So I've caught her! Gone at half-past three—
Gone to 'the pictures' with her young man Bill.
I hope she'll not be foolish.... Now for tea.
(She puts a kettle on the fire and brings a plate of cakes to the table.)
Ah! So the Mudie books have come—but still
Nothing from James. He really is too shy—
And Mother always whispers when we meet,
'Well, dear, no startling news?' I wish he'd try!
What have they sent me from New Oxford Street?
'Poems,' by Marshlight.... Quite a charming face....
Four portraits!... And how good it is to find
A note that tells the very hour and place
When each mouse-lyric shook that mountain mind!...
And here? Oh Mudie! Sending this to me!
'A Bed of Roses. George....' I'll try again....
'Peeled Onions'! Now, whatever might they be?
Of course! New tales by Ethel Colburn Mayne.
How hypodermic! What she does without!
What whittling of mere obvious fact! Indeed
I sometimes tremble when her books come out
For fear there won't be any words to read....
The last two? These—hobnobbing all this time,
Not rent to rags, not mutually destroyed?
For here's that famous work, 'Soul from the Slime,'
By Jung, and here 'Slime from the Soul,' by Freud.
They may be risqué but how up to date—
And James need never know I've read them.... Stop!
Surely? It is! A telegram! Oh, Kate,
You little fool, to dump the books on top!
Reply paid, too.... (Reading) 'Wylde, 15 Claridge Hill.
Would you accept me for your husband? James....'
At last!... What answer? If I say I will,
The Morning Post will paragraph our names
With me as 'Dorothea, second child'—
Et cetera—and The Tatler, I expect,
Will have a picture, 'Cupid's Bag. Miss Wylde,
Sir James Adolphus Porter's bride-elect,
A well-known figure both where Fashion reigns
And where our young intelligenzia meet....'
But shall I? If he read more, had more brains,
More fire, and just a little less conceit!
A VOICE (behind the screen). Marry him at your peril!
DOROTHEA (not hearing).He's a man
Of wealth and rank—an O.B.E.—and yet
To marry without love.... Some people can.
THE VOICE.I gave you honest warning. Don't forget!
DOROTHEA (as before). Most girls would jump at such an offer. Why
Should I resent so much his pompous air,
His embonpoint?
THE VOICE.It isn't you, but I!
DOROTHEA (as before). Or possibly, as Freud and Jung declare,
Far under what we know ourselves to be
Another self lies hidden. Am I, then——
THE VOICE. Like a volcanic island in the sea——