On the other hand, there is a great deal of humanity about Joy herself and her mother. Mrs Gwyn’s lover, Maurice Lever, is also real enough, though the same cannot always be said of Joy’s Dick. The scenes between the young people ring true, but the boy loses reality when away from Joy; he becomes more a part of stage machinery.
In spite of some languors, the play is quick-moving and closely knit, and the author keeps the central situation well in hand. There are one or two haunting scenes—the scenes of young love between Joy and Dick, the scenes of older, sadder love, more passionate and more disillusioned, between Mrs Gwyn and Lever—and one particularly good scene between Mrs Gwyn and Joy, after the girl has discovered her mother’s secret.
Joy [covering her face]. I’m—I’m ashamed.
Mrs Gwyn. I brought you into the world; and you say that to me? Have I been a bad mother to you?
Joy. Oh, mother!
Mrs Gwyn. Ashamed? Am I to live all my life like a dead woman because you’re ashamed? Am I to live like the dead because you’re a child that knows nothing of life?... D’you think—because I suffered when you were born and because I’ve suffered since with every ache you ever had, that gives you the right to dictate to me now? I’ve been unhappy enough, and I shall be unhappy enough in the time to come. Oh, you untouched things, you’re as hard and cold as iron.
Joy. I would do anything for you, mother.
Mrs Gwyn. Except—let me live, Joy. That’s the only thing you won’t do for me, I quite understand.
Joy [in a despairing whisper]. But it’s wrong of you—it’s wicked.
Mrs Gwyn. If it’s wicked, I shall pay for it, not you.