



Produced by Richard Tonsing, Clarity and the Online
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                             THE HONEYMOON

                        WORKS BY ARNOLD BENNETT

                                NOVELS

  A MAN FROM THE NORTH
  ANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNS
  LEONORA
  A GREAT MAN
  SACRED AND PROFANE LOVE
  WHOM GOD HATH JOINED
  BURIED ALIVE
  THE OLD WIVES' TALE
  THE GLIMPSE
  HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND
  CLAYHANGER
  THE CARD
  HILDA LESSWAYS
  THE REGENT

                               FANTASIAS

  THE GRAND BABYLON HOTEL
  THE GATES OF WRATH
  TERESA OF WATLING STREET
  THE LOOT OF CITIES
  HUGO
  THE GHOST
  THE CITY OF PLEASURE

                             SHORT STORIES

  TALES OF THE FIVE TOWNS
  THE GRIM SMILE OF THE FIVE TOWNS
  THE MATADOR OF THE FIVE TOWNS

                            BELLES-LETTRES

  JOURNALISM FOR WOMEN
  FAME AND FICTION
  HOW TO BECOME AN AUTHOR
  THE TRUTH ABOUT AN AUTHOR
  THE REASONABLE LIFE
  HOW TO LIVE ON TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY
  THE HUMAN MACHINE
  LITERARY TASTE
  THE FEAST OF ST. FRIEND

                                 DRAMA

  POLITE FARCES
  CUPID AND COMMON SENSE
  WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS
  THE HONEYMOON
  THE GREAT ADVENTURE

       *       *       *       *       *

                (In Collaboration with EDEN PHILLPOTTS)

  THE SINEWS OF WAR: A ROMANCE
  THE STATUE: A ROMANCE

               (In Collaboration with EDWARD KNOBLAUCH)

  MILESTONES





THE HONEYMOON

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS


BY

ARNOLD BENNETT

THIRD EDITION

METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
                                 LONDON

  _First Published_     _October 5th 1911_
  _Second Edition_      _January 5th 1912_
  _Third Edition_           _1914_




  CHARACTERS


  FLORA LLOYD                   _Widow, aged 28._
  MRS. REACH HASLAM             _A Novelist, aged 56._
  MR. REACH HASLAM              _Her Husband, aged 58._
  CEDRIC HASLAM                 _Their eldest Son, aged 32._
  CHARLES HASLAM                _Their second Son, aged 22._
  THE BISHOP OF CHELMSFORD      _Aged 55._
  MR. FRAMPINGTON               _Aged 30._
  GASTON                        _A Swiss Waiter, aged 23._
  CUTHBERT                      _Mrs. Reach Haslam's Butler._




  CAST OF THE PLAY

              AS PRODUCED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF MR. DION
                  BOUCICAULT AT THE ROYALTY THEATRE,
                        LONDON, 6TH OCT., 1911.


  FLORA LLOYD               MISS MARIE TEMPEST.
  MRS. REACH HASLAM         MISS KATE SERJEANTSON.
  MR. REACH HASLAM          MR. DION BOUCICAULT.
  CEDRIC HASLAM             MR. GRAHAM BROWNE.
  CHARLES HASLAM            MR. BASIL HALLAM.
  BISHOP OF CHELMSFORD      MR. BERTE THOMAS.
  MR. FRAMPINGTON           MR. DENNIS EADIE.
  GASTON                    MR. CECIL ROSE.
  CUTHBERT                  MR. HORTON COOPER.




  NOTES ON CHARACTERS IN ACT I


  FLORA LLOYD. Beautiful. Elegant. Charming. All in the highest
    degree possible. The whole play turns on these qualities in her.

  CEDRIC HASLAM. Renowned aviator. The taciturn inventive Englishman.
    Very self-controlled, but capable of passionate moments.
    Obstinate, with enormous force of character. His movements,
    gestures, and speech have a certain air of slow indolence, but
    are at the same time marked by that masculine harshness and
    brusqueness which would specially appeal to a woman like Flora.
    No one could guess from his demeanour that he is famous.

  CHARLES HASLAM. Boyish. Impulsive. Very self-centred. But very
    agreeable.

  MRS. REACH HASLAM. Majestic. Richly dressed. The foremost
    woman-novelist in England and America. Her name a household word.
    No sense of humour. But she is very, very far from being a fool,
    and the part is not a low-comedy part. This play shows the least
    sympathetic side of her.

  MR. REACH HASLAM. The husband of a celebrity. Strong sense of
    sardonic humour, which has very little outlet. Always exceedingly
    polite and even deferential to his wife, yet preserving his own
    dignity. A prim, dry, precise man.

  GASTON. There are scores of Gastons in the hotels and restaurants
    of the West End. He does not differ from the type.

The Acting Rights of this Play are reserved. Applications for
permission to perform should be made to Messrs. J. B. PINKER & SON,
Talbot House, Arundel Street, Strand, London, W.C. 2, from whom all
particulars as to terms may be obtained.





                             THE HONEYMOON




  ACT I.

  _A sitting-room in the only hotel at a small seaside resort in
    Essex. Old-fashioned Victorian furniture, producing a picturesque
    general effect. Some modern touch, such as a framed 
    advertisement of pneumatic tyres._

  _Door_, R., _leading to hall, principal entrance, and kitchen.
    Door_, L., _leading through a porch to the garden. A large
    window, divided into three portions by stonework, at the back:
    the panes are small; one of these portions is open, the others
    are closed._

  _Through the window can be seen a view of the garden, and the sea
    in the distance. The fireplace is not seen._

  CEDRIC _and_ FLORA _are seated at either side of a tea-table_.

  TIME: _Afternoon in June. Sunshine._


  FLORA. Another cup? (CEDRIC, _looking at her, makes no reply_.)
    Cedric! Another cup? (_with a touch of very good-humoured
    impatience_).

                                  (CEDRIC _rises, goes round the
                                    table to her, takes hold of her,
                                    and kisses her_.)

  CEDRIC. (_Standing over her, she looking up at him._) I've been
    wanting to do that for about thirty solid minutes.

  FLORA. Then why didn't you, my poor boy? (CEDRIC _gives a gesture
    to show that he doesn't know why_) ... Instead of keeping us both
    waiting like that! (_Reflective._) And yet it's barely three
    hours since you kissed me in the vestry!

  CEDRIC. Vestry be dashed! And here's another thing I've been
    wanting to do (_he carefully kisses her ear_).

  FLORA. My ear!

  CEDRIC. Precisely, your ear! Strange!... And I can tell you
    something even stranger. Shall I? (_She nods._) When I'm standing
    over you I feel as if I should like to kill you! Yes, really,
    Fluff! It takes me all of a sudden! You know--when you lean out
    of a high balcony and you feel you must jump--well, it's that
    sort of a feeling.

  FLORA. What particular _kind_ of homicide?

  CEDRIC. Oh! (_at a loss_) a kind of a fierce crushing. (_She
    smiles._) You think it's justifiable?

  FLORA. I don't mind so long as I know my risks.

  CEDRIC. (_After staring at her, with a convinced air._) _We_ shall
    get on together all right!

  FLORA. Yes, I think we're doing rather well so far, considering
    (_turning the ring on his finger_).

  CEDRIC. Considering what?

  FLORA. Considering how nervous we both are, naturally (_drops his
    hand_).

  CEDRIC. (_Moving away. Half to himself._) Yes, and we shall keep
    getting more nervous!

  FLORA. (_Resuming exactly the same matter-of-fact tone as when she
    first put the question._) Another cup?

  CEDRIC. (_Similar tone._) How many have I had?

  FLORA. I don't know, dear.

  CEDRIC. I've had enough, then.

  FLORA. Well, about our programme. Suppose we settle it a bit.

  CEDRIC. Yes, let's. (_Sits down._)

  FLORA. I do think it was a lovely idea to start off without any
    programme at all! Heaven itself couldn't say where we shan't be
    this time next week!

  CEDRIC. Well, subject to your approval, I don't mind informing
    heaven that anyhow we shan't be here.

  FLORA. Tired of this place--already?

  CEDRIC. On the contrary! But it's too small to hold a couple that
    have just walked out of a vestry. One hotel, one flagstaff,
    one boat, one sea. No pier, no tea-shop, no concert, and very
    probably no moon.

  FLORA. Extraordinary how even three hours of married life will
    change a man! You always used to be rather keen on quietness,
    solitude, old flannel suits, and so on.

  CEDRIC. Now look here, Fluff! This honeymoon programme is
    important. Er--(_hesitates_).

  FLORA. (_Nods._) Let's talk as man to man.

  CEDRIC. The fact is I've always had a very distinct theory
    about honeymoons. Far from the madding crowd is a mistake on
    a honeymoon.... Solitude! Wherever you are, if you're on a
    honeymoon, you'll get quite as much solitude as is good for you
    every twenty-four hours. Constant change and distraction--that's
    what wants arranging for. Solitude will arrange itself.

  FLORA. I didn't expect this from you, dear.

  CEDRIC. (_Hastily, apologetic._) Simply a theory! I've had no
    practical experience, and I'm perfectly ready to sit at your feet
    in the matter. Honestly, I don't care a straw. I may be wrong,
    and if you----

  FLORA. (_Solemnly._) You aren't wrong! You're quite fearfully right!

  CEDRIC. (_After staring at her with a convinced air._) We _shall_
    get on together--that's a bedrock certainty! Now this place ought
    to be excellent for a beginning, but I should imagine that about
    a couple of days of it would do us.

  FLORA. I never suspected--no, really, I never _did_ suspect--that
    any man could have as much common-sense, _before_hand, as you
    have, Cedric. Not to speak of courage!

  CEDRIC. Cheek, you mean. But then, of course, I _am_ supposed to
    have a bit of nerve. Well, that's settled. We are to travel, then.

  FLORA. The point is, where?

  CEDRIC. Where would you like?

  FLORA. (_Radiantly._) _Any_where.

  CEDRIC. What about Paris?

  FLORA. Oh, not Paris.

  CEDRIC. Why not?

  FLORA. We should be simply mobbed. My dearest boy, have you ever
    heard speak of the simplicity of genius?

  CEDRIC. I seem to have read about it somewhere, perhaps in the
    ladies' papers.

  FLORA. Well, you won't understand it, because you've got
    it--acutely.

  CEDRIC. And here all these years I've been taking myself for rather
    a crafty person!

  FLORA. Do you know how many times I've counted your portrait in the
    weeklies this year? One hundred and forty-six! And that's not
    reckoning the pictures where your aeroplane's so high up that you
    only look like a fly in a mouse-trap.

  CEDRIC. In my simple mind I'd always thought that the surest way
    never to be recognised in the street was to have your portrait in
    the papers.

  FLORA. And then there's your likeness to your mother! A hundred and
    fifty-one thousand copies of your dear mother's last novel sold
    up to yesterday--so I saw in the "Telegraph." And then her new
    novel out to-day!

  CEDRIC. I'm not suggesting that we should camp out in Piccadilly
    for our honeymoon, my dove and my love; I said Paris.

  FLORA. All London will be in Paris.

  CEDRIC. What--next week?

  FLORA. Every week. Excuse me asking a pointed question, dearest,
    but have you ever been to Paris--I mean, since the flood?

  CEDRIC. Yes. My knowledge of the unwieldy goods department of the
    big railway stations is probably matchless.

  FLORA. Well, if you'd stepped outside the stations you'd know that
    Paris is now exclusively inhabited by nice respectable people
    from London and nice respectable people from Arizona; and when
    they aren't cricking their necks to look at aeroplanes, they're
    improving their minds with your dear mother's latest novel.

  CEDRIC. (_Mock serious._) Will you believe me--I'd no notion of
    this at all!

  FLORA. I tell you what--I wouldn't mind going to Paris under an
    assumed name.

  CEDRIC. Oh, no!

  FLORA. Why not? It would be amusing.

  CEDRIC. I don't see myself travelling under a false name. I suppose
    I am too English.

  FLORA. Well, I don't see myself in a Paris hotel as the bride of
    the most celebrated English aviator, and the daughter-in-law
    of the most celebrated English lady-novelist. I do not! (_With
    a characteristic gesture._) Mobbed isn't the word for what we
    should be.

  CEDRIC. (_Gazing at her._) You must have noticed that I'm not what
    you'd call gushing. I've known myself go for a month without
    using a single superlative; but really, my most dear girl, my
    Fluffiest, when you strike an attitude like that, you're more
    marvellously and ineffably adorable than ever. Your beauty, your
    charm, your enormous slap-upness--(_changing his tone_)--Well,
    ecstasy is not my line.... I only said Paris because the mater
    asked me if I thought we should be going there, and I told her it
    was possible.

  FLORA. Will _she_ be there?

  CEDRIC. No, no! Only, if we _should_ happen to go there, she wanted
    me to count the panes of glass in a lamp-post on the Alexander
    III. bridge. One of her realistic details, you know. I expect
    she's got her hero staring absently up at that lamp-post--after
    an indiscreet evening.... She may be depending on me.

  FLORA. But surely that isn't a reason why we should go to Paris!
    Your dear mother might have wanted to know the number of ribs in
    the umbrella of the King of Siam--should we have had to book to
    Bangkok?

  CEDRIC. I was only----

  FLORA. Husband, I must tell you something about your mother. I've
    kept it a secret from you. Do you know what made her give up her
    terrific scheme of our being married in the cathedral by the
    Bishop, surrounded by the press of Europe?

  CEDRIC. I thought our angel-tongues persuaded her out of it.

  FLORA. Not at all. A threat did it. I dropped in on her one day for
    a little private chat while you were at Blackpool. She was just
    going to arrange with the Bishop. I told her confidentially--but
    of course _nicely_--that if she wouldn't agree to us being
    married by a curate at Chelmsford, with nobody but her and your
    father and Charlie present, and nothing whatever in the papers
    for at least a fortnight, then I should insist on being married
    at a registry office.

  CEDRIC. The deuce you did! What did she say?

  FLORA. She merely said: "Of course your wish is our law, Mrs.
    Lloyd." But the next day she was calling me "Flora" again.

  CEDRIC. The mater folded up like that?

  FLORA. There! (_Laughing._) Listen to your own tone, dearest.
    Naturally she folded up. She only needs proper treatment.

  CEDRIC. Well, I had a bit of a stir with her when I decided to give
    up my amateur status; but I must say as a rule I get on very well
    with the mater.

  FLORA. So do I. It's because I get on so well with her that we had
    a curate to-day instead of the Bishop. Rather a jolly curate,
    didn't you think?

  CEDRIC. Struck me as a queer lot.

  FLORA. Of course they're all queer. I liked him because when he
    asked me to sign my name he didn't say (_imitating the snigger of
    a curate_) "for the last time." They always do, you know. It's
    almost part of the service, for them. And if he had said it, I do
    believe I should have screamed.

  CEDRIC. I say, Fluff, why after hiding this secret for several
    weeks--it's practically a double life that you've been
    leading--why do you reveal it just at this particular moment?

  FLORA. Oh--sheer caprice, my dearest! It just popped into my head.

  CEDRIC. (_Somewhat troubled and awkward._) So your notion is that
    the mater's moral empire over her family and the British public
    might be checked without grave loss of life, eh?

  FLORA. Cedric! (CEDRIC _looks at her, arrested and questioning_.)
    What's the rarest thing in the world? Quick?

  CEDRIC. Common-sense, of course.

  FLORA. Oh! Good! I was afraid you might say a well-cooked potato.

  CEDRIC. You ought to know me better than that.

  FLORA. But, Cedric, it's only now that we're beginning to make each
    other's acquaintance.

  CEDRIC. That's true! But how did _you_ know that common-sense is
    the rarest thing in the world?

  FLORA. Because I've got so very little of it myself. But even a
    very little will go a long way. Now, have I told you that our
    marriage isn't going to be like ordinary marriages--I mean,
    really?

  CEDRIC. Well, you haven't exactly told me, but you've allowed me to
    suspect the fact.

  FLORA. Most marriages, and especially most honeymoons, are
    third-rate simply because the people concerned in them don't
    bring their bit of common-sense to bear on the problems that are
    (_mock platform manner_)--er--continually arising. (_Laughing._)
    I intend to keep my bit of common-sense healthy by constant
    exercise. Common-sense, steadily applied, will solve any problem.

  CEDRIC. (_Emphatically._) Any! (_After a pause._) Always
    provided----

  FLORA. (_Surprised._) Always provided?

  CEDRIC. My dear, in this outpouring of wisdom I, too, must have my
    share. Common-sense will solve any problem--any!--always provided
    it is employed simultaneously with politeness. During a long
    and varied career as a bachelor, dear spouse (_mock platform
    manner_), I have noticed that marriage is usually the death of
    politeness between a man and a woman. I have noticed that the
    stronger the passion the weaker the manners. Now, my theory is
    that politeness, instead of decreasing with intimacy--should
    increase! And when I say "politeness" I mean common, superficial
    politeness. I don't mean the deep-down sort of thing that you can
    only detect with a divining-rod.... Pardon, you were saying?

  FLORA. Cedric! (_Impulsively rushes to him and kisses him._) How
    _right_ you are! It's exactly what I've been thinking for years.
    Now, as to common-sense and the programme. It would be against
    common-sense for us to begin by annoying your mother. If you
    really do think your mother would be in the least upset by our
    not going to Paris, naturally I shall be delighted to go. We
    could stop just long enough to inspect the lamp-post--and then
    off again.

  CEDRIC. Oh, no! Oh, no! Of course she won't be upset!

  FLORA. That's settled, then. Do you know I've had the tiniest
    idea of going to Ostend, and then taking the Orient express to
    Buda-Pesth? I'm dying to see Hungary, simply dying.

  CEDRIC. My dearest, your life shall be saved regardless of cost.

  FLORA. I do want an expensive honeymoon. Not because I'm
    extravagant, but because a honeymoon is a solemn, important thing.

  CEDRIC. A symbol.

  FLORA. A symbol. And it ought to be done--well, adequately.

  CEDRIC. Nineteen thousand pounds odd of mine is now on deposit
    at my bank--all honestly taken by me out of the pockets of
    ratepayers of various important towns in less than a year. And
    when that's gone I can always get more at about the same rate, as
    you know.

  FLORA. Cedric! There is to be no flying during our honeymoon?

  CEDRIC. Certainly not!

  FLORA. And it is to last a full month, naturally.

  CEDRIC. A full calendar month--with no address for letters.

  FLORA. (_Sigh of ecstatic anticipation._) Two or three days, you
    said, here?

  CEDRIC. Yes, don't you think it's enough?

  FLORA. Oh! quite. We shall be gone before anybody's had time to
    guess--(_breaking off_). Dearest, don't you think we came into
    the hotel rather well?

  CEDRIC. Fine. No one could suspect that we hadn't been _born_
    married. I was proud of both of us.

                          (_Enter_ GASTON, R.)

  GASTON. Shall I clear the table? (_Beginning to do so before
    receiving permission._)

  FLORA. Yes. (FLORA _and_ CEDRIC _rise_.)

  GASTON. (_With a cheerful air, quite unconscious of his impudent
    manner._) I suppose you stay here long time?

  FLORA. (_Determined to snub the waiter._) Really!

  CEDRIC. Why?

  GASTON. Oh! honeymoon. Dull place. Fresh married English people
    demand generally dull place.

                                  (FLORA _collapses and exit
                                    hurriedly into the garden_, L.
                                    CEDRIC, _with more leisurely
                                    dignity, lights a cigarette and
                                    is about to follow her when he
                                    stops and turns_.)

  CEDRIC. By the way, I don't think we _shall_ stay long.

  GASTON. (_After looking at_ FLORA _in the garden, impartially and
    cheerfully_.) It is strange how English people have shame of
    being married. One would say it was a crime in England. A young
    man and young lady in English hotel--they like better that one
    should think they not married. It is different in Switzerland. In
    Switzerland we are proud. We tell all the world. Why not?

  CEDRIC. So you come from Switzerland?

  GASTON. Oh, yes. I am not English (_eagerly._) Geneva. My father is
    a _fabricant_, a----

  CEDRIC. Manufacturer.

  GASTON. Yes, manufacturer of door-mats. My father makes door-mats
    for all the hotels in Switzerland. Very big! Very important!
    He says--I must go into the hotel business. He will buy me a
    hotel. I learn everything. We do that in Switzerland. We are
    _scientifique_. I have been in the kitchens. Now I am waiter. No
    shame. Nobody could guess I am a gentleman.

  CEDRIC. You mustn't be too hard on yourself, my friend. And so
    you've come to England?

  GASTON. My father says, Go to England. Study the English
    _caractère_ in England. Very valuable. When I come to London I
    could not speak English--no!

  CEDRIC. When was that? Last week?

  GASTON. No. It is a year, nearly. But I had at once a situation,
    the first day, at the Grand Babylon Hotel.

  CEDRIC. Rather awkward, wasn't it, not knowing English?

  GASTON. Yes. That fatigues one--to hear a strange language all the
    day.

  CEDRIC. I meant for the customers.

  GASTON. (_Nonchalant gesture._) They are now well habituated. Many
    of them learn French or German, it saves time. English people are
    so practical. They are not _logique_, but they are practical. Now
    to-day I speak German, Italian, as perfectly as English.

  CEDRIC. Remarkable! But surely a man of your enormous ability
    is wasted in a sleepy place like this.... Perhaps you find it
    amusing, though.

  GASTON. (_Shakes his head. Passionately._) Dull! It is for my
    health that I am here. Sleepy! Ah, my God! (_Disdainfully._) But
    all England sleeps.... But next month I go to Germany. I shall
    have done England.

  CEDRIC. You like Germany.

  GASTON. Ah! What a country! What organisation! What science! Never
    sleeps! Always conquers! (_Patronisingly._) Do you think in
    _your_ business the Germans will not conquer, at the end?

  CEDRIC. My business?

  GASTON. Yes. Aeroplanes.

  CEDRIC. So you know that?

  GASTON. I know everything.... Look at anileen!

  CEDRIC. Anileen?

  GASTON. Yes. Anileen--colours.

  CEDRIC. Ah! You mean aniline dyes.

  GASTON. Yes, I said so.

  CEDRIC. What about them?

  GASTON. What about them? England invented them. Germany has taken
    them from you--all. That is science. All German now. So with
    aeroplanes. England and France--proud, very proud. But at the
    end, you will see ... at the end.

  CEDRIC. Oh!

  GASTON. And soon.

  CEDRIC. I say, if it isn't a rude question, how _did_ you guess
    that we were--er--on our honeymoon? It might be useful for me to
    know.

  GASTON. Ah, now--again! I read, I study. I alone in this sleepy
    place. By example, no afternoon newspapers--none--came into
    this place till I ordered one at the railway. I insisted. "The
    Piccadilly Gazette"--you know--Thackeray--"written by gentlemen
    for gentlemen." I read it every day. Ah! And is it not afraid of
    Germany!

  CEDRIC. Do you mean there's something about my marriage in the
    "Piccadilly Gazette"?

  GASTON. Yes. Do you want to read it?

  CEDRIC. Well, I should rather like to see it, if I'm not
    interfering with your studies.

  GASTON. (_Taking paper out of his pocket._) There! (_Stands waiting
    in a suggestive attitude._)

  CEDRIC. (_Accepting paper._) Thanks! (_Looks at him and gives him a
    tip._)

  GASTON. (_Pocketing the coin._) Thanks!... And you will see about
    Klopstock too. (_Picking up tray._)

  CEDRIC. What about Klopstock?

  GASTON. He comes to England soon as he has flyed at Breslau. Ah!
    You will see! (_Exit_ R. _with tray_.)

                                  (CEDRIC _sits down with paper, and
                                    begins to read_.)

  CEDRIC. (_Quietly._) Oh!

                                  (_He drops the end of his cigarette
                                    into a flower-pot; then takes
                                    a cigar from his case, cuts
                                    it, puts it in his mouth, and
                                    produces a matchbox, but does not
                                    light it._)

  CEDRIC. Oh, indeed!

                                  (_He goes to the window, and taps
                                    on one of the closed panes. After
                                    a moment_ FLORA _appears at the
                                    open part of the window_. CEDRIC,
                                    _with a motion of the hand,
                                    indicates that he wishes her to
                                    enter_.)

  FLORA. (_Off, in a conspiratorial whisper._) Has the reader of
    hearts quite gone? (CEDRIC _nods_.) Come out. (CEDRIC _beckons
    her inwards with his finger_.)

                          (_Enter_ FLORA, L.)

  FLORA. Oh, Cedric! What a blow! We're the honeymoon couple now of
    Pixton-on-Sea. How did he guess?

  CEDRIC. (_Scarcely listening to her._) Fluff, read this (_hands her
    paper with his finger on a particular paragraph_). Top of second
    column.

  FLORA. (_Reads._) "We are informed that Mr. Cedric Haslam, the
    celebrated aviator (CEDRIC _shows surprise_) was married
    privately this morning at Chelmsford to Mrs. Flora Lloyd, widow
    of the late Mr. Artemus Lloyd, stockbroker, who at one time was
    a well-known figure in the Kaffir Circus. Mr. and Mrs. Reach
    Haslam, the bridegroom's parents, and his brother, Mr. Charles
    Haslam, were present. The happy pair are spending the first part
    of the honeymoon at Pixton-on-Sea. By a curious coincidence, Mrs.
    Reach Haslam's new novel, 'The Wiving of the Chancellor,' appears
    on the very day of the marriage of her eldest son." (_Shaking her
    head._) Only one thing is possible. Flight. Immediate flight! And
    plenty of it! Cedric, I suppose this is your dear mother's doing?

  CEDRIC. I should doubt it. More probably some accidental leakage.
    She hates the very thought of self-advertisement.

  FLORA. Oh! I _know_. But I've always noticed she's somewhat unlucky
    in the matter of leakages. Your father ought to study plumbing.

  CEDRIC. (_Slightly impatient._) That's nothing. That's not what I
    wanted you to read. I hadn't even noticed that. Look! (_Pointing
    to a paragraph._)

  FLORA. "Dissensions in the Cabinet. Extraordinary rumours."

  CEDRIC. No, no. (_Takes the paper and reads._) "The German
    Invasion. To-morrow, upon the conclusion of the Breslau meeting,
    Herr Klopstock will pack up his victorious new mono-plane
    and start for England. He announces his intention of trying
    within three weeks for the ten thousand pounds prize recently
    offered by the Aero Club to the first aviator who flies over
    Snowdon. Herr Klopstock, who has already, we understand, taken
    the whole of a hotel at Beddgelert for the accommodation of
    his staff, is convinced that his machine will rise easily to
    at least four thousand feet. The Kaiser has just christened
    the aeroplane the Black Eagle, by telegraph, and has assured
    the renowned aviator and ex-professor of the heartiest good
    wishes of himself and his house. His youngest grandchild,
    Prince--um--um--Fatherland--um--The news will certainly create a
    considerable sensation in England as it has done in Germany." I
    should say it would.

  FLORA. Why should it?

  CEDRIC. What! The Kaiser's Black Eagle flying over the highest
    mountain in England, and getting ten thousand pounds for the job!
    It's unthinkable! How does it strike you?

  FLORA. It strikes me that it would have been much simpler and less
    expensive not to have offered the ten thousand pounds. It's
    altogether too tempting. Besides, it seems to me anybody ought to
    be able to fly over a little thing like Snowdon, seeing how they
    sail over the Pyrenees and all that sort of thing.

  CEDRIC. My adorable child, don't talk like a member of the public.
    Henceforth you are in the know. The fogs alone make Snowdon
    worse than the Pyrenees. And then the Aero Club has been clever
    enough to ordain that the aviator is to start and land within
    four miles of the summit. How is a man to get off on such
    ground, and where is he to land without breaking wood? And then
    the business of finding his way! He's bound to do a lot of
    corkscrewing to get up, and nothing less than six thousand feet
    would be safe.

  FLORA. (_With a gesture dismissing all that._) Well, I don't think
    it's quite nice of Mr. Klopstock. It ought to have occurred
    to him. But then, it never does seem to occur to Germans....
    I've often noticed that in hotels. They don't seem to perceive.
    (_Different tone._) Will he succeed?

  CEDRIC. He _might_. I don't think he would; not with his present
    horse-power; but he just might.

  FLORA. Well, most probably he won't. And then you can try in July
    as you originally intended, and get the money after all. Then
    there will have been some _sense_ in the prize, anyway.

  CEDRIC. It isn't the money.

  FLORA. Surely it isn't the mountain?

  CEDRIC. (_Following his own thought._) We've got to come out on top
    in this business. I must get to business in the middle of next
    week. It'll take a day to modify those wingtips, and another to
    tune her up. Oh! I shall be ready long before he is. But I'll
    give him a chance to get nicely installed in his hotel. I should
    like Herr Klopstock and his crew to admire the beautiful scenery.

  FLORA. (_Casually._) You must be at the works next week?

  CEDRIC. It's me or nobody! No use trying to disguise that fact,
    Fluff!

  FLORA. Perhaps in the heat of the moment you've forgotten that you
    happened to get married this morning, Cedric.

  CEDRIC. I wish we hadn't happened to get married this morning.
    (_She looks at him._) I mean, I wish we'd happened to get married
    a week ago. Frantic nuisance! However, there you are! It simply
    means we shall be fixed up a bit sooner in the flat----

  FLORA. But the flat won't be anything like ready by next week.

  CEDRIC. Never mind, we'll sleep at the Grand Babylon, or in
    the backyard. (_A little pause._) Of course as a nuisance it
    completely baffles description.... To-day of all days....
    However, Fluff, as I said before with profound truth--there you
    are! It would never do in this world to give the German lot
    even a chance. The thing's too spectacular--altogether too
    spectacular. If it was a question of beating us quietly and for
    ever in technics or manufacture, the B.P. wouldn't think twice
    about it; but Snowdon is Snowdon, and a black eagle is a black
    eagle, and (_comically_) in short, madam, England will turn to
    your husband in its hour of peril. In other words, Fluff, it's up
    to me.

  FLORA. (_Lightly._) I say, Cedric.

  CEDRIC. Well?

  FLORA. I thought we were agreed about a full calendar month.

  CEDRIC. (_After a pause; as lightly as possible._) Do you mean you
    think I ought to let Snowdon slide? Do you really----

  FLORA. Yes, of course. Don't you?

  CEDRIC. You aren't serious?

  FLORA. (_Persuasively._) My dearest boy, is there any reason why I
    shouldn't differ from you and yet be serious?

  CEDRIC. No, of course not. But in a case like this--if there
    was anybody else to take my place, I wouldn't mind. Of course
    Smith-James could do it if only he would use our machine--but he
    won't. Nothing would induce him to. So as I keep on saying--there
    you are!

  FLORA. But what does it matter? Is it because the other man's
    machine has been called the Black Eagle in a telegram that
    you----

  CEDRIC. Yes, partly.

  FLORA. Oh! So that if this canvas-backed duck flies first over a
    lump of mud called Snowdon----

  CEDRIC. But don't I tell you Snowdon is the highest mountain in
    England?

  FLORA. No, it isn't.

  CEDRIC. Pardon me. Three thousand five hundred and seventy feet.
    The next highest is----

  FLORA. Well, you go and tell Lloyd George that Snowdon is the
    highest mountain in England, and see what you'll get.

  CEDRIC. Wales, then. It's all the same.

  FLORA. (_With great charm._) If you're thinking of the ten thousand
    pounds, I don't mind informing you, as a great secret, that I
    wouldn't sell a single day of my honeymoon with you for ten
    times ten thousand pounds. But I told you I wanted an expensive
    honeymoon, didn't I?

  CEDRIC. (_Shaking his head and with calm certainty._) The money
    doesn't influence me that much! (_Snaps his fingers._) I don't
    wish to flatter myself, but I think I could light your cigarette
    with a bank note as gracefully as anybody. No----

  FLORA. You're pulling away at that cigar of yours, but I suppose
    you know it isn't lighted.

  CEDRIC. Isn't it? (_As he lights the cigar._) No! This Snowdon
    business. Well, it's a symbol (_half to himself_). I wonder how
    I can make you understand that.

  FLORA. (_Fascinatingly._) Oh! Force is unnecessary, I understand
    that. But who was it said just now that the honeymoon was a
    symbol? It stands for all our married life. It's the most
    exciting and interesting time we shall ever have. And you can't
    put a honeymoon off, you know. It isn't like a box of cigars that
    you can keep in a cupboard and enjoy one of them every now and
    then when you've got a few minutes to spare. It must happen now
    or never. You can't postpone it. You can only kill it. (_Smiles
    lightly._)

  CEDRIC. (_Taking hold of her, in a caressing tone._) She's tragic!

  FLORA. (_Disengaging herself._) Oh, no!

  CEDRIC. Now just listen to me, Fluff. I'm really thinking at least
    as much of you as of myself. This affair is bound to have an
    influence on my career.

  FLORA. And what about its influence on mine?

  CEDRIC. Same thing. I suppose our interests are identical.

  FLORA. My poor simple boy, do you really believe that?

  CEDRIC. Well, dash it, aren't you my wife?

  FLORA. So far as I'm concerned, it would be more correct to say
    that you're my husband. In fact, you've got a career as my
    husband.

  CEDRIC. (_Anxious to be fair._) Certainly. And you as my wife.
    But----

  FLORA. One second, dearest. You're unique as an aviator, aren't you?

  CEDRIC. (_Conventionally modest._) Oh--well----

  FLORA. Now. Man to man. Give your modesty a rest. Really, don't you
    consider you've proved yourself unique in your line?

  CEDRIC. (_Hesitatingly, chivalrously._) I suppose I'm just about as
    unique in my line as you are in yours, my dear.

  FLORA. Now that's very nice of you.

  CEDRIC. Not at all.

  FLORA. Yes, it is, because it's exactly what I wanted you to say.
    You've often said that I'm unique, and I just wanted you to say
    it again at this identical particular instant. Of course I could
    have reminded you of it, but that wouldn't have been quite so
    effective. That's why it's very nice of you.

  CEDRIC. So you are unique--I'll say it as often as you like.

  FLORA. I warn you, you're giving yourself away.

  CEDRIC. Delighted!

  FLORA. I wouldn't care to repeat all the lovely adjectives you've
    used about me. If you weren't such a determined enemy of gush and
    superlatives--people might suspect that sometimes you exaggerated
    the tiniest bit when you talked about me, _to_ me. But of course
    _I_ know you never do exaggerate, at any rate consciously, and
    _you_ know you're a very good judge.

  CEDRIC. What of?

  FLORA. Us!... Now look here, Cedric, don't you think it would be
    a pity to stop this creature, who is so unique in her line,
    from giving a full exhibition of her unique powers at a unique
    moment; at the very height of her career. You know, she'll never
    have another opportunity like this of proving that she really is
    unique in her line.

  CEDRIC. What do you call her line? Let's be clear.

  FLORA. (_Quietly, off-handedly, after a pause._) To charm. Merely
    that.

  CEDRIC. By God! She can do that. But (_winningly, but half to
    himself_), I hardly know how to put it.

  FLORA. I think you do, dearest; but you're so nice, you don't like
    to. You wanted to make a comparison between the importance of
    your line and the importance of mine. I admit all that. I'm quite
    humble. I fully admit that if Hyde Park were full of aviators
    and Battersea Park were full of charming young women, rather
    pretty and--er--chic--(_gesture to show off her frock_)--I fully
    admit that not a man among you would ever _dream_--of crossing
    the river. I fully admit that if every aviator in Europe gave
    up business to-morrow the entire world would go into mourning,
    whereas if all the charming women retired from business they'd
    never be missed. Still----

  CEDRIC. (_Appreciative._) You're a witty girl----

  FLORA. We're both rather witty, aren't we, at times?

  CEDRIC. But the fact is I wasn't going to make any comparison at
    all between our respective lines. I was only going to point out
    that you can keep on being charming all the time. You're always
    charming; you're always doing _your_ line. Whereas for my line I
    have to choose times and seasons--or rather I don't choose 'em,
    they're chosen for me, as, for instance, just now. Wherever we
    are, honeymoon or no honeymoon, you're--well, you're giving an
    exhibition flight.

  FLORA. Now, Cedric, your good nature's getting the better of your
    sincerity. I'm not always charming. Ask your dear mother. And
    have you forgotten our historic shindy about the length of your
    moustache scarcely three months ago? I'm _not_ always charming.
    And I don't _want_ to be always charming. Who would? As for
    exhibition flights, you've never seen me give one. You think you
    have, but what you've seen up to now is nothing. I don't mind
    telling you that I had arranged a rather sensational exhibition
    flight for the next month. It would last just thirty-one days. I
    don't mind telling you that I've thought a good deal about it,
    and made all my elaborate preparations. It really would be a pity
    to interfere with it. And you know it can't be postponed. I don't
    choose time and season any more than you do.

  CEDRIC. But surely, Fluff, this flight can proceed, as I say,
    wherever we are?

  FLORA. You think so? And what about my grandstand?

  CEDRIC. I shall always be your grandstand.

  FLORA. Shall you? I can only do my best when I've got the undivided
    attention of my audience. I hope I should never come _quite_ to
    earth, but I don't see myself being unique in my line for the
    benefit of a man who is busy (_with the faintest touch of irony
    in her tone_) counting the misfires in his motor, or dreaming
    about the barometer.

  CEDRIC. Naturally, if you don't see the importance of this Snowdon
    business to us----

  FLORA. (_Consciously very charming again._) But I do see it
    perfectly well. A woman unique in her own line is not necessarily
    a gaping idiot in every other line. I admit the immense
    importance of Snowdon to us. I won't argue. In my time I've been
    told that I was too well-dressed to be able to argue. I simply
    want to ask you this--what, for you, is the _most_ important
    thing in life? Now, let's be straight. Have you married as a
    supreme end, or is your supreme end to move yourself about in the
    air without visible means of support? Now (_smiling_), look me in
    the face, and be a man.

  CEDRIC. You're putting very fundamental questions.

  FLORA. Is marriage a relaxation from flying, or do you fly in order
    to have the means for practising the whole art of marriage under
    favourable conditions? Do you live most intensely when you're
    battling with the breeze, or when you're (_dropping her voice_)
    with me? I only want to know. Because if you live most intensely
    when you're with me, this honeymoon should be worth more to us
    than forty Snowdons.

  CEDRIC. (_A little coldly._) Say no more, Snowdon is chucked. Of
    course, my position is impossible. You have only to insist.

  FLORA. (_Losing her self-control._) Insist? Insist that you neglect
    an aeroplane so that you can stay with me? My dear boy, I'm
    incapable of taking such a mean advantage of an aeroplane. An
    aeroplane can't insist. And I can assure you I shan't.

  CEDRIC. Do you know that you're scarcely logical?

  FLORA. Not logical? In not insisting?

  CEDRIC. (_Somewhat at a loss._) I mean generally. For instance,
    when we began, your first argument was that we couldn't shorten
    the honeymoon because the flat wouldn't be ready.

  FLORA. One can't think of everything at once. You mustn't forget
    I've never been called to the bar. If I'd known what was coming,
    no doubt I should have prepared my case and had it typewritten,
    and sent copies to the press.... And then what about your being
    illogical?

  CEDRIC. Me?

  FLORA. Yes. When I ask you for a straight answer you protest that
    I'm putting very fundamental questions. Did you expect me to put
    shallow questions? Did you expect me to enquire whether you'd
    used Pears' soap?

  CEDRIC. Now look here, Fluffiest----

  FLORA. (_Angry._) Cedric, I wish you wouldn't call me that. You've
    only started it since we were married. I can stand Fluff, but I
    don't like Fluffy, and my objection to Fluffiest is intense.

  CEDRIC. I beg your pardon.

  FLORA. (_Recovering herself sweetly._) It's I who beg yours. For
    the moment I was forgetting that "common superficial politeness"
    that you ranked with common-sense.

  CEDRIC. My dear child, everything's all right. The honeymoon shall
    not be shortened by a single day. Everything's absolutely all
    right.

  FLORA. (_Shakes her head._) It isn't. You're only giving way to
    please me.

  CEDRIC. Well, really---- (_laughing_).

  FLORA. Cedric. Honestly. Yes or no. Do you think I ought to yield
    to the aeroplane?

  CEDRIC. (_They look at each other._) I think you oughtn't to ask
    quite such questions?

  FLORA. (_Agreeing._) No. Such questions ought to be asked earlier.
    But human nature is so--human, that probably it wouldn't be any
    use asking them any earlier. They might even be considered rude.
    In fact, it _is_ considered rude for _fiancés_ to worry each
    other with any questions that really matter. (_Pause. In a vague
    voice._) Whether you prefer a flat or a house, and the colour of
    the drawing-room chairs--that's about as far as you are supposed
    to go. (_Another pause._) Well?

  CEDRIC. (_Approaching her._) What?

  FLORA. Do you think I ought to yield to the aeroplane?

  CEDRIC. (_Stands still, very firmly._) My dear girl, if you ask me
    to be straight, I think the Snowdon business isn't a thing to be
    neglected. (_Pause at high tension._)

  FLORA. (_Plaintively._) Common-sense doesn't seem to be such a
    wonderful cure for difficulties after all. (_Fiercely._) Oh! If
    I had faith, wouldn't I just move that mountain into the sea!
    (_Gives a sob._)

  CEDRIC. Flora, what can I say?

  FLORA. (_Controlling herself._) There's nothing else to be said--by
    either of us. It's--it's hopeless.

                                  (_Enter_ CHARLES HASLAM, R.,
                                    _cautiously. He is in motoring
                                    attire._)

  CHARLES. (_At the door, to someone outside._) It's all right. We've
    caught 'em (_within the room_).

  CEDRIC. (_Extremely puzzled; frowning._) Hello!

  CHARLES. Hello!... Flora, what's the matter?

  FLORA. (_Collecting herself; ironically._) Oh, nothing! nothing!
    This is a nice kind idea of yours, to come and relieve our
    solitude, but did you expect us not to be startled?

                      (_Enter_ MR. REACH HASLAM.)

  CEDRIC. Hello. (MR. REACH HASLAM _gives a deprecating gesture_.)

  MR. R. HASLAM. My dear Flora!

                      (_Enter_ MRS. REACH HASLAM.)

  CEDRIC. Any more?

                           (_Enter_ GASTON.)

  FLORA. Well, this _is_ a pleasure. Unusual perhaps----

  MRS. REACH HASLAM. My dear son, my dear Flora---- (_Turns to_ _Mr.
    Reach Haslam_.) Father---- (_Stops._)

  MR. REACH HASLAM. (_To_ GASTON, _who is hovering inquisitively
    about_.) If there is the slightest doubt in your mind as to the
    exact geographical situation of the door----

  GASTON. Please? (_Meaning "I beg your pardon, I didn't catch what
    you said!"_)

                                  (MR. REACH HASLAM _goes to door_,
                                    R., _and signals to_ GASTON _to
                                    depart. Exit_ GASTON. MR. REACH
                                    HASLAM _closes door_.)

  CEDRIC. (_Aside to_ CHARLES.) What the hell's up?

  CHARLES. (_Loudly._) Well, Rick----

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Charles, what did I tell you before you came in?
    I'll thank you to go and sit down over there. (CHARLES _obeys_.)

  FLORA. Suppose we all sit down, shall we? Well, what _did_ you tell
    him before he came in?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Sits._) Believe me, Flora, I never felt so
    unequal to a situation in my life.

  CEDRIC. Look here, dad, do you mind telling me in one word what
    this is all about?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Yes, your father will tell you. The circumstances
    are exceedingly difficult--in fact, painful. But they have to be
    faced, and faced with dignity. The various necessary steps must
    be taken, in their proper order, very carefully. The first step
    is to inform you and Flora of the facts. Your father will inform
    you; as the head of the family, and the fount of authority, the
    statement comes more properly from him. I decided that absolutely
    as we motored down. (_To_ MR. REACH HASLAM.) Dear----

  MR. R. HASLAM. Yes, dear. (_To_ CEDRIC _and_ FLORA.) You know we
    went straight back to town when you'd left the church. As soon as
    we had----

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Interrupting, to_ CEDRIC _and_ FLORA.) You
    needn't be alarmed. As I said, the circumstances are painful, but
    once faced as we shall face them, they really amount to nothing.
    The principal thing was to catch you in time. Thank heaven, we've
    done that!

  CHARLES. Thank my masterly and audacious driving!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Staring him down._) If we had failed! (_Gesture
    of despair to_ MR. REACH HASLAM.) Dear----

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_Nodding to her politely._) As soon as we had
    finished lunch your mother set herself to work, her work being
    very much behind----

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Never mind all that. Do it as gently as you can,
    but come to the point at once. I am quite sure that is best.

  MR. R. HASLAM. The telephone?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. The telephone.

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_Nodding to her politely._) We were rung up on
    the telephone. Your mother was walking about in meditation,
    and as she was nearest to the telephone she answered it. She
    then said to me, "It's the Bishop of Chelmsford." I was at the
    desk. In another moment she asked me to come to the telephone
    and listen for myself as she could scarcely believe her ears.
    I did so, and the Bishop--he was telephoning from the Palace
    at Chelmsford--repeated at my request what he had said to your
    mother, namely, that that curate who--er--officiated this
    morning, suddenly awakened to a sense of beauty----

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Sense of duty.

  MR. R. HASLAM. I quite understood "beauty." It's true the Bishop
    hasn't got a good telephone voice--probably more impressive at a
    confirmation than on the telephone. I heard "beauty." However----

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Sense of duty.

  MR. R. HASLAM. No doubt you are right. I seemed to gather that it
    was Flora's beauty that had roused his conscience.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Oh, no!

  FLORA. That had what?

  CHARLES. (_Coming towards the group, unable to control his
    impatience._) Oh, hang it! The curate was a sham curate--not a
    curate at all.

  CEDRIC. (_Taking it in._) A sham curate!

  FLORA. But surely such things don't happen?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. That's what many people said when I made a
    shopwalker successfully personate an archdeacon in "The Woman of
    Kent." Everyone said so until Mr. Gladstone wrote that he found
    the episode quite convincing. You remember, dear?

  MR. R. HASLAM. Vividly.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. I assure you it happens quite frequently that from
    one cause or another people who think they are married are not
    married. Why, sometimes special Acts of Parliament have to be
    passed in order to set things right--when they've gone altogether
    too far. I well recall that when I studied this subject, as of
    course I did, coming across a case in which, owing to a church
    having been consecrated very carelessly, a lady who supposed
    herself to be the legitimate mother of sixteen children--poor
    thing----

  FLORA. (_Interrupting._) But do you mean to say we aren't married?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Well, of course, I want to put it as gently as
    possible, but the fact is---- (_looking at her husband_).

  MR. R. HASLAM. It would be an exaggeration to say that you are
    married.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. If my idea had been accepted of having the Bishop
    to officiate--and he would have been only too enchanted--in the
    cathedral, this dreadful thing could not have occurred. No case
    of personating a bishop has ever been known.

  CEDRIC. But what are we to do?

  CHARLES. (_Airily._) Well, you must make the best of it.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Outraged._) Certainly not, Charles, you are
    astounding. It would have looked better of you if you had
    remained outside in charge of the car. Make the best of it,
    indeed! (_To_ MR. REACH HASLAM.) Father----

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_To_ CEDRIC.) For the moment a policy of masterly
    inactivity seems to be indicated.

                               (CURTAIN.)




  NOTES ON CHARACTERS IN ACT II


  THE BISHOP OF CHELMSFORD. Celibate. The typical Bishop who, while
    the bent of his mind is reactionary, convinces himself that he
    is exceedingly modern, and moving with the rapid times. No real
    intellectual quality, but energetic and self-adaptive.

  MR. FRAMPINGTON. A bland young man, with perfect manners and
    perfect sangfroid. A single-minded person of immense intellectual
    and spiritual originality. To himself he does not seem at all
    peculiar, but merely natural.

  CUTHBERT. Just a plain modern butler. I particularly do not want
    this trifling part to be embroidered by the conventional butler
    "business." If any genuine realistic butler "business" can be
    brought into it, well and good.




  ACT II.

  MRS. REACH HASLAM'S _study. A large apartment, richly and suitably
    furnished. The retreat of one of the most successful, most
    wealthy, and most majestic novelists in the world. Large and
    splendid desk (for two people, sitting opposite each other) about
    the middle of the room. Door back leading to hall, etc. Door_,
    L., _leading to drawing-room. Down stage, left, a sofa, which is
    partly hidden by a screen from the view of anyone entering by
    door_, L. _Date calendar on desk. Telephone._

  _All the_ HASLAMS _except_ CHARLES _are in evening dress_. FLORA
    _is elaborately attired, with a light Egyptian shawl on her
    shoulders, and a fan._

  TIME: _Same evening. Immediately after dinner._


  _The_ BISHOP _is waiting, alone. Enter to him, from door back_,
    MRS. REACH HASLAM _followed by_ MR. REACH HASLAM.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_As she enters._) Ah! Bishop. How good of you!
    (_Shakes hands._)

  BISHOP. (_Shaking hands with_ _Mr. Reach Haslam_.) My dear Mrs.
    Reach Haslam. Not at all! I blush for my diocese--that such a
    deplorable and distressing accident should have occurred in it.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Then it really is true?

  BISHOP. But I told you on the telephone.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. I know, I know! I was only hoping against hope that
    perhaps after all you might have found that the marriage was
    legal.

  BISHOP. (_Shaking his head._) No. His late father was undoubtedly
    in orders, his late brother also. But he himself was no more
    ordained than you are. (_To_ MR. REACH HASLAM, _who recoils_.) He
    presumed on his relationships.... In fact, his sole qualification
    seems to have been two old suits of his brother's.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Well, after all, it is perhaps better so.

  BISHOP. Better, dear lady?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. I mean that you have _not_ brought good news at the
    eleventh hour. Really---- (_Looking at_ MR. REACH HASLAM.)

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_To whom the_ BISHOP, _puzzled, turns for an
    explanation_.) My wife, with her novelist's instinct, perceives
    the situation that would be created if we had to go into the
    drawing-room now and say to them suddenly, "Well, you are
    married, after all."

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Excessively delicate. They would naturally have to
    leave the house at once.

  BISHOP. Quite so. I cannot tell you how relieved I was to get your
    wire saying that you had overtaken them in time. Young people
    make such a mystery of the honeymoon nowadays that often they
    don't even leave a postal address. A dangerous innovation!

  MR. R. HASLAM. Evidently.

  BISHOP. I gather that you have brought them both here, poor things!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. It seemed the wisest course. I consulted my
    husband, and he quite agreed with me that in view of the unusual
    circumstances we ought to act with the greatest prudence--for
    _their_ sakes! And so we motored quietly back to town and got
    here just in time for dinner. My son drove. I sat by his side.
    There wasn't room for their heavy luggage, and so Charlie is
    bringing that up by train. Charles is my other son.... (_Sighs._)
    And here we are!

  BISHOP. Admirable! It's a case of----

  MR. R. HASLAM. As you were.

  BISHOP. Just so! Really a terrible blow to them--must have been!
    And to you, and to you! An appalling shock! How have they borne
    it?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Well--(_turning to_ MR. R. HASLAM). Father, how
    should you say they have borne it?

  MR. R. HASLAM. Grimly. That is--on the grim side.

  BISHOP. Ah!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Of course, my Lord, we are taking it for granted
    that the matter can be put right to-morrow, without fail, and
    beyond question. I have tried to comfort them with that absolute
    assurance.

  BISHOP. My dear lady. Without fail! At any hour! _any_ hour ... up
    to three o'clock. That is why I have come specially to town--to
    convince you by my presence of my horror at the--er--crime, my
    sympathy with its innocent victims, and my utter determination
    that the ceremony shall be performed again to-morrow morning
    under my personal supervision and guarantee. I feel that I cannot
    do too much.

                                  (_During the last words enter_
                                    CUTHBERT, _back, with salver
                                    of letters and press cuttings,
                                    followed by parlour-maid with a
                                    tray of newspaper packets_.)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Will you excuse my husband while he deals with the
    post?

  BISHOP. I beg---- (MR. REACH HASLAM _sits down to desk and takes
    the post. Exeunt_ SERVANTS.)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. I ought to apologise for receiving you in my study,
    but I thought--my husband thought--we had better see you first
    alone. Are those the press cuttings, father?

                                  (MR. REACH HASLAM, _nodding, opens
                                    press cuttings_.)

  BISHOP. But for this unfortunate _contretemps_, what a charming
    coincidence that your new book should be published to-day of all
    days!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. So you find time in your busy life, Bishop, to keep
    abreast of modern literature--even novels?

  BISHOP. _Even_ novels! My dear lady, there is no greater force for
    good.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Or for evil--alas!

  BISHOP. Quite so! I have often thought--I have indeed said so from
    the platform--that the two most truly important influences for
    good in our generation are your novels and the leaflets of the
    National Society for Promoting the Education of the Poor in the
    Principles of the Established Church.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Indeed! Father, do you recall that press-cutting?

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_Busy._) No.

  BISHOP. It was reported in our Diocesan Magazine.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. And yet, my dear Bishop, I have more than once felt
    it my duty to criticise the Church rather sharply in my work.

  BISHOP. I know, I know. We bow the head, we kiss the rod.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. In my new novel I am back in politics again. Have
    you seen it yet?

  BISHOP. No, not yet. But I have already ordered it from Boot's.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Boot's?

  BISHOP. Yes, the cash chemists. I find their circulating library
    the most economical of all. And I have to be particular. As
    you know, I publish every year a detailed account of all my
    expenditure, personal and otherwise, and too large a sum for
    books might be misconstrued as self-indulgence, especially in a
    bachelor.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Ah, yes. (_Handing him a book._) Here is a copy.

  BISHOP. Pretty cover.

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_To his wife, in a low tone._) Twenty-one columns.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Pleased._) Really!

  BISHOP. (_Looking up._) Twenty-one columns?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. We are treating you without ceremony, my dear
    Bishop. My husband has just calculated the total length of the
    reviews of my book that have appeared in the London papers on the
    first day. Of course we attach no value whatever to the actual
    opinions expressed--the critics have to work in such a hurry--and
    they are so sadly unfitted for their work, poor dears--but the
    amount of space given is an excellent indication of the public
    importance ascribed to the book.

  BISHOP. (_Who has been inspecting the book._) How true!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_To_ Mr. REACH HASLAM.) Anything special?

  MR. R. HASLAM. No. "Surpassed herself," seven or eight times.
    "Masterpiece," fourteen times. The "Piccadilly Gazette" is
    unfavourable.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Very?

  MR. R. HASLAM. Yes.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Better tell me.

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_Deprecating gesture, reads._) "The book is of
    course admirable in workmanship, knowledge and insight, but
    Mrs. Reach Haslam has not, if the truth must be told, surpassed
    herself."

  MRS. R. HASLAM. If I'd known about that when I saw their lady
    reporter this morning!...

  BISHOP. (_Putting the book down._) Enthralling narrative!
    Enthralling! Now, my dear lady (_rising_).

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Interrupting him._) Please sit down. As you are
    having a glimpse of me in my profession to-night, I want to ask
    you one or two professional questions--about the psychology of
    that false curate.

  BISHOP. (_Sitting down again._) Yes, yes. Psychology. Just so.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. I never lose an opportunity of gathering material.
    Father, will you mind taking down? My husband is good enough to
    act as my stenographer.

  BISHOP. Touching!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Now I noticed nothing remarkable about that curate.

  BISHOP. (_Agreeing._) No. And yet, you know--curious thing--he's a
    gentleman, quite! Oh, quite! And I even remember once meeting his
    father, when I was Court Chaplain, at a garden party in aid of
    the Additional Curates Society.

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_Repeating what he has written._) Curates Society.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. But why should he choose to personate a curate?
    That is what is so interesting to a novelist. Why a curate? It
    couldn't have been for the money, or the glory.

  MR. R. HASLAM. Glory.

  BISHOP. The case is highly peculiar. He is certainly not without
    means, or brains. My opinion is that his action was due to
    excessive intellectual curiosity. He told me he wanted to feel
    what it was like to be a curate.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Yet he looked quite sane.

  BISHOP. Oh, quite! Astonishing story! His brother, through the
    influence of the Primate, had been engaged as curate, by the
    Vicar of St. Saviour's, Chelmsford, subject to an interview. This
    brother had been doing some chaplaining in Switzerland--just
    rough winter work. On the way home he died suddenly in Paris.
    Well, our friend of this morning calmly took up the dead man's
    identity. Came to Chelmsford, conquered the simple Vicar, and was
    at once accepted. That was two months ago.

  MR. R. HASLAM. Ago.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. But how dangerous.

  BISHOP. So I pointed out to him. His reply was that it was just
    the danger that had attracted him--coupled with the desire to
    understand why the members of his family had had such a passion
    for curacy. It seems that two of his sisters have espoused
    curates. This will be a grievous blow for all of them.

  MR. R. HASLAM. All of them.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. But why should the man be struck with remorse just
    now?

  BISHOP. Well, his explanation is that he was so moved by the
    bride's beauty.

  MR. R. HASLAM. Duty.

  BISHOP. Beauty. (_Gesture of mild triumph from_ MR. REACH HASLAM
    _to_ MRS. REACH HASLAM.) He could not bear to think that any
    action of his should cause--er--inconvenience to a woman so
    beautiful. Hence he came to me at once. Fortunately I happened to
    be at the Palace.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Had he performed any other marriages?

  BISHOP. Happily none; but he had celebrated ten funerals and four
    baptisms. However these did not seem to trouble him in the
    least, I regret to say. It was the wedding alone that roused his
    conscience.

  MR. R. HASLAM. Conscience.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Of course you sent for the police.

  BISHOP. I trust and believe that he is now in prison. But I did
    not send for the police. The Church has its dignity to maintain
    against the civil judicature in these modern days. Also with so
    much irreligion--shall I say?--flaunting in the very air, She
    must avoid scandal--particularly local scandal. London scandal
    is less deleterious. Accordingly I brought the young man up to
    town with me, and I put him into a cab for the police-station,
    where he will surrender himself of his own free will to the law.
    I prefer that way. It is, perhaps, original; but nowadays we
    Bishops have to be original.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. But do you really suppose he has surrendered?

  BISHOP. I am sure of it. I cannot pretend to your skill in reading
    character, dear lady, but I know a gentleman at sight.

  MR. R. HASLAM. Sight.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Of course, if one put such a story into a novel, it
    would never be believed. That's the worst of real life.

  BISHOP. And yet this distressing affair reminded me strongly of the
    false archdeacon in "The Woman of Kent."

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Pleased._) Ah! You remember my early book?

  BISHOP. (_Protestingly._) My dear lady! You have no more earnest
    student! And may I add that from the first I found that episode
    of the false archdeacon entirely convincing. Its convincingness
    was one of the very few points on which I shared the opinions
    of the late Mr. Gladstone. "The Woman of Kent" has always been
    a favourite of mine among your novels. It must have had a vast
    circulation.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. How many copies, father?

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_Without looking up from the desk._) One hundred
    and seventy-two thousand.

  BISHOP. Wonderful memory!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Is it not? He knows more about my books than I do
    myself, far more.

  BISHOP. Touching. (_Rising._) I must go--reluctantly. Now what
    time shall we say for to-morrow morning? I am absolutely at your
    disposal.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. But do we understand that you mean to conduct the
    ceremony in person?

  BISHOP. I do. I wish particularly to show by my presence at the
    altar my sense of what complete reparation is due to you--due to
    you all.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. I think we had better consult Flora herself.
    (_Rings bell._) As you know, my original intention was that you
    should be asked to preside at the ceremony. But the young people
    insisted on a simple curate--doubtless from modesty, my dear
    Bishop.... Would that I had been firm in the first instance!

                      (_Enter_ CUTHBERT, _back_.)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Is Mrs. Lloyd in the drawing-room?

  CUTHBERT. Yes, ma'am.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. With Mr. Cedric?

  CUTHBERT. No, ma'am. She is alone.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Will you tell her that I should be very much
    obliged if she could join us here for a moment.

  CUTHBERT. Yes, ma'am.... A representative of the "Piccadilly
    Gazette" has just called, ma'am--for information. A male
    representative.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. "The Piccadilly"! (_To_ MR. R. HASLAM.) The
    audacity! (_To_ CUTHBERT.) About what? (CUTHBERT _makes a gesture
    of embarrassment_.) You told him to call again to-morrow?

  CUTHBERT. No, ma'am. He's waiting.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Father, would you mind going out to him? (_Exit_
    CUTHBERT.) I really wonder at Cuthbert! (_To_ BISHOP.) We have
    an absolute rule against seeing journalists after dinner. As
    you know, Bishop, I detest notoriety. Hence our rule. And yet
    Cuthbert allows this man to wait!

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_Going to door._) Cuthbert is not himself. Cuthbert
    has been staggered by the events of the day. The strain of
    pretending that nothing in the least unusual has happened must be
    tremendous. Allowance should be made for Cuthbert. How shall I
    treat this invader?

                 (_The_ BISHOP _dips into the novel_.)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Well, without actually mentioning their review,
    perhaps you might just indicate by your manner----

  MR. R. HASLAM. These journalists are so obtuse, but still----

  MRS. R. HASLAM. I think perhaps if you said that we cannot
    understand how a purely private matter can interest the public,
    but that if they _must_ know, the Bishop is here in person,
    and---- (MR. REACH HASLAM _nods_.) You think that will be
    judicious?

  MR. R. HASLAM. Quite. (_Exit back._)

  BISHOP. (_Putting down the book._) Enthralling!

                          (_Enter_ FLORA, L.)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora, darling, this is the Bishop of
    Chelmsford--Mrs. Lloyd, my--er--prospective daughter-in-law.

  FLORA. (_Stiffly._) My lord.

  BISHOP. My dear young lady, I have already tried to express to Mrs.
    Haslam my consternation, my shame, at the----

  FLORA. (_Smiling coldly._) I am sure that is sufficient.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. The Bishop has come to town specially to see us,
    Flora. In order to guard against any possibility of further
    accident, he has kindly suggested that he should officiate
    himself to-morrow morning.

  FLORA. (_To_ BISHOP.) It's really very good of you.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Relieved._) Is it not?

  BISHOP. At what hour? I am entirely at your disposal.

  FLORA. Oh, any time!

  BISHOP. Noon? If you come down by the nine-fifteen train----

  FLORA. That will do perfectly.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Where is Cedric, dear?

  FLORA. I have no idea. Shall I see? (_Exit_, L.)

  BISHOP. The dear child has evidently been much upset.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. We all have.

  BISHOP. Ravishing creature! Who was Mr. Lloyd?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. He seems to have been on the Stock Exchange. He was
    a Chelmsford man, and had a house just outside the town.

  BISHOP. Indeed! I never met him. Did he leave a large fortune?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Oh, no! The house--not much else, I believe.

  BISHOP. Probably an admiration for your work was the original basis
    of the--er----

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Oh, no! I was first introduced to Mrs. Lloyd by
    Charlie, my second son. In fact, quite confidentially, Bishop; we
    thought it was a match between _them_.

  BISHOP. But heaven decided otherwise?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Cedric decided otherwise.

                    (_Enter_ MR. R. HASLAM, _back_.)

  MR. R. HASLAM. Flora tells me that it is arranged for to-morrow.

  BISHOP. Yes. I have just been hearing from Mrs. Haslam how this
    beautiful young lady has attracted both your sons.

  MR. R. HASLAM. Very catching. Ran through the family.

  BISHOP. Ha, ha! (_Seriously._) Ravishing creature!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Has Charlie come yet?

  MR. R. HASLAM. No.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. If he isn't here soon I fear he'll be late for the
    office. And he's had no sleep to-day, poor boy. (_To_ BISHOP.)
    Charles is the assistant manager of the circulation department of
    the "Daily Sentinel," and his hours are from 9.30 at night till
    three in the morning.

  BISHOP. How trying! I'm afraid we little think when we open our
    newspaper at breakfast--I always read the "Sentinel"--we little
    think what an immense amount of endeavour----

                       (_Enter_ CHARLES, _back._)

  CHARLES. Hullo! Mater. No trace of any dinner for me in the
    dining-room. Here you stick me up with the luggage and all the
    dirty work----

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Charles, the Bishop of Chelmsford.

  BISHOP. We have met once before, I think. (_Shaking hands._) Now,
    dear Mrs. Haslam (_looking at his watch_), I have half an hour to
    get to Liverpool Street.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. You return to Chelmsford to-night?

  BISHOP. Essential! I have a midnight procession of drunkards. You
    know they call me "the drunkards' Bishop." I am proud of the
    title.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Shaking hands._) Exceedingly good of you to have
    come.

  BISHOP. Not at all. The obligation is mine for your forbearance.
    Now--may I presume on our slight acquaintanceship? If at any time
    you should think of adding a Bishop to your wonderful gallery of
    contemporary portraits, and I could be of assistance--need I say
    more?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. I have already drawn two.

  BISHOP. Really?

  MR. R. HASLAM. Suffragans, my dear.

  BISHOP. Ah! Suffragans! I thought I could not have forgotten two
    Bishops. Till to-morrow then, at noon. Young man, till to-morrow.
    (_Shakes hands with_ CHARLES.)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_As_ BISHOP _and_ MR. R. HASLAM _go out_.) Father,
    would you mind speaking firmly to Cuthbert about Charlie's
    dinner?

           (_Exeunt_ BISHOP _and_ MR. REACH HASLAM, _back_.)

  CHARLES. Why the Bishop?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. He came up specially to arrange for to-morrow.
    Certainly it was the least he could do.

  CHARLES. To-morrow?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. The wedding.

  CHARLES. Oh yes, of course, I was forgetting.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Really, Charlie, you get more and more
    absent-minded as you grow older. I'm not sorry Cedric won't
    let you meddle with aeroplanes. The wedding will be at noon
    to-morrow. We go down by the nine-fifteen.

  CHARLES. With all that luggage again! It would have been simpler
    to leave it where it was. Seven trunks! What with cabs, tips,
    fares, excess, and a special omnibus, somebody owes me one pound
    thirteen, not to speak of compensation for the total loss of tea,
    dinner, and temper.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Well, you are always enthusiastic about Flora's
    clothes. We acted for the best. We couldn't tell exactly what
    would happen. Fortunately the Bishop saw at once that it was his
    duty to take things in hand himself.

  CHARLES. I should say that what the Bishop saw was a chance of
    getting himself into one of your books, mater.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. That also is possible.

  CHARLES. (_Imitating the_ BISHOP.) "Need I say more?" What a cuckoo!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Charles!

                          (_Enter_ CEDRIC, L.)

  CEDRIC. Has that dashed Bishop actually departed? I began to think
    he was going to spend the night here.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Cedric! I am ready to make great allowances, but I
    _really_ do not know what has come over my sons.

  CEDRIC. Sorry, mother. (_To_ CHARLES.) Hello! You back?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora's told you it's all arranged for noon
    to-morrow?

  CEDRIC. No. Haven't seen her.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Well, it is. And now, my boys, you can't stay any
    longer in your mother's study. My article for "Harper's" must
    absolutely be finished to-night. Your father and I had been
    expecting a placid afternoon and evening of work.

  CHARLES. By the way, Rick. About that Klopstock business. Of course
    you've seen the papers. (CEDRIC _nods_.)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Oh, yes. I quite intended to mention that, Cedric;
    but really one has had so many things to think about--and my
    article, too! How very awkward it is, isn't it?

  CHARLES. I met one of our johnnies at Liverpool Street, and he was
    a little excited about it. And I may inform you it isn't often
    our johnnies do get excited.

  CEDRIC. Oh! (_Sits down on sofa._)

  CHARLES. He told me they'd received a later wire at the office,
    from Breslau, saying that Klopstock has had a private trial over
    a mountain near there--I forget the name--and done it, my boy!
    Done it on his head!

  CEDRIC. Has he, indeed?

  CHARLES. And he'll be over here in a week or ten days, it seems.
    They want to know at the office exactly what you're going to do.
    So I told the johnnie I should be seeing you to-night, and I'd
    bring an official message. I had to explain to him a bit what had
    happened--couldn't help it. I suppose you'll be forced to cut the
    honeymoon next week and begin to get things into shape at once.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. It _is_ annoying for you, dear, and for Flora, too!

  CEDRIC. I shan't do any such thing.

  CHARLES. You surely won't let him----

  CEDRIC. I shan't do anything for a full month.

  CHARLES. Do you mean to say you'll let Klopstock get in first.

  CEDRIC. If Klopstock chooses to try during my honeymoon, I can't
    help that, can I? Let somebody else have a shot. I'm not the only
    aviator in England, confound it!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Cedric!

  CHARLES. You're the only aviator in England that can get in front
    of Klopstock over Snowdon.

  CEDRIC. I can't help that.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. But, Cedric--surely your duty----

  CEDRIC. Oh! d---- (_stopping himself_).

                                  (_Enter_ FLORA. _As soon as she
                                    perceives_ CEDRIC, _who has been
                                    hidden from her by the screen,
                                    she makes as if to leave the room
                                    again_.)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Recalling her._) Flora.

  FLORA. (_With false simplicity._) So you _are_ back, Charlie. What
    an angel you've been to worry yourself with all that big luggage.

  CHARLIE. Oh! That's all right (_surveying her_). I see you had at
    least one frock in the portmanteau. We were just discussing the
    Snowdon flight. So you two have decided----

  FLORA. No, we really settled nothing. Cedric alone settles that, of
    course. All questions relating to aeroplanes should be addressed
    to the head of the flying department and not to the firm.

  CEDRIC. (_Rising, with restrained savageness._) I tell you I shall
    do nothing whatever for a full month. (_Exit_, L.)

  CHARLES. (_Trying to break the extreme awkwardness caused by_
    CEDRIC'S _behaviour, in a bantering but affectionate tone_.)
    I suspect the fact is that the bones of a husband are doubly
    precious in her sight.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. But you don't really think there is any special
    danger, do you, Flora dear?

  FLORA. Of course not. If I wasn't convinced that Cedric in his
    aeroplane is a great deal safer than Charlie in a motor-car, or
    Paderewski at the end of a concert, or a cabinet minister at a
    public meeting, should I have gone as far as marrying him?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Then, seeing how serious it is for the country,
    why----

  FLORA. My dear, you must ask Cedric. I don't interfere with
    business.

                      (_Enter_ CUTHBERT, _back_.)

  CUTHBERT. A Mr. Frampington, to see the Bishop, ma'am. I told him
    his Grace had gone, and now he asks to see either you or Mr.
    Haslam.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Mr. Frampington? Where is your master?

  CUTHBERT. I believe he's in the kitchen at the moment, ma'am.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Frampington?

  CHARLES. Wasn't that the name of our young hopeful this morning?

  FLORA. (_Brightening again._) The imitation curate? Of course it
    was!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. But surely----

  CUTHBERT. He bears no resemblance to a curate, ma'am.

  FLORA. Then it is he! Oh! if it is, do let's see him! In private
    life he must be extremely interesting. (_To_ CUTHBERT.) Show him
    in, will you, please?

                           (_Exit_ CUTHBERT.)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora--really I don't know what's come over you all!

  FLORA. It seems to me that the curate has come over us all.

               (_Enter_ CUTHBERT, _and_ FRAMPINGTON _in
                           tourist attire_.)

                          (_Exit_ CUTHBERT.)

  FRAMPINGTON. (_In a quite natural, easy tone._) We meet again.
    I'm so sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Haslam, but I'm in a slight
    difficulty, and I hoped to find the Bishop here.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. The Bishop left a few minutes ago.

  FLORA. Won't you sit down? (_Outraged glance from_ MRS. R. HASLAM.
    FRAMPINGTON _sits down calmly_.) May one inquire what this slight
    difficulty is?

  FRAMPINGTON. (_After a little hesitation._) I suppose the Bishop
    has explained everything?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. So far as everything is capable of explanation, yes.

  FRAMPINGTON. I'm glad of that. It makes the situation so much
    easier. No doubt the Bishop gave you all the messages of apology
    and regret that I asked him to deliver on my behalf.

  FLORA. (_To_ MRS. REACH HASLAM.) Did he?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. No. He only spoke for himself.

  FRAMPINGTON. That was not nice of him.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. He told us you were a gentleman----

  FRAMPINGTON. Generous!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. And that you had promised to go to the
    police-station and give yourself up of your own accord.

  FRAMPINGTON. Quite correct. And as soon as I'd got something to eat
    I took a cab and went to Vine Street. Well, they refused to take
    me in.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Refused to take you in!

  FRAMPINGTON. Wouldn't even take my name.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. But did you tell them clearly what you'd done--your
    crime?

  FRAMPINGTON. I was most explicit.

  FLORA. I suppose it _is_ a crime.

  FRAMPINGTON. Oh, yes! It's a crime all right. As far as the Bishop
    and I could make out, it means anything up to three years; but I
    must say the episcopal library at Chelmsford isn't very strong
    in criminal law. It seems to deal chiefly with vegetarianism and
    drunkenness.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Brushing all this aside._) I may be dull, Mr.----

  FRAMPINGTON. Frampington.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. But I don't yet understand why you've come here.

  FLORA. Mr. Frampington was going to explain how it was the
    police-station was so inhospitable.

  FRAMPINGTON. The Inspector wouldn't believe my story. He thought I
    was a practical joker.

  FLORA. And don't you think you are?

  FRAMPINGTON. (_Judicially._) Depends how one looks at it. I feel
    sure I should have been more convincing if I hadn't changed my
    clothes. But the Bishop insisted on me doing that, and so I put
    on the only suit I had. And then I found I'd chosen a bad night.
    Owing to these vivisection riots, they were doing a big business
    in medical students at Vine Street. In fact, my suspicion is
    that all their cells were engaged. And there's another thing--I
    don't think I ought to have gone to Vine Street. Vine Street
    specialises in what you may call West End cases--pocket-picking,
    confidence tricks, murder, aristocratic inebriety, and so
    on. It runs in a groove. But then Vine Street was the only
    police-station that I was personally acquainted with--a youthful
    souvenir of Boatrace night--and so I went there. It was a mistake.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. I'm afraid you didn't insist.

  FRAMPINGTON. Yes. I did. I insisted so much that at last the
    Inspector got cross and said that if I didn't clear he _should_
    lock me up.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. And wasn't that enough for you, my man?

  FRAMPINGTON. (_Starting slightly at the appellation._) It was too
    much. I naturally wanted to be locked up for the right thing. The
    truth is the Inspector thought I was drunk--probably because I
    was so calm. One of the constables said I--er--smelt of drink.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. And did you?

  FRAMPINGTON. Certainly not. Beyond half-a-pint of Bordeaux at the
    Ritz, I assure you I had had nothing whatever.

  FLORA. The Ritz?

  FRAMPINGTON. Why not, madam?

  FLORA. As you say, why not!

  FRAMPINGTON. It was handy for Vine Street, and this being my last
    night of freedom, you see---- As a novelist, Mrs. Haslam, you
    will understand I had a natural desire to do myself well.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. The only thing I understand is that you seem to
    have come here for the pleasure of hearing yourself talk.

  FRAMPINGTON. (_Rising simply._) I beg your pardon. I came here
    to ask the Bishop to accompany me to the police-station as
    corroborative evidence. When your servant told me he wasn't here,
    the idea occurred to me that perhaps some member of your family
    wouldn't mind going with me--just to identify me.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Charlie, you'd better go on your way to the office.

  CHARLES. That's all very well, but----

  FRAMPINGTON. It would be very good of you. But I really think
    we ought to try another police-station. Bow Street would be
    better--more classical--if it isn't too much off your beat.

  FLORA. Why don't you go to Liverpool Street?

  FRAMPINGTON. But Liverpool Street is not a police-station.

  FLORA. No. But it's a railway station. Chelmsford isn't the
    only place it leads to. There's Harwich, for instance, the
    continent---- (_Smiles._)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_In a low voice._) Really, Flora! Christianity can
    be carried too far.

  FRAMPINGTON. (_To_ FLORA.) I should be caught. And, honestly, I
    prefer the new experience which lies before me. It can't last
    long. And new experiences are my hobby.

  FLORA. But this is serious. You mayn't get a long sentence, but
    when you're discharged from prison you'll be a social outcast.

  FRAMPINGTON. Oh, no, I shan't. In two years time I come into twenty
    thousand pounds.

  FLORA. I see.

  FRAMPINGTON. (_To_ CHARLES.) May I count on your help? (_Bowing
    adieu to_ MRS. R. HASLAM.) Madam. (_To_ FLORA.) Mrs. Lloyd, your
    sympathy is very remarkable, and I appreciate it. Please accept
    my sincerest apologies for any temporary inconvenience I may have
    caused you. I assure you, this morning I didn't realise until
    afterwards the awful seriousness of what I'd done.

  FLORA. Neither did I. Well, good luck! (_Shakes hands with him to
    the deep astonishment of_ MRS. REACH HASLAM.)

                                  (FRAMPINGTON _goes towards door_.
                                    CHARLES _uncertainly goes in the
                                    same direction, then stops_.)

  CHARLES. (_To_ FRAMPINGTON.) Just wait in the hall a moment, will
    you?

  FRAMPINGTON. Certainly. (_Exit back._)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Turning to_ FLORA.) Well, it's not often that I'm
    left speechless----

  CHARLES. Look here, mater. You send me off with this lunatic, but
    it doesn't seem to have occurred to you that I've had no dinner.
    I haven't even had time to wash.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Before he has finished._) Why _did_ you shake
    hands with him, dear? You were almost effusive.

  FLORA. I felt almost effusive.

  CHARLES. But don't you think he's off his nut?

  FLORA. Whatever he is, he's saved me from something that's rather
    awful to think about.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. He's what?

  FLORA. I may as well tell you now--Cedric and I aren't going to get
    married to-morrow.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Not going to---- (_stops_). But you've just
    arranged with the Bishop!

  FLORA. I know. But that was simply my cowardice. The truth is
    I hadn't the heart to tell him. I felt that we could express
    ourselves more comfortably in a telegram than by word of mouth.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. _We!_ But--but what's wrong with to-morrow, Flora?

  FLORA. Nothing. It's no worse than any other day. Only we aren't
    going to get married at all.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. But you _are_ married--practically. I mean----

  FLORA. (_Shakes her head._) Not even theoretically.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_With a certain dignified appeal._) Flora, I'm
    not as young as you are. I'm a hard working woman. My work is
    terribly in arrear. But I've never broken a contract yet, and I
    must finish to-night that article of mine for "Harper's" on "A
    Remedy for the Decline of the Birthrate in London Society." The
    subject is delicate for a popular magazine, and I need to have
    my mind free. May I beg you to tell me exactly what you mean,
    without being too witty?

  FLORA. I'm really very sorry. Very sorry. If I'm witty, I honestly
    assure you it's an oversight. All I can tell you is that Cedric
    and I have had an extremely serious difference of opinion, on a
    vital matter, and there's no hope of our views being reconciled,
    and so we aren't going to get married.

  CHARLES. Not really!

  FLORA. Yes.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Half to herself._) And this is all you can find
    to do, to help me with my article! (_To_ FLORA.) I suppose I must
    imitate your calmness.

  FLORA. (_Winningly._) Oh! please do.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. When did you and Cedric settle this?

  FLORA. We haven't settled it. Have we had a moment alone together
    since we left Pixton? _I've_ settled it. One person can settle
    these things.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Do you mean to say that Cedric doesn't know what
    you're telling me?

  FLORA. Not unless he's listening behind the door. I inform you
    before anyone.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Of course father and I both noticed that you were
    far from being yourselves. But we put it down to the shock and
    disappointment.

  FLORA. To the Frampington accident? Oh, no! A Frampington accident
    might happen to any unmarried couple. I'm afraid our gloom was
    caused by nothing but a terrible fear.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Terrible fear?

  FLORA. Terrible fear lest neither of us would have the audacity to
    profit by Mr. Frampington's revelation.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Audacity! Your audacity astounds me.

  FLORA. Yes, it rather startles even me. Now, will you mind telling
    Cedric?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. I! (_Looks at her. Then exit_, L.)

  FLORA. Are you also struck dumb?

  CHARLES. I suppose the kick-up was about--Snowdon versus honeymoon.

  FLORA. Charlie, how penetrating you are, really! And you put it in
    a nutshell.

  CHARLES. Well, when we burst into that hotel this morning I could
    have sworn something was wrong. Don't you remember I enquired
    what was the matter? And just now when I was asking Rick what he
    meant to do, it didn't want any very powerful penetration to see
    that there must have been a hades of a rumpus between him and you.

  FLORA. (_Puzzlingly._) Oh! Didn't it? And what's your opinion? Do
    you think Snowdon ought to win?

  CHARLES. Well, it's fiendishly important.

  FLORA. I know. But don't you think a honeymoon's somehow more
    important?

  CHARLES. _Some_ honeymoons might be.

  FLORA. What should you have done in Cedric's place?

  CHARLES. But look here, Flo, he _has_ given way, you know.

  FLORA. Yes, but against his judgment.

  CHARLES. Well, he couldn't help that.

  FLORA. You're wrong, Charlie.

  CHARLES. Am I?

  FLORA. Couldn't help it? If Cedric can't control his judgment
    better than that, in a serious matter, at the very start of the
    marriage, so much the worse for him and for me.

  CHARLES. Perhaps so.

  FLORA. Charlie, there are some things that you understand better
    than Cedric.

  CHARLES. That's what I always say, but no one believes me.

  FLORA. It's true. Do you know I'm simply shaking?

  CHARLES. Fright? (FLORA _nods_.) I can believe you are, but
    nobody'd guess it.

                       (_Half-enter_ CEDRIC, L.)

  CEDRIC. (_Stopping at half-opened door. To somebody outside the
    room._) What's that you say? (_Exit again, leaving door ajar._)

  FLORA. You'd better go. Don't forget the imitation curate's waiting
    for you.

  CHARLES. Frizzle the imitation curate.

  FLORA. You'll be in the way here--don't you see?

  CHARLES. But you're sending me off just at the interesting part.
    And you'll all be gone to bed before I get back from the office.

  FLORA. Yes, but I hope we shall all still be alive to-morrow.
    Now--there's a dear, before Cedric comes.

  CHARLES. But--is it really serious? (FLORA _nods_.) Then we shan't
    have to go to Chelmsford to-morrow? (FLORA _shakes her head_.)
    Nor any other day? (FLORA _shakes her head_. CHARLES _moves
    reluctantly towards the door_.) Well, I can't realise it, and
    that's flat. I say----

  FLORA. Yes?

  CHARLES. Would you mind telling father or mother to see that my
    supper is set for me in the garden to-night? And something solid,
    too!

                           (_Enter_ CEDRIC.)

  FLORA. I will.

                       (_Exit_ CHARLES, _back_.)

  FLORA. I see your mother's told you. Well, what can I say to you?

  CEDRIC. (_Sitting down._) You might congratulate me on the way I'm
    keeping calm under stress.

  FLORA. But why do you come in like this and look at me like this?

  CEDRIC. Idle curiosity! Having received the news from the mater, I
    was absurdly curious to hear any remarks you might have to make
    to me. So I came in--like this.

  FLORA. Cedric, I did it the best way I could. I thought I would
    imitate the blandness of the sham curate. You haven't seen him
    to-night, but I may tell you he carries blandness further than
    it has ever been carried before.... I was afraid if I didn't do
    it at once it might never be done. I could see the time going on
    and going on, and me preparing myself to do this thing in a nice,
    kind, tactful, proper way, exactly as it should be done--and
    never doing it--never beginning to do it! And at last finding
    myself at Chelmsford to-morrow, and hypnotised by your mother and
    the Bishop. Cedric, I'm sure it's a mistake to _prepare_ to do a
    thing like this, leading up to it, and so on. The best plan is to
    let it go off with a frightful _bang_, anyhow, as I've done! Then
    the worst happens at the start instead of at the finish.

  CEDRIC. I quite see the argument.

  FLORA. (_With a nod of the head towards the door_, L.) You've told
    her the reason?

  CEDRIC. She'd half guessed it. I made it seem as plausible as I
    could, in my taciturn way. But you know it would need a course of
    lectures to explain it properly.

  FLORA. I suppose I ought to depart hence. Where is your mother now?

  CEDRIC. She's briefly stating the facts to the head of the family.

  FLORA. Cedric, don't you feel as if I'd lifted an enormous weight
    off your chest? Candidly!

  CEDRIC. No; but I feel as if we'd been sitting all day in a stuffy
    railway carriage with a window that wouldn't open, and there'd
    been a collision that had pitched us clean through it. I've got
    oxygen, but I'm dashed if I can feel my legs.

  FLORA. My dear Cedric, if you were seriously injured you couldn't
    talk like that.

                                  (_Enter_, L., _during the last
                                    words_, MRS. REACH HASLAM _and_
                                    MR. REACH HASLAM, _very solemn_.)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Has Charlie gone?

  FLORA. Yes. By the way, he wants his supper set in the garden--he
    asked me to tell you.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Thank you.

  FLORA. Something solid, he said.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Sitting down._) Cedric, I wish your father to
    hear for himself exactly what the situation is. I naturally turn
    to him and leave everything _to_ him.... Now, father.

  MR. R. HASLAM. So far as I've gathered, there seems to be some
    slight difficulty as to dates. To-day's the 20th--to-morrow will
    be the 21st (_looking at date calendar_). Yes, the 21st. Flora
    thinks the honeymoon ought to end on the 21st _prox._, whereas
    Cedric thinks the honeymoon ought to end in about ten days' time,
    say 1st _prox._ The difference of opinion (_ironical stress_) on
    this highly important matter, this fundamental matter, is final.
    Hence Flora has absolutely decided to break off the marriage.

  FLORA. That's it.

  MR. R. HASLAM. Nothing could be simpler.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora, how can you sit there and trifle with our
    deepest feelings, in this utterly cynical manner?

  FLORA. (_Persuasively._) I hope we aren't going to converse as if
    we were characters in a powerful novel of modern society. This is
    real life, you know, let's talk as if we were real people--do you
    mind?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Personally, I am not aware of being unreal. But
    _you_ seem to be unaware that you are playing with tragic things.

  FLORA. As I told Cedric in the first act----

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Staggered beyond measure._) In the first act!

  FLORA. My dear. I'm only trying to fall in with your wish to turn
    this affair into a tragedy. If it is a tragedy, the first act
    occurred this morning. As I told Cedric this morning, we've
    stumbled across a question of vital principle. Is our marriage to
    be the most important thing in our lives, or isn't it? If it is,
    then nothing less than an earthquake could possibly disturb the
    honeymoon, because I suppose you'll admit the honeymoon is the
    most urgent part of matrimony. If our marriage is _not_ to be the
    most important thing in our lives--all right! That's a point of
    view that I can understand; only--I don't want to get married.
    And I won't! (_Pause._)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Cedric, why don't you speak?

  CEDRIC. Nothing to say.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Your silence is excessive.

  FLORA. (_Still persuasively._) We solemnly arrange our honeymoon.
    Then Cedric happens to see a newspaper and he as good as
    says, "Here's something more important than our honeymoon.
    Our honeymoon must give way to this." And after all, this
    terrific something is nothing whatever but a purely business
    matter--something to do with the works.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Something to do with England, with Cedric's career,
    with Cedric's duty.

  FLORA. (_Turning to_ MR. REACH HASLAM.) Supposing Cedric one day
    said he couldn't attend his father's funeral because his career
    called him elsewhere, because England wanted him, what should you
    say?

  MR. R. HASLAM. I probably shouldn't open my mouth.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. A funeral is different----

  FLORA. It is. But I can't help thinking that if circumstances
    oughtn't to prevent a man from going to a funeral, they oughtn't
    to prevent him from going to his own honeymoon.

  CEDRIC. I hope you won't lose sight of the fact that I gave way to
    you absolutely about five hours ago.

  MR. R. HASLAM. That's the trouble.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Father!

  MR. R. HASLAM. Yes, that's the trouble, because his giving way to
    her is a proof that he didn't share her views. What Flora objects
    to in Cedric is not what he does, but what he thinks. She seems
    to me to have no use for free-thinking in a husband.

  FLORA. I won't argue any further.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. But why not? Surely that is unreasonable.

  FLORA. Because in an argument I always begin rather well, but in
    the end I'm apt to get beaten. So I just stop, especially when
    I know I'm right. I'm a short distance woman. All I say is--can
    you imagine me--_me_, running off to Ostend with a man who had
    sacrificed his career, and Snowdon, and all England, unwillingly,
    in order to go ... what gay little suppers we should have
    together!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. One day, perhaps when it's too late, you'll realise
    that a wife's first duty, and therefore her greatest joy, is to
    help her husband. I know _I_ realised it, at once. When I was
    married, Reach was only earning three hundred a year; he was a
    solicitor's managing clerk--weren't you, father? I said to myself
    that I ought to try to help him, and so I began to write. And as
    a wife, I've been doing my best to help him ever since. After ten
    years I thought it advisable for him to give up the law. How much
    did I pay income-tax on last year, dear?

  MR. R. HASLAM. Nineteen thousand four hundred pounds.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. I don't boast, but you see what comes of trying to
    do one's wifely duty!

  FLORA. Some women can do nothing but earn money. (CEDRIC _begins
    playing mechanically with an object on the table_.) I can only
    spend it. Two different talents! If I had a hundred pounds to
    throw away at this moment, I know what I should spend it on----
    (_A pause. She looks round; exerting all her wayward charm._)
    Come, why doesn't some one ask me what I should spend it on?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Gloomily perfunctory._) What should you spend it
    on?

  FLORA. I should erect a statue to Mr. Frampington. It would be a
    good thing if there were a few more Frampingtons about, just
    to give people who've got as far as the vestry a chance of
    reconsidering their position.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Upon my word, Flora (_cuttingly_), one would say,
    from your sparkling wit, that you were quite in high spirits over
    the situation.

  FLORA. Well, my dear, in one way I could cry my eyes out, but
    in another I _am_ rather uplifted when I think of what Mr.
    Frampington has saved us from.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Saved you from! (_Very courteously and quietly._)
    Really, I should have thought that any woman would have been
    more than a little flattered at the prospect of marrying into the
    Haslam family, of being the wife of Cedric. No house in London is
    more sought after than ours. It isn't too much to say that Cedric
    is now one of the most celebrated men in England----

  CEDRIC. (_Crossly._) Look here, mater---- (_He keeps his head down;
    he is still playing with the object on the table._)

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_Sharply._) Cedric! (MRS. REACH HASLAM _looks at
    her husband, as if expecting him majestically to reprove his
    son_.) I wish you'd play with something else for a change.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. I speak kindly, but I speak plainly, and I'm not
    ashamed of doing so. I say one of the most celebrated men in
    England. Indeed, it wouldn't surprise me to learn that among the
    masses of the people Cedric is better known even than I am myself.

  CEDRIC. Mater, I'm off!

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_Severely to him._) You'll kindly stay where
    you are. There are times when one ought to be frank. (_Still
    very courteously and quietly to_ FLORA.) You know I was not at
    first altogether in favour of this marriage--not what could
    be described as uncontrollably enthusiastic about it. I have
    appreciated your excellent qualities, but----

  FLORA. (_Smiling._) Please don't expose me. Comfort yourself with
    the thought of what Mr. Frampington has saved _you_ from.

                                  (MR. REACH HASLAM _rises softly and
                                    goes towards door, back_.)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Where are you going, father?

  MR. R. HASLAM. I thought I'd just make sure about Charlie's supper,
    before it slipped my memory. (_Exit back._)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Turning to_ FLORA _again, pained_.) You are
    forgetting the terrible scandal that will ensue if you persist in
    your present course, dear Flora. The honeymoon actually begun!
    and then--this bombshell! How shall we break it to the Bishop?
    How can I ever look the Bishop in the face again! How can I ever
    look anybody in the face again?... To-day of all days, when my
    new book has just come out! And with my article to finish, on the
    decline of the birthrate among the well-to-do classes!... How
    _can_ we explain to people that the marriage is broken off when
    there's certain to be an account of the wedding in every paper
    to-morrow morning?

  FLORA. That, at any rate, isn't my fault. By-the-way, how
    _did_ that paragraph get into the "Piccadilly Gazette"?
    (_Mischievously._) I suppose it must have slipped in while you
    were looking the other way.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_With controlled acerbity._) When you begin to
    figure prominently in the life of your country, Flora, you'll
    understand, perhaps, a little better than you do now that
    newspaper reporters, whatever their sex, simply will not be
    denied. They reside on the doorstep. One cannot be rude. At least
    I can't.

  FLORA. I hope I never shall figure prominently in the life of my
    country. But I want to figure prominently in the life of my
    husband.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. The newspapers----

  CEDRIC. Excuse me, mater, but isn't this right off the point?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_To herself._) And I was looking forward to a
    quiet half hour with my press-cuttings!

                              (_Silence._)

             (_Enter_ MR. REACH HASLAM _cautiously, back_.)

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_Mildly cheerful._) Well, where have you got to?

  FLORA. I think we're gradually working back again to the importance
    of marriage in the life of the husband.

  MR. R. HASLAM. That's better! That's better! (_Sits._)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora, you'll pardon me offering my opinion,
    as an experienced student of human nature, but when you say
    "the importance of marriage," I think you really mean your own
    individual importance. Personal vanity is very misleading.

  FLORA. Oh! It is.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Your attitude might be more defensible if you
    were a different _kind_ of woman. I don't say it would be more
    defensible, but it might be.

  CEDRIC. Oh, look here, mater----

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Cedric, may I venture to converse in my own study?

  FLORA. (_To_ CEDRIC.) Don't you understand that this is not your
    act? (_Rising._) How a different kind of woman?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Quietly courteous._) I mean, if you brought more
    to the marriage.

  FLORA. Money? I'm not rich, but you see I'm rich enough to despise
    ten thousand pounds.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Protesting._) Flora! Please don't mention such a
    thing! Have _I_ mentioned it? I think we Haslams are as capable
    as anybody of despising ten thousand pounds. (_Very kindly._)
    No, I mean, if you had more to show in the way of--shall I
    say?--striking personal talent. You can have no _rôle_ except
    that of wife, purely social and domestic. And yet your attitude
    seems somehow to claim the privileges of a--a great singer, or a
    great pianist, or----

  FLORA. A great novelist?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Imperturbable._) No, no. I was thinking more of
    public performers.... Genius.... If you had genius, talents.
    Mind, I'm not blaming you for not having them. I make no
    reflection whatever.... Of course you are good, I hope, and
    you're beautiful.

  FLORA. So they say.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. But beauty is a mere gift--from heaven.

  FLORA. My dear, what's the difference between a talent, and a gift
    from heaven? I remember not very long since you were really quite
    annoyed because the "Saturday Review," I think it was, referred
    to you as "Mrs. Reach Haslam, the talented novelist." Whereas you
    are constantly being called the "gifted novelist," and you like
    it. (_She begins to sit down._)

  MR. R. HASLAM. Pardon me. "Like" is too strong a word. My wife
    prefers to be mentioned as "Mrs. Reach Haslam," simply--don't
    you, dear? One doesn't expect to read in the papers "Mr. Balfour,
    the talented statesman," "Lord Northcliffe, the talented
    statesman." One expects only "Mr. Balfour," "Lord Northcliffe."

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Waving him graciously into silence._ _To_
    FLORA.) I willingly admit, dear, that in its origin a
    talent--like mine, if you insist--_is_ a gift from heaven. But
    what years of study are necessary to perfect it! Whereas mere
    beauty, charm----

  FLORA. (_Having sat down, and finally arranged her fan and shawl,
    etc._) It's taken me at least seven years of intense study to
    learn to sit down like that--and in another two years I shall do
    it even better. (_With a delightful smile._)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Graciously lenient._) But seriously----

  FLORA. Seriously? (_Stopping, in a different tone._) My dear, did
    the Bishop say anything when I left the room?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Say anything! About what?

  FLORA. About me.

  MR. R. HASLAM. He remarked that you were a ravishing creature.

  FLORA. Jokingly?

  MR. R. HASLAM. No. He was quite serious.

  FLORA. That's just it. If it was only frivolous, empty-headed boys
    who were serious about it, but it isn't. The most high-minded,
    middle-aged men are serious about it. Why, even chaffeurs and
    policemen are serious about it. There must be _something_ in
    it. Wherever I go people are more serious about me than about
    anybody else--even if singers and pianists happen to be present.
    If I arrive late at the theatres I'm the play for at least two
    minutes. And I assure you in the streets it often occurs that men
    I don't know hurry after me very seriously about it--even if I'm
    veiled. And yet you and I have the same dressmaker! It's always
    been like that--ever since my first marriage. And it's getting
    more and more marked. I don't mind telling you, my dear, that my
    own secret view of my importance is perhaps as modest as yours
    is of yours--but what can you and I do against the universal
    opinion? I've begin to bow before the storm. It's the wisest
    course. You talk about what I bring to the marriage (_proudly_).
    I bring to the marriage the gift of heaven, cultivated by the
    labour of a lifetime, and, as to its value, there's only one
    estimate, except yours (_with a catch in her voice_)--and
    Cedric's! Cedric puts an aeroplane higher.

  CEDRIC. I beg your pardon----

  FLORA. (_With emotion._) Yes, you do! Yes, you do! When there came
    a conflict between my honeymoon and your aeroplane, you decided
    instantly against the honeymoon, before I'd even been asked! You
    didn't even consult me.

  CEDRIC. Aeroplane! Aeroplane! You keep on saying aeroplane, but----

  FLORA. (_Calmer._) Listen. I know you've given way. I know you've
    offered not to sacrifice the honeymoon, but don't you really
    think still in your own mind that the honeymoon _ought_ to be
    sacrificed? (CEDRIC _does not answer--pause_.) You know perfectly
    well it's a relief to you that I've cried off! Come, honestly now?

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_Warningly, under his breath._) Not _too_ honestly.

  CEDRIC. (_Quietly._) Yes, I _do_ think part of the honeymoon ought
    to be sacrificed. And I never dreamed that you would think
    otherwise. It's a difference of opinion that simply staggers
    me. It doesn't only stagger me--it frightens me. It makes one
    reflect, you know.

  FLORA. Then you _are_ relieved? You're grateful.

  CEDRIC. (_Moved and stammering._) I ought to be. Of course you're
    the only person who could cry off.

  FLORA. What do you mean?

  CEDRIC. Some things a man can't do.

  FLORA. Do you sit there and say that if I hadn't cut the knot,
    you'd have gone on, and you'd have let me go on, with a marriage
    you didn't believe in? Because you're a man, and there are some
    things a man can't do! Can't a man show as much pluck as a woman?
    That _does_ settle it! (_Controlling herself._)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora, you'll regret you've thrown Cedric over.
    You'll certainly want to come back to him.

  FLORA. (_Disdainfully._) Shall I! (_Politely._) Good-night, Mrs.
    Haslam.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. But where are you going?

  FLORA. I don't know. How can I stay here? My official connection
    with this house is ended. I shall go to a hotel. Good-night. _So_
    many thanks!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Rising and going to her; firmly._) I'm sure
    you'll oblige me by not scandalising the servants. You can choose
    a hotel to-morrow morning. I'll go with you to your room, if I
    may. All your trunks will be up there by this time.

                                  (_Exeunt_ FLORA, _submissive, and_
                                    MRS. REACH HASLAM, _back_.)

                                  (MR. REACH HASLAM _slowly prepares
                                    for work at desk_.)

  CEDRIC. I'm off into the garden. (_Pulls out his cigarette case._)
    (_Exit_, L.)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Aside as_ CEDRIC _goes_.) Nincompoop!

                      (_Enter_ MRS. REACH HASLAM.)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Dear, before I go on with that article, I should
    like to make a few notes on Flora's demeanour, while the thing's
    fresh in my mind. One never knows when that kind of stuff won't
    come in useful.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Where's the boy?

  MR. R. HASLAM. In the garden. (_Half to himself._) Of all places!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Collecting her thoughts and beginning to
    dictate._) "Essentially hysterical in a crisis, but does not pull
    a face before weeping, probably owing to advice from toilette
    specialist." Yes, full stop.

                               (CURTAIN.)




  ACT III.

  _Garden of the_ REACH HASLAMS' _house in Palace Gardens. House
    front to the left. At the back, shrubberies and trees. In centre,
    an arbour or pergola, with the open side to the footlights. Under
    the shelter of this a table, with remains of a meal._

  TIME: _Next morning 4 a.m. Magnificent sunrise_.


  CEDRIC _is sitting at the table, having finished eating. He is
    still in evening dress, and dishevelled._

                                  (_Enter_ CHARLES _through
                                    shrubberies from back. He wears
                                    the same costume as in previous
                                    act, with hat, stick, etc._)

  CEDRIC. Hello?

  CHARLES. So _you're_ here, are you?

  CEDRIC. (_Wiping his mouth._) I am.

  CHARLES. Well, what's happened?

  CEDRIC. What do you mean?

  CHARLES. What do I mean? You and Flora, of course!

  CEDRIC. Nothing more.

  CHARLES. Then is it off?

  CEDRIC. (_With a nervous laugh._) Right bang off! (_Pause._)

  CHARLES. You look as if you'd been up all night.

  CEDRIC. (_Nods._) What time is it? My watch has stopped.

  CHARLES. About four. I'm a trifle late. (_Sits down to table._)
    Well, my boy, I've got a bit of news for you. I don't know
    whether it'll influence you, but---- (_startled_). Look here,
    have you been eating my supper?

  CEDRIC. Was it for you?

  CHARLES. I must say this really is a bit too thick!

  CEDRIC. How should I know it was for you?

  CHARLES. Of course you knew!

  CEDRIC. It was all laid here. The fact is, I went off to sleep. I
    must have slept solid for about four hours. When I woke up just
    now, I was as hungry as a dog, so I just--I never thought----

  CHARLES. Never thought be damned!

  CEDRIC. Awfully sorry. Here's some bread. What's this news?

  CHARLES. (_Taking bread._) What's the good of being sorry? It was
    entirely on account of you I had no tea yesterday and no dinner
    either, and now I'm dashed if you haven't gone and eaten my
    supper too!

  CEDRIC. What's this news?

  CHARLES. (_Eating._) If I hadn't had some sultana at the office I
    don't know what I should have done. I've a good mind not to tell
    you! (_Taking paper from his pocket._) Here! This is a second
    edition, just off the machines (_opening paper_). Oh, curse! Mind
    the ink! (_Looking at his hands, after giving paper to_ CEDRIC,
    _who examines it_.) There you are! (_indicating a paragraph in
    the paper_).

                     (CEDRIC _reads, then rises_.)

  CEDRIC. (_After reflection._) See here, boy. You just go to bed out
    of the way and don't ever let on that you've shown me this paper
    or even knew what there was in it. Do you hear? (_Putting paper
    in his pocket._)

  CHARLES. I hear. But why?

  CEDRIC. Never mind why.

  CHARLES. But the newsagent will deliver the mater's copy here at
    eight o'clock, and by half-past eight you may bet everybody in
    the place----

  CEDRIC. I'm going to do something long before eight o'clock.

  CHARLES. What are you going to do?

  CEDRIC. I'm going to see Flora, and tell her I've altered my view
    completely. If she knew I'd seen the paper she'd be bound to
    think I'd only come round because of _that_, and she wouldn't
    listen to me--don't you see, idiot?

  CHARLES. I see. But haven't you altered your view because of that?

  CEDRIC. (_Coldly._) What's that got to do with you? The point is
    that at any rate I can go honeymooning now with a free mind.
    That's the point.

  CHARLES. And do you reckon all this'll be on the straight?

  CEDRIC. I don't care whether it's on the straight or not.
    (_Savagely._) _I've got to have that woman_--confound her! and
    I'm going to.

  CHARLES. Where is she?

  CEDRIC. She's in the spare room next to the mater's.

  CHARLES. And how do you intend to get at her?

  CEDRIC. I'm going to call her, and ask her to dress and come down
    at once. Then I shall talk to her, here. With a bit of luck I may
    be off with her and on the way to Colchester at six o'clock. Is
    there plenty of petrol in the stable?

  CHARLES. Yes. I say--it's not _right_, you know!

  CEDRIC. Shut up. (_Going._) Did Fisher clean the car last night?

  CHARLES. How do I know? He ought to have done. I say----

  CEDRIC. (_Stopping._) Well?

  CHARLES. I suppose you don't want any advice from me?

  CEDRIC. No. (_Turns and stops again._) What?

  CHARLES. I was only going to say that you'd better change those
    clothes and make yourself look less of an absolute waster.

  CEDRIC. Well, of course! I expect I can dress quicker than she can,
    can't I? I've thought of all that.

                     (_He turns finally to leave._)

                                  (_Enter_ FLORA _from house, meeting
                                    him. She is fully dressed in
                                    morning street attire, and
                                    carries a handbag._)

  FLORA. (_Staggered._) _Good_ morning!

  CEDRIC. (_Staggered._) Good _morning_!

  CHARLES. Hello, Flo! What's the meaning of this?

  FLORA. Couldn't sleep.

  CEDRIC. (_Hastily and nervously._) I shall be down in two jiffs.
    (_Aside to_ CHARLES.) See you don't let her go. (_Exit into
    house._)

  FLORA. I guessed you'd be having your supper just about now. That's
    why I came down here.

  CHARLES. (_Pleased._) That's fine. Only I'm not having my supper.
    Cedric's eaten it all. He's been out here all night, and he's
    eaten it all--except this (_showing bread_).

  FLORA. My poor boy! But here's a couple of bananas. Have you ever
    tried banana sandwiches?

  CHARLES. No. Are they any good?

  FLORA. Are they any good! Never had a banana sandwich! Shall I make
    you some?

  CHARLES. I wish you would. (_Silence, while she sets about
    sandwiches._)

  FLORA. Well, how long shall I have to wait?

  CHARLES. Wait?

  FLORA. To hear what happened to Mr. Frampington, of course. Did
    they take him in at Bow Street?

  CHARLES. Oh, yes.

  FLORA. Do you know--I'm rather sorry. Somehow I should have liked
    him to get clear away. Here! (_Gives him a sandwich, which he
    eats. Then solemnly_) Now, Charlie, I'm going. I want to be gone
    before anybody's up.

  CHARLES. What occurred last night?

  FLORA. Oh! terrific scenes! terrific scenes! and I really can't
    face your mother this morning at breakfast. I couldn't do it. And
    it's quite unnecessary. So I'm going to the Great Western Hotel.
    I shall pretend I've arrived by a night train. And I want you to
    see that my trunks are brought there later. Here! (_Gives him
    another sandwich._)

  CHARLES. All serene! Thanks! (_After thought._) I say--_I_ rather
    like Frampington, too.

  FLORA. Why?

  CHARLES. I don't know. It's due to him--somehow--I feel like you
    feel.... I say, Flora, has it ever occurred to you that I'm a
    mere cipher in this house?

  FLORA. Really?

  CHARLES. I'm nobody. I'm pitched about everywhere.

  FLORA. You don't mean--my trunks?

  CHARLES. Not a bit. Of course I don't. I mean the way they treat
    me. Here Cedric's a perfect duke, in his own line. But will
    he have me on the works? Not much. Says I must strike out for
    myself, and all sorts of tommyrot. And in the end I'm set to
    night-work like a blooming <DW65>. People might think we were
    hard up for five quid a week, instead of simply rolling in
    coin--rolling in it! Why shouldn't I go round the world or
    something! I'm only twenty-two.

  FLORA. That all?

  CHARLES. I go out and work all night. Then I come home and discover
    Cedric couldn't find anything better to do than eat my supper.
    Five servants in this house. But do you suppose there'd have
    been the least chance of me getting anything to eat before
    eight o'clock, at the earliest, if you hadn't invented these
    sandwiches? Not much! Thanks! (_Takes two more._) But that's not
    what I meant. What I really meant was--who introduced my people
    to you? I did. I knew you at the Baths Club six months before
    his lordship Cedric and the mater kindly invited themselves to
    have tea with me there, and then I didn't count any more! Cedric
    simply shovelled me up and chucked me into a corner. In less
    than twenty-four hours he was in love with you. But did he ask
    my permission? Did he think about me for one instant? Not much!
    The fact is, they simply make use of me ... and so--I rather like
    Frampington. Understand?

  FLORA. Yes.

  CHARLES. Of course, I'm sorry about what's happened--as far as
    you are concerned. But as far as Cedric's concerned, I can't
    help thinking it serves him jolly well right. Cedric's too
    cocksure--in everything.

  FLORA. That's quite true.

  CHARLES. (_Hesitating._) Yes.

  FLORA. What else have you got on your mind?

  CHARLES. Well, I don't know if I ought to tell you.

  FLORA. Certainly you ought to tell me.

  CHARLES. You think so?

  FLORA. Unless, of course, you agree with all the things your dear
    mother's been saying to me.

  CHARLES. It's about Klopstock.

  FLORA. About Klopstock?

  CHARLES. He's had an accident.

  FLORA. What?

  CHARLES. Broken his leg.

  FLORA. How? Came down too quickly?

  CHARLES. No. Driving to his hotel last night his motor ran into a
    statue of Bismarck, and he was thrown out.

  FLORA. Motor cars are really too dangerous. I wonder any aviator
    cares to trust himself to them.

  CHARLES. (_Admiringly._) Now it's very funny. I often want to say
    things like that, only I can never think of them. Cedric--he can
    come out with them sometimes, and so can the dad. But you're the
    only woman I ever struck that could.

  FLORA. Charlie, you're a dear. I suppose he'll be laid up for five
    or six weeks.

  CHARLES. Who? Klopstock? You bet. You see what it means?

  FLORA. Quite. What I don't see is why you should have hesitated to
    tell me about it. I suppose you've told Cedric?

  CHARLES. Yes. I brought an early copy of the paper with it in.

  FLORA. Where is it?

  CHARLES. Cedric's cleared off with it.

  FLORA. Well, if Cedric knows, why shouldn't I?

  CHARLES. Ask me another! Look here, I'm giving the show away, but
    I've got my conscience to think of. This is a serious matter. I
    mean--really serious! I don't like it, but it's my duty to warn
    you.

  FLORA. Well?

  CHARLES. Cedric told me I wasn't to say a word. He said I wasn't to
    let on that I'd told _him_.

  FLORA. And did you promise?

  CHARLES. I should think I didn't. Not me!

  FLORA. Had Cedric been out here all _night_?

  CHARLES. Yes. Told me he slept like a top in that chair, then woke
    up and ate my supper.

  FLORA. But why should he want you not to say anything about
    Klopstock? (_Enter_ CEDRIC, _in a lounge suit, somewhat awry,
    with a hat_. FLORA _continues in the same tone to_ CHARLES.)
    Here, have this last one (_offering him another sandwich. To_
    CEDRIC). It appears you've been eating what doesn't belong to
    you. So I've done my best with bananas and stale bread to fill
    the breach.

  CHARLES. (_Nervous._) You've forgotten your hair, my boy.

  CEDRIC. (_With a gesture; low to_ CHARLES.) Hook it! (_He repeats
    the gesture._)

              (_Exit_ CHARLES _unwillingly, into house_.)

  FLORA. (_Primly._) I'm just going. I meant to leave before any of
    you were up. I thought that would be the wisest thing to do. But
    Charles begged me to stop and look after him a bit.

  CEDRIC. What's he been entertaining you with?

  FLORA. Oh! his grievances. They're rather real, you know.

  CEDRIC. Do you know, when I went in just now I was meaning to knock
    at your door and ask you to get up at once. Curious thing, that
    you should have been coming downstairs at that very moment!

  FLORA. Why this desire to begin the day so early?

  CEDRIC. Look here, Flora, let's go, now! Fisher won't be up, but
    the car's cleaned and there's plenty of petrol. Come on. Just you
    and I.

  FLORA. (_Innocently._) Where?

  CEDRIC. Chelmsford. I can wake the Bishop and tell him we want
    the job done at eight o'clock instead of twelve. Any old verger
    and charwoman will do for witnesses. The thing will be all over
    before the mater's out of bed. We can telephone to 'em from
    Chelmsford with the pleasing news. (_Pause. As_ FLORA _says
    nothing, he continues, rather less confidently_.) It'll give 'em
    an appetite for breakfast.

  FLORA. (_Ironically._) Any other details?

  CEDRIC. (_With rough persuasiveness._) Come on!

  FLORA. (_Ironically._) Then you've decided that we are to get
    married, after all?

  CEDRIC. Well, a marriage can't be broken off like--like this! It's
    unthinkable. What would any unprejudiced outsider say, if he was
    asked? He'd say we were off our blooming heads. The thing simply
    won't bear examination. (_Moves towards her._) Come----

  FLORA. And I'm to be carried by storm?.... Great saving of argument!

  CEDRIC. Now listen----

  FLORA. Well?

  CEDRIC. Will you talk man to man? Straight?

  FLORA. As one honest Injun to another!

  CEDRIC. (_Picking up a dish off the table._) If you make one more
    joke, I'll smash every darned bit of crockery on this table.
    (_Gesture of destruction._)

  FLORA. (_Coldly._) Now if I agree to listen quietly and talk
    reasonably, it mustn't be understood that I'm open to argument.
    (_Sits down._)

  CEDRIC. All right, all right!

  FLORA. Because I'm not. I'm not. I'm not. The thing that's--that's
    really upset our applecart may seem perfectly childish to the
    unprejudiced outsider. But I don't propose to consult the
    unprejudiced outsider. Might as well take the case before a
    jury and engage a couple of K.C.'s. You know as well as I know
    that it isn't perfectly childish. It isn't childish at all. Its
    fundamental. We've been unlucky. But then in another sense we've
    been lucky. We're free. We aren't tied, thank Heaven. Man to man,
    Cedric, it would be too much humiliation--yes, humiliation--for
    me to marry anybody that looks on marriage as you look on it. And
    as it's just as impossible for you to change your opinion as it
    is for me to change mine, we shan't exactly go down to Colchester
    this morning.... More's the pity.

  CEDRIC. Well, I _have_ changed my opinion. So let's go.

  FLORA. You've changed your opinion? How have you changed your
    opinion?

  CEDRIC. I've sat there all this blessed night thinking it over.

  FLORA. Really?

  CEDRIC. Yes. Do you suppose I could sleep any more than you could?
    What do you take me for? The more I thought it over, the more I
    saw I'd been mistaken. Now--half a minute! I can't honestly blame
    myself, you know. And so I won't pretend to--especially as we're
    talking straight. I told you what I felt, right out, and then
    I offered to give way. I couldn't do anything else. Well, you
    wouldn't have that. Mind you, I think you were quite right in
    refusing to let me give way against my better judgment. I admire
    you for that even more than I did. But I don't give way now
    against my judgment--I give way with it.

  FLORA. But how has your judgment altered? Why?

  CEDRIC. I don't know. How _do_ people's judgments alter? I
    gradually saw the force of what you'd said. _Of course_ a man's
    marriage must come in front of everything else! _Of course_ the
    idea of letting any business matter interfere with the honeymoon
    is monstrous! I cannot imagine how it was I couldn't see that
    yesterday. The only explanation is that up to yesterday I'd never
    lived for anything except my job. Force of habit! One has to get
    a bit used to a new state of affairs. I suppose it was the sudden
    shock of the news that sent me a bit off the track. Look here,
    Flora, you don't want me to go on in this strain. You don't want
    me to grovel. I'm not the grovelling sort ... I was mistaken.

  FLORA. (_In a new quiet tone._) Cedric, what happened in your
    mother's study after I went upstairs last night?

  CEDRIC. Nothing whatever. I cleared out instantly afterwards.
    I've been here ever since, and I haven't spoken to a soul except
    Charlie. Why?

  FLORA. Nothing.

  CEDRIC. But why do you say "Nothing" like that?

  FLORA. Cedric, I was just wondering how this conversation of yours
    really did come about. It occurred to me that perhaps something
    might have happened--in business----

  CEDRIC. (_Nervous._) How--"something"--in business?

  FLORA. Something--I don't know--something that would leave you
    free after all for a full month, so that in being converted you
    wouldn't have to sacrifice anything at all.

  CEDRIC. But how could anything have happened?

  FLORA. I don't know, but with that telephone so handy in your
    mother's study---- All manner of things happen nowadays over the
    telephone--especially in the middle of the night.

  CEDRIC. (_Relieved. Affecting a cheerful irony._) What notions
    she does get into her head! My dear girl, nothing whatever
    has happened--so far as I know. Of course nothing _could_. My
    conversion, as you call it, is due simply and solely to my
    thinking things over.

  FLORA. Honour bright?

  CEDRIC. (_Firmly._) Certainly!... Then you really imagined I was
    capable of such a--you couldn't trust me----

  FLORA. It isn't _you_ I couldn't trust. It's the human nature _in_
    you that I had my doubts about. It's always so apt to get the
    better of people, and make them play tricks they'd never dream of
    by themselves.

  CEDRIC. (_Shocked but forgiving._) Fluff!

  FLORA. (_Somewhat coldly._) I'm only being man to man.

  CEDRIC. Look here, Flora, it's barely twelve hours since that
    vulgar idiot Klopstock shoved himself into our honeymoon. Barely
    twelve hours. We were in love with each other up till then,
    weren't we? (_Silence._) Weren't we?

  FLORA. (_Primly._) Yes.

  CEDRIC. Very much? (_Silence._) I say very much?

  FLORA. (_More primly._) Yes.

  CEDRIC. Well, if you know as much about human nature as you make
    out, you know perfectly well that we must still be very much in
    love with each other. I mean _now, here_! Anyone might think, to
    hear some of the talk that went on last night, and even to see us
    at this moment, that we didn't care twopence for each other. But
    a passion won't be knocked on the head like that. You can't get
    over it--we're still damnably in love. We've had a row--good!
    It's been an infernal nuisance--good! I've been an ass, if you
    like--good! And what then? You're in love with a man who's been
    an ass--that's all. But you _are_ in love with him. Moreover,
    he's ceased to be an ass!... Now, Flora, one ass is enough. Are
    you going to listen to reason or not?

  FLORA. But your mother----

  CEDRIC. (_Picking up a piece of crockery and dashing it violently
    to the ground; then, controlling himself, after a pause, in a
    low, tense voice._) My mother be blowed!

                                  (_A pause._ MR. _and_ MRS. REACH
                                    HASLAM _appear at the house-door.
                                    They show surprise at the
                                    spectacle of_ FLORA _and_ CEDRIC
                                    _with an appealing undecided
                                    gesture_.)

  FLORA. (_Advancing to meet_ CEDRIC.) Cedric!

                                  (FLORA _suddenly perceives_ MR.
                                    _and_ MRS. REACH HASLAM _and
                                    completely changes her attitude,
                                    going towards them_.)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Really----

  FLORA. (_Lightly._) So we've _all_ got up with the sparrows!

  MR. R. HASLAM. No. These two particular sparrows have just come out
    for a breath of air before retiring to their nest for the day.
    (_Yawns._)

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Work is work, young lady, and insists on being
    done (_with meaning_), whatever else happens or does not happen.

  FLORA. Ah! The birthrate article--has the poor thing been declining
    all this time?

  CEDRIC. (_Anxious for his parents to depart._) Mother, you ought to
    go to bed at once--you look absolutely exhausted.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Is it surprising? I was just saying to your father
    that if this kind of thing was likely to occur often I should
    have to devise some way of procuring tea at sunrise.

  FLORA. But do you want some tea?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. I never want what I can't have. I shall doubtless
    hold out till eight o'clock.

  CEDRIC. Couldn't the dad make you some?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Impossible, child! At four o'clock in the morning!

  MR. R. HASLAM. The cook always locks up the kitchen to keep
    Cuthbert and Fisher out.

  CEDRIC. Seems odd that in a house like this you can't have a cup of
    tea whenever you happen to want it!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Coldly resenting this criticism of her
    housekeeping._) Father, shall we go?

  FLORA. May _I_ give you some tea?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. It's very good of you to offer me tea in my own
    garden, but----

  FLORA. (_With great charm._) Not at all. (_Opening her bag._) I
    have my Thermos. I filled it yesterday before starting. You see,
    we had no programme, and I didn't know where we might ultimately
    be landed. Besides, I never travel without it. (_She unscrews
    the Thermos flask and pours out the steaming tea into the patent
    cover. Then undoes a little packet containing sugar._) One lump,
    isn't it? (_Handing the cup, with a spoon, to_ MRS. REACH HASLAM,
    _who accepts it_.) Sit down and drink it. I guessed about forty
    places where I _might_ pour that tea out--and they were all
    wrong! (MRS. REACH HASLAM _discovers that the tea is scalding_.)
    It _is_ hot, isn't it?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Sipping._) I'm afraid you didn't sleep very well,
    Flora.

  FLORA. Why?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. You're down so exceedingly early.

  FLORA. The fact is, I could not get off to sleep.

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_Half to himself._) I put a complete set of my
    wife's novels in each of the spare bedrooms only yesterday.
    (_With a faint air of being puzzled._)

  FLORA. Another cup?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. No, thanks. Excellent.

  FLORA. I'm so glad I was here. You know, it's quite easy to have
    tea at any hour of the night. But of course, with all your
    other work, you can't be troubled with the little details of
    housekeeping.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Nettled._) My _other_ work!... No doubt when
    you're settled down with Cedric you will be able to show him what
    true housekeeping really is.

  FLORA. Settled down with Cedric!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. My dear, I had intended to make no comment on the
    singular coincidence of you and Cedric being here in the garden
    at four in the morning. I did not mean to inquire into the
    significance of this broken crockery, nor of your attitude and
    tone to Cedric before you caught sight of me. But I am a trained
    observer. You may remember that last night----

  CEDRIC. Mater, why don't you go to bed?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. You may remember that last night I hinted that
    before very long you'd probably be throwing yourself into
    Cedric's arms (_benevolently_). And I'm delighted to see that
    pride has not stood in your way. Delighted! How you got him
    down here into the garden I don't know, and it doesn't matter.
    (_Slight pause._)

  FLORA. (_To_ CEDRIC.) Anything to say?

  CEDRIC. You're quite wrong, mother. The fact is I've now come to
    the conclusion that Flora was perfectly right last night.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. About what?

  CEDRIC. In arguing that _nothing_ ought to stand in the way of the
    honeymoon. And I've just been telling her so.

  FLORA. But he forgot to tell me that there _is_ nothing now to
    stand in the way of the honeymoon.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. What do you mean?

  FLORA. Klopstock has broken his leg and can't move for at least six
    weeks. (_Startled movement by_ CEDRIC. _Quietly gracious, to_
    CEDRIC.) Didn't you know? (_Silence._) Cedric, didn't you
    know?

  CEDRIC. (_With gruff reluctance._) Yes ... of course, Charlie gave
    me away?

  FLORA. Charlie merely told me, as he told you.

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Everything is all right, then.

  FLORA. Do you think so? Cedric and I were supposed to be talking
    like honest Injuns----

  MRS. R. HASLAM. Honest Injuns?

  FLORA. Well, as man to man, then. Anyway, straight! And yet he
    positively assured me that nothing had happened, to influence
    him except my arguments. Whereas the fact was he knew that
    owing to this broken leg he could go away with a perfectly easy
    conscience. My arguments hadn't influenced him at all. His
    principles haven't really changed at all! But now he's safe as
    regards Klopstock he doesn't care a fig for his principles. His
    mind is free for pleasure, now--it wasn't before--and so in order
    to enjoy himself for a month he'd sacrifice _any_ principles.
    Just like a man, that is! And there's something else. He was so
    desperately and madly anxious to have me that he told another
    simply appalling cold-blooded fib. He said he had sat up all
    through the night thinking over my arguments, without a wink of
    sleep. I suppose he thought that would touch me. Now the truth
    is that he slept very well, and woke up with such an appetite
    that he ate the whole of Charlie's supper except two bananas. I
    won't mention his references to his mother. But I think I've said
    enough to show that I didn't come down at four o'clock in the
    morning precisely in order to throw myself into your son's arms.
    Can you imagine a woman silly enough to marry a man who on the
    very day of the wedding would try to deceive her as Cedric has
    tried to deceive me?

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Majestic._) Father! We had better go. (_She
    moves towards house. After reflection, savagely to_ FLORA, _over
    her shoulder_.) I rejoice that the breach is now definite.

                          (_Exit into house._)

            (CEDRIC _moodily goes up garden out of sight_.)

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_Protesting._) Hannah! (_Half to himself, looking
    at his watch._) An inflammable hour--four o'clock!

  FLORA. We seem to be left alone together.

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_Cheerfully._) Yes, but I must go.

  FLORA. However do you manage to be always so calm and cheerful?
    I've noticed you in the most difficult situations----

  MR. R. HASLAM. You have.... You see I've my own private life to
    fall back on.

  FLORA. (_Interested._) Have you? Where? I never----

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_Tapping his forehead._) Here!

  FLORA. I see.

  MR. R. HASLAM. And my collection--that always keeps me amused.

  FLORA. Your collection?

  MR. R. HASLAM. My collection of private opinions (_tapping his
    head_). Here, too!

  MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Off._) Father!

  MR. R. HASLAM. (_With cheerful acquiescence._) Yes, my dear. (_To_
    FLORA.) Au revoir, I hope.

                          (_Exit into house._)

                                  (_Vague noise of_ CEDRIC _privately
                                    cursing behind, out of sight_.)

  FLORA. (_Going up a little._) Cedric, when you've done swearing up
    there, I want to apologise to you.

            (_Re-enter_ CEDRIC. _They look at each other._)

  CEDRIC. Apologise?

  FLORA. My human nature ran away with me. My human nature couldn't
    resist the temptation to fulfil your prayer. You demanded that
    your mother should be blowed--and she has been. Unfortunately it
    meant you being blowed, too. Now let's go.

  CEDRIC. Go where?

  FLORA. (_Innocently._) To Chelmsford, of course. Isn't there a
    newspaper train about a quarter past five?

  CEDRIC. (_Shaking his head in a maze._) I'm dashed if I know where
    I am----

  FLORA. I'm dashed if you are quite wide awake, my poor boy. Can't
    you see how amply you've proved that you look on marriage as
    seriously as any woman could desire--more seriously than any
    woman ought to desire. Last night you hesitated to sacrifice your
    aeroplane to me. But this morning you tell the most frightful
    lies on the chance of getting hold of me--although I gave you
    every encouragement to be truthful. You take the most frightful
    risks of being found out. You'll run any danger of trouble and
    unhappiness in the future if only you can capture me now. You
    smash crockery. You behave meanly, _miserably_. You forfeit even
    your own self-respect. Cedric, that is what I like. It's just
    that that shows how much in earnest you are. Your deeds are far
    superior to your arguments.... Cedric----

  CEDRIC. What?

  FLORA. After all, your dear mother's prophecy was quite correct. I
    _was_ just going to throw myself into your arms--but of course I
    couldn't do it while she was there, could I? (_Picks up Thermos
    cup, to screw it on to the flask, holding it at arm's length._)
    Henceforth, sacred!

             (CEDRIC _roughly seizes her and kisses her_.)

    (_After freeing herself, as she puts the flask in the bag._) It's a
    good thing I like them rough.

  CEDRIC. What?

  FLORA. A man--and his chin.

  CEDRIC. (_Snatching at the bag and looking at his watch._) Let's go
    out by the garden.... Probably find a cab. Motor would make too
    much noise, and rouse the mater. She'll never get over this.

  FLORA. (_Calmly._) Oh yes, she will. We all shall. (_Stops._) But
    my trunks, and yours?

  CEDRIC. I'll wire to Charlie from Liverpool Street to bring them
    down.... Confound him!

                                CURTAIN.




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  TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES


  Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical
  errors.

  Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.

  Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Honeymoon, by Arnold Bennett

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