



Produced by Paul Haxo from page images generously made
available by Google and the Harvard University Library.





THE SILVER SHIELD.

AN ORIGINAL COMEDY
_IN THREE ACTS._

BY
SYDNEY GRUNDY.

_Copyright,_ 1898, _by Thomas Henry French._

   London:      |        New York:
SAMUEL FRENCH,  |  SAMUEL FRENCH & SON,
  PUBLISHER,    |      PUBLISHERS,
 89, STRAND.    | 38, EAST 14TH STREET.



                          _Strand Theatre,         _Comedy,
                              London,               London,
                           May 19, 1885._        June 20, 1885._

SIR HUMPHREY CHETWYND   MR. JOHN BEAUCHAMP.    MR. JOHN BEAUCHAMP.

REV. DR. DOZEY          MR. RUTLAND            MR. PERCY COMPTON.
                        BARRINGTON.

TOM POTTER              MR. ARTHUR DACRE.      MR. ARTHUR DACRE.

NED CHETWYND            MR. W. HERBERT.        MR. PERCY LYNDAL.

MR. DODSON DICK         MR. CHAS. GROVES.      MR. ARTHUR ROBERTS.

ALMA BLAKE              MISS AMY ROSELLE.      MISS AMY ROSELLE.

MRS. DOZEY              MRS. LEIGH MURRAY.     MISS MARIA DAVIS.

SUSAN                   MISS JULIA ROSELLE.    MISS JULIA ROSELLE.

WILSON                  MISS F. LAVENDER.      MISS F. LAVENDER.

LUCY PRESTON            MISS KATE RORKE.       MISS KATE RORKE.



THE SILVER SHIELD.

ACT I.

SCENE.--_A hall; passages, R. and L.; a double window of stained
glass, on swivel hinges, opens upon a lawn, with view of grounds;
large portrait on the wall; landscape, and mirror; a staircase, L. TOM
POTTER discovered working at an easel placed near the open window; NED
CHETWYND seated at a table, opening and destroying letters leisurely.
LUCY PRESTON watching him; MRS. DOZEY asleep in an armchair, with a
book of sermons lying open in her lap; footstool; fireplace, R.; large
armchair side of fireplace._

LUCY. You've a great many letters?

NED. A few friends inquiring after me.

LUCY. More creditors?

NED. A regular assortment. I have 'em of all sizes--big and little; of
all styles--polite to peremptory; of all nations--Jew and Gentile.
(_opens another letter_) Another lawyer's letter! (_LUCY goes up to
TOM_) "Unless the amount, together with our charges, five and
sixpence, be at once remitted----" Just so--common form. (_opens
another letter_)

LUCY. Getting on, Mr. Potter?

TOM. Famously.

LUCY. I can begin to make out what it's going to be.

TOM. Don't say that, please.

LUCY. Why not?

TOM. I shall be told I am a servile copyist without a soul.

LUCY. Soul? What is "soul"?

TOM. The gift of representing things as they don't exist.

LUCY. Surely that isn't a gift. Isn't it art to show things as they
are?

TOM. Not in the least. That's realism.

LUCY. Then what's art?

TOM. That's art. (_points to portrait, L._)

LUCY. Sir Humphrey's portrait.

TOM. (_crosses to portrait, L._) I beg your pardon--whose?

LUCY. Sir Humphrey's. Can't you see the likeness?

TOM. Has anybody seen it?

LUCY. Of course! a score of people.

TOM. It'd take a score. (_crosses to easel_)

LUCY. (_turns to TOM_) It is by Sir Clarence Gibbs, the Royal
Academician, and it cost five hundred guineas.

TOM. Ah! If I could only paint like that. (_looks at portrait_)

LUCY. (_looking at picture_) Perhaps you will in time.

TOM. Never. I may deteriorate, but I shall never be as bad as that.
(_looking at picture_) Now, look at this aggravating thing. After all
my trouble you can positively tell what it's meant for. (_NED rises
and joins them_)

LUCY. Yes, two knights, on horseback, fighting.

NED. What are you going to call it?

TOM. The Silver Shield.

LUCY. Silver Shield? (_crosses to back of easel; NED leans on back of
chair_)

TOM. Haven't you heard the fable? Two knights, riding in opposite
directions, passed a shield, hung on a tree to mark a boundary, and
meeting some time afterwards, one of them happened to make some remark
about the Silver Shield they had both ridden past. "Silver," exclaimed
the other, "it was gold." Then they disputed, and words came to blows.
They fought, and killed each other. When they were both dead, it
occurred to somebody to examine the shield, when it turned out that it
was gold on one side, and silver on the other.

NED. What jackasses those two knights must have been.

TOM. So remarked everybody.

LUCY. Well, they _were_ rather silly. (_crosses to MRS. DOZEY, R._)

TOM. No sillier than we are, who see a fool in the looking-glass, and
don't recognise him.

MRS. D. (_waking with a start_) Bless me! I've been asleep.

LUCY. For two hours, Mrs. Dozey.

MRS. D. I beg everybody's pardon. The fact is, I thought I was in
church, and Dionysius was preaching.

NED. That sent you off to sleep. (_sitting on edge of chair_)

MRS. D. Oh, no, that woke me up. I wouldn't miss one of his discourses
for the world. This is a splendid one I'm reading now--the 22nd, in
the 17th volume.

LUCY. You have got so far?

MRS. D. Yes, my dear; I've read sixteen volumes of the twenty. The set
were given to me by my husband on our honeymoon. Imagine my delight.
I've been reading at them steadily for five and twenty years, and my
only fear is that I shan't live to finish them.

NED. Take warning, Lucy, and begin them young.

MRS. D. Shall I lend you the first volume?

LUCY. Thanks; I can get it from the library.

MRS. D. I'm sure you'd like it, Mr. Potter.

TOM. Unfortunately, I am going home to-day, and shouldn't have time to
do it justice. (_meanwhile DR. DOZEY has entered absently, his eyes
cast down, his hands behind his back_)

DR. (_raising his eyes_) Going home?

MRS. D. Ah, here's the doctor! (_dozes off again_)

DR. Home! sweet home! The very phrase is fraught with poetry. One
seems to stand before the glowing fire, to hear the purring cat, the
hissing urn, whilst from without a quaint but welcome cry heralds the
advent of the evening milk on its accustomed round. If you are wishful
to pursue the subject----

LUCY. (_crosses in front to staircase_) Excuse me, I must look after
Sir Humphrey. (_Exit, L._)

DR. (_turning to NED_) I would refer you to----

NED. Thank you very much, but I've some letters to answer. (_Exit,
R._)

DR. (_turning to TOM_) To the tenth discourse----

TOM. The light's so bad here, I must go outside. (_Exit through
window, C._)

DR. (_turning to MRS. DOZEY_) In my fifth volume.

SIR H. (_top of stairs, L._) See to it at once.

DR. Home I divide into three sections. First---- (_MRS. DOZEY snores,
DR. DOZEY stops and wakes her._)

LUCY. (_with SIR HUMPHREY, top of stairs, L._) Will you take my arm?

SIR H. Thanks, I need no assistance. (_stumbles and is obliged to take
LUCY'S arm_) Dear me, how bad my rheumatism is to-day.

DR. (_turns to MRS. DOZEY, smiling grimly_) Poor Humphrey!

MRS. D. (_rises_) He gets very feeble.

SIR H. (_to LUCY_) Mrs. Blake's train is very nearly due. See if the
brougham has been sent to meet her.

MRS. D. Mrs. Blake? (_Exit LUCY, through window, C. and L._)

SIR H. A visitor whom we expect today. (_puts cap on table_)

DR. A lady visitor?

SIR H. Yes, a young widow, from Australia, whom we met on the
Continent this summer, and whose society proved so agreeable (_DR. and
MRS. DOZEY exchange glances_) to my ward, Miss Preston, that I invited
her to visit us, when she returned to England.

MRS. D. A widow. (_crosses in front to L._)

DR. An Australian widow. (_gets R._)

MRS. D. It's a long way off.

SIR H. Don't you like widows, doctor?

DR. Far be it from me, whose tenement is glass, to cut a stone; but of
all types of widow, the most perilous is the Colonial.

MRS. D. However, it's our duty to be charitable.

DR. Until we know the worst we will think the best.

SIR H. Wait till you've met Mrs. Blake; you'll be charmed with her.
(_meanwhile TOM has re-entered through window and down R. of easel_)
You mustn't go till you have seen her, Mr. Potter. (_turns_)

TOM. Till I've seen whom?

MRS. D. A widow. (_moves towards door, L._)

DR. A Colonial widow. (_moves towards door, R._)

MRS. D. Sir Humphrey picked up on the Continent.

DR. And found charming. (_both sigh and exeunt, wagging their heads;
DR. DOZEY, R.; MRS. DOZEY, L._)

TOM. Queer couple--a duet personified.

SIR H. The doctor will have his joke.

TOM. That's fortunate, for no one else would take it.

SIR H. Very old friends of mine, and one must make allowances for age
and infirmity. (_sitting with difficulty, R. of table_)

TOM. Can I assist you? (_crosses to SIR HUMPHREY_)

SIR H. Not at all. It's only a little stiffness in the joints. I never
felt it till the last few years.

TOM. Ah, we're all older than we used to be. (_goes to easel_)

SIR H. Not at all, Mr. Potter, not at all. I'm younger than I look. I
have had trouble.

TOM. You, Sir Humphrey!

SIR H. My son gives me a great deal of anxiety. His heart's in the
right place, I know, but he's young, reckless, and extravagant. He's
taken to writing lately. A bad sign, Mr. Potter, a bad sign. I never
knew a young man who took to writing come to any good. I've paid his
debts more than once, and he won't settle down. I found a charming
wife for him, and he wouldn't look at her. He has views of his
own--very bad things to have. Why can't men be content with the views
of their forefathers? The opinions which are good enough for me ought
to be good enough for a stripling like him.

TOM. Our forefathers believed the sun went round the earth.

SIR H. And what better are we for believing the earth goes round the
sun? I've no patience with these revolutionary ideas. They unsettle
men's minds. Of course you don't agree with me. You are another man
with views, and that's the reason why you don't get on.

TOM. (_comes down C._) You don't like me, Sir Humphrey. You are very
kind and hospitable; but I know it's only as a distant relative that
you put up with me. I don't wonder at it. You represent society; I
represent Bohemia. This makes it difficult to say what I must say
before I go.

SIR H. What is that, Mr. Potter?

TOM. I want to ask your ward, Miss Preston, if she'll be my wife.
You're astonished at my presumption--naturally.

SIR H. Not quite that. What are Miss Preston's feelings in the matter?

TOM. I don't know. I didn't feel justified in speaking to her first.

SIR H. She is of full age, and can please herself.

TOM. Yes, but there's something else. You know, I took my present name
when I went in for art, to your disgust, on my return from abroad
about five years ago; but of my previous history you know very little,
and I must tell you part of it. I suppose you think I'm a bachelor?

SIR H. Of course.

TOM. I am a widower.

SIR H. You astound me.

TOM. Yes, I once had a wife; but we weren't happy--in fact, we
separated.

SIR H. How long has she been dead?

TOM. A few months after my return to England I saw her death announced
in the newspapers.

SIR H. The newspapers!

TOM. There is no irony like that of destiny, no cynic half as cynical
as life. Two beings live together in one home, are bound together in
one interest, are animated by one hope. Fate separates them. They go
different ways, and after many days (_crosses to R._) they read about
each other in the newspaper.

SIR H. She died abroad? Then you were never reconciled?

TOM. Reconciliation was impossible. I should prefer to say no more
about it, (_crosses to SIR HUMPHREY, L._) but I am bound to satisfy
you I was not to blame. Those were the last words my wife wrote to me.
(_gives a letter to SIR HUMPHREY_)

SIR H. (_reads_) "Tom,--I love another more than I love you. Isn't it
best that we should say good-bye? I have no right to tell you I will
never see you, for the fault is mine; but if I do, it will be only
painful, and I leave it to your magnanimity to go away from me for
ever." (_returns letter to TOM_) Enough, Mr. Potter. (_rises_) There
was a time when I disapproved of second marriages. They struck me as a
species of inconstancy. But as one grows in years, these sentimental
notions lose their force. One begins to realise the loneliness of
life. You understand me?

TOM. Perfectly. The need of a companion.

SIR H. More than a companion--the need of a--of a--I want a word.

TOM. Nurse is the word you want.

SIR H. No, sir! It is the very word I do _not_ want.

TOM. I beg your pardon, I misunderstood you.

SIR H. Strange as it may sound, what you've just told me makes my task
a little easier. Miss Preston also has a history. Her mother died when
she was quite a child. Her father was my very oldest friend, whom I
respected beyond everything, and it was only on his death, when I felt
I could not repudiate the guardianship I'd undertaken, that I made a
discovery which shocked me inexpressibly. I tell it you in confidence;
I have told no one but my son, whom it was my duty to put upon his
guard. Of course it puts an end to the proposal you have made, but, as
a man of honour, I am bound to tell you.

TOM. Well, sir?

SIR H. The girl is illegitimate. (_turning, L._)

TOM. What's that?

SIR H. (_turns and stares at him_) Mr. Potter, you call yourself a
Bohemian, but you are a distant--very distant--relative of my own, and
you must have at least the instincts of a gentleman.

TOM. I hope so.

SIR H. Having those instincts, you will think no more of her.

TOM. Having those instincts, I think all the more of her.

SIR H. You'd marry her, after what I've told you? Then you have no
respect for marriage.

TOM. If I had no respect for marriage I shouldn't marry her.

SIR H. We will not argue, sir. Go your own way.

TOM. I've your permission?

SIR H. But don't hold me responsible, whatever happens.

_Re-enter DR. DOZEY, through window, and down, C._

DR. The widow has arrived.

SIR H. Mrs. Blake?

DR. I was sedately pacing up and down the drive, reflecting on the
vanity of life, when I was nearly upset by her equipage.

SIR H. I must go and welcome her. Excuse me, Mr. Potter; the doctor
will entertain you. (_Exit through window_)

TOM. Thanks, but I'll find Miss Preston. (_Exit, R._)

_Re-enter MRS. DOZEY, down the stairs, in a flutter of excitement._

MRS. D. Dionysius?

DR. Diana?

MRS. D. I've seen Mrs. Blake. I happened to be looking out as she
drove up. There's no doubt about her respectability. You should see
her lace. Oh, Dionysius, real Valenciennes! (_crosses, R._)

DR. I am afraid, my love, that notwithstanding five and twenty years
of my companionship, you have still a yearning after the pomps and
vanities. And yet it is not the plaiting of hair or the putting on of
real Valenciennes that constitutes respectability.

_Re-enter SIR HUMPHREY with ALMA BLAKE._

ALMA. Oh, what a charming place.

SIR H. My own taste, plain but comfortable. Permit me to present to
you my old friends, Dr. and Mrs. Dozey.

ALMA. I am delighted to meet Dr. Dozey.

MRS. D. (_crosses to ALMA_) With whose sermons no doubt you are
acquainted.

ALMA. I don't read sermons, as a rule.

MRS. D. You don't read sermons?

ALMA. It may be very wicked, but I don't. (_crosses, L._)

DR. (_aside to MRS. DOZEY_) A worldly-minded woman.

MRS. D. I'm afraid so.

ALMA. What a delightful, quaint, old-fashioned place this is! I must
congratulate you on your taste, Sir Humphrey.

SIR H. Plain, but comfortable.

ALMA. Whose portrait's this? Isn't he a dear old dignified soul? Quite
one of the last century.

SIR H. It is considered much too old for me.

ALMA. For _you!_ Oh, fifty years! I thought it was your grandfather.

DR. Makes herself quite at home. (_aside to MRS. DOZEY_)

MRS. D. Ignores me altogether. (_sits, R._)

ALMA. What's this? A mirror, I declare! (_arranges herself before the
glass_)

SIR H. My taste again.

ALMA. The looking-glass?

SIR H. The image it enshrines. (_bowing_)

ALMA. I understand you. Plain, but comfortable. (_laughs and passes
on; gradually gets round, and down, R._)

DR. (_aside to MRS. DOZEY_) Frivolous creature. (_goes up, R., and
down, R.C._)

MRS. D. Lovely diamonds!

ALMA. (_at easel_) That's a good picture. Who's the artist?

SIR H. (_following ALMA_) Nobody particular. A sort of second or third
cousin of mine.

ALMA. Whoever he is, he's clever.

SIR H. Started life under the best auspices, but he has made no way.

ALMA. How's that, Sir Humphrey? (_both come down, C._)

SIR H. It's the old story. First he got amongst a set of loose
companions,--Bohemians, they called themselves--and then he took
to----

ALMA. Drink?

SIR H. Not drink exactly--art. (_sits R. of table_)

ALMA. Oh dear! how very sad!

SIR H. The doctor knows the circumstances.

DR. (_down, R.C._) They were most distressing.

ALMA. But after all, some artists are successful, and a man must begin
at the beginning. There's nothing wicked about art, is there, doctor?

DR. A perilous pursuit, and it is not the part of a wise man to play
with fire. (_ALMA pulls a long face, and is caught by MRS. DOZEY_)

SIR H. I've no objection to a real artist, an Academician, such as Sir
Clarence Gibbs, who painted my own portrait. A very gentlemanly man,
indeed--received in the best families.

ALMA. But _he_ must have learnt his business before he became an
Academician. (_looking at portrait_)

SIR H. I doubt it.

ALMA. So do I. (_turning to easel_) Now there is talent in that
picture. The man who did that shouldn't have gone wrong.

MRS. D. But he became a scene painter!

DR. He got connected with a theatre. (_both groan_)

SIR H. (_uncomfortable_) Hem! Hem! (_tries to attract DR. DOZEY'S
attention_)

ALMA. You don't approve of theatres?

DR. My views on the subject of the drama you will find fully expounded
in the 13th sermon of my 20th volume. For the present I will content
myself with saying that those views are damnatory. (_crosses, L._)

SIR H. Pardon me, doctor, but I should have told you, Mrs. Blake is
herself connected with the stage.

DR. (_dropping glasses_) An actress! (_MRS. DOZEY rises and drops
book_)

ALMA. You've dropped the sermons. (_stoops to pick up book_) Heavy, I
dare say.

MRS. D. (_stopping her with a gesture, picks it up herself_) Thank
you. (_goes up to armchair at back_)

DR. And so this is an actress. Bless my soul! (_Exit, L._)

MRS. D. Somehow or other one can always tell them. (_sits, opens,
book, and dozes off_)

SIR H. (_rises_) You must excuse my friends.

ALMA. With pleasure. It's rather a relief than otherwise. They seem to
have a nice opinion of actresses.

SIR H. The truth is, they have had no opportunity of forming one.

ALMA. But have formed a very strong one, for all that.

SIR H. Now that they have the opportunity----

ALMA. Let's hope it'll alter the opinion.

_Enter SUSAN, R._

SUSAN. If you please, miss----

ALMA. Susan, don't call me miss. This is my maid, Sir Humphrey. I'm
always called "miss" at the theatre, when I'm called anything at all.
What is it, Susan?

SUSAN. Mr. Dick is here--wants to see you particularly.

ALMA. Tell him I'm engaged. What business has he bothering me here?

SUSAN. But he's come down from town express.

ALMA. Well, he can go back express.

SIR H. One moment, Mrs. Blake. Who is this gentleman?

ALMA. My manager. I don't know what he wants.

SIR H. See him, by all means. Perhaps he'll stay to dinner if I ask
him.

ALMA. Ah, you don't know Dick. He'll probably stay to dinner whether
you ask him or not. He's one of the old school of managers; they're
almost extinct now. Dick's the sole survivor.

SIR H. I'm one of the old school myself, and shall be glad to meet
him.

SUSAN. Here he is, with Mr. Chetwynd.

_Re-enter NED, with MR. DODSON DICK, R._

NED. This way, Mr. Dick. (_goes up to easel_)

DICK. (_crosses to ALMA_) Ah, there she is. (_Exit SUSAN, R._) Didn't
expect to see _me,_ did you? Here's a nice how d'you-do. Within four
weeks of opening, and Sparkle not delivered his first act. Thought I'd
run down and tell you. What are we to do?

ALMA. This is Sir Humphrey Chetwynd--Mr. Dick.

DICK. (_crosses to SIR HUMPHREY_) Pleased to make your acquaintance.
Nice sort of place you have down here. (_looking round_)

SIR H. Quiet, Mr. Dick, and yet accessible.

DICK. Out of the way, I call it--out of my way, at any rate. Make a
good set, eh, wouldn't it? That window's fine, opens out the scene,
and shows that landscape backing. Daren't use that sky. Scrubbs is the
man for skies.

SIR H. Is he indeed?

DICK. There's an originality about his skies--you never saw such
skies. The critics go in for originality. Scrubbs gives it 'em.

ALMA. And don't they give it Scrubbs?

DICK. Ha! ha! I'll make a note of that. Give it to Sparkle--do for his
next comedy. Poor Sparkle! Clever man, but sadly overworked. No wonder
he's behindhand with our piece.

ALMA. It's your own fault. Give someone else a chance.

DICK. No! no! Sparkle's recognised.

NED. (_coming down, R._) His jokes are.

DICK. That doesn't matter. It's his name I want. The public judges
only by the brand. One play's just as good as another.

SIR H. That's your experience?

DICK. Yes. On the whole, I think a bad play's better than a good one,
but we none of us know anything about it.

ALMA. If you would only try him, here is an author to your hand.

DICK. (_alarmed_) You--an author? (_puts hat on_)

NED. Only last week I wrote to you about a play I'd sent you.

DICK. (_crosses to SIR HUMPHREY; pulls out watch_) How are your
trains, Sir Humphrey? I've an appointment at four sharp, in town.

SIR H. I see you are a man of business.

DICK. Yes, I'm a cheesemonger.

SIR H. A cheesemonger. I thought you were a theatrical manager?

DICK. Same thing. A theatre's only a shop, and ought to be worked on
the same principles.

NED. Or want of principles?

DICK. Same thing. If my customers want a bad article, I give it 'em.
It's not my fault, it's theirs.

SIR H. A philosopher as well as a cheesemonger!

DICK. My dear sir, all cheesemongers are philosophers.

SIR H. And all philosophers are fond of a good dinner. I hope you will
join our party, Mr. Dick. (_crosses, R._)

DICK. With pleasure. (_puts hat down on table_)

ALMA. But your appointment at four sharp.

DICK. I'll keep that to-morrow.

SIR H. Meanwhile, a biscuit.

DICK. (_aside_) A biscuit.

SIR H. And a glass of Heidseck.

DICK. (_following SIR HUMPHREY off, R._) Heidseck, certainly. (_takes
hat_)

SIR H. Come with me, Mrs. Blake?

ALMA. Thank you, I'll stop with Ned.

DICK. (_turns_) Capital set. First-rate. Can't say I like that sky.
Scrubbs is the man for skies. (_Exit with SIR HUMPHREY, R._)

ALMA. (_crosses to L._) Now, Mr. Chetwynd. (_sits L. of table_) You
never told me about this comedy. What's it all about? What's my part
like?

NED. Why it's _all_ you! I thought of no one else, and called the
heroine "Alma" after you. (_sits R. of table_)

ALMA. You dear old goose! If I were a manager, I should accept your
pieces without reading them.

NED. Excuse me. If you were a manager, you would reject them without
reading them.

ALMA. Not yours. You are my oldest admirer.

NED. What nonsense! I never met you till last year.

ALMA. Well, what of that? I've had a score since then, but they've all
disappeared, and there you are still.

NED. Faithful to the last.

ALMA. The last's a long way off yet, Mr. Chetwynd. He's trundling a
hoop somewhere at this moment. But he'll turn up. Each season brings
its crop. They're mostly annuals, my loves.

NED. I am an amaranth.

ALMA. That locket on your chain? Isn't it the one you put my portrait
in? (_rises to examine it_)

NED. Yes.

ALMA. And he wears it still! You are an amaranth, indeed. (_about to
open locket_)

NED. You'd better not.

ALMA. Do let me see. I've quite forgotten what I looked like then.
(_opens it; kneels_)

NED. Just as you like.

ALMA. How I have altered!

NED. You look younger there.

ALMA. And my hair's different.

NED. The fashion's changed.

ALMA. Yes, and the colour too. There! Shut it up. (_rises_)

NED. Twelve months make a difference.

ALMA. Don't they? My amaranth has faded like the rest! (_pause_) And
pray, why do you wear Miss Preston's photograph?

NED. (_after making sure that MRS. DOZEY is asleep; rises_) Can you
keep a secret?

ALMA. I've kept one for six years.

NED. Miss Preston is my wife.

ALMA. Your wife!

NED. You are so quick, I knew you'd find it out, or I should have said
nothing. We don't want anyone to know--at least, _I_ don't--just yet.

ALMA. Doesn't Sir Humphrey?

NED. No.

ALMA. I thought he was her guardian.

NED. She's twenty-one. He's not her guardian now.

ALMA. But he's your father, and you've done a thing like this. She,
too!

NED. It wasn't her fault. It was mine, if it was anyone's. But it was
no use speaking to my father. Lucy wanted to, but I knew more than she
did. The governor's the best old fellow in the world, but upon certain
points he is as obstinate as--as----

ALMA. His son.

NED. As I am, if you like.

ALMA. Why was it no use speaking to him?

NED. Because he would never have given his consent. The fact is,
Lucy's mother was separated from her husband. She married very young,
and he left her before she was twenty. Not being able to get a
divorce, of course she couldn't marry again, and consequently Lucy's
father couldn't marry her. That's the whole mystery. Lucy doesn't know
it, but I did, and I knew it was useless talking. So we were married
secretly, this year.

ALMA. And when do you propose to acknowledge your wife?

NED. I don't know yet, (_crosses, L._) but when the right time comes.

ALMA. The right time was the day you married her.

NED. Ah, it's all very well to talk, but you have no idea how much it
would hurt the governor. (_crosses to ALMA_) It would have cut him to
the heart.

ALMA. A very good reason for not marrying, but a very bad reason for
concealing your marriage.

NED. It was to spare his feelings.

ALMA. Don't flatter yourself. It was to spare your own.

NED. Well, it's done now, and I can't help it.

ALMA. But you can. You can tell him to-day.

NED. (_sits R. of table_) That would be worse than telling him
earlier.

ALMA. (_crosses to NED_) And better than telling him later. You've
done wrong, and you're doing wrong now. The only point in your favour
is that you're thoroughly ashamed of yourself. (_crosses to R.C._)

NED. Ashamed! nay----

ALMA. I can see it in your face. No hoarding like a human countenance,
and no bill-sticker like a guilty conscience.

NED. Alma, I _am_ ashamed.

ALMA. (_crosses to NED_) Be as much ashamed of yourself as you like,
but don't be ashamed of your wife.

NED. I'll tell Sir Humphrey--to-morrow.

ALMA. To-day. (_holding her hands out_)

NED. If I can screw my courage up.

BOTH. (_shaking hands_) To-day.

ALMA. I'll screw it up for you. You won't want much. Fathers are not
such dreadful animals after all. There was a time when children were
afraid of their parents, but now-a-days they're lucky parents who're
not afraid of their children. (_Re-enter DR. DOZEY, C., and down,
R.C._) Aren't they, doctor?

DR. I crave forgiveness. Your observation escaped me.

ALMA. Ah, you were lost in thought.

DR. I was meditating, it is true.

ALMA. Lost in meditation. Thank you, for the correction.

_NED rises; goes aside thoughtfully._

DR. Lost in amazement.

ALMA. Amazement. Beg your pardon. Got it at last.

DR. That our paths, which are so diverse, should have crossed.

ALMA. It's a queer meeting, certainly, but, you know, accidents will
happen.

DR. (_raising his hand_) Pardon me, there is no such thing as
accident. It is true that fortune, like misfortune, makes us
acquainted with strange----

ALMA. Hem!

DR. I will amend my illustration.

ALMA. Thank you.

DR. Rough-hew them how we may, our ends are shaped for us. Doubtless
we have been brought together for some wise purpose. I propose,
therefore, to improve your acquaintance.

ALMA. Hadn't you better improve _me?_ Never mind my acquaintance.

DR. That is the object which I have in view. Even the rose needs
careful nurturing, ere it will bloom like--like--what shall I say?

ALMA. Say what you like. I won't be offended.

DR. Like those I see before me.

ALMA. These? (_taking one from her dress_) Would you like one?

DR. I am unused to meretricious ornament.

ALMA. Doctor! Don't call my poor rose such hard names. Stand still.
I'll put it in your buttonhole.

DR. (_whilst she arranges it_) There can be no objection to a simple
flower. (_crosses to table_)

ALMA. There! You look quite a masher!

DR. Eh! (_turning_)

ALMA. Picture, I meant! Picture, picture.

DR. Do I, indeed? (_goes to mirror, turns, and smiles_) A flower _is_
an adornment. (_stands admiring himself; ALMA goes up to NED, and taps
him on the shoulder, points to DR. DOZEY, and can scarcely restrain
her laughter; DR. DOZEY comes down, L., soliloquising_) A comely
woman. Not unprepossessing. Whatever the contents may be, the exterior
of the platter is attractive. (_the book drops from MRS. DOZEY'S lap;
turns_) What was that?

NED. (_at easel_) It's only Mrs. Dozey. (_crosses with ALMA to R.C._)

DR. My wife there! (_crosses to MRS. DOZEY, R._)

ALMA. You needn't be alarmed. She's fast asleep.

DR. (_picking up book_) And with my sermons on her lap again. (_wakes
her_) Diana!

MRS. D. (_waking_) It's very strange, I can't get to sleep. (_rises_)
You must know, Mrs. Blake, I am a victim to insomnia.

ALMA. I see. You take sermons medicinally.

MRS. D. Good gracious, Dionysius! What have you there? (_points to
buttonhole_)

DR. A rose, my love--a simple rose. There is no evil in a simple rose.

NED. Don't you admire it?

MRS. D. I don't like the look of it at all. Where did you get it from?

DR. Hem! hem! (_fidgetting with the book; down, R.C._) A tendency to
be too interrogative is the besetting weakness of the age we live in.

MRS. D. Come, Dionysius, the truth!

DR. It is to this undue yearning after truth that I attribute the
prevailing scepticism.

MRS. D. That isn't answering my question.

ALMA. (_conquering her laughter, comes to his rescue_) I'm sorry you
don't like it, Mrs. Dozey. Your husband thought you'd be so pleased
with it. (_gives DR. DOZEY a slight nudge_)

MRS. D. He gathered it for _me!_

DR. (_presenting it_) Diana, you are always on my mind.

MRS. D. How can I thank you, Dionysius? (_embraces DR. DOZEY, while
ALMA shakes hands with him behind his back, where he is holding the
book_)

DR. (_turning aside, and down, R._) That is a very clever woman.
(_opens book and reads; business with ALMA, as below_)

_Re-enter SIR HUMPHREY and DICK, R._

DICK. (_wiping his mouth_) Capital Heidseck.

SIR H. Glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Dick.

DICK. Capital wine.

MRS. D. Sir Humphrey, see what Dionysius has given me. (_showing
rose_)

SIR H. Charming--exquisite!

DICK. Call that a rose?

SIR H. Mr. Dick--Mrs. Dozey.

DICK. My man, Groggins, would turn you out a better article.
Groggins's the man for flowers.

MRS. D. (_to DICK_) Your gardener, sir?

DICK. Gardener? No. My property master. Marvellous florist! Nature's
not in it with Groggins.

NED. (_to DICK_) You don't seem to have a very high opinion of nature?

DICK. No, sir. Nature was only a beginner. Don't like amateurs, except
for _matinees._

_Meanwhile ALMA has been making signs to DR. DOZEY, pointing to
buttonhole and MRS. DOZEY; DR. DOZEY, behind the open book, responds
in pantomime; MRS. DOZEY observing this comes down between them; DR.
DOZEY drops his eyes on book and turns off; she pursues him; ALMA
turns off to SIR HUMPHREY, who leaves NED with DICK._

ALMA. (_getting round back_) Sir Humphrey, you must take me round the
park. I haven't seen half the beauties of the place.

SIR H. Nothing would please me better. Ned, we're going out into the
grounds. Perhaps Mr. Dick would like to see them.

DICK. Certainly. Give me an appetite for dinner. (_to NED_) What time
do you dine?

ALMA. (_going out with SIR HUMPHREY_) Doctor, won't you come with us?
(_making eyes at him_)

DR. (_with alacrity_) Surely!

MRS. D. (_crosses, R., checking him_) Dionysius!

SIR H. (_to ALMA_) Take my arm, Mrs. Blake.

ALMA. I like the doctor. (_taking SIR HUMPHREY'S arm_)

SIR H. An old schoolfellow.

ALMA. He's going to "nurture" me. Isn't it kind of him? (_Exit with
SIR HUMPHREY, through window, off R._)

DICK. (_following with NED_) Sorry I lost your comedy. If a romantic
drama would be any compensation, or a tragedy in seven acts, or a
historical pageant in thirteen tableaux, come to the theatre and take
your choice. (_Exit with NED through window, C., off L._)

DR. (_crosses, C._) My love, you are in error.

MRS. D. Nonsense! You've been philandering for the last ten minutes.
_You,_ Dionysius, who have always professed such horror of stage
players.

DR. Mrs. Blake may be regarded in two aspects.

MRS. D. You've been regarding her in half-a-dozen!

DR. It is our duty to hate sin, but to love sinners. One may, at one
and the same time, abhor the acting----

MRS. D. And adore the actress!

DR. I should prefer to say, regard the actress with that measure of
fraternal sympathy to which all our erring sisters are entitled.

MRS. D. But which only the good-looking ones get. (_re-enter LUCY,
down staircase, L._) No, Dionysius, it won't do! A little less of that
fraternal sympathy, if you please.

LUCY. What's the matter, Mrs. Dozey? (_DR. DOZEY gets up, R._)

MRS. D. Matter! Why that stage-player----

LUCY. Mrs. Blake?

MRS. D. Has been at her stage tricks!

DR. (_crosses to R.C._) Diana, you are excited.

MRS. D. Well, I may be. (_crosses, R._) You never looked at _me_ as
long as I caught you looking at _her._ (_going off, R._)

DR. My angel, I have been gazing at you steadfastly for a quarter of a
century. (_Exit after her, R._)

_Re-enter TOM, through window, C.R._

TOM. Good gracious, Mrs. Dozey's wide-awake!

LUCY. She's caught the doctor napping this time. She seems quite
jealous of Mrs. Blake already.

TOM. The widow? Has she come?

LUCY. I met her at the door.

TOM. Well, is she as charming as Sir Humphrey says?

LUCY. I suppose she must be. At the hotel when we first met her she
turned everybody's head. Sir Humphrey was smitten on the spot, and as
for Ned, well, he behaved disgracefully. I wish you weren't going,
Tom!

TOM. Do you?

LUCY. I should like to see what impression she'd make upon _you._ I
don't believe you could admire anybody.

TOM. Am I so hard to please?

LUCY. A regular old cynic!

TOM. And what's a cynic? A poor devil, who's fool enough to put into
words the harshness wise men put into their deeds, and fool enough to
put into deeds the kindness wise men put into their words. Your cynic
is the softest of mankind, and as a rule he's been in love before he
was a cynic. (_crosses to L._)

LUCY. (_crosses to R._) Surely you haven't?

TOM. I've been most things, Lucy.

LUCY. Except a husband. (_laughing_)

TOM. I've been that.

LUCY. (_crosses to TOM_) A husband! No! Surely you're joking? Oh, I
can't believe it.

TOM. What's much more singular, I want to be married again.

LUCY. Were you so happy?

TOM. No, I wasn't happy.

LUCY. Didn't you like your wife?

TOM. Yes, I adored her. So did someone else.

LUCY. Well?

TOM. I suppose she adored him. (_sits R. of table_)

LUCY. She left you! (_getting back_)

TOM. No, I left _her!_ Six years ago! On a bright summer day--just
such a day as this. As I passed down the walk I caught my last glimpse
of her through a window, as it might be there. (_pointing to window_)
I can almost see her now, framed like a picture in the window frame,
with the sun streaming down on her, for all the world like----
(_rises_)

_ALMA suddenly appears on the lawn outside, standing an instant in the
sunshine, with her head turned to SIR HUMPHREY, who passes the window
a moment afterwards._

ALMA. Oh, what a lovely lawn! We must have tennis there, Sir Humphrey.

SIR H. If I could play the game----

ALMA. I'll teach you. (_they pass on, R., out of sight_)

LUCY. Tom, what's the matter?

TOM. Who was that--passed the window?

LUCY. That was Mrs. Blake. What do you think of her?

TOM. Blake?

LUCY. I believe _you're_ smitten. Men are all alike.

TOM. Just in time--only just.

LUCY. What are you talking about? Just in time for what?

TOM. (_recovering himself_) My train, of course. I'd quite forgotten
it. I must make haste, or I shall miss it.

LUCY. Don't run away like that.

TOM. Say good-bye to Sir Humphrey, will you, Lucy? Tell him to think
no more about what I said just now. He'll understand you.

LUCY. Tom, you're not going in this way?

TOM. (_crosses to R._) I must go. (_turns to LUCY_) Make my apologies.

LUCY. Without even your picture.

TOM. I can send for that. (_Exit, R._)

_Re-enter DICK and NED through window._

DICK. I don't think much of it. I can't say I think much of it. Not a
patch on one in my last comedy. Potts' masterpiece! Potts is the man
for exteriors.

_Re-enter ALMA and SIR HUMPHREY through window, L._

ALMA. Clever! It's more than clever.

SIR H. I must introduce you to the painter.

ALMA. I should like to know him. In these days, it's quite refreshing
to meet an artist whose art is intelligible without a catalogue and
half a column of criticism.

_Re-enter MRS. DOZEY, R._

SIR H. Lucy, where's Mr. Potter? Mrs. Blake has been admiring his
sketch, and wants to congratulate him.

LUCY. He has just gone.

SIR H. Gone?

MRS. D. Mr. Potter gone?

LUCY. He said he'd barely time to catch his train, and asked me to
apologise to you for going so abruptly.

_Re-enter DR. DOZEY, R._

ALMA. Then I shan't see him. What a disappointment!

DR. (_crosses to SIR HUMPHREY_) Life is made up of disappointments. As
we near its goal---- (_SIR HUMPHREY turns him round; he faces ALMA_)

SIR H. Gone, after what he said to me this morning!

LUCY. Oh, and he left some message! You were to forget what he had
said or something--he was in too great a hurry to explain himself.

SIR H. I think I understand. (_to LUCY_) You have refused him?

LUCY. I?

MRS. D. Mr. Potter has proposed!

NED. For Lucy?

DR. (_approaching DICK_) I was remarking---- (_buttonholes DICK, who
gradually retreats up stage, followed step by step by DR. DOZEY,
preaching in dumb show_)

SIR H. Not an hour ago he asked to be allowed to speak to you. Hasn't
he done so?

LUCY. No, he said nothing.

ALMA. (_aside to NED_) Now's your opportunity. Redeem your promise.

SIR H. This is an insult--a gross insult.

MRS. D. A mere painter!

NED. (_crosses to LUCY_) If he _had_ spoken it would have been
useless. Miss Preston has accepted someone else.

SIR H. Without my knowledge?

NED. Yes. But it wasn't Lucy's fault. (_takes LUCY'S hand_) She would
have told you, but I wouldn't let her.

SIR H. You!

MRS. D. Oh, Dionysius! Miss Preston is engaged to Mr. Chetwynd.
(_brings DR. DOZEY down, to the great relief of DICK, who gasps for
air and mops his forehead at back_)

SIR H. Not to you, Ned! Say, there is some mistake! You couldn't do so
wrong. Say, you are not engaged.

NED. No, not engaged.

SIR H. Thank heaven!

NED. This is my wife. (_takes LUCY'S hand_)

MRS. D. Oh!

DR. Bless my soul!

SIR H. (_incredulous_) Your wife!

DICK. (_coming forward_) Sir, I congrat---- (_ALMA stops DICK and
takes him up; DR. and MRS. DOZEY turn deprecatingly_)

SIR H. She, your wife? (_DR. DOZEY puts up glasses and surveys LUCY_)

NED. Your daughter.

SIR H. I disown her! I refuse to recognise this marriage. I disown you
both! You have brought shame upon a line that was untarnished. You--my
son--my only child--the bearer of an honoured name--the heir of a
proud history--and she--(_breaks down_) Oh, Ned! Why did you marry
her? (_sits L. of table_)

NED. I married her (_turns to LUCY_) for love. (_puts arm round LUCY_)

END OF ACT I.



ACT II.

SCENE.--NED CHETWYND'S. _Doors R. and L. French window opening on
garden, at back. TOM'S picture of the two knights hangs on wall, R.
Piano, desk, screen, sofa, photographs, &c., &c. The entrance marked,
L., should be low down stage. Fireplace, L. NED discovered writing at
desk, L. LUCY reading, R._

LUCY. Nearly done, Ned?

NED. Good gracious, no. I've only just begun.

LUCY. Isn't it time you dressed? The Dozeys will be here directly. I
told them we should dine early.

NED. Bother the Dozeys!

LUCY. I couldn't help asking them. Indeed, they asked themselves.
(_rises, crosses to C._)

NED. Lucy, how can I write while you keep chattering? I particularly
want to finish what I'm doing. I want to send it to Alma by to-night's
post.

LUCY. Alma!

NED. What's the matter?

LUCY. I wish you wouldn't call Mrs. Blake "Alma." I don't like it!

NED. I don't think you like _her._

LUCY. I like her very well; but at the same time I think you see too
much of her.

NED. What nonsense! We're in the same set; I can't help seeing a good
deal of her.

LUCY. That's true enough--in some of her dresses.

NED. Come, come. That's only on the stage. She has to dress according
to her part. She's not responsible for its clothing.

LUCY. (_turning to NED_) The stage is an excuse for a great deal.

NED. You mean, it's an excuse for very little. Where had I got to?
You've quite put me out.

LUCY. What are you writing that's so very particular?

NED. Only a letter.

LUCY. A letter. (_crosses to NED_)

NED. But it's most important.

LUCY. (_aside_) A letter to Mrs. Blake. (_leans over his shoulder; he
covers the sheet with the blotting-paper_)

NED. Lucy, I wish you wouldn't look over my shoulder. You don't know
how it fidgets me. I can't write a line.

LUCY. I'd better go upstairs, then I shan't interrupt you.

NED. Thank you; there's a dear. I'm sorry to be so disagreeable, but I
must finish this.

LUCY. Dinner at seven.

NED. All right. (_Exit LUCY, R._) Now I can go ahead like a steam
engine. (_writes_) "Fool that I was, I thought that it would last for
ever. Nothing can now remove the barrier between us. With my own hand
I have destroyed my happiness." That's warm enough, I think. I'm
making an infernal scoundrel of my namesake, but no matter. (_reads_)
"With my own hand"--I wonder if that's right. Could he have destroyed
his happiness with anybody else's hand? With my hand I have--no--he
couldn't have done it with his foot.

_Re-enter LUCY, R., and down R.C._

LUCY. Ned, here's Mr. Potter.

_Enter TOM, R._

NED. (_rises_) Hallo, Tom! (_shakes hands_)

TOM. Hard at work?

NED. Yes--spoiling more paper. I'm an annuity to the local stationer.

TOM. Well, perhaps in your old age the local butterman will be an
annuity to you.

NED. Gad, I shall want one at the pace I'm going.

TOM. Sir Humphrey not come round yet?

NED. No, we're still outcasts.

LUCY. But he makes us an allowance.

NED. Yes. He hasn't forgiven us, but he makes us an allowance. That's
the governor all over.

TOM. And I suppose you spend a good deal more than he allows you?
(_Lucy sits, R._)

NED. Yes, that's me all over.

TOM. Well, I won't preach.

NED. For mercy's sake! The doctor's coming to dinner; he'll preach
quite enough.

LUCY. To do him justice, Ned, he doesn't talk at dinner.

NED. To do the dinner justice, he does not.

LUCY. Won't you stay, Mr. Potter?

NED. Do. I shan't work any more to-day.

TOM. Thank you. I don't dine as a rule, but I'll make an exception.

NED. That's right. You can keep Lucy company while I go and dress. I
shan't be very long. (_Exit, L._)

LUCY. See where we've hung your wedding present. (_indicating the
picture, R._)

TOM. Yes--I was looking at my knights--thinking how like Sir Humphrey
is to them. Do you know, he's never seen me since the day I left his
house? I've tried to get at him a dozen times, but he won't give me a
chance of explaining myself. He sees one side of the shield and won't
look at the other.

LUCY. I know he was very much annoyed with you.

TOM. _You_ must have thought my conduct very strange.

LUCY. I did. (_sits, R._)

TOM. I owe you an explanation as well as Sir Humphrey. You remember my
telling you my married life was a failure?

LUCY. Though you adored your wife.

TOM. You mustn't think she didn't care for me, at first, but she was
lively, high-spirited, demonstrative. (_fetches chair from back and
sits beside LUCY_) And you know what sort of a fellow I am. Heavy as
one of Dozey's sermons. Women like pretty speeches, compliments. I
can't make pretty speeches, and I can't pay compliments; but there are
lots of men about who can. I wasn't jealous, for a man can't very well
be jealous of a lap dog--and still less of half-a-dozen lap dogs at a
time; but I lost my opinion of her (_rises_) and at last---- (_leans
on back of chair_)

LUCY. You told her so.

TOM. I didn't say very much; and what I said she didn't seem to heed.
When I had spoken I went out. Coming back presently I found a letter
lying on her desk telling me she preferred another man, and asking me
to leave her. I took her at her word. (_crosses to C._)

LUCY. You left her without seeing her again?

TOM. She asked me _not_ to see her, and where was the use? I had just
spoken to her, and this was the result. I came to England, and the
next I heard of her was the announcement of her death. (_crosses to
sofa_)

LUCY. Abroad?

TOM. In Melbourne. At first the sight of the old name brought back old
memories, and I forgave her. I got out the few remnants the past
leaves to men--the few pale letters and the faded photograph that
grows a little dimmer every day--when my eyes fell on that last note I
found upon her desk. I huddled up the scraps and went my way. I took
up art as a profession--changed my name in deference to my family, who
look on art as a mild form of felony--and time went on. I pulled the
old things out again, and found that I could look at them unmoved. I
even thought of marrying again, when, as I stood talking to you that
last day at Sir Humphrey's, there flashed on me a figure and a face so
like my wife's, it was like seeing _her._ And with the sight of her
came back the love. (_crosses to C._)

LUCY. (_rises_) It wasn't dead, then?

TOM. Does love ever die? Dark mists of prejudice may wrap it round,
and it may set in clouds, but every now and then the clouds are rolled
away and there shines out on us once more the image of the woman we
have loved.

LUCY. (_crosses to TOM_) Was Mrs. Blake so like her?

TOM. So like I dare not meet her. I could only go. I wasn't in the
mood for explanations, and when I was, Sir Humphrey wasn't in the mood
to listen to them.

LUCY. And you've seen neither of them since?

TOM. Yes. I saw Mrs. Blake upon the stage some weeks ago, and in her I
recognised, beyond all doubt, my wife.

LUCY. Your wife--Mrs. Blake! (_crosses to TOM_) Oh, Mr. Potter, tell
Ned! do tell Ned! you'll do me such a service.

TOM. How? I don't understand.

LUCY. Don't ask me to explain, but tell him! If you will, you'll make
me happier than I've been for months. (_turns_)

TOM. You are unhappy?

LUCY. I didn't mean to say a word about it, but what you've told me
startled the truth out. I've been unhappy for weeks and weeks. I know
Ned's in difficulties, and his estrangement from Sir Humphrey weighs
upon his mind. I am the cause of it, and it's only natural his
feelings should have changed; but that makes it no easier to bear. I
am a drag upon him, a dishonour! I'm sure he loved me when he married
me, but he's so different now. Oh, Mr. Potter, it may be as you say,
love never dies; but love may be so tried, and torn, and strained,
that all the happiness goes out of it. (_sits on chair, C._)

TOM. (_crosses to LUCY_) Surely, yours hasn't been so tried?

LUCY. Not mine--but Ned's. I always seem to be in his way now. He's so
much occupied--so taken up with other things--he never has a word or
look for me. He's out so much; and when he's at home he's always
writing or else thinking--I am nobody--and Mrs. Blake--your wife--is
everybody; only he doesn't know she is your wife! If he did, it might
make a difference. (_rises_)

TOM. This may be your fancy. I can quite understand, you're sensitive,
and perhaps misconstrue very simple things. You see, Ned's an author;
(_LUCY sits_) and authors make uninteresting husbands. (_crosses to
L._) I won't say they always neglect their wives, but their wives
always think so. (_crosses to LUCY_) Then again, Mrs. Blake--as my
wife calls herself----

LUCY. Alma, Ned calls her!

TOM. Well--she's on the stage and might be of great use to him. It's
only natural he should make friends with her.

LUCY. But he thinks she's a widow. If he knew she had a husband--and
above all, (_rises_) that you were her husband--I should feel more
comfortable.

TOM. Tell him yourself, then. You have my permission. Have the thing
out and make an end of it; but for heaven's sake, don't brood!

LUCY. How can I speak to him?

TOM. Speak anyhow--the worse, the better! There are two sides to
everything. Why, like those foolish knights, commit yourself to one?
At least, have a look at both before you make your choice.

_Re-enter NED, L._

NED. Quarter past six. The Dozeys not come yet?

LUCY. I don't expect them before seven.

NED. What a blessing!

TOM. You dine at seven? Then, I've no time to lose. I have a dress
coat somewhere. I must look it up.

NED. Can you get back in time?

TOM. I'll take the short cut through the garden.

NED. Don't be long, (_Exit TOM through window and off, R.; sits down
at table; picks up sheet of paper_) there's a good fellow.

LUCY. Ned! Ned! (_pause_) Can't I speak to you a minute?

NED. Can't you speak to me? (_crosses to LUCY, R._) What a question!
Am I the Grand Turk--not to be approached?

LUCY. But I mean seriously.

NED. What have _you_ to be serious about? Doesn't your new dress fit?

LUCY. It isn't about dress. It's about----

_Enter SERVANT, R._

SERV. Mrs. Blake. (_LUCY turns and goes down, R._)

_ALMA runs in, R. Exit SERVANT, R._

ALMA. (_running to NED and wringing both his hands_) Oh, Ned, you
dear. I'm so happy. I could kiss you!

NED. Don't be shy. Lucy doesn't mind.

ALMA. (_turns_) How are you, love? Excuse me for not seeing you. I'm
so excited. I've quite lost my head. I've such news for you.

NED. Well?

ALMA. Sir Humphrey's coming to see you!

NED. My father!

ALMA. I've brought him round at last. But hasn't it been hard work?
I've been manoeuvring for the last three months. I didn't know there
was a man alive I couldn't twist round my finger in three days.

NED. He's coming here to-night?

ALMA. So am I. I've arranged to bring him--that is, I've arranged he's
to bring _me._ Dick's new piece is a frost. I thought it would be, and
threw up my part. So I'm at liberty, and we're both coming for the
evening.

NED. Lucy--(_LUCY goes up_)--you'd better order some more dinner.
There'll be the Dozeys--Potter----

ALMA. Mr. Potter coming! Oh, I'm so glad!

LUCY. (_aside_) They'll meet! (_at back, R._)

ALMA. I feel quite curious to see Mr. Potter. You know I just missed
him at Sir Humphrey's; and as a rule the people we miss in this world
are so much more interesting than the people we meet.

NED. Then, there's my father and Alma--(_LUCY looks at NED_) Mrs.
Blake.

LUCY. (_crosses to door, R._) That makes only seven.

NED. But don't forget the doctor's one of them.

LUCY. I'd better see the cook. (_Exit, R._)

NED. How good it is of you to have arranged all this! You've taken a
load off my mind already. I couldn't bear being on bad terms with the
governor.

ALMA. I'm as pleased as you are. And that's not all. I've more good
news for you. Sparkle's new piece is such a failure, Dick'll have to
change the bill immediately; and I shouldn't wonder if I place your
play.

NED. The one I'm doing now?

ALMA. Isn't it done?

NED. (_crosses to table, returns with letter_) Another week will
finish it. I'm re-writing that compromising letter. You said the first
one wasn't strong enough.

ALMA. Not half. When you compromise your hero, compromise him. The
public like imperial measure. Let 'em have it.

NED. Well, I think this is warm enough. (_give sheet to ALMA_)

ALMA. (_reads_) "Willow Bank, Surbiton."

NED. No, no. (_takes the sheet of paper_)

ALMA. "Willow Bank, Surbiton." It says so.

NED. That's this house. I jotted my ideas down on a sheet of our
notepaper to submit to you before I altered the manuscript. This is
the letter I propose. "My own dearest Alma"----

ALMA. Stop. Is there an Alma in this play?

NED. The heroine. I told you, I call all my heroines "Alma."

ALMA. Te, te, te. Go on.

NED. "At last I have a moment to myself to scribble a hasty answer to
your note. Of course I will be there."

ALMA. Where's that?

NED. The place appointed. It's an assignation.

ALMA. Oh! Have they got to assignations?

NED. Yes. I'm giving 'em imperial measure this time.

ALMA. Don't forget the Chamberlain.

NED. "I will make some excuse to get away. Oh, why have I to make
excuses?"----

_Re-enter SERVANT, R._

SERV. Mr. Dodson Dick.

_Enter DICK, R. Exit SERVANT, R. NED puts the letter back._

NED. (_crosses to DICK_) This is an unexpected honour. (_ALMA crosses
to L._)

DICK. (_puts hat on piano_) Just found your MS. Thought I would bring
it you myself--avoid mistakes. Capital comedy--won't do at all.
(_gives NED MS._)

NED. Why, you've not opened it!

DICK. No need to open it--won't do at all.

ALMA. Good evening, Mr. Dick.

DICK. (_crosses to ALMA_) Hallo! You here? Seen the notices? (_NED
crosses R._)

ALMA. Of the new piece?

NED. The one you thought so highly of?

DICK. Did I think highly of it?

ALMA. Didn't you say the booking after the first night would be a
caution?

DICK. So it is. Two stalls.

NED. I heard it wasn't a success.

DICK. (_producing a sheaf of newspaper cuttings_) _Morning News:_ "It
is not often that we have to chronicle so signal a fiasco." _Daily
Post:_ "Seldom of late years has a first night audience been so
emphatic in its condemnation." _Evening Mail:_ "The play is absolutely
destitute of merit." _Sunday Slogger:_ "A striking instance of the
ineptitude, incompetence, and imbecility of our native playwrights."
What do you think of that?

NED. I'm very sorry for poor Sparkle's sake. (_ALMA crosses to sofa_)

DICK. Hang Sparkle! I'm sorry for my own sake. Very annoying. I
particularly wanted this to be a go.

ALMA. Because I wasn't in it. (_leaning on back of sofa_)

DICK. Miss Blake has a notion we can't do without her.

NED. It appears you can't.

DICK. All the more reason she should think we can. _I_ don't know what
the public see in her. Miss Blake's always Miss Blake.

ALMA. That's what they like, my dear.

DICK. I don't care what the part is!

ALMA. Nor do they.

DICK. Well, if they want you they shall have you. Now, look here. (_to
NED_) I'll make you a proposition. If you'll let Sparkle look over
your comedy, write up Blake's part, re-cast the plot, and smarten up
the dialogue, I'll bring the piece out under Sparkle's name, pay him
the fees, and--and your fortune's made. (_ALMA comes down, C._)

NED. Let Sparkle hack about my piece? Sparkle, who's just made this
fiasco?

DICK. Sparkle has such a name.

ALMA. Yes--for fiascos.

DICK. Never mind what it's for--he has a name.

NED. No, Mr. Dick, no!

DICK. You refuse?

NED. Decidedly. (_goes up to L.C., sits at table_)

DICK. (_taking stage, R._) And yet they say we managers don't give
young men a chance.

ALMA. (_crosses to C._) Mr. Dick, Mr. Chetwynd has another comedy.

DICK. Won't do at all!

ALMA. But I say it _will_ do. I've read it.

DICK. I _haven't_ read it, and I say it _won't._ Sparkle's the man for
comedies. I'll go to Sparkle. He'll write me a bran new one in a week,
and it won't want rehearsing, because it'll be the old stuff all over
again.

ALMA. If he does I don't play in it.

DICK. Oh, yes, you do.

ALMA. I say I don't.

DICK. (_crosses to ALMA_) No play no pay. We've an agreement.

ALMA. (_crosses to DICK_) We'll have a _dis_agreement. Mark my words,
I play in Mr. Chetwynd's piece or I don't play at all.

DICK. What's it about?

ALMA. Never mind what it's about. You'd better leave the whole thing
in my hands. You know I shall have my own way in the end; so you may
just as well let me have it at the beginning.

DICK. Settle it how you like. I must be off. (_goes up, R._)

ALMA. So must I, Ned. It's time for me to bring Sir Humphrey.
(_crosses to L. DICK takes hat, puts it on_)

NED. (_to DICK_) Won't you take the manuscript?

DICK. What for?

NED. To read.

DICK. I don't read plays, sir; I produce 'em.

NED. But if you did read them----

DICK. Then I shouldn't produce 'em.

ALMA. I've read it, Mr. Dick, and it'll do for me.

DICK. Do for me, too, I expect. All you've read is your part.

ALMA. My part's the play.

DICK. I thought as much. Good evening. (_Exit, R._)

ALMA. Ned, it might please Sir Humphrey if you met him. Won't you come
with me? (_going up, C._)

_Re-enter LUCY, R._

NED. Go with you? With pleasure.

LUCY. Going out, Ned?

ALMA. Only to meet Sir Humphrey.

NED. I shan't be twenty minutes. You don't mind?

LUCY. Oh, no.

NED. Come along, Alma! (_Exit through window; off, R._)

ALMA. See you again presently. (_Exit through window; off, R._)

LUCY. (_following them; then back to R.C._) See you again! When shall
I see the last of you? "Mrs. Blake," "Alma" morning, noon, and night.
(_sits on chair, R._) Oh, what a wicked girl I am! how selfish! how
ill-natured! No wonder Ned is tired of me. No wonder he likes other
company. It's not his fault--it's mine. I'll write and tell him so.
(_rises; crosses to table, L., sits_) I'll sit down in his
chair--steal some of his paper--and write with his pen! What's
this--on the blotting pad? "Alma--dearest Alma." This is what he was
writing--that was so important. "Dearest Alma!" That's why he wouldn't
let me look at it. Here is the letter--a half written letter. "Willow
Bank, Surbiton. My own dearest Alma." (_starts up_) I won't read it.
(_retreating_) I've no right. I daren't. (_pause_) I have a right! I
will! (_darts forward and reads resolutely; sits_) "My own dearest
Alma,--At last I have a moment to myself, to scribble a hasty answer
to your note. Of course I will be there. I will make some excuse to
get away. Oh, why have I to make excuses? Why have I a wife? She is a
mere child, for whom I had a passing fancy. Fool that I was, I thought
that it would last for ever. Nothing can now remove the barrier
between us. With my own hand I have destroyed my happiness." (_drops
the sheet; turns; presses her hands against her temples; then tears
off her wedding ring and flings it from her_) I will remove the
barrier between them. I will leave his house! (_clasping her hands_)
Oh, Ned, my husband--he's not mine, he's hers! I have no husband! Oh,
Ned, Ned! come back to me! don't leave me desolate! (_staggers, and is
about to fall. Re-enter TOM, dressed, through window, just in time to
catch her in his arms_)

TOM. (_holding her_) Mrs. Chetwynd! Lucy!

_Re-enter SERVANT, R._

SERV. Dr. and Mrs. Dozey. (_seeing LUCY, runs to her assistance_)

_Enter DR. and MRS. DOZEY, R._

TOM. You'd better take Mrs. Chetwynd to her room. She's ill. (_SERVANT
leads LUCY out, L., TOM follows to door, L._)

DR. _and_ MRS. D. (_looking at one another_) Hem!

TOM. The heat, I daresay.

BOTH. Hem!

TOM. It's lucky I was there or she'd have fallen. I'd better find Ned
and tell him.

BOTH. Hem!

TOM. Have you both colds?

DR. Have you a cold, Diana?

MRS. D. No.

DR. Nor I.

BOTH. Hem!

TOM. Only two clerical sore throats? Beg pardon. (_Exit through
window; off, L._)

_DR. and MRS. DOZEY stand looking at one another._

DR. I fear our advent was inopportune.

MRS. D. Then you observed----

DR. Nothing. I have mislaid my glasses.

MRS. D. What nonsense, Dionysius! there they are!

DR. There are epochs in existence when it is the duty of a charitable
person to have mislaid his glasses.

MRS. D. Charity is a very excellent thing in its way. At the same time
one can't always shut one's eyes. I'm sure I close mine as often as
anybody; but I can't help observing what goes on.

DR. Did not Sir Humphrey lead us to infer that Mr. Potter once
proposed for Mrs. Chetwynd?

MRS. D. But had backed out of it.

DR. The situation is extremely painful.

MRS. D. When one's asked out to dinner and one finds one's hostess
reclining in the arms of one of the guests----

DR. The incident is calculated to impair the appetite and cast a gloom
around the prandial board.

MRS. D. Ill, forsooth! and the heat! But what can be expected of a
scene-shifter?

DR. Painter, my dear, scene painter.

MRS. D. Painter. It's all the same.

DR. And of the lady's parentage!

MRS. D. Ah, me! (_sits on sofa and dozes off_)

DR. (_crosses to MRS. DOZEY_) Herein, Diana, is much food for thought.
Here is a sermon he who runs may read. Here is a subject which
naturally resolves itself into six sections. Firstly---- (_MRS. DOZEY
snores_) Asleep again!

ALMA. (_outside_) Follow your leader. I'll show you the way.

DR. Mrs. Blake's voice. On second thoughts I will not awaken Diana.
(_crosses, R._)

_Re-enter ALMA through window from R._

ALMA. Doctor! how are you! I've not seen you for a century. (_shakes
hands_)

DR. It were more accurate to say a month.

ALMA. A month, a month, a month!

DR. Even in trifles it is well to be exact.

ALMA. I asked you how you were?

DR. Truly, I ought not to repine. The portal sometimes creaketh, but
it hangs--it hangs.

ALMA. (_aside_) It ought to!

_Re-enter NED through window, with SIR HUMPHREY on his arm, down C._

DR. Bless my soul--if I may be permitted so strong an expression----

ALMA. You may--you may. It's quite a relief to hear a little bad
language.

DR. Is that you, Sir Humphrey?

SIR H. Yes, doctor. I've made friends with Ned again. I said I
wouldn't, but there are some words it's better to break than to keep.
A son may afford to quarrel with his father, but a father cannot
afford to quarrel with his son, especially when he's the only one.

NED. I was to blame.

SIR H. We won't go into that. Perhaps there were faults on both sides.
I was a selfish, obstinate old man, who thought of nothing but his own
plans and his own ambitions. (_taking ALMA'S hand_) It was you, Mrs.
Blake, who taught me that my son, whatever he may do, is still my son,
and that my daughter is my daughter, be she who she may. Where is your
wife, Ned?

DR. Hem! Mrs. Chetwynd is indisposed.

NED. Lucy ill! What's the matter?

DR. I only know that she is in her room.

NED. I'll go and tell her you are here, father. (_crosses to L._)
That'll bring her down, I warrant. (_Exit, L._)

ALMA. You'll get on ever so much better by yourselves. I'll take the
doctor for a little walk. Come along, doctor. You can talk; I'll
listen. I make a splendid congregation when I choose.

DR. I should be charmed, but Mrs. Dozey----

ALMA. Well, you see her condition!

SIR H. I didn't see Mrs. Dozey. (_approaching her_)

DR. (_crosses to SIR HUMPHREY quickly_) Not so loud! Let sleeping
dogs--hem! Wake not the slumberer.

_ALMA putting her arm through DR. DOZEY'S, they both go off, C.R._

SIR H. (_following_) What sprightliness! What commonsense! (_comes
down, R._) What kindliness! My life has been a different thing since I
have known her. (_sits, R., thoughtfully_) One of the Duchesses of St.
Albans was an actress. One of the Countesses of Derby was an actress.
There are precedents--excellent precedents. Lady Chetwynd--Lady
Chetwynd.

MRS. D. (_wakes suddenly_) It's a most extraordinary thing. I can't
get a wink of sleep! other people have no difficulty--why have I? How
is it, Dionysius?

SIR H. Your husband isn't here.

MRS. D. Sir Humphrey! (_rises_)

SIR H. You're surprised to see me?

MRS. D. Where's Dionysius? (_crosses to SIR HUMPHREY_)

SIR H. Don't be so concerned. He's only gone for a walk with Mrs.
Blake.

MRS. D. With that play-actress?

SIR H. My dear Mrs. Dozey, there is nothing discreditable in the
profession of the stage.

MRS. D. That woman's setting her cap at Dionysius!

SIR H. I hadn't noticed that she wore a cap.

MRS. D. It'd be more becoming if she did, widow as she is. But there!
I have my doubts about her being a widow at all.

SIR H. (_rising_) Mrs. Dozey!

MRS. D. A bright face is like charity, it covers a multitude of sins.

SIR H. And a sour face is sometimes like the sins, it has no charity
to cover it.

MRS. D. I quite agree with you. (_up stage, aside_) What does he mean
by that? (_Exit through window, off R._)

SIR H. How prejudiced people are! What is birth after all? An
accident--the merest accident! And isn't my birth good enough for both
of us? My life is very lonely--very lonely.

_Re-enter ALMA through window, from R._

ALMA. Oh! such a jolly row! I've left them at it--hammer and
tongs--tongues especially.

SIR H. Mrs. Dozey's of a jealous disposition. A worthy woman but----

ALMA. Rather inclined to go to sleep.

SIR H. Well, after five-and-twenty years of Dozey----

ALMA. I don't wonder at it.

SIR H. All women can't have Mrs. Blake's vivacity.

ALMA. Sir Humphrey! no more compliments to-day. You said just now I
was the means of reconciling you to Ned--of teaching you that your son
was always your son--that forgiveness was better than resentment. You
can't pay me a greater compliment than that. It was more than I
deserved. (_takes chair; both sit_)

SIR H. No compliment can be too great to pay to _you_.

ALMA. Take care, Sir Humphrey! You know what they say is the greatest
a man can offer a woman!

SIR H. The one I ask to be allowed to offer now. I am in earnest, Mrs.
Blake. I haven't known you long; but there are women whom men learn to
love more quickly than to recognise the rest. I have lived sixteen
years of lonely life, because I have never met the woman worthy to
succeed the mother of my son. It is no slight to her to offer you her
place. I ask you to accept it without shame, because I feel that I
could set you side by side without indignity to either. I could not
love you more, nor could I love you less, than she who was the light
and gladness of my life. (_takes ALMA'S hand_)

ALMA. Please say no more!

SIR H. Haven't I said enough? (_lets hand go_)

ALMA. Too much, Sir Humphrey. I mean more than I have any right to
hear. (_rises, crosses to C._) I cannot marry you.

SIR H. (_half to himself_) I am refused! (_as if impossible to believe
it_)

ALMA. The honour you have done me is too great to trifle with. I
didn't care about the truth being known; but you have earned the right
to know it. I have a husband! (_long pause_)

SIR H. (_with difficulty_) Living?

ALMA. I have no reason to suppose he's dead. (_crosses to SIR
HUMPHREY_) Believe me when I say I should never have represented
myself to be a widow--I should never have entered your house--if I had
dreamt it would lead to this. You do believe me? (_offers hand_)

SIR H. (_shakes hands_) Yes.

ALMA. It was from no light motive I professed to be what I am not. It
was because I wished to strip the memory of my husband from my heart
as he has stripped his presence from my life.

SIR H. He left you?

ALMA. Do you care to know? (_sits R._) If you can listen to me I
should like to tell you. I was a giddy girl when I was young--one who
thought nothing of the past and little of the future. My husband was a
serious sort of man--absorbed in his pursuit. I thought I was
neglected, and--well, it's a humiliating thing to say, but I must say
it--the attention I didn't get from him I accepted from others. I
didn't doubt he loved me, but he didn't show it; and I determined that
he should. At last I forced him to speak. He wasn't angry--he used no
hard words--but he--he frightened me. I pretended not to care; but I
was cured.

SIR H. (_who has grown more and more interested_) Go on.

ALMA. With one man I had gone too far to withdraw easily. I was
obliged to write to him. It was rather a long letter. When I had
written the first sheet I put it in my desk and went on with the next.
In the middle of it I was called away on some household matter, and
when I returned that second sheet was gone.

SIR H. Your husband----

ALMA. Had gone also.

SIR H. Strange! Very strange! Can you remember what you wrote on it?

ALMA. Nothing he was entitled to resent. But from that day to this I
haven't heard of him. I left Melbourne.

SIR H. Melbourne?

ALMA. I was determined to start life afresh and put an end to old
associations. I even went so far as to announce my death.

SIR H. You advertised your death?

ALMA. It was a wicked thing to do, but I did it. I took the name of
Blake, and went on the stage.

SIR H. This is much more than strange. If you could find your
husband----

ALMA. I've no wish to find him!

SIR H. But if it turned out there was some mistake--that he
misunderstood you?

ALMA. There can be no mistake. No! I have done with him for ever. I
could never forgive him.

SIR H. Then you don't love him?

ALMA. Yes, I do. That's why. (_rises_) And now you know my history,
forgive _me_ and let me go.

SIR H. (_rises_) You mustn't go, Mrs. Blake. I can, perhaps, be of
service to you. As for forgiveness, I have nothing to forgive. It
isn't women's fault men fall in love with them; and men must bear
their fate.

_Re-enter NED, L._

NED. (_crosses to ALMA_) I can't make out what's the matter with Lucy,
but she won't come down. She's upset about something.

ALMA. Shall I go up to her? (_crosses to L._)

NED. I wish you would. You'll find out what's the matter, I'll be
bound. Where's Dozey?

ALMA. (_at door, L._) Gone for a stroll, that's all.

NED. I hope he won't be long. It's nearly seven now.

ALMA. Don't alarm yourself. A clergyman is never late for dinner.
(_Exit, L. SIR HUMPHREY sits R. NED crosses to L._)

MRS. D. (_outside_) It's no use talking, Dionysius!

_Enter DR. and MRS. DOZEY, through window._

NED. Here they come.

MRS. D. I won't have it. This is the second time I've had to speak
about it.

DR. Listen to reason!

MRS. D. I won't listen to reason. I won't listen to anything. It's
obvious to everybody. (_to SIR HUMPHREY_) Even Sir Humphrey must have
observed it.

SIR H. Observed what, Mrs. Dozey?

MRS. D. Why, Mrs. Blake's attentions to the Doctor!

_DOCTOR winks solemnly at SIR HUMPHREY, who smiles._

SIR H. I'd not noticed them.

MRS. D. Ah! she's so sly about it. Ah, well, well! I suppose a
ballet-dancer knows no better.

NED. Mrs. Blake doesn't dance! (_crosses, sits at desk_)

DR. There is a difference between an actress and a _coryphee._

MRS. D. (_sharply_) What _do you_ know of _coryphees?_

DR. (_starts_) I saw one once, my dear.

MRS. D. I thought you were never inside a theatre?

DR. It was not at a theatre; it was at a hall.

NED. What were you doing there?

MRS. D. Explain yourself.

DR. As it is the duty of the physician to acquaint himself with the
diseases of the flesh, so it is the duty of the pastor to acquaint
himself with the afflictions of the spirit. (_goes, L._)

_Re-enter ALMA, L._

ALMA. (_crosses; aside to NED_) Lucy won't see me, and she's not
coming down.

NED. Not coming down?

ALMA. Something's the matter with your wife--ah! (_catching sight of
the ring sets her foot on it_)

NED. (_rises_) What is it?

ALMA. Get rid of these people. (_NED crosses to DOCTOR, L._)

MRS. D. Sir Humphrey, this explains something that's puzzled me for
years.

SIR H. What's that, Mrs. Dozey?

MRS. D. Why Dionysius always brings a black tie with him when he comes
to London. (_SIR HUMPHREY rises, goes up R.C. with MRS. DOZEY._)

DR. (_to NED_) Sherry and bitters? Excellent idea.

NED. Come with me, doctor. Father, take Mrs. Dozey.

DR. Bitters impart a zest to appetite and give a tone to the digestive
organs.

_Exeunt SIR HUMPHREY, MRS. DOZEY, DR. DOZEY, and NED, R. Check lights
and limes._

ALMA. What does this mean? (_picks up the ring_) Her wedding ring. It
isn't as bright as when I saw it first; but what of that? Six months
of marriage take the shine out of a good many wedding-rings. What was
it doing there? It couldn't have dropped off by accident. No--it's too
small for that--it must have been tight. Perhaps it was too tight.
That's it! (_crosses to R.C._) That's it, you may depend. Now, let me
think. Under what circumstances does a woman take to throwing rings
about? In Sparkle's comedies they do it in a temper. Clever man--but
human nature's scarcely Sparkle's forte. Stop! I once threw away my
wedding-ring. What for? If I could think--I know! I know! It was the
only time in my life I was jealous of Tom! That's what's the matter!
(_crosses to C._) Mrs. Chetwynd's jealous. Now what has Ned been
doing? Whom's she jealous of? I must find out. She had it on just
now--when Ned went out with me. She must have found out something
since. Now, what did _I_ do when my husband was out? I looked in all
his pockets and I rummaged through all his papers. (_looks round_)
There are no pockets here, but there are any number of papers. (_goes
to desk_) Let me have a look. I'll find it in three tries. (_pouncing
on the letter, sits_) "My own dearest Alma." Found at one! The letter
in the play! of course! of course! it's me she's jealous of! It must
be me. (_rises, takes letter and reads_) "At last I have a moment to
myself, to scribble a hasty answer to your note." (_reads on with her
back turned to door, L. Re-enter LUCY, L., in out-door costume, very
cautiously creeps in, sees ALMA, and starts violently, then stands
motionless. The stage has by this time grown rather dim, as if it were
getting dusk. Check lights, check to half down. Lights gradually fade
away and go out_) "Why have I a wife? She is a mere child for whom I
had a passing fancy."

LUCY. (_under her breath_) She's reading the letter!

ALMA. "Nothing can now remove the barrier between us. With my own hand
I have destroyed my happiness." Oh, no, you haven't, Ned! I'll make
you happy yet. Now I understand the state of affairs I know what to
do. (_puts letter on table_) The barrier must be broken
down--smashed--blown to atoms! Oh, dear, I feel so happy! (_turns;
slips behind a screen_) Ned! dear old Ned! Where are you? (_runs out,
R._)

LUCY. (_emerging_) Yes, they shall both be happy. (_surveying the
room_) Good-bye, everything. (_crosses to piano_) Piano that he gave
me. Old music that he used to like. I shall never dare to sing you any
more. (_crosses to cabinet, addressing photograph of SIR HUMPHREY_)
Good-bye, my only father, who would never own me. I'm not your
daughter now. (_crosses to cabinet, L., brings photograph of NED to
table, L._) Good-bye, Ned, my husband! You won't see me any more.
Don't look at me in that way. If you don't love me, say good-bye to
me. (_sits at table. Re-enter SERVANT, R., with lamp, which she puts
on cabinet, R.; the noise attracts LUCY'S attention; softly_) Wilson?

SERV. (_starts slightly_) You here, m'm?

LUCY. (_rises_) I'm going out.

SERV. Going out, Mrs. Chetwynd?

LUCY. Don't say anything; but give this note to Mr. Chetwynd. (_gives
note_) Good-bye, Wilson.

SERV. Good-bye?

LUCY. I mean good night. (_Exit through window off, L. SERVANT closes
window, draws curtains, exit, L._)

_Re-enter ALMA and NED, R._

ALMA. Yes, it's as plain as the nose on my face. It's me she's jealous
of.

NED. Jealous of you? Ridiculous!

ALMA. I don't see anything ridiculous about it.

NED. The idea of anybody being jealous of you!

ALMA. You ask Wilson and you'll find I'm right. (_NED rings bell_)

_Re-enter SIR HUMPHREY; DR. and MRS. DOZEY, R._

SIR H. You always are right, Mrs. Blake. What should we do without
you?

_Re-enter SERVANT, L., with letter._

NED. Wilson, where's Mrs. Chetwynd?

SERV. She's gone out, sir.

ALL. Out?

DR. At this hour?

MRS. D. I thought she wasn't well?

SERV. She left a note for you, sir. (_gives note to NED. Exit, L. NED
opens note, holds it out to ALMA_)

SIR H. What does she say?

ALMA. Only two words--"Good-bye."

_Re-enter TOM, C., from L., unobserved._

MRS. D. It's an elopement!

DR. Our worst fears are realised.

NED. (_springing up_) What do you mean?

DR. I will make no assertion--hazard no conjecture. I will ask,
simply, where is Mr. Potter?

TOM. Here! (_all turn_)

ALMA. (_recognising him_) Tom!

MRS. D. You know Mr. Potter?

TOM. Alma!

SIR H. (_as if to himself_) She _is_ his wife! (_sits, R._)

END OF ACT II.



ACT III.

SCENE.--_ALMA BLAKE'S apartments. An octagonal room, being a sort of
boudoir, furnished and draped in the extreme of artistic luxury. Doors
R. and L. A number of bouquets about the room. Photographs,
knick-knacks everywhere. Window C. TOM'S picture of the knights on the
wall, R._

_Enter SUSAN, L.C. with a bouquet._

SUSAN. Another of 'em! Who's this from, I wonder? (_reads card
attached_) From Sir George Greenfield. We shall have enough to stock
Covent Garden directly. (_Enter ALMA, R.C., in a morning wrapper, with
her hair loosely arranged_) Another bouquet! (_gives it to ALMA; goes
up back_)

ALMA. (_looks at card carelessly_) Oh! (_tosses the bouquet amongst
the rest_) No letter from the theatre?

SUSAN. No, miss.

ALMA. It's very strange.

SUSAN. Did you expect one?

ALMA. Yes, from Mr. Dick. Before I play in the new piece----

SUSAN. In Mr. Chetwynd's piece?

ALMA. I must have better terms. I asked five pounds a week advance,
and Dick wouldn't hear of it; so last night I gave him notice.

SUSAN. You're going to leave?

ALMA. Not I! (_crosses to sofa_) But that's the only way to deal with
Dick. I ought to have had a letter by this time giving me my terms.

SUSAN. Perhaps Mr. Dick 'll call.

ALMA. Perhaps. I don't care. (_drops on sofa_) Oh, dear! (_leans her
head on her hands; slight pause; SUSAN arranges the bouquet_) How did
I look last night?

SUSAN. (_coming down to back of table_) Your very best.

ALMA. How did I play?

SUSAN. Better than ever, I think. (_goes up and arranges bouquet;
another pause_)

ALMA. Susan, have you ever been in love?

SUSAN. La, miss, a dozen times! Haven't you?

ALMA. Only once.

SUSAN. Well, I _am_ surprised.

ALMA. And that was with my husband.

SUSAN. Gracious me! (_comes down to back of table_)

ALMA. He was in front last night.

SUSAN. Your husband, miss! I didn't know you had a husband.

ALMA. We all have husbands--on the stage.

SUSAN. You keep 'em very quiet.

ALMA. Best thing we can do, with most of 'em! My husband painted that.
(_pointing to picture, R._)

SUSAN. The picture Mr. Chetwynd gave you?

ALMA. Yes.

SUSAN. Don't you and your husband speak, miss?

ALMA. I hadn't seen him for six years, until three months ago; when we
met accidentally.

SUSAN. And didn't he speak _then?_

ALMA. Not twenty words. I might have been a stranger. (_half to
herself_) When those we would forgive won't let us forgive them, what
are we to do?

SUSAN. Whatever we like; _I_ should! Would you be friends with him?

ALMA. I thought not. I thought I had forgotten him. But when I saw him
standing by my side, and heard his voice, oh, you don't know how the
old time came back to me, and how I longed for the old home. (_a ring
below_)

SUSAN. There's the bell, miss. (_Exit, L.C._)

ALMA. And is it never to be mine again? Is he to go out of my life
forever? Or if he meets me, is it to be as a stranger? Is he to sit
near me, and never speak to me? Am I, who once was everything to him,
to be nothing? (_rises; crosses to table_) No, oh, no! He is a man,
and he can bear it; I'm only a woman, and I can't. My pride has all
gone--gone, I don't know where! Six years of loneliness have used it
up. I don't care who was right--I don't care who was wrong--I want him
back again. (_sits L. of table_)

_Re-enter SUSAN, L.C., with NED._

NED. Good morning. (_Exit SUSAN, L.C._)

ALMA. (_rising_) Ned! What brings you here so early?

NED. What's this I hear from Dick? He says you've given him notice.

ALMA. So I have.

NED. Then who's to play your part?

ALMA. Oh, there are lots of women.

NED. Only one Alma Blake.

ALMA. I'm very sorry, for your sake.

NED. If, now my piece is really coming out, after all these
postponements, you refuse to play in it, you can't be sorry for me,
Miss Blake.

ALMA. Miss Blake?

NED. Yes, Miss Blake. It was Miss Blake that spoke--it's Miss Blake
who's thrown up her part--but it's Alma who's going to play.

ALMA. Don't make too sure of that. (_crosses R._)

NED. You don't consider my feelings in the least. Do you suppose it's
all the same to me who speaks my lines?

ALMA. You'll get them better spoken, I daresay.

NED. Very well--someone else _shall_ speak them. (_crosses to C._)

ALMA. No, they shan't.

NED. You'll play the part, after all! (_puts hat and stick down on
chair, L. of table_)

ALMA. I meant to play it all the time, you goose! I've no idea of
leaving Dick. I only want five pounds a week more salary.

NED. That's a weight off my mind. (_crosses to sofa; sits_) You can't
believe how sensitive I am about this play. It is the only link
between me and my wife. I sometimes think that if she saw it it might
bring her back to me. That is the reason I'm so anxious about it.

ALMA. Of course, she'd recognise the letter.

NED. What can have become of her?

ALMA. Nothing been heard yet?

NED. Not since she was traced to Leeds; there the clue was lost.

ALMA. Did she know anybody there?

NED. Not that I know of. What is she doing? What can she be living on?
Alma, it drives me nearly mad sometimes. (_rises; gets back, L._)

_Re-enter SUSAN, L.C., with DICK._

SUSAN. Here's Mr. Dick, miss. (_Exit, L.C._)

ALMA. Oh, you've come at last!

DICK. Did you expect me? (_puts hat on sofa_)

ALMA. To be sure I did! Brought the engagement with you?

DICK. What engagement?

ALMA. Five pounds a week more salary.

DICK. Five fiddlesticks!

ALMA. What have you come for, then?

DICK. Two minutes' conversation.

ALMA. You shall have ten. Sit down.

DICK. Don't want ten. Two's enough. (_produces a letter_) Horrible
hand you write. It took me half-an-hour to make it out.

ALMA. I'm sure it's plain enough.

DICK. Well, it's not pretty.

ALMA. You don't waste time in compliments.

DICK. No time to waste. You've given me notice.

ALMA. Yes, a fortnight's notice.

DICK. Oh, it's quite regular.

ALMA. Well?

DICK. I accept it.

ALMA.}
        What?
NED.}

DICK. (_turns up stage_) I'm obliged to you for giving me the chance.

ALMA. You'll let me leave?

DICK. The sooner, the better.

ALMA. What are you going to do?

DICK. That's _my_ business.

ALMA. Whom are you going to get?

DICK. Pooh! There are lots of actresses.

NED. But you won't get another Alma Blake.

DICK. Gad, I hope not.

ALMA. Mr. Dick, have you come here to insult me?

DICK. No time to insult people.

ALMA. Say what you've come for, then.

DICK. Your part in the new piece.

ALMA. For someone else to study!

DICK. Look alive!

ALMA. If I refuse?

DICK. You can't. You've given me notice.

ALMA. If I withdraw my notice?

DICK. Too late. Hand over the part.

ALMA. I shan't hand it over!

DICK. Won't you? (_puts hat on_) Good morning. (_goes up to door,
L.C._)

ALMA. Where are you going? (_following DICK up_)

DICK. Police-court.

ALMA. What for?

DICK. Summons--unlawfully detaining property. (_pause--they confront
each other_)

ALMA. I'll get the part. (_Exit, R.C._)

DICK. (_coming down, C._) I thought she would. I've scored this time.

NED. Have you considered what you're doing, Dick?

DICK. (_winks_) Do you suppose I should talk in that way if I hadn't
found another woman? Catch a weazel!

NED. Of course, I didn't know that.

DICK. Blake did; saw it at a glance. That was what knocked her over.
Clever woman! She'll be a loss. (_hat on sofa_)

NED. Irreparable.

DICK. Nothing's irreparable in the female line. (_crosses to R._)

NED. Who is the other lady?

DICK. Miss Ruth Carlton.

NED. Never heard of her.

DICK. Comes from the country.

NED. Not an amateur!

DICK. Jackson, of Huddersfield, tells me she's a wonder--a perfect
genius for domestic drama.

NED. How is it he didn't keep her in Huddersfield? (_goes up, L._)

DICK. She _would_ come up to town. "Private affairs." We all know what
that means. Got a good-for-nothing husband somewhere, and wants to
find him.

NED. Is she in town now?

DICK. She's taken lodgings in this very house.

NED. That creature on the ground-floor?

DICK. Ground-floor? No! Where are the geniuses always? In the attic.
(_points up; crosses to L._)

NED. Strange! (_crosses at back to R._)

DICK. What's strange? (_sits on sofa_)

NED. That she has chosen this house of all others.

DICK. It's a theatrical place. I recommended it to Blake--Jackson
recommended it to Carlton. What is there strange about that?

NED. Nothing, when it's explained; but it did seem a curious
coincidence.

DICK. Call that a coincidence? You should have seen my last comedy.
Sparkle's the man for coincidences.

NED. Have you been up to see her?

DICK. Just come down. Engagement signed this morning. Splendid terms!

NED. For Miss Carlton?

DICK. For Carlton? No--for me.

NED. What's she like?

DICK. Very pretty girl--rather washed out, but she'll be all right at
night. Fancy I've seen her face before somewhere; but then, I see so
many faces--soon forget 'em. Good thing, too; great blessing to forget
some faces. (_rises; takes hat_) Well, I can't wait all day. Tell
Blake I couldn't stop. You bring the part on to the theatre. (_going
off, L.C.; stops; puts on hat_)

NED. All right.

DICK. On second thoughts--(_coming down; chuckles_)--tell her to send
it to the girl upstairs. That'll take it out of her. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
She thought she'd get a rise out of _me;_ but I've taken a rise out of
_her._ (_Exit, L.C._)

NED. (_sits R. of table_) Another disappointment. I write a part for
Alma to create, and it's to be murdered by an amateur! What does it
matter? Pshaw! I hate the play! But for it Lucy wouldn't have left me.
If it should be a big success, she isn't here to share it.

_Re-enter ALMA, R., with part._

ALMA. (_crosses to sofa_) Here's the part. (_looks round_) What's
become of Dick?

NED. Mr. Dick said he couldn't wait all day. You are to send the part
to your successor, Miss Ruth Carlton.

ALMA. (_sits on sofa_) I send the part? Does he imagine I'm the
Parcels Post!

NED. You won't have to send it far. Miss Carlton's living in this very
house.

ALMA. Which floor?

NED. The attic.

ALMA. (_rises; crosses to NED_) That child play my part?

NED. (_rises_) You've seen her?

ALMA. No; I heard all about her from the landlady. She's been here a
week, and never left her room. I'd half a mind to ask her down here
for a change of scene, but I shan't now. (_crosses to L._)

NED. (_crosses to ALMA_) Shall I take the part up to her?

ALMA. Let her come down and fetch it.

NED. You said she shouldn't.

ALMA. But I say she shall.

NED. You've changed your mind very quickly.

ALMA. It's my own mind; I can do what I like with it, I suppose. I'm
not the only changeable person in the world. I know an author who once
said he'd written a part specially for me, that I was the only person
who _could_ play it, and that I was the only person who should play
it; because he thought I was the only person who _would_ play it: and
now he's found another woman, it's all off. He wants to take the part
out of my hands and put it into hers; and a nice mess she'll make of
it, and I hope she will. (_goes round sofa, and up to back_)

NED. (_crosses to L.C._) How do you know she can't play the part?

ALMA. (_following NED, L._) Because there's only one woman on the
stage who can--and that's me. That's how I know it; and when your
piece is damned, and they shy bricks at you, you'll know it too. Here,
take your part, and take your play, and take your hat, and take your
stick, and get out of my room. (_thrusting the things on him_)

NED. (_going up_) I'll take it to Miss Carlton.

ALMA. (_stopping him; snatches part back; removes his hat and stick,
and bumps him down on sofa_) No, you won't. I tell you she can't play
it! What's more, she _shan't_ play it. (_tucking it under her arm, and
taking stage R._) This part was written for Miss Alma Blake, and no
one but Miss Alma Blake shall touch it! (_crosses R._)

NED. (_rising; crosses to ALMA, overjoyed_) You've changed your mind
again.

ALMA. That's only twice. I've changed it twenty times in less time
before now--(_crosses to NED_)--and I shall change it fifty if I like!
Why shouldn't I change my mind? If you had such a nasty, horrid,
cantankerous mind as I've had for the last five minutes, shouldn't you
be precious _glad_ to change it?

NED. I'm only too delighted.

ALMA. So am I.

NED. Alma!

ALMA. It's "Alma" now!

NED. Yes--the old Alma!

ALMA. I'm not middle-aged. You'll make me out a grandmother directly,
and say Miss Carlton is my granddaughter. Miss Carlton! Who's Miss
Carlton?

NED. Here, keep the part and never mind Miss Carlton. I'll tell
Dick----

ALMA. No! Stop! Not a word! Now, don't you interfere between me and my
manager. I shall turn up at rehearsal just as usual.

NED. But Dick----

ALMA. Bother Dick!

NED. All right, bother him; he's bothered _me_ enough! But how are you
to get over your notice?

ALMA. Ignore it altogether--say nothing about it.

NED. But suppose _Dick_ says----

ALMA. Tell him he dreamt it.

NED. But if he shows your letter?

ALMA. Tear it to pieces--laugh at him! Oh, I know how to manage Dick.
Leave that to me. This happens once a week. (_crosses to R._ )

NED. (_getting hat and stick_) Then I shall see you at rehearsal?

ALMA. Yes. (_crosses to table_)

NED. Good-bye----

ALMA. Send Susan up to me.

NED. And thank you very much. (_Exit, L.C._)

ALMA. (_sits L. of table; leaves part on table_) Dick took it out of
me this morning; I must take it out of him this afternoon. He wouldn't
give me five pounds a week more. All right. He'll have to give me ten.
Mr. Dick must be taught his position. (_Re-enter SUSAN, L.C._) Susan,
the brush and comb, and brush out my hair. (_Exit SUSAN, R.C._) Susan,
bring the powder-puff. Susan, the powder-puff. (_Re-enter SUSAN, L.C.,
with brush and comb_) Susan, have you seen that girl in the attic?

SUSAN. (_back of table_) No, miss; but Mrs. Pritchard says she looks
so ill, and never eats a morsel. She wishes you would speak to her;
she seems so lonely.

ALMA. Do you mean Miss Carlton?

SUSAN. Yes. Mrs. Pritchard thinks----

ALMA. Never mind what Mrs. Pritchard thinks!

SUSAN. She says she's always crying.

ALMA. What do I care what Mrs. Pritchard says? I asked you if you'd
seen her.

SUSAN. No, Miss Blake.

ALMA. Then go and see her now.

SUSAN. Yes, Miss Blake.

ALMA. I'll do my hair myself. Don't mention any name--Mr. Dick's given
her my part to play, and she mightn't care to see me. Say that the
lady on the first floor wants to speak to her on business connected
with the theatre.

SUSAN. Yes, Miss Blake. (_crosses at back to L.C._)

ALMA. Bring her down with you.

SUSAN. If she'll come, I will.

ALMA. (_turns_) Bring her down with you, whether she'll come or not,
or take a month's warning. (_SUSAN laughs_) What are you laughing at?

SUSAN. That's the third time to-day you've given me warning.

ALMA. (_lifting hair-brush_) I'll give you something else, if you're
not quick. (_Exit SUSAN, L.C._) I feel quite curious to see this girl
Dick thinks is good enough to play my part. Some greenhorn at a pound
or two a week, or Dick wouldn't have engaged her. No, she can't be a
greenhorn. She doesn't eat: greenhorns do. And what did Susan say?
She's always crying. Humph! She must be married. The old tale, I
suppose. And yet people go on getting married. (_rises; looks for
puff_) It's a funny world. What has that Susan done with the
powder-puff?  Hang the girl! I'll give her warning again as soon as
she comes down. If I had a husband, I believe I should give _him_
warning to-day. Brutes, all of 'em. (_Exit, R.C._)

SUSAN. (_outside_) Mind how you turn the corner, they're such awkward
stairs, and it's so dark up here. This is the way. Take a seat,
please.

_Re-enter SUSAN, L.C., followed by LUCY._

LUCY. (_sits sofa_) You're very kind. (_looking full at Susan;
starts_)

SUSAN. If it's not----

LUCY. Susan!

SUSAN. Mrs. Chetwynd!

LUCY. Hush! What are you doing here?

SUSAN. We live here, m'm.

LUCY. We! Who? (_Re-enter ALMA, R.C., with powder-puff_) Who sent for
me? (_rises_)

ALMA. I sent for you, Miss Carlton. (_puffing her face_)

LUCY. Mrs. Blake! (_ALMA drops hand, then turns and signals SUSAN to
go. Exit SUSAN, running, L.C._) I didn't know who you were or I should
not have come. What can you want with me?

ALMA. (_crosses to LUCY_) To tell the truth, I didn't know it _was_
you when I sent for you. I thought it was only somebody who had been
trying to supplant me in my business.

LUCY. And if I had, it would only be just. Haven't you supplanted me
in my home?

ALMA. It wasn't my fault that you left your home. You left because you
were suspicious of your husband.

LUCY. I had reason to be.

ALMA. Oh, probably enough! Men are a bad lot, and he's one of them.

LUCY. Ned wasn't bad!

ALMA. Why did you leave him then? (_turning on her quickly_) You love
him? (_thrusting her on sofa, and kneeling down beside her_) Yes, you
do, or you wouldn't resent the way I spoke of him; and loving him, you
should have trusted him.

LUCY. To be deceived!

ALMA. Better to trust and be deceived, than to suspect and deceive
_yourself_. You're a fond, foolish girl, who've done your best to
wreck your own life and your husband's too. You've done me a great
wrong, and now I'm going to have my revenge.

LUCY. What wrong have I done _you?_

ALMA. You think I love your husband, but I don't. I never loved any
man but one--my own. You think your husband loves _me,_ but he
doesn't. Nobody loves me--not even my own.

LUCY. You say so.

ALMA. I will prove it. You think I am your enemy, but I'm your best
friend. I'll show you, you have done me an injustice, and for my
revenge--(_rises_)--I'll give you back your husband, and forgive you.

LUCY. (_rises_) Ned wrote a letter to you.

ALMA. (_at table_) I never received it.

LUCY. Never received it! When I heard you reading it!

ALMA. You heard me!

LUCY. The very words are ringing in my ears, and always will be! "My
own dearest Alma!"

ALMA. (_reading from part_) "At last I have a moment to myself----"

LUCY. You said you never received it. You have it there?

ALMA. I have no letter here.

LUCY. What are you reading, then?

ALMA. My part in the new piece.

LUCY. Those were Ned's very words!

ALMA. (_quietly_) It is your husband's play. (_pause_)

LUCY. That letter's in the play? (_snatches part from ALMA_) But
"Alma"!

ALMA. Was the heroine. (_LUCY drops the part; stands for a moment as
if dazed; then drops her head and falls in ALMA'S arms_)

_Re-enter SUSAN, L.C._

SUSAN. Another visitor!

ALMA. (_sharply_) I can see nobody!

SUSAN. But he's coming up.

LUCY. (_trying to walk_) Let me go first! I can't bear to see anyone.

ALMA. Put Mrs. Chetwynd in my room. When you feel stronger, I will
talk to you.

SUSAN. (_leading LUCY off_) I'm very sorry!

ALMA. Take another warning! (_picks up puff. Exeunt SUSAN and LUCY,
R.C._) Was ever anything so inopportune! (_puffing her face
vigorously. Enter SIR HUMPHREY, L.C._) Sir Humphrey! Is it you?
(_crosses to SIR HUMPHREY; comes down with him_) How kind of you to
come and see me!

SIR H. I have come to ask you to see someone else, Mrs. Blake.

ALMA. Anyone you like, of course.

SIR H. Even your husband?

ALMA. Tom! (_leans on chair_)

SIR H. I've brought him with me. Once I said I might be of service to
you; and I can now, if you will see him.

ALMA. (_leaving chair_) What's the use? When last he saw me he would
scarcely speak to me.

SIR H. But I have seen him very often since. I have been thinking a
great deal of what you told me, and of what he has told me recently,
and I should like to speak to both of you together.

ALMA. As you please.

_Re-enter SUSAN, R.C._

SIR H. Ask Mr. Potter to come here. (_to SUSAN_)

SUSAN. Yes, sir. (_Exit, L.C._)

SIR H. One favour more. If you have kept the portion of the letter you
last wrote to him, will you entrust me with it?

ALMA. I will bring it you.

SIR H. I don't think you'll regret the confidence. (_puts hat and
gloves down. Exit ALMA, R.C._) How shall I put it to them? (_pacing up
and down, his eyes fall on the picture, R._) What's that? His picture!
Ah! the very thing! (_Enter TOM, L.C._) Come in, your wife will see
you.

TOM. Very well. But I don't know what purpose it will serve. It's only
my respect for you that brings me.

SIR H. Tom, do you recognise that picture?

TOM. (_surprised_) It's my stupid knights!

SIR H. Ned gave it Mrs. Blake. You know the story?

TOM. Didn't I tell it _you?_

SIR H. Yet, you've not learnt its lesson. After you left my house so
suddenly, upon your recognition of your wife, I wouldn't meet you. I
was like those knights. I didn't see what purpose it would serve. But
I was wrong.

TOM. As _I_ am now. You're right. Thank you for bringing me, whatever
comes of it.

SIR H. You have your portion of that letter?

TOM. (_putting hat down on sofa_) Here it is. (_gives it to SIR
HUMPHREY. Re-enter ALMA, R.C. SIR HUMPHREY goes to meet her, and takes
from her the paper in her hand--then leads her near to TOM, and takes
his place between them, glancing meanwhile over the note_)

SIR H. Mrs. Blake, I was just reminding Mr. Potter of an old fable you
may perhaps have heard. Once on a time there were two knights who
fought about a certain silver shield. Silver, as one called it--the
other called it gold. When they had killed each other, so the story
runs, it was discovered both of them were right, and, at the same
time, both of them were wrong. The shield was gold on one side, silver
on the other. Years afterwards the spirits of those knights revisited
the earth. They took the form, the one of a young husband, and the
other of his wife. They loved one another, but they were unhappy. The
wife was a coquette. I'm sure she meant no harm but she incurred her
husband's anger. He remonstrated with her; and the result was she
resolved to say good-bye to her admirers. She wrote to one of them to
tell him so. When she had written the first sheet she put it in her
desk; and in the middle of the next was interrupted. Her husband,
finding it, and thinking it was meant for him, left her. (_pause_) Six
years they lived apart. Each had one portion of the letter, and each
showed it to a common friend, when it occurred to this same common
friend to put the sheets together--(_does so_)--and lo! he found that
each of them was right again, and each of them again was wrong. He
took upon him to reverse the sheets--(_reverses them_)--and asked to
hear them read aloud together. (_looks at TOM_) The husband held the
first sheet, and began. (_hands ALMA'S sheet to TOM_)

TOM. (_reads_) "You will consider this a very cruel letter, but I mean
it kindly. Something has occurred to show me I've been acting very
foolishly, and deceiving both my husband and you. You may think me
heartless and fickle; but I haven't really changed. I always loved him
in my heart of hearts. I know he doesn't like me seeing you; and to
continue seeing you against his will would be like saying to----"

ALMA. (_to whom SIR HUMPHREY hands TOM'S sheet; reads_)--"Tom, I love
another more than I love you. (_pause_) Isn't it best that we should
say good-bye? I have no right to tell you I will never see you, for
the fault is mine; but if I do, it will only be painful, and I leave
it to your magnanimity to go away from me for ever."

SIR H. I have done. (_goes up and turns his back to them, deeply
moved; pause_)

TOM. And have we lost six years of this short life?

ALMA. (_crosses to TOM_) Not lost! if we have learnt to trust
appearance less, and one another more.

TOM. Is it you, Alma? Time and grief have made us almost strangers.

ALMA. But time and happiness shall make us friends.

_Re-enter SUSAN, L.C. TOM crosses to R._

SUSAN. Dr. and Mrs. Dozey.

_Enter DR. and MRS. DOZEY, L.C. Exit SUSAN, L.C._

DR. (_down L._) Being on a visit to the Metropolis, and happening to
be in the neighbourhood---- (_shakes hands_)

ALMA. Very glad to see you, doctor. How is Mrs. Dozey?

MRS. D. I owe you an apology, my dear.

ALMA. You owe me an apology! What for?

MRS. D. The months and months I thought you were a widow; when all the
time you were a respectable married woman. (_embraces ALMA, and sits
in armchair, L. of table_)

TOM. Ah! the knights again.

DR. (_crosses to TOM_) Herein we see the folly of rash judgment, and
the frailty of our flesh. The subject naturally subdivides itself----

ALMA. My husband.

TOM. How d'you do? (_takes DR. DOZEY aside_)

MRS. D. You're reconciled?

ALMA. At last.

MRS. D. Oh, how I shall enjoy a sermon after this!

_Re-enter SUSAN, L.C._

SUSAN. Mr. Dick, Mr. Chetwynd.

DICK. Come along, Chetwynd. (_down R.C. of ALMA. NED crosses to SIR
HUMPHREY. SUSAN exits, L.C._) Morning everybody. Important business.
(_puts hat on sofa_)

SIR H. Business? Then I'm afraid we're in the way. (_NED crosses L._)

ALMA. Not in the least. Don't move. If anybody's in the way it's Mr.
Dick. To what am I indebted for this intrusion?

DICK. Just been upstairs looking for Miss Carlton, and I'm told you've
been getting at her. What are you up to now? What business have you
with my leading lady?

ALMA. Miss Carlton's indisposed, and can't attend rehearsal.

DICK. Teaching her some of your own tricks already. Where's the
doctor's certificate?

ALMA. She's seriously ill, and won't be able to appear at all.

DICK. Not appear! not appear! This is your doing, to throw me over at
the eleventh hour! Someone shall pay for this!

ALMA. Yes; you shall pay for it yourself.

DICK. (_desperate_) Not appear! Who's to play the part?

ALMA. The woman it was written for! Who else?

DICK. You'll play it after all? You'll come back to me? You're not
half a bad sort, when all's said and done!

ALMA. Yes, I've decided to come back to you.

DICK. (_overjoyed_) At the old figure?

ALMA. No--(_DICK'S face falls_)--at ten pounds a week advance.

DICK. (_dismayed_) Ten! You said five last night.

ALMA. But I say ten this morning.

NED. Better accept.

ALMA. It'll be fifteen to-morrow.

NED. Give it her, Dick.

ALMA. Or I won't play the part. (_DR. DOZEY comes down, R._)

DICK. Gad, I should like to give it her! This is a conspiracy. No,
hang me if I give you ten pounds a week rise. Go to the---- (_crosses
to R.; meets DR. DOZEY_)

DR. Hem!

DICK. (_looking at DR. DOZEY_) To the Antipodes. (_to ALMA_) You've
been there once, and you can go again.

DR. Diana, I was too precipitate.

DICK. I'll find some other woman. You shan't play the part.

NED. Then you _shan't_ play my piece.

DICK. (_crosses to NED_) Shan't play your piece? _Your_ piece?

NED. My piece.

DICK. Yours, after all the alterations I've made!

NED. Well, you _have_ cut it up! (_sits head of sofa_)

DICK. Do you suppose there's only one piece in the world? My room is
full of 'em--chock full--so full I can scarcely get into it!

NED. All rubbish.

DICK. You haven't read them, sir.

NED. No more have you.

ALMA. You'd better settle, Dick.

DICK. (_crosses to C._) Be beaten by a woman? No, by jingo, no! (_puts
on hat_) I'll find some other woman. Hang it all! there are plenty of
women in the world--too many--hang _them_ all! Good morning everybody;
and may I be---- (_runs against SUSAN, who re-enters, L.C., with
telegram; he stops_)

SUSAN. Oh! (_recovering herself_) Telegram, miss.

DICK. Telegram?

ALMA. (_who's opened it_) From Baker of the Colosseum. (_DICK looks
over her while she reads_) "Hear you leave Dick. Come to me. Forty
pounds a week. Wire answer. Reply paid."

DICK. (_snatching form, crosses to chair where MRS. DOZEY is asleep;
puts his knee on elbow; wakes MRS. DOZEY_) Look here, _I'll_ answer
that. (_writes_) "Blake does _not_ leave me. _I_ pay forty-five. Mind
your own business." (_gives form to SUSAN_)

ALMA. Forty-five.

DICK. It's settled. (_they shake hands; puts hat down on table with a
bang, starting DR. and MRS. DOZEY_)

MRS. D. Dionysius?

DR. After mature deliberation, I have arrived at the conclusion that
Mr. Dick did not intend to say "Antipodes."

MRS. D. I don't believe he did. (_ALMA leaves DICK and goes to SUSAN,
to whom she gives instructions in dumb show, leading her R. TOM
approaches DICK, who's dropped on sofa, wiping his forehead_)

TOM. You got the worst of that, sir?

DICK. No, I didn't. I never get the worst of anything. If she had
played her cards well I'd have given her fifty.

TOM. Fifty?

DICK. She's worth it.

TOM. Very glad to hear it. (_turns off, L._)

DICK. (_to himself, half following TOM_) Why is he glad to hear it?
(_aside to SIR HUMPHREY_) I say, who is that?

SIR H. Mrs. Blake's husband.

DICK. (_drops on to seat, C., at R. back_) He'll tell her! He's
telling her. (_TOM and ALMA laugh over it across the sofa_) No matter.
(_coming down, C.; addressing ALMA_) I'll take it out of you. I'll
change the bill continually. You shall have rehearsals morning, noon,
and night. (_Exit SUSAN, R.C._)

NED. (_down, L._) Oh, no, you won't. You haven't plays enough.

DICK. Soon get 'em. Sparkle shall set his type-writer to work, and you
must set your wits. I'll give you a wholesale order.

NED. I'm a slow worker; I'm afraid I couldn't execute it.

ALMA. Why not? What's the difficulty?

NED. I can't think of a plot.

ALMA. I'll give you one.

SIR H. (_coming down_) You, Miss Blake! (_DICK laughs_)

ALMA. (_to DICK_) What are you laughing at?

DICK. (_sitting down at back, L.C._) Your plot. A nice old hash up
it'll be.

ALMA. You haven't heard it.

DICK. Don't want to hear it. All been done before!

SIR H. It'll be new to us, at any rate.

ALMA. Sir Humphrey, sit down. (_SIR HUMPHREY sits at back of table_)
Doctor, you shall be my audience.

DR. (_rising; also MRS. DOZEY_) Pardon me, but it is against my
principles.

ALMA. Did I say audience? I meant congregation.

MRS. D. (_sits_) Ah! (_goes to sleep_)

DR. That removes my scruples. There is no evil in an audience,
regarded in the aspect of a congregation. (_sits_)

ALMA. Don't make yourself too comfortable, Ned. I shall want you to
play a leading part. Dick, you shall be the front row of the pit.
(_DICK brings chair down, C. Re-enter SUSAN, R.C._) And here comes
Susan, just in time to be the prompter. Ready? (_sits on sofa_)
Curtain up. Hero and heroine, a young married couple. They're very
fond of one another--very happy. So the play opens brightly.

DICK. Wife working slippers--husband smoking--embraces--footstool
business--the old fake--told you so.

ALMA. The husband is an author, like Mr. Chetwynd; and as the act
progresses, his wife grows rather jealous.

DICK. Quite a new motive, isn't it? Only been done about a thousand
times.

DR. (_rises; looks at DICK, who turns away_) These interruptions are
distracting. (_sits_)

MRS. D. (_wakes_) Silence! (_goes to sleep again_)

SIR H. Please go on.

ALMA. He is at work upon a play, in which a faithless lover is a
leading character.

NED. That is _my_ play!

DICK. Of course it is! I knew Blake couldn't be original.

ALMA. The lover writes to tell his second love how much better he
likes her than his first, and the sheet of paper on which the letter
is written, the author, in the old untidy way, leaves lying about the
house.

DICK. It's all been done! Wife finds the letter--thinks it's
genuine--and leaves home to slow music.

ALMA. End of Act the first.

DICK. (_rises_) And a nice fine old crusted situation that is to ring
down on.

DR. (_rises_) It is a drawback to interpolations that they interrupt
the argument and distract the attention. (_business with DICK repeat;
sits_)

SIR H. Never mind Mr. Dick. Come to the second act. (_NED listens
eagerly_)

ALMA. The wife goes on the stage.

DICK. What manager would take her?

ALMA. Probably some old curmudgeon who'd just refused his leading lady
a few pounds. (_DICK turns from her; meets DR. DOZEY looking at him on
the other side, then back again_)

DICK. Go on--go on--we're waiting.

ALMA. Well, in course of time, a certain part is given her; and in the
part she finds the letter she'd misunderstood.

TOM. It is her husband's play!

NED. (_much excited_) _My_ play!

SIR H. Yours! (_beginning to understand_)

ALMA. (_rises_) Act the third. (_turns to SUSAN_) Prompter, you'd
better call the heroine. (_rises. SUSAN opens door, R._)

NED. (_rising_) Go on!

ALMA. One day she meets a certain actress----

NED. You!

ALMA. Who lives in the same house----

DICK. (_rises; gets down, R.C._) Hallo! here's something new.

ALMA. Who knows her husband, and who tells the story. He stands
aghast--his wife is at the door--they are about to meet--she only
waits her cue. Her cue is her own name. Her name is---- (_SUSAN
signals to LUCY, R.C._)

NED. Lucy! (_rushes to meet her_)

_Re-enter LUCY, R.C._

LUCY. Ned! (_running into his arms; all rise except MRS. DOZEY_)

ALMA. Tableau!

DICK. (_as if signalling the flies_) Ring!

ALMA. Curtain!

CURTAIN.



Transcriber's Note

This transcription is based on scanned images posted by Google from a
copy from the Harvard library:

nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.FIG:002663452

Note that the Google scans are included in a set of four Sydney Grundy
plays published by Samuel French posted under the title of the first
play in the set, _A Fool's Paradise._ Based on how the Harvard Library
catalogs the individual copies, I assume Google combined the different
scans into a single document. _The Silver Shield_ is the fourth play
in the set.

French's Acting Editions from the nineteenth century tend to have
minor editorial inconsistencies and errors as well as errors
introduced in the printing process, depending on the condition and
inking of the plates. Thus, for example, it is at times difficult to
determine whether a certain letter is an "c," "e," or "o" or whether a
certain punctuation mark is a period or a comma. Where context made
the choice obvious, the obvious reading was given the benefit of the
doubt without comment.

The following changes were noted:

- Throughout the text, all instances of "and" between character names
in stage directions are consistently italicized and in lower case.

- Throughout the text, all instances of "L.C." and "R.C." have been
made consistent so that there is no space between them.

- Throughout the text, the use of dashes has been made consistent.

- p. 3: Can't you see the likeness--Added a question mark to the end
of the sentence.

- p. 5: ...to bear the purring cat...--Changed "bear" to "hear".

- p. 9: (_arranges hersel before the glass_)--Changed "hersel" to
"herself".

- p. 9: graually gets round, and down--Changed "graually" to
"gradually".

- p. 12: Scrubbs is the man for skies, --Changed comma after "skies"
to a period.

- p. 13: What nonsense I never met you...--Added an exclamation mark
after "nonsense".

- p. 14: ...should have said nothing, We don't...--Changed comma to a
period.

- p. 16: (_embraces Dr. DOZEY, while ALMA shakes..._--Changed "Dr." to
small caps in html version or all caps in text version.

- p. 18: What's the matter, Mrs. DOZEY?--Changed small caps in
printing of "Dozey" to initial cap.

- p. 19: I believe you're smitten Men are all alike.--Added period
after "smitten".

- p. 23: _LUCY sits  R._--Added a comma after "sits" in space that
appeared to be left for one.

- p. 30: I don't read plays, sir; I produce em.--Added an apostrophe
before "em".

- p. 32: You may--you may It's quite a relief to hear a little bad
language.--Added a period between "may" and "It's".

- p. 38: (_Exit through window off, L._) _SERVANT closes
window..._--Deleted closing parenthesis after "L.".

- p. 39: MRS. D. It' an elopement!--Added an "s" after the apostrophe.

- p. 42: you can t be sorry for me, Miss Blake.--Added an apostrophe
between "can" and "t".

- p. 47: Say that the lady on the first floor wants t speak to her on
business...--Changed "t" to "to".

- p. 51: I have no right to tell you I will; never see you...--Deleted
semicolon.

- p. 54: DR. (_rising: also MRS. DOZEY_)--Changed colon to semicolon
for consistency.

Variant spellings such as "bran new" and "weazel" were not changed.

The html version of this etext attempts to reproduce the layout of the
printed text. However, some concessions have been made. For example,
the spacing above and below the stage directions has been
standardized, and in the stage directions, no attempt was made to
reproduce whether the punctuation was italicized. Thus, if a
punctuation mark was adjacent to an html <span> tag, it was included
within the <span> group. This prevents line breaks in the display text
of some ereaders right before the punctuation mark.






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Silver Shield, by Sydney Grundy

*** 