A Fool's Paradise: An Original Play in Three Acts

by Sydney Grundy

ACT II.

Scene.—A Boudoir, opening through a conservatory on to a terrace. Doors, R. and L. A water jug and goblet on table. A week has elapsed. Morning. Lights full up. Music for Act Drop.

Beatrice enters, L., as curtain rises. Kate discovered watering plants in conservatory, up in opening, R.C.

Bea. Good morning, Miss Derwent.

Kate. Good morning, Mrs. Selwyn.

Bea. At work, as usual. How industrious you are! (comes down C., to sofa)

Kate. Yes—I’ve been saying good-bye to all my favourites. (pause—Beatrice takes up a book—Kate goes on watering the plants) How is Mr. Selwyn this morning?

Bea. He is not so well. (her back is towards Kate)

Kate. I’m sorry to hear that. I hope he will be well enough to shake hands with me before I go.

Bea. Then you are determined to leave us?

Kate. (leaves can up R.C., and comes down C.) I can’t tell you how sorry I am, but I mustn’t stop here for ever. Mildred learnt all that I can teach her long ago; and if I stay much longer, I shall be the pupil. Since Mr. Verinder’s arrival I have had several lessons in the English language as it is spoken at Eton, and I flatter myself I shall soon be able to “cackle” as well as if I wore a remarkably short jacket and remarkably tight inexpressibles.

Bea. You under-rate your accomplishments. I don’t think there is much that Mildred could teach you.

Kate. (grimaces behind her back) Don’t make me blush, my dear.

Bea. You make me blush sometimes.

Kate. Then you ought to be extremely obliged to me, for nothing becomes you better. (grimaces as before) Mrs. Selwyn, we are now quite old friends. I cannot leave Ravenhurst without some little memento of our companionship—There are no horrid men about to hear us—Before I go, tell me (dropping down near Beatrice into an attitude of mock earnestness) oh, tell me—— (behind sofa R. of Beatrice)

Bea. Well?

Kate. The secret of your complexion.

Bea. (smiling) It’s a very simple one—Arsenic.

Kate. (rises) Arsenic! But that’s a poison.

Bea. Yes, if you take too much of it; but if you take a little, it——

Kate. It what!

Bea. Improves the complexion.

Kate. Does it? Where do you get it?

Bea. From the chemist’s, of course.

Kate. But will they sell it you?

Bea. Yes, if you’re candid and confide in them. My love, if you want to look better than Nature intended you——

Kate. As, of course, I do——

Bea. Confide in your chemist. Make some ridiculous excuse—say that the family cat is in convulsions—and they will sell you nothing. They know it’s absurd. Say that you want to improve your complexion, and they will sell you anything; they know it’s the truth.

Kate. My dear Mrs. Selwyn—for this information much thanks. (moves towards door, R.U.E.)

Bea. Where are you going?

Kate. To the chemist’s.

Enter Lord Normantower, R.U.D.

Nor. May I come in? (comes well on stage, R.C.)

Kate. (up C.) It seems to me you’ve come. (between Normantower and Beatrice)

Nor. Yes; when I want to do anything particularly, I do it first and ask permission afterwards. It prevents disappointment, and it’s so very easy to apologise.

Bea. In this case no apology is needed.

Nor. (starting) Mrs. Selwyn! excuse me for not seeing you. (crosses down to Beatrice, standing R. of sofa. Kate turns up and resumes watering plants, R.C.) How is Philip to-day?

Bea. I’m sorry to say my husband is not at all well this morning.

Nor. Old Lund seems to be making him worse instead of better.

Bea. Sir Peter has now been here a week, and Philip has grown worse every day.

Nor. I’m sure I oughtn’t to find fault with Lund; he’s polished off nearly all my relations for me; but I’m not certain that I quite believe in the old boy. There’s too much M.D.F.S.A. about him. I never knew a fool who hadn’t half the alphabet at the end of his name. (turns away a few steps)

Kate. (demurely) At which end my Lord Edward, Arthur, Henry, Earl of Normantower? (coming down to R. of Normantower, R.C., can in hand. Beatrice rises and goes to fire L., taking book with her)

Nor. Now, that’s too bad of you, Miss Derwent. It’s not my fault that I’ve enough names to christen the family of a curate.

Kate. Let this be a lesson to you. Don’t throw stones at a friend of mine! (goes up to opening R.C.)

Nor. Mine was a very little stone; yours was half a brick. (Kate continues watering the plants)

Phil. (off, L.) Beatrice!

Bea. My husband! I must leave Miss Derwent to console you. She won’t have many more opportunities. (goes up L.)

Phil. Beatrice!

Bea. Yes, dear! I’m coming! (exit L.D.)

Nor. Not many more opportunities? What does she mean? (standing puzzled C.—turning his head to Kate)

Kate. (in conservatory) Mrs. Selwyn means that I am leaving Ravenhurst.

Nor. You’re going away! (goes up to Kate)

Kate. This afternoon. (R.)}

} of opening, R.C.)

Nor. For good? (L.) }

Kate. For Mrs. Selwyn’s good.

Nor. You don’t mean to say she’s given you notice.

Kate. (comes down R.C., as far as piano) Mrs. Selwyn is too amiable to give anybody notice; but when she wants to get rid of them, in the most charming manner in the world, she makes them so exceedingly uncomfortable that they give notice themselves.

Nor. (comes down L. of her) But she can’t possibly want to get rid of you?

Kate. Why not?

Nor. We’re all in love with you.

Kate. Are you? Perhaps that’s the reason. Do you like plants? (turns suddenly, can in hand, so that the water is supposed to splash Normantower)

Nor. Blow plants! (drawing back)

Kate. (stopping) What plants? (in opening R.C.)

Nor. (goes to fire, L., wiping his coat) Any plants—all plants—I hate ’em.

Kate. (crosses in conservatory to L.C.) I love them. I have been watering my pets for the last time.

Nor. (L.) I see. You’ve been standing them a parting drink.

Kate. My lord! (in opening L.C.)

Nor. By the way, isn’t tobacco very good for plants? (crossing up to C.)

Kate. Excellent. Why do you ask?

Nor. I was just thinking, while you are watering the plants in the conservatory, it might be doing them a service if I were to smoke a cigarette in the conservatory. (producing case)

Kate. (puts can down, L.C., behind flat, and comes down to Normantower, C.) Not for the world! Lord Normantower, let me tell you a shocking fact. The very odour of tobacco has such an effect upon me, that if you were to light a cigarette——

Nor. (putting case back) It would make you uncomfortable?

Kate. No! I should want to join you.

Nor. No!

Kate. There! you’re shocked. (goes down to sofa)

Nor. Not a bit of it. I like you, Miss Derwent, because you say what you mean.

Kate. Sometimes I say a great deal more than I mean. (sits on sofa)

Nor. And sometimes I mean a great deal more than I can say. Miss Derwent—— (behind sofa, R. of Kate)

Kate. (sitting) Lord Normantower?

Nor. What a strange thing it is that you have grown this old—— (Kate looks at him) I mean, this young, without being married.

Kate. I shall never marry.

Nor. That’s exactly my case. I’ve had one disappointment, and I don’t mean to have another. Once bit, twice shy, they say.

Kate. You have been bitten?

Nor. (goes to R.C.) Badly. But it’s all for the best. It’s made me distrustful of women and a confirmed bachelor. (returns to back of sofa) Why do people want to get married?

Kate. I’ve often wondered.

Nor. (about to take her hand) Miss Derwent, I’ve been so awfully glad I’m a confirmed bachelor, ever since I met you.

Kate. (removing her hand, which his hand follows) What difference can that make?

Nor. Well, you see, if I wasn’t a confirmed bachelor, I might have been married.

Kate. Well?

Nor. (hand business repeated) And if I was married, I couldn’t marry again.

Kate. Of course not.

Nor. And if I couldn’t marry again, I couldn’t marry——

Kate. Go on. Finish your sentence.

Nor. (seizing her hand) You!

Enter Sir Peter, through conservatory, suddenly, R.U.E. They take opposite sides of the stage; Kate, L.C., Normantower, R.

Sir P. Ah! I saw you! (comes down C.)

Kate. Sir Peter, I believe you have eyes in the small of your back.

Sir P. Yes—and ears too. I heard you.

Nor. Then, why did you interrupt us?

Sir P. I thought it was time. You forget, that I am in the next room—that the rooms communicate through the terrace—and that you had not taken the precaution of shutting the outer door of the conservatory. (Kate and Normantower look at one another)

Re-enter Beatrice L.D., she goes down L. to Kate.

Bea. Ah, doctor! Philip was asking for you. He has just got up. What time’s your train, Miss Derwent?

Kate. Half-past two. I must be getting ready. (Normantower turns up and opens R.U.D., standing above it)

Sir P. Then, it’s decided, you are going?

Kate. Quite. But I shall see you again. (crosses in front of Sir Peter up to R.U.D.)

Bea. (comes to front of sofa) The brougham is quite at your service. (Kate bows and exit R.U.D. Normantower speaks through open door to her for a few moments)

Sir P. (C.) So Miss Derwent is leaving you?

Bea. She wished to go. She has always been allowed to do as she pleased here, and she has availed herself of the privilege.

Sir P. (looking at Beatrice) I see. (enter Philip L.D.)

Bea. Ah, here is Philip! (goes to him, affectionately)

Phil. Good morning, doctor. (coming down with his arm round Beatrice) Morning, Normantower. (goes to sofa and sits. Beatrice goes to back of table L.C. and sits)

Nor. Sorry to hear you’re not so well this morning. (comes down R. and sits at piano, facing Philip)

Phil. I ought to get better, if the best of doctors and the most devoted of nurses are of any use; but somehow I don’t.

Sir P. You get worse. (R. of sofa)

Phil. I shouldn’t mind so much, if I didn’t find my temper giving way—just now, I spoke quite crossly to poor little Mousey here (takes her hand)—and she was only carrying out your instructions. (to Sir Peter)

Bea. The fact is, doctor, he’s a very naughty boy, and won’t take his medicine, though I always give it him with my own hands. He hasn’t taken any to-day.

Sir P. Oh, you won’t take your medicine?

Phil. It’s such horrid stuff; and somehow, I always feel worse after taking it.

Sir P. So much the better. Shows it’s doing you good.

Nor. (smiling) That’s all my eye, doctor. (Beatrice rises and goes towards R.U.D.)

Sir P. No, sir, it’s all his liver. Oblige me by not interrupting.

Bea. (up R.C.) Come, Lord Normantower. (Normantower rises, turns up and opens R.U.D. for Beatrice, who crosses in front of him. Philip rises and goes to L.) Sir Peter would like to be alone with Philip. (exit Beatrice R.U.D.)

Nor. (following—aside) And I’d like to be alone with Miss Derwent. (exit Normantower)

Phil. Now I am at your service. (arranges easy chair and sits)

Sir P. (goes to R. of table, L.C.) Have you made your will?

Phil. (starts) Well, you’re a lively doctor!

Sir P. Have you made your will? (with emphasis)

Phil. Am I so ill as that? (aghast)

Sir P. Yes, sir—you are.

Phil. But if it’s only my liver.

Sir P. It is not your liver.

Phil. Is it my heart? Is anything wrong there?

Sir P. Nothing of any consequence. It’s rather too large, and rather too soft—that’s all that’s wrong with your heart.

Phil. What is it then?

Sir P. (sits on sofa) I can account for your condition, only on one hypothesis, and that one is out of the question.

Phil. Mayn’t I know what it is?

Sir P. Since it’s out of the question, it’s no use discussing it. You haven’t answered me. Have you made your will?

Phil. Yes—long ago. It was a very simple matter. Mildred is provided for; so I have left everything to my wife, absolutely. (Sir Peter rises and rings the bell, below fire, crossing in front)

Phil. Do you want anything?

Sir P. Yes. The name and address of your solicitor.

Phil. Old Merivale, of High Street! why? (enter Johnson, R.U.D., she comes on to R.C.)

Sir P. (crosses to C.) Mr. Selwyn’s compliments to Mr. Merivale, Solicitor, High Street, and will he kindly come here at once? (exit Johnson R.U.D. Sir Peter returns to R. of table)

Phil. What for?

Sir P. To draw your will.

Phil. But I tell you, I’ve made it.

Sir P. You must make another. (sits, produces documents, and puts on pince-nez)

Phil. Sir Peter, you are incomprehensible!

Sir P. Let me make myself clear. Your father, Philip Selwyn, was married to your mother, Mildred Kent, in July, 1865. I need not show you the certificate.

Phil. Of course not.

Sir P. Two years before, in March, 1863, one Philip Derwent was married to one Kate Graham.

Phil. Derwent? Kate? Miss Derwent’s father, I presume?

Sir P. Yes. There is the certificate.

Phil. I don’t want to see it.

Sir P. But I want you to see it. (gives it to Philip)

Phil. (glances at it and returns it) How does it concern me?

Sir P. It concerns her, doesn’t it?

Phil. Of course.

Sir P. And she being your half-sister, it concerns you.

Phil. Miss Derwent, my half-sister! What do you mean?

Sir P. That Philip Selwyn and Philip Derwent were one and the same person.

Phil. Sir Peter!

Sir P. Of that I have no proof, except your father’s word.

Phil. My father’s word?

Sir P. Given to me on his death-bed. Do you doubt his word? Do you doubt mine?

Phil. No—but I cannot grasp it! Am I awake, or am I dreaming? I have such strange dreams.

Sir P. You are awake—and for the first time in your life. Till to-day, you have been living in a dream.

Phil. My father was a widower, when he married my mother? Why did he not say so? Why did he change his name?

Sir P. Because he was not a widower.

Phil. Not a widower!

Sir P. Because his first wife was alive——

Phil. Alive! (leaning well forward)

Sir P. There is the certificate of her death—twenty years later.

(Philip takes it, looks at it blankly, drops back into seat.)

Phil. (after a short pause) Incredible!

Sir P. I haven’t half done yet.

Phil. Go on—go on. (leaning forward again to table and placing certificate on it)

Sir P. You inherited from your father everything you possess?

Phil. Everything!

Sir P. He bequeathed to you, and your sister Mildred, all his fortune?

Phil. All.

Sir P. Where did he get that fortune?

Phil. Well?

Sir P. From his first wife.

Phil. (springing up) It’s false! it must be false!

Sir P. (rises) I have his word for it, and it can be proved. He left her penniless; and left his child to struggle with the world as best they could—and nobly they did it. Yes, sir, it is too true. The father you have loved and honoured was——

Phil. (extending his arms, as if to stop Sir Peter) My father! (Sir Peter stands for a moment, nonplussed)

Sir P. Was your father—just so. (turns off. Sir Peter picks up certificate from table and goes to R.C. down stage, folding papers which he returns to his pocket, Philip leans on mantel-piece—aside, looking at Philip) Takes it very well.

Phil. (goes to L.C., helping himself by table) I want to ask you one question. Dare I? (they stand looking at one another for an instant)

Sir P. You mean, your mother.

Phil. Yes.

Sir P. She knew nothing of this.

Phil. Thank heaven for that—thank heaven! (falls heavily into sofa, and sobs upon the table)

Re-enter Beatrice, followed by Kate, in travelling dress, R.U.D. Sir Peter down R. Philip sits up.

Bea. (up C.) Philip dear, Miss Derwent has come to say good-bye to you. She is going. (crosses behind and goes down L. of table)

Phil. (rising) She is not going. (Sir Peter turns up to piano)

Kate. (crosses down to Philip) The brougham is at the door, Mr. Selwyn, and I have left myself barely time to catch the train; but I could not go without shaking hands with you, and thanking you for all your kindness. I came here a stranger, and I have found almost a brother. (offers her two hands)

Phil. (taking and holding them) Yes, you have found a brother; and I have found a sister.

Kate. Mr. Selwyn!

Phil. Whom I have wronged without knowing it—of whose very existence I was unaware till this moment; but whom I know at last, and to whom I will make restitution.

Bea. Philip? (advances a step; Philip turns to Beatrice)

Kate. (turning to Sir Peter) You have broken your promise!

Sir P. I made no promise. (sits R. by piano, interested in scene)

Phil. Yes, Beatrice, this is my sister——

Kate. (C., breaking out) But you need not acknowledge me. I ask for nothing but to go away. Let the past be forgotten. Of what use is it to revive a sorrow that is dead, and to publish a sin that is unknown? (to Sir Peter) It cannot be right to make three beings unhappy, to do justice to one, when all that one asks is to go away.

Phil. You know, then?

Kate. Everything!

Phil. And you have said nothing!

Kate. (to R. of sofa) Because you have taught me to love you! (Philip sinks on sofa) I want you to be happy—I want to be happy myself—and if I wreck your happiness, I shall destroy my own. All I ask is to go—let me go! let me go! (goes to Sir Peter who rises and checks her, and then sits again)

Phil. It is for me to go. This place belongs to you.

Bea. (L.C.) To her? (front of table)

Phil. Yes, all I have is hers. (turning to Beatrice) Beatrice, my father was not married to my mother legally—he was married before—Kate is his lawful child—the money he left me was her mother’s—and to her it must be restored, to the last shilling.

Sir P. (rises) Nonsense! this is quixotic!

Phil. (peremptorily) I know what my duty is, and it shall be done. (to Beatrice) Am I not right?

Bea. (humbly) Yes, Philip.

Phil. (goes to Kate, C., takes her hand and puts arm round her; to Kate) You have battled with the world long enough. Now it is my turn. Till to-day I have been living in a fool’s paradise, but now I have awaken from my dream. I am not afraid, because I am not alone. (goes slowly to Beatrice and takes her hand) Many things have been taken from me. My fortune, my good name, my father’s memory—all these are gone! but you are left to me. I have a wife to work for, whose love will sustain me; who will share my trials as she has shared my prosperity. (goes towards Kate) Don’t fear for me. I will fight and I will conquer. (dropping exhausted) Ah, if I were only stronger! (on sofa; Beatrice goes to fire, L.)

Sir P. (goes to Kate who is R. of sofa; to Kate who is about to speak) You have said enough. Remember, your brother is an invalid. (goes to R.C.)

Phil. But I won’t be an invalid—I’ll make my will to-day.

Bea. Another will? (at fire)

Phil. Leaving Kate everything.

Kate. (to back of sofa, R. of Philip) Philip! I must speak, for our sister’s sake. If you have no thought for yourself, have some for her.

Phil. Mildred is provided for already. I cannot deal with her money; but I can with my own.

Kate. It is not a question of money. Remember, if this secret is made known——

Phil. Ah!

Kate. What will be said of her?

Phil. That never crossed my thoughts.

Kate. (goes down a few steps, C.) Think of it now. It is not too late.

Phil. Oh! (pressing his hands to his temples) What am I to do?

Kate. (to R. of sofa, below it and kneels) Do what is best for everyone. Accept a favour from a sister who asks you—on her knees! Keep our secret! Remain here—the master of Ravenhurst. Philip! For Mildred’s sake.

Phil. (opening his arms) Kate! may God bless you!

Kate. Brother! (falling into his arms. Beatrice stands with her head bowed submissively)

Sir P. (comes to Kate who rises, he takes her away R.C. a few steps) There, that’s settled. Now, let my patient have a little rest.

Phil. (to Kate, who moves away) You won’t go far? You won’t leave Ravenhurst?

Sir P. (prompting Kate) No.

Kate. No.

Phil. You will stay here—under this roof?

Sir P. (prompting) Yes.

Kate. If I am welcome—for the present—yes.

Phil. And for the future?

Bea. (crosses to C.) Yes. Your sister will be always welcome here. (takes Kate’s hand. Kate bows to her and exit R.I.D. Beatrice turns to Philip caressingly)

Sir P. (following—aside) Damn’d good actress, that woman! (exit R.)

Phil. How can I thank you, Beatrice? How can I tell you bow proud I am of you, and how I love you? (holding both her hands, draws her down by his side) Oh, my darling wife, how can I soften this blow which has fallen upon you? (embracing her)

Bea. Philip, don’t think of me.

Phil. (R. arm round her) But I must think of you, who never think of yourself. If I were to die? (L. hand holding hers)

Bea. Dearest, don’t talk of death. (withdraws hand)

Phil. (takes his arm from her, and leans forward) I am more ill than I seem—more ill than anybody knows. I can’t help thinking of death, for every day it seems to draw nearer and nearer. I can feel it coming—slowly, mysteriously, weirdly—gathering about me—wrapping me round and round. (almost to himself)

Bea. (rises) Hush, Philip, hush! You are tired. (goes away two steps to C.) Shall I leave you for a while?

Phil. No, no! Don’t go away. (holding out his hands as she moves up to back of sofa, R. of him) You are all I have left, mousey. I am not tired; but oh, I feel so drowsy! I seem to get worse every day.

Bea. And why, my dear? Because you won’t take your medicine. Come. Let me bring it you now. (goes towards L.D.)

Phil. That beastly medicine! Perhaps I’d better take it; but I shall have no head to talk to old Merivale, when he comes.

Bea. You’ve sent for him? (behind chair back of table)

Phil. I expect him every minute.

Bea. Then, there’s no time to be lost. I’ll bring it you at once. (goes L.)

Phil. I’m doing right, aren’t I, mousey? (R. end of sofa facing her)

Bea. In what way? (at door L.)

Phil. In making this new will.

Bea. You always do right, Philip.

Phil. I have your acquiescence?

Bea. Certainly.

Phil. Then, I will lose no time. It shall be made to-day.

Exit Beatrice, L.D.

Phil. (knock at door, R.) Who is it?

Enter Tom R.U.D., followed closely by Mildred, arm in arm.

Tom. (up R.C.) Only me, Mr. Selwyn.

Mil. (up R.C.) Only I, Tom.

Tom. Oh, bother grammar! (releases her arm, they come down to C.)

Phil. Well, children? How are you to-day?

Tom. (L. of Mildred) Oh, we’re all right; but, I say, Mr. Selwyn, I wish everybody wouldn’t call us “children.” I don’t like it.

Mil. And it’s not true.

Tom. I’m turned sixteen.

Mil. And I’m fifteen next birthday!

Phil. Well, then, my man and woman, what do you want?

Tom. You tell him, Mildred! }

} (half whispered)

Mil. No—you tell him, Tom! }

Tom. Are you quite well enough to stand a shock?

Phil. What, are you studying electricity? Or is it some toy?

Tom. Electricity! (with contempt—turns up C., and down again)

Mil. A toy!

Tom. Mr. Selwyn, you make it jolly hard for a fellow to say what he wants to say—just when he wants a leg up.

Mil. Tom! “A leg up?”

Tom. Oh, bother style! Let me say what I mean.

Phil. And what do you mean, my lad? (smiling)

Tom. If you please—we want to get married. (rather frightened, taking Mildred’s hand, and retreating with her up to R.C., facing Philip)

Phil. (suddenly serious) Want to get married?

Mil. That’s the shock!

Tom. (aside to her) Now for it. (holding her tight) Don’t run away—I won’t!

Phil. You are both too young to think about such things!

Tom. (sturdily) I’m sure we’re not too young—(down to C.)

Mil. To think about such things.

Phil. Well, to talk about them.

Mil. (crosses Tom to Philip, back of sofa. Imploringly) Philip!

Tom. Mildred, this is no place for you. (hands her across to R.U.D.) Leave me alone with Mr. Selwyn.

Mil. (aside to Tom) Tom! You won’t come to blows? (at R.U.D.)

Tom. (L. of her, aside to her) I will control myself. I will not forget the respect that is due to the brother of my affianced wife.

Mil. That’s right, Tom.

Tom. Wait for me—on the mat. (exit Mildred, R.U.D. Tom comes boldly down to C.) Now, Mr. Selwyn, we are alone. We can discuss this matter as men of the world.

Phil. My dear Tom— (Tom draws himself up) Mr. Verinder—Such a thing as marriage at your early age is, of course, preposterous; but I wish you distinctly to understand that the remotest idea of an engagement between you and Mildred is equally out of the question.

Tom. May I ask why, sir?

Phil. You belong to a very proud family; and there are reasons which you would scarcely understand——

Tom. Mr. Selwyn!

Phil. Which, at any rate, I can’t enter into—that make it impossible you should ever marry my sister.

Tom. That is your ultimatum? (a step towards Philip)

Phil. Yes. (sighing)

Tom. Good day, sir. (walks to the door, R., with importance, suddenly breaks down—exit blubbering, R.U.D.)

Phil. (rises) Poor Tom! He’s only a boy, but he’s a gentleman! (goes to fire, L., and leans on mantle)

Re-enter Beatrice, L.D., pouring medicine out of a medicine bottle into a medicine glass, in which she has already put the poison. She comes down C. to R. of table.

Bea. Here it is, Philip. (hands glass to him)

Phil. Oh dear me, how tired I am of the horrid stuff! (takes glass, and sits wearily L. of table) Surely you have given me too much?

Bea. No—just the right measure. See! (between table and sofa, holding up bottle)

Phil. How many doses are there left?

Bea. (with bottle) Only three more. (puts bottle on R. of table, and goes round behind to back of Philip) Now, drink it up without thinking about it; and if, like a good boy, you don’t leave a drop, you shall have a kiss afterwards, to take the taste away.

Phil. Well, I suppose I must. (raises glass to his lips—about to drink, Beatrice watches him eagerly)

Enter Johnson, R.U.D., quickly.

John. (up R.C.) Oh, if you please’m! (pants)

(Philip puts glass down on L. side of table)

Bea. (annoyed) What’s the matter, Johnson? (moves a little towards Johnson)

John. Miss Mildred—— (out of breath)

Phil. What of Miss Mildred?

John. She is in hysterics.

Phil. Mildred ill! (rises and goes quickly across R. Exeunt Johnson and Philip R.U.D.)

Bea. (follows across to R.C. up stage) Never mind Mildred! Philip dear! (stamps her foot) Only another second and—— (moves down C. looking at glass)

Phil. (off) Beatrice!

Re-enter Tom breathless, R.

Tom. Oh, Mrs. Selwyn, please do come to Mildred! She’s in a fit, or something. (R. of Beatrice)

Bea. Nonsense!

Tom. Do come, please! (passes behind to L. of her) The shock has been too much for her.

Re-enter Philip quickly.

Phil. Beatrice! Quick! (Tom has her L. hand, Philip her right; they force her to the door between them; as Beatrice exits she looks back at glass on table)

Bea. In a moment! (glancing at glass)

Tom. Come along!

Phil. Beatrice! do come! (exeunt R. upper door. The door shuts with a bang. Music in orchestra)

Sir Peter appears in the conservatory, and enters from R.

Sir P. Nobody here. Perhaps he’s lying down. (taps at door, L.) Nobody there. They’ve gone downstairs. (comes down to C. passing behind sofa) He must be better, then. (music stops, pause, lost in thought) Peter, my boy, if anyone had told you, you could study a case as you have studied this, for a week, and not be able to make head or tail of it, you would have kicked—pulled his nose for him. (goes to R. of table.) What is the matter with this man? Of course it might be—but that’s out of the question. (sits on sofa) Ah, there’s his medicine. What did he say? He always felt worse after taking it. I don’t know why he should. Only a tonic, with a nasty flavour. People like nasty medicine. Think it does ’em good. (rises, tastes it) Well—it is nasty. (starts slightly as he tastes it on his tongue—lifts glass to light, examines it, then smells it, smells it again, tastes again cautiously by his finger, sets the glass down, and stands looking at it) Nothing’s out of the question! I ought to have known it. (pours dose into the goblet, smells and tastes the bottle) That’s all right. (music in orchestra. Pours out another dose into the glass, which he replaces exactly where he found it, recorks the bottle and exit slowly with goblet through conservatory, R., pausing in C. a moment to examine medicine.)

Re-enter Beatrice, R., quickly, sees the medicine, stops short and resumes her wonted manner; down C. Re-enter Philip, R.; music stops.

Phil. She’s better now; but I was rather alarmed. (down to C.)

Bea. Poor child! (goes to fire L.)

Phil. She’ll soon get over it. Only a girlish fancy. Where did I put that medicine? (looking about)

Bea. Here it is, dear. (gives him the glass—advancing to him)

Phil. (grimacing) You can’t think how I hate it.

Bea. Don’t be so absurd. I declare, you’re as great a baby as she is. (backs up stage, watching him)

Phil. One—two—three! (drinks it off. Beatrice gives a sigh of satisfaction) Ugh! Give me some water. (goes to piano and puts glass down)

Bea. (passes behind table down to L. of it) Why, the tumbler is gone! Who can have taken it? (looking about)

Phil. Johnson, I daresay. (sits R. by piano) All right; I’m better now. That’s one dose less to take. (Re-enter Sir Peter through conservatory, with the goblet empty) Three more, I think you said.

Bea. (holds up bottle) But there are only two! (alarmed) Someone’s been here!

Sir P. Yes, I have. (comes down C. to R. of sofa)

Bea. (terrified) You!

Sir P. Your husband complained of his medicine. I thought I’d test it; so I took a dose.

Bea. (dismayed) You took it? (puts bottle on table)

Sir P. Yes. (looking at her)

Phil. A doctor take a dose of his own medicine!

Sir P. Only to my room. (advances to R. of table) Allow me to return you the glass. (gives goblet to Beatrice)

Phil. And you have tested it?

Sir P. Yes.

Bea. (prepared for the worst) With what result?

Sir P. With none. As I expected, just what I prescribed. (sits on sofa. Beatrice, intensely relieved, turns aside to hide her emotion, as if to put goblet on mantel-piece, L.)

Phil. And what did you prescribe, Sir Peter? What is this stuff you’re giving me?

Sir P. A very common medicine. (crossing his legs)

Phil. But what is it?

Sir P. (With his eyes fixed on Beatrice) Arsenic. (Philip’s face falls. Beatrice turns quickly, dropping the goblet, which is shivered to fragments)

Quick Act Drop.

Time: Thirty minutes. Wait: Eleven minutes.