CHARACTERS.
| Mrs. Granby. | |
| Clara, | Her Daughter. |
| Aunt Patience Burton, | a Lady of Property. |
| Ernest Montgomery, | Clara’s Suitor. |
| Servant. |
Scene I.—Mrs. Granby’s sitting-room. Mrs. G., C., with sober countenance, holds in her hand an open letter, on which her eyes are fixed. Enter her daughter Clara, R.
Clara. Does your letter contain any sad news, ma?
Mrs. Granby. Not exactly sad news,—but disagreeable, to say the least.
C. (interested). What is it?
Mrs. G. (glancing at letter). This is a letter from Aunt Patience Burton. She is coming to make us a visit.
C. That is horrible news. I shouldn’t want Ernest to see her—she is so fussy and homely.
Mrs. G. He will, no doubt, feel as we do, that money is of more consequence than a handsome face. Besides, we shan’t be troubled with her long.
C. How long do you suppose she will stop here?
Mrs. G. A week or two, I suppose. That is the usual length of her visits.
C. (with the air of a martyr). Well, I suppose we must try to endure her presence for that length of time—hoping for our final reward.
Mrs. G. (in a brighter tone). If she could only be persuaded into making her will in our favor, I shouldn’t consider the trouble of having her here anything.
C. How much is she supposed to be worth?
Mrs. G. About thirty thousand dollars.
C. Just think how much more that amount would benefit us than it does her. I dare say she hoards it up like a miser.
Mrs. G. (smiling). That will be all the better for us.
C. Yes, if we get it. But when does the letter say she is coming?
Mrs. G. I did not notice particularly. Let me see. (Looks over letter—reads:) “You may expect me Friday, the twenty-fifth, wind and weather permitting.”
C. (interrupting). The twenty-fifth! Why, that’s to-day! (Bell rings outside.)
Mrs. G. And there is the bell. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if that were she. (Both rise.)
(Enter, L., a prim, elderly lady, with corkscrew curls, and wearing an old-fashioned bonnet.)
Mrs. G. (greeting her with a smile of welcome, and shaking hands warmly). Why, Aunt Patience, how glad I am to see you! Clara and I were just speaking of you.
Aunt Prudence (diving into the recesses of an ample pocket). Wait a minute, Elviry. (Takes out an ear-trumpet, which she adjusts to her ear.) There, now we can talk.
Mrs. G. (in a loud tone). I had no idea you were so deaf, aunt.
A. P. I’m getting old, you know, and can’t expect to keep my faculties like younger people. But where’s Clara?
Mrs. G. This is Clara. (Steps aside for her daughter to approach.) Didn’t you recognize her?
A. P. No, she’s grown so I didn’t know her. How d’ye do, dear?
C. (shaking hands). How do you do, aunt? I’m glad to see you here.
A. P. Thank ye, child. It’s pleasant to find that old folks aint always forgotten and wished out of the way.
Mrs. G. (in a loud voice). Let me assist you in taking off your bonnet.
A. P. You needn’t speak so loud when I have my trumpet.
Mrs. G. Then you can hear without using it?
A. P. Yes, but not without you speak pretty loud. (Lays her trumpet down.)
Mrs. G. (taking aunt’s bonnet, and carrying it to table. Addressing daughter.) You see, she’s as deaf as can be. (Old lady sits down.)
C. That’s lucky. We can relieve our minds without her hearing us. Is she going to stay long?
Mrs. G. I don’t know. I will ask her. (In a loud voice:) I hope you are going to make us a long visit.
A. P. I shan’t be able to stop more than a month. But perhaps it won’t be convenient for you to have me with you so long.
Mrs. G. (in a loud tone to aunt). We shall be delighted (in a lower tone to her daughter) when you go away. That’s true, isn’t it, Clara?
C. Yes, indeed. But (dismally) do you suppose we can live through the month?
Mrs. G. We must try to, for the sake of the money. (To Aunt P.) Have you been well, lately, aunt?
A. P. No, I’ve enjoyed dreadful poor health this winter. I’ve been most dead with roomatiz and I haven’t got over it yet.
Mrs. G. It must have been hard to bear.
A. P. Yes, it made me feel as if I ought to make my will, and I think I shall make it as soon as I get home again.
Mrs. G. Oh, you have many years yet to live, aunt.
A. P. I can see well enough that I am getting old, and cannot live long, anyway. I get tired out very easy. I think I shall have to ask you to show me to the room I am to occupy, and I will lie down awhile. I aint much used to travelling, and it tires me.
Mrs. G. Shan’t I get you a cup of tea, aunt?
A. P. Oh, no. All I need is a little rest.
(Exit, R.)
Mrs. G. There, I think we have made a good impression. If she only makes a will in our favor, I shall consider the attentions we pay her a good investment.
C. But suppose she shouldn’t leave her money to us?
Mrs. G. Oh, don’t let your imagination run in that direction. We must manage to get into her good graces, so that we may become her heirs.
C. Well, I will do all I can to bring about so desirable a result.
(Exit Mrs. G., R. Curtain falls.)
Scene II.—The same. Aunt P., R., knitting. Clara, C., sitting idly, with book in her hand.
A. P. Didn’t you hear the bell just now, Clara?
C. Yes, I am expecting a friend here to-night. Ah (rising as Ernest Montgomery enters, L.), good-evening, Ernest.
Ernest Montgomery. Good-evening. You were expecting me, I suppose.
C. Of course I was. I always remember appointments. But I suppose I must introduce you to my aunt. (In a loud tone:) Aunt Patience, this is Mr. Montgomery.
A. P. (extending her hand to the young man). I am very glad to see him.
C. (to E. M.). We shan’t need to take any further notice of her. She’s deaf as an adder, and can’t hear a word without her trumpet unless we scream at her. I believe you never saw her before.
E. M. No.
C. She isn’t very handsome, is she?
E. M. Aren’t you afraid she’ll hear you?
C. Oh no, she’s too deaf.
E. M. But deaf people generally hear things that are not intended for their ears.
C. Well, I’ll run the risk. When we speak to her she seldom hears the first time.
A. P. What was that you said?
C. (in a loud tone). Only that it was so long since you had been here that we should try to make you have a pleasant time.
A. P. (in a satisfied tone). Oh, was that it? Thank you, child.
E. M. (with admiration). You got out of that well.
C. Trust me for that. When one has a rich aunt, it is the best to keep on the right side of her.
A. P. Did you speak to me, Clara?
C. No; I was telling Mr. Montgomery how fond I was of cider.
A. P. I used to like cider when I was a girl; but that was the genuine article, and we used to go to the mill where they made it, and take it through a straw.
E. M. (interested). So your aunt is rich?
C. Yes; she is said to be worth thirty thousand dollars.
E. M. That’s quite a fortune.
A. P. (as if talking to herself). Yes; deafness is quite a misfortune; but one doesn’t mind it so much when they’re stopping among their own relations.
C. (smiling). Yes, it is quite a fortune, and of course we put up with her oddities for the sake of the money, which will, most of it, come to us.
E. M. She may outlive you.
C. That’s what I’m afraid of. It would be just our luck to have her live to be a hundred.
E. M. How old is she now?
C. About sixty-five.
E. M. Then you would only have to wait thirty-five years for it.
C. We might as well never have her money as to wait so long as that for it.
E. M. It would be rather a long while, that’s a fact. By that time you would look as your aunt does now. Do you know, I think you resemble her very much?
C. (tapping him playfully with her fan). Take that for your impertinence, sir. I must be a charming damsel, if that were the case.
E. M. So I thought; which was why I made the remark.
C. (flushing). I don’t esteem it any compliment.
A. P. What was that you said, Clara?
C. I was saying to Mr. Montgomery that people seldom say what they mean.
A. P. (nodding). That’s true—that’s true enough. (After a pause—holding up knitting.) Well, there, I’ve got that stocking pretty well along, and haven’t been knitting a great while, either. Mr. Montgomery, may I trouble you to tell me what time it is?
E. M. It is no trouble, madam, I assure you. (Looks at watch.) It is about (hesitates) five minutes past ten.
A. P. Five minutes past ten! I had no idea ’twas so late. (Gathers up her knitting.) That’s long past the time I usually go to bed. Good-night, Mr. Montgomery; good-night, Clara.
C. Good-night, aunt.
E. M. Good-evening, madam.
(Exit Aunt Patience, R.)
C. What made you tell her it was so late? It isn’t more than nine o’clock.
E. M. (looking at watch). It is just half-past eight. But although I enjoyed her society exceedingly, I was willing to deny myself that pleasure for the sake of having a little private conversation with you on a very important matter. (Clara casts down her eyes. Mr. Montgomery draws his chair near hers, and takes her hand.)
(Curtain falls.)
Scene III.—The same. Mrs. Granby, R., and Clara, L., present.
C. Doesn’t it seem a great relief to have Aunt Patience gone?
Mrs. G. I must say that it does. I was constantly anxious for fear she would learn our real feelings, though I flatter myself we concealed them quite carefully.
C. I don’t believe she suspected at all that we were glad her visit was over. Deaf people are most always obtuse.
Mrs. G. I hope it may prove so, for her money would be a great help to us. In fact, I don’t see how we can get along without it.
C. It would be very convenient if she would let us have an instalment of a few thousands soon—before my marriage, for instance.
Mrs. G. Yes, in that case we could afford to send to Paris for your trousseau. But has the time for the wedding been fixed?
C. Yes; Ernest wishes it to take place in June.
Mrs. G. I spoke of your marriage as liable to take place soon, and hoped Aunt Patience would take the hint; but she didn’t seem to.
C. What reply did she make?
Mrs. G. She said she hadn’t anything special against Mr. Montgomery, but that she would never think of choosing him for a husband.
C. Perhaps he reciprocates her feelings. I don’t think it would be a suitable match myself.
Mrs. G. (smiling). Being an interested party, perhaps you are not a suitable judge.
(Servant enters, R., bearing a letter, which she passes to Mrs. G.)
Mrs. G. (surprised). A letter from Aunt Patience, as I live!
Servant. Yes, ma’am, and there’s a box downstairs, with one end of the old lady’s ear-trumpet sticking out of it.
Mrs. G. Very well, you may let it remain there for the present.
(Exit Servant, R.)
C. (clasping her hands, while an expression of horror overspreads her face). Don’t say Aunt Patience is coming back again. I certainly think I couldn’t survive such an event.
Mrs. G. (who has read the letter—quite soberly). It is worse than that.
C. Worse! I don’t know of anything that could be worse than another visit from Aunt Patience.
Mrs. G. Very well—read the letter and satisfy yourself.
C. (Taking the letter, which she reads aloud:)
“Niece Elvira: Thinking you might be anxious to hear from me, I write to say that I reached home safely. But since my arrival I have had an attack of rheumatic fever. Therefore, feeling that life is uncertain, yesterday I made my will. Before visiting you I had decided to leave my property to you; but I changed my mind, and have concluded to leave it to the Home for Aged Women, a charitable institution, where it will, I hope, do a great deal of good.
“I shall not visit you again. It would be too much of a tax on you to ask you to put up with my odd ways. As you remarked to Clara when I came that you would be delighted to have me go, this information will doubtless be pleasing to you. Besides, I have a presentiment that I shall not live long, notwithstanding Clara’s fears to the contrary.
“Although deaf as an adder when I came to visit you, my hearing has been wonderfully restored, so that I can now dispense with my ear-trumpet. I therefore send it to you, hoping it may do you as good service as it did me, in showing me for what I was valued most.
“Aunt Patience.”
(Mrs. G. and Clara look blankly at each other.)
Mrs. G. So it seems we are not to have any of Aunt Patience’s money after all.
C. (indignantly). It’s a real mean thing for any one to be so deceitful—going round pretending to be deaf. I’m glad she isn’t coming here again. I couldn’t endure the sight of her.
Serv. (entering, R.). Here’s a note that Mr. Montgomery left for you.
C. (surprised). Has he been here?
Serv. Yes, he came just after the expressman brought the box.
C. But why didn’t he stop?
S. He heard you reading the letter, and he said he couldn’t stop but a moment; a message would do just as well as seeing you. So he wrote this note in the drawing-room, and asked me to give it to you. (Clara gazes at the note. Servant goes out, R.)
Mrs. G. Why don’t you read your note?
C. I am so surprised. (Unfolds the paper—reads aloud:)
“Miss Clara Granby: I have received an appointment which will carry me to India, and I am to sail for that place this afternoon. I called to bid you good-by, but finding you engaged, and being myself in great haste, I make my adieu on paper. As I may be gone for a long time, perhaps a number of years, I deem it my duty to release you from your engagement.
“Ernest Montgomery.”
Mrs. G. What does it mean?
C. (contemptuously). It means that he overheard enough of Aunt Patience’s letter to know that we are not to have any of her property; so he has magnanimously released me from my engagement.
Mrs. G. But what are you going to do about it?
C. Do? I don’t know as there is anything to be done. In fact, my present feelings of indifference towards him show that my affections were not involved, and I am well satisfied to have him leave me as he has done. As to Aunt Patience, I guess we can get along without any of her money. I have several accomplishments that can be turned to account if necessity requires it.
Mrs. G. (with motherly solicitude, and looking at the matter from a practical point of view). But young ladies who earn their own living are considered strong-minded, and never get married. I couldn’t bear to have you an old maid.
C. (calmly). Well, I don’t know as that would be a terrible fate. It would be a more independent life than marriage would give me. On the whole, I think I shall decide to live a single life. (Smiling.) Still, as an old lady of eighty once said: “I’ve made up my mind not to get married, and I don’t expect to; but if the Lord should see fit to send me a good husband, I should try to be resigned.”
(Curtain falls.)