THE THIRD ACT
The Scene is the same as in the previous Act, but a few articles of furniture are differently disposed about the room. There is no fire; and flowers decorate the fireplace. The windows are open and the light is that of a fine afternoon in summer.
Fraser is seated upon the settee. John Allingham appears in the garden, looks into the room, glares fiercely at Fraser, coughs significantly, and walks away. When John has gone, Fraser, glancing at the window, rises, and, with an angry exclamation, crosses the room. Mrs. Cloys and Justina enter; Mrs. Cloys is dressed as in the previous Acts, but without her bonnet and mantle; Justina is in a bright morning-dress.
Mrs. Cloys.
[To Fraser.] She insists upon rising; she will see you in a few minutes.
Fraser.
Thank you.
Mrs. Cloys.
She is excessively weak and shattered; you must remember that.
Fraser.
Yes, yes. I can never adequately express my gratitude——
Mrs. Cloys.
[Sitting upon the settee.] Tsch!
Justina.
Aunt has been up with her the whole night.
Mrs. Cloys.
Not alone. Mrs. Allingham——
Fraser.
Mrs. Allingham——?
Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Allingham begged to be allowed to keep me company. There was a little scene between us—but the woman is, to some extent, human, I find.
Fraser.
Oh, I’ve no doubt that Mrs. Allingham is ashamed of herself——
Mrs. Cloys.
I hope we are all ashamed of ourselves. In the end I was far from sorry to have her companionship. Your poor wife didn’t come out of her swoon till nearly one o’clock this morning. Then Dr. Erskine went home and Mrs. Allingham and I took our places by the bedside—[to Justina]—till you arrived at breakfast-time, Justina.
Justina.
[To Fraser.] And I brought old Sarah, who used to maid us girls when Theo was at home; she’s dressing her now.
Fraser.
Mrs. Cloys, pray help me with your advice.
Mrs. Cloys.
[Bridling.] Oh—h—h——!
Fraser.
No, no—about Mr. Allingham. Ha! of course if we were Frenchmen we should fight a duel——
Justina.
Certainly, my dear Alec, and he would kill you.
Fraser.
Perhaps; that doesn’t follow.
Justina.
It doesn’t follow, because it can’t follow. But he would kill you and everybody would say of you, “Serve him right; another unsatisfactory husband disposed of!” And you would be buried, and my sister would be free and would go to Trouville in August in her weeds, and we should all have a splendid time generally.
Fraser.
[Dryly.] If we were French.
Justina.
Yes. [Going to the window.] Why aren’t we French!
Mrs. Cloys.
Justina——!
Fraser.
[Advancing to Mrs. Cloys, hesitatingly, uncomfortably—lowering his voice.] I can’t deny that I have behaved in a very poor fashion to Theophila——
Justina.
[Looking into the garden.] Deny it! no!
Fraser.
[Turning to Justina.] Please——! [To Mrs. Cloys.] But you, Mrs. Cloys, have just admitted to me that, up till last night, your feelings towards her were at least as unjust as my own.
Mrs. Cloys.
Ah, I hope your contrition, now that the facts are known to us, is as sincere and as deep as mine, Mr. Fraser.
Justina.
Oh, how miserable he looks!
Mrs. Cloys.
Who?
Justina.
Jack Allingham. [She goes out, and disappears.
Fraser.
[Walking about angrily.] There he is again!
Mrs. Cloys.
He has every right to be here.
Fraser.
It’s in curious taste.
Mrs. Cloys.
I don’t see that. He feels called upon to remain here to protect his wife. He might say, with equal reason——
Fraser.
Hardly. He can take his wife away, and protect her elsewhere. But I am helpless. You tell me it is a question whether Theophila ought to be moved to-day or not——
Mrs. Cloys.
[Referring to her watch.] Dr. Erskine will decide very shortly.
Fraser.
So, for how long, in heaven’s name, am I to endure Mr. Allingham? The fellow puts himself in my way. If I walk in the garden, he appears, indoors, at a window, and coughs in a menacing fashion. When I enter the house the proceedings are but slightly varied—I am inside; Allingham and his cough outside.
Mrs. Cloys.
I find him a simple-minded, boyish young man.
Fraser.
[Looking through the balustrade into the library.] Do you?
Mrs. Cloys.
After all, the conspiracy he assisted at—for which I can never forgive him—was carried out, on his part, in perfect good faith to Theophila.
Fraser.
His share in it is singularly discreditable.
Mrs. Cloys.
[Rising.] You and I must remember that it is through this discreditable act that we are able to do justice to your wife. [Justina re-enters, at the window.] Is Mr. Allingham there?
Justina.
Yes, aunt.
Mrs. Cloys.
[To Fraser.] I assume you are anxious to avoid any open quarrel with Mr. Allingham?
Fraser.
I simply wish to get my sick wife away as speedily and as peacefully as possible, and then to forget this gentleman—and his cough. [Mrs. Cloys goes out at the window and disappears.] Justina; surely you—you—resent this new attitude of Mrs. Allingham’s? For months and months she is your sister’s bitter, determined enemy; then suddenly she is allowed to sit up all night, nursing her!
Justina.
You wouldn’t grudge the woman her little bit of practical repentance? If ever I go in for repentance, let nobody try to do me out of it!
Fraser.
[Impatiently.] Repentance——!
Justina.
[Sitting on the arm of a chair.] Oh, Olive Allingham didn’t have too gay a time of it last night, take my word for it. When Theo came-to, aunt tells me, her poor, overwrought brain wandered for an hour or so; that wasn’t over-pleasant for Mrs. A. Theo went through the whole business from beginning to end, breaking off occasionally to say her prayers—praying that the case might end in her favour, and that the season’s invitations would flow in as usual. Sometimes she’d stop in the middle of it, and call out that she couldn’t pray well while that creature was in the next room listening. Luckily, she fell into a heavy sleep, at about half-past two, and didn’t wake till just as I turned up in response to aunt’s telegram. But what a bad hour or two it must have been for Mrs. A.! Picture it! The half-darkened room; my little sister tossing about the bed, raving; aunt sitting grimly on one side, with a handkerchief round her head; and on the other side, hidden behind the bed-curtains, hardly daring to breathe, that woman, with her white face and her eyes almost out of their sockets!
Sir Fletcher enters, carrying some slips of paper covered with writing.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Allingham has had really a most admirable cold luncheon laid in the dining-room. [To Fraser.] You haven’t seen the dining-room?
Fraser.
[Shortly.] No.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Really a capital lunch. Evidently it is intended that one should wander in and eat a wing of a chicken when one feels inclined.
Justina.
You have been wandering, uncle, apparently.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
A glass of sherry, merely. No—it is strange and unreasonable that it should be so, but it is so.
Justina.
What is so?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Why, one has rather a feeling of constraint in sitting down to Allingham’s table—at any rate until matters are in a more settled state. [To Fraser.] You wouldn’t care to—to make the plunge?
Fraser.
Plunge——?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
To break the ice?
Fraser.
Eat his lunch!
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Sitting on the settee and arranging his papers.] No, no; I can quite understand——
Justina.
[Throwing her head back.] Ha!
Fraser.
[To her, angrily.] I believe you would grin by the side of a grave.
Justina.
[Shrugging her shoulders.] Cela dépend.
Fraser.
[Turning away in disgust.] Ah!
Justina.
[Jumping up.] Oh, I’ve had my bad days lately—plenty of ’em! This morning the atmosphere’s a bit clearer. [Gaily.] Tra, la, la!
Fraser.
The woman who can laugh under such circumstances——
Justina.
[Turning upon him.] Laugh! My dear Alec, if you had learnt to laugh when you acquired your other accomplishments, you would have been able perhaps to keep my sister out of the Divorce Court.
[She goes out.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Fussing with his papers.] Fraser——[Fraser comes to him.] When I got to my hotel here last night I jotted down the—the—the leading points—the leading features——
Fraser.
Leading features——?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Of this awkward affair between you and the Allinghams——
Fraser.
[Impatiently.] There is now no question between me and the Allinghams——
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Rising.] My dear Locheen! A lady deliberately stations herself in that room, with the cognizance and approval of her husband, to listen to——
Fraser.
I wish to forget all that occurred last night. It is done with.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Pardon me; it cannot be done with: it ought not to be done with, without the most complete apology—I will not, for reasons you will presently appreciate, hint from which side. [Going to Fraser, button-holing him.] Do you know what has suggested itself to me, Fraser?
Fraser.
[Releasing himself.] No.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Why, sir, if ever there was a matter for reference, for arbitration, this is one!
Fraser.
[Between his teeth.] Arbitration——?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Good heavens, when I open my Times in the morning, and glance at the law reports, how often have I occasion to remark, “That scandal might have been averted, and that, and that——” if only the intervention of some cool, level-headed person had been secured, the intervention of some one possessing the rarest of all gifts—the judicial faculty!
Fraser.
The gift is rare enough upon the bench. People shrink from having their concerns adjudicated by a meddlesome amateur.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
I sent Claude to town for his mother at ten o’clock this morning. When they arrive, the family will be complete—with the exception Of my brother, Thomas Osborne Portwood, who is in Australia; a deplorable case. [Looking about him.] Arbitration dispenses with legal paraphernalia. A table, writing materials, a few chairs arranged—[his eye falling upon a table]—a table. [He moves the table and stands, disposing, by gesture, of an imaginary audience.] Seated here, I should command the room. [Pushing the settee a little further towards the left.] This thing must be differently placed. Chairs there—and there—— [To Fraser.] Locheen, would this be the better room, I wonder, or the library?
Fraser.
[Who has lapsed into thought, rousing himself.] Eh, for what?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
For the arbitration? [Fraser impatiently starts to his feet as Mrs. Cloys enters at the window with John.] Oh, Mr. Allingham, if you will give me just a moment or two——
Mrs. Cloys.
[Taking Sir Fletcher’s arm and drawing him aside.] Not now, Fletcher.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Annoyed.] Harriet——!
[Sir Fletcher and Mrs. Cloys stand outside the window, talking. John comes and faces Fraser.
John.
[With an effort.] I am sorry to hear, Mr. Fraser, that you have been annoyed, while a visitor at my house, by the persistency of my cough.
Fraser.
If I could have assured myself, Mr. Allingham, that your cough was a genuine one, it would not, however violent and grave its attacks, have occasioned me the smallest concern.
John.
I admit the cough was not genuine. I employed it as a sign that I was at hand should you wish to have an explanation with me.
Fraser.
The invitation might have been more explicitly phrased.
John.
It was clear enough for most men. At any rate, I hope the invitation is sufficiently plain now.
Fraser.
Quite.
John.
You decline it, or accept it?
Fraser.
If I hesitate, it is because I hardly know in what language you would choose for me to reply.
John.
Language——?
Fraser.
Words—or a cough?
John.
Oh, whichever you find most procrastinating and evasive.
Fraser.
[Coolly.] I decline your invitation, Mr. Allingham; I have nothing to say to you.
John.
[With clenched hands.] Nothing!
Fraser.
Nothing.
John.
[Glances at Mrs. Cloys, then advances closely to Fraser and speaks to him, in a low voice, beside himself with anger, but betraying nothing by gesture.] Fraser, you are actually responsible for the occurrences of last night. You have never understood your unfortunate wife; but yesterday your behaviour to her was cruel, brutal. I charge you with acting towards her like a brute.
Fraser.
[Looking at him immovably.] Well?
John.
Well——!
Fraser.
I repeat, I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Allingham.
[After a pause, John retreats from Fraser and sits upon the settee, leaning his head upon his hands and uttering a groan.
John.
Fraser, I promised Mrs. Cloys, out in the garden, just now that I would make an attempt to soften matters between us, and—and—offer you some civility—and so on. I began fairly well—[Fraser bows]—and then the conversation took another line. However—[rising, speaking with an effort, not looking at Fraser]—let me say that my house is quite at Mrs. Fraser’s disposal—[with a gulp]—and at yours, for as long as she honours me—as you both honour me—by remaining here. [Fraser again bows, John glares at him.] As for ourselves, whenever we encounter each other I will be careful to look in an opposite direction. Perhaps you will be good enough to follow the same course.
Fraser.
It is one that would have suggested itself to me.
Justina enters.
Justina.
Alec, Theo is coming in to see you.
[John goes out quickly; Justina speaks to Mrs. Cloys.
Mrs. Cloys.
[Entering the room and addressing Fraser.] Theo is ready.
[Mrs. Cloys goes out as Sir Fletcher enters the room.
Justina.
[To him, significantly.] Now, perhaps a little lunch, uncle Fletcher——
[She goes out by the dining-room door.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[To Fraser.] Of course, my sister Harriet throws cold water upon my proposal——
Fraser.
Proposal——?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Arbitration. [Fraser walks away and eyes the upper door anxiously and expectantly.] But when did Harriet fail to throw cold water? I shall sound Allingham and get his views. After all, Harriet is not essential; Harriet is not——
[While speaking he goes to the table, takes up the inkstand and blotting-book and carries them to the other table.
Fraser.
[To Sir Fletcher.] Sir Fletcher, Theophila understands that she is to see me here alone——
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Abstractedly.] I am off; I am off. [Stopping at the door, looking at the table, and slowly tapping his forehead.] Pens—paper; two p.’s.
[He goes out. Fraser comes to the dining-room door, and carefully draws the portière; then he walks away as Mrs. Cloys enters by the upper door with Theophila leaning upon her arm. Theophila is dressed as in the preceding Acts, but without bonnet or cape. Mrs. Cloys places Theophila upon the settee, then goes out at the window, and disappears. Fraser takes a chair and sits.
Fraser.
You—you are very ill, Theophila?
Theophila.
[In a low, level, weary voice, her eyes turned from him.] No; I have just escaped being ill, they say.
Fraser.
I have been out all night, taking steps to find you; your aunt’s telegram did not reach me till late this morning. I hurried here directly.
Theophila.
[Indifferently, her thoughts elsewhere.] Oh?
Fraser.
I hope they told you so.
Theophila.
Yes—I think they did. [Rousing herself slightly.] When did you receive the news that I’d—I’d——?
Fraser.
That you had——?
Theophila.
Run away?
Fraser.
Justina came to Lennox Gardens last night at about half-past six.
Theophila.
It hadn’t struck you as at all likely——?
Fraser.
No.
Theophila.
Men don’t think on some points, I suppose. They hit; they never expect to see a bruise.
Fraser.
The two days we passed in Court, Theophila, set me quite beside myself. I am here to express my deep, my unfeigned regret for my treatment of you. I—I humbly beg your pardon.
Theophila.
[Looking at him for the first time, in an expressionless way.] You know what happened last night?
Fraser.
[With assumed indifference.] Mrs. Cloys—told me—[with a wave of the hand]—oh, yes.
Theophila.
I asked her to tell you all. She has told you all?
Fraser.
[Nodding agitatedly.] For God’s sake, let us never again refer to the subject. Forget my share of yesterday and I will forget yours. [Moving his chair to the head of the settee, to be nearer to her.] Theophila, everything you planned that we should do to reinstate you shall be done; I am prepared to go in with your schemes, heart and soul; all your suggestions shall be acted upon promptly.
Theophila.
[Moving away from him; then, after a brief pause.] No, thank you, Alec.[Alec.]
Fraser.
[Staring at her.] No——?
Theophila.
I’d rather not, now.
Fraser.
Why not?
Theophila.
Things are different.
Fraser.
In what way?
Theophila.
I feel very different. When I asked you yesterday afternoon to lend me a helping hand I was asking for my right. It’s true we haven’t got on well together; you’ve been in one place, I in another, for more than half our married life. It’s true I’ve been miserable and lonely, and have told my tale often enough to him—Mr. Allingham——
Fraser.
[Between his teeth.] Yes, yes.
Theophila.
But, throughout everything, I’ve never been disloyal to you; I’ve always been fair to you when speaking of you behind your back; though I’ve hated you sometimes, I wouldn’t have let a living soul say a word against you in my presence. This is truth,[truth,] Oh, I know I’ve been vilely brought up! ’Tina and I are vulgar and slangy, and generally bad form; and we were once what’s called “fast,” I suppose. But our fastness didn’t amount to much; it was only flirting, and giggling, and dodging mother, and getting lost in conservatories and gardens. Oh, what fools girls are! No, till yesterday I’ve been only silly—silly—nothing but silly—till last night——! till last night——!
Fraser.
[Rising and pacing the room.] You were no more yourself last night than I was myself yesterday afternoon!
Theophila.
[Sitting upright.] Who says I was not myself? It was myself, the dregs of myself, that came to the top last night!
Fraser.
The—the—circumstances—under which you—you behaved as you did——
Theophila.
[Hiding her face in the pillows.] Oh, don’t remind me of it!
Fraser.
I mean, you were weak—ill——
Theophila.
You mean nothing of the sort ... oh-h-h-h, how horrid I must have looked...!
Fraser.
They were mere words you were speaking——
Theophila.
It was me—me!
Fraser.
Surely, if I see no reason why you should not claim my help——?
Theophila.
I see a reason—that’s enough. I repeat, what I asked of you yesterday was my right, my right. But to-day—to-day it would be accepting a favour from you——
Fraser.
Favour!
Theophila.
Favour. A poor, tawdry little thing I’ve always been; but I’ve been proud—yes, very proud—like every woman who is square and honest. But now——! No, if I could pull myself up again, I’d do it, for mother’s sake and ’Tina’s; but never, never, never, after last night, could I accept a favour from my husband!
Fraser.
I hear from your aunt that Mrs. Allingham—this man Allingham’s wife!—generously offers to take you under her wing. Is it so?
Theophila.
[Leaning back, her eyes closed.] Aunt brought me a message to that effect from Mrs. Allingham this morning.
Fraser.
What answer did you send?
Theophila.
None; I am going to see Mrs. Allingham.
Fraser.
I think I understand.
Theophila.
Understand?
Fraser.
This lady’s proposal is, after all, one worth considering. It would be a double triumph for you to ride back into the shabby little circle you regard as “society” in her coach. It would be a triumph over me in the first place—over me!
Theophila.
[Opening her eyes and speaking calmly in a subdued voice.] Alec [glancing over her shoulder], is aunt out there? [He goes to the window and looks out.
Fraser.
Yes.
Theophila.
Call her, please.
[He disappears. She rises feebly, and, with an effort, pushes away the chair Fraser has placed at the head of the settee; then she sinks into it. Mrs. Cloys enters at the window with Fraser, and comes to Theophila.
Mrs. Cloys.
My dear——?
Theophila.
Will you ask Mrs. Allingham to be good enough to come to me?
Mrs. Cloys.
You are equal to seeing her?
Theophila.
Yes—at once.
Mrs. Cloys.
Why are you sitting here?
Theophila.
[Irritably.] Oh, I am not going to appear quite a wreck before Mrs. Allingham. Find her, aunt.
[Mrs. Cloys goes out. Fraser brings a foot-stool to Theophila and places it under her feet. She nods in acknowledgment.
Fraser.
[Sarcastically.] You must not forget to thank Mrs. Allingham for taking her place by your bedside all last night.
Theophila.
[Indignantly.] Ah, it was shameful of aunt to have allowed that! She hid herself behind the curtains and peeped at me. She saw how ugly I was! I’ll never forgive aunt for permitting it! Oh——!
Fraser.
[Glancing at the door.] Sssh——!
[He walks away as Olive enters, followed by Mrs. Cloys. Olive is dressed as in the previous Act. Upon encountering Fraser she slightly inclines her head to him, with eyes averted; he bows stiffly. She then comes and stands before Theophila.
Olive.
[To Theophila.] I—I hope you are better, Mrs. Fraser.
Theophila.
Thank you, yes. [Turning her head.] Don’t go yet, aunt—nor you, Alec. [To Olive.] Mrs. Allingham, my husband comes to me to-day asking me to go back home with him, in order that, after all, we may commence together to fight the “shabby little circle” to which I have, I dare say, attached a great deal too much importance. Well, I’ve declined to go back—declined. But Mr. Fraser has an idea that I’m treating him spitefully because I’ve found a powerful friend in you.
Olive.
Mrs. Fraser, I—I do beg of you not to act hastily, and without good advice. Of course, you are angry, justifiably angry——
Theophila.
Ah——!
Olive.
But pray take time to reflect. Oh, I entreat you to try—in a little while, when you feel less bitter—to try to see your way clear to—to——
Theophila.
To do what?
Olive.
To accept both Mr. Fraser’s help—and mine.
[Theophila partly rises, as if about to make some indignant response, but restrains herself.
Theophila.
I—I can only make the same reply to you, Mrs. Allingham, as I have just made to my husband—thank you, no.
Olive.
You cannot right yourself in the eyes of people without Mr. Fraser’s assistance or mine. And especially mine! You couldn’t accomplish it thoroughly with his help alone; it would be impossible.
Theophila.
Very well then, it’s impossible.
Olive.
[To Fraser.] Mr. Fraser——[Fraser advances a few steps.] Perhaps, by-and-bye, you will add your persuasions to mine that your wife will accept me as your ally?
Fraser.
[Stiffly.] Mrs. Allingham, I regret that what you suggest is, so far as I am concerned, quite out of the question.
Olive.
Mrs. Cloys—[Fraser retires as Mrs. Cloys approaches]—I am sure you can understand the value of the services I am able to render your niece.
Mrs. Cloys.
Oh, perfectly.
Olive.
Then you will try to induce her——?
Mrs. Cloys.
Ah! you must excuse me, Mrs. Allingham——
Olive.
You will not?
Mrs. Cloys.
I may tell you that I anticipated her rejection of your proposal directly you communicated it to me——
Olive.
Indeed?
Mrs. Cloys.
And I must say—[looking at Theophila]—that I fully sympathise with the—ah—the feelings of——
Olive.
[Rigidly.] Of Mrs. Fraser?
Mrs. Cloys.
[Politely.] Of Mrs. Fraser. [Quaife enters, and advances a few steps towards Mrs. Cloys, who speaks to him quickly.] Has——?
[She breaks off, looking at him significantly.
Quaife.
Yes, ma’am.
Mrs. Cloys.
[To Fraser.] Mr. Fraser, may I trouble you to follow me? I have something to say to you. [Quaife withdraws. To Theophila.] I must run away for a few moments. Shall I send Justina to you?
Olive.
[Quickly.] Oh, Mrs. Fraser, let me speak a few words to you while no one is present——!
Theophila.
Certainly.
[Mrs. Cloys passes her hand over Theophila’s head caressingly, then hurries to the door.
Mrs. Cloys.
Mr.Fraser——
[She goes out, Fraser accompanying her. Olive looks round the room, then sits, slowly and deliberately upon the settee.
Olive.
[After a little pause.] Forgive me.
Theophila.
Forgive you——!
Olive.
Oh, do make the effort!
Theophila.
I can’t understand your asking for my forgiveness, wanting it.
Olive.
Endeavour to understand me. I don’t remember that it ever struck me, when you and I were—friends, that your disposition was a jealous one.
Theophila.
No?
Olive.
It isn’t, is it?
Theophila.
I couldn’t go the lengths you’ve gone, from jealousy, if you mean that.
Olive.
[Sadly.] Ah——!
Theophila.
Oh, don’t you think that enough has been done in the name of jealousy? For months and months it has made a hell of my life, your jealousy. People have seen me walking about looking merry; but what sort of days and nights does a woman really spend with the Divorce Court looming before her? “Allingham versus Allingham, Fraser intervening!” that’s the air you’ve kept me dancing to since—goodness knows when the music first struck up! And now I’m to forgive you, offhand, because—you happen to have a jealous disposition!
Olive.
[Falteringly.] You were sustained all the time by the knowledge that you were an innocent, persecuted woman——
Theophila.
Much good did my innocence do me yesterday when they gave me “the benefit of the doubt,” and sent me out of the Court ruined!
Olive.
It does you this much good—that now I am satisfied as to your innocence I am prepared to serve you humbly and faithfully. Oh, Mrs. Fraser, I would be a true friend to you this time! [Rising and standing before Theophila.] Come, forgive me!
Theophila.
[In a low voice.] Well, for the months of awful trouble you gave me, and for those two days in the Divorce Court—yes, you’re welcome to my forgiveness for all that. [Her voice hardening, her hands clenched.] But not for last night!
Olive.
You mustn’t make me wholly responsible for what took place last night.
Theophila.
I do hold you responsible. Why—they’ve told me the story—I know that, when my note to your husband was handed to him, he wanted to send a message to me excusing himself from meeting me. Did you let the message go? There was I waiting out in the lane, my people in this room, all in a fidget to hurry to me and take me away. Did you let them come to me? No, you huddled them out of the way, and then drew your husband into your plot, and trapped me in here. I was the poor rat, half dead, who had been well worried, but who’d a little life still left; so you had me in, panting, and got another few minutes’ sport out of me——
Olive.
[Her hands to her brows.] Oh, don’t, don’t! Mrs. Fraser, at any rate, it was through last night that you cleared yourself——
Theophila.
[Rising, and speaking fiercely.] Cleared myself! Yes, and a pretty price you were the cause of my paying for “clearing myself!” Do you think I’d have willingly cleared myself at that cost? Ah, no decent woman could afford it! Cleared myself!
Olive.
You were mad when you——. You were mad.
Theophila.
You know better! I was sane enough! But mad, or sane, or—or whatever I was, I shall never think the same of myself again, never feel quite the same again. And to-day I’m to forgive you for it! No, if you came to me and told me that you’d just saved the life of some one dear to me, I couldn’t forgive you for last night. I couldn’t! No woman could!
[Olive walks away and stands, looking out into the garden.
Olive.
[After a pause, speaking in a hard voice.] Excuse me for saying so, Mrs. Fraser—but I think you regard your share in the affair of last night more as a schoolgirl would regard it, than as a woman; rather sentimentally, in fact.
Theophila.
Thank God, I’m able to do that! Sentimentally? Well, ninety-nine women out of a hundred are kept fresh and sweet by nothing better than mere sentiment. [Sitting upon the settee, a little faintly.] Where’s ’Tina?
[Olive turns and comes to her; she is wiping the tears from her eyes.
Olive.
You know, if you wished to have your revenge on me, you have it.
Theophila.
Revenge? I?
Olive.
[Turning from Theophila, her hand playing with the arm of the chair.] The services I thought you would allow me to render you are the only means by which I could hope to get my husband to overlook my behaviour of last night. He won’t speak to me to-day.
Theophila.
I’m sorry.
Olive.
After what has happened my one hold on him is through the reparation I could make you. And now—and now—you—— [Throwing herself into the chair, crying.] Oh, it’s like begging to you!
Theophila.
Notwithstanding—all you’ve done—you’re anxious to make it up with your husband, aren’t you?
Olive.
[In a whisper.] You needn’t ask; you’ve heard all about it.
Theophila.
Do you think that, with your nature, you could ever be happy with him, and make him happy?
Olive.
I—I don’t—think of that.
Theophila.
Well, I can’t say anything more than—I’m sorry.
[Olive rises, and, with faltering steps, comes to her.
Olive.
Excuse me being so persistent. [Piteously.] You won’t accept my help? [Theophila, leaning back with closed eyes, shakes her head.] You won’t even—try?
Theophila.
[Faintly, almost inaudibly.] It would be of no use; I couldn’t.
Olive.
[Drawing a long breath, her arms falling by her side.] Ah!
Theophila.
I’m tired. Tell my sister——
Olive.
[Goes to the upper door, opens it, and looks out.] Oh, Quaife, where is Miss Emptage?
Quaife.
[Out of sight.] In the dining-room, ma’am. Shall I——?
Olive.
[Closing the door.] No, thank you. [She goes to the dining-room door, and opens it slightly, without withdrawing the portière.] Miss Emptage!
Justina.
[From the dining-room.] Here!
Olive.
Your sister wishes to return to her room.
[Olive walks away and stands outside the window, as Justina enters and goes to Theophila.
Justina.
[Raising Theophila.] Where’s aunt? Why have they left you alone?
Theophila.
I asked them to.
Justina.
[Lowering her voice.] With her?
Theophila.
Yes.
Justina.
Tell me——!
Theophila.
By-and-bye. Take me away. [Olive disappears.
Justina.
[Walking with Theophila towards the upper door.] Oh, we’ve had such a time in there! Uncle Fletcher’s been boring our heads off on the subject of the blessings of Arbitration; and at last, Jack, who is in a vile temper, almost jumped down his throat.
[They go out, whereupon John is seen to slightly push aside the portière and peep into the room. Satisfied that the room is empty, he enters quickly, closes the door behind him emphatically, and throws himself on to the settee with a groan of weariness. Olive returns; she is about to pass the window, but seeing John she enters quietly, takes a chair and sits. They remain looking at each other for a little while without speaking.
Olive.
Good morning, John—well, afternoon.
John.
Er—Have you lunched?
Olive.
No.
John.
[Looking towards the dining-room door.] It’s in there.
Olive.
[Drily.] Thanks.
John.
I—I’m sorry I can’t offer to wait on you——
Olive.
Oh, pray don’t——!
John.
But Portwood is still eating. I’ve been rude to him.
Olive.
Indeed?
John.
[Rising and walking about.] I believe all these people will drive me crazy! I don’t know where to get to for them.
Olive.
You are in your own house. Need you seek to avoid any of them?
John.
Well, I’m not particularly desirous, for instance, of another encounter with Mr. Fraser.
Olive.
Another. Have you——?
John.
Yes. I’ve been rude to him.
Olive.
Oh! Mrs. Cloys——?
John.
She treats me as a schoolmistress would treat a very small boy in disgrace.
Olive.
Miss Emptage——!
John.
Lectures me and patronises me till my blood curdles. Just now I was almost—well, I hope not——
Olive.
Rude to her?
John.
Yes. And then this maddening old man——? I can’t endure it! Even my servants——
Olive.
Servants?
John.
A minute or two ago I was trying to escape from the dining-room by passing through the kitchen, and I came upon my cook and Mrs. Fraser’s maid discussing me over a bowl of chicken broth. Mrs. Quaife—my cook——! I heard her distinctly! “I never thought Mr. Allingham was that sort of a gentleman,” she said.
Olive.
What sort of a gentleman?
John.
I don’t know. I got away.
Olive.
H’m, I think I should have been rude to her.
John.
And there are two more relatives of Mrs. Fraser’s to arrive yet. [Throwing himself into a chair.] The boy has gone to town to fetch the mother. The mother!
Olive.
[Rising and walking towards the door.] At any rate, I can rid you of one unwelcome guest. [He looks up at her.] I am going, John, directly.
John.
Going home?
Olive.
Going back to my flat.
John.
[Rising.] Then there is no longer any necessity for me to stick in this wretched cottage.
Olive.
I’m sorry to have been the cause——
John.
Of course, I could not leave you here among your—your——
Olive.
Enemies.
John.
Well, hardly friends. Then Mrs. Fraser is well enough to travel?
Olive.
I don’t know, I’m sure.
John.
You’ve relinquished your intention of devoting yourself to her?
Olive.
No, I haven’t relinquished it. Mrs. Fraser will have nothing to do with me.
John.
She has said so?
Olive.
[Sitting upon the settee.] Oh, yes, she has said so.
John.
What reason does she give?
Olive.
She will not receive help from the woman who—who brought that humiliation on her last night. I believe, if she was starving, she wouldn’t take a crust from my hand.
John.
She returns to her husband, I suppose?
Olive.
I think not. She is in the mood to accept nothing from anybody.
John.
[Sitting with his head bowed.] Wounded—wounded.
Olive.
[With a slight shrug of the shoulders.] She’s a sentimental, romantic little person, I find. Well——!
John.
Ha, we didn’t calculate for this when we arranged our ingenious little plan last night! We were to restore Mrs. Fraser’s name and position to her untarnished; we were to set poor little Humpty-Dumpty up again by—when was it?—Goodwood week; all in return for your ten minutes’ fun in there! We were damned generous, you and I—only we reckoned without Mrs. Fraser! [Starting up.] And so, you see, after all, we’ve had our fun, and enjoyed it, and yet pay nothing for it! But, at the same time, we mustn’t forget that in this world everything has to be paid for by somebody. By Jove, there’s no doubt as to who stands treat for last night! Mrs. Fraser pays! that poor little, broken-down woman pays! She pays——!
Olive.
[Rising.] You blame me beyond all reason! I’ll not put up with it! Why didn’t you call her aunt into the room last night when you saw Mrs. Fraser becoming wilder and wilder? [Walking away.] Pah! you appeared moonstruck! moonstruck!
John.
I thought I might save her from meeting her people while she was so unlike herself. You know I was helpless——[She approaches; he seizes her by the shoulders.] You—you reproach me! Why didn’t you strike that bell sooner? why didn’t you strike it sooner? [Leaving her, and throwing himself into a chair.] Ah, you weren’t capable even of that!
Olive.
[Tearfully, rubbing her shoulders.] Oh, John——!
John.
I beg your pardon.
Olive.
[Going to him slowly, leaning against the balustrade.] John——
John.
Well?
Olive.
I will confess it to you—I didn’t strike the bell at all.
John.
You—did not?
Olive.
I was under the impression I had stopped the clock before I sat down to listen, but in my agitation I must have shaken it and started it again. [Kneeling beside John’s chair.] The clock struck of its own accord.
John.
And you sat there, drinking in every word; and when the poor creature had cleared herself, and satisfied you, still you made no effort——! [Rising.] Oh!
Olive.
[Seizing his coat.] John, I couldn’t move from that curtain! I was a wretch! Pity me! I couldn’t stir! [John walks away. She rises from the ground and sits.] Oh, get me a carriage of some sort to take me to the station.
John.
[Going towards the bell.] I’ll tell Quaife. [Pausing, looking at her.] I don’t know—I can’t imagine—how you are going to get through your life——
Olive.
Oh, please! I’ve been lectured by Mrs. Fraser, Oh, there are heaps of solitary women in the world; some people envy them. [He sits upon the settee.] Now that—now that—the chances of our coming together again have fallen through, I shall be off out of London at once. Where can one go to at this time of the year?
John.
[Abstractedly.] Eh? Er—it’s a bit early for most places.
Olive.
I’m going to Aix in August.
John.
[Looking up.] You are?
Olive.
Oh! Why, did you think of——?
John.
Yes. But it doesn’t matter.
Olive.
Oh, I don’t want to interfere with your——
John.
Aix is a pretty big place.
Olive.
Where will you stay?
John.
I’ve been told, the “Splendide”——
Olive.
Oh——!
John.
What?
Olive.
I can easily put up elsewhere.
John.
You needn’t. I dare say the “Splendide” is quite large enough for two people who—who——
Olive.
Who want to keep far apart. [Rising, and going towards the door, pausing by the head of the settee.] How ridiculous that reconciliation of ours last night! Why, how many weeks should we have been together?
John.
[His head resting upon his hands.] Not many—not many, I’m afraid.
Olive.
Weeks! Days, I should have said—or hours. “Heaven have mercy upon us! we’re reconciled!” Do you remember—last night——?
John.
Ha! yes.
Olive.
“Heaven have mercy upon us!” Ha, ha!
John.
Heaven have mercy on us!
Olive.
[Wiping the tears from her eyes.] I—I’ll go and put my bonnet on. [He rises, and she holds out her hand.] Good-bye, John.
John.
[Taking her hand, looking away.] Good-bye.
Olive.
[Suddenly drawing back.] Oh——!
John.
What?
Olive.
[Breathlessly.] Oh, yes——!
John.
Olive?
Olive.
Ah—h—h—h, you’ll find plenty of pretty women at Aix——!
Quaife enters, showing in Mrs. Emptage and Claude. Quaife retires. Mrs. Emptage is in a bright and fashionable morning dress.
Mrs. Emptage.
[To Olive.] Mrs. Allingham——! [To Claude.] Claude, keep by me. My legs are all of a tremble. Where is my daughter, Mrs. Fraser? Take me to her. I am very ill indeed; I fancy this affair has affected my heart——
John.
Pray sit down for a moment.
Mrs. Emptage.
[Sitting down.] We used to be friends, Mr. Allingham—great friends; now I wonder you can look me in the face. [Panting.] I have heard everything from Claude. I am ashamed—I must say it—I am ashamed of you and your wife.
[Olive makes a movement, as if to go; John detains her.
John.
[To Olive.] No, no; I don’t think we’ll run away and hide any more. [Turning to Mrs. Emptage.] But I hope that Mrs. Emptage will be kind enough to apply to me, alone, any harsh expressions she may care to make use of——
Sir Fletcher enters.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Advancing.] Ah, Muriel——!
Mrs. Emptage.
[Rising, throwing her arms round Sir Fletcher’s neck.] Oh, Fletcher, Fletcher! I’ve hardly closed my eyes all night!
claude.
May I ask what has gone on during my absence?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
During your absence——!
Mrs. Emptage.
Is Alec here?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Yes, the family gathering is complete.
Mrs. Emptage.
Does Theo return to Lennox Gardens? Has an arrangement of any sort been come to?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
None that I know of. I seem to be powerless.
Mrs. Cloys and Fraser enter.
Claude.
[Meeting them.] ’Ullo, aunt! ’ullo, Fraser!
[Mrs. Emptage totters to Mrs. Cloys. Claude retires. John walks away to the fireplace. Olive is now seated upon the settee.
Mrs. Emptage.
[Embracing Mrs. Cloys.] Oh, Harriet, I am very poorly; I don’t think I have had two hours’ rest all night. [Going to Fraser and kissing him.] Alec, you will prove a generous, good fellow—of that I am sure. Poor Theo has behaved very indiscreetly. I really believe my heart has been upset by it all——
Mrs. Cloys.
I have something important to say, Muriel. Pray sit down and be quiet.
Mrs. Emptage.
[In a flutter.] I know, I know. Unless I can be kept quiet it will be very serious for me. [In her agitation, she is about to sit upon the settee beside Olive.] Oh, dear, what am I doing! [Moving away, she stops, pointing to the library.] Great heavens! was that the room——?
Mrs. Cloys.
Sssh! [Mrs. Emptage sits again. Fraser goes to the window and stands there, apart, his back turned to those in the room.] What I have to say concerns the future Of Theophila——[There is a movement on the part of John and Olive.] Please, let nobody go. All who are here are interested in the future of Mrs. Fraser—[looking at Olive]—and I believe sympathetically interested. [Sitting.] In fact, I want it to be known that a very happy arrangement has been arrived at.
Mrs. Emptage.
[To Sir Fletcher.] Fletcher, you said no arrangement had been arrived at.
Sir Fletcher.
I have not been consulted, Harriet.
Mrs. Cloys.
I did not consider it necessary, Fletcher. There was a question whether the plan I had in view could be carried out.
Sir Fletcher.
Then you—you have constituted yourself a—a sort of—arbitrator——
Mrs. Cloys.
As you say, a sort of arbitratrix, I suppose.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
The cloak of pedantry, Harriet, scarcely conceals your want of respect for your brother.
[Passing Mrs. Cloys, as if about to quit the room.
Mrs. Cloys.
[Touching his arm.] We’ll all keep our tempers, Fletcher. [He remains.] Yes, the thought came to me during the night—a long, anxious night——
Mrs. Emptage.
Ah, indeed!
Mrs. Cloys.
The thought that I would telegraph to the bishop the very first thing this morning.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
The bishop!
Mrs. Cloys.
Asking, him to come to me at once.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Will he do so?
Mrs. Cloys.
The bishop is goodness and compliance personified. He left St. Olpherts at ten o’clock this morning; he is here.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Here!
Mrs. Emptage.
I shall be ashamed to meet him; after my sleepless night my face is so dreadfully lined——!
Mrs. Cloys.
The bishop does not notice the lines in women’s faces. Directly he arrived, I submitted my scheme; in two words, he approved; it will be carried into execution.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
I do not ask what scheme.
Mrs. Cloys.
Theophila returns to St. Olpherts at once with us. She will rest there two or three days, by which time I shall have found a suitable house in town——
Mrs. Emptage.
In town——?
Mrs. Cloys.
The bishop and I have not had a house in town for some years. Mr. Fraser kindly sees house agents this afternoon.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
I would willingly have seen house agents, Harriet. A furnished house——?
Mrs. Cloys.
[Assenting.] For the season—sufficiently large for the dear bishop, myself, and Theophila. Both in London and at St. Olpherts, Theophila will be my close companion. In our little London gaieties she will figure prominently. At certain formal gatherings she will share the responsibilities of the hostess. If any paragraph concerning our doings should creep into the newspaper, it will concern the Bishop of St. Olpherts, Mrs. Cloys, and Mrs. Fraser of Locheen. Oh, I don’t think there will be many to wag evil tongues against Mrs. Fraser a few months hence!
[Olive rises, and advances to Mrs. Cloys, who stands as she approaches.
Olive.
[In a low voice, to Mrs. Cloys.] I’m glad; I’m very glad.
Mrs. Cloys.
That’s right.
Olive.
[Falteringly.] But your—your scheme owes—just a little to my idea, doesn’t it?
Mrs. Cloys.
I admit it. Mrs. Allingham, I am sure you don’t grudge——
Olive.
No, no; indeed I don’t. I—I hope you will succeed—to the utmost——
[She turns away, and goes out by the dining-room door.
Mrs. Emptage.
[Rising, fretfully.] It seems to me everything is taken out of one’s hands——
Sir Fletcher.
In a most unceremonious way——
Mrs. Emptage.
[Glancing at Fraser, who is now out in the garden.] What about Alec—Mr. Fraser——?
Sir Fletcher.
Of course, any policy that doesn’t tend to bring my niece and her husband together——
Mrs. Cloys.
Ah, I haven’t told you. Mr. Fraser is to be a frequent—a fairly frequent visitor in London, and at St. Olpherts.
Sir Fletcher.
[With a sniff.] Visitor——
Mrs. Cloys.
And it is further arranged that, in a year’s time, Mr. Fraser comes to us and formally asks Theophila to return to Lennox Gardens.
Mrs. Emptage.
And when he does——?
Mrs. Cloys.
Then we shall see what we shall see.
Sir Fletcher.
[Walking away.] I can’t quite explain my feeling—but I am not sanguine—not at all sanguine.
Mrs. Emptage.
At any rate, in less than twelve months, if I know my girl, she will have grown heartily sick of her solemn surroundings.[surroundings.]
Mrs. Cloys.
[Indignantly.] How dare you——! how——! [Checking herself.] Well, suppose she does weary of me, good will result even from that if it sends her back to her husband.
[The door opens, and the Bishop of St. Olpherts enters with Theophila upon his arm. Justina follows them, carrying a shawl. The bishop is a mild-looking, very old man. Theophila is dressed in her cape and bonnet, and her face is hidden under her thick veil.
Theophila.
[Coming to Mrs. Emptage, and kissing her.] Mother——
[Mrs. Emptage kisses her hastily and, bustles over to the Bishop.
Mrs. Emptage.
Ah, Bishop, I can hardly hope you’ll recollect me.
Bishop.
[Vaguely.] Yes, yes, yes.
Mrs. Emptage.
[With a simper.] Muriel, you know.
Bishop.
[Taking her hand.] Mrs. Emptage——!
Mrs. Emptage.
Don’t tell me; I know I’m altered.
Bishop.
Ah, years pass over us.
Mrs. Emptage.
It isn’t that—but I had no sleep last night.
[Sir Fletcher advances, and grasps the Bishop’s hand.
Sir Fletcher.
I remember years ago, at the opening of the People’s Library at Stockwell, describing Dr. Cloys as one of the stoutest pillars of our Church——
Bishop.
[Uneasily.] The People’s Library at——?
Sir Fletcher.
Stockwell. To-day I have only to add—may that pillar never grow faint nor weary; may its[its] back remain equal to the burden imposed upon it; may it continue to plough the stormy seas of scepticism and agnosticism!
Bishop.
[Helplessly.] Er-r—who is it?
Mrs. Cloys.
My brother Fletcher.
Bishop.
Ah, how do you do?
Quaife appears.
Mrs. Cloys.
Is the fly here?
Quaife.
Yes, ma’am.
[Quaife withdraws. The Bishop moves towards the window, Sir Fletcher closely following him.
Theophila.
[To Mrs. Emptage.] Good-bye, mother dear.
Mrs. Emptage.
[Embracing her.] Oh, good-bye, my darling. I won’t reproach you. If you make a bed you must lie on it. You’ve nearly broken my heart, but I’m only your mother——
Theophila.
Oh, don’t——!
Mrs. Emptage.
[In a whisper.] Mind you see that we visit you constantly in London and St Olpherts!
Theophila.
Yes, yes. [As she is walking away, she sees John—who has been standing silently behind the settee, his back turned to those in the room—and she says to the others.] One moment. [She comes down, looking at John.] Mr. Allingham. [He approaches her slowly. After a pause she says in a low voice.] Oh, Jack, how could you? [He bows his head, making no reply.] Well—for auld lang-syne——[She holds out her hand; he takes it, but releases it quickly. She turns to go, then pauses.] Where’s your wife? [He looks towards the dining-room door. She hesitates for a moment, then, goes out quickly by that door.]
Mrs. Cloys.
[Looking round.] Theophila—Theophila——
John.
[Watching the door.] She will be here in a moment; she is with my wife.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[His voice rising.] My dear bishop, it is my view of life, and the observation has some theological bearing, that the devil almost invariably appears to women in the form of Impulse. In saying this, I am perhaps on the verge of a truism——
Bishop of St. Olpherts.
No, no, no.
Theophila re-enters; her veil is raised.
Theophila.
[As she passes John, lowering her veil.] It’s all right.
[There is a hubbub of talk as Theophila and her relatives go out at the upper door.
Mrs. Emptage.
You will need a warm wrap, Theo.
Justina.
I have one here, mother.
Mrs. Cloys.
Now, Bishop——
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
Is the carriage closed?
Bishop of St. Olpherts.
I hope not.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
You shall run no risk, my dear bishop——
Mrs. Emptage.
Claude, come to the gate. Give me your arm, Alec——
[The talk ceases. John is alone. After a pause he goes out into the garden and stands looking off towards the left, as if watching the departing carriage. Olive enters slowly and sadly; she sits upon the settee, covering her eyes with her hand. John re-enters the room. Seeing Olive, he remains where he is for a moment or two irresolutely; then he comes down to her, sits beside her and takes her hand.
THE END.
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Transcriber’s Note
Minor inconsistencies in the punctuation of stage directions have been regularized.
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original. The following issues should be noted, along with the resolutions.
| [v.5] | on the same day[,] | Added. |
| [5.17] | Taking a screw of paper from her glove[.] | Added. |
| [25.2] | But I must have[ have] every support | Redundant. |
| [216.19] | Allowe[d]—what? | Added. |
| [242.17] | No, thank you, Alec[.] | Added. |
| [243.22] | This is truth[!/,] truth!] | Replaced. |
| [286.9] | grown heartily sick of her solemn surroundings[.] | Added. |
| [288.14] | may it[’]s back remain equal to the burden | Removed. |