THE SCARLET PARASOL.
Scene II.—Drawing-room. Windows opening on to Terrace.
Ladies alone.
Muriel (to Viola). Claude Mignon has been saying that I am the only woman he has ever loved!
Viola. Exactly what he says to me!
Muriel. Is it a boast—or a confession?
Viola (quietly). It is a lie, that's all. But what did Alan Roy say? He didn't speak to me.
Muriel. He says you have a far-away look in your eyes.
Viola (eagerly). Yes? I did my best!
Muriel (simply). So I told him you wanted to have a secret in your life—a romance. He seemed very much interested.
Viola. Oh, Muriel! How could you? How silly of you! I am very angry indeed.
Muriel (calmly). Why, Viola? Albert is getting accustomed to his being grown-up, and Claude to his being so young. They all like him immensely. But I think they will be glad when he goes away.
[Enter gentlemen.
Claude (talking to Alan). Yes, I felt I had something to say—and I said it—in one volume.
Alan. There is no mistake so fatal as to write because one has something to say.
Claude. How about Robinson Crusoe, Don Quixote——
Alan. I am afraid I never read them. I couldn't read till I was ten—and then I read dear Herbert Spencer.
[He tries to join Viola and passes Mrs. Averidge, who moves to leave room for him on the sofa, and smiles.
Alan (standing by the sofa). Weren't the flowers quite sweet on the table to-night, Mrs. Averidge?
Mrs. Averidge (trying to be original). I can't bear flowers.
Alan. What do you like, Mrs. Averidge?
Mrs. Averidge (looking out of the window). Oh—trees, I think.
Alan. What! on the table! (He escapes, and joins Viola.) Is that the moon outside, Mrs. Travers?
Viola (gazing at it intensely). I think it is.
Alan. Shall we go and see?
[They move out on to the terrace.
Muriel (sitting next to Mrs. Averidge). Isn't Alan Roy a little dear?
Mrs. Averidge (spitefully). So your sister seems to think. I had no idea she was so fond of children.
Muriel. He has such pretty ways! That new shade of blue is very fashionable, Mrs. Averidge. But it's a little trying to you, do you know? You don't mind my saying so, do you? [Amenities continue.
Mr. Averidge. It's perfectly amazing! That boy knows everything. He talks politics——
Claude. He's a staunch Tory!
Mr. Averidge. Literature——
Claude. He tells me he's not a Romanticist; he cares only for the Classics.
Mr. Averidge. Art——
Claude (resigned). He dismisses Symbolism with a word, smiles at Impressionism as old-fashioned, but speaks most kindly both of Millais and Whistler. He calls them "poor dears." I think that was the phrase. I won't be sure, but I think so.
Mr. Averidge. Yes, he's astounding.
[Ponders.
Claude (to Muriel). Aren't we going to have some music? How I should like you to play those chants to me again! Won't you, Miss Vane? I love sacred music so.
Muriel. Yes; with pleasure. Viola has had my organ put in the billiard-room, to be out of the way.
[Rises.
Claude (as he and Muriel go into the billiard-room). The worst point about these clever boys is that they are so cynical! No sentiment—no heart!
[Continues ad lib.
On the Terrace.
Alan (to Viola). You have very wonderful eyes, Mrs. Travers, haven't you?
Viola. Have I?
Alan. You know you have. Do you believe in palmistry?
Viola. I think I do. Do you?
Alan. I don't know whether I believe in it, I like it.... Your line of life....
[Continues ad lib.
In the Drawing-room.
Albert. That boy is bewildering! He flits over every subject under the sun! Have a game of piquet, Averidge?
[They play piquet.
In the Billiard-room. Muriel playing the organ. Claude by her side trying to look like Dicksee's picture, "Harmony."
Claude. Do you ever have that curious feeling that you are doing exactly what you have done before, hearing—seeing something for the second time?
Muriel. Oh, yes! continually! I felt it during the whole of dinner!
Claude. Do you think it shows we knew each other in a previous existence, Miss Vane?
Muriel. No. I am afraid it only shows that you sometimes repeat yourself.
[She smiles.
Claude. How can you be so unkind, and yet look such a perfect angel!
Muriel. I feel exactly like St. Cecilia when I am playing the organ.
Claude. And I feel like St. Anthony, Miss Vane.
On the Terrace.
Alan. To get right away from people, to take a drive together, and bathe our heads in the golden sunlight! In secret! Do—do let us, Mrs. Travers!
"Bathing her head in the golden sunlight."
Viola. It would be nice! Albert is going to town for the day, and the Averidges are going for an excursion.... But what could we drive in?
Alan. Oh, I will arrange that. I will hire a dog-cart in the village; and we must meet in a lane, or a field, or something. And you must say you have been to teach the orphan boy to sew or something. It would be too sweet!
Viola. But—Master Roy——
Alan. Don't call me Master Roy. Call me Alan—when no one is listening.
Viola. Alan—wouldn't it be much simpler, merely to say we were going for a drive, and to order the carriage?
Alan. Then where's your mystery?
Viola. Very well! Then mind you don't tell anyone!
Alan. Not tell anyone, Mrs. Travers! But what's the use of a secret if one doesn't tell it to everyone?
Viola. Oh!
Alan. I was only joking, dear Mrs. Travers. At three, then.... Sh-sh! (He picks up her fan with the air of a conspirator.) If I think of anything else, I'll write a little note, and put it under the clock on that mantelpiece. Shall I?
Viola. What fun! But would it be safe?
Alan. Would you rather we corresponded in the Times about it, Mrs. Travers?
Viola. You're making fun of the whole thing.
[She pouts, &c. He shows by her Line of Fate that all will be well.
Mrs. Averidge (to herself). Well of all the dull houses I ever stayed at!... Piquet in the drawing-room, chants in the billiard-room, palmistry with Infant Phenomenons on the Terrace!... It's quite true, too, what that affected little Vane girl said—the colour is trying.... I'll never come here again!
[Retires to her room in disgust.
"Heckling."—At a meeting of the supporters of Mr. Murray, Master of Elibank, the Liberal candidate for West Edinburgh, the following "heckle" took place:—
"Mr. Guy. Seeing you approve of Home Rule all round, what is the smallest number of Parliaments the United Kingdom would require? (Laughter and a Voice: 'Send it back to Parliament Square.')
The Master of Elibank. I think that is a question which can be settled by an ordinary addition sum. (Cheers and laughter.)"
Which shows that the Master is a real Master of Arts as well as of Elibank, and, as regards platform difficulties, good at getting out. But whether he is equally good at "getting in" the future must decide. A slippery customer, evidently, is Mr. Murray, and his title ought to be "the Master of Eely-bank!"
A real "Man of the Times."—Mr. Punch congratulates Dr. W. H. Russell, endeared to his friends and companions-in-arms as "Billy Russell," on his becoming Sir William Howard Russell, Knight of the Pen. Prosit!
Scotch Junketing.—A "Curd Fair" has been held, as usual, at Kilmarnock, and the number of excursionists who left the town, both by road and rail, is said to have been very large. Well, of course a Curd Fair naturally leads to a number of whey-farers!
