“MAN PROPOSES”
IN
SEVERAL DECLARATIONS
AND
ONE ACT
Place
Morning room at the Wortleys.
Time
After dinner, and before the masked ball.
Characters
Miss Agnes Wortley
(A winner of hearts).
Mrs. Van Tromp
(A widow to be won).
Polly
(A serving maid who serves).
Mr. Stuart
(A theoretical bachelor).
Mr. Reginald De Lancey Van Tromp
(A man with ancestors).
Mr. Charlie Newbank
(A man with money).
Mr. Frederick Stevens
(A man with neither).
Scene.—Morning room in city house,—doors l. and b. Fireplace with fire l. c. Writing-desk, with matches, pens, ink, paper, and handbell back centre—chair at desk. Down stage l., easy-chair, and an ottoman or light chair c. At extreme down stage r. corner, a bay window, with practical curtains, and a divan seat. On mantel a clock which strikes ten as soon as curtain rises.
Enter Polly l. d.
Polly (coming down wearily). Mercy, how tired I am! And no chance of rest for at least six hours (drops into chair c.). Dinners and balls may be fun for those who do the eating and dancing, but it’s death on us poor servants. I’m worked hard enough usually, in all conscience’ sake, but Miss Agnes has given me just the hardest day I’ve ever seen! (Imitates Agnes giving orders.) “Polly, is my bath ready?” “Polly, give me my dressing-gown.” “Polly, bring me my coffee.” “Now dress my hair, Polly.” “Get me my habit, Polly.” (Rises.) “While I’m in the park, Polly, sew the ribbons on my two dominos.” “Oh, and I’ll be too busy to-day to write acknowledgments for the bouquets, Polly, so you may write to Mr. Stevens and Mr. Van Tromp and Mr. Newbank, and any others that come, thanking them for their lovely flowers, which are now filling my room with sweetness!” From seven till eight it’s been nothing but “Polly, do this,” and “Polly, do that,” and “Where’s Polly?” And no one so much as said “Polly, want a cracker?” I haven’t had a chance to sit down since I got up. I even had to eat my dinner off the laundry tubs (mimics eating with pen and paper-cutter at desk) standing, because the caterers were everywhere, getting the dinner and ball supper ready. Miss Agnes says she’s all “worn out.” I wish she could try my work once in a while. How I should enjoy telling the rich and sought-after Miss Agnes Wortley to (mimicking) “button my shoes,” (sticks out foot) or (waves her hand) “fetch me my gloves!” I would give a month’s wages if I could only take her place just for to-night at the masked ball. (Speaking with excitement.) When she decided that she must have two dominos, so that she could change in the middle of the ball, I thought to myself: ‘What’s to prevent your slipping on the domino she isn’t wearing, and going downstairs?’ (Muses.) If I only dared! I could easily slip out before she wanted to change! (Pause.) No! I mustn’t even think of it or the temptation will be too great.
[Goes to fireplace, and sitting on rug pokes the fire.
Stuart appears b. d. and looks in.
Polly. It would be such fun! Think of being Miss Agnes for one evening and dancing with all her admirers! Oh, my! Supposing one should propose! Mr. Newbank! (Laughs.) Or Mr. Van Tromp! (Laughs again.) I’d know what I’d say to them! Mr. Stevens? I wonder if she cares for him.
Stuart. And how about Mr. Stuart?
Polly (springing up, flustered). Oh, Jiminy! Oh—I beg your pardon, Mr. Stuart, I was—I—
[Hesitates.
Stuart (laughing). Poking the fire, eh? Is this room free territory?
Polly. Yes, Mr. Stuart. It’s Miss Wortley’s boudoir, but she thought it would be a nice place for people to come when they were tired of dancing downstairs.
[Curtsey's and exits l. d.
Stuart (calling out r.). This way, Fred. Here’s a quiet nook saved from the universal ruin and bareness of downstairs.
[Comes down.
Enter Fred, b. d., slowly.
Stuart. Isn’t this luck?
Fred (gloomily). There isn’t any such thing! Or if there is, I never get any.
Stuart. Now, Fred, you can’t say that after this. You and I don’t want to stay and smoke with the men. Neither do we want to join the ladies. The other rooms are as bare and uncomfortable as waxed floors and camp-chairs can make them. I suggest trying upstairs, and when I discover and pilot you to this oasis in the desert, you at once begin to grumble.
Fred. I’m sorry I’m bad company, Mr. Stuart; but if I’m so to you, just think what I must be to myself.
Stuart. There is something in that.
Fred. And you only see me occasionally, and I’m with myself day and night.
Stuart (laughing). Pity you can’t hire some one to kill your disagreeable companion. I wonder if a jury wouldn’t bring in a verdict of justifiable homicide, if you drowned or hung him.
Fred. I’d like to!
Stuart. Curious. Such a dinner, even when I know it’s to be followed by a ball, always puts me in a beatific state of mind.
Fred (wearily). I thought it very long and tedious.
Stuart. And what is worse, you looked it. You looked as glum all through as if you were waiting for the last trump.
Fred (crossly). It wasn’t the last trump I was waiting for. I was—
Stuart (interrupting). No, I misworded my sentence. You were waiting for the last of Van Tromp.
Fred. Oh, pshaw!
[Rises and crosses to r. angrily.
Stuart (laughing). You don’t seem to enjoy my pun?
Fred. Oh, if it pleases you, go ahead.
[Goes up and sits on desk.
Stuart. Fred, you make a mistake to go into society while you are in this mood. Take a friend’s advice and cut it till you are better tempered.
Fred (impatiently). I don’t go because I enjoy it.
Stuart (sarcastically). Ah! You go to make it pleasant for others.
Fred. No, I go because she goes.
Stuart (laughing). Will you tell me why a woman’s reason is always a “because,” and a man’s is always a “she”?
Fred. She‘s an excuse for anything!
Stuart. Even for Charlie Newbank?
Fred (rising angrily). Look here, Mr. Stuart, I’ll take a good deal from you; but there is a limit.
Stuart (soothingly). Excuse me, my boy. It is brutal in me, but I am trying to see if I can’t laugh you out of it.
Fred (sits chair l. as if discouraged). No use! As they say out West, it’s come to stay and grow up with the country.
Stuart. Oh, I didn’t mean your love for Miss Wortley. She’s a sweet, unspoiled girl, in spite of her own and her papa’s money, and I hope you’ll win her. I was only trying to cheer you out of your dumps, and make you look at the golden side of things.
Fred. That’s just what I see all the time, and what comes between us. I can’t forget her money.
Stuart (springing to his feet). There! That goes to prove a pet little theory of mine, that it is rather hard for a rich girl to marry well.
Fred. I should think you needed a confirmatory evidence.
Stuart. You are just like the rest! You take the conventionally superficial view of it.
Fred. Very well, turn lawyer and argue your case before referee Mr. Frederick Stevens, junior member of the celebrated firm of Mary, Green and Hart.
Stuart. You fire my ambition. Well, (rising and imitating legal style) your honour, and gentlemen of the jury, a priori and imprimis we start with the postulate that the party of the first part, otherwise the girl with money, is usually so spoiled that most fellows won’t care for her. But we will leave that out of the argument and say that she is a nice girl. Well, by her parents, her friends, and her reading, she is taught to think that every man who is attentive to her may be a fortune-hunter. The consequence is that she is suspicious, and may say or do something to wound or insult a fellow who cares for her, and so drive him off.
Fred. That’s one point for your side.
Stuart. But even if she is not made suspicious by her money, (points at Fred) he is. A decent man dreads to have his motives misjudged. He’s afraid that the girl, or her father, or her mother, or her friends, or his friends, will think he is fortune-hunting.
Fred. I should think he did!
Stuart. Finally, her money draws about her a lot of worthless fellows. As a consequence, she is always beset and engaged. You must remember that in this country a man, if he amounts to a row of pins, is a worker, and not a drone. He cannot, therefore, dance the continual attendance that is necessary to see much of a society girl nowadays. This can only be done by our rich and leisured young men, who are few and far between; by foreign titles, who are quite as scarce; and by the idlers and do-nothings, who, if the girl is worth winning, are as distasteful to her as they are to the rest of mortal kind. (Sits chair c.) I submit my case.
Fred. Mr. Stuart, you entirely missed your vocation. Allow me to congratulate you on your maiden argument. But at the same time the referee would call your attention to the fact that you have failed to take the relatives into account. They can overcome all this by heading off the undesirables and encouraging their choice.
Stuart. But that’s just what they won’t do, and which I don’t think they could to any extent, even if they tried. How much can Mr. Wortley and Mrs. Van Tromp control Miss Agnes’ companions at the dinners and dances and other affairs, which are practically the only places where she meets men?
Fred. Here they can.
Stuart. But they don’t. You say Mr. Wortley favours Newbank and Mrs. Van Tromp encourages her brother-in-law. Naturally, then, they don’t approve your very evident liking for Miss Agnes. Yet I see you here quite as often as either of the favoured ones. Do you think if this system of exclusion were possible, it would not have been practised long ago?
Fred. If you ask it as a conundrum I give it up. But I know that neither of them want me to marry Miss Wortley. Mr. Wortley wishes Newbank’s millions to add to the family. Mrs. Van Tromp hopes to graft Miss Wortley on the fine old stock of Van Tromps.
Stuart. And what does the person most concerned want? In this glorious country of ours, where children always know more than parents, the girl’s consent is really the only requisite. What does Miss Wortley want?
Fred. I only wish I knew!
Stuart. Well, how does she treat you compared with the other men?
Fred. At first she was very nice and friendly, but latterly she’ll have nothing to do with me.
Stuart. A girl of taste!
Fred. I’m in the mood to enjoy such friendly jokes.
Stuart. It was meant kindly, Fred, as you will see in a moment. Now, my boy, I’m going to give you a talking to, and if you resent it, it will only be further confirmation of another little theory of mine, that a man’s an ass who concerns himself in other people’s affairs.
Fred. Go ahead. I’m blue enough to like anything sour or disagreeable.
[Sits, desk chair, and leans on desk.
Stuart. Now, there at once you give me the text to preach from. (Walks behind chair l. and leans on back, speaking over it down r.) About a year ago a certain gentleman named Fred meets a certain lady named Agnes. We’ll say he met her at a dance—
Fred. No, it was yachting.
Stuart. Ah!—excuse my lack of historical accuracy. Well, on a yacht—he met her; then at a ball—he met her; then at a cotillion—he met her; then at a dinner—he met her. In short, he met her, and met her, and met her.
Fred (gloomily). Yes, and what is more, he spent hours trying to.
Stuart. Well, she was pretty and charming and—I’m short of an adjective, Fred.
Fred. Of course you are! There isn’t one in Webster’s Unabridged which would do her justice!
Stuart. That should have been said to her and not wasted on me. Well, we’ll say the girl is plu-perfect. The fellow is rather good looking—eh, Fred?
Fred. I don’t know.
Stuart. He talks and dances well; and is, in fact, quite a shining light among her devotees.
Fred (irritably). Oh, cut it, for heaven’s sake!
[Rises impatiently.
Stuart (laughing). Excuse me,—the story-teller never cuts; it’s the editor who does that.
Fred (angrily). Oh, go on.
Stuart. Well, at first this masculine paragon whom I have so meagrely described seems to be doing well. She likes his society and shows it. (To Fred.) Right?
Fred. I thought so.
Stuart. But as he gets more interested, he changes. He makes his attentions and feelings too marked—something no girl likes. Then he is cross and moody when she does not give him most of her time and dances. He is inclined to be jealous of every Tom, Dick, and Harry who comes near her, and absurdly tries to dictate what she shall do and not do; which she resents. In short, the very strength of his love makes him an entirely different kind of a man. He is neither companionable nor entertaining; he is both surly and passionate. Do you blame her for repulsing him?
Fred. No, you are right. I know I’ve given her reason for turning me the cold shoulder.
Stuart. Then if you’ve known this, why haven’t you behaved yourself?
Fred. I’ve tried to, over and over again; but when I see such cads as Van Tromp and Newbank and the rest of the pack around her, I get perfectly desperate.
Stuart. And why? Now, Van Tromp is not only a fool, which I suppose is the fault of his ancestors, but he is so impecunious that every girl who has money must suspect his motives. Newbank is wealthy, but is the kind of man who makes one think of Wendell Phillips’ remark, that “the Lord showed his estimate of money by the people he gave it to.” Why should you be jealous of such rivals? You stand at least as good a chance as they.
Fred. No I don’t. Look here, I’ve just been made a member of the firm. That will give me something like $4,000 a year at first. How can I ask a girl living as she does to try and get along on that?
Stuart. You forget her own income.
Fred. That’s just what I can’t do. I’ve tried to tell her that I love her, but her money makes the words stick in my throat.
Stuart. And yet Van Tromp, who hasn’t a cent in the world, and never will have, if he has to make it himself, will say it as glibly as need be.
Fred. It’s that makes me desperate. I try to be good company, but I feel all the time as if it weren’t an even race, and so I can’t.
Stuart. My dear boy, no race in this world is even. If it were anything but a woman’s heart in question, I would bet on you as the winner; but as that commodity is only to be represented by the algebraic x, I never wager on it.
Fred (scornfully). How learnedly a bachelor does talk of women’s hearts! One would think he had broken a lot in order to examine their contents.
Stuart (a little angrily). I never lost a girl through faint heart,—or lost my temper with both her and my best friend.
Fred (apologetically). There! Of course you are right and I am a fool.
Stuart (looking at watch). There being no dissent to that opinion, and the ladies being now ready to see us, you had better go downstairs and show Miss Wortley that the Fred Stevens of a year ago is still in the flesh.
Fred (going to b. d.). And you?
Stuart. I’ll stay here and have a cigar.
[Exit Fred, b. d.
Stuart (taking out cigar-case). How that poor fellow does carry his heart in view! (Takes match from desk.) No wonder Miss Wortley keeps hers to herself, with such an example!
[Strikes match.
Enter Polly, l. d., carrying black domino and lace mask.
Stuart. Hello! One minute, please. Whose domino is that?
Polly (halting). I mustn’t tell, sir.
Stuart. No, of course not. Quite right. (Tosses away match and jingles coins in his pocket.) Perhaps, though, you can tell me to whom you are carrying it.
Polly (coming down). Perhaps I might, sir.
Stuart (taking out money). Well?
Polly. I was carrying it to Mrs. Van Tromp’s room, sir.
Stuart (giving money). Thank you. (Takes domino and mask from her.) Mr. Stuart told you Miss Wortley wanted you to come at once to her, and so you left these in this room—understand? (Gives more money) Now be off to your mistress.
Polly. Yes, sir.
[Exit Polly l. d.
Stuart. It’s better to be born lucky than rich. (Pats domino tenderly, and arranges it neatly in chair c.) You’re luckier, though, for you belong to the dearest and most heartless woman in this world. (Looks at mask.) And you! She doesn’t need you to mask her feelings, confound and bless her inscrutable face! You’ll be pressing against it ere long. (Kisses mask.) Take that to her.
Mrs. V. T. (outside). No, I sent Polly for my domino, but she hasn’t brought it.
Stuart. Speaking of angels— And she mustn’t discover that I know.
[Hurriedly seizes mask and domino and tosses them behind curtains of bay window; then strikes match as if about to light cigar.
Mrs. Van Tromp appears at b. d. and looks in.
Mrs. V. T. Shall it be a cigar or my society? “Under which king, Bezonian? Speak or die.”
Stuart (throwing match in fire). That goes without saying. The cigar is my slave; I am Mrs. Van Tromp’s!
Mrs. V. T. Was that impromptu?
Stuart. Coined for the occasion, and needing only the approval of your majesty to make it gold in my eyes.
[Bows.
Mrs. V. T. I am too good a queen to help stamp worthless money, and that’s what a compliment is. As the French say, “Fine words cost nothing and are worth just what they cost.”
Stuart. Anglisé in “Fine words butter no parsnips.” You know, I’ve always wanted to send that proverb to Delmonico. He takes something uneatable, and by giving it a sauce and a high-sounding French title, deludes the public into ordering it. You pay five cents for the basis, ten for the sauce, and the other thirty-five for the French, which no man can understand or pronounce.
Mrs. V. T. He didn’t serve this evening’s dinner.
Stuart. Far be it from me to suggest that there was anything wrong in the cuisine to-night. The only criticism I could possibly make on the dinner was that there were twenty-four too many people.
Mrs. V. T. (counting on fingers). Twenty-four from twenty-six—that leaves two?
Stuart. Let me congratulate you on your mental arithmetic.
Mrs. V. T. Have you actually reached that time of life when one ceases to enjoy dinners?
Stuart. I hope not. I was even flattering myself that my tastes were becoming more juvenile.
Mrs. V. T. In what does that show itself?
Stuart. In wanting something I can’t have. I believe it’s considered infantile to want the moon.
Mrs. V. T. You want the moon? Then you must be in love! I’m so sorry I can’t stay and let you tell me all about her. I came upstairs for my domino and mustn’t tarry.
[Starts up back.
Stuart (standing between her and the door). One moment, Mrs. Van Tromp. I’ll not bore you with my own love affair, but I should like to ask your help in another.
Mrs. V. T. (turning and coming down l.). I promise my assistance. I love to help on—other people’s love affairs.
Stuart. There is a poor fellow downstairs who is eating his heart out with love for your cousin Agnes. He thinks you are against him.
Mrs. V. T. You mean Mr. Stevens?
Stuart. Yes.
Mrs. V. T. Why, Mr. Stuart, I like Mr. Stevens, and he would be my second choice—
Stuart (interrupting). For yourself?
Mrs. V. T. (laughing). No, for Agnes. But surely you don’t expect me to work against my brother-in-law?
Stuart. But Agnes is your cousin. Do consider her!
Mrs. V. T. Mr. Stuart, I married Alexander Van Tromp without caring that (snaps her fingers) for him. Yet we hit it off together very nicely. He obtained income and I won social position. By it I have been able to introduce my uncle into good society, and give Agnes her pick of the best. Do you think I do her wrong in planning the same kind of a marriage for her?
Stuart. Has Cupid no rights?
Mrs. V. T. He can come later. The Van Tromps are too old a family for the members to live long. So I am only giving Agnes a few years of matrimony, like my own; and then—well, you know whether my life is gloomy or otherwise.
Stuart. Mostly otherwise, I should say.
Mrs. V. T. No girl of nineteen knows enough to pick out the man she can breakfast with three hundred and sixty-five days in the year for half a century. Moreover, a young girl cannot have a large enough choice. She can only say “yes” or “no” to those who ask her. On the contrary, a woman of—we’ll say twenty-eight—picks out her man and fascinates him. To quote the French again: “A girl of sixteen accepts love; a woman of thirty incites it.”
Stuart. As you have been doing?
Mrs. V. T. Agnes shall sample matrimony with Regie; see just what it is like; and then be prepared to select a second time with wisdom and discrimination—like her aged and venerable cousin.
Stuart (hesitatingly). Will you pardon the question,—but was Mr.—was, ah, the brother of Reginald anything like, ah, his brother?
Mrs. V. T. (laughing). Very!
Stuart (confidentially). What did you do with him?
Mrs. V. T. On the day we married, he put a ring on my finger; I put one through his nose. Then he led very nicely.
Stuart. And is that your ideal of a husband?
Mrs. V. T. Unless I find a man capable of not merely doing the leading, but by whom I shall wish to be led.
Stuart. And how is this man to prove his capacity?
Mrs. V. T. Oh, it’s merely a matter of cleverness or mastery. Let a man outwit me, and I will (curtseys) ever after sign myself, “Your obedient, humble servant.”
Stuart. Don’t you see that you are bribing your own undoing?
Mrs. V. T. How so?
Stuart. Why, your conditions are almost in the nature of a challenge. Now you know, of course, Mrs. Van Tromp, that I don’t love you, yet you make me want to enter the rather formidable competition just to see if I couldn’t get the better of you.
Mrs. V. T. (laughing). Well, I have no wish to balk you. But it must be a game of forfeits. If you fail, you must pay a penalty.
Stuart. Isn’t failure to win Mrs. Van Tromp penalty enough?
Mrs. V. T. Not to so confirmed a bachelor as Mr. Stuart. Come, if you beat me, I will do any one thing you wish; if you are beaten, you must do the one thing I wish. Is it a bargain?
Stuart. Done! (Kissing Mrs. V. T.’s hand.) Perdition have my soul!
Mrs. V. T. And now for my domino.
[Hurries up and exits l. d.
Stuart (at l. d.). But, Mrs. Van Tromp, you haven’t told me in what I am to beat you?
[Exit Stuart, l. d.
Enter Charlie and Agnes, b. d.
Charlie. Thith ith better than down thairth, Mith Wortley, ithn’t it?
Agnes (sinking into chair c. with sigh). Oh, much!
Charlie. I’ve been wanting to thuggeth it before, Mith Wortley, but that bore Van Tromp wath alwayth round, and if he heard me, he would intrude hith thothiety upon uth.
Agnes. Why. Mr. Newbank, I thought you were friends.
Charlie. We uthed to be, till the fellowth came out thuth a thnob.
Agnes. That is where you men have such an advantage. Now we girls have to put up with every donkey that comes near us.
Charlie. That ith hard, Mith Wortley. But it theemth to me that you might thave yourthelf by a little diplomathy.
Agnes (eagerly). Do tell me how!
Charlie. Why don’t you get rid of Van Tromp?
Agnes. Why, I can’t be rude to him. You must remember he is a relation.
Charlie. I didn’t mean rudneth.
Agnes. What then?
Charlie. Why, he athkth you to danth; you are out of breath or tired. He thitth down by you; you want a glath of lemonade, or thomething elth, it dothn’t matter what.
Agnes (aside). Does he really think that’s an original idea? (Aloud.) How clever!
Charlie. Yeth, I rather think thatth a good nothon.
Agnes. Isn’t it warm here?
Charlie. Very. I’ve thought of thuggethting that we open a window.
Agnes. Oh, I’m so afraid of drafts. Did you see where I left my fan?
Charlie. No,—unleth you left it down thairth in the library.
Agnes. Won’t you see if I did?
Charlie (going up l. b.). With the greateth of pleathure.
Agnes. And, Mr. Newbank, (Charlie turns) don’t tell Mr. Van Tromp I’m here. [Reg. appears at b. d.
Charlie. I’ll tell any lie thooner. (Turns.) Ah!! (Politely.) Mither Van Tromp, Mith Wortley ith fatigued and wanth to retht a little.
Reg. Aw! Then she shows gweat good sense in sending you away.
Charlie (angrily). Thir, you thouldn’t inflict your thothiety on a lady who hath juth been athking me how to get rid of you.
Reg. (coolly). I hope you told her it was by keeping you about her.
Charlie. If thatth the cathe, I’ll be back very thoon.
[Exits b. d.
Reg. Aw, I’m deucid sowy that boah Newbank has tired you, Miss Wortley. You weally should not be so awfully good natured, don’tcher know.
Agnes. Oh, we have to be, and he’s no worse than a lot of others.
Reg. I jolly wish, you know, that I could save you fwom it.
Agnes. Don’t you think it warm here?
Reg. Weally, but it is, pon honour.
Agnes. And I’m so thirsty. Would it trouble you too much to get me a glass of water?
Reg. (rising and going up l.). Chawmed, I assure you.
Charlie appears b. d. and they run into each other.
Reg. Aw, I thought you were going to allow Miss Wortley a little west.
Charlie. Thatth why I wath coming back. I didn’t think the would thend you away.
Reg. I’ll be back soon, deah boy.
[Exits b. d.
Charlie. I’m thorry, Mith Wortley, but your fan ith not in the library.
Agnes (aside). Tell me something I don’t know. (Aloud.) Have the rest of the men finished their cigars?
Charlie. Yeth.
Agnes. I suppose I ought to go down.
[Rises.
Charlie. Yeth, we’ll go together, and tho ethcape Van Tromp.
Agnes (aside). What a pity some glue company can’t buy those two and melt them down into mucilage! (Aloud.) Yes, but first won’t you see if I didn’t leave my fan on the piano in the music-room?
Charlie. Why, thertainly.
[Starts up to b. d.
Agnes (aside). While you’re gone I’ll get into my domino, and if you catch me afterwards, it’s my fault.
[Exit Charlie. Loud exclamation outside.
Charlie (outside). You donkey, you ran into me on purpoth, and thpilled that water on me.
Agnes. Do for once temper the wind to the shorn lamb!
[Looks around room helplessly, and then rushes to bay window and hides.
Reg. (outside). I beg pawdon, but it was you who wan into me. Cawnt cher see where you are going?
Reg. appears b. d. with a glass containing very little water, wiping his coat sleeve with handkerchief, and looking angrily after Charlie.
Reg. I’m deucid sowy, Miss Wortley, but that clumsy fool has spilled most of the water (coming down). One can always tell the nouveaux wiche by their gaucherwies. (Finds chair empty—starts, and looks round room.) Pon honour, if he hasn’t dwiven her away!
[Stands looking about.
Charlie appears at b. d.
Charlie. I met your maid, Mith Wortley, and the thaid your fan wath in your room, (coming down r.) and that the’ll get it. (Discovers Agnes’ absence.) Now then, I hope you are thatithfied with having driven her away.
Reg. Oh, I dwove her away, did I?
Charlie. Yeth.
Reg. (laughing). That is wich!
Charlie. Well, thath more than you are!
Reg. Cholly Newbank, you get worse form everwy day.
Enter Polly with fan l. d.
Polly. Here is the fan, Mr. Newbank.
Charlie (taking fan). Can you tell me where Mith Wortley ith?
Polly (starting to go). No, sir.
Stuart appears in b. d. and stands and listens.
Charlie. One moment, girl. (To Reg.) Mither Van Tromp, will you oblige me by leaving the room?
Reg. By Jove! The bwass of the man would start a foundwy.
[Sits chair l. with emphasis.
Charlie. Thir, in the future I thall refuth to recognith you.
Reg. Thanks, awfully.
Charlie (taking bank-note from pocket). Girl, do you thee thith?
Polly. Oh, yes, sir.
Charlie. What ith Mith Wortleyth domino like?
Polly. Oh, indeed, sir, I don’t dare to tell you.
Charlie. Nonthenth! The’ll never know who told. You might ath well make five dollarth.
Polly. But Mr. Van Tromp might tell.
Reg. (with extreme dignity). Mr. Van Tromp is too much of a gentleman to either bwibe or tell tales.
Charlie. But he’ll lithen all the thame!
Polly (fearfully). She’s going to wear a white silk one with cardinal ribbons, and a black lace veil.
[Receives note and exits l.
Charlie (triumphantly). Ah! Now I have her.
Reg. Deucid sowy to spoil your little dweam, but I fahncy I shall speak to her myself this evening.
Charlie (gleefully). All right. The knowth you are after her money.
Stuart (coming down). Ah! Damon and Pythias together as usual. It really gives one faith in friendship to see how you two fellows run together.
Charlie. Mither Thuart, did you ever hear anything more nonthenthical than for Van Tromp to thuppothe that Mith Wortley ith going to thave him from the poorhouth?
Reg. (with dignity). Mr. Stuart will tell you that a born gentleman can do much that is impossible to the canaille.
Charlie (angrily). What do you mean by that, thir?
Reg. Pway dwaw your own conclusions.
Stuart (sitting on desk). And so you two bloods intend to question the oracle? I hadn’t credited you with the courage.
Charlie. It dothn’t need much when one knowth what the anther will be.
Reg. (confidently). I’m not afwaid for my part, but even “no” wouldn’t make me commit suicide.
Charlie. Thath prethuth fortunate for you, but hard on the reth of uth.
Stuart (quizzically). Oh, it’s easy enough to propose to a girl when she isn’t present. You fellows forget that Miss Wortley is a masked battery this evening. It takes pluck to face one of them, and I don’t believe you’ll either of you dare do it.
Charlie. I’d like to bet a monkey I will.
Stuart. Done! And do the same with you, Van Tromp.
Charlie. He hathn’t the money.
Reg. (glancing scornfully at Charlie). You’ll oblige me gweatly by minding your own affairs. Done, Mr. Stuart.
Enter Fred b. d.
Stuart. Ah, Fred, you’ve just missed a rare bit of sport.
Fred. What was that?
Stuart. Why, we’ve just wagered—
Reg. (dignified). I beg pawdon, Mr. Stuart, but I had always supposed a wager was a confidential mattah.
[Walks with dignity up r. and exits b. d.
Charlie. For onth in hith life, Van Tromp ith right.
[Bows grandly and goes up l. Exits b. d.
Stuart (laughing). I thought that would get rid of them. Well, have you shown Miss Wortley that you can still be occasionally jolly?
Fred (gloomily). I haven’t had the chance. She must be in her room, for I’ve looked everywhere else for her. Not that it’s much loss. I know I should not have been in the mood to please her.
Stuart. That’s because you don’t try hard enough.
Fred (bitterly). Hear the bachelor talk of making love!
Stuart. You think me ignorant?
Fred. Rather,—judging from the results.
Stuart (resting hand on Fred’s shoulder). Fred, I’m not the kind of a man who lets the world know what he’s thinking about. With all due respect to a young fellow who is not far distant, it doesn’t pay to show one’s feelings too much. But I’m going to tell you my bit of romance as an object-lesson. Two months ago I met the most charming woman in the world, and could no more help falling in love—
Fred (looking up in surprise). What! The ideal bachelor in love?
Stuart. I don’t see why two and forty should be debarred from that universal sensation, any more than four and twenty.
Fred. Oh, of course not,—only, to make an Irish bull, we had all grown to think you as wedded to celibacy.
Stuart. There are divorces and desertions in celibacy as well as in matrimony. Well, I love this woman; I don’t think she loves me,—though you never can tell with a clever one, and sometimes I think she is beginning to like me, because she—because she tries to make me believe she is worse than she is. She delights in making me think she’s a devil, which shows that she is a bit afraid of me. I’ve never said a word of my love to her, but she knows it as well as I do. But nobody else dreams of it. I don’t make my attentions so obvious that every one sees them, and so cause her embarrassment whenever I even come into the room. I don’t cut up rough if she talks or dances with other fellows. I simply try to be pleasant and useful enough to make her prefer my society to that of any other man.
Fred (sighing). Well, of course you are right, but—tell me what you think I ought to do.
Stuart (walking to desk and holding bell). What do you suppose would happen if I rang this?
[Rings.
Fred. That doesn’t answer my question.
Stuart. I want to see if the bell won’t save me the trouble.
Enter Polly, l. d.
Polly. Did you ring, sir?
Stuart. Yes, I want to find out if you told the truth about Miss Wortley’s domino?
Polly (embarrassed). Well, sir, Miss Wortley has two dominos, and I don’t know which she intends to wear first.
Stuart. What is the other domino like?
Polly. It’s blue with silver lace.
Stuart. What will you charge me to wear the white and cardinal one this evening, leaving Miss Wortley only the blue and silver one?
Polly (eagerly). Oh, Mr. Stuart, that’s just what I’ve wanted to do, but haven’t dared! Please don’t tempt me.
Stuart. Fudge! If you’ll do as I’ll tell you, you shall have a year’s wages to-morrow.
Polly. Gracious!!
Stuart. Is it a bargain?
Polly (eagerly). Yes, sir. What am I to do?
Stuart. H’m. Can you write a good hand?
Polly. Ask Mr. Stevens?
Stuart (reproachfully). Oh, Fred!!
Fred. I don’t know what she means.
Polly. I wrote that note to-day thanking you for the flowers: I write nearly all Miss Wortley’s notes.
Fred. Bosh!
[During letter-writing he surreptitiously dives into inside pocket and produces glove, handkerchief, faded flowers, and letters tied with ribbon. Examines letters, and then crosses to mantel, tears them up, and throws them into fire.
Stuart. Good! It couldn’t be better. They’ll think it’s Miss Wortley’s hand-writing. Sit down at that desk and write as I dictate.
Polly. Yes, sir.
[Sits at desk—business of letter-writing.
Stuart. “My own: Driven to the verge of desperation by the parasites who cluster about my wealth, I long for nothing but a refuge. This you can give me, and if you cherish one emotion of tenderness for me, you will be in the little morning room at twelve. A.” Address that to Newbank. Now take another sheet. “Reginald: If you have one spark of affection for me, keep me no longer in suspense! I shall be in the little morning room over the supper-room at ten minutes after twelve. Fly then to your loving but unhappy A.” Address that to Van Tromp. Now, Polly, you must deliver those notes in person, get into Miss Wortley’s domino, and be here at that time. Newbank will propose to you, and you must accept him and get rid of him. Then you must do the same to Van Tromp. Understand?
Polly. Yes, Mr. Stuart.
[Rises with two notes in hand.
Stuart. And you mustn’t let them find out their mistake till to-morrow.
[Exits Polly b. d.
Fred. Do you think that’s honourable?
Stuart. It’s too soon after dinner for me to discuss ethics. But for you it’s the chance of a lifetime. You know what Miss Wortley is to wear. Go and make yourself agreeable to her, and if her mask gives you courage, tell her that you love her.
Fred. You don’t understand. I’m not afraid to tell her that to her face. It’s not the woman I’m afraid of. If she were poor, I could have said to her as I say to myself, fifty times a day, “I love you.” But I can’t say that to her money.
Stuart. And so you are going to place your Brunhilde on the top of her gold and then fear to climb the fiery mountain? Why, Fred, tell her that you love her, and leave it for her to decide whether it’s the woman or the wealth you care for.
Fred. I can’t bear to give her the chance even to think I’m sordid.
Stuart. Nonsense, my boy! Go and tell Miss Wortley that you love her before it’s too late. Make her the prettiest compliment a man can pay a woman, and if she has the bad taste to think it’s her money and not her beauty and sweetness, you are no worse off.
Fred. Mr. Stuart, I’ve tried to say it and to write it. I’ve begun sentence after sentence; I’ve torn up letter after letter. It’s no good.
Stuart (wearily). I don’t see anything to be done, except to get your proposal made by proxy. (Stops short in walk.) By Jove, that’s an idea.
Fred. What?
Stuart (triumphantly). I have it. I’ll get into a domino, pass myself off for you, and propose.
[Goes up back.
Fred (angrily). You’ll do nothing of the kind!
Stuart. Why not?
Fred. Mr. Stuart, your proposition is simply insulting. A moment since you said that a declaration of love was the greatest compliment a man could pay a woman, and now you would turn it into a joke or trick. Do you think I will allow the woman I love to be so treated?
Stuart (soothingly). All right. We’ll say no more about it.
[At b.d.
Fred. Then give me your word you won’t.
Stuart. That’s another matter.
Fred. Then I shall at once find Miss Wortley and—
Stuart (interrupting). Tell her all about it. That’s right. You will have told her that you love her.
[Exits b. d.
Fred (following). Not at all! I shall simply keep near her, and if you make the attempt I shall interfere.
[Exits b. d.
[Agnes rises from concealment, peeks out and comes down c. with Mrs. V. T.’s domino and mask on her arm.
Agnes. At last! I began to think I should have to spend the night there,—though I did nearly burst in on them two or three times. And that’s the way men discuss women! (Scornfully.) So, Mr. Van Tromp, I’m to save you from the poorhouse! And “no” wouldn’t make you commit suicide! And you’re not afraid of what my answer will be, Mr. Newbank! Oh!!! (Laughs.) I should like to hear their proposals to Polly. I’ve always thought that girl a treasure, but she gets her dismissal to-morrow. The idea of wearing my domino, and telling all those men what I was to wear! And telling Mr. Stevens that she wrote my letters for me! (Anxiously.) What must he think of me! And the only one of them too who seemed to think I deserve the commonest courtesy. “I could say to Miss Wortley, as I say to myself fifty times a day, I love you.” (Demurely.) That was nice! I wonder if he— I wonder if Mr. Stuart will propose to me? I never thought he would behave so badly. (Pacing across stage meditatively.) How can I turn the tables and punish them all? Let me see—(checking off on fingers)—the two puppies will be punished by the loss of their bets and—me! Polly will lose her position. Now—
Enter Mrs. V. T. l. d.
Mrs. V. T. Oh, Agnes, I can’t find my domino anywhere, and— Why, you have it!
Agnes (as if seized with an inspiration). Frances, you must let me change dominos and masks with you.
Mrs. V. T. What for?
Agnes. Mr. Stuart has bribed Polly to tell about our dominos,—and he’s going to propose to my blue one.
Mrs. V. T. (incredulously). What,—to you?
Agnes (embarrassed). Oh! That is— Well—he’s— You see it’s—he’s only asking for some one else.
Mrs. V. T. Oh, I see! Some one who hasn’t dared?
Agnes. Yes. Mr. Newbank is so—
Mrs. V. T. Of course. He is shy.
Agnes. Very. (Hurriedly.) And so I thought we could change dominos, and—and—don’t you see?
Mrs. V. T. (reflectively). But then— Wouldn’t— Oh! Why, of course I will. Here, let me help you on with it; and now run along downstairs. The dancing is in full swing.
Agnes (going up). I’ll go at once. (Turns in b. d.) You will find my domino in my dressing-room.
[Exits l. d.
Mrs. V. T. (reflectively). And so Mr. Stuart is going to propose to a blue domino—that’s me—on behalf of Mr. Stevens? (Laughs.) There’s a nice game of cross purposes. Ah, sir, you’ll have to be cleverer than that to— What a chance to beat him! Let me see.
Stuart appears at b. d.
Stuart. Not masked yet?
Mrs. V. T. Ah! Mr. Stuart, I am ready to name our game of forfeits.
Stuart (coming down). Bravo!
Mrs. V. T. You want to win my cousin for Mr. Stevens. Succeed, and you shall name whatever forfeit you choose. Fail, and I set what penalty I please.
Stuart. Agreed.
Mrs. V. T. But I warn you: I shall stoop to anything rather than be beaten. If a man is honourable he will be at a great disadvantage. Like Faust, I have made a pact with the devil.
Stuart. Better take a partner with whom I am on less friendly relations.
Mrs. V. T. He is not on so good terms with you as with me. Don’t you know that women are extremes? That they are either a great deal better or worse than men?
Stuart. I have always heard that women said spiteful things of their sex, but I don’t think it’s nice of you to make such speeches about the one I care for. One would almost think you were jealous of her.
Mrs. V. T. (throwing glove on floor). There is my challenge to the combat.
Stuart (picking it up). I accept the gage.
Mrs. V. T. (holding out hand). But not to keep it.
Stuart. I will only return the glove without the g.
Mrs. V. T. And without that letter, I prefer to get a new pair.
[Going up.
Stuart (following). Then it is real war?
Mrs. V. T. War, fierce and merciless.
[Exit Mrs. V. T. and Stuart, b. d.
Polly peeks in l. d., then enters with white domino and mask on arm.
Polly. I didn’t dare to put this on (putting on domino and mask) in Miss Wortley’s room for fear she might come in. What will she say when she only finds one? My! I shall have to keep out of her way this evening, or she will want to know who is wearing it. (Looking down at domino.) Oh, I wish I dared go to Miss Wortley’s dressing-room and look at myself in the glass! (Walks off, looking behind her.) I will. (Goes up to l. d. and starts to exit.) Oh, Jiminy!
[Turns and rushes out b. d.
Enter Agnes l. d. in domino, and with mask in her hand.
Agnes (coming down). I changed my mind about going downstairs, for I had rather miss all the dancing in the world than puppydom’s love-making to the back-stairs. I could almost forgive Polly when I think of what I have in store. (Crosses r. and looks through curtains at bay window.) From my hiding-place, I’ll hear every word of it. (Goes to mantel and looks at clock.) Quarter to twelve—I’m early!
Stuart appears at b. d. and looks in.
Agnes. Ah!
[Hurriedly masks herself.
Stuart (aside). That’s the quickest change I ever saw. I only just left her at the door of her room! (Comes down.) Are you practising lightning transformations?
Agnes. Comment ça va-t-il, Monsieur?
Stuart (regretfully). I’m sorry, but I don’t understand French. (Aside.) Whopper number one.
Agnes. Wie gehts?
Stuart. Nor German. (Aside.) Number two.
Agnes. Buenas noches, señor?
Stuart (wearily). And on Spanish I’m an entire failure. (Aside.) The recording angel didn’t catch me that time!
Agnes. Will you kindly tell me what you do speak?
Stuart (gallantly and bowing). In your society only the universal language.
Agnes. And I don’t understand Volapük.
Stuart. Volapük! That’s not the one of which I speak.
Agnes. And of what, then?
Stuart. To the language which without instruction is known around the world; to the language that’s spoken by all classes, and is never out of fashion; to the language that has no dictionary; yet which possesses the most beautiful vocabulary in the universe.
Agnes. I don’t remember any such in my text-book on philology.
Stuart. It is too real to be taught in schools. Nor were you old enough to understand it had it been. I speak of the language of love.
Agnes. Of course; I suppose it is a universal tongue. (Satirically.) But so few can speak it well. Don’t you think it ought to be left to the poets?
Stuart. I love the future of the human race too much to wish that. Think of the frightful increase of bad rhymers it would cause,—and that too with the markets already overstocked.
Agnes. But would that be any worse than to see the average unromantic breadwinner make love? It’s very hard on our sex to appear sympathetic. Most men do it about as successfully as a hippopotamus would waltz.
Stuart. Aren’t you a little unfair, Mrs. Van Tromp?
Agnes. And so you think I am Mrs. Van Tromp?
Stuart. I don’t think it; I know it. Do you think for a moment you could deceive me? But that doesn’t answer my question.
Agnes. As to the justice of my criticism on the way men propose? (With affected coyness.) Perhaps I have had too little experience to speak with knowledge.
Stuart. Mrs. Van Tromp would not dare to say that unmasked. Her face would give her tongue the lie.
Agnes. I fancy you are the first man who ever turned calling one a liar into a compliment.
Stuart. Since that is possible, may not a poetic proposal be also?
Agnes. Perhaps. And when I hear one that does not make me want to laugh, I’ll make public recantation.
Stuart. It’s a bold man or a fool who’d venture after what you have said. And yet I should like to try.
Agnes (laughing). Why, Mr. Stuart, what would you do if I were to take you seriously and say yes?
Stuart (with mock resignation). Bear it—like a man. But I am quite safe from that danger! I trust you won’t mind if in the passion of the moment I call you Frances.
Agnes. This once I’ll condone the liberty.
Stuart (coming very close to Agnes). And if I should so far forget myself as to try and—well, behave as lovers generally do?
Agnes (retreating). Oh, Mrs. Van Tromp is quite safe from that.
[Slips past Stuart and crosses to l.
Stuart (aside). Don’t be too sure of that.
Agnes. Well, begin.
Stuart (crossing to chair c.). Now that’s no way to give a lover an opening. I want this to have verisimilitude. In real life you don’t as good as say to the man (sits very much on the edge of chair c.) sitting on the edge of his chair, ‘Please begin.’ Do let’s make it realistic.
Agnes (laughing). Even to the mitten? Very well. (Imitating society manner.) I didn’t see you at Mrs. Grainger’s rosecotillion Tuesday, Mr. Stuart.
Charlie (without). Ah! My angel, we meet.
Agnes (seizing Stuart’s hand). Quick! Come!
[Drags him over to bay window, where she conceals both with curtain.
Enter Polly, in mask and domino, and Charlie b. d.
Charlie. My own! What can I do to thow my gratitude?
Polly. If you but knew how I have trembled at my unmaidenly imprudence in writing you!
Charlie. My angel, love knowth no prudenth; no boundth can limit it.
Polly. And you don’t scorn and despise me?
Charlie. Thcorn? Dethpithe? Never.
Polly. And you don’t think me unmaidenly?
Charlie. It ith impothible. You are nothing but what ith perfect and beautiful.
Polly (sighing). Ah!
Charlie (sighing). Ah! (Reaches out and takes her hand.) Mith Wortley, did you mean what you thaid in your letter?
Polly (languishing). Can you doubt it?
Charlie. And you really love your Cholly?
Polly (tenderly). Oh, Cholly!
Charlie (kneeling). And you really want to marry your Cholly?
Polly (faintly). Oh, Cholly!
Reginald appears b. d. and enters.
Reg. Miss Wortley, I have hurwied to your side. And none too soon, it appears.
Charlie (jumping to his feet and speaking very angrily). You thpethimen of the horroth of heredity, you get out of here!
Polly (sotto voce to Charlie). Oh, please don’t make a disturbance! Remember whose house it is! Leave us and I’ll get rid of him and follow.
Charlie. My angel, I can refuth you nothing. (Goes up stage and speaks to Reg.) Thir, you owe your thafety to that lady.
[Exit b. d.
Reg. (coming down). Miss Wortley, I am deucid sowy that epitome of bad form has been borwing you.
Polly. Oh, I don’t mind that. I was only afraid he was going to misbehave.
Reg. Aw, the cad’s always doing that, don’tcher know.
Polly. Oh, Mr. Van Tromp, what must you think of me!
Reg. Think of you? The woman Reginald De Lancey Van Tromp loves is above thought. In but one way can the loveliest of her sex offend me.
Polly (eagerly). Ah! Tell me, so that I may never do it.
Reg. By wefusing the heart and hand he (kneeling) places at her feet.
Polly. Oh! I am faint with too great happiness. (Leans on Reg.) Reginald, support— Oh, Jiminy! Some one’s coming.
[Recovers, and rushes up l. to l. b., exit l. d. followed by Reg.
Enter Mrs. Van Tromp and Fred, b. d.
Mrs. V. T. (coming down). I told you we should find this room empty.
[Looks about.
Fred. But that doesn’t tell me why you asked me to bring you here.
Mrs. V. T. Perhaps to cheat you out of your dance with our host’s pretty daughter.
Fred. I might answer you in kind. But it’s fairer to tell you that your mask is no disguise.
Mrs. V. T. You know me?
Fred. Yes. You are “our host’s pretty daughter.”
Mrs. V. T. I am but a poor actress if I have played my part so badly.
Fred. Indeed, no. Even now I find it hard to believe, your acting is so perfect. If I had not known your domino, I should never have recognised you.
Mrs. V. T. My domino?
Fred. I overheard it mentioned. I was sorry to learn your secret, but really I couldn’t help it.
Mrs. V. T. It really does not matter. But I am glad you told me. Most men would have kept mum and let me talk on about “our host’s pretty daughter,” and then have never let me hear the last of it.
Fred. I’m afraid I’m no better than the rest of my sex, Miss Wortley. With most women I should have done that.
Mrs. V. T. And why am I an exception?
Fred. I didn’t want to deceive you.
Mrs. V. T. Why not?
Fred. Because I wanted you to think well of me.
Mrs. V. T. Why, I do that already. If you only knew how I respected and admired the men who have been real friends, and not seekers of my money!
Fred. Miss Wortley, I thank you for your kind thoughts of me, but you mustn’t think them any longer.
Mrs. V. T. Why not?
Fred. Because I don’t deserve them. Do you remember our first meeting?
Mrs. V. T. (aside). Gracious! I hope I’m not to be cross-examined. (Aloud, hesitatingly.) It was on a yacht, wasn’t it?
Fred. After that cruise I came back to my desk and bachelor quarters, but neither they nor I have been the same since. It’s always seemed to me as if a bit of heaven had come into my life in those days. Every hour since has been consecrated to an ideal. I have worked as I was never able to work before. And why? Because I was straining every fibre to win money and position enough to be able to come to you and say: “Miss Wortley, I love you as a man must love one so sweet and beautiful. I’m not rich, but if you can care for me enough to make a few sacrifices I will try and keep you from regretting them, by love and tenderness.”
Mrs. V. T. But, Mr. Stevens, you seem to forget that the man I marry will be made rich at once. (Aside.) Ugh, I feel like a brute.
Fred. I’ve tried to forget it, but I couldn’t. It has come between us in the past; is it to do so in the future?
Mrs. V. T. Mr. Stevens, I can’t tell you my grief in finding you like the rest of my disinterested masculine friends.
Fred (hotly). You think I care for your money?
Mrs. V. T. What else can I think? (Aside.) You cat!
Agnes (starting to pull aside curtain, sotto voce to Stuart). Oh! I mustn’t—
Stuart (checking her). No, don’t interfere, Mrs. Van Tromp. Let the poor fellow take the whole dose while he’s about it.
Fred (who has gone up back and now comes down). Miss Wortley, do you realize what you are saying? In the last minute you have three times deliberately insulted me. Say you don’t love me, if that is so, but don’t impute shameful motives to my love. It is of value to me if worthless to you.
Mrs. V. T. Mr. Stevens, frankness under such circumstances is best for all. Put yourself in my place. I am an heiress, with expectations from my father. You acknowledge yourself that you are poor. Don’t blame me if I draw my own conclusions.
Fred. But I will blame you, and it is the last time I shall ever trouble you. You ask me to put myself in your place: let us try the reverse. I offer you a love as true and unmercenary as was ever offered a woman. What do I deserve at your hands? Mercy, at least. But instead, you—you have not been content to reject it—you have poisoned it forever.
[Turns and walks up stage to b. d. Mrs. Van Tromp begins to take off mask. Agnes springs from bay window, and rushes forward c.
Agnes. One moment, Mr. Stevens. (To Mrs. V. T. tearfully.) Oh, Frances, how could you?
Mrs. V. T. (taking off mask). I couldn’t. I was unmasking to show him his mistake.
[Fred stands hesitating, looking from one to the other. Stuart’s head through curtains.
Fred. You are not Miss Wortley?
Agnes (taking off mask). No, Mr. Stevens. Miss Wortley never thought you a fortune-hunter. She remembers perfectly the first time she met you. She’s glad she brought a little heaven into your life. She’s glad that you—that you—
Fred (rushing down stage). That I love you?
Agnes. Yes.
Fred. And you are willing to make the sacrifice?
Agnes. Yes.
Fred. And you care for me?
Agnes. No (holds out her hand), I love you.
Fred (taking and kissing it). My treasure!
[Both retire up back l.
Mrs. V. T. Heigho! That’s what comes of wrong-doing. In trying to win my wager, I’ve actually helped Mr. Stuart to beat me.
Stuart (head through curtains). For which I can’t thank you enough!
Mrs. V. T. You!
Stuart. Exactly! Aren’t you ashamed?
[Comes out c.
Mrs. V. T. Of being defeated? Yes. But don’t be too triumphant. You didn’t win single-handed.
Stuart. I certainly did not have much assistance, except from Mrs. Van Tromp.
Mrs. V. T. On the contrary, you had the best assistance in the world. I ought to have known better than bet against so powerful a coalition as Mr. Stuart and Cupid. I only hope my behaviour has made me odious to you!
[Crosses petulantly to r.
Stuart. On the contrary, I’m rather fond of real deviltry! So, if agreeable, we’ll settle the stakes at once.
Mrs. V. T. I throw myself on your mercy.
Stuart. And what mercy would you have shown me, had I lost?
Mrs. V. T. Yes, but then I’m a woman.
Stuart. Deo gratia.
Mrs. V. T. And you know, Mr. Stuart, a woman is never expected to pay her bets.
Stuart. There’s one woman who will pay hers to me, and that promptly. Attention, please. As a forfeit, you are to say to me, “I love you.”
Mrs. V. T. Ah, Mr. Stuart, don’t make me tell any more untruths!
Stuart (taking her hand). Don’t say it then; tell me without words.
[Stoops head and they kiss. Sounds of altercation outside.
Agnes (coming down with Fred). What’s that?
Charlie and Reg. enter at b. d. and come down.
Charlie. Well, you reprethentative of a graveyard, you juth athk her.
Reg. Ask her? I tell you she’s engaged to me. (Sees Stuart). Aw, Mr. Stuart, you’ve lost your wager.
Stuart (to Agnes). Has Mr. Van Tromp proposed to you this evening?
Agnes. No.
Charlie (reeling with laughter against mantel). Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Oh, thith ith rich! Oh, I thall die of laughing! Oh, thum one thtop me! To think of the proud and haughty Reginald De Lanthy Van Tromp propothing to the wrong girl,—ha, ha, ha, ho, ho, ho!
Stuart. Laugh away, Newbank. Get it all in now, for it won’t last.
Charlie. Won’t latht? I don’t underthtand you.
[Polly, with domino on her arm, appears at b. d.—looks in, and starts back as if frightened.
Agnes. Come here, Polly.
[Polly comes down r. between Charlie and Reg.
Stuart. Here is the minx who can make all clear. Polly, did Mr. Newbank propose to you?
Polly. Yes, sir.
Reg. Oh, deah, how funny! Haw, haw, haw! But then, people in his station always do take maids. Pwoposing to a servant!
Polly. But you proposed to me too, Mr. Van Tromp.
Charlie (laughing very hard). Holy Motheth, but I thall thertainly die of laughing!
Polly. Please, Miss Wortley, forgive me?
Stuart. Yes. Remember what she has done for (points to Fred and Agnes) you two.
Fred. And for (pointing at Stuart and Mrs. V. T.) those two.
Agnes. But she must have a lesson.
Stuart. Why, we’ve all had a lesson—on the mysterious means Cupid employs to accomplish his purposes.
Mrs. V. T. Verily ’tis so:
“Love goes by haps,
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.”
Curtain
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
- Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.
- Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.