THE SCARLET PARASOL.
Scene III.—The Hall. A quarter to Three in the afternoon.
Muriel (to Alan, who is just taking his hat). Oh! May I speak to you one moment, Master Roy?
Alan. Pray do, dear Miss Vane. I am just going for a stroll by myself—to—to develope an idea I've got.
Muriel. If you should happen to be going for a secret drive along the high road with Viola, in a dog-cart from Johnstone's, would you be so kind as to give her this? (Hands scarlet parasol.) She forgot it. And don't let her leave it anywhere. You see her initials are carved round it. And she is always losing things. Please be very careful!
[She smiles.
Alan. What on earth can have given you such an extraordinary idea, Miss Vane?
[Takes parasol.
Muriel. Well, a sort of coach-building, livery-stable person, from Johnstone's, is engaged to Jane, the housemaid. He came to see her to-day.... She has been ill, poor thing!
Alan. How very distressing!
Muriel. Viola said she was going to visit cottages. However, in case you should meet—one never knows—you'll give her the sunshade.
Alan. You may depend upon it, Miss Vane.
In the Dog-cart. Alan is driving very leisurely, and Viola trying to hide under her parasol.
Alan. That's a perfectly delicious hat of yours!
Viola. I am so glad you like it! This is a very nice dog-cart, and this is a pretty lane to drive in, so cool and green.
[A pony-carriage passes.
Viola (starting violently). Good heavens! There are the clergyman and his wife.
[She bows, blushing crimson.
Alan. Why are you agitated, Mrs. Travers? They look very gentle and harmless.
Viola. Gentle and harmless! If they tell Albert?
Alan. Does he disapprove of the clergy taking exercise in the open air?
Viola (pettishly). Of course not. How absurd!
[A silence.
Alan. Shall we get out presently, and sit in one of these nice fields, and make daisy-chains? There are daisies in fields, I know—though I am rather urban.
Viola. Oh, yes; and cowslips!
Alan. You ought to give a cowslip-ball, Mrs. Travers. It would be charming. May I come?
Viola. If you're old enough by then!
Alan. Oh, I'm never going to be old enough.
Viola. Really not?
Alan (candidly). It's a great thing to have settled on one's pose, Mrs. Travers; and one can't be always changing—it's so much trouble!
In the Field.
Viola (trying to enjoy herself). This is lovely! So cool! and the sky so—so blue!
Alan. You have a perfect passion for scenery! (He picks some flowers, and gives them to her.) I have so many things I want to tell you——
Viola. About yourself?
Alan. No, about you. Things you don't know——
Viola (starting). Oh! Is that someone we know?
Alan. I hope you wouldn't know a man who wears such a hat as that in the country!
Viola. It's all right—I don't know him.
[Sits down.
Alan (trying to recover the thread). About yourself—your eyes, for instance. Has anyone ever told you how annihilating they are?
Viola. I'm very glad you like them, Master Roy; but we really must go now, Dr. Roberts will be there to tea, and they will think it odd——
Alan (ironically). Oh, it would be terrible to miss Dr. Roberts—quite terrible!
[Follows her, thinking the expedition rather a failure. As he helps her into the dog-cart, she knocks her ankle very slightly.
Viola. Oh! Oh! I've broken my ankle! I shan't be able to walk home! It will all be found out! Oh, why did we do this!
[She begins to cry.
Alan (to himself). Why indeed! (To Viola.) Poor dear child, how absolutely dreadful! But, if Dr. Roberts is there it will be all right. He can set it.
Viola. Set it! How can you talk in that heartless way! Why did you make me come for this drive?
Alan (apologetically). I really thought you seemed as if you'd like to! Come, I can't allow you to cry.
[Tries to dry her eyes. She moves away. He drops his whip and has to get out and pick it up. They drive back very quickly and in entire silence, save for a few groans from Viola.
Viola. Well, I suppose I must try to hobble home. Yes, I'm a little better. Do take the horrid dog-cart away! It's an absurd one—brown and ridiculous. Do I look as if I'd been crying—much?
Alan (coldly but evasively). You look perfectly charming.
Viola. Oh! take that buttercup out of your coat! Someone might suspect!——
At the garden gate.
Muriel (meeting Viola at the garden gate). Oh, Viola, such wonderful things have been happening! Quick—before we see anyone else. Dr. Roberts has been here. Well, he proposed to me! and I accepted him like a girl in a book! You see, you were out.
Viola. All right. Oh, Muriel, I am so ill, and so anxious. I have such a toothache, I can hardly walk. I hurt my foot, reading to a poor woman in a cottage.
Muriel. Some tea will cure you. But, Viola, will you and Albert be nice about my engagement?
Viola. The truth is I had such a dull, wretched, idiotic drive with Alan Roy, that I can't be nice about anything.
Muriel. Will you consult Valentine? Dr. Roberts, you know?
Viola. How can you go and get engaged to people called Valentine!
At Dinner. Everyone very cheery, except Claude Mignon, who looks depressed, and Mrs. Averidge, who is unnoticed.
Albert (serving soup). What is that ring?
Viola. Oh, nothing.
Servant. Please, Sir, it's only Johnstone has sent misses's parasol, that was left in the cart!
Albert. This is some mistake! You didn't drive to-day, Viola?
Muriel (apart to Alan). Shall I betray you? (To Albert.) The fact is Master Roy went out alone, to develop an idea; and I lent him Viola's parasol, because he was afraid of getting sunburnt.
[Everyone laughs.
Alan. One has to be so careful. Freckles run dreadfully in my family. I had them once, and a relapse is most dangerous!
After Dinner.
Viola. Darling Muriel! I congratulate you and Valentine. Valentine is such a pretty name! How sweet you were! I shall never have another secret!
Muriel. And shall you tell Albert all about it?
Viola. Perhaps—to-morrow!
Claude Mignon (to Alan). I hate a house where a girl is engaged! I'm going away to-morrow.
Alan. So am I.
Claude Mignon. Rather a clumsy-looking creature—the old Doctor?
Alan. Oh, no! Very distinguished!
Muriel (to Alan, in a low voice). I told you not to leave the parasol.
Alan. You did, dear Miss Vane. It was dear of you.
Muriel. And did you develope your idea?
Alan. Well—no. Somehow, it didn't quite come off.
THE END.
Bye-bye to Daudet.—We could not stand the presence of two lions in London; so, when Nasrulla Khan appeared on the scene, Alphonse Daudet made his exit. Our, "Beau-bel Poète" sends us his jingle:—
Daudet est parti!
Good-bye my hearty!
"Fortiter in re, suaviter in modo,"
Bon soir Daudet! "allez faire Dodo!"
An Interregnum of Brutality.—The Times last week announced that
"Applications for the vacant Chair of Humanity in the University of Edinburgh should be lodged not later than Saturday, June 29."
Alas! Poor Humanity! It may be news to many that the Chair of Humanity is in the possession of the Northern University. Of course a very large arm-chair, with arms to embrace all mankind. And a very easy chair. Whoever sits in it is only a Professor, and what is mere profession without practice?