man why shouldn’t she tell him so?

Mrs. Tarleton
I do wonder at you, John, letting him talk like this before everybody. Turning rather tartly to Lina. Would you mind going away to the drawing-room just for a few minutes, Miss Chipenoska. This is a private family matter, if you don’t mind.

Lina
I should have gone before, Mrs. Tarleton, if there had been anyone to protect Mr. Tarleton and the young gentleman.

Tarleton
You’re quite right, Miss Lina: you must stand by. I could have tackled him this morning; but since you put me through those exercises I’d rather die than even shake hands with a man, much less fight him.

Gunner
It’s all of a piece here. The men effeminate, the women unsexed﻿—

Tarleton
Don’t begin again, old chap. Keep it for Trafalgar Square.

Hypatia’s Voice Outside
No, no. She breaks off in a stifled half laugh, half scream, and is seen darting across the garden with Percival in hot pursuit. Immediately afterwards she appears again, and runs into the pavilion. Finding it full of people, including a stranger, she stops; but Percival, flushed and reckless, rushes in and seizes her before he, too, realizes that they are not alone. He releases her in confusion.

Dead silence. They are all afraid to look at one another except Mrs. Tarleton, who stares sternly at Hypatia. Hypatia is the first to recover her presence of mind.

Hypatia
Excuse me rushing in like this. Mr. Percival has been chasing me down the hill.

Gunner
Who chased him up it? Don’t be ashamed. Be fearless. Be truthful.

Tarleton
Gunner: will you go to Paris for a fortnight? I’ll pay your expenses.

Hypatia
What do you mean?

Gunner
There was a silent witness in the Turkish bath.

Tarleton
I found him hiding there. Whatever went on here, he saw and heard. That’s what he means.

Percival
Sternly approaching Gunner, and speaking with deep but contained indignation. Am I to understand you as daring to put forward the monstrous and blackguardly lie that this lady behaved improperly in my presence?

Gunner
Turning white. You know what I saw and heard.

Hypatia, with a gleam of triumph in her eyes, slips noiselessly into the swing chair, and watches Percival and Gunner, swinging slightly, but otherwise motionless.

Percival
I hope it is not necessary for me to assure you all that there is not one word of truth﻿—not one grain of substance﻿—in this rascally calumny, which no man with a spark of decent feeling would have uttered even if he had been ignorant enough to believe it. Miss Tarleton’s conduct, since I have had the honor of knowing her, has been, I need hardly say, in every respect beyond reproach. To Gunner. As for you, sir, you’ll have the goodness to come out with me immediately. I have some business with you which can’t be settled in Mrs. Tarleton’s presence or in her house.

Gunner
Painfully frightened. Why should I go out with you?

Percival
Because I intend that you shall.

Gunner
I won’t be bullied by you. Percival makes a threatening step towards him. Police! He tries to bolt; but Percival seizes him. Leave me go, will you? What right have you to lay hands on me?

Tarleton
Let him run for it, Mr. Percival. He’s very poor company. We shall be well rid of him. Let him go.

Percival
Not until he has taken back and made the fullest apology for the abominable lie he has told. He shall do that or he shall defend himself as best he can against the most thorough thrashing I’m capable of giving him. Releasing Gunner, but facing him ominously. Take your choice. Which is it to be?

Gunner
Give me a fair chance. Go and stick at a desk from nine to six for a month, and let me have your grub and your sport and your lessons in boxing, and I’ll fight you fast enough. You know I’m no good or you daren’t bully me like this.

Percival
You should have thought of that before you attacked a lady with a dastardly slander. I’m waiting for your decision. I’m rather in a hurry, please.

Gunner
I never said anything against the lady.

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, listen to that!

Bentley
What a liar!

Hypatia
Oh!

Tarleton
Oh, come!

Percival
We’ll have it in writing, if you don’t mind. Pointing to the writing table. Sit down; and take that pen in your hand. Gunner looks irresolutely a little way round; then obeys. Now write. “I,” whatever your name is﻿—

Gunner
After a vain attempt. I can’t. My hand’s shaking too much. You see it’s no use. I’m doing my best. I can’t.

Percival
Mr. Summerhays will write it: you can sign it.

Bentley
Insolently to Gunner. Get up. Gunner obeys; and Bentley, shouldering him aside towards Percival, takes his place and prepares to write.

Percival
What’s your name?

Gunner
John Brown.

Tarleton
Oh come! Couldn’t you make it Horace Smith? or Algernon Robinson?

Gunner
Agitatedly. But my name is John Brown. There are really John Browns. How can I help it if my name’s a common one?

Bentley
Show us a letter addressed to you.

Gunner
How can I? I never get any letters: I’m only a clerk. I can show you J. B. on my handkerchief. He takes out a not very clean one.

Bentley
With disgust. Oh, put it up again. Let it go at John Brown.

Percival
Where do you live?

Gunner
4 Chesterfield Parade, Kentish Town, N.W.

Percival
Dictating. I, John Brown, of 4 Chesterfield Parade, Kentish Town, do hereby voluntarily confess that on the 31st May 1909 I﻿—To Tarleton. What did he do exactly?

Tarleton
Dictating.﻿—I trespassed on the land of John Tarleton at Hindhead, and effected an unlawful entry into his house, where I secreted myself in a portable Turkish bath﻿—

Bentley
Go slow, old man. Just a moment. “Turkish bath”﻿—yes?

Tarleton
Continuing.﻿—with a pistol, with which I threatened to take the life of the said John Tarleton﻿—

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, John! You might have been killed.

Tarleton
—and was prevented from doing so only by the timely arrival of the celebrated Miss Lina Szczepanowska.

Mrs. Tarleton
Is she celebrated? Apologetically. I never dreamt﻿—

Bentley
Look here: I’m awfully sorry; but I can’t spell Szczepanowska.

Percival
I think it’s S, z, c, z﻿—Lina gives him her visiting-card. Thank you. He throws it on Bentley’s blotter.

Bentley
Thanks awfully. He writes the name.

Tarleton
To Percival. Now it’s your turn.

Percival
Dictating. I further confess that I was guilty of uttering an abominable calumny concerning Miss Hypatia Tarleton, for which there was not a shred of foundation.

Impressive silence whilst Bentley writes.

Bentley
“foundation”?

Percival
I apologize most humbly to the lady and her family for my conduct﻿—he waits for Bentley to write.

Bentley
“conduct”?

Percival
—and I promise Mr. Tarleton not to repeat it, and to amend my life﻿—

Bentley
“amend my life”?

Percival
—and to do what in me lies to prove worthy of his kindness in giving me another chance﻿—

Bentley
“another chance”?

Percival
—and refraining from delivering me up to the punishment I so richly deserve.

Bentley
“richly deserve.”

Percival
To Hypatia. Does that satisfy you, Miss Tarleton?

Hypatia
Yes: that will teach him to tell lies next time.

Bentley
Rising to make place for Gunner and handing him the pen. You mean it will teach him to tell the truth next time.

Tarleton
Ahem! Do you, Patsy?

Percival
Be good enough to sign. Gunner sits down helplessly and dips the pen in the ink. I hope what you are signing is no mere form of words to you, and that you not only say you are sorry, but that you are sorry.

Lord Summerhays and Johnny come in through the pavilion door.

Mrs. Tarleton
Stop. Mr. Percival: I think, on Hypatia’s account, Lord Summerhays ought to be told about this.

Lord Summerhays, wondering what the matter is, comes forward between Percival and Lina. Johnny stops beside Hypatia.

Percival
Certainly.

Tarleton
Uneasily. Take my advice, and cut it short. Get rid of him.

Mrs. Tarleton
Hypatia ought to have her character cleared.

Tarleton
You let well alone, Chickabiddy. Most of our characters will bear a little careful dusting; but they won’t bear scouring. Patsy is jolly well out of it. What does it matter, anyhow?

Percival
Mr. Tarleton: we have already said either too much or not enough. Lord Summerhays: will you be kind enough to witness the declaration this man has just signed?

Gunner
I haven’t yet. Am I to sign now?

Percival
Of course. Gunner, who is now incapable of doing anything on his own initiative, signs. Now stand up and read your declaration to this gentleman. Gunner makes a vague movement and looks stupidly round. Percival adds peremptorily, Now, please.

Gunner
Rising apprehensively and reading in a hardly audible voice, like a very sick man. I, John Brown, of 4 Chesterfield Parade, Kentish Town, do hereby voluntarily confess that on the 31st May 1909 I trespassed on the land of John Tarleton at Hindhead, and effected an unlawful entry into his house, where I secreted myself in a portable Turkish bath, with a pistol, with which I threatened to take the life of the said John Tarleton, and was prevented from doing so only by the timely arrival of the celebrated Miss Lena Sh-Sh-sheepanossika. I further confess that I was guilty of uttering an abominable calumny concerning Miss Hypatia Tarleton, for which there was not a shred of foundation. I apologize most humbly to the lady and her family for my conduct; and I promise Mr. Tarleton not to repeat it, and to amend my life, and to do what in me lies to prove worthy of his kindness in giving me another chance and refraining from delivering me up to the punishment I so richly deserve.

A short and painful silence follows. Then Percival speaks.

Percival
Do you consider that sufficient, Lord Summerhays?

Lord Summerhays
Oh quite, quite.

Percival
To Hypatia. Lord Summerhays would probably like to hear you say that you are satisfied, Miss Tarleton.

Hypatia
Coming out of the swing, and advancing between Percival and Lord Summerhays. I must say that you have behaved like a perfect gentleman, Mr. Percival.

Percival
First bowing to Hypatia, and then turning with cold contempt to Gunner, who is standing helpless. We need not trouble you any further. Gunner turns vaguely towards the pavilion.

Johnny
With less refined offensiveness, pointing to the pavilion. That’s your way. The gardener will show you the shortest way into the road. Go the shortest way.

Gunner
Oppressed and disconcerted, hardly knows how to get out of the room. Yes, sir. I﻿—He turns again, appealing to Tarleton. Mayn’t I have my mother’s photographs back again? Mrs. Tarleton pricks up her ears.

Tarleton
Eh? What? Oh, the photographs! Yes, yes, yes: take them. Gunner takes them from the table, and is creeping away, when Mrs. Tarleton puts out her hand and stops him.

Mrs. Tarleton
What’s this, John? What were you doing with his mother’s photographs?

Tarleton
Nothing, nothing. Never mind, Chickabiddy: it’s all right.

Mrs. Tarleton
Snatching the photographs from Gunner’s irresolute fingers, and recognizing them at a glance. Lucy Titmus! Oh John, John!

Tarleton
Grimly, to Gunner. Young man: you’re a fool; but you’ve just put the lid on this job in a masterly manner. I knew you would. I told you all to let well alone. You wouldnt; and now you must take the consequences﻿—or rather I must take them.

Mrs. Tarleton
To Gunner. Are you Lucy’s son?

Gunner
Yes.

Mrs. Tarleton
And why didn’t you come to me? I didn’t turn my back on your mother when she came to me in her trouble. Didn’t you know that?

Gunner
No. She never talked to me about anything.

Tarleton
How could she talk to her own son? Shy, Summerhays, shy. Parent and child. Shy. He sits down at the end of the writing table nearest the sideboard like a man resigned to anything that fate may have in store for him.

Mrs. Tarleton
Then how did you find out?

Gunner
From her papers after she died.

Mrs. Tarleton
Shocked. Is Lucy dead? And I never knew! With an effusion of tenderness. And you here being treated like that, poor orphan, with nobody to take your part! Tear up that foolish paper, child; and sit down and make friends with me.

Johnny
Hallo, mother this is all very well, you know﻿—

Percival
But may I point out, Mrs. Tarleton, that﻿—

Bentley
Do you mean that after what he said of﻿—

Hypatia
Oh, look here, mamma: this is really﻿—

Mrs. Tarleton
Will you please speak one at a time?

Silence.

Percival
In a very gentlemanly manner. Will you allow me to remind you, Mrs. Tarleton, that this man has uttered a most serious and disgraceful falsehood concerning Miss Tarleton and myself?

Mrs. Tarleton
I don’t believe a word of it. If the poor lad was there in the Turkish bath, who has a better right to say what was going on here than he has? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Patsy; and so ought you too, Mr. Percival, for encouraging her. Hypatia retreats to the pavilion, and exchanges grimaces with Johnny, shamelessly enjoying Percival’s sudden reverse. They know their mother.

Percival
Gasping. Mrs. Tarleton: I give you my word of honor﻿—

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, go along with you and your word of honor. Do you think I’m a fool? I wonder you can look the lad in the face after bullying him and making him sign those wicked lies; and all the time you carrying on with my daughter before you’d been half an hour in my house. Fie, for shame!

Percival
Lord Summerhays: I appeal to you. Have I done the correct thing or not?

Lord Summerhays
You’ve done your best, Mr. Percival. But the correct thing depends for its success on everybody playing the game very strictly. As a single-handed game, it’s impossible.

Bentley
Suddenly breaking out lamentably. Joey: have you taken Hypatia away from me?

Lord Summerhays
Severely. Bentley! Bentley! Control yourself, sir.

Tarleton
Come, Mr. Percival! the shutters are up on the gentlemanly business. Try the truth.

Percival
I am in a wretched position. If I tell the truth nobody will believe me.

Tarleton
Oh yes they will. The truth makes everybody believe it.

Percival
It also makes everybody pretend not to believe it. Mrs. Tarleton: you’re not playing the game.

Mrs. Tarleton
I don’t think you’ve behaved at all nicely, Mr. Percival.

Bentley
I wouldn’t have played you such a dirty trick, Joey. Struggling with a sob. You beast.

Lord Summerhays
Bentley: you must control yourself. Let me say at the same time, Mr. Percival, that my son seems to have been mistaken in regarding you either as his friend or as a gentleman.

Percival
Miss Tarleton: I’m suffering this for your sake. I ask you just to say that I am not to blame. Just that and nothing more.

Hypatia
Gloating mischievously over his distress. You chased me through the heather and kissed me. You shouldn’t have done that if you were not in earnest.

Percival
Oh, this is really the limit. Turning desperately to Gunner. Sir: I appeal to you. As a gentleman! as a man of honor! as a man bound to stand by another man! You were in that Turkish bath. You saw how it began. Could any man have behaved more correctly than I did? Is there a shadow of foundation for the accusations brought against me?

Gunner
Sorely perplexed. Well, what do you want me to say?

Johnny
He has said what he had to say already, hasn’t he? Read that paper.

Gunner
When I tell the truth, you make me go back on it. And now you want me to go back on myself! What is a man to do?

Percival
Patiently. Please try to get your mind clear, Mr. Brown. I pointed out to you that you could not, as a gentleman, disparage a lady’s character. You agree with me, I hope.

Gunner
Yes: that sounds all right.

Percival
But you’re also bound to tell the truth. Surely you’ll not deny that.

Gunner
Who’s denying it? I say nothing against it.

Percival
Of course not. Well, I ask you to tell the truth simply and unaffectedly. Did you witness any improper conduct on my part when you were in the bath?

Gunner
No, sir.

Johnny
Then what do you mean by saying that﻿—

Hypatia
Do you mean to say that I﻿—

Bentley
Oh, you are a rotter. You’re afraid﻿—

Tarleton
Rising. Stop. Silence. Leave it at that. Enough said. You keep quiet, Johnny. Mr. Percival: you’re whitewashed. So are you, Patsy. Honors are easy. Lets drop the subject. The next thing to do is to open a subscription to start this young man on a ranch in some far country that’s accustomed to be in a disturbed state. He﻿—

Mrs. Tarleton
Now stop joking the poor lad, John: I won’t have it. Has been worried to death between you all. To Gunner. Have you had your tea?

Gunner
Tea? No: it’s too early. I’m all right; only I had no dinner: I didn’t think I’d want it. I didn’t think I’d be alive.

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, what a thing to say! You mustn’t talk like that.

Johnny
He’s out of his mind. He thinks it’s past dinnertime.

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, you’ve no sense, Johnny. He calls his lunch his dinner, and has his tea at half-past six. Haven’t you, dear?

Gunner
Timidly. Hasn’t everybody?

Johnny
Laughing. Well, by George, that’s not bad.

Mrs. Tarleton
Now don’t be rude, Johnny: you know I don’t like it. To Gunner. A cup of tea will pick you up.

Gunner
I’d rather not. I’m all right.

Tarleton
Going to the sideboard. Here! try a mouthful of sloe gin.

Gunner
No, thanks. I’m a teetotaler. I can’t touch alcohol in any form.

Tarleton
Nonsense! This isn’t alcohol. Sloe gin. Vegetarian, you know.

Gunner
Hesitating. Is it a fruit beverage?

Tarleton
Of course it is. Fruit beverage. Here you are. He gives him a glass of sloe gin.

Gunner
Going to the sideboard. Thanks. He begins to drink it confidently; but the first mouthful startles and almost chokes him. It’s rather hot.

Tarleton
Do you good. Don’t be afraid of it.

Mrs. Tarleton
Going to him. Sip it, dear. Don’t be in a hurry.

Gunner sips slowly, each sip making his eyes water.

Johnny
Coming forward into the place left vacant by Gunner’s visit to the sideboard. Well, now that the gentleman has been attended to, I should like to know where we are. It may be a vulgar business habit; but I confess I like to know where I am.

Tarleton
I don’t. Wherever you are, you’re there anyhow. I tell you again, leave it at that.

Bentley
I want to know too. Hypatia’s engaged to me.

Hypatia
Bentley: if you insult me again﻿—if you say another word, I’ll leave the house and not enter it until you leave it.

Johnny
Put that in your pipe and smoke it, my boy.

Bentley
Inarticulate with fury and suppressed tears. Oh! Beasts! Brutes!

Mrs. Tarleton
Now don’t hurt his feelings, poor little lamb!

Lord Summerhays
Very sternly. Bentley: you are not behaving well. You had better leave us until you have recovered yourself.

Bentley goes out in disgrace, but gets no further than halfway to the pavilion door, when, with a wild sob, he throws himself on the floor and begins to yell.

Mrs. Tarleton
Running to him. Oh, poor child, poor child! Don’t cry, duckie: he didn’t mean it: don’t cry.

Lord Summerhays
Stop that infernal noise, sir: do you hear? Stop it instantly.

Johnny
That’s the game he tried on me. There you are! Now, mother! Now, Patsy! You see for yourselves.

Hypatia
Covering her ears. Oh you little wretch! Stop him, Mr. Percival. Kick him.

Tarleton
Steady on, steady on. Easy, Bunny, easy.

Lina
Leave him to me, Mrs. Tarleton. Stand clear, please.

She kneels opposite Bentley; quickly lifts the upper half of him from the ground; dives under him; rises with his body hanging across her shoulders; and runs out with him.

Bentley
In scared, sobered, humble tones as he is borne off. What are you doing? Let me down. Please, Miss Szczepanowska﻿—they pass out of hearing.

An awestruck silence falls on the company as they speculate on Bentley’s fate.

Johnny
I wonder what she’s going to do with him.

Hypatia
Spank him, I hope. Spank him hard.

Lord Summerhays
I hope so. I hope so. Tarleton: I’m beyond measure humiliated and annoyed by my son’s behavior in your house. I had better take him home.

Tarleton
Not at all: not at all. Now, Chickabiddy: as Miss Lina has taken away Ben, suppose you take away Mr. Brown for a while.

Gunner
With unexpected aggressiveness. My name isn’t Brown. They stare at him: he meets their stare defiantly, pugnacious with sloe gin; drains the last drop from his glass; throws it on the sideboard; and advances to the writing table. My name’s Baker: Julius Baker. Mister Baker. If any man doubts it, I’m ready for him.

Mrs. Tarleton
John: you shouldn’t have given him that sloe gin. It’s gone to his head.

Gunner
Don’t you think it. Fruit beverages don’t go to the head; and what matter if they did? I say nothing to you, ma’am: I regard you with respect and affection. Lachrymosely. You were very good to my mother: my poor mother! Relapsing into his daring mood. But I say my name’s Baker; and I’m not to be treated as a child or made a slave of by any man. Baker is my name. Did you think I was going to give you my real name? Not likely. Not me.

Tarleton
So you thought of John Brown. That was clever of you.

Gunner
Clever! Yes: we’re not all such fools as you think: we clerks. It was the bookkeeper put me up to that. It’s the only name that nobody gives as a false name, he said. Clever, eh? I should think so.

Mrs. Tarleton
Come now, Julius﻿—

Gunner
Reassuring her gravely. Don’t you be alarmed, ma’am. I know what is due to you as a lady and to myself as a gentleman. I regard you with respect and affection. If you had been my mother, as you ought to have been, I should have had more chance. But you shall have no cause to be ashamed of me. The strength of a chain is no greater than its weakest link; but the greatness of a poet is the greatness of his greatest moment. Shakespeare used to get drunk. Frederick the Great ran away from a battle. But it was what they could rise to, not what they could sink to, that made them great. They weren’t good always; but they were good on their day. Well, on my day﻿—on my day, mind you﻿—I’m good for something too. I know that I’ve made a silly exhibition of myself here. I know I didn’t rise to the occasion. I know that if you’d been my mother, you’d have been ashamed of me. I lost my presence of mind: I was a contemptible coward. But slapping himself on the chest I’m not the man I was then. This is my day. I’ve seen the tenth possessor of a foolish face carried out kicking and screaming by a woman. To Percival. You crowed pretty big over me. You hypnotized me. But when you were put through the fire yourself, you were found wanting. I tell you straight I don’t give a damn for you.

Mrs. Tarleton
No: that’s naughty. You shouldn’t say that before me.

Gunner
I would cut my tongue out sooner than say anything vulgar in your presence; for I regard you with respect and affection. I was not swearing. I was affirming my manhood.

Mrs. Tarleton
What an idea! What puts all these things into your head?

Gunner
Oh, don’t you think, because I’m a clerk, that I’m not one of the intellectuals. I’m a reading man, a thinking man. I read in a book﻿—a high class six shilling book﻿—this precept: Affirm your manhood. It appealed to me. I’ve always remembered it. I believe in it. I feel I must do it to recover your respect after my cowardly behavior. Therefore I affirm it in your presence. I tell that man who insulted me that I don’t give a damn for him. And neither I do.

Tarleton
I say, Summerhays: did you have chaps of this sort in Jinghiskahn?

Lord Summerhays
Oh yes: they exist everywhere: they are a most serious modern problem.

Gunner
Yes. You’re right. Conceitedly. I’m a problem. And I tell you that when we clerks realize that we’re problems! well, look out: that’s all.

Lord Summerhays
Suavely, to Gunner. You read a great deal, you say?

Gunner
I’ve read more than any man in this room, if the truth were known, I expect. That’s what’s going to smash up your Capitalism. The problems are beginning to read. Ha! We’re free to do that here in England. What would you do with me in Jinghiskahn if you had me there?

Lord Summerhays
Well, since you ask me so directly, I’ll tell you. I should take advantage of the fact that you have neither sense enough nor strength enough to know how to behave yourself in a difficulty of any sort. I should warn an intelligent and ambitious policeman that you are a troublesome person. The intelligent and ambitious policeman would take an early opportunity of upsetting your temper by ordering you to move on, and treading on your heels until you were provoked into obstructing an officer in the discharge of his duty. Any trifle of that sort would be sufficient to make a man like you lose your self-possession and put yourself in the wrong. You would then be charged and imprisoned until things quieted down.

Gunner
And you call that justice!

Lord Summerhays
No. Justice was not my business. I had to govern a province; and I took the necessary steps to maintain order in it. Men are not governed by justice, but by law or persuasion. When they refuse to be governed by law or persuasion, they have to be governed by force or fraud, or both. I used both when law and persuasion failed me. Every ruler of men since the world began has done so, even when he has hated both fraud and force as heartily as I do. It is as well that you should know this, my young friend; so that you may recognize in time that anarchism is a game at which the police can beat you. What have you to say to that?

Gunner
What have I to say to it! Well, I call it scandalous: that’s what I have to say to it.

Lord Summerhays
Precisely: that’s all anybody has to say to it, except the British public, which pretends not to believe it. And now let me ask you a sympathetic personal question. Haven’t you a headache?

Gunner
Well, since you ask me, I have. I’ve overexcited myself.

Mrs. Tarleton
Poor lad! No wonder, after all you’ve gone through! You want to eat a little and to lie down. You come with me. I want you to tell me about your poor dear mother and about yourself. Come along with me. She leads the way to the inner door.

Gunner
Following her obediently. Thank you kindly, madam. She goes out. Before passing out after her, he partly closes the door and stops an the landing for a moment to say, Mind: I’m not knuckling down to any man here. I knuckle down to Mrs. Tarleton because she’s a woman in a thousand. I affirm my manhood all the same. Understand: I don’t give a damn for the lot of you. He hurries out, rather afraid of the consequences of this defiance, which has provoked Johnny to an impatient movement towards him.

Hypatia
Thank goodness he’s gone! Oh, what a bore! What a bore!!! Talk, talk, talk!

Tarleton
Patsy: it’s no good. We’re going to talk. And we’re going to talk about you.

Johnny
It’s no use shirking it, Pat. We’d better know where we are.

Lord Summerhays
Come, Miss Tarleton. Won’t you sit down? I’m very tired of standing. Hypatia comes from the pavilion and takes a chair at the worktable. Lord Summerhays takes the opposite chair, on her right. Percival takes the chair Johnny placed for Lina on her arrival. Tarleton sits down at the end of the writing table. Johnny remains standing. Lord Summerhays continues, with a sigh of relief at being seated. We shall now get the change of subject we are all pining for.

Johnny
Puzzled. What’s that?

Lord Summerhays
The great question. The question that men and women will spend hours over without complaining. The question that occupies all the novel readers and all the playgoers. The question they never get tired of.

Johnny
But what question?

Lord Summerhays
The question which particular young man some young woman will mate with.

Percival
As if it mattered!

Hypatia
Sharply. What’s that you said?

Percival
I said: As if it mattered.

Hypatia
I call that ungentlemanly.

Percival
Do you care about that? you who are so magnificently unladylike!

Johnny
Look here, Mr. Percival: you’re not supposed to insult my sister.

Hypatia
Oh, shut up, Johnny. I can take care of myself. Don’t you interfere.

Johnny
Oh, very well. If you choose to give yourself away like that﻿—to allow a man to call you unladylike and then to be unladylike, I’ve nothing more to say.

Hypatia
I think Mr. Percival is most ungentlemanly; but I won’t be protected. I’ll not have my affairs interfered with by men on pretence of protecting me. I’m not your baby. If I interfered between you and a woman, you would soon tell me to mind my own business.

Tarleton
Children: don’t squabble. Read Dr. Watts. Behave yourselves.

Johnny
I’ve nothing more to say; and as I don’t seem to be wanted here, I shall take myself off. He goes out with affected calm through the pavilion.

Tarleton
Summerhays: a family is an awful thing, an impossible thing. Cat and dog. Patsy: I’m ashamed of you.

Hypatia
I’ll make it up with Johnny afterwards; but I really can’t have him here sticking his clumsy hoof into my affairs.

Lord Summerhays
The question is, Mr. Percival, are you really a gentleman, or are you not?

Percival
Was Napoleon really a gentleman or was he not? He made the lady get out of the way of the porter and said, “Respect the burden, madam.” That was behaving like a very fine gentleman; but he kicked Volney for saying that what France wanted was the Bourbons back again. That was behaving rather like a navvy. Now I, like Napoleon, am not all one piece. On occasion, as you have all seen, I can behave like a gentleman. On occasion, I can behave with a brutal simplicity which Miss Tarleton herself could hardly surpass.

Tarleton
Gentleman or no gentleman, Patsy: what are your intentions?

Hypatia
My intentions! Surely it’s the gentleman who should be asked his intentions.

Tarleton
Come now, Patsy! none of that nonsense. Has Mr. Percival said anything to you that I ought to know or that Bentley ought to know? Have you said anything to Mr. Percival?

Hypatia
Mr. Percival chased me through the heather and kissed me.

Lord Summerhays
As a gentleman, Mr. Percival, what do you say to that?

Percival
As a gentleman, I do not kiss and tell. As a mere man: a mere cad, if you like, I say that I did so at Miss Tarleton’s own suggestion.

Hypatia
Beast!

Percival
I don’t deny that I enjoyed it. But I did not initiate it. And I began by running away.

Tarleton
So Patsy can run faster than you, can she?

Percival
Yes, when she is in pursuit of me. She runs faster and faster. I run slower and slower. And these woods of yours are full of magic. There was a confounded fern owl. Did you ever hear the churr of a fern owl? Did you ever hear it create a sudden silence by ceasing? Did you ever hear it call its mate by striking its wings together twice and whistling that single note that no nightingale can imitate? That is what happened in the woods when I was running away. So I turned; and the pursuer became the pursued.

Hypatia
I had to fight like a wild cat.

Lord Summerhays
Please don’t tell us this. It’s not fit for old people to hear.

Tarleton
Come: how did it end?

Hypatia
It’s not ended yet.

Tarleton
How is it going to end?

Hypatia
Ask him.

Tarleton
How is it going to end, Mr. Percival?

Percival
I can’t afford to marry, Mr. Tarleton. I’ve only a thousand a year until my father dies. Two people can’t possibly live on that.

Tarleton
Oh, can’t they? When I married, I should have been jolly glad to have felt sure of the quarter of it.

Percival
No doubt; but I am not a cheap person, Mr. Tarleton. I was brought up in a household which cost at least seven or eight times that; and I am in constant money difficulties because I simply don’t know how to live on the thousand a year scale. As to ask a woman to share my degrading poverty, it’s out of the question. Besides, I’m rather young to marry. I’m only 28.

Hypatia
Papa: buy the brute for me.

Lord Summerhays
Shrinking. My dear Miss Tarleton: don’t be so naughty. I know how delightful it is to shock an old man; but there is a point at which it becomes barbarous. Don’t. Please don’t.

Hypatia
Shall I tell Papa about you?

Lord Summerhays
Tarleton: I had better tell you that I once asked your daughter to become my widow.

Tarleton
To Hypatia. Why didn’t you accept him, you young idiot?

Lord Summerhays
I was too old.

Tarleton
All this has been going on under my nose, I suppose. You run after young men; and old men run after you. And I’m the last person in the world to hear of it.

Hypatia
How could I tell you?

Lord Summerhays
Parents and children, Tarleton.

Tarleton
Oh, the gulf that lies between them! the impassable, eternal gulf! And so I’m to buy the brute for you, eh?

Hypatia
If you please, papa.

Tarleton
What’s the price, Mr. Percival?

Percival
We might do with another fifteen hundred if my father would contribute. But I should like more.

Tarleton
It’s purely a question of money with you, is it?

Percival
After a moment’s consideration. Practically yes: it turns on that.

Tarleton
I thought you might have some sort of preference for Patsy, you know.

Percival
Well, but does that matter, do you think? Patsy fascinates me, no doubt. I apparently fascinate Patsy. But, believe me, all that is not worth considering. One of my three fathers (the priest) has married hundreds of couples: couples selected by one another, couples selected by the parents, couples forced to marry one another by circumstances of one kind or another; and he assures me that if marriages were made by putting all the men’s names into one sack and the women’s names into another, and having them taken out by a blindfolded child like lottery numbers, there would be just as high a percentage of happy marriages as we have here in England. He said Cupid was nothing but the blindfolded child: pretty idea that, I think! I shall have as good a chance with Patsy as with anyone else. Mind: I’m not bigoted about it. I’m not a doctrinaire: not the slave of a theory. You and Lord Summerhays are experienced married men. If you can tell me of any trustworthy method of selecting a wife, I shall be happy to make use of it. I await your suggestions. He looks with polite attention to Lord Summerhays, who, having nothing to say, avoids his eye. He looks to Tarleton, who purses his lips glumly and rattles his money in his pockets without a word. Apparently neither of you has anything to suggest. Then Patsy will do as well as another, provided the money is forthcoming.

Hypatia
Oh, you beauty, you beauty!

Tarleton
When I married Patsy’s mother, I was in love with her.

Percival
For the first time?

Tarleton
Yes: for the first time.

Percival
For the last time?

Lord Summerhays
Revolted. Sir: you are in the presence of his daughter.

Hypatia
Oh, don’t mind me. I don’t care. I’m accustomed to Papa’s adventures.

Tarleton
Blushing painfully. Patsy, my child: that was not﻿—not delicate.

Hypatia
Well, papa, you’ve never shown any delicacy in talking to me about my conduct; and I really don’t see why I shouldn’t talk to you about yours. It’s such nonsense! Do you think young people don’t know?

Lord Summerhays
I’m sure they don’t feel. Tarleton: this is too horrible, too brutal. If neither of these young people have any﻿—any﻿—any﻿—

Percival
Shall we say paternal sentimentality? I’m extremely sorry to shock you; but you must remember that I’ve been educated to discuss human affairs with three fathers simultaneously. I’m an adult person. Patsy is an adult person. You do not inspire me with veneration. Apparently you do not inspire Patsy with veneration. That may surprise you. It may pain you. I’m sorry. It can’t be helped. What about the money?

Tarleton
You don’t inspire me with generosity, young man.

Hypatia
Laughing with genuine amusement. He had you there, Joey.

Tarleton
I haven’t been a bad father to you, Patsy.

Hypatia
I don’t say you have, dear. If only I could persuade you I’ve grown up, we should get along perfectly.

Tarleton
Do you remember Bill Burt?

Hypatia
Why?

Tarleton
To the others. Bill Burt was a laborer here. I was going to sack him for kicking his father. He said his father had kicked him until he was big enough to kick back. Patsy begged him off. I asked that man what it felt like the first time he kicked his father, and found that it was just like kicking any other man. He laughed and said that it was the old man that knew what it felt like. Think of that, Summerhays! think of that!

Hypatia
I haven’t kicked you, papa.

Tarleton
You’ve kicked me harder than Bill Burt ever kicked.

Lord Summerhays
It’s no use, Tarleton. Spare yourself. Do you seriously expect these young people, at their age, to sympathize with what this gentleman calls your paternal sentimentality?

Tarleton
Wistfully. Is it nothing to you but paternal sentimentality, Patsy?

Hypatia
Well, I greatly prefer your superabundant vitality, papa.

Tarleton
Violently. Hold your tongue, you young devil. The young are all alike: hard, coarse, shallow, cruel, selfish, dirty-minded. You can clear out of my house as soon as you can coax him to take you; and the sooner the better. To Percival. I think you said your price was fifteen hundred a year. Take it. And I wish you joy of your bargain.

Percival
If you wish to know who I am﻿—

Tarleton
I don’t care a tinker’s curse who you are or what you are. You’re willing to take that girl off my hands for fifteen hundred a year: that’s all that concerns me. Tell her who you are if you like: it’s her affair, not mine.

Hypatia
Don’t answer him, Joey: it won’t last. Lord Summerhays, I’m sorry about Bentley; but Joey’s the only man for me.

Lord Summerhays
It may﻿—

Hypatia
Please don’t say it may break your poor boy’s heart. It’s much more likely to break yours.

Lord Summerhays
Oh!

Tarleton
Springing to his feet. Leave the room. Do you hear: leave the room.

Percival
Aren’t we getting a little cross? Don’t be angry, Mr. Tarleton. Read Marcus Aurelius.

Tarleton
Don’t you dare make fun of me. Take your aeroplane out of my vinery and yourself out of my house.

Percival
Rising, to Hypatia. I’m afraid I shall have to dine at the Beacon, Patsy.

Hypatia
Rising. Do. I dine with you.

Tarleton
Did you hear me tell you to leave the room?

Hypatia
I did. To Percival. You see what living with one’s parents means, Joey. It means living in a house where you can be ordered to leave the room. I’ve got to obey: it’s his house, not mine.

Tarleton
Who pays for it? Go and support yourself as I did if you want to be independent.

Hypatia
I wanted to and you wouldn’t let me. How can I support myself when I’m a prisoner?

Tarleton
Hold your tongue.

Hypatia
Keep your temper.

Percival
Coming between them. Lord Summerhays: you’ll join me, I’m sure, in pointing out to both father and daughter that they have now reached that very common stage in family life at which anything but a blow would be an anticlimax. Do you seriously want to beat Patsy, Mr. Tarleton?

Tarleton
Yes. I want to thrash the life out of her. If she doesn’t get out of my reach, I’ll do it. He sits down and grasps the writing table to restrain himself.

Hypatia
Coolly going to him and leaning with her breast on his writhing shoulders. Oh, if you want to beat me just to relieve your feelings﻿—just really and truly for the fun of it and the satisfaction of it, beat away. I don’t grudge you that.

Tarleton
Almost in hysterics. I used to think that this sort of thing went on in other families but that it never could happen in ours. And now﻿—He is broken with emotion, and continues lamentably, I can’t say the right thing. I can’t do the right thing. I don’t know what is the right thing. I’m beaten; and she knows it. Summerhays: tell me what to do.

Lord Summerhays
When my council in Jinghiskahn reached the point of coming to blows, I used to adjourn the sitting. Let us postpone the discussion. Wait until Monday: we shall have Sunday to quiet down in. Believe me, I’m not making fun of you; but I think there’s something in this young gentleman’s advice. Read something.

Tarleton
I’ll read King Lear.

Hypatia
Don’t. I’m very sorry, dear.

Tarleton
You’re not. You’re laughing at me. Serve me right! Parents and children! No man should know his own child. No child should know its own father. Let the family be rooted out of civilization! Let the human race be brought up in institutions!

Hypatia
Oh yes. How jolly! You and I might be friends then; and Joey could stay to dinner.

Tarleton
Let him stay to dinner. Let him stay to breakfast. Let him spend his life here. Don’t you say I drove him out. Don’t you say I drove you out.

Percival
I really have no right to inflict myself on you. Dropping in as I did﻿—

Tarleton
Out of the sky. Ha! Dropping in. The new sport of aviation. You just see a nice house; drop in; scoop up the man’s daughter; and off with you again.

Bentley comes back, with his shoulders hanging as if he too had been exercised to the last pitch of fatigue. He is very sad. They stare at him as he gropes to Percival’s chair.

Bentley
I’m sorry for making a fool of myself. I beg your pardon. Hypatia: I’m awfully sorry; but I’ve made up my mind that I’ll never marry. He sits down in deep depression.

Hypatia
Running to him. How nice of you, Bentley! Of course you guessed I wanted to marry Joey. What did the Polish lady do to you?

Bentley
Turning his head away. I’d rather not speak of her, if you don’t mind.

Hypatia
You’ve fallen in love with her. She laughs.

Bentley
It’s beastly of you to laugh.

Lord Summerhays
You’re not the first to fall today under the lash of that young lady’s terrible derision, Bentley.

Lina, her cap on, and her goggles in her hand, comes impetuously through the inner door.

Lina
On the steps. Mr. Percival: can we get that aeroplane started again? She comes down and runs to the pavilion door. I must get out of this into the air: right up into the blue.

Percival
Impossible. The frame’s twisted. The petrol has given out: that’s what brought us down. And how can we get a clear run to start with among these woods?

Lina
Swooping back through the middle of the pavilion. We can straighten the frame. We can buy petrol at the Beacon. With a few laborers we can get her out on to the Portsmouth Road and start her along that.

Tarleton
Rising. But why do you want to leave us, Miss Szcz?

Lina
Old pal: this is a stuffy house. You seem to think of nothing but making love. All the conversation here is about lovemaking. All the pictures are about lovemaking. The eyes of all of you are sheep’s eyes. You are steeped in it, soaked in it: the very texts on the walls of your bedrooms are the ones about love. It is disgusting. It is not healthy. Your women are kept idle and dressed up for no other purpose than to be made love to. I have not been here an hour; and already everybody makes love to me as if because I am a woman it were my profession to be made love to. First you, old pal. I forgave you because you were nice about your wife.

Hypatia
Oh! oh! oh! Oh, papa!

Lina
Then you, Lord Summerhays, come to me; and all you have to say is to ask me not to mention that you made love to me in Vienna two years ago. I forgave you because I thought you were an ambassador; and all ambassadors make love and are very nice and useful to people who travel. Then this young gentleman. He is engaged to this young lady; but no matter for that: he makes love to me because I carry him off in my arms when he cries. All these I bore in silence. But now comes your Johnny and tells me I’m a ripping fine woman, and asks me to marry him. I, Lina Szczepanowska, marry him!!!!! I do not mind this boy: he is a child: he loves me: I should have to give him money and take care of him: that would be foolish, but honorable. I do not mind you, old pal: you are what you call an old﻿—ouf! but you do not offer to buy me: you say until we are tired﻿—until you are so happy that you dare not ask for more. That is foolish too, at your age; but it is an adventure: it is not dishonorable. I do not mind Lord Summerhays: it was in Vienna: they had been toasting him at a great banquet: he was not sober. That is bad for the health; but it is not dishonorable. But your Johnny! Oh, your Johnny! with his marriage. He will do the straight thing by me. He will give me a home, a position. He tells me I must know that my present position is not one for a nice woman. This to me, Lina Szczepanowska! I am an honest woman: I earn my living. I am a free woman: I live in my own house. I am a woman of the world: I have thousands of friends: every night crowds of people applaud me, delight in me, buy my picture, pay hard-earned money to see me. I am strong: I am skilful: I am brave: I am independent: I am unbought: I am all that a woman ought to be; and in my family there has not been a single drunkard for four generations. And this Englishman! this linendraper! he dares to ask me to come and live with him in this rrrrrrrabbit hutch, and take my bread from his hand, and ask him for pocket money, and wear soft clothes, and be his woman! his wife! Sooner than that, I would stoop to the lowest depths of my profession. I would stuff lions with food and pretend to tame them. I would deceive honest people’s eyes with conjuring tricks instead of real feats of strength and skill. I would be a clown and set bad examples of conduct to little children. I would sink yet lower and be an actress or an opera singer, imperilling my soul by the wicked lie of pretending to be somebody else. All this I would do sooner than take my bread from the hand of a man and make him the master of my body and soul. And so you may tell your Johnny to buy an Englishwoman: he shall not buy Lina Szczepanowska; and I will not stay in the house where such dishonor is offered me. Adieu. She turns precipitately to go, but is faced in the pavilion doorway by Johnny, who comes in slowly, his hands in his pockets, meditating deeply.

Johnny
Confidentially to Lina. You won’t mention our little conversation, Miss Shepanoska. It’ll do no good; and I’d rather you didn’t.

Tarleton
We’ve just heard about it, Johnny.

Johnny
Shortly, but without ill-temper. Oh: is that so?

Hypatia
The cat’s out of the bag, Johnny, about everybody. They were all beforehand with you: papa, Lord Summerhays, Bentley and all. Don’t you let them laugh at you.

Johnny
A grin slowly overspreading his countenance. Well, there’s no use my pretending to be surprised at you, Governor, is there? I hope you got it as hot as I did. Mind, Miss Shepanoska: it wasn’t lost on me. I’m a thinking man. I kept my temper. You’ll admit that.

Lina
Frankly. Oh yes. I do not quarrel. You are what is called a chump; but you are not a bad sort of chump.

Johnny
Thank you. Well, if a chump may have an opinion, I should put it at this. You make, I suppose, ten pounds a night off your own bat, Miss Lina?

Lina
Scornfully. Ten pounds a night! I have made ten pounds a minute.

Johnny
With increased respect. Have you indeed? I didn’t know: you’ll excuse my mistake, I hope. But the principle is the same. Now I trust you won’t be offended at what I’m going to say; but I’ve thought about this and watched it in daily experience; and you may take it from me that the moment a woman becomes pecuniarily independent, she gets hold of the wrong end of the stick in moral questions.

Lina
Indeed! And what do you conclude from that, Mister Johnny?

Johnny
Well, obviously, that independence for women is wrong and shouldn’t be allowed. For their own good, you know. And for the good of morality in general. You agree with me, Lord Summerhays, don’t you?

Lord Summerhays
It’s a very moral moral, if I may so express myself.

Mrs. Tarleton comes in softly through the inner door.

Mrs. Tarleton
Don’t make too much noise. The lad’s asleep.

Tarleton
Chickabiddy: we have some news for you.

Johnny
Apprehensively. Now there’s no need, you know, Governor, to worry mother with everything that passes.

Mrs. Tarleton
Coming to Tarleton. What’s been going on? Don’t you hold anything back from me, John. What have you been doing?

Tarleton
Bentley isn’t going to marry Patsy.

Mrs. Tarleton
Of course not. Is that your great news? I never believed she’d marry him.

Tarleton
There’s something else. Mr. Percival here﻿—

Mrs. Tarleton
To Percival. Are you going to marry Patsy?

Percival
Diplomatically. Patsy is going to marry me, with your permission.

Mrs. Tarleton
Oh, she has my permission: she ought to have been married long ago.

Hypatia
Mother!

Tarleton
Miss Lina here, though she has been so short a time with us, has inspired a good deal of attachment in﻿—I may say in almost all of us. Therefore I hope she’ll stay to dinner, and not insist on flying away in that aeroplane.

Percival
You must stay, Miss Szczepanowska. I can’t go up again this evening.

Lina
I’ve seen you work it. Do you think I require any help? And Bentley shall come with me as a passenger.

Bentley
Terrified. Go up in an aeroplane! I daren’t.

Lina
You must learn to dare.

Bentley
Pale but heroic. All right. I’ll come.

Lord Summerhays
No, no, Bentley, impossible. I shall not allow it.

Mrs. Tarleton.
Do you want to kill the child? He shan’t go.

Bentley
I will. I’ll lie down and yell until you let me go. I’m not a coward. I won’t be a coward.

Lord Summerhays
Miss Szczepanowska: my son is very dear to me. I implore you to wait until tomorrow morning.

Lina
There may be a storm tomorrow. And I’ll go: storm or no storm. I must risk my life tomorrow.

Bentley
I hope there will be a storm.

Lina
Grasping his arm. You are trembling.

Bentley
Yes: it’s terror, sheer terror. I can hardly see. I can hardly stand. But I’ll go with you.

Lina
Slapping him on the back and knocking a ghastly white smile into his face. You shall. I like you, my boy. We go tomorrow, together.

Bentley
Yes: together: tomorrow.

Tarleton
Well, sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. Read the old book.

Mrs. Tarleton
Is there anything else?

Tarleton
Well, I﻿—er He addresses Lina, and stops. I﻿—er He addresses Lord Summerhays, and stops. I﻿—er He gives it up. Well, I suppose﻿—er﻿—I suppose there’s nothing more to be said.

Hypatia
Fervently. Thank goodness!

Colophon

Misalliance
was published in 1914 by
George Bernard Shaw.

This ebook was produced for
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The Enemy Crashed to the Earth in a Column of Flame and Smoke,
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