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What Every Woman Knows
By
James M. Barrie
Contents:
James Wylie is about to make a move on the
dambrod, and in the little Scotch room there is an awful silence befitting =
the
occasion. James with his hand poised--for if he touches a piece he has to p=
lay
it, Alick will see to that--raises his red head suddenly to read Alick's fa=
ce.
His father, who is Alick, is pretending to be in a panic lest James should =
make
this move. James grins heartlessly, and his fingers are about to close on t=
he
'man' when some instinct of self-preservation makes him peep once more. This
time Alick is caught: the unholy ecstasy on his face tells as plain as porr=
idge
that he has been luring James to destruction. James glares; and, too late, =
his
opponent is a simple old father again. James mops his head, sprawls in the
manner most conducive to thought in the Wylie family, and, protruding his
underlip, settles down to a reconsideration of the board. Alick blows out h=
is
cheeks, and a drop of water settles on the point of his nose.
You will find them thus any Saturday night (af=
ter
family worship, which sends the servant to bed); and sometimes the pauses a=
re
so long that in the end they forget whose move it is.
It is not the room you would be shown into if =
you
were calling socially on Miss Wylie. The drawing-room for you, and Miss Wyl=
ie
in a coloured merino to receive you; very likely she would exclaim, "T=
his
is a pleasant surprise!" though she has seen you coming up the avenue =
and
has just had time to whip the dustcloths off the chairs, and to warn Alick,=
David
and James, that they had better not dare come in to see you before they have
put on a dickey. Nor is this the room in which you would dine in solemn
grandeur if invited to drop in and take pot-luck, which is how the Wylies
invite, it being a family weakness to pretend that they sit down in the
dining-room daily. It is the real living-room of the house, where Alick, who
will never get used to fashionable ways, can take off his collar and sit
happily in his stocking soles, and James at times would do so also; but cat=
ch
Maggie letting him.
There is one very fine chair, but, heavens, not
for sitting on; just to give the room a social standing in an emergency. It
sneers at the other chairs with an air of insolent superiority, like a haug=
hty
bride who has married into the house for money. Otherwise the furniture is
homely; most of it has come from that smaller house where the Wylies began.=
There
is the large and shiny chair which can be turned into a bed if you look the
other way for a moment. James cannot sit on this chair without gradually
sliding down it till he is lying luxuriously on the small of his back, his =
legs
indicating, like the hands of a clock, that it is ten past twelve; a positi=
on
in which Maggie shudders to see him receiving company.
The other chairs are horse-hair, than which
nothing is more comfortable if there be a good slit down the seat. The seats
are heavily dented, because all the Wylie family sit down with a dump. The
draught-board is on the edge of a large centre table, which also displays f=
our
books placed at equal distances from each other, one of them a Bible, and a=
nother
the family album. If these were the only books they would not justify Maggi=
e in
calling this chamber the library, her dogged name for it; while David and J=
ames
call it the west-room and Alick calls it 'the room,' which is to him the na=
tural
name for any apartment without a bed in it. There is a bookcase of pitch pi=
ne,
which contains six hundred books, with glass doors to prevent your getting =
at
them.
No one does try to get at the books, for the
Wylies are not a reading family. They like you to gasp when you see so much
literature gathered together in one prison-house, but they gasp themselves =
at
the thought that there are persons, chiefly clergymen, who, having finished=
one
book, coolly begin another. Nevertheless it was not all vainglory that made
David buy this library: it was rather a mighty respect for education, as
something that he has missed. This same feeling makes him take in the
Contemporary Review and stand up to it like a man. Alick, who also has a
respect for education, tries to read the Contemporary, but becomes dispirit=
ed,
and may be heard muttering over its pages, 'No, no use, no use, no,' and
sometimes even 'Oh hell.' James has no respect for education; and Maggie is=
at
present of an open mind.
They are Wylie and Sons of the local granite
quarry, in which Alick was throughout his working days a mason. It is David=
who
has raised them to this position; he climbed up himself step by step (and h=
ewed
the steps), and drew the others up after him. 'Wylie Brothers,' Alick would
have had the firm called, but David said No, and James said No, and Maggie =
said
No; first honour must be to their father; and Alick now likes it on the who=
le,
though he often sighs at having to shave every day; and on some snell morni=
ngs
he still creeps from his couch at four and even at two (thinking that his
mallet and chisel are calling him), and begins to pull on his trousers, unt=
il
the grandeur of them reminds him that he can go to bed again. Sometimes he
cries a little, because there is no more work for him to do for ever and ev=
er;
and then Maggie gives him a spade (without telling David) or David gives him
the logs to saw (without telling Maggie).
We have given James a longer time to make his =
move
than our kind friends in front will give him, but in the meantime something=
has
been happening. David has come in, wearing a black coat and his Sabbath boo=
ts,
for he has been to a public meeting. David is nigh forty years of age,
whiskered like his father and brother (Alick's whiskers being worn as a sor=
t of
cravat round the neck), and he has the too brisk manner of one who must arr=
ive
anywhere a little before any one else. The painter who did the three of them
for fifteen pounds (you may observe the canvases on the walls) has caught t=
his
characteristic, perhaps accidentally, for David is almost stepping out of h=
is
frame, as if to hurry off somewhere; while Alick and James look as if they =
were
pinned to the wall for life. All the six of them, men and pictures, however=
, have
a family resemblance, like granite blocks from their own quarry. They are as
Scotch as peat for instance, and they might exchange eyes without any neigh=
bour
noticing the difference, inquisitive little blue eyes that seem to be always
totting up the price of things.
The dambrod players pay no attention to David,=
nor
does he regard them. Dumping down on the sofa he removes his 'lastic sides,=
as
his Sabbath boots are called, by pushing one foot against the other, gets i=
nto
a pair of hand-sewn slippers, deposits the boots as according to rule in the
ottoman, and crosses to the fire. There must be something on David's mind
to-night, for he pays no attention to the game, neither gives advice (than
which nothing is more maddening) nor exchanges a wink with Alick over the
parlous condition of James's crown. You can hear the wag-at-the-wall clock =
in
the lobby ticking. Then David lets himself go; it runs out of him like a
hymn:--
DAVID=
. Oh,
let the solid ground Not fail beneath my feet, Before my life has found What
some have found so sweet.
[This is not a soliloquy, but is offered as a
definite statement. The players emerge from their game with difficulty.]
ALICK [with JAMES's crown in his hand]. What's
that you're saying, David?
DAVID [like a public speaker explaining the
situation in a few well-chosen words]. The thing I'm speaking about is Love=
.
JAMES [keeping control of himself]. Do you sta=
nd
there and say you're in love, David Wylie?
DAVID. Me; what would I do with the thing?
JAMES [who is by no means without pluck]. I se=
e no
necessity for calling it a thing.
[They are two bachelors who all their lives ha=
ve
been afraid of nothing but Woman. DAVID in his sportive days--which
continue--has done roguish things with his arm when conducting a lady home
under an umbrella from a soiree, and has both chuckled and been scared on
thinking of it afterwards. JAMES, a commoner fellow altogether, has discuss=
ed
the sex over a glass, but is too canny to be in the company of less than tw=
o young
women at a time.]
DAVID [derisively]. Oho, has she got you, Jame=
s?
JAMES [feeling the sting of it]. Nobody has got
me.
DAVID. They'll catch you yet, lad.
JAMES. They'll never catch me. You've been nea=
rer
catched yourself.
ALICK. Yes, Kitty Menzies, David.
DAVID [feeling himself under the umbrella]. It=
was
a kind of a shave that.
ALICK [who knows all that is to be known about
women and can speak of them without a tremor]. It's a curious thing, but a =
man
cannot help winking when he hears that one of his friends has been catched.=
DAVID. That's so.
JAMES [clinging to his manhood]. And fear of t=
hat
wink is what has kept the two of us single men. And yet what's the glory of
being single?
DAVID. There's no particular glory in it, but =
it's
safe.
JAMES [putting away his aspirations]. Yes, it's
lonely, but it's safe. But who did you mean the poetry for, then?
DAVID. For Maggie, of course.
[You don't know DAVID and JAMES till you know =
how
they love their sister MAGGIE.]
ALICK. I thought that.
DAVID [coming to the second point of his state=
ment
about Love]. I saw her reading poetry and saying those words over to hersel=
f.
JAMES. She has such a poetical mind.
DAVID. Love. There's no doubt as that's what
Maggie has set her heart on. And not merely love, but one of those grand no=
ble
loves; for though Maggie is undersized she has a passion for romance.
JAMES [wandering miserably about the room]. It=
's
terrible not to be able to give Maggie what her heart is set on.
[The others never pay much attention to JAMES,
though he is quite a smart figure in less important houses.]
ALICK [violently]. Those idiots of men.
DAVID. Father, did you tell her who had got the
minister of Galashiels?
ALICK [wagging his head sadly]. I had to tell =
her.
And then I--I--bought her a sealskin muff, and I just slipped it into her h=
ands
and came away.
JAMES [illustrating the sense of justice in the
Wylie family]. Of course, to be fair to the man, he never pretended he want=
ed
her.
DAVID. None of them wants her; that's what
depresses her. I was thinking, father, I would buy her that gold watch and
chain in Snibby's window. She hankers after it.
JAMES [slapping his pocket]. You're too late,
David; I've got them for her.
DAVID. It's ill done of the minister. Many a p=
ound
of steak has that man had in this house.
ALICK. You mind the slippers she worked for hi=
m?
JAMES. I mind them fine; she began them for
William Cathro. She's getting on in years, too, though she looks so young. =
ALICK. I never can make up my mind, David, whe=
ther
her curls make her look younger or older.
DAVID [determinedly]. Younger. Whist! I hear h=
er
winding the clock. Mind, not a word about the minister to her, James. Don't
even mention religion this day.
JAMES. Would it be like me to do such a thing?=
DAVID. It would be very like you. And there's = that other matter: say not a syllable about our having a reason for sitting up l= ate to-night. When she says it's bed-time, just all pretend we're not sleepy. <= o:p>
ALICK. Exactly, and when--
[Here MAGGIE enters, and all three are suddenly
engrossed in the dambrod. We could describe MAGGIE at great length. But wha=
t is
the use? What you really want to know is whether she was good-looking. No, =
she was
not. Enter MAGGIE, who is not good-looking. When this is said, all is said.
Enter MAGGIE, as it were, with her throat cut from ear to ear. She has a so=
ft Scotch
voice and a more resolute manner than is perhaps fitting to her plainness; =
and
she stops short at sight of JAMES sprawling unconsciously in the company
chair.]
MAGGIE. James, I wouldn't sit on the fine chai=
r.
JAMES. I forgot again.
[But he wishes she had spoken more sharply. Ev=
en
profanation of the fine chair has not roused her. She takes up her knitting,
and they all suspect that she knows what they have been talking about.]
MAGGIE. You're late, David, it's nearly bed-ti=
me.
DAVID [finding the subject a safe one]. I was =
kept
late at the public meeting.
ALICK [glad to get so far away from Galashiels=
].
Was it a good meeting?
DAVID. Fairish. [with some heat] That young Jo=
hn
Shand WOULD make a speech.
MAGGIE. John Shand? Is that the student Shand?=
DAVID. The same. It's true he's a student at
Glasgow University in the winter months, but in summer he's just the railway
porter here; and I think it's very presumptuous of a young lad like that to
make a speech when he hasn't a penny to bless himself with.
ALICK. The Shands were always an impudent fami=
ly,
and jealous. I suppose that's the reason they haven't been on speaking terms
with us this six years. Was it a good speech?
DAVID [illustrating the family's generosity]. =
It
was very fine; but he needn't have made fun of ME.
MAGGIE [losing a stitch]. He dared?
DAVID [depressed]. You see I can not get start=
ed
on a speech without saying things like 'In rising FOR to make a few remarks=
.'
JAMES. What's wrong with it?
DAVID. He mimicked me, and said, 'Will our wor=
thy
chairman come for to go for to answer my questions?' and so on; and they
roared.
JAMES [slapping his money pocket]. The sacket.=
DAVID. I did feel bitterly, father, the want of
education. [Without knowing it, he has a beautiful way of pronouncing this
noble word.]
MAGGIE [holding out a kind hand to him]. David=
.
ALICK. I've missed it sore, David. Even now I =
feel
the want of it in the very marrow of me. I'm ashamed to think I never gave =
you
your chance. But when you were young I was so desperate poor, how could I do
it, Maggie?
MAGGIE. It wasn't possible, father.
ALICK [gazing at the book-shelves]. To be able=
to
understand these books! To up with them one at a time and scrape them as cl=
ean
as though they were a bowl of brose. Lads, it's not to riches, it's to
scholarship that I make my humble bow.
JAMES [who is good at bathos]. There's ten yar=
ds
of them. And they were selected by the minister of Galashiels. He said--
DAVID [quickly]. James.
JAMES. I mean--I mean--
MAGGIE [calmly]. I suppose you mean what you s=
ay,
James. I hear, David, that the minister of Galashiels is to be married on t=
hat
Miss Turnbull.
DAVID [on guard]. So they were saying.
ALICK. All I can say is she has made a poor
bargain.
MAGGIE [the damned]. I wonder at you, father. =
He's
a very nice gentleman. I'm sure I hope he has chosen wisely.
JAMES. Not him.
MAGGIE [getting near her tragedy]. How can you=
say
that when you don't know her? I expect she is full of charm.
ALICK. Charm? It's the very word he used.
DAVID. Havering idiot.
ALICK. What IS charm, exactly, Maggie?
MAGGIE. Oh, it's--it's a sort of bloom on a wo=
man.
If you have it, you don't need to have anything else; and if you don't have=
it,
it doesn't much matter what else you have. Some women, the few, have charm =
for
all; and most have charm for one. But some have charm for none.
[Somehow she has stopped knitting. Her men-folk
are very depressed. JAMES brings his fist down on the table with a crash.] =
JAMES [shouting]. I have a sister that has cha=
rm.
MAGGIE. No, James, you haven't.
JAMES [rushing at her with the watch and chain=
].
Ha'e, Maggie.
[She lets them lie in her lap.]
DAVID. Maggie, would you like a silk?
MAGGIE. What could I do with a silk? [With a g=
ust
of passion] You might as well dress up a little brown hen.
[They wriggle miserably.]
JAMES [stamping]. Bring him here to me.
MAGGIE. Bring whom, James?
JAMES. David, I would be obliged if you wouldn=
't
kick me beneath the table.
MAGGIE [rising]. Let's be practical; let's go =
to
our beds.
[This reminds them that they have a job on han=
d in
which she is not to share.]
DAVID [slily]. I don't feel very sleepy yet. <= o:p>
ALICK. Nor me either.
JAMES. You've just taken the very words out of=
my
mouth.
DAVID [with unusual politeness]. Good-night to=
you
Maggie.
MAGGIE [fixing the three of them]. ALL of you
unsleepy, when, as is well known, ten o'clock is your regular bed-time?
JAMES. Yes, it's common knowledge that we go to
our beds at ten. [Chuckling] That's what we're counting on.
MAGGIE. Counting on?
DAVID. You stupid whelp.
JAMES. What have I done?
MAGGIE [folding her arms]. There's something u=
p.
You've got to tell me, David.
DAVID [who knows when he is beaten]. Go out and
watch, James.
MAGGIE. Watch?
[JAMES takes himself off, armed, as MAGGIE not=
ices,
with a stick.]
DAVID [in his alert business way]. Maggie, the=
re
are burglars about.
MAGGIE. Burglars? [She sits rigid, but she is =
not
the kind to scream.]
DAVID. We hadn't meant for to tell you till we
nabbed them; but they've been in this room twice of late. We sat up last ni=
ght
waiting for them, and we're to sit up again to-night.
MAGGIE. The silver plate.
DAVID. It's all safe as yet. That makes us thi=
nk
that they were either frightened away these other times, or that they are
coming back for to make a clean sweep.
MAGGIE. How did you get to know about this?
DAVID. It was on Tuesday that the polissman ca=
lled
at the quarry with a very queer story. He had seen a man climbing out at th=
is
window at ten past two.
MAGGIE. Did he chase him?
DAVID. It was so dark he lost sight of him at
once.
ALICK. Tell her about the window.
DAVID. We've found out that the catch of the
window has been pushed back by slipping the blade of a knife between the
woodwork.
MAGGIE. David.
ALICK. The polissman said he was carrying a li=
ttle
carpet bag.
MAGGIE. The silver plate IS gone.
DAVID. No, no. We were thinking that very like=
ly
he has bunches of keys in the bag.
MAGGIE. Or weapons.
DAVID. As for that, we have some pretty stout
weapons ourselves in the umbrella stand. So, if you'll go to your bed, Magg=
ie--
MAGGIE. Me? and my brothers in danger.
ALICK. There's just one of them.
MAGGIE. The polissman just saw one.
DAVID [licking his palms]. I would be very ple=
ased
if there were three of them.
MAGGIE. I watch with you. I would be very plea=
sed
if there were four of them.
DAVID. And they say she has no charm!
[JAMES returns on tiptoe as if the burglars we=
re
beneath the table. He signs to every one to breathe no more, and then whisp=
ers
his news.]
JAMES. He's there. I had no sooner gone out th=
an I
saw him sliding down the garden wall, close to the rhubarbs.
ALICK. What's he like?
JAMES. He's an ugly customer. That's all I cou=
ld
see. There was a little carpet bag in his hand.
DAVID. That's him.
JAMES. He slunk into the rhodydendrons, and he=
's
there now, watching the window.
DAVID. We have him. Out with the light.
[The room is beautified by a chandelier fitted=
for
three gas jets, but with the advance of progress one of these has been remo=
ved
and the incandescent light put in its place. This alone is lit. ALICK climb=
s a chair,
pulls a little chain, and the room is now but vaguely lit by the fire. It p=
lays
fitfully on four sparkling faces.]
MAGGIE. Do you think he saw you, James?
JAMES. I couldn't say, but in any case I was t=
oo
clever for him. I looked up at the stars, and yawned loud at them as if I w=
as
tremendous sleepy.
[There is a long pause during which they are
lurking in the shadows. At last they hear some movement, and they steal like
ghosts from the room. We see DAVID turning out the lobby light; then the do=
or
closes and an empty room awaits the intruder with a shudder of expectancy. =
The
window opens and shuts as softly as if this were a mother peering in to see=
whether
her baby is asleep. Then the head of a man shows between the curtains. The
remainder of him follows. He is carrying a little carpet bag. He stands
irresolute; what puzzles him evidently is that the Wylies should have retir=
ed
to rest without lifting that piece of coal off the fire. He opens the door =
and
peeps into the lobby, listening to the wag-at-the-wall clock. All seems ser=
ene,
and he turns on the light. We see him clearly now. He is JOHN SHAND, age
twenty-one, boots muddy, as an indignant carpet can testify. He wears a sha=
bby
topcoat and a cockerty bonnet; otherwise he is in the well-worn corduroys o=
f a
railway porter. His movements, at first stealthy, become almost homely as h=
e feels
that he is secure. He opens the bag and takes out a bunch of keys, a small
paper parcel, and a black implement that may be a burglar's jemmy. This cool
customer examines the fire and piles on more coals. With the keys he opens =
the
door of the bookcase, selects two large volumes, and brings them to the tab=
le.
He takes off his topcoat and opens his parcel, which we now see contains sh=
eets
of foolscap paper. His next action shows that the 'jemmy' is really a ruler=
. He
knows where the pen and ink are kept. He pulls the fine chair nearer to the
table, sits on it, and proceeds to write, occasionally dotting the carpet w=
ith ink
as he stabs the air with his pen. He is so occupied that he does not see the
door opening, and the Wylie family staring at him. They are armed with stic=
ks.]
ALICK [at last]. When you're ready, John Shand=
.
[JOHN hints back, and then he has the grace to
rise, dogged and expressionless.]
JAMES [like a railway porter]. Ticket, please.=
DAVID. You can't think of anything clever for =
to
go for to say now, John.
MAGGIE. I hope you find that chair comfortable,
young man.
JOHN. I have no complaint to make against the
chair.
ALICK [who is really distressed]. A native of = the town. The disgrace to your family! I feel pity for the Shands this night. <= o:p>
JOHN [glowering]. I'll thank you, Mr. Wylie, n=
ot
to pity my family.
JAMES. Canny, canny.
MAGGIE [that sense of justice again]. I think =
you
should let the young man explain. It mayn't be so bad as we thought.
DAVID. Explain away, my billie.
JOHN. Only the uneducated would need an
explanation. I'm a student, [with a little passion] and I'm desperate for w=
ant
of books. You have all I want here; no use to you but for display; well, I =
came
here to study. I come twice weekly. [Amazement of his hosts.]
DAVID [who is the first to recover]. By the
window.
JOHN. Do you think a Shand would so far lower
himself as to enter your door? Well, is it a case for the police?
JAMES. It is.
MAGGIE [not so much out of the goodness of her
heart as to patronise the Shands]. It seems to me it's a case for us all to=
go
to our beds and leave the young man to study; but not on that chair. [And s=
he
wheels the chair away from him.]
JOHN. Thank you, Miss Maggie, but I couldn't be
beholden to you.
JAMES. My opinion is that he's nobody, so out =
with
him.
JOHN. Yes, out with me. And you'll be cheered =
to
hear I'm likely to be a nobody for a long time to come.
DAVID [who had been beginning to respect him].=
Are
you a poor scholar?
JOHN. On the contrary, I'm a brilliant scholar=
.
DAVID. It's siller, then?
JOHN [glorified by experiences he has shared w=
ith
many a gallant soul]. My first year at college I lived on a barrel of potat=
oes,
and we had just a sofa-bed between two of us; when the one lay down the oth=
er
had to get up. Do you think it was hardship? It was sublime. But this year I
can't afford it. I'll have to stay on here, collecting the tickets of the
illiterate, such as you, when I might be with Romulus and Remus among the
stars.
JAMES [summing up]. Havers.
DAVID [in whose head some design is vaguely ta=
king
shape]. Whist, James. I must say, young lad, I like your spirit. Now tell m=
e, what's
your professors' opinion of your future.
JOHN. They think me a young man of extraordina=
ry
promise.
DAVID. You have a name here for high moral
character.
JOHN. And justly.
DAVID. Are you serious-minded?
JOHN. I never laughed in my life.
DAVID. Who do you sit under in Glasgow?
JOHN. Mr. Flemister of the Sauchiehall High. <= o:p>
DAVID. Are you a Sabbath-school teacher?
JOHN. I am.
DAVID. One more question. Are you promised?
JOHN. To a lady?
DAVID. Yes.
JOHN. I've never given one of them a single wo=
rd
of encouragement. I'm too much occupied thinking about my career.
DAVID. So. [He reflects, and finally indicates=
by
a jerk of the head that he wishes to talk with his father behind the door.]=
JAMES [longingly]. Do you want me too?
[But they go out without even answering him.] =
MAGGIE. I don't know what maggot they have in
their heads, but sit down, young man, till they come back.
JOHN. My name's Mr. Shand, and till I'm called
that I decline to sit down again in this house.
MAGGIE. Then I'm thinking, young sir, you'll h=
ave
a weary wait.
[While he waits you can see how pinched his fa=
ce
is. He is little more than a boy, and he seldom has enough to eat. DAVID and
ALICK return presently, looking as sly as if they had been discussing some =
move
on the dambrod, as indeed they have.]
DAVID [suddenly become genial]. Sit down, Mr.
Shand, and pull in your chair. You'll have a thimbleful of something to keep
the cold out? [Briskly] Glasses, Maggie.
[She wonders, but gets glasses and decanter fr=
om
the sideboard, which JAMES calls the chiffy. DAVID and ALICK, in the most
friendly manner, also draw up to the table.]
You're not a totaller, I hope?
JOHN [guardedly]. I'm practically a totaller. =
DAVID. So are we. How do you take it? Is there=
any
hot water, Maggie?
JOHN. If I take it at all, and I haven't made =
up
my mind yet, I'll take it cold.
DAVID. You'll take it hot, James?
JAMES [also sitting at the table but completely
befogged]. No, I--
DAVID [decisively] I think you'll take it hot,
James.
JAMES [sulking]. I'll take it hot.
DAVID. The kettle, Maggie.
[JAMES has evidently to take it hot so that th=
ey
can get at the business now on hand, while MAGGIE goes kitchenward for the
kettle.]
ALICK. Now, David, quick, before she comes bac=
k.
DAVID. Mr. Shand, we have an offer to make you=
.
JOHN [warningly]. No patronage.
ALICK. It's strictly a business affair.
DAVID. Leave it to me, father. It's this--[But=
to
his annoyance the suspicious MAGGIE has already returned with the kettle.]
Maggie, don't you see that you're not wanted?
MAGGIE [sitting down by the fire and resuming =
her
knitting]. I do, David.
DAVID. I have a proposition to put before Mr.
Shand, and women are out of place in business transactions.
[The needles continue to click.]
ALICK [sighing]. We'll have to let her bide,
David.
DAVID [sternly]. Woman. [But even this does not
budge her.] Very well then, sit there, but don't interfere, mind. Mr. Shand,
we're willing, the three of us, to lay out L300 on your education if--
JOHN. Take care.
DAVID [slowly, which is not his wont]. On
condition that five years from now, Maggie Wylie, if still unmarried, can c=
laim
to marry you, should such be her wish; the thing to be perfectly open on her
side, but you to be strictly tied down.
JAMES [enlightened]. So, so.
DAVID [resuming his smart manner]. Now, what h=
ave
you to say? Decide.
JOHN [after a pause]. I regret to say--
MAGGIE. It doesn't matter what he regrets to s=
ay,
because I decide against it. And I think it was very ill-done of you to make
any such proposal.
DAVID [without looking at her]. Quiet, Maggie.=
JOHN [looking at her]. I must say, Miss Maggie=
, I
don't see what reasons YOU can have for being so set against it.
MAGGIE. If you would grow a beard, Mr. Shand, =
the
reasons wouldn't be quite so obvious.
JOHN. I'll never grow a beard.
MAGGIE. Then you're done for at the start.
ALICK. Come, come.
MAGGIE. Seeing I have refused the young man-- =
JOHN. Refused!
DAVID. That's no reason why we shouldn't have =
his
friendly opinion. Your objections, Mr. Shand?
JOHN. Simply, it's a one-sided bargain. I admit
I'm no catch at present; but what could a man of my abilities not soar to w=
ith
three hundred pounds? Something far above what she could aspire to.
MAGGIE. Oh, indeed!
DAVID. The position is that without the three
hundred you can't soar.
JOHN. You have me there.
MAGGIE. Yes, but--
ALICK. You see YOU'RE safeguarded, Maggie; you
don't need to take him unless you like, but he has to take you.
JOHN. That's an unfair arrangement also.
MAGGIE. I wouldn't dream of it without that
condition.
JOHN. Then you ARE thinking of it?
MAGGIE. Poof!
DAVID. It's a good arrangement for you, Mr. Sh=
and.
The chances are you'll never have to go on with it, for in all probability
she'll marry soon.
JAMES. She's tremendous run after.
JOHN. Even if that's true, it's just keeping m=
e in
reserve in case she misses doing better.
DAVID [relieved]. That's the situation in a
nutshell.
JOHN. Another thing. Supposing I was to get fo=
nd
of her?
ALICK [wistfully]. It's very likely.
JOHN. Yes, and then suppose she was to give me=
the
go-by?
DAVID. You have to risk that.
JOHN. Or take it the other way. Supposing as I=
got
to know her I COULD NOT endure her?
DAVID [suavely]. You have both to take risks. =
JAMES [less suavely]. What you need, John Shan=
d,
is a clout on the head.
JOHN. Three hundred pounds is no great sum.
DAVID. You can take it or leave it.
ALICK. No great sum for a student studying for=
the
ministry!
JOHN. Do you think that with that amount of mo=
ney
I would stop short at being a minister?
DAVID. That's how I like to hear you speak. A
young Scotsman of your ability let loose upon the world with L300, what cou=
ld
he not do? It's almost appalling to think of; especially if he went among t=
he
English.
JOHN. What do you think, Miss Maggie?
MAGGIE [who is knitting]. I have no thoughts on
the subject either way.
JOHN [after looking her over]. What's her age?=
She
looks young, but they say it's the curls that does it.
DAVID [rather happily]. She's one of those wom=
en
who are eternally young.
JOHN. I can't take that for an answer.
DAVID. She's twenty-five.
JOHN. I'm just twenty-one.
JAMES. I read in a book that about four years'
difference in the ages is the ideal thing. [As usual he is disregarded.]
DAVID. Well, Mr. Shand?
JOHN [where is his mother?]. I'm willing if sh=
e's
willing.
DAVID. Maggie?
MAGGIE. There can be no 'if' about it. It must=
be
an offer.
JOHN. A Shand give a Wylie such a chance to
humiliate him? Never.
MAGGIE. Then all is off.
DAVID. Come, come, Mr. Shand, it's just a form=
.
JOHN [reluctantly]. Miss Maggie, will you?
MAGGIE [doggedly]. Is it an offer?
JOHN [dourly]. Yes.
MAGGIE [rising]. Before I answer I want first =
to
give you a chance of drawing back.
DAVID. Maggie.
MAGGIE [bravely]. When they said that I have b=
een
run after they were misleading you. I'm without charm; nobody has ever been
after me.
JOHN. Oho!
ALICK. They will be yet.
JOHN [the innocent]. It shows at least that you
haven't been after them.
[His hosts exchange a self-conscious glance.] =
MAGGIE. One thing more; David said I'm
twenty-five, I'm twenty-six.
JOHN. Aha!
MAGGIE. Now be practical. Do you withdraw from=
the
bargain, or do you not?
JOHN [on reflection]. It's a bargain.
MAGGIE. Then so be it.
DAVID [hurriedly]. And that's settled. Did you=
say
you would take it hot, Mr. Shand?
JOHN. I think I'll take it neat.
[The others decide to take it hot, and there is
some careful business here with the toddy ladles.]
ALICK. Here's to you, and your career.
JOHN. Thank you. To you, Miss Maggie. Had we n= ot better draw up a legal document? Lawyer Crosbie could do it on the quiet. <= o:p>
DAVID. Should we do that, or should we just tr=
ust
to one another's honour?
ALICK [gallantly]. Let Maggie decide.
MAGGIE. I think we would better have a legal
document.
DAVID. We'll have it drawn up to-morrow. I was
thinking the best way would be for to pay the money in five yearly instalme=
nts.
JOHN. I was thinking, better bank the whole su=
m in
my name at once.
ALICK. I think David's plan's the best.
JOHN. I think not. Of course if it's not
convenient to you--
DAVID [touched to the quick]. It's perfectly
convenient. What do you say, Maggie?
MAGGIE. I agree with John.
DAVID [with an odd feeling that MAGGIE is now =
on
the other side]. Very well.
JOHN. Then as that's settled I think I'll be
stepping. [He is putting his papers back in the bag.]
ALICK [politely]. If you would like to sit on =
at
your books--
JOHN. As I can come at any orra time now I thi=
nk
I'll be stepping. [MAGGIE helps him into his topcoat.]
MAGGIE. Have you a muffler, John?
JOHN. I have. [He gets it from his pocket.]
MAGGIE. You had better put it twice round. [She
does this for him.]
DAVID. Well, good-night to you, Mr. Shand.
ALICK. And good luck.
JOHN. Thank you. The same to you. And I'll cry=
in
at your office in the morning before the 6:20 is due.
DAVID. I'll have the document ready for you.
[There is the awkward pause that sometimes follows great events.] I think,
Maggie, you might see Mr. Shand to the door.
MAGGIE. Certainly. [JOHN is going by the windo=
w.]
This way, John.
[She takes him off by the more usual exit.]
DAVID. He's a fine frank fellow; and you saw h=
ow
cleverly he got the better of me about banking the money. [As the heads of =
the
conspirators come gleefully together] I tell you, father, he has a grand
business head.
ALICK. Lads, he's canny. He's cannier than any=
of
us.
JAMES. Except maybe Maggie. He has no idea wha=
t a
remarkable woman Maggie is.
ALICK. Best he shouldn't know. Men are nervous=
of
remarkable women.
JAMES. She's a long time in coming back.
DAVID [not quite comfortable]. It's a good sig=
n.
H'sh. What sort of a night is it, Maggie?
MAGGIE. It's a little blowy.
[She gets a large dustcloth which is lying fol=
ded
on a shelf, and proceeds to spread it over the fine chair. The men exchange=
self-conscious
glances.]
DAVID [stretching himself]. Yes--well, well, oh
yes. It's getting late. What is it with you, father?
ALICK. I'm ten forty-two.
JAMES. I'm ten-forty.
DAVID. Ten forty-two.
[They wind up their watches.]
MAGGIE. It's high time we were bedded. [She pu=
ts
her hands on their shoulders lovingly, which is the very thing they have be=
en
trying to avoid.] You're very kind to me.
DAVID. Havers.
ALICK. Havers.
JAMES [but this does not matter]. Havers.
MAGGIE [a little dolefully]. I'm a sort of sor=
ry
for the young man, David.
DAVID. Not at all. You'll be the making of him.
[She lifts the two volumes.] Are you taking the books to your bed, Maggie? =
MAGGIE. Yes. I don't want him to know things I
don't know myself.
[She departs with the books; and ALICK and DAV=
ID,
the villains, now want to get away from each other.]
ALICK. Yes--yes. Oh yes--ay, man--it is so--um=
pha.
You'll lift the big coals off, David.
[He wanders away to his spring mattress. DAVID
removes the coals.]
JAMES [who would like to sit down and have an
argy-bargy]. It's a most romantical affair. [But he gets no answer.] I wond=
er
how it'll turn out? [No answer.] She's queer, Maggie. I wonder how some cle=
ver
writers has never noticed how queer women are. It's my belief you could wri=
te a
whole book about them. [DAVID remains obdurate.] It was very noble of her to
tell him she's twenty-six. [Muttering as he too wanders away.] But I thought
she was twenty-seven.
[DAVID turns out the light.]
[Six years have elapsed and John Shand's great
hour has come. Perhaps his great hour really lies ahead of him, perhaps he =
had
it six years ago; it often passes us by in the night with such a faint call
that we don't even turn in our beds. But according to the trumpets this is =
John's
great hour; it is the hour for which he has long been working with his coat
off; and now the coat is on again (broadcloth but ill-fitting), for there i=
s no
more to do but await results. He is standing for Parliament, and this is
election night.
As the scene discloses itself you get, so to
speak, one of John Shand's posters in the face. Vote for Shand. Shand, Shan=
d,
Shand. Civil and Religious Liberty, Faith, Hope, Freedom. They are all
fly-blown names for Shand. Have a placard about Shand, have a hundred placa=
rds
about him, it is snowing Shand to-night in Glasgow; take the paste out of y=
our eye,
and you will see that we are in one of Shand's committee rooms. It has been=
a
hairdresser's emporium, but Shand, Shand, Shand has swept through it like a
wind, leaving nothing but the fixtures; why shave, why have your head douse=
d in
those basins when you can be brushed and scraped and washed up for ever by
simply voting for Shand?
There are a few hard chairs for yelling Shand
from, and then rushing away. There is an iron spiral staircase that once le=
d to
the ladies' hairdressing apartments, but now leads to more Shand, Shand, Sh=
and.
A glass door at the back opens on to the shop proper, screaming Civil and R=
eligious
Liberty, Shand, as it opens, and beyond is the street crammed with still mo=
re
Shand pro and con. Men in every sort of garb rush in and out, up and down t=
he
stair, shouting the magic word. Then there is a lull, and down the stair co=
mes
Maggie Wylie, decidedly overdressed in blue velvet and (let us get this ove=
r)
less good-looking than ever. She raises her hands to heaven, she spins round
like a little teetotum. To her from the street, suffering from a determinat=
ion
of the word Shand to the mouth, rush Alick and David. Alick is thinner (bei=
ng
older), David is stouter (being older), and they are both in tweeds and silk
hats.]
MAGGIE. David--have they--is he? quick, quick!
DAVID. There's no news yet, no news. It's terrible.
[The teetotum revolves more quickly.]
ALICK. For God's sake, Maggie, sit down.
MAGGIE. I can't, I can't.
DAVID. Hold her down.
[They press her into a chair; JAMES darts in,
stouter also. His necktie has gone; he will never again be able to attend a
funeral in that hat.]
JAMES [wildly]. John Shand's the man for you. =
John
Shand's the man for you. John Shand's the man for you.
DAVID [clutching him]. Have you heard anything=
?
JAMES. Not a word.
ALICK. Look at her.
DAVID. Maggie [he goes on his knees beside her,
pressing her to him in affectionate anxiety]. It was mad of him to dare.
MAGGIE. It was grand of him.
ALICK [moving about distraught]. Insane ambiti=
on.
MAGGIE. Glorious ambition.
DAVID. Maggie, Maggie, my lamb, best be prepar=
ed
for the worst.
MAGGIE [husky]. I am prepared.
ALICK. Six weary years has she waited for this
night.
MAGGIE. Six brave years has John toiled for th=
is
night.
JAMES. And you could have had him, Maggie, at =
the
end of five. The document says five.
MAGGIE. Do you think I grudge not being marrie=
d to
him yet? Was I to hamper him till the fight was won?
DAVID [with wrinkled brows]. But if it's lost?=
[She can't answer.]
ALICK [starting]. What's that?
[The three listen at the door, the shouting di=
es
down.]
DAVID. They're terrible still; what can make t=
hem
so still?
[JAMES spirits himself away. ALICK and DAVID
blanch to hear MAGGIE speaking softly as if to JOHN.]
MAGGIE. Did you say you had lost, John? Of cou=
rse
you would lose the first time, dear John. Six years. Very well, we'll begin
another six to-night. You'll win yet. [Fiercely] Never give in, John, never
give in!
[The roar of the multitude breaks out again and
comes rolling nearer.]
DAVID. I think he's coming.
[JAMES is fired into the room like a squeezed
onion.]
JAMES. He's coming!
[They may go on speaking, but through the clang
outside none could hear. The populace seems to be trying to take the commit=
tee
room by assault. Out of the scrimmage a man emerges dishevelled and bursts =
into
the room, closing the door behind him. It is JOHN SHAND in a five guinea su=
it, including
the hat. There are other changes in him also, for he has been delving his w=
ay
through loamy ground all those years. His right shoulder, which he used to
raise to pound a path through the crowd, now remains permanently in that
position. His mouth tends to close like a box. His eyes are tired, they need
some one to pull the lids over them and send him to sleep for a week. But t=
hey
are honest eyes still, and faithful, and could even light up his face at ti=
mes
with a smile, if the mouth would give a little help.]
JOHN [clinging to a chair that he may not fly
straight to heaven]. I'm in; I'm elected. Majority two hundred and forty-fo=
ur;
I'm John Shand, M.P.
[The crowd have the news by this time and their
roar breaks the door open. JAMES is off at once to tell them that he is to =
be
SHAND'S brother-in-law. A teardrop clings to ALICK's nose; DAVID hits out p=
layfully
at JOHN, and JOHN in an ecstasy returns the blow.]
DAVID. Fling yourself at the door, father, and=
bar
them out. Maggie, what keeps you so quiet now?
MAGGIE [weak in her limbs]. You're sure you're=
in,
John?
JOHN. Majority 244. I've beaten the baronet. I= 've done it, Maggie, and not a soul to help me; I've done it alone. [His voice breaks; you could almost pick up the pieces.] I'm as hoarse as a crow, and I have to address the Cowcaddens Club yet; David, pump some oxygen into me. <= o:p>
DAVID. Certainly, Mr. Shand. [While he does it,
MAGGIE is seeing visions.]
ALICK. What are you doing, Maggie?
MAGGIE. This is the House of Commons, and I'm
John, catching the Speaker's eye for the first time. Do you see a queer lit=
tle
old wifie sitting away up there in the Ladies' Gallery? That's me. 'Mr.
Speaker, sir, I rise to make my historic maiden speech. I am no orator, sir=
'; voice
from Ladies' Gallery, 'Are you not, John? you'll soon let them see that'; c=
ries
of 'Silence, woman,' and general indignation. 'Mr. Speaker, sir, I stand he=
re
diffidently with my eyes on the Treasury Bench'; voice from the Ladies'
Gallery, 'And you'll soon have your coat-tails on it, John'; loud cries of
'Remove that little old wifie,' in which she is forcibly ejected, and the
honourable gentleman resumes his seat in a torrent of admiring applause.
[ALICK and DAVID waggle their proud heads.]
JOHN [tolerantly]. Maggie, Maggie.
MAGGIE. You're not angry with me, John?
JOHN. No, no.
MAGGIE. But you glowered.
JOHN. I was thinking of Sir Peregrine. Just
because I beat him at the poll he took a shabby revenge; he congratulated m=
e in
French, a language I haven't taken the trouble to master.
MAGGIE [becoming a little taller]. Would it he=
lp
you, John, if you were to marry a woman that could speak French?
DAVID [quickly]. Not at all.
MAGGIE [gloriously]. Mon cher Jean, laissez-moi
parler le francais, voulez-vous un interprete?
JOHN. Hullo!
MAGGIE. Je suis la soeur francaise de mes deux
freres ecossais.
DAVID [worshipping her]. She's been learning
French.
JOHN [lightly]. Well done.
MAGGIE [grandly]. They're arriving.
ALICK. Who?
MAGGIE. Our guests. This is London, and Mrs. J=
ohn
Shand is giving her first reception. [Airily] Have I told you, darling, who=
are
coming to-night? There's that dear Sir Peregrine. [To ALICK] Sir Peregrine,=
this
is a pleasure. Avez-vous...So sorry we beat you at the poll.
JOHN. I'm doubting the baronet would sit on yo=
u,
Maggie.
MAGGIE. I've invited a lord to sit on the baro=
net.
Voila!
DAVID [delighted]. You thing! You'll find the
lords expensive.
MAGGIE. Just a little cheap lord. [JAMES enters
importantly.] My dear Lord Cheap, this is kind of you.
[JAMES hopes that MAGGIE's reason is not
unbalanced.]
DAVID [who really ought to have had education].
How de doo, Cheap?
JAMES [bewildered]. Maggie---
MAGGIE. Yes, do call me Maggie.
ALICK [grinning]. She's practising her first
party, James. The swells are at the door.
JAMES [heavily]. That's what I came to say. Th=
ey
are at the door.
JOHN. Who?
JAMES. The swells; in their motor. [He gives J=
OHN
three cards.]
JOHN. 'Mr. Tenterden.'
DAVID. Him that was speaking for you?
JOHN. The same. He's a whip and an Honourable.
'Lady Sybil Tenterden.' [Frowns.] Her! She's his sister.
MAGGIE. A married woman?
JOHN. No. 'The Comtesse de la Briere.'
MAGGIE [the scholar]. She must be French.
JOHN. Yes; I think she's some relation. She's a
widow.
JAMES. But what am I to say to them? ['Mr. Sha=
nd's
compliments, and he will be proud to receive them' is the very least that t=
he
Wylies expect.]
JOHN [who was evidently made for great ends]. =
Say
I'm very busy, but if they care to wait I hope presently to give them a few
minutes.
JAMES [thunderstruck]. Good God, Mr. Shand!
[But it makes him JOHN'S more humble servant t=
han
ever, and he departs with the message.]
JOHN [not unaware of the sensation he has
created]. I'll go up and let the crowd see me from the window.
MAGGIE. But--but--what are we to do with these
ladies?
JOHN [as he tramps upwards]. It's your recepti=
on,
Maggie; this will prove you.
MAGGIE [growing smaller]. Tell me what you know
about this Lady Sybil?
JOHN. The only thing I know about her is that =
she
thinks me vulgar.
MAGGIE. You?
JOHN. She has attended some of my meetings, and
I'm told she said that.
MAGGIE. What could the woman mean?
JOHN. I wonder. When I come down I'll ask her.=
[With his departure MAGGIE'S nervousness
increases.]
ALICK [encouragingly]. In at them, Maggie, with
your French.
MAGGIE. It's all slipping from me, father.
DAVID [gloomily]. I'm sure to say 'for to come=
for
to go.'
[The newcomers glorify the room, and MAGGIE fe=
els
that they have lifted her up with the tongs and deposited her in one of the
basins. They are far from intending to be rude; it is not their fault that =
thus
do swans scatter the ducks. They do not know that they are guests of the
family, they think merely that they are waiting with other strangers in a
public room; they undulate inquiringly, and if MAGGIE could undulate in ret=
urn she
would have no cause for offence. But she suddenly realises that this is an =
art
as yet denied her, and that though DAVID might buy her evening-gowns as fin=
e as
theirs [and is at this moment probably deciding to do so], she would look
better carrying them in her arms than on her person. She also feels that to
emerge from wraps as they are doing is more difficult than to plank your mo=
ney
on the counter for them. The COMTESSE she could forgive, for she is old; but
LADY SYBIL is young and beautiful and comes lazily to rest like a stately s=
hip
of Tarsus.]
COMTESSE [smiling divinely, and speaking with =
such
a pretty accent]. I hope one is not in the way. We were told we might wait.=
MAGGIE [bravely climbing out of the basin].
Certainly--I am sure if you will be so--it is--
[She knows that DAVID and her father are very
sorry for her.]
[A high voice is heard orating outside.]
SYBIL [screwing her nose deliciously]. He is a=
t it
again, Auntie.
COMTESSE. Mon Dieu! [Like one begging pardon of
the universe] It is Mr. Tenterden, you understand, making one more of his
delightful speeches to the crowd. WOULD you be so charming as to shut the d=
oor?
[This to DAVID in such appeal that she is
evidently making the petition of her life. DAVID saves her.]
MAGGIE [determined not to go under]. J'espere =
que vous--trouvez--cette--reunion--interessante?
COMTESSE. Vous parlez francais? Mais c'est
charmant! Voyons, causons un peu. Racontez-moi tout de ce grand homme, tout=
es les
choses merveilleuses qu'il a faites.
MAGGIE. I--I--Je connais--[Alas!]
COMTESSE [naughtily]. Forgive me, Mademoiselle=
, I
thought you spoke French.
SYBIL [who knows that DAVID admires her
shoulders]. How wicked of you, Auntie. [To MAGGIE] I assure you none of us =
can
understand her when she gallops at that pace.
MAGGIE [crushed]. It doesn't matter. I will te=
ll
Mr. Shand that you are here.
SYBIL [drawling]. Please don't trouble him. We=
are
really only waiting till my brother recovers and can take us back to our ho=
tel.
MAGGIE. I'll tell him.
[She is glad to disappear up the stair.]
COMTESSE. The lady seems distressed. Is she a
relation of Mr. Shand?
DAVID. Not for to say a relation. She's my sis=
ter.
Our name is Wylie.
[But granite quarries are nothing to them.]
COMTESSE. How do you do. You are the committee=
man
of Mr. Shand?
DAVID. No, just friends.
COMTESSE [gaily to the basins]. Aha! I know yo=
u.
Next, please! Sybil, do you weigh yourself, or are you asleep?
[LADY SYBIL has sunk indolently into a
weighing-chair.]
SYBIL. Not quite, Auntie.
COMTESSE [the mirror of la politesse]. Tell me=
all
about Mr. Shand. Was it here that he--picked up the pin?
DAVID. The pin?
COMTESSE. As I have read, a self-made man alwa=
ys
begins by picking up a pin. After that, as the memoirs say, his rise was ra=
pid.
[DAVID, however, is once more master of himsel=
f,
and indeed has begun to tot up the cost of their garments.]
DAVID. It wasn't a pin he picked up, my lady; =
it
was L300.
ALICK [who feels that JOHN's greatness has been
outside the conversation quite long enough]. And his rise wasn't so rapid, =
just
at first, David!
DAVID. He had his fight. His original intention
was to become a minister; he's university-educated, you know; he's not a
working-man member.
ALICK [with reverence]. He's an M.A. But while=
he
was a student he got a place in an iron-cementer's business.
COMTESSE [now far out of her depths].
Iron-cementer?
DAVID. They scrape boilers.
COMTESSE. I see. The fun men have, Sybil!
DAVID [with some solemnity]. There have been
millions made in scraping boilers. They say, father, he went into business =
so
as to be able to pay off the L300.
ALICK [slily]. So I've heard.
COMTESSE. Aha--it was a loan?
[DAVID and ALICK are astride their great subje=
ct
now.]
DAVID. No, a gift--of a sort--from some
well-wishers. But they wouldn't hear of his paying it off, father!
ALICK. Not them!
COMTESSE [restraining an impulse to think of o=
ther
things]. That was kind, charming.
ALICK [with a look at DAVID]. Yes. Well, my la=
dy,
he developed a perfect genius for the iron-cementing.
DAVID. But his ambition wasn't satisfied. Soon=
he
had public life in his eye. As a heckler he was something fearsome; they ha=
d to
seat him on the platform for to keep him quiet. Next they had to let him in=
to
the Chair. After that he did all the speaking; he cleared all roads before =
him
like a fire-engine; and when this vacancy occurred, you could hardly say it=
did
occur, so quickly did he step into it. My lady, there are few more impressi=
ve
sights in the world than a Scotsman on the make.
COMTESSE. I can well believe it. And now he has
said farewell to boilers?
DAVID [impressively]. Not at all; the firm
promised if he was elected for to make him their London manager at L800 a y=
ear.
COMTESSE. There is a strong man for you, Sybil;
but I believe you ARE asleep.
SYBIL [stirring herself]. Honestly, I'm not.
[Sweetly to the others] But would you mind finding out whether my brother is
drawing to a close?
[DAVID goes out, leaving poor ALICK marooned. =
The
COMTESSE is kind to him.]
COMTESSE. Thank you very much. [Which helps AL=
ICK
out.] Don't you love a strong man, sleepy head?
SYBIL [preening herself]. I never met one.
COMTESSE. Neither have I. But if you DID meet =
one,
would he wakes you up?
SYBIL. I dare say he would find there were two=
of
us.
COMTESSE [considering her]. Yes, I think he wo=
uld.
Ever been in love, you cold thing?
SYBIL [yawning]. I have never shot up in flame,
Auntie.
COMTESSE. Think you could manage it?
SYBIL. If Mr. Right came along.
COMTESSE. As a girl of to-day it would be your
duty to tame him.
SYBIL. As a girl of to-day I would try to do my
duty.
COMTESSE. And if it turned out that HE tamed y=
ou
instead?
SYBIL. He would have to do that if he were MY =
Mr.
Right.
COMTESSE. And then?
SYBIL. Then, of course, I should adore him.
Auntie, I think if I ever really love it will be like Mary Queen of Scots, =
who
said of her Bothwell that she could follow him round the world in her night=
y.
COMTESSE. My petite!
SYBIL. I believe I mean it.
COMTESSE. Oh, it is quite my conception of your
character. Do you know, I am rather sorry for this Mr. John Shand.
SYBIL [opening her fine eyes]. Why? He is quit=
e a
boor, is he not?
COMTESSE. For that very reason. Because his gr=
eat
hour is already nearly sped. That wild bull manner that moves the
multitude--they will laugh at it in your House of Commons.
SYBIL [indifferent]. I suppose so.
COMTESSE. Yet if he had education---
SYBIL. Have we not been hearing how superbly h=
e is
educated?
COMTESSE. It is such as you or me that he need=
s to
educate him now. You could do it almost too well.
SYBIL [with that pretty stretch of neck]. I am=
not
sufficiently interested. I retire in your favour. How would you begin?
COMTESSE. By asking him to drop in, about five=
, of
course. By the way, I wonder is there a Mrs. Shand?
SYBIL. I have no idea. But they marry young. <= o:p>
COMTESSE. If there is not, there is probably a
lady waiting for him, somewhere in a boiler.
SYBIL. I dare say.
[MAGGIE descends.]
MAGGIE. Mr. Shand will be down directly.
COMTESSE. Thank you. Your brother has been giv=
ing
us such an interesting account of his career. I forget, Sybil, whether he s=
aid
that he was married.
MAGGIE. No, he's not married; but he will be s=
oon.
COMTESSE. Ah! [She is merely making conversati=
on.]
A friend of yours?
MAGGIE [now a scorner of herself]. I don't thi=
nk
much of her.
COMTESSE. In that case, tell me all about her.=
MAGGIE. There's not much to tell. She's common,
and stupid. One of those who go in for self-culture; and then when the test
comes they break down. [With sinister enjoyment] She'll be the ruin of him.=
COMTESSE. But is not that sad! Figure to yours=
elf
how many men with greatness before them have been shipwrecked by marrying in
the rank from which they sprang.
MAGGIE. I've told her that.
COMTESSE. But she will not give him up?
MAGGIE. No.
SYBIL. Why should she if he cares for her? Wha=
t is
her name?
MAGGIE. It's--Maggie.
COMTESSE [still uninterested]. Well, I am afra=
id
that Maggie is to do for John. [JOHN comes down.] Ah, our hero!
JOHN. Sorry I have kept you waiting. The Comte=
sse?
COMTESSE. And my niece Lady Sybil Tenterden.
[SYBIL'S head inclines on its stem.] She is not really all my niece; I mean=
I
am only half of her aunt. What a triumph, Mr. Shand!
JOHN. Oh, pretty fair, pretty fair. Your broth=
er
has just finished addressing the crowd, Lady Sybil.
SYBIL. Then we must not detain Mr. Shand, Aunt=
ie.
COMTESSE [who unless her heart is touched thin=
ks
insincerity charming]. Only one word. I heard you speak last night. Sublime!
Just the sort of impassioned eloquence that your House of Commons loves.
JOHN. It's very good of you to say so.
COMTESSE. But we must run. Bon soir.
[SYBIL bows as to some one far away.]
JOHN. Good-night, Lady Sybil. I hear you think=
I'm
vulgar. [Eyebrows are raised.]
COMTESSE. My dear Mr. Shand, what absurd---
JOHN. I was told she said that after hearing me
speak.
COMTESSE. Quite a mistake, I---
JOHN [doggedly]. Is it not true?
SYBIL ['waking up']. You seem to know, Mr. Sha=
nd;
and as you press me so unnecessarily--well, yes, that is how you struck me.=
COMTESSE. My child!
SYBIL [who is a little agitated]. He would have
it.
JOHN [perplexed]. What's the matter? I just wa=
nted
to know, because if it's true I must alter it.
COMTESSE. There, Sybil, see how he values your
good opinion.
SYBIL [her svelte figure giving like a
fishing-rod]. It is very nice of you to put it in that way, Mr. Shand. Forg=
ive
me.
JOHN. But I don't quite understand yet. Of cou=
rse,
it can't matter to me, Lady Sybil, what you think of me; what I mean is, th=
at I
mustn't be vulgar if it would be injurious to my career.
[The fishing-rod regains its rigidity.]
SYBIL. I see. No, of course, I could not affect
your career, Mr Shand.
JOHN [who quite understands that he is being
challenged]. That's so, Lady Sybil, meaning no offence.
SYBIL [who has a naughty little impediment in =
her
voice when she is most alluring]. Of course not. And we are friends again? =
JOHN. Certainly.
SYBIL. Then I hope you will come to see me in
London as I present no terrors.
JOHN [he is a man, is JOHN]. I'll be very plea=
sed.
SYBIL. Any afternoon about five.
JOHN. Much obliged. And you can teach me the
things I don't know yet, if you'll be so kind.
SYBIL [the impediment becoming more assertive]=
. If
you wish it, I shall do my best.
JOHN. Thank you, Lady Sybil. And who knows the=
re
may be one or two things I can teach you.
SYBIL [it has now become an angel's hiccough].
Yes, we can help one another. Good-bye till then.
JOHN. Good-bye. Maggie, the ladies are going. =
[During this skirmish MAGGIE has stood apart. =
At
the mention of her name they glance at one another. JOHN escorts SYBIL, but=
the
COMTESSE turns back.]
COMTESSE. Are you, then, THE Maggie? [MAGGIE n=
ods
rather defiantly and the COMTESSE is distressed.] But if I had known I would
not have said those things. Please forgive an old woman.
MAGGIE. It doesn't matter.
COMTESSE. I--I dare say it will be all right.
Mademoiselle, if I were you I would not encourage those tete-a-tetes with L=
ady
Sybil. I am the rude one, but she is the dangerous one; and I am afraid his
impudence has attracted her. Bon voyage, Miss Maggie.
MAGGIE. Good-bye--but I CAN speak French. Je p=
arle
francais. Isn't that right?
COMTESSE. But, yes, it is excellent. [Making
things easy for her] C'est tres bien.
MAGGIE. Je me suis embrouillee--la derniere fo=
is.
COMTESSE. Good! Shall I speak more slowly?
MAGGIE. No, no. Nonon, non, faster, faster.
COMTESSE. J'admire votre courage!
MAGGIE. Je comprends chaque mot.
COMTESSE. Parfait! Bravo!
MAGGIE. Voila!
COMTESSE. Superbe!
[She goes, applauding; and MAGGIE has a moment=
of
elation, which however has passed before JOHN returns for his hat.]
MAGGIE. Have you more speaking to do, John? [H=
e is
somehow in high good-humour.]
JOHN. I must run across and address the Cowcad=
dens
Club. [He sprays his throat with a hand-spray.] I wonder if I AM vulgar,
Maggie?
MAGGIE. You are not, but I am.
JOHN. Not that I can see.
MAGGIE. Look how overdressed I am, John. I kne=
w it
was too showy when I ordered it, and yet I could not resist the thing. But I
will tone it down, I will. What did you think of Lady Sybil?
JOHN. That young woman had better be careful.
She's a bit of a besom, Maggie.
MAGGIE. She's beautiful, John.
JOHN. She has a neat way of stretching herself.
For playing with she would do as well as another.
[She looks at him wistfully.]
MAGGIE. You couldn't stay and have a talk for a
few minutes?
JOHN. If you want me, Maggie. The longer you k=
eep
them waiting, the more they think of you.
MAGGIE. When are you to announce that we're to=
be
married, John?
JOHN. I won't be long. You've waited a year mo=
re
than you need have done, so I think it's your due I should hurry things now=
.
MAGGIE. I think it's noble of you.
JOHN. Not at all, Maggie; the nobleness has be=
en
yours in waiting so patiently. And your brothers would insist on it at any
rate. They're watching me like cats with a mouse.
MAGGIE. It's so little I've done to help.
JOHN. Three hundred pounds.
MAGGIE. I'm getting a thousand per cent for it=
.
JOHN. And very pleased I am you should think s=
o,
Maggie.
MAGGIE. Is it terrible hard to you, John?
JOHN. It's not hard at all. I can say truthful=
ly,
Maggie, that all, or nearly all, I've seen of you in these six years has go=
ne
to increase my respect for you.
MAGGIE. Respect!
JOHN. And a bargain's a bargain.
MAGGIE. If it wasn't that you're so glorious to
me, John, I would let you off.
[There is a gleam in his eye, but he puts it o=
ut.]
JOHN. In my opinion, Maggie, we'll be a very h=
appy
pair.
[She accepts this eagerly.]
MAGGIE. We know each other so well, John, don't
we?
JOHN. I'm an extraordinary queer character, an=
d I
suppose nobody knows me well except myself; but I know you, Maggie, to the =
very
roots of you.
[She magnanimously lets this remark alone.]
MAGGIE. And it's not as if there was any other
woman you--fancied more, John.
JOHN. There's none whatever.
MAGGIE. If there ever should be--oh, if there =
ever
should be! Some woman with charm.
JOHN. Maggie, you forget yourself. There could=
n't
be another woman once I was a married man.
MAGGIE. One has heard of such things.
JOHN. Not in Scotsmen, Maggie; not in Scotsmen=
.
MAGGIE. I've sometimes thought, John, that the
difference between us and the English is that the Scotch are hard in all ot=
her
respects but soft with women, and the English are hard with women but soft =
in
all other respects.
JOHN. You've forgotten the grandest moral
attribute of a Scotsman, Maggie, that he'll do nothing which might damage h=
is
career.
MAGGIE. Ah, but John, whatever you do, you do =
it
so tremendously; and if you were to love, what a passion it would be.
JOHN. There's something in that, I suppose.
MAGGIE. And then, what could I do? For the des=
ire
of my life now, John, is to help you to get everything you want, except just
that I want you to have me, too.
JOHN. We'll get on fine, Maggie.
MAGGIE. You're just making the best of it. They
say that love is sympathy, and if that's so, mine must be a great love for =
you,
for I see all you are feeling this night and bravely hiding; I feel for you=
as
if I was John Shand myself. [He sighs.]
JOHN. I had best go to the meeting, Maggie.
MAGGIE. Not yet. Can you look me in the face,
John, and deny that there is surging within you a mighty desire to be free,=
to
begin the new life untrammelled?
JOHN. Leave such maggots alone, Maggie.
MAGGIE. It's a shame of me not to give you up.=
JOHN. I would consider you a very foolish woma=
n if
you did.
MAGGIE. If I were John Shand I would no more w=
ant
to take Maggie Wylie with me through the beautiful door that has opened wide
for you than I would want to take an old pair of shoon. Why don't you bang =
the
door in my face, John? [A tremor runs through JOHN.]
JOHN. A bargain's a bargain, Maggie.
[MAGGIE moves about, an eerie figure, breaking
into little cries. She flutters round him, threateningly.]
MAGGIE. Say one word about wanting to get out =
of
it, and I'll put the lawyers on you.
JOHN. Have I hinted at such a thing?
MAGGIE. The document holds you hard and fast. =
JOHN. It does.
[She gloats miserably.]
MAGGIE. The woman never rises with the man. I'=
ll
drag you down, John. I'll drag you down.
JOHN. Have no fear of that, I won't let you. I=
'm
too strong.
MAGGIE. You'll miss the prettiest thing in the
world, and all owing to me.
JOHN. What's that?
MAGGIE. Romance.
JOHN. Poof.
MAGGIE. All's cold and grey without it, John. =
They
that have had it have slipped in and out of heaven.
JOHN. You're exaggerating, Maggie.
MAGGIE. You've worked so hard, you've had none=
of
the fun that comes to most men long before they're your age.
JOHN. I never was one for fun. I cannot call to
mind, Maggie, ever having laughed in my life.
MAGGIE. You have no sense of humour.
JOHN. Not a spark.
MAGGIE. I've sometimes thought that if you had=
, it
might make you fonder of me. I think one needs a sense of humour to be fond=
of
me.
JOHN. I remember reading of some one that said=
it
needed a surgical operation to get a joke into a Scotsman's head.
MAGGIE. Yes, that's been said.
JOHN. What beats me, Maggie, is how you could
insert a joke with an operation.
[He considers this and gives it up.]
MAGGIE. That's not the kind of fun I was think=
ing
of. I mean fun with the lasses, John--gay, jolly, harmless fun. They could =
be
impudent fashionable beauties now, stretching themselves to attract you, li=
ke that
hiccoughing little devil, and running away from you, and crooking their fin=
gers
to you to run after them.
[He draws a big breath.]
JOHN. No, I never had that.
MAGGIE. It's every man's birthright, and you w=
ould
have it now but for me.
JOHN. I can do without, Maggie.
MAGGIE. It's like missing out all the Saturday=
s.
JOHN. You feel sure, I suppose, that an older =
man
wouldn't suit you better, Maggie?
MAGGIE. I couldn't feel surer of anything. You=
're
just my ideal.
JOHN. Yes, yes. Well, that's as it should be. =
[She threatens him again.]
MAGGIE. David has the document. It's carefully
locked away.
JOHN. He would naturally take good care of it.=
[The pride of the Wylies deserts her.]
MAGGIE. John, I make you a solemn promise that=
, in
consideration of the circumstances of our marriage, if you should ever fall=
in
love I'll act differently from other wives.
JOHN. There will be no occasion, Maggie.
[Her voice becomes tremulous.]
MAGGIE. John, David doesn't have the document.=
He
thinks he has, but I have it here.
[Somewhat heavily JOHN surveys the fatal paper=
.]
JOHN. Well do I mind the look of it, Maggie. Y=
es,
yes, that's it. Umpha.
MAGGIE. You don't ask why I've brought it.
JOHN. Why did you?
MAGGIE. Because I thought I might perhaps have=
the
courage and the womanliness to give it back to you. [JOHN has a brief dream=
.]
Will you never hold it up against me in the future that I couldn't do that?=
JOHN. I promise you, Maggie, I never will.
MAGGIE. To go back to The Pans and take up my =
old
life there, when all these six years my eyes have been centred on this nigh=
t!
I've been waiting for this night as long as you have been; and now to go ba=
ck there,
and wizen and dry up, when I might be married to John Shand!
JOHN. And you will be, Maggie. You have my wor=
d.
MAGGIE. Never--never--never. [She tears up the
document. He remains seated immovable, but the gleam returns to his eye. She
rages first at herself and then at him.] I'm a fool, a fool, to let you go.=
I
tell you, you'll rue this day, for you need me, you'll come to grief without
me. There's nobody can help you as I could have helped you. I'm essential t=
o your
career, and you're blind not to see it.
JOHN. What's that, Maggie? In no circumstances
would I allow any meddling with my career.
MAGGIE. You would never have known I was meddl=
ing
with it. But that's over. Don't be in too great a hurry to marry, John. Have
your fling with the beautiful dolls first. Get the whiphand of the haughty
ones, John. Give them their licks. Every time they hiccough let them have an
extra slap in memory of me. And be sure to remember this, my man, that the =
one who
marries you will find you out.
JOHN. Find me out?
MAGGIE. However careful a man is, his wife alw=
ays
finds out his failings.
JOHN. I don't know, Maggie, to what failings y=
ou
refer.
[The Cowcaddens Club has burst its walls, and =
is
pouring this way to raise the new Member on its crest. The first wave hurls
itself against the barber's shop with cries of 'Shand, Shand, Shand.' For a
moment, JOHN stems the torrent by planting his back against the door.]
You are acting under an impulse, Maggie, and I
can't take advantage of it. Think the matter over, and we'll speak about it=
in
the morning.
MAGGIE. No, I can't go through it again. It en=
ds
to-night and now. Good luck, John.
[She is immediately submerged in the sea that
surges through the door, bringing much wreckage with it. In a moment the pl=
ace
is so full that another cupful could not find standing room. Some slippery =
ones
are squeezed upwards and remain aloft as warnings. JOHN has jumped on to the
stair, and harangues the flood vainly like another Canute. It is something
about freedom and noble minds, and, though unheard, goes to all heads,
including the speaker's. By the time he is audible sentiment has him for her
own.]
JOHN. But, gentlemen, one may have too much ev=
en
of freedom [No, no.] Yes, Mr. Adamson. One may want to be tied. [Never, nev=
er.]
I say yes, Willie Cameron; and I have found a young lady who I am proud to =
say
is willing to be tied to me. I'm to be married. [Uproar.] Her name's Miss W=
ylie.
[Transport.] Quiet; she's here now. [Frenzy.] She was here! Where are you,
Maggie? [A small voice--'I'm here.' A hundred great voices--'Where--where--=
where?'
The small voice--'I'm so little none of you can see me.']
[Three men, name of Wylie, buffet their way
forward.]
DAVID. James, father, have you grip of her?
ALICK. We've got her.
DAVID. Then hoist her up.
[The queer little elated figure is raised alof=
t.
With her fingers she can just touch the stars. Not unconscious of the nobil=
ity
of his behaviour, the hero of the evening points an impressive finger at he=
r.]
JOHN. Gentlemen, the future Mrs. John Shand!
[Cries of 'Speech, speech!'] No, no, being a lady she can't make a speech,
but---
[The heroine of the evening surprises him.]
MAGGIE. I can make a speech, and I will make a
speech, and it's in two words, and they're these [holding out her arms to
enfold all the members of the Cowcaddens Club]--My Constituents! [Dementia.=
]
[A few minutes ago the Comtesse de la Briere, =
who
has not recently been in England, was shown into the London home of the Sha=
nds.
Though not sufficiently interested to express her surprise in words, she ra=
ised
her eyebrows on finding herself in a charming room; she has presumed that t=
he
Shand scheme of decoration would be as impossible as themselves.
It is the little room behind the dining-room f=
or
which English architects have long been famous; 'Make something of this, and
you will indeed be a clever one,' they seem to say to you as they unveil it.
The Comtesse finds that John has undoubtedly made something of it. It is hi=
s 'study'
(mon Dieu, the words these English use!) and there is nothing in it that
offends; there is so much not in it too that might so easily have been ther=
e.
It is not in the least ornate; there are no colours quarrelling with each o=
ther
(unseen, unheard by the blissful occupant of the revolving chair); the Comt=
esse
has not even the gentle satisfaction of noting a 'suite' in stained oak. Na=
ture
might have taken a share in the decorations, so restful are they to the eye=
s;
it is the working room of a man of culture, probably lately down from Oxfor=
d;
at a first meeting there is nothing in it that pretends to be what it is no=
t.
Our visitor is a little disappointed, but being fair-minded blows her absen=
t host
a kiss for disappointing her.
He has even, she observes with a twinkle, made
something of the most difficult of his possessions, the little wife. For
Maggie, who is here receiving her, has been quite creditably toned down. He=
has
put her into a little grey frock that not only deals gently with her person=
al defects,
but is in harmony with the room. Evidently, however, she has not 'risen' wi=
th
him, for she is as ever; the Comtesse, who remembers having liked her the
better of the two, could shake her for being so stupid. For instance, why is
she not asserting herself in that other apartment?
The other apartment is really a correctly sole=
mn
dining-room, of which we have a glimpse through partly open folding-doors. =
At
this moment it is harbouring Mr. Shand's ladies' committee, who sit with pe=
ns
and foolscap round the large table, awaiting the advent of their leader. Th=
ere
are nobly wise ones and some foolish ones among them, for we are back in the
strange days when it was considered 'unwomanly' for women to have minds. The
Comtesse peeps at them with curiosity, as they arrange their papers or are
ushered into the dining-room through a door which we cannot see. To her
frivolous ladyship they are a species of wild fowl, and she is specially am=
used
to find her niece among them. She demands an explanation as soon as the
communicating doors close.]
COMTESSE. Tell me since when has my dear Sybil
become one of these ladies? It is not like her.
[MAGGIE is obviously not clever enough to
understand the woman question. Her eye rests longingly on a half-finished
stocking as she innocently but densely replies:]
MAGGI=
E. I
think it was about the time that my husband took up their cause.
[The COMTESSE has been hearing tales of LADY S=
YBIL
and the barbarian; and after having the grace to hesitate, she speaks with =
the
directness for which she is famed in Mayfair.]
COMTESSE. Mrs. Shand, excuse me for saying tha=
t if
half of what I hear be true, your husband is seeing that lady a great deal =
too
often. [MAGGIE is expressionless; she reaches for her stocking, whereat her=
guest
loses patience.] Oh, mon Dieu, put that down; you can buy them at two francs
the pair. Mrs. Shand, why do not you compel yourself to take an intelligent
interest in your husband's work?
MAGGIE. I typewrite his speeches.
COMTESSE. But do you know what they are about?=
MAGGIE. They are about various subjects.
COMTESSE. Oh!
[Did MAGGIE give her an unseen quizzical glance
before demurely resuming the knitting? One is not certain, as JOHN has come=
in,
and this obliterates her. A 'Scotsman on the make,' of whom DAVID has spoke=
n reverently,
is still to be read--in a somewhat better bound volume--in JOHN SHAND's per=
son;
but it is as doggedly honest a face as ever; and he champions women, not for
personal ends, but because his blessed days of poverty gave him a light upon
their needs. His self-satisfaction, however, has increased, and he has
pleasantly forgotten some things. For instance, he can now call out 'Porter=
' at
railway stations without dropping his hands for the barrow. MAGGIE introduc=
es
the COMTESSE, and he is still undaunted.]
JOHN. I remember you well--at Glasgow.
COMTESSE. It must be quite two years ago, Mr.
Shand.
[JOHN has no objection to showing that he has =
had
a classical education.]
JOHN. Tempus fugit, Comtesse.
COMTESSE. I have not been much in this country
since then, and I return to find you a coming man.
[Fortunately his learning is tempered with
modesty.]
JOHN. Oh, I don't know, I don't know.
COMTESSE. The Ladies' Champion.
[His modesty is tempered with a respect for
truth.]
JOHN. Well, well.
COMTESSE. And you are about, as I understand, =
to
introduce a bill to give women an equal right with men to grow beards [whic=
h is
all she knows about it. He takes the remark literally.]
JOHN. There's nothing about beards in it,
Comtesse. [She gives him time to cogitate, and is pleased to note that ther=
e is
no result.] Have you typed my speech, Maggie?
MAGGIE. Yes; twenty-six pages. [She produces it
from a drawer.]
[Perhaps JOHN wishes to impress the visitor.] =
JOHN. I'm to give the ladies' committee a gene= ral idea of it. Just see, Maggie, if I know the peroration. 'In conclusion, Mr. Speaker, these are the reasonable demands of every intelligent Englishwoman= '--I had better say British woman--'and I am proud to nail them to my flag'--- <= o:p>
[The visitor is properly impressed.]
COMTESSE. Oho! defies his leaders!
JOHN. 'So long as I can do so without embarras=
sing
the Government.'
COMTESSE. Ah, ah, Mr. Shand!
JOHN. 'I call upon the Front Bench, sir, loyal=
ly
but firmly'--
COMTESSE. Firm again!
JOHN. --'either to accept my Bill, or to promi=
se
WITHOUT DELAY to bring in one of their own; and if they decline to do so I
solemnly warn them that though I will not press the matter to a division ju=
st
now'--
COMTESSE. Ahem!
JOHN. 'I will bring it forward again in the ne=
ar
future.' And now Comtesse, you know that I'm not going to divide--and not
another soul knows it.
COMTESSE. I am indeed flattered by your
confidence.
JOHN. I've only told you because I don't care =
who
knows now.
COMTESSE. Oh!
[Somehow MAGGIE seems to be dissatisfied.]
MAGGIE. But why is that, John?
JOHN. I daren't keep the Government in doubt a=
ny
longer about what I mean to do. I'll show the whips the speech privately
to-night.
MAGGIE [who still wants to know]. But not to g=
o to
a division is hedging, isn't it? Is that strong?
JOHN. To make the speech at all, Maggie, is
stronger than most would dare. They would do for me if I went to a division=
.
MAGGIE. Bark but not bite?
JOHN. Now, now, Maggie, you're out of your dep=
th.
MAGGIE. I suppose that's it.
[The COMTESSE remains in the shallows.]
COMTESSE. But what will the ladies say, Mr. Sh=
and?
JOHN. They won't like it, Comtesse, but they've
got to lump it.
[Here the maid appears with a card for MAGGIE,=
who
considers it quietly.]
JOHN. Any one of importance?
MAGGIE. No.
JOHN. Then I'm ready, Maggie.
[This is evidently an intimation that she is to
open the folding-doors, and he makes an effective entrance into the
dining-room, his thumb in his waistcoat. There is a delicious clapping of h=
ands
from the committee, and the door closes. Not till then does MAGGIE, who has
grown thoughtful, tell her maid to admit the visitor.]
COMTESSE. Another lady, Mrs. Shand?
MAGGIE. The card says 'Mr. Charles Venables.' =
[The COMTESSE is really interested at last.] <= o:p>
COMTESSE. Charles Venables! Do you know him? <= o:p>
MAGGIE. I think I call to mind meeting one of =
that
name at the Foreign Office party.
COMTESSE. One of that name! He who is a Minist= er of your Cabinet. But as you know him so little why should he call on you? <= o:p>
MAGGIE. I wonder.
[MAGGIE's glance wanders to the drawer in which
she has replaced JOHN's speech.]
COMTESSE. Well, well, I shall take care of you,
petite.
MAGGIE. Do you know him?
COMTESSE. Do I know him! The last time I saw h=
im
he asked me to--to--hem!--ma cherie, it was thirty years ago.
MAGGIE. Thirty years!
COMTESSE. I was a pretty woman then. I dare sa=
y I
shall detest him now; but if I find I do not--let us have a little plot--I
shall drop this book; and then perhaps you will be so charming as--as not t=
o be
here for a little while?
[MR. VENABLES, who enters, is such a courtly
seigneur that he seems to bring the eighteenth century with him; you feel t=
hat
his sedan chair is at the door. He stoops over MAGGIE's plebeian hand.]
VENABLES. I hope you will pardon my calling, M=
rs.
Shand; we had such a pleasant talk the other evening.
[MAGGIE, of course, is at once deceived by his
gracious manner.]
MAGGIE. I think it's kind of you. Do you know =
each
other? The Comtesse de la Briere.
[He repeats the name with some emotion, and the
COMTESSE, half mischievously, half sadly, holds a hand before her face.]
VENABLES. Comtesse.
COMTESSE. Thirty years, Mr. Venables.
[He gallantly removes the hand that screens her
face.]
VENABLES. It does not seem so much.
[She gives him a similar scrutiny.]
COMTESSE. Mon Dieu, it seems all that.
[They smile rather ruefully. MAGGIE like a kind
hostess relieves the tension.]
MAGGIE. The Comtesse has taken a cottage in Su=
rrey
for the summer.
VENABLES. I am overjoyed.
COMTESSE. No, Charles, you are not. You no lon=
ger
care. Fickle one! And it is only thirty years.
[He sinks into a chair beside her.]
VENABLES. Those heavenly evenings, Comtesse, on
the Bosphorus.
COMTESSE. I refuse to talk of them. I hate you=
.
[But she drops the book, and MAGGIE fades from=
the
room. It is not a very clever departure, and the old diplomatist smiles. Th=
en
he sighs a beautiful sigh, for he does all things beautifully.]
VENABLES. It is moonlight, Comtesse, on the Go=
lden
Horn.
COMTESSE. Who are those two young things in a
caique?
VENABLES. Is he the brave Leander, Comtesse, a=
nd
is she Hero of the Lamp?
COMTESSE. No, she is the foolish wife of the
French Ambassador, and he is a good-for-nothing British attache trying to g=
et
her husband's secrets out of her.
VENABLES. Is it possible! They part at a certa=
in
garden gate.
COMTESSE. Oh, Charles, Charles!
VENABLES. But you promised to come back; I wai=
ted
there till dawn. Blanche, if you HAD come back--
COMTESSE. How is Mrs. Venables?
VENABLES. She is rather poorly. I think it's g=
out.
COMTESSE. And you?
VENABLES. I creak a little in the mornings.
COMTESSE. So do I. There is such a good man at
Wiesbaden.
VENABLES. The Homburg fellow is better. The wa=
y he
patched me up last summer--Oh, Lord, Lord!
COMTESSE. Yes, Charles, the game is up; we are=
two
old fogies. [They groan in unison; then she raps him sharply on the knuckle=
s.]
Tell me, sir, what are you doing here?
VENABLES. Merely a friendly call.
COMTESSE. I do not believe it.
VENABLES. The same woman; the old delightful
candour.
COMTESSE. The same man; the old fibs. [She sees
that the door is asking a question.] Yes, come, Mrs. Shand, I have had quite
enough of him; I warn you he is here for some crafty purpose.
MAGGIE [drawing back timidly]. Surely not?
VENABLES. Really, Comtesse, you make conversat=
ion
difficult. To show that my intentions are innocent, Mrs. Shand, I propose t=
hat
you choose the subject.
MAGGIE [relieved]. There, Comtesse.
VENABLES. I hope your husband is well?
MAGGIE. Yes, thank you. [With a happy thought]=
I
decide that we talk about him.
VENABLES. If you wish it.
COMTESSE. Be careful; HE has chosen the subjec=
t.
MAGGIE. I chose it, didn't I?
VENABLES. You know you did.
MAGGIE [appealingly]. You admire John?
VENABLES. Very much. But he puzzles me a littl=
e.
You Scots, Mrs. Shand, are such a mixture of the practical and the emotional
that you escape out of an Englishman's hand like a trout.
MAGGIE [open-eyed]. Do we?
VENABLES. Well, not you, but your husband. I h=
ave
known few men make a worse beginning in the House. He had the most atrocious
bow-wow public-park manner---
COMTESSE. I remember that manner!
MAGGIE. No, he hadn't.
VENABLES [soothingly]. At first. But by his se=
cond
session he had shed all that, and he is now a pleasure to listen to. By the
way, Comtesse, have you found any dark intention in that?
COMTESSE. You wanted to know whether he talks =
over
these matter with his wife; and she has told you that he does not.
MAGGIE [indignantly]. I haven't said a word ab=
out
it, have I?
VENABLES. Not a word. Then, again, I admire him
for his impromptu speeches.
MAGGIE. What is impromptu?
VENABLES. Unprepared. They have contained some
grave blunders not so much of judgment as of taste---
MAGGIE [hotly]. I don't think so.
VENABLES. Pardon me. But he has righted himself
subsequently in the neatest way. I have always found that the man whose sec=
ond
thoughts are good is worth watching. Well, Comtesse, I see you have somethi=
ng
to say.
COMTESSE. You are wondering whether she can te=
ll
you who gives him his second thoughts.
MAGGIE. Gives them to John? I would like to see
anybody try to give thoughts to John.
VENABLES. Quite so.
COMTESSE. Is there anything more that has rous=
ed
your admiration Charles?
VENABLES [purring]. Let me see. Yes, we are all
much edified by his humour.
COMTESSE [surprised indeed]. His humour? That =
man!
MAGGIE [with hauteur]. Why not?
VENABLES. I assure you, Comtesse, some of the =
neat
things in his speeches convulse the house. A word has even been coined for =
them--Shandisms.
COMTESSE [slowly recovering from a blow]. Humo=
ur!
VENABLES. In conversation, I admit, he strikes=
one
as being--ah--somewhat lacking in humour.
COMTESSE [pouncing]. You are wondering who
supplies his speeches with the humour.
MAGGIE. Supplies John?
VENABLES. Now that you mention it, some of his
Shandisms do have a curiously feminine quality.
COMTESSE. You have thought it might be a woman=
.
VENABLES. Really, Comtesse--
COMTESSE. I see it all. Charles, you thought it
might be the wife!
VENABLES [flinging up his hands]. I own up.
MAGGIE [bewildered]. Me?
VENABLES. Forgive me, I see I was wrong.
MAGGIE [alarmed]. Have I been doing John any h=
arm?
VENABLES. On the contrary, I am relieved to kn=
ow
that there are no hairpins in his speeches. If he is at home, Mrs. Shand, m=
ay I
see him? I am going to be rather charming to him.
MAGGIE [drawn in two directions]. Yes, he is--=
oh
yes--but--
VENABLES. That is to say, Comtesse, if he prov=
es
himself the man I believe him to be.
[This arrests MAGGIE almost as she has reached=
the
dining-room door.]
MAGGIE [hesitating]. He is very busy just now.=
VENABLES [smiling]. I think he will see me.
MAGGIE. Is it something about his speech?
VENABLES [the smile hardening]. Well, yes, it =
is.
MAGGIE. Then I dare say I could tell you what =
you
want to know without troubling him, as I've been typing it.
VENABLES [with a sigh]. I don't acquire
information in that way.
COMTESSE. I trust not.
MAGGIE. There's no secret about it. He is to s=
how
it to the whips tonight.
VENABLES [sharply]. You are sure of that?
COMTESSE. It is quite true, Charles. I heard h= im say so; and indeed he repeated what he called the 'peroration' before me. <= o:p>
MAGGIE. I know it by heart. [She plays a bold
game.] 'These are the demands of all intelligent British women, and I am pr=
oud
to nail them to my flag'--
COMTESSE. The very words, Mrs. Shand.
MAGGIE [looking at her imploringly]. 'And I do=
n't
care how they may embarrass the Government.' [The COMTESSE is bereft of spe=
ech,
so suddenly has she been introduced to the real MAGGIE SHAND]. 'If the right
honourable gentleman will give us his pledge to introduce a similar Bill th=
is
session I will willingly withdraw mine; but otherwise I solemnly warn him t=
hat
I will press the matter now to a division.'
[She turns her face from the great man; she has
gone white.]
VENABLES [after a pause]. Capital.
[The blood returns to MAGGIE's heart.]
COMTESSE [who is beginning to enjoy herself ve=
ry
much]. Then you are pleased to know that he means to, as you say, go to a
division?
VENABLES. Delighted. The courage of it will be=
the
making of him.
COMTESSE. I see.
VENABLES. Had he been to hedge we should have
known that he was a pasteboard knight and have disregarded him.
COMTESSE. I see.
[She desires to catch the eye of MAGGIE, but i=
t is
carefully turned from her.]
VENABLES. Mrs. Shand, let us have him in at on=
ce.
COMTESSE. Yes, yes, indeed.
[MAGGIE's anxiety returns, but she has to call
JOHN in.]
JOHN [impressed]. Mr. Venables! This is an hon=
our.
VENABLES. How are you, Shand?
JOHN. Sit down, sit down. [Becoming himself
again.] I can guess what you have come about.
VENABLES. Ah, you Scotsmen.
JOHN. Of course I know I'm harassing the
Government a good deal--
VENABLES [blandly]. Not at all, Shand. The
Government are very pleased.
JOHN. You don't expect me to believe that?
VENABLES. I called here to give you the proof =
of
it. You may know that we are to have a big meeting at Leeds on the 24th, wh=
en
two Ministers are to speak. There is room for a third speaker, and I am
authorised to offer that place to you.
JOHN. To me!
VENABLES. Yes.
JOHN [swelling]. It would be--the Government
taking me up.
VENABLES. Don't make too much of it; it would =
be
an acknowledgment that they look upon you as one of their likely young men.=
MAGGIE. John!
JOHN [not found wanting in a trying hour]. It'=
s a
bribe. You are offering me this on condition that I don't make my speech. H=
ow
can you think so meanly of me as to believe that I would play the women's c=
ause
false for the sake of my own advancement. I refuse your bribe.
VENABLES [liking him for the first time]. Good.
But you are wrong. There are no conditions, and we want you to make your
speech. Now do you accept?
JOHN [still suspicious]. If you make me the sa=
me
offer after you have read it. I insist on your reading it first.
VENABLES [sighing]. By all means.
[MAGGIE is in an agony as she sees JOHN hand t=
he
speech to his leader. On the other hand, the COMTESSE thrills.]
But I assure you we look on the speech as a sm=
all
matter. The important thing is your intention of going to a division; and we
agree to that also.
JOHN [losing his head]. What's that?
VENABLES. Yes, we agree.
JOHN. But--but--why, you have been threatening=
to
excommunicate me if I dared.
VENABLES. All done to test you, Shand.
JOHN. To test me?
VENABLES. We know that a division on your Bill=
can
have no serious significance; we shall see to that. And so the test was to =
be
whether you had the pluck to divide the House. Had you been intending to ta=
lk big
in this speech, and then hedge, through fear of the Government, they would =
have
had no further use for you.
JOHN [heavily]. I understand. [But there is one
thing he cannot understand, which is, why VENABLES should be so sure that h=
e is
not to hedge.]
VENABLES [turning over the pages carelessly]. =
Any
of your good things in this, Shand?
JOHN [whose one desire is to get the pages bac=
k].
No, I--no--it isn't necessary you should read it now.
VENABLES [from politeness only]. Merely for my=
own
pleasure. I shall look through it this evening. [He rolls up the speech to =
put
it in his pocket. JOHN turns despairingly to MAGGIE, though well aware that=
no help
can come from her.]
MAGGIE. That's the only copy there is, John. [=
To
VENABLES] Let me make a fresh one, and send it to you in an hour or two.
VENABLES [good-naturedly]. I could not put you=
to
that trouble, Mrs. Shand. I will take good care of it.
MAGGIE. If anything were to happen to you on t=
he
way home, wouldn't whatever is in your pocket be considered to be the prope=
rty
of your heirs?
VENABLES [laughing]. Now there is forethought!
Shand, I think that after that--! [He returns the speech to JOHN, whose hand
swallows it greedily.] She is Scotch too, Comtesse.
COMTESSE [delighted]. Yes, she is Scotch too. =
VENABLES. Though the only persons likely to do=
for
me in the street, Shand, are your ladies' committee. Ever since they took t=
he
horse out of my brougham, I can scent them a mile away.
COMTESSE. A mile? Charles, peep in there.
[He softly turns the handle of the dining-room
door, and realises that his scent is not so good as he had thought it. He b=
ids
his hostess and the COMTESSE good-bye in a burlesque whisper and tiptoes of=
f to
safer places. JOHN having gone out with him, MAGGIE can no longer avoid the=
COMTESSE's
reproachful eye. That much injured lady advances upon her with accusing fin=
ger.]
COMTESSE. So, madam!
[MAGGIE is prepared for her.]
MAGGIE. I don't know what you mean.
COMTESSE. Yes, you do. I mean that there IS so=
me
one who 'helps' our Mr. Shand.
MAGGIE. There's not.
COMTESSE. And it IS a woman, and it's you.
MAGGIE. I help in the little things.
COMTESSE. The little things! You are the Pin he
picked up and that is to make his fortune. And now what I want to know is
whether your John is aware that you help at all.
[JOHN returns, and at once provides the answer=
.]
JOHN. Maggie, Comtesse, I've done it again!
MAGGIE. I'm so glad, John.
[The COMTESSE is in an ecstasy.]
COMTESSE. And all because you were not to hedg=
e,
Mr. Shand.
[His appeal to her with the wistfulness of a
schoolboy makes him rather attractive.]
JOHN. You won't tell on me, Comtesse! [He thin=
ks
it out.] They had just guessed I would be firm because they know I'm a stro=
ng
man. You little saw, Maggie, what a good turn you were doing me when you sa=
id
you wanted to make another copy of the speech.
[She is dense.]
MAGGIE. How, John?
JOHN. Because now I can alter the end.
[She is enlightened.]
MAGGIE. So you can!
JOHN. Here's another lucky thing, Maggie: I ha=
dn't
told the ladies' committee that I was to hedge, and so they need never know.
Comtesse, I tell you there's a little cherub who sits up aloft and looks af=
ter
the career of John Shand.
[The COMTESSE looks not aloft but toward the c=
hair
at present occupied by MAGGIE.]
COMTESSE. Where does she sit, Mr. Shand?
[He knows that women are not well read.]
JOHN. It's just a figure of speech.
[He returns airily to his committee room; and =
now
again you may hear the click of MAGGIE's needles. They no longer annoy the
COMTESSE; she is setting them to music.]
COMTESSE. It is not down here she sits, Mrs.
Shand, knitting a stocking.
MAGGIE. No, it isn't.
COMTESSE. And when I came in I gave him credit=
for
everything; even for the prettiness of the room!
MAGGIE. He has beautiful taste.
COMTESSE. Good-bye, Scotchy.
MAGGIE. Good-bye, Comtesse, and thank you for =
coming.
COMTESSE. Good-bye--Miss Pin.
[MAGGIE rings genteelly.]
MAGGIE. Good-bye.
[The COMTESSE is now lost in admiration of her=
.]
COMTESSE. You divine little wife. He can't be
worthy of it, no man could be worthy of it. Why do you do it?
[MAGGIE shivers a little.]
MAGGIE. He loves to think he does it all himse=
lf;
that's the way of men. I'm six years older than he is. I'm plain, and I hav=
e no
charm. I shouldn't have let him marry me. I'm trying to make up for it.
[The COMTESSE kisses her and goes away. MAGGIE,
somewhat foolishly, resumes her knitting.]
[Some days later this same room is listening--=
with
the same inattention--to the outpouring of JOHN SHAND's love for the lady of
the hiccoughs. We arrive--by arrangement--rather late; and thus we miss som=
e of
the most delightful of the pangs.
One can see that these two are playing no game,
or, if they are, that they little know it. The wonders of the world [so str=
ange
are the instruments chosen by Love] have been revealed to JOHN in hiccoughs=
; he
shakes in SYBIL's presence; never were more swimming eyes; he who has been =
of a
wooden face till now, with ways to match, has gone on flame like a piece of
paper; emotion is in flood in him. We may be almost fond of JOHN for being =
so
worshipful of love. Much has come to him that we had almost despaired of his
acquiring, including nearly all the divine attributes except that sense of
humour. The beautiful SYBIL has always possessed but little of it also, and
what she had has been struck from her by Cupid's flail. Naked of the saving
grace, they face each other in awful rapture.]
JOHN. In a room, Sybil, I go to you as a cold =
man
to a fire. You fill me like a peal of bells in an empty house.
[She is being brutally treated by the dear
impediment, for which hiccough is such an inadequate name that even to spel=
l it
is an abomination though a sign of ability. How to describe a sound that is=
noiseless?
Let us put it thus, that when SYBIL wants to say something very much there =
are
little obstacles in her way; she falters, falls perhaps once, and then is o=
ver,
the while her appealing orbs beg you not to be angry with her. We may expre=
ss
those sweet pauses in precious dots, which some clever person can afterwards
string together and make a pearl necklace of them.]
SYBIL. I should not ... let you say it, ... but
... you ... say it so beautifully.
JOHN. You must have guessed.
SYBIL. I dreamed ... I feared ... but you were=
...
Scotch, and I didn't know what to think.
JOHN. Do you know what first attracted me to y=
ou,
Sybil? It was your insolence. I thought, 'I'll break her insolence for her.=
'
SYBIL. And I thought... 'I'll break his
str...ength!'
JOHN. And now your cooing voice plays round me;
the softness of you, Sybil, in your pretty clothes makes me think of young
birds. [The impediment is now insurmountable; she has to swim for it, she s=
wims
toward him.] It is you who inspire my work.
[He thrills to find that she can be touched
without breaking.]
SYBIL. I am so glad... so proud...
JOHN. And others know it, Sybil, as well as I.
Only yesterday the Comtesse said to me, 'No man could get on so fast unaide=
d.
Cherchez la femme, Mr. Shand.'
SYBIL. Auntie said that?
JOHN. I said 'Find her yourself, Comtesse.'
SYBIL. And she?
JOHN. She said 'I have found her,' and I said =
in my
blunt way, 'You mean Lady Sybil,' and she went away laughing.
SYBIL. Laughing?
JOHN. I seem to amuse the woman.
[Sybil grows sad.]
SYBIL. If Mrs. Shand--It is so cruel to her. W=
hom
did you say she had gone to the station to meet?
JOHN. Her father and brothers.
SYBIL. It is so cruel to them. We must think no
more of this. It is mad... ness.
JOHN. It's fate. Sybil, let us declare our love
openly.
SYBIL. You can't ask that, now in the first mo=
ment
that you tell me of it.
JOHN. The one thing I won't do even for you is=
to
live a life of underhand.
SYBIL. The... blow to her.
JOHN. Yes. But at least she has always known t=
hat
I never loved her.
SYBIL. It is asking me to give... up everythin=
g,
every one, for you.
JOHN. It's too much.
[JOHN is humble at last.]
SYBIL. To a woman who truly loves, even that is
not too much. Oh! it is not I who matter--it is you.
JOHN. My dear, my dear.
SYBIL. So gladly would I do it to save you; bu=
t,
oh, if it were to bring you down!
JOHN. Nothing can keep me down if I have you to
help me.
SYBIL. I am dazed, John, I...
JOHN. My love, my love.
SYBIL. I... oh... here...
JOHN. Be brave, Sybil, be brave.
SYBIL. ..........
[In this bewilderment of pearls she melts into=
his
arms. MAGGIE happens to open the door just then; but neither fond heart hea=
rs
her.]
JOHN. I can't walk along the streets, Sybil,
without looking in all the shop windows for what I think would become you b=
est.
[As awkwardly as though his heart still beat against corduroy, he takes from
his pocket a pendant and its chain. He is shy, and she drops pearls over the
beauty of the ruby which is its only stone.] It is a drop of my blood, Sybi=
l.
[Her lovely neck is outstretched, and he puts =
the
chain round it. MAGGIE withdraws as silently as she had come; but perhaps t=
he
door whispered 'd--n' as it closed, for SYBIL wakes out of Paradise.]
SYBIL. I thought---Did the door shut?
JOHN. It was shut already.
[Perhaps it is only that SYBIL is bewildered to
find herself once again in a world that has doors.]
SYBIL. It seemed to me---
JOHN. There was nothing. But I think I hear
voices; they may have arrived.
[Some pretty instinct makes SYBIL go farther f=
rom
him. MAGGIE kindly gives her time for this by speaking before opening the
door.]
MAGGIE. That will do perfectly, David. The maid
knows where to put them. [She comes in.] They've come, John; they WOULD help
with the luggage. [JOHN goes out. MAGGIE is agreeably surprised to find a
visitor.] How do you do, Lady Sybil? This is nice of you.
SYBIL. I was so sorry not to find you in, Mrs.
Shand.
[The impediment has run away. It is only for t=
hose
who love it.]
MAGGIE. Thank you. You'll sit down?
SYBIL. I think not; your relatives---
MAGGIE. They will be so proud to see that you =
are
my friend.
[If MAGGIE were less simple her guest would fe=
el
more comfortable. She tries to make conversation.]
SYBIL. It is their first visit to London?
[Instead of relieving her anxiety on this poin=
t,
MAGGIE has a long look at the gorgeous armful.]
MAGGIE. I'm glad you are so beautiful, Lady Sy=
bil.
[The beautiful one is somehow not flattered. S=
he
pursues her investigations with growing uneasiness.]
SYBIL. One of them is married now, isn't he?
[Still there is no answer; MAGGIE continues looking at her, and shivers
slightly.] Have they travelled from Scotland to-day? Mrs. Shand, why do you
look at me so? The door did open! [MAGGIE nods.] What are you to do?
MAGGIE. That would be telling. Sit down, my
pretty.
[As SYBIL subsides into what the Wylies with o=
ne
glance would call the best chair, MAGGIE's men-folk are brought in by JOHN,=
all
carrying silk hats and looking very active after their long rest in the tra=
in.
They are gazing about them. They would like this lady, they would like JOHN=
, they
would even like MAGGIE to go away for a little and leave them to examine the
room. Is that linen on the walls, for instance, or just paper? Is the carpe=
t as
thick as it feels, or is there brown paper beneath it? Had MAGGIE got anyth=
ing
off that bookcase on account of the worm-hole? DAVID even discovers that we
were simpletons when we said there was nothing in the room that pretended t=
o be
what it was not. He taps the marble mantelpiece, and is favourably impresse=
d by
the tinny sound.]
DAVID. Very fine imitation. It's a capital hou=
se,
Maggie.
MAGGIE. I'm so glad you like it. Do you know o=
ne
another? This is my father and my brothers, Lady Sybil.
[The lovely form inclines towards them. ALICK =
and
DAVID remain firm on their legs, but JAMES totters.]
JAMES. A ladyship! Well done, Maggie.
ALICK [sharply]. James! I remember you, my lad=
y.
MAGGIE. Sit down, father. This is the study. <= o:p>
[JAMES wanders round it inquisitively until ca=
lled
to order.]
SYBIL. You must be tired after your long journ=
ey.
DAVID [drawing the portraits of himself and
partners in one lightning sketch]. Tired, your ladyship? We sat on cushioned
seats the whole way.
JAMES [looking about him for the chair you sit
on]. Every seat in this room is cushioned.
MAGGIE. You may say all my life is cushioned n=
ow,
James, by this dear man of mine.
[She gives JOHN'S shoulder a loving pressure,
which SYBIL feels is a telegraphic communication to herself in a cypher that
she cannot read. ALICK and the BROTHERS bask in the evidence of MAGGIE's
happiness.]
JOHN [uncomfortably]. And is Elizabeth hearty,
James?
JAMES [looking down his nose in the manner pro=
per
to young husbands when addressed about their wives]. She's very well, I tha=
nk
you kindly.
MAGGIE. James is a married man now, Lady Sybil=
.
[SYBIL murmurs her congratulations.]
JAMES. I thank you kindly. [Courageously] Yes,=
I'm
married. [He looks at DAVID and ALICK to see if they are smiling; and they
are.] It wasn't a case of being catched; it was entirely of my own free wil=
l.
[He looks again; and the mean fellows are smiling still.] Is your ladyship =
married?
SYBIL. Alas! no.
DAVID. James! [Politely.] You will be yet, my
lady.
[SYBIL indicates that he is kind indeed.]
JOHN. Perhaps they would like you to show them
their rooms, Maggie?
DAVID. Fine would we like to see all the house=
as
well as the sleeping accommodation. But first--[He gives his father the look
with which chairmen call on the next speaker.]
ALICK. I take you, David. [He produces a paper
parcel from a roomy pocket.] It wasn't likely, Mr. Shand, that we should fo=
rget
the day.
JOHN. The day?
DAVID. The second anniversary of your marriage=
. We
came purposely for the day.
JAMES [his fingers itching to take the parcel =
from
his father]. It's a lace shawl, Maggie, from the three of us, a pure Toberm=
ory;
you would never dare wear it if you knew the cost.
[The shawl in its beauty is revealed, and MAGG=
IE
hails it with little cries of joy. She rushes at the donors and kisses each=
of
them just as if she were a pretty woman. They are much pleased and give
expression to their pleasure in a not very dissimilar manner.]
ALICK. Havers.
DAVID. Havers.
JAMES. Havers.
JOHN. It's a very fine shawl.
[He should not have spoken, for he has set JAM=
ES'S
volatile mind working.]
JAMES. You may say so. What did you give her, =
Mr.
Shand?
JOHN [suddenly deserted by God and man]. Me? <= o:p>
ALICK. Yes, yes, let's see it.
JOHN. Oh--I--
[He is not deserted by MAGGIE, but she can thi=
nk
of no way out.]
SYBIL [prompted by the impediment, which is in
hiding, quite close]. Did he ... forget?
[There is more than a touch of malice in the
question. It is a challenge, and the Wylies as a family are almost too quic=
k to
accept a challenge.]
MAGGIE [lifting the gage of battle]. John forg=
et?
Never! It's a pendant, father.
[The impediment bolts. JOHN rises.]
ALICK. A pendant? One of those things on a cha=
in?
[He grins, remembering how once, about sixty y=
ears
ago, he and a lady and a pendant--but we have no time for this.]
MAGGIE. Yes.
DAVID [who has felt the note of antagonism and=
is
troubled]. You were slow in speaking of it, Mr. Shand.
MAGGIE [This is her fight.] He was shy, becaus=
e he
thought you might blame him for extravagance.
DAVID [relieved]. Oh, that's it.
JAMES [licking his lips]. Let's see it.
MAGGIE [a daughter of the devil]. Where did you
put it, John?
[JOHN's mouth opens but has nothing to
contribute.]
SYBIL [the impediment has stolen back again].
Perhaps it has been ... mislaid.
[The BROTHERS echo the word incredulously.]
MAGGIE. Not it. I can't think where we laid it
down, John. It's not on that table, is it, James? [The Wylies turn to look,=
and
MAGGIE's hand goes out to LADY SYBIL: JOHN SHAND, witness. It is a very
determined hand, and presently a pendant is placed in it.] Here it is! [ALI=
CK
and the BROTHERS cluster round it, weigh it and appraise it.]
ALICK. Preserve me. Is that stone real, Mr. Sh=
and?
JOHN [who has begun to look his grimmest]. Yes=
.
MAGGIE [who is now ready, if he wishes it, to =
take
him on too]. John says it's a drop of his blood.
JOHN [wishing it]. And so it is.
DAVID. Well said, Mr. Shand.
MAGGIE [scared]. And now, if you'll come with =
me,
I think John has something he wants to talk over with Lady Sybil. [Recoveri=
ng
and taking him on.] Or would you prefer, John, to say it before us all?
SYBIL [gasping]. No!
JOHN [flinging back his head]. Yes, I prefer to
say it before you all.
MAGGIE [flinging back hers]. Then sit down aga=
in.
[The WYLIES wonderingly obey.]
SYBIL. Mr. Shand, Mr. Shand!--
JOHN. Maggie knows, and it was only for her I =
was
troubled. Do you think I'm afraid of them? [With mighty relief] Now we can =
be
open.
DAVID [lowering]. What is it? What's wrong, Jo=
hn
Shand?
JOHN [facing him squarely]. It was to Lady Syb=
il I
gave the pendant, and all my love with it. [Perhaps JAMES utters a cry, but=
the
silence of ALICK and DAVID is more terrible.]
SYBIL [whose voice is smaller than we had
thought]. What are you to do?
[It is to MAGGIE she is speaking.]
DAVID. She'll leave it for us to do.
JOHN. That's what I want.
[The lords of creation look at the ladies.]
MAGGIE [interpreting]. You and I are expected =
to
retire, Lady Sybil, while the men decide our fate. [SYBIL is ready to obey =
the
law, but MAGGIE remains seated.] Man's the oak, woman's the ivy. Which of u=
s is
it that's to cling to you, John?
[With three stalwarts glaring at him, JOHN rat=
her
grandly takes SYBIL'S hand. They are two against the world.]
SYBIL [a heroine]. I hesitated, but I am afrai=
d no
longer; whatever he asks of me I will do.
[Evidently the first thing he asks of her is to
await him in the dining-room.]
It will mean surrendering everything for him. =
I am
glad it means all that. [She passes into the dining-room looking as pretty =
as a
kiss.]
MAGGIE. So that settles it.
ALICK. I'm thinking that doesn't settle it.
DAVID. No, by God! [But his love for MAGGIE
steadies him. There is even a note of entreaty in his voice.] Have you noth=
ing
to say to her, man?
JOHN. I have things to say to her, but not bef=
ore
you.
DAVID [sternly]. Go away, Maggie. Leave him to=
us.
JAMES [who thinks it is about time that he said
something]. Yes, leave him to us.
MAGGIE. No, David, I want to hear what is to
become of me; I promise not to take any side.
[And sitting by the fire she resumes her knitt=
ing.
The four regard her as on an evening at The Pans a good many years ago.]
DAVID [barking]. How long has this been going =
on?
JOHN. If you mean how long has that lady been =
the
apple of my eye, I'm not sure; but I never told her of it until today.
MAGGIE [thoughtfully and without dropping a
stitch]. I think it wasn't till about six months ago, John, that she began =
to
be very dear to you. At first you liked to bring in her name when talking to
me, so that I could tell you of any little things I might have heard she was
doing. But afterwards, as she became more and more to you, you avoided ment=
ioning
her name.
JOHN [surprised]. Did you notice that?
MAGGIE [in her old-fashioned way]. Yes.
JOHN. I tried to be done with it for your sake.
I've often had a sore heart for you, Maggie.
JAMES. You're proving it!
MAGGIE. Yes, James, he had. I've often seen him
looking at me very sorrowfully of late because of what was in his mind; and
many a kindly little thing he has done for me that he didn't use to do.
JOHN. You noticed that too!
MAGGIE. Yes.
DAVID [controlling himself]. Well, we won't go
into that; the thing to be thankful for is that it's ended.
ALICK [who is looking very old]. Yes, yes, tha=
t's
the great thing.
JOHN. All useless, sir, it's not ended; it's t=
o go
on.
DAVID. There's a devil in you, John Shand.
JOHN [who is an unhappy man just now]. I dare =
say
there is. But do you think he had a walk over, Mr. David?
JAMES. Man, I could knock you down!
MAGGIE. There's not one of you could knock John
down.
DAVID [exasperated]. Quiet, Maggie. One would
think you were taking his part.
MAGGIE. Do you expect me to desert him at the =
very
moment that he needs me most?
DAVID. It's him that's deserting you.
JOHN. Yes, Maggie, that's what it is.
ALICK. Where's your marriage vow? And your chu=
rch
attendances?
JAMES [with terrible irony]. And your prize for
moral philosophy?
JOHN [recklessly]. All gone whistling down the
wind.
DAVID. I suppose you understand that you'll ha=
ve
to resign your seat.
JOHN [his underlip much in evidence]. There are
hundreds of seats, but there's only one John Shand.
MAGGIE [but we don't hear her]. That's how I l=
ike
to hear him speak.
DAVID [the ablest person in the room]. Think, =
man,
I'm old by you, and for long I've had a pride in you. It will be beginning =
the
world again with more against you than there was eight years ago.
JOHN. I have a better head to begin it with th=
an I
had eight years ago.
ALICK [hoping this will bite]. She'll have her=
own
money, David!
JOHN. She's as poor as a mouse.
JAMES [thinking possibly of his Elizabeth's
mother]. We'll go to her friends, and tell them all. They'll stop it.
JOHN. She's of age.
JAMES. They'll take her far away.
JOHN. I'll follow, and tear her from them.
ALICK. Your career---
JOHN [to his credit]. To hell with my career. =
Do
you think I don't know I'm on the rocks? What can you, or you, or you,
understand of the passions of a man! I've fought, and I've given in. When a
ship founders, as I suppose I'm foundering, it's not a thing to yelp at. Pe=
ace,
all of you. [He strides into the dining-room, where we see him at times pac=
ing the
floor.]
DAVID [to JAMES, who gives signs of a desire to
take off his coat]. Let him be. We can't budge him. [With bitter wisdom] It=
's
true what he says, true at any rate about me. What do I know of the passion=
s of
a man! I'm up against something I don't understand.
ALICK. It's something wicked.
DAVID. I dare say it is, but it's something bi=
g.
JAMES. It's that damned charm.
MAGGIE [still by the fire]. That's it. What wa=
s it
that made you fancy Elizabeth, James?
JAMES [sheepishly]. I can scarcely say.
MAGGIE. It was her charm.
DAVID. HER charm!
JAMES [pugnaciously]. Yes, HER charm.
MAGGIE. She had charm for James.
[This somehow breaks them up. MAGGIE goes from=
one
to another with an odd little smile flickering on her face.]
DAVID. Put on your things, Maggie, and we'll l=
eave
his house.
MAGGIE [patting his kind head]. Not me, David.=
[This is a MAGGIE they have known but forgotte=
n;
all three brighten.]
DAVID. You haven't given in!
[The smile flickers and expires.]
MAGGIE. I want you all to go upstairs, and let=
me
have my try now.
JAMES. Your try?
ALICK. Maggie, you put new life into me.
JAMES. And into me.
[DAVID says nothing; the way he grips her shou=
lder
says it for him.]
MAGGIE. I'll save him, David, if I can.
DAVID. Does he deserve to be saved after the w=
ay
he has treated you?
MAGGIE. You stupid David. What has that to do =
with
it.
[When they have gone, JOHN comes to the door of
the dining-room. There is welling up in him a great pity for MAGGIE, but it=
has
to subside a little when he sees that the knitting is still in her hand. No=
man
likes to be so soon supplanted. SYBIL follows, and the two of them gaze at =
the active
needles.]
MAGGIE [perceiving that she has visitors]. Come
in, John. Sit down, Lady Sybil, and make yourself comfortable. I'm afraid w=
e've
put you about.
[She is, after all, only a few years older than
they and scarcely looks her age; yet it must have been in some such way as =
this
that the little old woman who lived in a shoe addressed her numerous progen=
y.]
JOHN. I'm mortal sorry, Maggie.
SYBIL [who would be more courageous if she cou=
ld
hold his hand]. And I also.
MAGGIE [soothingly]. I'm sure you are. But as =
it
can't be helped I see no reason why we three shouldn't talk the matter over=
in
a practical way.
[SYBIL looks doubtful, but JOHN hangs on
desperately to the word practical.]
JOHN. If you could understand, Maggie, what an
inspiration she is to me and my work.
SYBIL. Indeed, Mrs. Shand, I think of nothing
else.
MAGGIE. That's fine. That's as it should be. <= o:p>
SYBIL [talking too much]. Mrs. Shand, I think =
you
are very kind to take it so reasonably.
MAGGIE. That's the Scotch way. When were you
thinking of leaving me, John?
[Perhaps this is the Scotch way also; but SYBI=
L is
English, and from the manner in which she starts you would say that somethi=
ng
has fallen on her toes.]
JOHN [who has heard nothing fall]. I think, now
that it has come to a breach, the sooner the better. [His tone becomes that=
of
JAMES when asked after the health of his wife.] When it is convenient to yo=
u, Maggie.
MAGGIE [making a rapid calculation]. It couldn=
't
well be before Wednesday. That's the day the laundry comes home.
[SYBIL has to draw in her toes again.]
JOHN. And it's the day the House rises. [Stifl=
ing
a groan] It may be my last appearance in the House.
SYBIL [her arms yearning for him]. No, no, ple=
ase
don't say that.
MAGGIE [surveying him sympathetically]. You lo=
ve
the House, don't you, John, next to her? It's a pity you can't wait till af=
ter
your speech at Leeds. Mr. Venables won't let you speak at Leeds, I fear, if=
you
leave me.
JOHN. What a chance it would have been. But le=
t it
go.
MAGGIE. The meeting is in less than a month. C=
ould
you not make it such a speech that they would be very loth to lose you?
JOHN [swelling]. That's what was in my mind. <= o:p>
SYBIL [with noble confidence]. And he could ha=
ve
done it.
MAGGIE. Then we've come to something practical=
.
JOHN [exercising his imagination with powerful
effect]. No, it wouldn't be fair to you if I was to stay on now.
MAGGIE. Do you think I'll let myself be consid=
ered
when your career is at stake. A month will soon pass for me; I'll have a lo=
t of
packing to do.
JOHN. It's noble of you, but I don't deserve i=
t,
and I can't take it from you.
MAGGIE. Now's the time, Lady Sybil, for you to
have one of your inspiring ideas.
SYBIL [ever ready]. Yes, yes--but what?
[It is odd that they should both turn to MAGGI=
E at
this moment.]
MAGGIE [who has already been saying it to
herself]. What do you think of this: I can stay on here with my father and
brothers; and you, John, can go away somewhere and devote yourself to your
speech?
SYBIL. Yes.
JOHN. That might be. [Considerately] Away from
both of you. Where could I go?
SYBIL [ever ready]. Where?
MAGGIE. I know.
[She has called up a number on the telephone
before they have time to check her.]
JOHN [on his dignity]. Don't be in such a hurr=
y,
Maggie.
MAGGIE. Is this Lamb's Hotel? Put me on to the
Comtesse de la Briere, please.
SYBIL [with a sinking]. What do you want with
Auntie?
MAGGIE. Her cottage in the country would be the
very place. She invited John and me.
JOHN. Yes, but--
MAGGIE [arguing]. And Mr. Venables is to be th=
ere.
Think of the impression you could make on HIM, seeing him daily for three
weeks.
JOHN. There's something in that.
MAGGIE. Is it you, Comtesse? I'm Maggie Shand.=
SYBIL. You are not to tell her that--?
MAGGIE. No. [To the COMTESSE] Oh, I'm very wel=
l,
never was better. Yes, yes; you see I can't, because my folk have never bee=
n in
London before, and I must take them about and show them the sights. But John
could come to you alone; why not?
JOHN [with proper pride]. If she's not keen to
have me, I won't go.
MAGGIE. She's very keen. Comtesse, I could come
for a day by and by to see how you are getting on. Yes--yes--certainly. [To
JOHN] She says she'll be delighted.
JOHN [thoughtfully]. You're not doing this,
Maggie, thinking that my being absent from Sybil for a few weeks can make a=
ny
difference? Of course it's natural you should want us to keep apart, but-- =
MAGGIE [grimly]. I'm founding no hope on keepi=
ng
you apart, John.
JOHN. It's what other wives would do.
MAGGIE. I promised to be different.
JOHN [his position as a strong man assured]. T=
hen
tell her I accept. [He wanders back into the dining-room.]
SYBIL. I think--[she is not sure what she
thinks]--I think you are very wonderful.
MAGGIE. Was that John calling to you?
SYBIL. Was it? [She is glad to join him in the
dining-room.]
MAGGIE. Comtesse, hold the line a minute. [She=
is
alone, and she has nearly reached the end of her self-control. She shakes
emotionally and utters painful little cries; there is something she wants to
do, and she is loth to do it. But she does it.] Are you there, Comtesse?
There's one other thing, dear Comtesse; I want you to invite Lady Sybil als=
o;
yes, for the whole time that John is there. No, I'm not mad; as a great fav=
our
to me; yes, I have a very particular reason, but I won't tell you what it i=
s;
oh, call me Scotchy as much as you like, but consent; do, do, do. Thank you,
thank you, good-bye.
[She has control of herself now, and is determ=
ined
not to let it slip from her again. When they reappear the stubborn one is
writing a letter.]
JOHN. I thought I heard the telephone again. <= o:p>
MAGGIE [looking up from her labours]. It was t=
he
Comtesse; she says she's to invite Lady Sybil to the cottage at the same ti=
me.
SYBIL. Me!
JOHN. To invite Sybil? Then of course I won't =
go,
Maggie.
MAGGIE [wondering seemingly at these niceties].
What does it matter? Is anything to be considered except the speech? [It has
been admitted that she was a little devil.] And, with Sybil on the spot, Jo=
hn,
to help you and inspire you, what a speech it will be!
JOHN [carried away]. Maggie, you really are a =
very
generous woman.
SYBIL [convinced at last]. She is indeed.
JOHN. And you're queer too. How many women in =
the
circumstances would sit down to write a letter?
MAGGIE. It's a letter to you, John.
JOHN. To me?
MAGGIE. I'll give it to you when it's finished,
but I ask you not to open it till your visit to the Comtesse ends.
JOHN. What is it about?
MAGGIE. It's practical.
SYBIL [rather faintly]. Practical? [She has he=
ard
the word so frequently to-day that it is beginning to have a Scotch sound. =
She
feels she ought to like MAGGIE, but that she would like her better if they =
were
farther apart. She indicates that the doctors are troubled about her heart,=
and
murmuring her adieux she goes. JOHN, who is accompanying her, pauses at the
door.]
JOHN [with a queer sort of admiration for his
wife]. Maggie, I wish I was fond of you.
MAGGIE [heartily]. I wish you were, John.
[He goes, and she resumes her letter. The stoc=
king
is lying at hand, and she pushes it to the floor. She is done for a time wi=
th
knitting.]
[Man's most pleasant invention is the lawn-mow=
er.
All the birds know this, and that is why, when it is at rest, there is alwa=
ys
at least one of them sitting on the handle with his head cocked, wondering =
how
the delicious whirring sound is made. When they find out, they will change =
their
note. As it is, you must sometimes have thought that you heard the mower ve=
ry
early in the morning, and perhaps you peeped in neglige from your lattice
window to see who was up so early. It was really the birds trying to get the
note.
On this broiling morning, however, we are at n=
oon,
and whoever looks will see that the whirring is done by Mr. Venables. He is=
in
a linen suit with the coat discarded (the bird is sitting on it), and he co=
mes and
goes across the Comtesse's lawns, pleasantly mopping his face. We see him
through a crooked bowed window generously open, roses intruding into it as =
if
to prevent its ever being closed at night; there are other roses in such
armfuls on the tables that one could not easily say where the room ends and=
the
garden begins.
In the Comtesse's pretty comic drawing-room (f=
or
she likes the comic touch when she is in England) sits John Shand with his
hostess, on chairs at a great distance from each other. No linen garments f=
or
John, nor flannels, nor even knickerbockers; he envies the English way of d=
ressing
for trees and lawns, but is too Scotch to be able to imitate it; he wears
tweeds, just as he would do in his native country where they would be in ki=
lts.
Like many another Scot, the first time he ever saw a kilt was on a Sassenac=
h;
indeed kilts were perhaps invented, like golf, to draw the English north. J=
ohn
is doing nothing, which again is not a Scotch accomplishment, and he looks
rather miserable and dour. The Comtesse is already at her Patience cards, a=
nd
occasionally she smiles on him as if not displeased with his long silence. =
At
last she speaks:]
COMTESSE. I feel it rather a shame to detain y=
ou
here on such a lovely day, Mr. Shand, entertaining an old woman.
JOHN. I don't pretend to think I'm entertaining
you, Comtesse.
COMTESSE. But you ARE, you know.
JOHN. I would be pleased to be told how?
[She shrugs her impertinent shoulders, and
presently there is another heavy sigh from JOHN.]
COMTESSE. Again! Why do not you go out on the
river?
JOHN. Yes, I can do that. [He rises.]
COMTESSE. And take Sybil with you. [He sits
again.] No?
JOHN. I have been on the river with her twenty
times.
COMTESSE. Then take her for a long walk through
the Fairloe woods.
JOHN. We were there twice last week.
COMTESSE. There is a romantically damp little
arbour at the end of what the villagers call the Lovers' Lane.
JOHN. One can't go there every day. I see noth=
ing
to laugh at.
COMTESSE. Did I laugh? I must have been
translating the situation into French.
[Perhaps the music of the lawn-mower is not to
JOHN's mood, for he betakes himself to another room. MR. VENABLES pauses in=
his
labours to greet a lady who has appeared on the lawn, and who is MAGGIE. Sh=
e is
as neat as if she were one of the army of typists [who are quite the nicest=
kind
of women], and carries a little bag. She comes in through the window, and p=
uts
her hands over the COMTESSE's eyes.]
COMTESSE. They are a strong pair of hands, at =
any
rate.
MAGGIE. And not very white, and biggish for my
size. Now guess.
[The COMTESSE guesses, and takes both the hand=
s in
hers as if she valued them. She pulls off MAGGIE's hat as if to prevent her
flying away.]
COMTESSE. Dear abominable one, not to let me k=
now
you were coming.
MAGGIE. It is just a surprise visit, Comtesse.=
I
walked up from the station. [For a moment MAGGIE seems to have borrowed SYB=
IL'S
impediment.] How is--everybody?
COMTESSE. He is quite well. But, my child, he
seems to me to be a most unhappy man.
[This sad news does not seem to make a most
unhappy woman of the child. The COMTESSE is puzzled, as she knows nothing of
the situation save what she has discovered for herself.]
Why should that please you, O heartless one? <= o:p>
MAGGIE. I won't tell you.
COMTESSE. I could take you and shake you, Magg=
ie.
Here have I put my house at your disposal for so many days for some sly Sco=
tch
purpose, and you will not tell me what it is.
MAGGIE. No.
COMTESSE. Very well, then, but I have what you
call a nasty one for you. [The COMTESSE lures MR. VENABLES into the room by
holding up what might be a foaming glass of lemon squash.] Alas, Charles, i=
t is
but a flower vase. I want you to tell Mrs. Shand what you think of her
husband's speech.
[MR. VENABLES gives his hostess a reproachful
look.]
VENABLES. Eh--ah--Shand will prefer to do that
himself. I promised the gardener--I must not disappoint him--excuse me--
COMTESSE. You must tell her, Charles.
MAGGIE. Please, Mr. Venables, I should like to
know.
[He sits down with a sigh and obeys.]
VENABLES. Your husband has been writing the sp=
eech
here, and by his own wish he read it to me three days ago. The occasion is =
to
be an important one; and, well, there are a dozen young men in the party at
present, all capable of filling a certain small ministerial post. [He looks
longingly at the mower, but it sends no message to his aid.] And as he is o=
ne of
them I was anxious that he should show in this speech of what he is capable=
.
MAGGIE. And hasn't he?
[Not for the first time MR. VENABLES wishes th=
at
he was not in politics.]
VENABLES. I am afraid he has.
COMTESSE. What is wrong with the speech, Charl=
es?
VENABLES. Nothing--and he can still deliver it=
. It
is a powerful, well-thought-out piece of work, such as only a very able man
could produce. But it has no SPECIAL QUALITY of its own--none of the little=
touches
that used to make an old stager like myself want to pat Shand on the should=
er.
[The COMTESSE's mouth twitches, but MAGGIE declines to notice it.] He pound=
s on
manfully enough, but, if I may say so, with a wooden leg. It is as good, I =
dare
say, as the rest of them could have done; but they start with such inherited
advantages, Mrs. Shand, that he had to do better.
MAGGIE. Yes, I can understand that.
VENABLES. I am sorry, Mrs. Shand, for he
interested me. His career has set me wondering whether if I had begun as a
railway porter I might not still be calling out, 'By your leave.'
[MAGGIE thinks it probable but not important] =
MAGGIE. Mr. Venables, now that I think of it,
surely John wrote to me that you were dissatisfied with his first speech, a=
nd
that he was writing another.
[The COMTESSE's eyes open very wide indeed.] <= o:p>
VENABLES. I have heard nothing of that, Mrs.
Shand. [He shakes his wise head.] And in any case, I am afraid--[He still h=
ears
the wooden leg.]
MAGGIE. But you said yourself that his second
thoughts were sometimes such an improvement on the first.
[The COMTESSE comes to the help of the baggage=
.]
COMTESSE. I remember you saying that, Charles.=
VENABLES. Yes, that has struck me. [Politely]
Well, if he has anything to show me--In the meantime--
[He regains the lawn, like one glad to escape
attendance at JOHN'S obsequies. The COMTESSE is brought back to speech by t=
he
sound of the mower--nothing wooden in it.]
COMTESSE. What are you up to now, Miss Pin? You
know as well as I do that there is no such speech.
[MAGGIE's mouth tightens.]
MAGGIE. I do not.
COMTESSE. It is a duel, is it, my friend?
[The COMTESSE rings the bell and MAGGIE's guil=
ty
mind is agitated.]
MAGGIE. What are you ringing for?
COMTESSE. As the challenged one, Miss Pin, I h=
ave
the choice of weapons. I am going to send for your husband to ask him if he=
has
written such a speech. After which, I suppose, you will ask me to leave you
while you and he write it together.
[MAGGIE wrings her hands.]
MAGGIE. You are wrong, Comtesse; but please do=
n't
do that.
COMTESSE. You but make me more curious, and my
doctor says that I must be told everything. [The COMTESSE assumes the pose =
of
her sex in melodrama.] Put your cards on the table, Maggie Shand, or--[She =
indicates
that she always pinks her man. MAGGIE dolefully produces a roll of paper fr=
om
her bag.] What precisely is that?
[The reply is little more than a squeak.]
MAGGIE. John's speech.
COMTESSE. You have written it yourself!
[MAGGIE is naturally indignant.]
MAGGIE. It's typed.
COMTESSE. You guessed that the speech he wrote
unaided would not satisfy, and you prepared this to take its place!
MAGGIE. Not at all, Comtesse. It is the draft =
of
his speech that he left at home. That's all.
COMTESSE. With a few trivial alterations by
yourself, I swear. Can you deny it?
[No wonder that MAGGIE is outraged. She replac=
es
JOHN's speech in the bag with becoming hauteur.]
MAGGIE. Comtesse, these insinuations are unwor=
thy
of you. May I ask where is my husband?
[The COMTESSE drops her a curtsey.]
COMTESSE. I believe your Haughtiness may find =
him
in the Dutch garden. Oh, I see through you. You are not to show him your
speech. But you are to get him to write another one, and somehow all your
additions will be in it. Think not, creature, that you can deceive one so o=
ld
in iniquity as the Comtesse de la Briere.
[There can be but one reply from a good wife to
such a charge, and at once the COMTESSE is left alone with her shame. Anon a
footman appears. You know how they come and go.]
FOOTMAN. You rang, my lady?
COMTESSE. Did I? Ah, yes, but why? [He is but
lately from the ploughshare and cannot help her. In this quandary her eyes
alight upon the bag. She is unfortunately too abandoned to feel her shame; =
she
still thinks that she has the choice of weapons. She takes the speech from =
the bag
and bestows it on her servitor.] Take this to Mr. Venables, please, and say=
it
is from Mr. Shand. [THOMAS--but in the end we shall probably call him
JOHN--departs with the dangerous papers; and when MAGGIE returns she finds =
that
the COMTESSE is once more engaged in her interrupted game of Patience.] You=
did
not find him?
[All the bravery has dropped from MAGGIE's fac=
e.]
MAGGIE. I didn't see him, but I heard him. SHE=
is
with him. I think they are coming here.
[The COMTESSE is suddenly kind again.]
COMTESSE. Sybil? Shall I get rid of her?
MAGGIE. No, I want her to be here, too. Now I
shall know.
[The COMTESSE twists the little thing round.] =
COMTESSE. Know what?
MAGGIE. As soon as I look into his face I shall
know.
[A delicious scent ushers in the fair SYBIL, w=
ho
is as sweet as a milking stool. She greets MRS. SHAND with some alarm.]
MAGGIE. How do you do, Lady Sybil? How pretty =
you
look in that frock. [SYBIL rustles uncomfortably.] You are a feast to the e=
ye.
SYBIL. Please, I wish you would not.
[Shall we describe SYBIL'S frock, in which she
looks like a great strawberry that knows it ought to be plucked; or would i=
t be
easier to watch the coming of JOHN? Let us watch JOHN.]
JOHN. You, Maggie! You never wrote that you we=
re
coming.
[No, let us watch MAGGIE. As soon as she looked
into his face she was to know something of importance.]
MAGGIE [not dissatisfied with what she sees]. =
No,
John, it's a surprise visit. I just ran down to say good-bye.
[At this his face falls, which does not seem to
pain her.]
SYBIL [foreseeing another horrible Scotch scen=
e].
To say good-bye?
COMTESSE [thrilling with expectation]. To whom,
Maggie?
SYBIL [deserted by the impediment, which is
probably playing with rough boys in the Lovers' Lane]. Auntie, do leave us,
won't you?
COMTESSE. Not I. It is becoming far too
interesting.
MAGGIE. I suppose there's no reason the Comtes=
se
shouldn't be told, as she will know so soon at any rate?
JOHN. That's so. [SYBIL sees with discomfort t=
hat
he is to be practical also.]
MAGGIE. It's so simple. You see, Comtesse, John
and Lady Sybil have fallen in love with one another, and they are to go off=
as
soon as the meeting at Leeds has taken place.
[The COMTESSE's breast is too suddenly introdu=
ced
to Caledonia and its varied charms.]
COMTESSE. Mon Dieu!
MAGGIE. I think that's putting it correctly, J=
ohn.
JOHN. In a sense. But I'm not to attend the
meeting at Leeds. My speech doesn't find favour. [With a strange humility]
There's something wrong with it.
COMTESSE. I never expected to hear you say tha=
t,
Mr. Shand.
JOHN [wondering also]. I never expected it mys=
elf.
I meant to make it the speech of my career. But somehow my hand seems to ha=
ve
lost its cunning.
COMTESSE. And you don't know how?
JOHN. It's inexplicable. My brain was never
clearer.
COMTESSE. You might have helped him, Sybil.
SYBIL [quite sulkily]. I did.
COMTESSE. But I thought she was such an
inspiration to you, Mr. Shand.
JOHN [going bravely to SYBIL'S side]. She slav=
ed
at it with me.
COMTESSE. Strange. [Wickedly becoming practical
also] So now there is nothing to detain you. Shall I send for a fly, Sybil?=
SYBIL [with a cry of the heart]. Auntie, do le=
ave
us.
COMTESSE. I can understand your impatience to =
be
gone, Mr. Shand.
JOHN [heavily]. I promised Maggie to wait till=
the
24th, and I'm a man of my word.
MAGGIE. But I give you back your word, John. Y=
ou
can go now.
[JOHN looks at SYBIL, and SYBIL looks at JOHN,=
and
the impediment arrives in time to take a peep at both of them.]
SYBIL [groping for the practical, to which we =
must
all come in the end]. He must make satisfactory arrangements about you firs=
t. I
insist on that.
MAGGIE [with no more imagination than a hen].
Thank you, Lady Sybil, but I have made all my arrangements.
JOHN [stung]. Maggie, that was my part.
MAGGIE. You see, my brothers feel they can't be
away from their business any longer; and so, if it would be convenient to y=
ou,
John, I could travel north with them by the night train on Wednesday.
SYBIL. I--I----The way you put things---!
JOHN. This is just the 21st.
MAGGIE. My things are all packed. I think you'=
ll
find the house in good order, Lady Sybil. I have had the vacuum cleaners in.
I'll give you the keys of the linen and the silver plate; I have them in th=
at
bag. The carpet on the upper landing is a good deal frayed, but---
SYBIL. Please, I don't want to hear any more. =
MAGGIE. The ceiling of the dining-room would be
the better of a new lick of paint---
SYBIL [stamping her foot, small fours]. Can't =
you
stop her?
JOHN [soothingly]. She's meaning well. Maggie,=
I
know it's natural to you to value those things, because your outlook on lif=
e is
bounded by them; but all this jars on me.
MAGGIE. Does it?
JOHN. Why should you be so ready to go?
MAGGIE. I promised not to stand in your way. <= o:p>
JOHN [stoutly]. You needn't be in such a hurry.
There are three days to run yet. [The French are so different from us that =
we
shall probably never be able to understand why the COMTESSE laughed aloud
here.] It's just a joke to the Comtesse.
COMTESSE. It seems to be no joke to you, Mr.
Shand. Sybil, my pet, are you to let him off?
SYBIL [flashing]. Let him off? If he wishes it=
. Do
you?
JOHN [manfully]. I want it to go on. [Something
seems to have caught in his throat: perhaps it is the impediment trying a
temporary home.] It's the one wish of my heart. If you come with me, Sybil,
I'll do all in a man's power to make you never regret it.
[Triumph of the Vere de Veres.]
MAGGIE [bringing them back to earth with a dum=
p].
And I can make my arrangements for Wednesday?
SYBIL [seeking the COMTESSE's protection]. No,=
you
can't. Auntie, I am not going on with this. I'm very sorry for you, John, b=
ut I
see now--I couldn't face it---
[She can't face anything at this moment except=
the
sofa pillows.]
COMTESSE [noticing JOHN'S big sigh of relief].=
So
THAT is all right, Mr. Shand!
MAGGIE. Don't you love her any more, John? Be
practical.
SYBIL [to the pillows]. At any rate I have tir=
ed
of him. Oh, best to tell the horrid truth. I am ashamed of myself. I have b=
een
crying my eyes out over it--I thought I was such a different kind of woman.=
But
I am weary of him. I think him--oh, so dull.
JOHN [his face lighting up]. Are you sure that=
is
how you have come to think of me?
SYBIL. I'm sorry; [with all her soul] but
yes--yes--yes.
JOHN. By God, it's more than I deserve.
COMTESSE. Congratulations to you both.
[SYBIL runs away; and in the fulness of time s=
he
married successfully in cloth of silver, which was afterwards turned into a
bed-spread.]
MAGGIE. You haven't read my letter yet, John, =
have
you?
JOHN. No.
COMTESSE [imploringly]. May I know to what dar=
ling
letter you refer?
MAGGIE. It's a letter I wrote to him before he
left London. I gave it to him closed, not to be opened until his time here =
was
ended.
JOHN [as his hand strays to his pocket]. Am I =
to
read it now?
MAGGIE. Not before her. Please go away, Comtes=
se.
COMTESSE. Every word you say makes me more
determined to remain.
MAGGIE. It will hurt you, John. [Distressed] D=
on't
read it; tear it up.
JOHN. You make me very curious, Maggie. And ye=
t I
don't see what can be in it.
COMTESSE. But you feel a little nervous? Give =
ME
the dagger.
MAGGIE [quickly]. No. [But the COMTESSE has
already got it.]
COMTESSE. May I? [She must have thought they s=
aid
Yes, for she opens the letter. She shares its contents with them.] 'Dearest
John, It is at my request that the Comtesse is having Lady Sybil at the cot=
tage
at the same time as yourself.'
JOHN. What?
COMTESSE. Yes, she begged me to invite you
together.
JOHN. But why?
MAGGIE. I promised you not to behave as other
wives would do.
JOHN. It's not understandable.
COMTESSE. 'You may ask why I do this, John, an=
d my
reason is, I think that after a few weeks of Lady Sybil, every day, and all
day, you will become sick to death of her. I am also giving her the chance =
to
help you and inspire you with your work, so that you may both learn what he=
r help
and her inspiration amount to. Of course, if your love is the great strong
passion you think it, then those weeks will make you love her more than ever
and I can only say good-bye. But if, as I suspect, you don't even now know =
what
true love is, then by the next time we meet, dear John, you will have had
enough of her.--Your affectionate wife, Maggie.' Oh, why was not Sybil pres=
ent
at the reading of the will! And now, if you two will kindly excuse me, I th=
ink
I must go and get that poor sufferer the eau de Cologne.
JOHN. It's almost enough to make a man lose fa=
ith
in himself.
COMTESSE. Oh, don't say that, Mr. Shand.
MAGGIE [defending him]. You mustn't hurt him. =
If
you haven't loved deep and true, that's just because you have never met a w=
oman
yet, John, capable of inspiring it.
COMTESSE [putting her hand on MAGGIE's shoulde=
r].
Have you not, Mr. Shand?
JOHN. I see what you mean. But Maggie wouldn't
think better of me for any false pretences. She knows my feelings for her n=
ow
are neither more nor less than what they have always been.
MAGGIE [who sees that he is looking at her as
solemnly as a volume of sermons printed by request]. I think no one could be
fond of me that can't laugh a little at me.
JOHN. How could that help?
COMTESSE [exasperated]. Mr. Shand, I give you =
up.
MAGGIE. I admire his honesty.
COMTESSE. Oh, I give you up also. Arcades ambo.
Scotchies both.
JOHN [when she has gone]. But this letter, it's
not like you. By Gosh, Maggie, you're no fool.
[She beams at this, as any wife would.]
But how could I have made such a mistake? It's=
not
like a strong man. [Evidently he has an inspiration.]
MAGGIE. What is it?
JOHN [the inspiration]. AM I a strong man?
MAGGIE. You? Of course you are. And self-made.=
Has
anybody ever helped you in the smallest way?
JOHN [thinking it out again]. No, nobody.
MAGGIE. Not even Lady Sybil?
JOHN. I'm beginning to doubt it. It's very
curious, though, Maggie, that this speech should be disappointing.
MAGGIE. It's just that Mr. Venables hasn't the
brains to see how good it is.
JOHN. That must be it. [But he is too good a m=
an to
rest satisfied with this.] No, Maggie, it's not. Somehow I seem to have los=
t my
neat way of saying things.
MAGGIE [almost cooing]. It will come back to y=
ou.
JOHN [forlorn]. If you knew how I've tried.
MAGGIE [cautiously]. Maybe if you were to try =
again;
and I'll just come and sit beside you, and knit. I think the click of the
needles sometimes put you in the mood.
JOHN. Hardly that; and yet many a Shandism hav=
e I
knocked off while you were sitting beside me knitting. I suppose it was the
quietness.
MAGGIE. Very likely.
JOHN [with another inspiration]. Maggie!
MAGGIE [again]. What is it, John?
JOHN. What if it was you that put those queer
ideas into my head!
MAGGIE. Me?
JOHN. Without your knowing it, I mean.
MAGGIE. But how?
JOHN. We used to talk bits over; and it may be
that you dropped the seed, so to speak.
MAGGIE. John, could it be this, that I sometim=
es
had the idea in a rough womanish sort of way and then you polished it up ti=
ll
it came out a Shandism?
JOHN [slowly slapping his knee]. I believe you=
've
hit it, Maggie: to think that you may have been helping me all the time--and
neither of us knew it!
[He has so nearly reached a smile that no one =
can
say what might have happened within the next moment if the COMTESSE had not
reappeared.]
COMTESSE. Mr. Venables wishes to see you, Mr.
Shand.
JOHN [lost, stolen, or strayed a smile in the
making]. Hum!
COMTESSE. He is coming now.
JOHN [grumpy]. Indeed!
COMTESSE [sweetly]. It is about your speech. <= o:p>
JOHN. He has said all he need say on that subj=
ect,
and more.
COMTESSE [quaking a little]. I think it is abo=
ut
the second speech.
JOHN. What second speech?
[MAGGIE runs to her bag and opens it.]
MAGGIE [horrified]. Comtesse, you have given i=
t to
him!
COMTESSE [impudently]. Wasn't I meant to?
JOHN. What is it? What second speech?
MAGGIE. Cruel, cruel. [Willing to go on her kn=
ees]
You had left the first draft of your speech at home, John, and I brought it
here with--with a few little things I've added myself.
JOHN [a seven-footer]. What's that?
MAGGIE [four foot ten at most]. Just
trifles--things I was to suggest to you--while I was knitting--and then, if=
you
liked any of them you could have polished them--and turned them into someth=
ing
good. John, John--and now she has shown it to Mr. Venables.
JOHN [thundering]. As my work, Comtesse?
[But the COMTESSE is not of the women who are
afraid of thunder.]
MAGGIE. It is your work--nine-tenths of it.
JOHN [in the black cap]. You presumed, Maggie
Shand! Very well, then, here he comes, and now we'll see to what extent you=
've
helped me.
VENABLES. My dear fellow. My dear Shand, I
congratulate you. Give me your hand.
JOHN. The speech?
VENABLES. You have improved it out of knowledg=
e.
It is the same speech, but those new touches make all the difference. [JOHN
sits down heavily.] Mrs. Shand, be proud of him.
MAGGIE. I am. I am, John.
COMTESSE. You always said that his second thou=
ghts
were best, Charles.
VENABLES [pleased to be reminded of it]. Didn'=
t I,
didn't I? Those delicious little touches! How good that is, Shand, about the
flowing tide.
COMTESSE. The flowing tide?
VENABLES. In the first speech it was something
like this--'Gentlemen, the Opposition are calling to you to vote for them a=
nd
the flowing tide, but I solemnly warn you to beware lest the flowing tide d=
oes
not engulf you.' The second way is much better.
COMTESSE. What is the second way, Mr. Shand? <= o:p>
[JOHN does not tell her.]
VENABLES. This is how he puts it now. [JOHN ca=
nnot
help raising his head to listen.] 'Gentlemen, the Opposition are calling to=
you
to vote for them and the flowing tide, but I ask you cheerfully to vote for=
us
and DAM the flowing tide.'
[VENABLES and his old friend the COMTESSE laugh
heartily, but for different reasons.]
COMTESSE. It IS better, Mr. Shand.
MAGGIE. I don't think so.
VENABLES. Yes, yes, it's so virile. Excuse me,
Comtesse, I'm off to read the whole thing again. [For the first time he not=
ices
that JOHN is strangely quiet.] I think this has rather bowled you over, Sha=
nd.
[JOHN's head sinks lower.]
Well, well, good news doesn't kill.
MAGGIE [counsel for the defence]. Surely the
important thing about the speech is its strength and knowledge and eloquenc=
e,
the things that were in the first speech as well as in the second.
VENABLES. That of course is largely true. The =
wit
would not be enough without them, just as they were not enough without the =
wit.
It is the combination that is irresistible. [JOHN's head rises a little.]
Shand, you are our man, remember that, it is emphatically the best thing yo=
u have
ever done. How this will go down at Leeds!
[He returns gaily to his hammock; but lower si=
nks
JOHN'S head, and even the COMTESSE has the grace to take herself off. MAGGI=
E's
arms flutter near her husband, not daring to alight.]
MAGGIE. You heard what he said, John. It's the
combination. Is it so terrible to you to find that my love for you had made=
me
able to help you in the little things?
JOHN. The little things! It seems strange to m=
e to
hear you call me by my name, Maggie. It's as if I looked on you for the fir=
st
time.
MAGGIE. Look at me, John, for the first time. =
What
do you see?
JOHN. I see a woman who has brought her husband
low.
MAGGIE. Only that?
JOHN. I see the tragedy of a man who has found
himself out. Eh, I can't live with you again, Maggie.
[He shivers.]
MAGGIE. Why did you shiver, John?
JOHN. It was at myself for saying that I could=
n't
live with you again, when I should have been wondering how for so long you =
have
lived with me. And I suppose you have forgiven me all the time. [She nods.]=
And
forgive me still? [She nods again.] Dear God!
MAGGIE. John, am I to go? or are you to keep me
on? [She is now a little bundle near his feet.] I'm willing to stay because=
I'm
useful to you, if it can't be for a better reason. [His hand feels for her,=
and
the bundle wriggles nearer.] It's nothing unusual I've done, John. Every man
who is high up loves to think that he has done it all himself; and the wife=
smiles,
and lets it go at that. It's our only joke. Every woman knows that. [He sta=
res
at her in hopeless perplexity.] Oh, John, if only you could laugh at me.
JOHN. I can't laugh, Maggie.
[But as he continues to stare at her a strange
disorder appears in his face. MAGGIE feels that it is to be now or never.] =
MAGGIE. Laugh, John, laugh. Watch me; see how =
easy
it is.
[A terrible struggle is taking place within hi=
m.
He creaks. Something that may be mirth forces a passage, at first painfully=
, no
more joy in it than in the discoloured water from a spring that has long be=
en
dry. Soon, however, he laughs loud and long. The spring water is becoming c=
lear.
MAGGIE claps her hands. He is saved.]